I hobbled down the staircase to my basement, using my walking stick for balance.

I looked at the contractor finish installing the heavy metal door that would seal my safe room and smiled, “You’ve done a great job. I’m going to feel so much better now.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” he responded, “You have enough shelves here for storing food for at least a month. The electrician will be here tomorrow to hook up the phone system.”

“That’s great!” I announced, “Are you sure the room is sound proof? I don’t want to hear any potential intruders shouting at me, I am of a nervous disposition.”

“You wouldn’t believe it, three feet of concrete and that solid door, you wouldn’t hear screams from in here.”

“I’m sure you are right. Do you mind if we try it?”

He looked confused, “Uhhh… sure, I’ll close the door and shout out to you.”

I watched him close the door.

I took the key out of my pocket and locked it.

I waited a couple of minutes, “You are right. I’ve not heard a peep.”

I made my way back up the stairs slowly.

Serial killers get old, but the urge doesn’t age; you just have to get more creative.

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