I can't live in this house knowing what happened here right under my nose. For years I've lived in these rooms and halls. I had a great childhood here, even when I didn't think a small town in Illinois would be the place that I would love. Well, over the years, I grew and matured. I became taller and my height exceeded that of most other kids'.
One night I had another growth spurt (one of my last) and my mom noticed the next day. I was so happy, excitedly telling my friends that I had become bigger again. But the bathroom was now a room I always dreaded entering.
I could now see over the curtain when I showered. This may seem stupid, but when I saw that there was a hole right next to the ceiling light I was paranoid. My eyes kept fluttering to where you could see the innards of my home.
Could there be bugs? Is it possible that there were animals living in it? In the back of my mind a different idea lurked, and it eventually creeped to the front. A human. Was a human able to watch my every move? No, of course not. But years passed and the ominous feeling stayed.
As I looked to the cave in the ceiling for my nightly wash, terror overcame me. A human eye. Fitting neatly and perfectly in the small crevice. I ran screaming to the phone and dialed for the police.
They finally arrived ten minutes after I told my story. The cops carved the light out and flesh and eyes poured down. No blood. It was as if someone had dried the skin completely. Someone had murdered God knows how many people and had hid them in my house.
It was two months later and the police still hadn't found the killer. I was staying in an apartment in Chicago while the detectives continued their search. Night was approaching and I was preparing for another night of restless sleep, full of nightmares and gory dreams. I just then got a call that a package had come for me. I took the elevator down to retrieve the mail, and hurriedly sliced it open when I got back up.
A jar was the first object I noticed. A horrid stench seeped from the lid, and the in side was stuffed with numerous bones covered in a blanket of dried blood. My breath was gone. How could I scream when that awful smell was penetrating my nostrils. Underneath this jar I discovered a note. I took 5 minutes to build up the bravery to read it. But eventually I did.
Thank you for providing the perfect place to leave the evidence. The police were sure to find it eventually, right? I mean how long will it take for someone to discover a skinned, rotting carcass? Probably not long. Well I must thank you again for providing my home these past two months. But I suggest you go back home. I do not require your assistance any longer.
I left immediately. The "Skinner" (as newspapers have taken to calling him) has not been found. And I doubt he ever will be.