[ WP ] A stranger knocks on your door and claims he/she was a long ago resident . This person tells you they are going away for good , and would like one last tour of your home . You soon realize this is no ordinary visitor .

It's a bit long but I got into a serious **thing** whilst writing it. Enjoy! 
 
 > *Ding Dong* the doorbell sings. *Ding Dong* is there anyone home? *Ding Dong* wo n't you let me in? *Ding Do*- I rasped the deadbolt across the door. The door was jerked open a fraction, and, no knives incoming through the breach, I pressed my eye against it. A face I had not seen before, dressed in a vaguely reminiscent smile and white wintered wrinkles was turned towards me. 
 
 > “ Yeah? What do you want? ” 
 
 > The man seemed rather taken aback. 
 
 > “ Oh, I'm sorry. Are you... ” He glanced at a scrap of paper he held in his hand “... Mr. Jonathan Devert? ” 
 
 > “ Yeah, I am. And who are you? If this is about Cindy, I never knew she was pregnant and I sure as hell did n't know she was fucking Trevon - ” 
 
 > “ That's quite alright. My name is, coincidently, John Myers, and I used to live here some time ago. ” He glanced at the 99c stores and the two dollar whores down the street. “ I have rather fond memories of the place. It's nice to see it has n't changed much. ” 
 
 > “ No way? ” I let the tough guy persona quietly slip from my attitude. He was n't here to rough me around. “ I guess people will take what fond memories they get. What makes you come back here? ” 
 
 > “ Hah, well, yes. Ehm... ” He seemed to be somewhat abashed. “ You see, I've been diagosed with cancer recently and... well, long story short, I have to make every hour count. ” He paused for introspection. 
 “ You know, you're the first person to whom I've said that. I have n't even told my daughter yet, she lives on the other side of town. I drove through on the way and I caught sight of the building and... well, it all just came flooding back. College, my youth, the days I spent learning and the nights I spent with my wife... ” He drifted off again. 
 
 > “ Oh wow. That's rough man, I'm so sorry to hear that. ” I surreptitiously slid the knife I still clutched behind the lamp on the table beside the door. “ Would you like to come in? ” 
 
 > “ Would you mind? It's just been so long, I want to feel it all again one last time. ” He stepped inside. “ Thank you ever so much. ” 
 
 > I gave him the a tour of my run-down little flat. He pointed out the things that were the same, I explained some of the things that were different. There had obviously been a few tenants between him and I, and some of them were neither kind nor proud home-keepers. He mentioned a painting that had hung where my Red Hot Chili Peppers poster now adorned the walls. 
 
 > “ It was a beautiful thing, ” he said, “ the essence of American impressionism. I would have liked to have seen it hanging here again. ” 
 
 > “ Me too. This particular section of wall was covered in what could have been blood or fecal stains. Most likely a unholy cocktail of the two. I would prefer to have the poster in the bedroom but no amount of pledge could get it all off. ” I lifted the edge of the poster; some faint but dark splotches and streaks made themselves visible. 
 
 > “ Oh my. It's odd actually, because a few years ago I picked up an imitation – or at lest, what I presumed was an imitation – in a local pawn shop. I must check that when I get home. I'll have it sent to you - ” I began to object - “ No, no, I insist you must have it. It never did look much good at home, it needs the contrast of the setting here to truly shine. ” 
 
 > We concluded the tour, and I offered him a cup of coffee before he was to leave. I found his company simply fascinating; he seemed to know everything about the apartment and the surrounding area. We talked for a while, before he casually mentioned: “ Do you know that there's a hidden room behind your bedroom? ” 
 
 > I nearly gagged on my coffee. “ I'm sorry, a hidden room? ” 
 
 > “ Yes, quite a spacious one actually. This building is actually quite old, when it was being constructed the owner intended to have this entire floor to himself. Alas, he went bankrupt and the building was handed over mid-construction. The new landlord had a family mansion outside the city and divided the rooms on this floor into individual apartments. There was one room, with only one doorway and no windows, that would not fit properly with any apartment without requiring a redesign. Thus, the door was locked and the entrance – it had a little ante-chamber, probably a cloakroom originally – was converted into your bathroom. Shall I show you? ” 
 
 > “ Of course! I had no idea of this, it never came up on any plans... ” 
 He led me to the bathroom. “ It was quite well concealed, ” said John, “ I only discovered it because I had a pet gerbil for a time that had a fancy for wandering around the place. ” He hunched down in front of the sink cabinet, reached around the back of it, slide a deadbolt across. Part of the wall shuddered and swung backwards, cracking the paint along the frame of the concealed door. Part of it was obscured behind the shower, he was n't surprised he had n't noticed it previously in the cramped bathroom. 
 
 > John led me in. “ Be careful, ” he said, “ there's spider webs everywhere. And watch that dead mouse. ” 
 
 > The room, as John had said was surprisingly spacious. There was some faint light flickering in through cracks here and there, just enough to get a sense of the room but not to make out details. John went to get a torch while I looked around blindly in the musty air, wondering how I could have failed to notice the room and when asbestos was commonly used in homes. John came back in and handed me the torch. 
 
 > “ Wow. This place is pretty cool. I guess you got up to a lot in here, eh? ” 
 
 > “ Yes, actually. This is where I killed them. ” 
 
 > The words hung in the air for a few seconds before I took them in. 
 “ You what? ” 
 
 > “ Where I killed them. The people, five girls and four boys. Or perhaps it was the other way around, time has a knack of robbing the little details like that. Look, ” he dashed out of the beam of light momentarily before bobbing back in, “ here's one, Gloria I think her name was. ” He was clutching a putrefied, severed head, mummified from the dry, dark heat of twenty years. “ She offered me head when I was out walking with my daughter, who was about 4 at the time. So I took it. ” He chuckled at his own wit. I stood paralysed. 
 
 > “ Here, point the torch at the centre of the floor. ” I obeyed mechanically. There was a large, dark, uneven stain covering the wooden floor. “ That's where I did it. They could cry for help all they want, none of the neighbours would do anything, and I liked to hear them scream. It was the most exhilarating feeling, to hear them cry and swear and pray to a God who had abandoned them since birth. And the smell! ” he chattered excitedly, looking like a child on Christmas morning, moving his hands with the long, bloody locks still held fast inside, “ The smell, my dear boy, was the best part. You can never imagine what it is like to be able to smell the pure terror exuding from someone's body, to taste the blood in the air as they live their last, to inhale in air that was never exhaled but borne free by the knife's edge... ” 
 
 > He pulled out the knife that I had left on the table by the door and turned to me. The blade momentarily caught the torch light, gleaming steel conclusion into my eye. He let the head drop with a soft, sickening thud. “ I would really like to thank you Jonathan, ” he said as he advanced, knife poised like a cobra, “ for allowing me into your home. I really do want to experience my past life here one more time before I go. I'm very obliged to you for facilitating me. ” 
 
 **Edit**: There may be a few spelling/grammar errors. I'd be grateful if somebody could point me towards a grammar checker for OpenOffice.
