The Welcoming Committee

Distractions, distractions. They were going to get you killed one day. You were sure of it. Getting back to your small hometown so late at night wasn't the smartest thing in the world. But you got side-tracked with a roadside stall of little trinkets and homemade accessories. What could you say? You were a sucker for shiny things. Not only were the country roads full of wildlife ready to spring out onto the road or the ditches lining the highways were so deep they could be counted as graves.

There was also a killer on the loose. Your family begged you to stay at your college apartment. Away from the chaos and death that was flooding the town. Again. "If I don't come home, my roommates will kill me. Or I'll kill them." You had argued the night before starting your drive home. "I'd really prefer a masked psycho ending me than Tracey getting the satisfaction and a second room to herself."

No matter what your parents said, it didn't persuade you from staying away. But why would you? Ghostface finally emerged after all this time? It was like he were practically calling you home. The town was silent and still. It wasn't very late, but there was no one driving home or going out. There were no kids walking the sidewalks or drunken patrons stumbling their way home. It was all very still. You pulled into your parent's driveway. Their lawn was so brightly lit with porch lights and ridiculously placed garden lights, you felt like you were walking onto a movie set. Cameras had been installed on every corner of the house and you distinctly do not remember the front door having metal grates over it. At the sound of your car, your father was running out to grab you and your suitcase. He had a gun in his hand and he herded you inside without even a hug.

"Nice renovations." You said as your father slammed the front door closed and proceeded to secure it with four different deadlocks. "I'm sure the killer is terrified of your bright lights."

"Don't joke about that." Your father huffed. But he pulled you into a tight hug and held you for a couple of seconds longer than usual. "They've only attacked people while it's dark. They're afraid to be seen."

"Well, they wouldn't be a good serial killer if they got caught all the time." You said. But your words were cut off by your mother swooping in to give you a bone crushing hug. She looked like she had been crying. And when she pulled away her hands lingered on yours. Holding them tightly between her fingers, like she was afraid to let go.

"I was so worried. You weren't replying to any of our messages. And it got so late." Her voice trembled a little. And you reassured her that it was of your own stupidity, and not a killer, that made you so late. You also reminded her that texting and driving was very illegal.

After dropping your bag into your old room; which had some boxes in the corners and your cupboard was full of your mother's old things, you sat at the dining table for dinner. You had arrived just in time apparently. They served your favorite and you chatted with them about your studies. Your folks seemed very intent on not talking about the killer. Any questions you asked they would shake their heads or moved onto another question. You dropped the subject after seeing how upset it was making your mum. And ate your food while listening to your dad rant about the new owner of his workplace. Dessert was served and your conversations grew more cheery as you told them the gossip of your roommates and your somewhat failing love life. You've dated. But no one held your interest for long.

"Jerry was nice." You mum said thoughtfully. And both you and your father scoffed with equal disdain.

"He was an idiot." Your dad said.

"He had no backbone either." You added. "The man caved anytime I raised my voice. Even if it wasn't directed at him. I'd call out for a friend and he'd buckle, apologizing like he had done something. Though, I'll give him credit. He dumped me."