THE HOUSE OF A KILLER

Chapter 3

I carefully pull a screwdriver from my pocket and hold a flashlight in my other hand. Slowly, I start to unscrew the screws, trying to make as little noise as possible. As I finish with the last one, I quietly ask, "What are you hiding?"

Carefully I pull the metal slide and point my flashlight at the small dark compartment .

A key. There's a key in there. I take it out and  examine it under the light.  It's  surprisingly heavy, with a rusty appearance on one side. Despite the rust ,  I can still see a faint  glimmer of the silver surface . An  "S" is embossed on the side, adding more questions in my head about what it could mean  .

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"Alright, kid we're here" My mom says as we approach the school building . It's not that big , but quit interesting looking with different colors splatered across the main building , creating a beautifut painting of a tree with branches dripping different shades all the way to th entrance.

"Before you go in, I want you to know that not all first days are amazing but there is no need to be stressed. I will come pick you up after school . Just be yourself and everyone will love you for it. Alright?" Mom says . I am quite nervous , It's not an easy thing for me to make friends everywhere I go , but maybe this will be alright. "Okay ,mom" I say and get out of the car.

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My classroom is on the first floor, filled with natural light streaming through large windows, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere. I settle into my seat beside a boy with dark brown hair and striking blue eyes.

"Hey, I'm Connor," he says brightly, his tone cheerful and friendly.

"Hi," I reply, trying to sound indifferent even though I'm more intereted than I let on. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice. We chat for a bit, and I quickly realize he's pretty cool. Connor tells me he plays the guitar, piano, and flute. As for me... well, I don't play anything. . 

It's lunch now and both of us are eating , on the table at the further right corner , there is a girl with big round glasses . A part of her hair is on her face covering her right eye. She is wearing a dark geen sweater paired with a brown knee leangth skirt. She looks troubled , but i recognise her at once . She's Mr peatson's grand daughter , Zoey. She looks worried and is sitting alone , a part of me feels bad for her , But then, I remember how she's always ignored me in the past. Every time I tried to talk to her, she would act as though I didn't exist. I never understood why.

"So, Vana what are your hobbies ?" Conner asks bringing me back to the present . 

I hesitate. It's been a rough couple of weeks, and I haven't had much time for myself. Still, I think of painting—the one thing that truly makes me happy. I love splattering vibrant colors across a canvas, creating messy yet beautiful abstract pieces.

"Painting," I say simply.

Connor lights up, and for the next ten minutes, he recounts a story about how he once tried painting but accidentally spilled an entire bucket of black paint on his mom's favorite white dress. By the end of it we are both laughing , and I realize it's been a while since I've felt this at ease with someone new.

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Christmas. Cheerful carols, sparkling snow, and neatly wrapped presents. But this year, none of it feels the same. It's been a month since Ben went missing, and the festive spirit seems to have disappeared with him.

I clutch the strange, rusted, half-broken key tightly in my hand, careful not to let the jagged edges cut my skin. Mom baked cookies earlier, hoping to lift our spirits, but they taste like cardboard to me.We decided to stop by Mr. Peatson's house to share some with Zoey. Maybe the gesture would mean something to her, even if Christmas feels hollow to us.

As we approach the house, it strikes me how plain and undecorated it is, a stark contrast to the usual holiday cheer. I can't help but wonder if Zoey is even home.

Mr peatson opens the door . "Merry christmas Mr Peatson!" Leen exclaimed. His sleepy eyes have never looked more annoyed before as his eyes fall to the carefully decorated cookies in my hands. "I don't want any" He says and proceeds to to shut the door in our face . "Wait" I say and push it back . "Please" I attemp a smile. "Fine" He moves aside, and we walk in . 

Inside, the house is slightly warmer, though the air feels heavy, almost stifling. The furniture is old and coated in a fine layer of dust, as if no one has cared to disturb it for years. It's Christmas, yet the place feels abandoned, lifeless. "Is Zoey here?" I ask hesitantly, my voice breaking the silence.

"Leave it on the counter and get out," Mr. Peatson grumbles, his tone sharp and annoyed.

I nod, though my steps are slow as I move toward the counter. My eyes glance around the room, taking in every detail.  Something about it feels... off.

I gently place the neatly decorated cookies on the dusty surface, trying not to disturb the stillness. That's when I see it—a key.

With a strange 's' symbol embossed on the side , and I know exactly what I have to do . I turn around and holding Leen's hand we leave. That night I give Zoey's mom a call asking for Zoey's number.

"Hey Zoey, It's Vana . How was your christmas ? I know this sounds weird but I have to ask to something, maybe as soon as possible? Tell me where to meet you ."

I shouldn't be obsessing over a small, rusted key I found in a dusty compartment, yet I can't seem to shake it from my mind. The way it felt in my hand, its jagged edges and strange, faded marking.

And then there's Mr. Peatson. He has one just like it, except his is in almost perfect condition. The same shape, the same embossed design, as if it were part of a matching set.

It could easily be a coincidence. A simple, meaningless similarity. But something deep inside me refuses to believe that.

                                                                                   .......To be continued........