The telephone sat where it had for the last three months, untouched except for business calls and the occasional friend who would invite the Johnson kids over as a reprieve from their boring lifestyle. It was a dull, monotonous gray that seemed to match the drab condition of the house. The deterioration the home had been subjected to over the last year showed. The furniture was shredded, and bits of coil erupting from the stuffing in the couch shone in the light of the bare bulb that hung overhead. The carpet was so filthy that the original color was lost amid splotches of discoloration. What was truly sickening, however, was not the decline of the furniture, but the accumulation of every object known to man. The family had been a group of packrats, their intentions merely to sell all their useless belongings to poor families and the homeless, and use the money to refurbish their home.

Plans have a way of changing though.

A man in a business suit, his tie crooked and hair disheveled, looked across the living room from his place on the couch. His pants were only slightly wrinkled, and his shoes shone in the momentary flashes of the light bulb that served as the room’s only illumination. His gloves were the only things which were perfect about him. They were black, sleek, and most of all, casual. That night in November had been slightly colder than most in New York, and so gloves were appropriate. There was only one telling feature about him that suggested that foul play was afoot.

Those stunning blue eyes of his, so filled with madness. On certain nights, he just couldn’t help himself, and they would open only slightly wider than usual. He would have the appearance of an intellectual male in his late twenties, his appearance formal and yet relaxed in a strange way. He didn’t have the eyes of a smooth talker, but of a confident salesman. Believe it or not, there is a difference.

The man looked at the phone for a moment, and then looked across the dark room towards the picture window, where four circular obstructions blocked his view of the street, and silhouetted the shrubbery that had become overgrown due to Mr. Johnson’s lethargic housekeeping attitude.

Leaning back against the comforting cushions of the couch, he felt for the lamp to his left. There was a small circular button beneath his fingertips, and he took in the moment before pressing it. He knew it was time.

Light flooded the small living room, and across the rug which might have once been a sickening orange color, sitting upon the couch opposite him, was a family of four. The Johnsons, as a matter of fact. Their faces were pale, their eyes rolled back in their heads. Hands clasped, they were the image of the perfect family joined in the name of brotherly love.

He could feel the jerking sensations that he felt every time this part came. He closed his eyes, and let his arms fall at his sides before sighing in sweet pleasure. Sure, there was always the feeling of guilt for feeling such pleasure at such a time, but the man in the business suit couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit enchanted by the scene.

The man picked up the phone with the same hands he had used to strangle the members of the Johnson family. The same he had used to kill three other families. The same he ate with every night, and touched his wife with while they lay in their king size bed. It was all the same and yet so different.

He dialed the Lewis County Police Department number. After the second ring, a woman’s voice greeted the business man’s ears.

“Lewis County Police Department, how may I help you?” The voice was kind, and almost innocent, but the man knew no one was innocent.

“I want to report several murders committed tonight.”

“Try to remain calm, and give me your location.”

“I have been calm, Miss. Just as I was when I ate dinner tonight. Just as I was when I kissed my wife goodbye and told her I was going to work late at the office. And just asI was when I killed four people only ten minutes ago. You can pick them up 209 Belleville Drive. Goodbye.”

Click.