I had assumed, no, I had been led to believe that this house had been abandoned and that the owner had left their things behind. I scoped out the place like any good thief would and observed no changes over a period of five days. I struck on the evening of the 6th. I had pushed a wheeled trashcan under a second story window and used it to stand on; the window was unlocked, that's how I got in.
I noted jewelry in the bedroom that I had entered and proceeded to pocket it. There was such a large amount that I decided to go downstairs and search for a trash-bag to help store stuff in. I'm a bit of an asshole if you haven't figured it out, I love using my accidental donors' things against them.
I made good progress through the house. I'd say that I'd made it through most of the house in ten minutes. As I had gone through the house I couldn't help noticing the cheery atmosphere, the house was decorated with various photos of people smiling; children, men, women, you name it. The owner had a lot of relatives or friends, there were easily over twenty photos with different people in each.
Eventually, all that remained was the basement. Normally I'm a bit hesitant about bothering with basements, but the cheery vibe of the house coupled with the loot I'd gained made me feel like going through the basement would be quite pleasant. The basement was dark and smelled awful, so I thumbed on my flashlight and god almighty do I regret turning it on.
The repugnant odor should have been enough of a warning, but it wasn't, I foolishly wrote it off as mold. You know those photos that I mentioned earlier? Well, everyone in those photos was down in the basement, at least twenty of them in all and in various stages of decomposition. One in particular caught my gaze, a female body that sat at the top of the corpse pile, it was unmistakable in that it had been situated that way by whoever had done this. However, that wasn't what disturbed me about it, what really disturbed me was the fact that the skin was painted (presumably to hide the decomposition). That particular victim must have been special to the killer in some way. I could state more, but I don't really want to scar the reader for life. Just take me at my word when I assure you that it is grotesque. I'm a thief, not a liar. Long story short, I spent too much time staring in horror and a car pulled up (a rather loud one).
I quickly shut the basement door just as I heard the keys unlock the front door. Obviously, I am still in the basement (dead or alive is anyone's guess at this point). The basement has a window that pushes outward, but it is too small to crawl through. I had thought about yelling for help and shot the idea down just as quickly as I'd thought of it. Why haven't I used a cellphone to call for help? Well, I don't remember the address and I didn't bring it. I was always afraid that I might leave it on and get a call if I ever ended up in a situation to where I had to hide, like this one.
I heard the owner's footsteps as he entered the house, it didn't take him long to notice that his stuff was missing either, because the footsteps became frantic as the owner ran through the house. As the footsteps got louder and closer to the basement door, I knew what I had to do. I stuffed my bag of stolen goods under the pile of the deceased and followed. The stench was nearly unbearable. My view wasn't great, so I couldn't see much, but I did manage to get a glimpse of one of the owner's hairy hands as he walked by, the hand contained an oar. Evidently, if I am caught, I won't be killed right away, but rather tortured and made to suffer. I watched as the hairy hand went right by me and readjusted the painted woman at the top of the corpse pile. I listened as I heard the madman ascend the basement and shut the door behind him, if only he had stopped there. Instead, he took things a step further and locked the basement door, the sound of the tumblers clicking prophesied my doom.
I waited for what felt like an eternity and I emerged from the corpse pile when I was certain that he wasn't coming back. I quickly went through my bag of goodies in an attempt to find something to help me out, but it was less than helpful. I actually feel like there is a moral in there somewhere, but I just can't be bothered to try to see it.
After I searched the basement, I managed to find a pen and some paper, I proceeded to write this and slip it out the window in the hopes that the breeze would carry it to someone. Maybe that will get the twisted sicko caught if nothing else. I'm just going to wait in the corpse pile and hope that he slips up and leaves the house after unlocking the basement door. Waiting will either yield me my freedom or my doom. I just want you to consider a couple of things, dear reader. Firstly, how close must you live to that house in order to have obtained this piece of paper? Secondly, I guess even serial killers need vacation.
Written by Doom Vroom