I spent most of my early life in New England. I was born in New Hampshire, and sort of moved around the region up until 7th grade. In 8th, I moved to Florida for the rest of middle and high school. Once I finished high school, I decided to move back to New England for college. After being accepted to a school in southern Maine, I moved to a small apartment in Portland, mainly because I missed the smell of the ocean, and absolutely loved Portland as a child.
Anyways, my first year of college went pretty well, and with me finally being off for summer, I could relax. While I had internet, television always had some sentimental value to me, so I decided to buy a computer monitor from Goodwill and use that to keep me entertained through the warm-ish Maine summer nights. I couldn't afford cable at the moment, I was working in a shitty gas station with a pay just above minimum wage, and I was already using my income to pay the bills I already had, so I just used a dusty pair of rabbit ears. It all worked out fine. I would leave it on as background noise until midnight, when most stations would sign off.
One night, I had come home from work at 11:30 PM, and turned on the TV, once again as background noise, while I was cleaning around the apartment. While cleaning my room, I noticed it was about 12:15 AM and the station I was tuned to, WXRB-TV 5, hadn't signed off yet. I walked out to my TV to see what was going on. It seemed like a repeat of the 7:00 news from a few hours ago. I figured it was just a fuck-up with the transmitter, but intrigued, I decided to leave it on and get back to cleaning, in case anything happened. Nothing really happened, and I went to shut it off, until I noticed something. While the reporter was reading off a local story, helicopter footage of my apartment complex with police and medical vehicles swarmed around it was being shown. I didn't remember anything happening today. I figured one of the older tenants had suffered a stroke or something, but, confused, I kept watching.
"The man found dead in his apartment was identified as 19-year-old James Deacon, a freshman in college. The factors leading to this gruesome scene have yet to be determined, but foul play is suspected."
At this point, my heart stopped. Not only was my name mentioned, I was apparently found dead in my apartment. I continued, shocked, as they showed various interviews with other apartment tenants that were all talking about how they didn't know how it possibly could have happened, and how friendly of a kid I was. According to police, I was found sprawled on my couch, with no sign of anything but a knife wound in my stomach, and with that a trail of blood from the couch to the floor, where a large Bowie knife, caked in blood, lay.
Lightheaded and panicked, I turned the TV off, sat on my couch, and sat, wide-eyed, thinking about what I just saw. Last I remember of that night were a few piercing knocks on my door, and afterwards, I blacked out.
I woke up the next morning, relieved that what I saw was just a horrible nightmare. I took some antacids and I got up to get ready for work. While I was eating breakfast, I noticed a knife on the living room floor.