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It was August 6, 1988. I was a fresh-faced young man, and recently gotten my first job. It was my 23rd birthday, and after a small alcoholic sojourn with my acquaintances I retired to my home for the night.

Well...

It didn't exactly go along like that.

I pulled into the driveway and saw that the upstairs bedroom light was on, which made me nervous considering I knew I had turned all the lights off before I left. As carefully as I could, I got out of the car with the assumption that they hadn't heard me yet.

I crouched around the back end of my car and worked my way towards the front door, but just as I passed the garage my foot careened into a potted plant, sending shards of stucco everywhere. The ruckus must've attracted attention because I could hear footsteps coming down the staircase inside.

Without thinking I reached for the switchblade I keep in my pocket at all times - it's for protection. My dad was an ex-police officer who raised me with an immensely acute awareness of criminal machinations and the sort.

Anyway, I gripped the switchblade in the way that a drowning man would grip at a straw. I hid out of sight as the front door swung open. Then, before the person could react, I jumped him and stabbed him in the stomach multiple times.

He wasn't even able to exclaim a response, and he just fell to the ground.

I thought I had emerged victorious when a woman came thudding down the staircase. She had dark hair and her eyes instantly glued themselves to the body of the man. She started to scream in horror and anger. Her eyes boiled with confusion and madness.

At this moment, I was in the middle of weighing my options when I found myself in the middle of stabbing through the woman's throat and violently jerking the blade upwards. Likewise, she fell down the stairs. I could hear her neck snap with a pop when her head hit the ground and bent out of the way.

I grabbed my switchblade and immediately booked it out of there, intending to call the police when I reached my car...

...and that's when I noticed it. 

I had turned down the wrong street. This wasn't even my house.

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