The Rain

It's always raining inside my house. 

My mother loves the sound of the rain, even when there isn't a cloud in the sky. You usually see her near the TV, scrolling through YouTube playlists of rain sounds. But the true treat is when it starts pouring outside; her face lights up like it's Christmas and her smile brightens the room. For that reason, I've never hated the rain. 

Though it was raining that day. 

I'm not sure what led to those series of events. On another day I would brush it off and try not to think about it, but today just happened to be their anniversary. My mother was nowhere in sight as I walked into the living room and switched the lights on. It was eerily quiet, so I played a rain soundtrack out of habit while waiting for my mother to wake up. I collapsed on the couch and thought for a bit.

It had been about three years now. My younger self couldn't fully comprehend it, and it took me a long time to come to terms with it- the death of my father and older sister. They were murdered by a serial killer in this very house; in the very room, I was in. My mother came home to find their dead bodies lying on the ground, and she's never been the same since. 

Honestly, the only part I remember clearly was the police and medics around the house. I wasn't allowed to enter for about a month and stayed with my aunt the entire time. My mom was rarely around me and absorbed herself into work for the months after that. She did gradually recover and become the cheerful, beautiful person she is today, but this event haunts us all. 

The serial killer is still on the loose. They terrorized this town for a year and a half and killed a total of six people before disappearing. The police kept it hushed because this was a common tourist spot, and they didn't want to lose any money that way. I hated them for it. They didn't even try their best to find the killer, because that too, would draw too much attention. 

My older sister's smiling face flashed in her small portrait on top of the fireplace. I tried not to look at it, knowing I would probably break down crying. I had turned all of my father's pictures face-down the night before, knowing it would be difficult for both my mother and myself to look at them today. 

My phone buzzed on the sofa. I debated even looking at it but saw my best friend's name flashing on the screen. Deciding that it wouldn't be that bad to talk to him, I picked up. 

'Hello?'

'Dylan. I know this is a bad time, but you need to listen to me. This isn't a guarantee, but I might have found a lead on their killer.' 

'You're kidding. Explain.'

'All right. Let me go over the events of that day again. Stay with me.'

He briefly went over the information I was already familiar with- about how the killer had entered the house through the front door at about 6 pm without a sound, found my father in the kitchen, dragged him out to the living room and killed him, and how he might have raped my sister before killing her next to my father. It hurt to hear it, but I brushed it off. 

'We never knew how they got in because there was no damage to the front door's lock,' George said. 'According to your mother, it wasn't very likely it was open. Therefore, it's possible they had a key. Moving on, we know they exited from the back door and into the yard, where they probably walked down the street and into the forest to hide evidence and stuff.'

'Yep. What's your point?' 

'You're not going to like it.'

'Please, just tell me.'

George took a deep breath. 'Dylan, I think your mother is the serial killer who terrorized this town three years ago.'

 I blinked, still trying to comprehend what he was saying. 

'I have concrete proof,' he stammered. 'I know it's hard for you to hear but-'

I hung up. He didn't call again. 

Honestly, couldn't he be a little more considerate? Obviously, I wouldn't entertain the idea of my mother being a serial killer and killing her own husband and child, especially on their death anniversaries. She was also the one most affected by the events. I still couldn't forget her wailing and cry at their funeral, and refusing to talk about their deaths to this day. 

Besides, she was already looked into as a suspect for their murders. She had a decent alibi and her emotion had convinced the detectives, from what I'd heard. If she was their killer, it would mean I had been living with a murderer for the past three years. The notion sent shivers up my spine. 

But the more I thought about it, the more fidgety and nervous I became. In a way, what George said made sense. My mom had been the one to find the bodies, and her alibi was a friend from work who said she'd been there for the entirety of her shift. Besides, she had quite a reputation as a loving and caring person, and most people were outraged when they discovered she was being investigated as a murder suspect. 

The pressure from people and the lack of effort dedicated to actually solving the murders resulted in the case being closed without ever being solved. Surprisingly, my mother didn't push them to reopen the case or to investigate further. She just seemed to be drowning in misery. 

'Dylan?'

I jumped as my mother walked into the living room and gave me a weak smile. Hesitatingly returning it, I decided to talk about normal things. 

'How did you sleep? Are you going to work today?'

She walked into the kitchen and started making coffee while answering my questions. She slept well. She wouldn't be going to work today. 

For some weird reason, my heart was pounding. We were just having a normal conversation, but I had to clench my fists to stop my hands from shaking. Soon, Mom walked over and handed me coffee. I thanked her and set it on the table, not touching it again. She gave me a quizzical look.

'No appetite,' I said, shrugging to cover up my nervous demeanor. 

'I think it'll make you feel a little more awake. Why don't you have a sip?' she asked. 

I simply shook my head and walked into my bedroom, shutting the door. Almost immediately, I collapsed on the floor. My hands were unsteady as I pulled out my phone and called George again. 

'You have two minutes. Tell me exactly why my mom is the killer.'

 A couple of minutes later, we hung up. A loud knock sounded on my door, and I jumped. 

'Dylan, honey? We're heading to the cemetery now. Get dressed.'

'Okay, Mom!' I yelled back, my heart pounding. Every year at their death anniversaries, we go to the cemetery. But being alone with my mother in a closed space like the car scared the living hell out of me, especially after everything George said. 

And I believed him. 

My mother wasn't dumb. She probably knew I suspected she was the serial killer. There was no guarantee she hadn't heard my conversation with G, and therefore... I was possibly being hunted by a psycho at this very moment. 

I wasn't about to be her seventh victim. 

The coffee she gave me earlier this morning flashed through my head. What if it was poisoned or drugged? The thought made me sick. I quickly got dressed in a button-up and pants and headed out. To ensure my safety, G and I had come up with a plan. Hopefully, I wouldn't end up dead today.

I didn't know why she hadn't killed me during the three years where it was just the two of us alone, but I wasn't about to go and ask. 

'Mom, I'm going to walk to the cemetery,' I said. 

'Wait!' she called. 'The attic light isn't working, could you help me? I can't reach it.'

 Why would she need the attic light right now? Seemed sketchy, but I couldn't find a way to refuse when she yelled louder. 

I walked up the stairs and into the attic, where she was nowhere in sight. Panic rippled through my body. I turned around to run back downstairs, but sharp pain blossomed down my lower back. Letting out a guttural scream, I fell to my knees. 

My mother walked into my line of sight, swinging around a blood-stained knife with ease. 

'I really didn't want to do this,' she pouted. 'You were my favorite. We could've kept living as a happy family until I died, the identity of the serial killer unknown. But of course, you and your nosy little best friend just couldn't stop poking into my business. Mind you, he's next.' 

My vision was getting blurrier. My mom snapped her fingers in front of my face. 

'Oh, no, no. Don't you die just yet,' she crooned. 'I still need some answers.'

'What do you get out of killing your own family and other people?' I asked weakly. 'I used to love you as my mother. I really thought you were broken when dad and Demetri died. But you... killed them all. Why?'

'Your father cheated on me and your sister was planning to run away. So I convinced a good friend of mine to help me with their deaths and rape Dem while he was at it, and he's the one getting blamed for it all in the end. As for you, I always loved you. My perfect little child. Why did it have to come to this?'

I fell face-forward, all the strength draining out of me and my blood pooled on the attic floor. 

'Goodnight, my lovely child. Sleep well.'

The sound of the rain haunted me in my last moments.