ALL ALONG I WAS THE SERIAL KILLER, BUT THEY NEVER KNEW

The Next Name on the List

His voice still lingers in my head like the echo of a gunshot in an empty room.

“You’re not like the others, are you?”

He doesn’t know how right he is. I’m not like the others. I’m worse. But I’m also better — because I only kill what’s rotten.

By the time I get home, night has fallen. I lock the door and double-check the windows, not out of fear but out of practice. I sit on the floor, not bothering to turn on the lights. Darkness is honest. It doesn’t pretend to be anything else.

I pull the folder from under the floorboard.

Manila. Labeled. Tagged.

MICHAEL TANNER – 48

School principal. Beloved by parents. Respected by staff. But what they don’t know: he grooms girls. Carefully. Quietly. And when they cry, no one believes them.

My chest tightens with something old. Something boiling just beneath the surface — her voice screaming, the one no one believed.

My sister.

The trigger.

That man was the first. The one who started all of this. My beginning… and her end.

But Michael Tanner isn’t the first on my list. He’s the next.

I already know his patterns — he stays late. Works in his office past hours. Alone. Likes whiskey. Leaves his car unlocked. Predictable. Weak.

I’ve prepared for this for weeks. Tonight, I make the call.

I dress like a student. Hoodie, backpack. Innocent. I wait outside the school parking lot, crouched in the shadows behind the fence, watching the light from his office window.

10:47 p.m. — he comes out, holding a bottle and humming.

He never sees me coming.

I slip in through the back of his car. Silent. Hidden.

He unlocks the door, slides in, and closes it.

I wait.

He reaches for his keys — and that’s when I strike.

Plastic cord. Around his neck. Tight. Fast.

He thrashes, tries to scream, but the cord digs deeper. He claws at my face, but I’ve done this before. I’ve learned. The trick is not to hesitate. Never hesitate.

And just like that — it’s over.

He slumps, twitching. A faint gurgle. Then silence.

I breathe in deeply. Almost peacefully.

Justice.

I take the photo from my pocket — a girl in a school uniform. Her eyes are hollow. I leave it on his chest like a warning.

Let them find him. Let them wonder. Let them fear.

This is justice.

My justice.