The Murder Came from Our Home

Synopsis

It was two in the morning when my husband, David Harper, suddenly shook me awake. He pressed a finger to his lips, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't make a sound. Someone's getting murdered next door. I heard something weird." His face was pale, and his forehead was covered in cold sweat. I was about to tell him he was being paranoid when I heard a dull thud from the other side of the wall, followed by the sound of something being dragged across the floor. We didn't bother with shoes. Grabbing our phones, we bolted out the door. Too scared to take the elevator, we ran down all seventeen floors and hid in a small motel on the corner. The next morning, my phone was blowing up with news alerts. [Late last night, a major murder occurred on the 17th floor of an apartment complex. Four households, eleven people were killed. Only one family made it out alive.] The photo was of our floor. I felt ice crawl over my skin as I turned to David. "What exactly did you hear that night?" David stayed quiet for a long moment, then said, "The sounds I heard weren't coming from next door. They were coming from our living room."