Happy Birthday

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.

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.