“Hello? Is anyone home,” a woman called from outside the apartment door with a tub of homemade snickerdoodles in her hands. She had recently moved into the apartment next door and wanted to make a positive impression on her new neighbor. With a soft knock, she tried the door once more.

The man within the apartment headed towards the door, wondering for what issue a neighbor would make an attempt to contact him. Everyone in the apartment complex knew never to interrupt his intentional solitude. There was an unspoken agreement between the man and the other tenants; as long as they kept to themselves, everyone could go about living their everyday lives. Unlocking his deadbolt, he opened the door partially, revealing a red-haired, middle-aged woman with a large smile on her face.

“Yes hello? What is it?” the man said sticking his head out into the hallway.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Christine. I moved in next door,” she replied with a shrill voice.

“Oh, I see.” John paused, lamenting the fact that sound would once again spill in from the paper thin walls of his apartment. “Well, it is very nice to meet you. Please, do come in.¨ Reluctantly opening the door, he knew that it would be easier to politely explain his expectations now than to deal with an insulted, outraged neighbor later.

Walking into the apartment, Christine took note of its almost completely bare interior. Only two mute grey wing back chairs, an out of place shaker coffee table, and a small CRT television placed atop a simple card table stood in the front room. All three pieces of furniture were covered by a layer of plastic and the walls remained bare except for a coat of primer. Not a speck of dust could be found, and the room smelled vaguely of cleaning ammonia.

Hopping onto one of the wingback chairs, she asked, “Did you just move in too? Still getting settled?”

“Actually, I have lived here for two years. Yes, I know my home may seem, for lack of a better word, drab, but it serves its purpose,” he remarked as he took the seat opposite her.

“No, it's not. It’s-” Christine scanned the room once more fumbling for a polite word to describe it. “Sleek.” Her face grew red with embarrassment as she held out the cookies in an effort to gloss over the awkward situation. “I made these for you. They’re my very own recipe.” Grabbing one from the tub, she put it up to his mouth and giggled. “Try it!”

“Thank you, but no thank you,” John declined as he gently pushed away her hand. “I suppose I’ll just get right to it. I urge you not to take this wrong way, but I am a solitary man. I insist on minimum interaction and maximum silence. In the nicest manner, I would like as little communication with you as possible.”

“Oh, I'm so so sorry. Was it what I said about you moving in beca-”

“It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I hope we can keep a cordial relationship. It was nice to meet you.” John picked up the tub of cookies and started towards the door.

Taking the cue, she followed behind him, petrified by what had just happened. “I'm so sorry. I never meant to insult you,” she mumbled and pouted her lips.

“Miss, it really is no worry as long as it does not become a trend.” With that, he swiftly opened the door and replaced the cookies into her hands and her into to the hallway. As the door shut with a soft click, she stood for a second trying to make out what had just taken place.

*

The next day, a knock could be heard from the door. “Again?” John sighed as he stood up from the same spot he had been sitting at all day.

Opening the door, he was immediately embraced by Christine. “I’m so sorry for yesterday. I just wanted to make the best impression ever, and I got carried away. I’m so so sorry.”

Peeling her off of him, he stared at her in disgust. For a second, he filled with intense fury as his fists clenched and his knuckles went white. Regaining control of himself, he straightened his shirt. “It really is no issue, but refrain from hugging me ever again.”

“Oh, you’re sure? I brought you a wonderful bouquet of carnations to liven up the room.” Pushing past him, she headed toward his kitchenette. “I’m going to find something to put this in.”

“Miss, please stop. As I told you, ev-”

“Oh, it’s no bother. It’ll look great.” Christine began to search his cabinets for some sort of vase.

Following right behind her, John urged, “Miss do not go through my possesions please. Like I said, every-”

“John, don’t be sheepish. It’s oka-”

“I said stop,” he yelled, slamming the cabinet shut with a loud smack, sending a crack shooting up the wood.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, stumbling away from him.

Straightening his shirt and regaining control of himself, he cleared his throat then said, “I apologize for that. I got carried away, but as I was saying, everything here serves its purpose. I never asked you to this, in fact, I asked you the opposite.”

Petrified, Christine murmured, ”No, it’s fine. Well, I'll be going now” And with that, she stumbled out of the door and down the hallway.

*

“Come in,” John said with an uncomfortable smile.

Hesitating for a moment, Christine took a step in and immediately smelt that something had burnt. In front of her stood the same card table that once held the T.V., now flanked by the two wing back chairs. On the table in a tray sat two dry steaks and brown mashed potatoes, the source of the smell.

“What is this?” she asked, “I thought that you hated me after what happened. You haven’t talked to me since.”

“Well, dinner of course. I wanted to apologize for my behavior. No miss, I do not hate you, the fault was all mine.” He never usually lied, but for his plan to work, it was necessary.

As he said this, her face lit up and it seemed as if a weight was lifted from her. For five days, she had stayed up watching T.V. until all hours of the night because her guilt refused to let her rest. “Really, I was feeling so bad about that. I’m so excited. Steak and potatoes sound great.”

Closing the door and locking the deadbolt, he knew that his plan was already in place. All he had left to do was follow it. Leading her to the table, they sat across from each other. He served the food and watched as she began to eat.

Trying her best to keep a poker face, Christine exclaimed, “This steak is amazing. Thank you for this.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” He had not heard a word she had said, instead focusing on the steak knife in his hand.

It wasn’t until she was almost done that she noticed John hadn’t touched his plate. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling good?”

“No,” he responded, “I am not hungry. I simply needed a reason for you to be here. I have something to show you. Close your eyes.”

Ecstatic, she clasped her hands together and shut her eyes. Slipping the steak knife in his back pocket, he headed to his bedroom. Grabbing a cheap bouquet of flowers, he quickly returned to her. “And open,” he said, his heart beating quickly in anticipation as the bouquet of flowers shook in his hand.

“Oh my god, you shouldn’t have.” She gasped and stood up as her eyes began to water, thinking he had finally come around to liking her. Just as he knew she would, she began to run towards him for a hug. He grasped the knife in his back pocket as Christine made contact with him, his knuckles growing white and his anger and impatience about to explode.

With intense speed, John slipped the knife out of his back pocket and plunged it into her back. Before she could even let out a scream, he covered her mouth with his hand and plunged the knife into her back twice more. Feeling her begin to go limp, he clenched his teeth as he stabbed her once more in the neck and let her dying body drop to the floor. From her artery shot blood, covering the plastic on the chairs and staining the primer on the wall.

Calmly, he headed to his closet, pulling out a can of primer, fresh plastic sheets, and cleaning ammonia. “They never learn, do they?” After straightening his shirt and regaining control of himself, he kneeled down and began to clean.