My Roommate's a Killer

At the end of the corridor, my roommate is dragging a warm corpse.

He whips his head around to stare at me.

I stand in the pitch blackness, holding my water glass, pretending to be lost in thought while staring at absolutely nothing.

To skip mandatory night classes, I forged medical records claiming severe night blindness. The entire school is convinced that I am effectively blind once night falls.

Wy is also certain that I cannot see a thing. He wipes the blood off his face, calmly cleaning up the crime scene right in front of me.

I dig my nails into my palms, forcing myself not to call the police.

Chapter 1

As he dragged the body toward the stairs, someone was clearly waiting to help him, but I have no idea who.

It's spring break. We are just a handful of students staying in the dorms; in my room, it is only Wyatt and me left. So his accomplice certainly isn't our roommate.

There is hardly anyone left in this dormitory, which is the only reason he dared to commit murder in the hallway.

Maybe killing me would be just as easy.

Therefore, calling the police immediately is too dangerous. Besides, if the police fail to find the body they hid, I will be in even worse trouble. I could leave the school right now, but if the police never find the body Will I even be able to finish school next semester?

I might be able to guard against Wyatt, but can I guard against that other unknown accomplice? Besides, Wyatt knows all about my night blindness. He must believe it implicitly, or he would have come to deal with me the moment he saw me.

I should be safe, at least for tonight.

I have to make it through until morning, until the victim's body is discovered, to figure out my next move. With that thought, I exhale and prepare to head back to the dorm.

But the moment I turn around, I see Wyatts face shoved right up against mine!

I jump. He must have doubled back through the other stairwell to get behind me. That was definitely a surprise.

But Playing the patient taught me how to act. I hold my breath and stay still. I instantly let my eyes lose focus, then furrow my brows and ask with a smile, "Is someone there? Who, who is that?"

Wyatts expression remains tense, but his tone shifts to sound natural. "It is just Wy. You really cant see me when Im this close?"

I still smile and nod, explaining, "Its not like Im completely blind. When youre this close, I can see a dark blur, otherwise, I wouldn't have asked, or come out to get some air."

Wyatts look is cold, completely at odds with the casual tone he adopts. "Haha, good to know. But its getting really late. Heading back to the room to sleep?"

I nod, keeping my harmless, innocent smile plastered on my face. "Yeah, Im just a bit tired. Lets go."

We walk back into the room. I act relaxed and effortless, exactly like I always do, terrified he might notice a glitch in my performance.

But he stays coiled tight, clearly looking like someone who just finished doing something monumental.

It means my act worked. He bought it.

He hasn't even bothered to mask himself. Before climbing into my bunk, I turn my head and ask offhandedly, "Right, why are you back so late? Where were you hanging out?"

Even though my eyes are still unfocused and my tone remains mellow, that question lands. He immediately tenses up, staring me down again. After a two-second pause, he explains, "I was just out for a late-night snack with some friends. Isnt it normal to be out this late?"

I think back. He does go out for midnight snacks often. I remember meeting some of his friends, and the one he is closest to is called Spencer.

So, as I climb into my top bunk, I continue to probe, keeping my voice indifferent. "Was it your good buddy Spencer? He hasn't gone home yet either?"

Chapter 2

Wyatt doesn't hesitate. "Yeah, it was Spence. I was hanging out with him."

A cold knot of disappointment forms in my gut. That means Spencer isn't the accomplice. Wyatt wouldn't have admitted it so easily if he were.

"I'm exhausted," I mumble. "Time for sleep."

I collapse onto my mattress.

Sleep was never going to happen tonight.

But I couldn't have anticipated that even if I wanted to, tonight would offer zero rest.

About an hour later, Wyatt slowly sits up. The dorm room is pitch black. I can only make out his torso, a rigid shadow against the gloom.

He turns his head an inch, staring through the gloom to check if I am out cold.

I force my breathing to even out, playing the dead-to-the-world roommate. Even if I were awake, my medical records say I wouldn't be able to see him anyway. That specific lie makes this night infinitely harder to survive.

Moments later, the springs creak as Wyatt climbs down from his bunk. Since our beds are lofted above our desks, the upper level is shrouded in darkness, giving me the perfect cover to peek through my eyelashes.

Wyatt slips a medical mask over his face, likely a physical reminder to keep his breathing silent. He glides to the dorm door and pulls it open.

Another masked figure steps inside, dragging the dead weight of the corpse across the threshold.

They didn't get rid of the body.

I strain my eyes to identify the accomplice, but his face is obscured by a mask too. That isn't a massive problem. Bringing the body inside means they plan to hide it right here in our room.

Once the sun comes up, no matter where they stash it, one 911 call will end this nightmare entirely.

But their next move defies logic.

Moving with agonizing caution, they loop a thick rope over the blades of the ceiling fan.

My lungs freeze.

My bunk is positioned right next to that fan.

And then it hits me.

They slip the noose around the dead guy's neck and begin to hoist him into the air.

I lie paralyzed as a human head ascends from the shadows, stopping at exact eye level with my mattress. My pulse hammers a violent rhythm against my ribs.

Then I register the face.

It is Parker. Our third roommate.

He left campus days ago for the break. He isn't even from this state. Why is he back? And why did Wyatt strangle him?

It's dead obvious. Wyatt and his accomplice are staging a suicide. Parker didn't die by hanging, but strangulation left the exact same horrifying aftermath.

He is inches away. I can see every macabre detail. His skin is a waxy, bloodless gray.

His eyes bulge impossibly far from their sockets, looking like they might roll out onto my bed. His nostrils flare wide in a permanent state of desperation. His lips are stretched back into a grotesque, agonized grimace, exposing a line of stark white teeth.

It is the face of a man who fought violently for one last breath, one final scream. It was completely futile. He died locked in pure agony.

The cruelest part is that I have to lie here and pretend I see absolutely nothing.

A hanged corpse is swaying mere inches from my pillow, its dead eyes practically boring into my skull. Even when I squeeze my eyes shut, I can feel the phantom weight of his stare.

I knew tonight was going to be a living hell.

I just never imagined it would be this suffocating.

Chapter 3

It does not take them long to finish the job.

They scrub the scene with terrifying efficiency. Not a single scrape or shuffle leaks into the room.

It leaves me with absolutely zero excuse to wake up.

The accomplice slips out the door. Wyatt slowly climbs back into his bunk opposite mine.

That means Wyatt, the suspended corpse of Parker, and I form a twisted isosceles triangle of over 150 degrees in the dark.

If I just open my eyes, Parker's ghoulish face will be hovering right above my mattress. My entire nervous system screams to roll over and face the wall. But I know my own sleep habits. I never toss and turn.

A sudden movement now will only spike his suspicion. If he sees through my act, he will kill me.

That is an absolute certainty.

But pushing through the terror, a strange sliver of relief actually settles in my chest. Someone will discover the body by morning. I can easily point the finger at Wyatt.

Even if I keep my mouth shut, he will never fool the homicide detectives. Strangulation and hanging leave vastly different forensic signatures. The cops will spot the discrepancy instantly.

And then, something bizarre shatters the silence.

Wyatt's phone rings.

The sudden, blaring audio sends a violent jolt down my spine. My muscles lock in a pure, uncontrollable reflex.

A second later, Wyatt's voice drifts across the dark room. "My bad, sorry. I forgot to mute it and woke you up."

I realize his game instantly.

He woke me up on purpose.

Given the surgical precision he just displayed while hauling a dead body, there is zero chance he simply forgot to hit the silent switch. The volume is cranked high enough to guarantee a jump scare. It is entirely deliberate. He wants something else from me.

My nyctalopia diagnosis carries a specific constraint. After dark, in poorly lit environments, I cannot look at a phone screen. The glare exacerbates the condition, risking total and permanent blindness.

Our dorm room is a black hole, significantly darker than the hallway outside. He is betting his life on the fact that I will never see Parker dangling from the ceiling.

I force my heart rate down. Channeling heavy, sleep-drugged grogginess, I mumble an answer. "Scared the hell out of me It is fine Go back to sleep."

It is a calculated performance. A person jolted awake in the middle of the night would sound exactly like that.

Right on cue, Wyatt uses the opening to keep talking. "Hey, do you know what is going on with Parker?"

There is no way I can ignore that question. Not with Parker literally hanging in the dead center of the room, right next to our heads.

I drag out my words, playing the annoyed roommate. "What do you mean? Did he not go home for the break Did something happen?"

Wyatt does not miss a beat. "He did not go home. He has been messing around off-campus And it sounds like he ran into some trouble. He said he was coming back tonight, but at this hour, he will probably have to jump the fence"

Ice floods my veins.

Wyatt is laying the groundwork for Parker's fake return. He heavily emphasizes jumping the fence because the main campus gate has security cameras. Scaling the brick wall means no timestamp of his arrival.

I understand his plan completely, but how long can I keep my eyes wide open in the dark without getting killed?

Chapter 4

He is trying to gaslight me, hoping to manufacture a narrative that holds up under scrutiny. He is misdirecting me, planting the idea that Parker came back late at night and took his own life in the silence of the room.

That way, Wyatt can wash his hands of any suspicion.

I smirk internally. Does he really take the police for fools? Any coroner would immediately know the difference between a strangulation and a hanging.

Wyatt keeps up the act, chatting like it is a normal night. "You might not know, but word is he got into deep trouble, owed a ton of cash, basically on the run."

I stay silent, but he keeps pushing. "With that kind of pressure, who knows if he is in the right headspace."

My eyes dart to the hanging corpse again. The twisted, horrific face.

He is definitely not in the right headspace.

I see what he is doing. He is planting the seed of a suicidal motive in my brain. Once the body is found tomorrow, I will unconsciously parrot this theory to the cops, sealing the suicide narrative.

If this is his goal, I just need to play along to get some sleep. So, I play the part, acting oblivious.

"No way. What kind of trouble? Is it bad?"

Wyatt opens up, flowing with practiced ease. "Its bad. He was such a good actor in the dorm, you probably didn't notice. Im telling you, he was gambling off-campus.

Took out massive loans from loan sharks. Thats why he didn't go home. Right at the start of break, he said he needed quick cash to win it all back.

My guess is he lost it all these past few days, didn't even have a place to crash, that is why he said he was coming back. Anyway, if he comes back in a bad mood, just ignore him. Don't start any fights.

I am just worried he might do something stupid Its rough, man."

His performance is chillingly sincere, but I just feel a wave of absurd, creeping dread. Parkers corpse is right there, dangling next to us, facing me.

"I get it" I sigh, ready to end the charade.

I just need to agree with him so he feels his narrative has taken root. I smirk to myself again. This plan is so stupid.

They spent so much effort staging a fake suicide and coaching me, but it won't hold up. It doesn't matter what we say; the police won't just believe it on our word.

Just as I prepare to vocalize the lie

The truth slams into me.

Something is wrong.

They aren't stupid.

Look at how clean the kill was, the silent transport, the flawless setup of the body. They aren't just competent; they are terrifyingly smart. They clearly did their homework. How could they not know the difference between a suicide and a murder?

So why do it?

A chill rips through my skin.

Because I just thought of something else.

Chapter 5

Dragging Parker back to the room and hanging him from the ceiling could this entire gruesome spectacle be a performance put on just for me