Serial Killer: A Halloween Story.

So Serial Killer has moved out. I don’t know if I have ever mentioned him but if you are one of the many who has lived at #236 (or one of the many to have dated inside of #236) then you know of whom I speak. A quick back-story for the unfamiliar.

Once upon a time three little girls went to the police---wait—wrong opening. Once upon a time three little college grads moved into a swell flat in a little cud sac known as Woodbridge Park, Studio City. Being the first apartment for both Edie and myself we were kind of excited to meet out neighbors while Kelly was as friendly as always.

Of particular note was the sexy neighbor across the way. Edie would grab me out of my room whenever said neighbor would be coming through the building. He was very hot with a great tan, amazing body and dark hair/blue eyes combo that was just dreamy in a totally Hollywood way. What was even sexier was that he was nice and always said hello whenever he found me smoking outside or talking with Edie. (Somehow we were always outside when he was coming home—go figure…)

While Kelly was vaguely disinterested (she was busy stalking Jimmy Kimble, Matt Stone and Trey Parker at the same time) Edie thought that I should try and date ‘Sexy’ which wasn’t going to happen for many a reason but nonetheless funny to imagine. Then came the day when we accidentally ended up with a piece of his mail. Edie was determined not that I should walk over all cute to give it to him but that this was a sign of sorts. And we both thought that the name was ironic.

Steven King.

So later that night—after already running into Steven coming home—I snatched up the letter and made my way across to his door. After a moment I knocked and then Steven opened the door. I made some funny/weak excuse about the postal mix up and handed him the letter. Sexy Steven looked at the letter then back at me.

“This is my roommate’s.”

Sexy Neighbor then called over the real Steven King. Now I was a bit shocked—not by the fact he was living with a guy, or that he was in a 2 bedroom apartment with a roommate that we had never, but that his roommate was terrifying. Picture the most generic scary, creepy, scary looking, child molester ever and that would be the one and only Steven King. He continued this strong impression by grunting at me, snapping the letter out of my hand and then basically closing the door in my face. Nice.

The next few days became a debate between the girls and I as how someone like that ended up living with Sexy Neighbor. The theories went from maybe they were related, to maybe Steven King was paying for sex, to maybe they were friends and I just caught him on a bad day. I was all set to ask Sexy neighbor a bit more about it when…

Sexy Neighbor was gone.

Not just like not around but totally gone. And the odd thing was that he left his bike behind and chained to the patio outside the apartment. We joked about how they must have had a lover’s spat and that Sexy was kicked out. But it was still a bit odd considering we never saw anything get moved out of the place.

But then we got distracted when we saw the New Sexy Neighbor. Young, very tan, perfect body--he managed to make Sexy Neighbor look plain. It also helped that NSN had a fondness for inappropriate and skimpy clothing and could be caught tanning in a Band Aid at any given time. He seemed an even odder match and we wondered if maybe Steven King WAS paying for sexy houseboys. Then came the day when he too was GONE. Once again with no signs of any actual moving out.

Even odder still was that Steven King suddenly had these two little bastard Chihuahua puppies with him. We joked around that maybe he was killing roommates and placing their souls in the bodies of annoying dogs so that they would stay with him. And adding to his allure was that Steven King continued to be rude to us all around the building--even when Edie just said hello. (Everyone likes Edie.) He was just really creepy and now he had two mean, little, yapping dogs as well. It was bizarre and led to the birth of nickname Serial Killer. (Get it? Steven King, Serial Killer, S.K.????)

Over the course of the last few years (and quite a few roommates) Serial Killer continued with his oddly anti-social behavior. He would just stomp around all quiet and intense—leaving nasty letters on doors or yelling at his dogs like they were people. Big oversized bags of trash taken out late at night, always covered with a light sheen of sweat and just the coldest, most impersonal looks if you met eyes with him on the stairs or walkways.

And now he is gone.

And I am a little weirded out by his abrupt departure. I also have to admit that I’m slightly disappointed that none of the other roommates were around to see this. But everything has a silver lining. I mean—I’m not a Chihuahua right?

But like every good killer story--there's more to come.