The Resident by David Jackson
English | 2020| Mystery/Thriller | ePUB| 3.0 MB
THERE’S A SERIAL KILLER ON THE RUN
AND HE’S HIDING IN YOUR HOUSE
Thomas Brogan is a serial killer. With a trail of bodies in his wake and the police hot on his heels, it seems like Thomas has nowhere left to hide. That is until he breaks into an abandoned house at the end of a terrace on a quiet street. And when he climbs up into the loft, he realises that he can drop down into all the other houses through the shared attic space.
That’s when the real fun begins. Because the one thing that Thomas enjoys even more than killing is playing games with his victims – the lonely old woman, the bickering couple, the tempting young newlyweds. And his new neighbours have more than enough dark secrets to make this game his best one yet…
Do you fear The Resident? Soon you’ll be dying to meet him.
The final house was calling to him. Something told him it was the one.
But his stomach demanded to be filled. He couldn’t blame it. Over twelve hours had elapsed since he’d discovered the attics, and over twenty-four since he’d last eaten. He’d spent the day in the abandoned property, waiting for nightfall to descend before he ventured back up the ladder.
He tried Elsie’s house first, and knew instantly it would be his saviour. Elsie’s snoring came rumbling through the ceiling, while the occupants of the other houses would probably still be wide awake; and since Elsie would undoubtedly have taken out her despised hearing aid, she wouldn’t even know he was there.
He opened her loft hatch. Lowered himself carefully onto the dark mahogany dresser on the landing. For a brief moment he feared it might collapse under his weight, but it was solid enough. It didn’t emit even a squeak of protest.
He eased himself onto the landing, then immediately switched off his torch. It wasn’t so much Elsie that worried him as people on the street outside spotting the moving light. Besides, there was enough of a glow coming through the window at the front of the house to enable him to see what he was doing.
At Elsie’s door he paused for a few seconds, but didn’t go in. He wondered what wild events were befalling her as she journeyed noisily through her dreams.
Probably nothing as terrifying as the idea of a killer loitering outside her bedroom door at night.
He descended the staircase, not caring about the occasional creak underfoot.
When he reached the hallway, he took a quick look around. In the dim light he could make out a small table supporting a telephone. On the walls were some cheap landscapes and a row of painted plates.
He went into the kitchen. It smelt of cabbage, old cooking oil and fly spray. On the counter were some boxes of cereal. He held one up to the moonlight.
Ha! She told Kerry—
Yeah. Looks like the old girl hasn’t lost her sense of humour.
Brogan opened the box, grabbed a handful of cereal and stuffed it into his mouth. After so long without food, the slightly stale flakes were heavenly.
He ate another handful before replacing the box, then went to the fridge and opened it. The nauseating stench of sourness and decay almost made him gag, but he wasn’t about to let that put him off. On one of the shelves he found an opened packet of ham. In a pine bread bin were two loaves: one brown and one white. Clearly, Elsie liked her bread.
He hurriedly put together a ham sandwich and wolfed it down. Still hungry, he found a pack of mini sausage rolls, from which he ate two, plus a box of strawberries, of which he ate three. Although sorely tempted by a cheesecake in the fridge, he decided that any further depletion in Elsie’s provisions might become obvious. He washed it all down with two glasses of water.