Before the Spaniard and I went on our first date, I had noticed two major possibly-a-serial-killer flags:
1. Abnormal adorations and worship of a mother figure
2. Ability to financially depend on self but living at home with mommy
Before the Spaniard and I went on our first date, I had an opportunity to show him off to my coworkers. The Spaniard called and said ‘Hey…I’m in your area and was wondering if I could stop by and see you. ‘
He asked that he not be paraded around to all of my co-workers; so I promptly announced over our intercom system, ‘The Spaniard will be here in T minus 5!! T-minus 5, the Spaniard will be here!’
So when he walked into our office, a house converted into office space, most of us were standing in the living room. Even my straight laced, no nonsense, “We- have-to- increase- the -numbers!” boss shook the Spaniard’s hand.
The Spaniard and I made plans to go out for the upcoming weekend. I confirmed that we would be riding in the Maxima.
Saturday night arrives. First we had a malt. Then we picked up a bucket of KFC. We then headed to a drive-in.
At the drive-in, we hopped in the back seat and made out 1950’s style. Fogged up the windows but didn’t go all 2011…
When the first movie was over we decided not to stay for the next movie…as we pulled out of the drive –in, he casually mentioned that he lived nearby, would I like to see where he lived?
I said ‘sure’.
He pulled up to his house and turned off the ignition.
I said, “uhmmm…I am not coming in….”
He said ‘Ok. Well I want to go check on something. I will be right back.’
He went into the completely darkened house; emerged minutes later. He came to the passenger side of the car, opened the door, and reached for my hand.
“Come on…I want to show you something.”, he said all Spaniard-ly.
We entered into a dimly lit living room. There were pictures, more than one, of Jesus hanging on the walls. I think the red crushed velvet curtains were floor length and the sofas had plastic coverings. There were tables with many little statues crowded onto them.
He put his fingers to his lips to give the international sign for ‘Don’t make a sound!”
We walked through the kitchen. It was too dark to see anything.
He opened a door that led down some stairs.
I pulled his arm. I whispered ‘uhmmm…where are we going?”
He said ‘Ssshh! I am going to show you something…”
When we got to the bottom of the stairs I remembered why I hate basements. They smell dank and just plain creep me out.
We navigated around a wall of boxes.
That’s when I see the human cage. A wall of fencing that extended from the ceiling to the floor, there was even a door, with a padlock, made out of the same material.
A serial killer’s dream.
In my next post, I will astound you, once again, with my ability to make out with someone I am sure is a serial killer.
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