He popped the thawed tray into the oven and set a timer for ten minutes. He was having meatloaf and mashed potatoes tonight, just like he did every Thursday night. Fumbling through the kitchen, Norman grabbed the salt and pepper. He was going to put too much of each on his potatoes. There would be enough pepper to make his teeth look like a blizzard on the television screen.

Norman wobbled out of the kitchen and into the dining room. He pulled out his favorite chair, the one that was across from where his wife used to sit. Things had been hard since Margaret had died. She had left Norman with a broken heart and an empty home. Norman couldn’t bring himself to move out. He’d stayed in that house for years and years after Margaret’s death and he was going to stay there until he died. All he wanted was some peace and quiet until then.

The house used to be on the outskirts of town when the town was much smaller. But time had passed, and houses had replaced the open fields that once surrounded the house. Norman didn’t like neighbors. He didn’t like them sixty years ago when he’d first moved here and he didn’t like them now. Especially houses with teenagers. They’d drive their fast cars and blast their horrible music at ungodly hours of the night.

Just tonight, Norman could hear the party going on next door. He was sure there were kids drinking and breaking all the laws of decency. He missed the days when everyone went to bed at a respectable hour. Hobbling back into the kitchen, Norman ignored the loud music next door and checked on his food. It was halfway done. He closed the oven door again and stalked back up to his bedroom.

Sure enough, the next-door kids had set up a table covered in liquors. Girls were showing off their skin and boys were wearing saggy shorts that were hardly decent. The music was beyond obnoxious.

Norman was bitter and yelled at them angrily, “You kids! Turn off that noise! I’ll kill myself if I’ve gotta keep listening to it!”

“Come down and make us old man!” one of the boys yelled back, holding a red solo cup full of whatever illegal concoction he was drinking.

Norman grumbled under his breath and shut the window again. Norman wobbled out of his room and headed back down to the kitchen. He could deal with those kids swiftly enough on his own if given the chance. He passed the front door on his way down the stairs and found it to be wide open. This wasn’t entirely odd, but it was a little unnerving.

“Frankie! Is that you?!” Norman called, his voice gravelly and cracked. Frankie was his caretaker who brought him his medicine every night. She was a sweet, young woman who didn’t mind Norman’s gruffness. Usually, she would ring the bell before coming in. Norman figured he must not have heard it. He shifted toward the door and didn’t see the looming shadow growing behind him.

The old door creaked shut. Norman heard the click of the lock as he turned it. He didn’t have time to turn around before something began squeezing the life out of him. He grabbed at his neck. It was surrounded by a rope. Norman reached behind him and felt a person. He tried to hit them, but he was too weak. Gasping for his breath, Norman felt himself get dragged across the room. The rope around his neck tightened, but he was too weak to throw it off. He dropped to the floor and tried to pry the rope off from around his fragile neck. His wrinkled hands were worn and unsteady. They couldn’t get the rope off in time. The person killing him had strung the ropes up into the rafters of the old house and was now pulling Norman up and off the ground. His toes barely touched the floor. He couldn’t see, his eyes filling up with tears. He fought them away and saw his attacker for the first time.

“You!” he gasped then took his last, struggling breaths.