Murder Most Fictional

When I was about twelve years old I had a dream in which my Step-Mother was murdered like Slutty Girl #1 in a slasher film.  I was on the telephone with the killer and heard the whole thing go down.  I was helpless standing in a lane separated from a meadow by a wooden fence.  The dream was interesting considering I haven’t got a Step-Mother, unless there’s something my family has failed to share with me, cell phones weren’t the norm in 1997, and somehow I could see what was going on as well as hear it.  It was very Hitchcockian.  She was in a shower.

It was then I decided I read too many murder mysteries.

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