Another day, he woke up. He felt like every day was the same: eat, work, sleep, and repeat until exhaustion! On his way to work, he grabbed a newspaper to read later. While glancing through it, something caught his eye: “deredrum neeb evah dlihc dlo raey 8 a dna a namow retsehcnaM fo ytic eht ni.” He couldn’t figure out why it was written like that. He assumed he had misread it, as he was rushing to work. Ignoring it, he continued with his routine.
At 6 o’clock, his shift ended, and he went home as usual. Later, he took another look at the newspaper. No, he hadn’t misread it—it was really written like that. Confused, he tried to shake it off and went about his evening. For dinner, he had a steak, but it tasted slightly off. Still, food was food. He went to bed and fell asleep.
At 8 o’clock, he woke up in a panic—he was late again! Oversleeping two days in a row? He cursed himself as he rushed to work. Running as fast as he could, he barely made it to the office. His boss was furious.
“Why were you late?!!! Do you know how much this cost me?! You imbecile! Get to work this instant!”
Despite the scolding, he carried on with his tasks.
At 6 o’clock, the shift ended, and he went home again. He couldn’t help but wonder: was he stuck repeating the same day? Annoyed, he muttered, “Whatever,” and went to bed.
The next morning, he woke up to a shocking message on his phone: his workplace had been closed because his boss, along with his wife and children, had been murdered.
“What a coincidence,” he thought, relieved he didn’t have to go to work that day. Finally, he could rest.
Later, he bought another newspaper, and once again, the strange language appeared: “rehpotsirC rM regnad ni era uoy.” This time, it was shorter. Fear began to creep in. Rumors of murders happening all over Manchester were spreading like wildfire. Perhaps the newspapers were trying to warn him?
Terrified, he decided to install cameras around his house for security. A good idea, right? The first night passed uneventfully. No one approached his home. But on the second day, he heard news of a murder next door.
Returning home, he noticed meat in his fridge—meat he hadn’t bought. A foul smell filled the air, making him gag. Rushing to check the camera footage, his heart pounded. And then he saw it. It was him.
He was the one who had killed his neighbor. The memories came flooding back. He remembered now—he had killed everyone.
There was only one thing left to do.
“POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!!!”
The officers yelled, but there was no response. They kicked down the door and were met with a gruesome sight: blood smeared all over the floor. He had taken his own life. Blood dripped from his mouth, and the room reeked of decay and regret.
On the table next to his body lay a note, and an old radio played a haunting tune from the 1940s: “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire.”
The note was long and read as follows:
*”Whoever reads this letter, I am Christopher Lie.
I am aware of the atrocities I have committed.
If my life were a cloud, it would have been a dark one.
I don’t know why that analogy came to mind, but it fits.
You may have found my body next to this letter.
Please know this: I never meant to be a victim or a monster, yet here I am.
Please, let my body rest, just as I hope the ones I’ve harmed will find peace.”*
The police were shaken as they read the letter. One officer, still in shock, scribbled into his notebook:
“Time of death: 6 o’clock.”