1
The Knife Thrower
Where am I? How did I end up here?
I stand on the sidewalk next to a familiar road. I notice a bakery and a parking lot to my left. It is pitch-black outside, and I inexplicably get an eerie feeling. I am tired, befuddled, and I feel paralyzed. I watch as cars whiz by; their headlights flash into my eyes.
I feel drowsy, as if I could just drop down to the ground and fall asleep. I turn my head. I see the Knife Thrower, armed to the teeth with knives. He is wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. He is staring at his next target…me. I widen my eyes in alarm.
Behind me is a parking lot where I see several people. The Knife Thrower takes his eyes off me and throws his first knife at a woman in the parking lot. Fear consumes her face as the blade is buried in her chest. The woman sinks to the ground, and her agonizing cries turn to silence. The Knife Thrower throws the next knife at a man, slicing his forehead, and decides to finish him off with another to the temple.
The Knife Thrower throws numerous knives into peoples’ shoulders and stomachs. I start to run away, but that’s when the Knife Thrower brings his attention back to me. I quicken my pace in terror. The first knife comes flying in on my right side; fortunately, it misses, but by less than an inch. The Knife Thrower keeps going after me. When I turn my head, I see a knife coming toward my face. Adrenaline shoots through me, and as I sling my body back, the knife soars over my head. The Knife Thrower seems to give up and return back to the massacre at the parking lot to find his next victim.
I keep running. I can feel the sweat running down my body. Tears trickle down my cheeks in apprehension. I turn my head back to make sure I am far away from that parking lot, but as I do, something trips me. I try to lift up my body, but the Knife Thrower has somehow appeared in front of me. He kicks me in the chest, and I fall to the ground helplessly.
“Please don’t!” I beg desperately.
The Knife Thrower draws his knife and goes for a stab, but I miraculously grab his wrist. I twist it and grab the knife, then kick him in the stomach while spinning him around, and then I stab him through the back. I don’t stay to watch the gory scene. Instead, I run home, but when I get to my driveway a figure appears in front of me.
“It’s not safe to be out late at night by yourself,” the Knife Thrower says with a smirk.
I gasp in horror.
The Knife Thrower shoves me against my mailbox and has his hand pressed on my chest. “Surprise. You stabbed me in my back, Andrew! It hurt!” Then he draws a knife and swings it down to my head.…
I wake up with sweat covering my body, my heart pounding, and my eyes widen in horror. It was just a dream, I think, but it can easily happen today.
I glance at my calendar. Today is Friday, March 6, 2054. I need to get ready for school—I have an eight-thirty Zoom call. Due to recent events in town, kids have been doing online classes. I sigh and walk to my bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I see my exhausted self, my brown hair and brown eyes, which remind me that I was most likely adopted. Both of my parents have blonde hair and blue eyes, so I always wondered how they ended up with me. By the way, my name is Andrew Mikaelson. I live in Wayverlyn, New Jersey.
Things have been annoying with school lately. Everyone in my town is in danger. I have had nightmares recently. I have been very cautious of my surroundings. Everything is brutal.
I brush my teeth and head toward the stairs. I don’t see my dad because my parents are divorced. My mom recently got married to someone else, who is my stepdad. He’s very nice, but a little bit of a kiss-up to me, acting as if I like him and we are good buddies. My real dad lives all the way in Trenton, which is a few hours away.
When I walk downstairs to the kitchen, my mom cheerfully greets me. “Hey, good morning."
“Morning,” I mumble. Then I ask, “Mom, when will this all be over? I want to be in person when I’m doing school! And live a life where I can feel safe to go outside.”
“Once the police catch the man who’s behind all this stuff, you’ll be back in school in no time,” my mom replies.
If you’re wondering why the town I live in is Zooming for school, it’s because of the murders. It isn’t safe to go outside. Not at all—otherwise you could be stabbed by the Knife Thrower. That’s the name of the man who is responsible for all the murders. I didn’t know any of the victims.
Then my mom says, “Listen, I know it’s hard for you using the Zoom app for school, but to make you feel better—”
“Yes,” I abruptly interrupt her. “I know back in your time, in 2020 and the year after, that you had online school for a long time because of that virus.” I am annoyed, because she has told me that about one thousand times.
“Hey!” she shouts. “It’s true and it stunk, but the police will soon catch this guy before—”
“Before we get killed,” I interrupt again.
“Andrew,” my mom says, “we’ll be fine.”
All of a sudden, my stepdad, Jonah, walks in holding a baseball mitt. “Hey, bud,” he says excitedly, “wanna play some ball before school starts?”
“It’s literally 7:30 a.m.,” I respond rudely. “I just woke up about thirty seconds ago.”
“Hey!” my mother snaps at me. “Be nicer to your father.”
“Step,” I correct. I’ve been a very moody person lately because of Jonah. When we would talk or hang out like normal people it was fun, but when he suddenly started acting like we were best friends or something, I developed different thoughts about him.
Jonah dejectedly says, “All right,” and leaves the kitchen.
My mom whispers, “Don’t speak to your stepfather like that! He’s trying his best to be nice to you, and you keep pushing him away.” I sigh. “Look!” my mom says. “I know that you and every single child in this town are going
through a rough time, but don’t take it out on Jonah. Think about all the families whose relatives have been murdered! Think about what they’re going through.”
“Okay,” I reply. “Sorry.”
I march to the fridge and grab an apple for breakfast. First, I wash the bright red apple and take a big bite into it. It is very sweet. I keep eating.
Once I finish, I go upstairs to my room to get ready for the day. I get dressed in black pants and a long-sleeve blue shirt. I wait until 8:29, then open my medium-sized computer. I click on the email app and see a message from my teacher, Karry Rolenstein. In the message it has a Zoom link that I click on. My computer says: Waiting in 5th Grade Karry Rolenstein’s meeting. Host will let you in soon. At 8:30 I am let in.
I see my teacher and twenty other students. Every day we have a one-hour Zoom meeting focusing on two different subjects. After the meeting I do a bunch of work that was assigned. But because it’s Friday, that means it is creative day, where we do something else instead of two subjects for Zoom. But we still get homework to do over the weekend.
To begin the class, Ms. Rolenstein says, “We are going to go around and say what we want to do when we grow up. Then you will go into breakout rooms with a partner. One person will be with me because we have twenty-one students.”
I later learn this is because one kid didn’t want to turn on their computer at all because they were nervous that the Knife Thrower would hack into their computer and track them down.
“I will call on you one by one.” She calls on the first kid.
“I want to be a police officer!” she says.
“I wanna be a pilot!”
“I want to be in the MLB.”
“A doctor!”
“A teacher!”
Finally, Ms. Rolenstein calls on me. She asks, “Andrew, what would you like to do when
you grow up?”
I think about that for a moment. I had considered careers such as a doctor, a physicist, a biologist, maybe even an astronomer, but I don’t have much interest in science. I’m pretty skeptical about me ending up as some kind of scientist. What about somebody who wants to work in government? Eh, politics is boring and seems stressful, based on my limited knowledge of how the government works. A firefighter? Meh. How about a prosecutor maybe? That sounds fascinating. A judge? “Actually, I want to be a lawyer,” I answer.
“Interesting,” she replies. “Okay, let’s move on.”
My teacher keeps calling on other students. If you’re wondering why I would like to be a lawyer when I grow up, it’s because I am very interested in law and solving crimes, which means that being a detective would be another good job for me. Except for the fact that it can be a dangerous job, and I wouldn’t want to possibly get hurt.
I once went through a phase where I wanted to be in the FBI, but my mother burst my bubble and told me that it was too dangerous. I was very upset that day, but now that I’m older it makes sense why a mother wouldn’t want her child to be in the FBI. Right now I want to be a lawyer, but I also want to solve this mystery in town and find out who the Knife Thrower is, which doesn’t relate too much to being a lawyer.
After everyone has answered, my teacher says, “Okay, now that everyone has shared what they want to do when they grow up, we will go into breakout rooms in pairs. You will practice your job with your partner, and your partner will give you feedback. For example, if my partner is Luke and he wants to be a major league baseball player when he grows up, he would show me how he swings a bat or how he throws a ball, and then I would tell him how he could do better. Off you go!”
In the seconds that I am loading into my breakout room, I am hoping that I will end up with my teacher. The reason is, I don’t really know how much kids my age understand about law and courts. I’m not saying that my classmates are simpleminded; I am just saying that ten-year-old kids don’t usually learn much about law.
The main reason I know about law is because of TV. I know it seems like an odd resource for knowledge, but it’s true. Maybe I’m not learning how lawyers should really be acting in court because, come on—the lawyers have to break out in a fight in a good law movie or TV show. I am cognizant of how lawyers should behave in court, but from TV I learn a bunch of laws and what roles certain people play in the profession.
To my luck I am paired with Ms. Rolenstein! She begins with, “Well, hello, Andrew. How are you doing?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“I am blessed beyond measure,” she says happily.
And yes, I know that when someone says, “I am blessed beyond measure,” it can really bug the crap out of you. Yes, you are happy for them or whatever, but really? Who says that? It’s especially annoying when you’re having a bad day and someone just acts so jubilant. I’m not having a bad day, but nothing so far in my day is making it good.
“So, earlier in class I remember you saying that you want to be a lawyer when you grow up. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I have a question for you. If you are representing someone in a trial, and while you’re doing some research, you come across a video that is proof of your client being guilty, what would you do?”
I am speechless. I have no clue what to say. Then she says contemptuously, “Think about it. That’s something extra for your homework.” Well, it is strange for somebody to say that so roughly, because they also happen to be the person who just a minute ago described themselves as “blessed beyond measure.” Again, who really says that?
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
“I have another question for you,” she says. My gosh, now I wish I’d been paired with a classmate instead of my garrulous teacher. Conversation is not fun with her. “Let’s say that your client is very rude, and you do not want to protect him or her in the trial. What would you do?”
“I’ll make sure none of my clients are like that,” I say.
“And how is that?” Ms. Rolenstein asks.
“Before I defend someone accused of committing a crime, I’ll get to know them first so I can see who I’m defending,” I remark. And I feel like a genius for saying that. My teacher expected me to be in a dilemma on what to say, but I answered her question perfectly. I stated my answer strongly—and also with a bit of attitude to show how much I supported my answer.
“That’s a good idea,” Ms. Rolenstein admits. You could tell, based on her voice, that she was taken aback by my answer. I was pretty shocked that I was able to come up with something so good so expeditiously. “Well, time’s up. I’ll invite you to the main session. See you,” Ms. Rolenstein says apprehensively, seeming to want to end our conversation—which, trust me, I did as well.
“Bye,” I reply.
She leaves the breakout room, then I do. Once everyone is in the main session, Ms. Rolenstein asks, “So, how did it go?” Many kids put their thumbs up and smile, while I just nod yes. Other kids smile too, but reluctantly, because it’s still early in the day. They were even doing this class in their pajamas. I’ve done that before. We all did in those days.
Ms. Rolenstein says cordially, “Well, that is phenomenal.” I bet she is the only teacher who acts kind to her students so early in the day, which I am grateful for because last year my teacher was an old grump. “Now, if you look on Google Xortic you will see a doc. I want you to write on that doc five paragraphs about what you want to do when you grow up and why. Use font size 14. As a requirement, you need your paper to be over one page. You all know how to structure this. The first paragraph is an introduction, paragraphs two through four are reasonings to support your statement, and the final paragraph is your conclusion. So, everyone can now turn their camera off and get to work.”
After I turn off my camera, I take a deep breath and start to write about why I want to be a lawyer when I grow up. It is because I find law very appealing, considering all the mysteries and the “arguments” lawyers have in court. Well, that isn’t such great reasoning. I need more valid
reasons. I think for a while. Sometimes I’d type three sentences and decide that it was a piece of garbage and delete those sentences but end up writing the same thing again.
Finally, I finish writing my paper, and I personally felt rushed doing it. Afterward, I realize that I have to edit it. Therefore, I slowly read it to make sure my grammar is correct. There were numerous spots where I had misplaced commas. To my surprise I didn’t spell one word wrong. Or at least I don’t think I did.
At 9:29, my teacher announces, “Cameras on.” Right then, we all turn our cameras on. Ms. Rolenstein goes over the homework. She says, “I would like you to complete pages sixty-two through sixty-seven in your math workbooks, read for twenty-five minutes, and write a summary about what you read, then share it with me. There should be a doc on Xortic, which has the links to watch a science video and another video for social studies. You may now leave, but stay on if you have questions.”
I leave the Zoom meeting and walk downstairs into the kitchen to start some of my homework. When I walk in the kitchen, I see Uncle Jeremy. He is Jonah’s brother who has been living with us for the past month. He sleeps in the basement and is a very deep sleeper. He sits on his phone a lot and always seems busy texting people, like some teenager addicted to their phone.
I suspect that he came up into the kitchen about five minutes before I came here. I like Uncle Jeremy. I usually call him Uncle J. I like him a lot more than Jonah. One reason is that Jonah sees me as a weak and very clueless person. He’s always trying to help me with things that I know how to do. I appreciate that, but it’s been getting super annoying. Whereas Uncle J sees me as an independent, strong person. If I ever ask him to get me something, he just replies, “Get it yourself. The fridge is like five feet away from you.” I like that because it shows that he thinks of me as a person who is capable of doing things. Uncle J is like a friend to me, not a third parent. We always goof around together.
As I walk into the kitchen, Uncle J says, “Hey, good morning! What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” I reply.
“How about you?”
“I’m great. One sec, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Uncle J says excitingly. He leaves the kitchen. I am very curious about what this surprise could even be because I don’t ask for much. Uncle J returns to the kitchen holding a big box. “Guess who got you the new 4TX game console!” he exclaims.
Ah, the 4TX console. It’s the newest console that video games are played on. I’m not a big video game guy, but I would feel horrible telling Uncle J that I don’t like his gift. I’m very happy that he wanted to surprise me, even if it’s just the thought he put into getting me something. He’ll probably be playing the game late at night and I’ll be a parent to him shouting, “It’s getting late! You better stop playing that game!” That is actually very funny to think about, so I giggle for a moment, which Uncle J probably sees as a show of gratitude.
“There’s a new mystery game that we can play, and you have to find out who did the crime. You search houses in the game and a bunch of other stuff!” Uncle J is very happy, as you could probably tell.
“Cool!” I shout. “I’ve got some schoolwork to do, but after that, I will one hundred percent play with you.”
“And it’s Friday! We could stay up late!” Uncle J adds.
I then start to do my math pages—that is, until I notice Jonah murmur something. I can’t tell what, but I lean into the table, like I’m asking, What did you say? Jonah just rolls his eyes and hides behind his newspaper. I read what is in a big font on the back of the newspaper. It says ANOTHER MAN KILLED BY THE KNIFE THROWER. I see a small caption that says 63-YEAR-OLD JIM MARCUS WAS STABBED FOUR TIMES BY KNIVES THROWN AT HIS CHEST. There is some other stuff that I can’t read because of the small font, but it is definitely not anything good.
I was about halfway through multiplying fractions when my mother says ominously, “Guys I have some news for you, and it’s not good.”
“What is it?” Jonah asks
, lifting his chin up, interested.
“Mr. Smith was killed,” my mother says gloomily.
Jonah sighs and shakes his head disappointingly.
“Who is Mr. Smith?” I ask. Perplexed, my eyes twitch around as I shift my gaping look from one adult to another, hoping that somebody will give me an answer.
My mother and stepfather stare at each other. Jonah then asks my mother Jamie, “Jamie, can you tell him?”
“Tell me what?” I ask anxiously. Something feels a little fishy right now. Uncle J stares down while saying, “I’m going to get back to doing what I was doing,” which is really an indication that he doesn’t want to be in this conversation. ...
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