“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I sighed, while opening the suitcase I thought was mine. I just got back from my trip to Texas, and ended up grabbing someone else’s pastel yellow suitcase. Somebody just had to have the exact same luggage set as me. The only visible difference was that their zipper was broken, and mine was not.

I examined the case, hoping to find a phone number or name, but was unsuccessful. The content inside consisted of an odd assortment of strange and exotic pieces of fabric. This probably belongs to a tourist. But as I continued checking for a phone number, something shiny caught my eye. Curiosity got to me, and I picked up the object. It was a freaking gun.

I shrieked and dropped the lethal weapon into the hardwood floor, and stared at the case in shock. There. Was. A. Gun. In. The. Bag. Sense I found a gun, I knew there must be more to this suitcase than just the gun. I gently set the gun aside and pointed away from me, then headed for the case again. As my shaky hands felt underneath the clothes, I found another cold and hard object. And it was flipping machete. After that, my hand discovered a dark, thick rope that looked to be as old as my grandpa.

“Oh shit.” I whispered. “They’re a serial killer.”