The Balcony Effigy Killer

I was on a work trip, but my neighbors were blowing up the group chat, tagging me in ALL CAPS, cursing me out for knocking on their window in the middle of the night, and threatening to come upstairs and kill me.

I stared at my phone screen, utterly confused. I was a thousand miles away in Nashville, munching on some Nashville hot chicken. There wasn’t even a roach in my apartment, let alone a person. Who the hell was knocking?

Operating under the principle that there are no such things as ghosts, I told my neighbor to go take a look.

The resulting video they sent showed a massive, homemade effigy hanging from my balcony, swinging back and forth with the draft from the HVAC unit, repeatedly striking the glass.

The effigy was human-sized.

It was headless and handless.

1

It was 2:30 a.m., and the condo group chat was detonating.

A resident named “Inkwell” was furious: [Is the moron upstairs high? KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! It’s been an hour! What time do you think it is?!]

RyanCole302: [Maybe it’s just the wind? Who’s a big enough idiot to knock on a window at 2 AM for fun?]

Inkwell: [Bullshit! It’s not the wind! It’s got a rhythm, man, someone is deliberately knocking! Still going! I swear I’m coming up there to kick your ass!]

A girl named “SweetSpot” chimed in: [An hour of knocking? That’s kind of creepy. Does that unit have someone with a mental health issue or something?]

Seeing them argue, I felt compelled to step in as a good neighbor: [Hey, man, chill out. What building are you in? Don’t get worked up, just ask security to go check, right?]

The next message was Inkwell changing his screen name to “FinnMiller402.”

I froze.

402? That was the unit directly below mine.

He was yelling at my apartment?

But I was in Nashville on a consulting gig. Nobody was home. The place was locked up tighter than a drum.

I cautiously typed: [You’re 402? Are you sure you’ve got the right unit?]

FinnMiller402 (Inkwell): [QuestionMark.jpg. You think I don’t know where I live, genius? You must be an idiot.]

My gut clenched.

A burglar?

But what kind of burglar breaks in, steals nothing, and spends an hour playing bongos on the window? It made no sense.

Two minutes later, Finn sent another message: [I called security and the building manager. They’re on their way up. The son of a bitch upstairs is going to apologize on his knees tonight!]

As a lifelong, meek consultant (the perpetual ‘B’ party), my first instinct was to de-escalate: [I am truly sorry. I’m the owner of 502. But I swear I’m not home right now, and there is absolutely no one else there!]

FinnMiller402: [???]

BrawnyBrock: [Holy crap, a horror story?]

SweetSpot: [Maybe your parents or a relative took your key and didn’t tell you?]

HarveyReno: [Even a relative wouldn’t be banging on a window in the middle of the night, would they?]

Pierce602: [It’s a break-in, then.]

BrawnyBrock: [What kind of thief is that cocky? Trying to get caught?]

The bizarre turn of events drew out every night owl in the chat.

Just as the speculation hit a fever pitch, Pierce602 posted a video: [@SeraKnight, is this your place?]

BrawnyBrock: [Oh, Momma! What the hell is that thing?!]

SweetSpot: [That looks familiar…]

I clicked the video with a trembling hand. One look, and the blood drained from my face, a chill shooting straight up to my scalp.

My living room curtain was partially open. Right in the center of the balcony, a huge, white object was hanging.

It looked like a human-sized rag doll.

The central air was blowing directly on it, and the thing was swinging back and forth with the draft, striking the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window with a rhythmic “Thud, thud, thud.”

That was the sound Finn downstairs had been hearing.

Pierce602: [Is that supposed to be one of those old-school weather dolls?]

HarveyReno: [Who makes a doll that big? It looks like a person. @SeraKnight, did you hang that?]

I quickly denied it: [Absolutely not! Why would I hang that creepy thing?!]

BrawnyBrock: [Wait… could that actually be a person?]

SweetSpot: [How long have you been gone?]

Me: [Two days. I was scheduled to be back next week.]

Just as we started arguing about what the thing was, Finn messaged again: [Security is here. I’m going in with them to check it out first.]

2

BrawnyBrock: [My dude is a madman!]

The group chat went dead silent. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for Finn’s update.

After about ten minutes, Finn sent a chain of voice messages. His voice was shaking, bordering on a sob.

“Oh my GOD! Ahhhhh!”

“No head! God, it has no head!”

“Call the cops! Call the cops right now! It’s a person! It’s missing its head!”

He was clearly terrified, incoherent save for the frantic calls to 911.

HarveyReno: [So… a corpse?]

BrawnyBrock: [I’ve already called the police! @SeraKnight, forget your job, get your butt back here! Something huge has happened!]

Brock, despite his mouth, was quick on the draw. He sent several messages urging me to return.

Me: [Dude, I can’t. The earliest red-eye flight I can catch won’t land until tomorrow morning.]

BrawnyBrock: [Someone’s dead, and you’re flying? Can’t you take an Uber? You sound guilty! Maybe you’re the killer!]

I snapped back: [I’m in Nashville! It would take two days of non-stop driving to get back! You’re awfully quick to throw accusations—are you looking for a scapegoat?]

RyanCole302: [Alright, stop fighting, guys.]

SweetSpot: [@RyanCole302, you’ve been quiet the whole time we were panicking. Where were you?]

RyanCole302: [Seriously? I was asleep, woman! Look at the time! I’d have been out cold if the chat hadn’t kept vibrating. Now you’re going to suspect me?]

SweetSpot: [Sorry, sorry. Been watching too many true-crime documentaries. A little jumpy…]

Pierce602: [Shut up. Sirens. The police are here.]

The group chat fell into a grave silence once more.

About twenty minutes later, Pierce602 posted four words, like a boulder dropped into a deep well:

[Someone is dead.]

3

I booked the next available red-eye flight. The sky was just beginning to lighten when I landed.

The police were waiting for me at the gate.

“Ms. Knight? You’ll come with us.”

The interrogation room was lit by a sickly fluorescent glare. Detective Price, a sharp-featured officer, sat across from me.

“The victim’s time of death was between midnight and 1:30 a.m.”

Detective Price stared into my eyes. “Where were you during that time?”

“I was on a work trip in Nashville,” I replied honestly.

“Alibi? How do we know you didn’t secretly fly back, kill someone, and fly out again?”

“What?” I was stunned. “Don’t the building and the airport have security cameras?”

“Unfortunately, your building’s security system went half-offline three days ago,” Detective Price tapped the table. “And we note that you, Ms. Knight, are a security systems consultant. An expert in the field.”

“As for the airport footage, that takes time to review.”

“Now, answer my question.”

It seemed I was the number one suspect. Which, given the body was found in my apartment, was fair.

“The trip was my boss’s assignment. I was in Nashville to supervise a client camera installation.”

“Yesterday, after I finished work, I went back to the hotel. I didn’t go anywhere else.”

“No colleagues to vouch for you?”

I shook my head. “It was a solo trip.”

“However, around one in the morning, I was starving, so I ordered some takeout.”

“It was delivered around 1:15.”

“It was one of those hotel delivery robots that brings the food up. The robot should have a log, right? And the hotel lobby security would definitely show I never left.”

“That’s convenient,” Detective Price leaned back in his chair. “Hungry in the middle of the night?”

I sighed with frustration. “Of course I get hungry when I can’t sleep. Officer, a woman eating a midnight snack isn’t a crime, is it?”

As the initial shock wore off, I slowly calmed down. I hadn’t killed anyone. I didn’t need to tremble like a criminal.

“So, have you offended anyone recently?”

Detective Price changed tack. “Or who do you think would want to hurt you the most?”

“I don’t know,” I shook my head. “But I swear I’m not the killer, or I hope to be hit by a bus on my way out of here.”

Detective Price watched me for a long moment, seemingly confirming I wasn’t lying before putting down his pen.

“Save the dramatics. They don’t help. Don’t leave the city for the next few days. We may call you back in.”

“‘Us’?”

“Every resident in the building who doesn’t have a rock-solid alibi.”

Detective Price rubbed his temples. “Even though the interior security system was compromised, the exterior ones are still working.”

“Since 10 p.m last night, no one entered or left the complex except for one delivery driver.”

“Then why are you grilling me—”

Detective Price gave me a flat look. “The police don’t rule out any possibility.”

I nodded quickly. “Our complex is a little out of the way. It’s usually only delivery people and mail carriers who frequent the place…”

Wait, the delivery driver?

A flash of memory crossed my mind.

“Detective Price, I just remembered something. I don’t know if you’d call him an enemy, but he was definitely a delivery guy.”

4

It was a small incident, originally.

If Detective Price hadn’t simultaneously brought up “enemy” and “delivery driver,” I would never have connected the dots.

“About two weeks ago, I had a fight with a delivery guy, and I ended up calling the police.”

It was 10:30 p.m. that night. I had ordered a spicy Thai curry.

“You order takeout often that late?”

“Yeah, I’m a consultant. Long hours.” I continued recalling the night. “The food arrived pretty fast, around 11:00 p.m.”

“Knock, knock, knock.”

“Just leave it by the door, thanks!”

I was deep in a heated battle on my game console and just shouted out a response.

The game was a nail-biter, so I kept playing for another half hour.

When I finally remembered the food and went to the door, my instinct as a woman living alone told me to check the peephole first.

The motion-sensor light in the hallway had gone out. It was pitch black.

But in the darkness, a single red spark was flickering, glaringly bright.

Someone was squatting by my door, smoking!

My building has an apartment directly across the hall, but it was empty. No neighbor from upstairs or downstairs would purposely come all the way to my door to have a cigarette.

I instantly remembered all the online news stories about delivery drivers staking out single women’s apartments. My heart hammered against my ribs.

To confirm, I dug out the order on my phone and dialed the driver’s number.

Immediately, a phone rang outside my door, and the motion-sensor light flared on.

Squatting there, in the yellow vest, was the delivery driver.

A few seconds later, the call connected.

“Hello, can I help you?”

I backed up a few steps, trying to keep my voice steady. “Sorry, I was busy. I see the app says it was delivered?”

The driver turned and stared directly at my door, his eyes unblinking. “Oh, yes, about half an hour ago. It’s cold out, your food must be getting cold. You should grab it now.”

“Got it. I’m in the bathroom, I’ll get it in a minute.”

5

Thinking back, my excuse was weak.

I kept my eye glued to the peephole. His eyes never left my front door.

He had to know I was lying, that I’d spotted him.

But he still didn’t leave.

I retreated to the bedroom, hands shaking, and called 911.

The police arrived quickly, within five minutes. Only after I heard the commotion outside did I dare open the door.

“Officers, it’s him! He’s been squatting by my door for over thirty minutes!”

As the police pinned him down, the delivery driver stared intensely at me.

It was a look of venomous resentment—the hatred of a plan exposed—and it made my blood run cold.

But in an instant, he morphed back into a simple, harmless-looking man.

“It’s a misunderstanding, Officer, truly,” he pleaded, his face crumpled. “It’s too cold out. I just wanted to get out of the wind and wait for my next order here.”

He even played the victim, claiming he had a paralyzed mother to support at home. “I have to work constantly, I can’t quit.”

My gut told me his version of “work constantly” was less about delivering food and more about attempted home invasion.

But I had no proof.

In the end, the police could only give him a warning. He hadn’t actually touched me or picked the lock.

That was the end of it.

Later, I posted about it online.

The comments section was full of people warning me to be careful, saying people like that hold a grudge.

[OP, watch your back. Always double-lock your door!]

[The police won’t do anything about this potential danger? Do they have to wait for someone to get hurt?]

[No new orders, but he’s squatting by your door smoking? Something’s definitely wrong with this guy!]

Of course, there were also sanctimonious S.O.B.s defending him.

[Maybe he was just tired and taking a break?]

[They’re just low-income workers, trying to make a living. Don’t assume the worst.]

[Maybe he was afraid the food would get stolen and you’d ask for a refund, so he was waiting for you to bring it inside?]

Regardless of the truth, I was terrified for a week.

Thankfully, nothing happened.

I convinced myself it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, or perhaps I had just overreacted.

Slowly, the incident faded from my memory.