The letter seemed strange enough itself, and it would only get weirder. It came in the mail, “Please come to the coffee shop at nine.”
    It seemed innocent enough, go to the coffee shop, meet an old friend from high school, have a conversation, leave. I leave my house, and clouds form in the sky as I go to the local coffee shop and see him. He looks the same, brunette man with piercing blue eyes, but his tall muscular body seemed paler, more frail despite his big frame.
“Hi, Michael. It’s been so long”
It's only been five years Patrick.” I say defensively. “What have you been up to?”
He tells me about his life. That he had become involved with a girl, was going to ask her
to marry him. I felt  like a grown up for the first in many years and it became easy to talk to one another after about ten minutes and I felt like we had grown up into the people we were meant to be. We realized the time, almost 6 pm, and made plans to meet again next week. We parted ways and as I walked home I began to feel like I finally wasn't alone anymore.
I came home and found a newspaper on my doorstep opened to the obituaries, and at the top of the page it read “In loving memory Patrick Monroe” and I gasped as I read the note stuck to the newspaper:

YOU'RE NEXT