My next door neighbor turned out to be a serial killer

I wasn't going to post this but it keeps coming back to me so here it is.

There was a man who used to live next door to us. Turned out he was a serial killer. When it came out, it was ALL over the news, total media circus. I'll call him A, because writing his real name feels both legally sketchy and just... gross.

According to the news, he killed two people. A woman and a young boy, both strangers to him. He got caught when I was 13. Up until then he was just. A normal neighborhood guy.

I said hi to him all the time. Even now thinking back, he was just some ordinary middle-aged dude. Nothing off about how he looked or acted. Nobody thought anything was weird. I still vaguely remember my parents saying stuff like "Mr. A next door is such a nice guy, it's a shame he hasn't gotten married yet."

But there was one thing. One thing that always stuck with me even before I knew.

He spoke formally. Like, formal polite speech. To everyone. Including little kids.

There's one conversation I remember SO clearly. I was in first grade, walking home from school, and I ran into him on the street.

"Hi mister!"

"Ah, B. Did you have a good day at school?"

"Yeah, just got out."

"The weather is quite nice today."

"Yep."

"What are some things you like, B?"

"Cream puffs!"

"Is that so."

"And flowers too."

"Is that so."

"What about you mister?"

"I'm not sure I know."

That was the longest conversation I ever had with him.

Seems kind of goofy right? Like a weird little exchange.

When I found out what he'd done I was shaking. My whole body. And at the same time it suddenly hit me why all those answers were so strange.

"I'm not sure I know."

A grown man who didn't know what he liked. Spoke to a first grader like they were an adult. Just. Existed next to us for years.

I still think about that conversation.