Tom

She had an innate distrust of charming men, but something about his easy manner warmed her up and slipped past her defenses.

Jun 16, 2025

He wasn’t the first guy to flirt with her across the counter — far from it. He wasn’t even the best looking or the most charming. But there was something about him. Something in those gray eyes and crooked smile made everything fall away and the other customers fade into the background. Like it was just the two of them, in sharpened focus.

“Kathy,” he said, leaning in to read her name tag. “I like that you spell it with a K.”

“Why is that?”

“K has more personality. It’s an interesting letter. C is round and boring and just kind of there, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess I know what you mean. But I didn’t spell it. My parents did.”

“Your parents have good taste.”

Kathy shook her head. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew my parents.” A cough from further down the line brought her back to the present, and she looked at the register. “That’ll be nine dollars and twenty cents for the gas. Will there be anything else?”

He stood back, looked around, and reached for something on the candy counter. “This.” He set a pack of Big Red on the counter, and she rang it up.

“Alright, that comes to nine thirty.” He handed her a ten, and his eyes bore into her as she counted back his change.

“You’re a lovely girl,” he said, and her cheeks warmed up. “But I guess you must hear that a lot.”

“Sir, other customers are waiting. You have a nice day.”

With a nod and a flash of that grin, he took his gum and slid out of line. Instead of leaving, he went to the magazine rack at the back of the store. She kept a surreptitious eye on him as she rang up the line of customers. He seemed to be absorbed in the array of titles before him, absentmindedly unwrapping a stick of gum and popping it into his mouth. A lot of men did tell her she was pretty, as a matter of fact, but it still made her blush and did something to her insides when it came from the good-looking ones.

He picked up a magazine and leafed through it. After several minutes, when her line had been reduced to a single customer, he brought it over. “Hello again, Kathy-with-a-K,” he said when his turn came, cinnamon wafting on his breath and complementing the musky scent of his cologne.

“Now that’s not fair. You know my name and I don’t know yours.”

“You’re right, that isn’t fair.” He laid the magazine on the counter and held out his hand. “I’m Tom.”

She shook his hand, and he gave hers a gentle squeeze. “Nice to meet you, Tom.” She turned the magazine around to see the price better. “Guitar Magazine. Do you play?”

“Not as well as I’d like, but I’m learning. What about you?”

Her father had bought her first guitar when she was five years old, with visions of sending his virtuoso daughter to college on a classical music scholarship. He hadn’t counted on her falling in love with Jesus and devoting her talents to leading other hippie Jesus freaks in worship instead. “I play a little.”

“I’m actually thinking of selling mine. It’s acoustic, and I’d rather get an electric.”

“What kind is it?”

“It’s a Martin.”

Kathy’s eyes widened. “That’s a really good guitar.”

“Really?” He gave her half a grin and half a shrug. “I wouldn’t know. It was a hand-me-down.”

“Well, that’ll be eighty cents for the magazine.”

Tom pulled out a dollar and handed it over. “I’ve got it in the car, if you’d like to come and take a look.”

“Oh, no thanks,” she said, handing back two dimes. “I’m not in the market for a new guitar. Especially not one that nice.”

He leaned his head back and seemed to consider her as he pocketed the change. His gaze drifted to the cross pendant beneath her throat, and her hand went to it, pulling it against its chain and zipping it back and forth. “Tell you what,” he said. “It’s not like I need the money. Nice girl like you, I’d be willing to cut you a deal.”

She stopped fiddling with the cross and held it stretched out before her, as if for protection. “What kind of deal do you have in mind?”

He laughed at the note of suspicion in her voice. “Not that kind. I can tell you’re a nice girl. That’s refreshing nowadays. Just take a look at it. If you want it, it’s yours. No strings attached.” He looked around at the otherwise empty store. “Looks like you don’t have any customers right now. Come on, let’s go take a quick look.”

Kathy looked out at his van, a green Volkswagen. It was tempting, but it just seemed too good to be true. Before she could give him an answer, a big-haired blur rushed past her line of sight and the bell over the door jangled. “Sorry I’m late!” Wanda waved as she hurried past the counter and headed for the employee lockers, leaving a trail of Aquanet fumes and cheap perfume. “Just let me stash my purse!”

“No rush!” Kathy called after her. She turned back to Tom. “I’m sorry. I can’t leave while I’m on shift.”

She wasn’t sure he heard her. His gaze had followed Wanda, and the smile fell from his face, replaced with a look of annoyance. But he glanced back at her and flashed that grin. “I need to get going anyway,” he said, rolling up the magazine. “I lost track of the time. But I’m staying at the Sea Breeze motel, just down the street. Room 6. Come by after you get off work. You can bring a friend if you don’t trust me.”

That made her bristle. “It’s not that,” she said, even as a little voice in the back of her head said that maybe it should be. “It’s just that I’m working.”

“Right. It’s cool, I get it. Look, I gotta go, but come on by. Really, you’ll be glad you did. It’s a great guitar.”

“I’ll think about it. No promises.”

“Good enough,” he said as he backed away from the counter. With a wink, he turned and headed out the door.

“Who was that?” Wanda asked as she emerged from the back room. She peered out the large windows, watching him walk to his van. “Mmm, mmm! What a tall drink of water!”

“He’s just a customer.”

“Did I hear him invite you back to his motel?”

Kathy shrugged it off. “He says he has a guitar to sell me. Or give me, if I like it.” At the look Wanda gave her, she swatted her arm. “It’s not like that. He’s just a nice guy.”

“Mmhmm. You sure about that?”

“Well, no. I just met him. And don’t worry, I’m not going. My mama didn’t raise no fools.” She looked back wistfully as the van drove off. “Although, he did say I could bring somebody with me if it would make me feel safer. He wouldn’t say that if he was planning to rip my clothes off when I got there.” She turned back to her co-worker. “Would he?”

“I don’t know, honey. All I know is if a man who looked like that waltzed in here and invited me to his motel room under whatever pretense, I can’t say as I’d be telling him no.”

Kathy chuckled. “Good thing you’re not me, then. Do me a favor and take over here while I take out the trash.”

It took her a while to empty all the bins and replace the bags. She thought about Tom and his proposition while she worked, wondering if she was making a mistake. And not just about the guitar.

He seemed harmless enough, and he was certainly handsome. She kept wondering if those gray eyes ever turned blue under the right conditions. She had an innate distrust of charming men, but something about his easy manner warmed her up and slipped past her defenses.

Besides, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a foolish thing to give up the chance at a free guitar, especially one as nice as a Martin. She wasn’t sure where her reservations were coming from, but by the time she lugged the trash bags out to the Dumpster behind the store, she had almost talked herself out of them.

She drew up short outside of the exit at the sight of a green Volkswagen van parked near the garbage bin. Her heart pounding, she stood frozen, not knowing what to do.

The passenger window rolled down, and a freckle-faced girl with a knitted kerchief on her strawberry blonde head leaned out. “Hey, can you help us? We’re lost.”

“We’re not lost!” said the driver, a young man who Kathy could see now was not Tom. “I’m just trying to read the map!”

“Well, this lady’s right here, so we might as well ask for directions. You don’t even have to go in!”

Laughing at her initial reaction, Kathy relaxed and carried her burden to the Dumpster. “What are you trying to find?” She heard sirens in the distance as she threw the bags in and then went to the young woman’s window. They grew louder, and she had to strain to hear what the girl said. She had to wait as police cars -- several of them -- sped past, their sirens wailing, before she could tell them where to go.

“Thank you,” said the girl. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I would’ve found it,” she heard the young man say as the girl rolled up the window. Kathy stood back and waved as they drove off, and then looked in the direction the police had gone, wondering what they were all in such a hurry to get to.

By the time she finished her shift a few hours later, her own optimism, combined with Wanda’s goading, had convinced her to take Tom up on his offer.

The motel was only a few blocks from the gas station, but she drove her beat up Datsun there in the hopes that she’d be leaving with the prized guitar. When she pulled into the motel parking lot, her chest constricted at the sight of a police cruiser parked before one of the rooms, Tom’s van nowhere to be seen. As she drove closer, she could see that the door to the room stood open, and yellow police tape had been stretched across the opening. The tightness in her chest moved down and became a sinking feeling in her gut as she realized it was the door to room 6.

Her throat suddenly dry, she wanted something to drink. She also wanted to know what the heck was going on. She made her way to the motel diner, parked her car and went inside. Seating herself at the lunch counter, she chose a stool facing a little color television that was broadcasting the local news. A female reporter stood in front of the hotel, with a familiar green van parked behind her, surrounded by police cars. Kathy felt herself sliding into shock as the reporter’s words sunk in.

“Federal authorities believe Goddard is responsible for the disappearance of dozens of young women and girls across multiple states. The months-long manhunt for this alleged serial killer has culminated here at Kissimmee’s Sea Breeze motel, where local police apprehended Goddard just moments ago. Officers tell me that he’ll be remanded into Federal custody following interrogations regarding the local disappearances of Betsy Anne Walters and Denise Helen Jenkins.”

As the reporter spoke, a smiling picture of Tom appeared in the top right corner of the screen, with the name Tom Allen Goddard emblazoned beneath it. Kathy suddenly became lightheaded and felt herself sliding off her stool. A strong arm gripped her. “Whoa there!” said the burly older man seated beside her. He helped her settle back onto the stool. “You okay?”

“I…” She couldn’t form words. Her mind was racing too fast.

A waitress hurried over and set a glass of water in front of her. Kathy picked it up and gulped it gratefully. “Are you alright?” the waitress asked. “Do you need a doctor?”

Kathy set down the now empty glass and shook her head. “I’m… I’ll be okay.”

“You sure? You look like you seen a ghost.” She glanced back at the TV and motioned toward it. “‘Course, after all that, we’re all feelin’ a might shaky here. Can you believe it? A serial killer, sleepin’ right here in this motel.”

Kathy swallowed. “No.” Her voice rasped. “I can’t believe it.”

“You really are in shock, aren’t you?” said the man next to her. “Did you know his victims?”

She shook her head. She didn’t add that she had been on her way to becoming one of them.

“Is there someone I can call for you?” the waitress asked her.

Her hand found its way to the cross around her neck of its own accord. “No,” she said, “I’ll be okay. I’m just feeling really grateful to be alive.”

She stayed until the news switched to another story. Then she thanked the waitress and returned to her car. She prayed all the way home, thanking God for his mercy. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder as she walked from her parking spot to her front door, and locked and bolted the door behind her once inside.

Kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag by the front door, she went straight to the phone, picked it up and dialed.

“Hey Dad,” she said when he answered. At his surprised concern, she said, “No, everything’s fine. I’m alright. I just… I guess I just needed you to know that.” Easing down onto the sofa, Kathy visited with her dad until she felt safe again.

Thanks for reading!

I hope you enjoyed that. I’m not sure what to call it, as it’s not exactly horror, and too sedate to be a thriller, but it’s certainly adjacent to both of those. More like a fictionalized brush with true crime, inspired by a true story.

“Tom,” as you probably guessed, is based on Ted Bundy. This story was inspired by a comment I read a short while back — though not so short that I can recall exactly where I read it or who left it — in which someone shared the account of their aunt (or possibly grandmother) having had a similar close call with the real-life serial killer.

Kathy had a higher power watching over her, but she also had her own instincts warning her off, which she failed to heed. Let this be a reminder to us all to pay attention to those inner alarm bells that tell us when we’re in the presence of a predator, no matter how nice or charming they may appear.

Want to read more of my short stories? Here are a few you might enjoy: