Does this make me a bad person?

A few weeks ago, I started to suspect that the kid who lives across the street had done away with his family.

I mean, he's kind of a sullen teenager, but that's normal. The only thing was, he was the only member of the four-person family who I saw going in and out of the house for more than a week. And all of their cars were in the driveway the whole time. Normally the father, a realtor, comes and goes at all hours of the day and night. And you'd see the mother and the little sister around here and there.

But it was only the son. For more than a week.

I started concocting scenarios about how it could have happened. Perhaps there had been a fight--I'd heard them before. A horrible accident. Whatever. I just knew that the kid was around, but there was no sign of his family.

One day, I saw him taking garbage bags into the house. Black ones. "A-HA," I thought, "He's disposing of something!" And that something was, doubtlessly, the remains of his missing family.

Except, well, I saw his dad pull out of the driveway with the little sister the next afternoon. I've seen them all again since then, alive and well. And that's where the title of this here post kicks in.

Because I was disappointed that he hadn't gone on a killing spree.

Maybe I wanted to live across the street from a creepy "murder house." Maybe life here in suburbia is just a little too dull. Maybe I've seen Rear Window a few too many times. Whatever.

Just don't judge me too harshly, hypothetical reader. Murder in the suburbs can be interesting. Just ask Tom Hanks.