The Trick

Fred rang the doorbell. He could hear the music coming from behind it, the voices. As the door opened, his mouth widened into a forced smile. "Hel-lo," he sang, vigorously shaking Paul's hand, "and how are you?" Paul sighed. "Fine, fine." "Great place. Looks like the party's getting underway", Fred said, laughing for a reason Paul couldn't quite fathom. "Yes," he said, "just put your coat upstairs on the bed and join us. Second door on the right."
Fred hopped up the stairs. Before he could reach the second door, he noticed that the first door was ajar. He looked around, then opened the darkened room with obvious curiosity. "Hello?" he asked superfluously. "Anybody there?" He fumbled for the light switch. The sight of the room made his jaw drop.
Lining all four walls from top to bottom were literally thousands of pictures of him, Fred, obviously taken without his knowledge or consent. In between them were all kinds of news paper clippings, each of which detailed some act of gruesome violence. Stabbings, murders, rapes, torture --every wall was full of it. Some clippings and photos were stained with some red liquid.
Fred stood silently in the middle of the room, turning occasionally but unable to avoid seeing himself and the clippings. After several minutes, he left the room, went downstairs and got out of the house. He started the car and was seen driving away by Alan. "Wasn't that Fred driving off?" Alan said to Paul, who opened the door for him. "It could be", said Paul, "but I don't mind. He's really an annoying and nosey person. I hope I never see him again, to be honest."