The off-campus house at 1122 King Road in Moscow, Idaho, looked exactly like thousands of other student rentals across America: slightly worn paint, mismatched furniture, the faint smell of takeout and laundry detergent. It was home to four University of Idaho seniors—Ethan Chapin, Xana Kernodle, Madison Mogen, and Kaylee Goncalves—who had built a tight-knit world inside its walls. Newly released photographs from the Moscow Police Department show that world in its final, untouched hours: a snapshot of ordinary college joy captured just before the early morning of November 13, 2022, when an intruder ended four young lives.
One image shows the living room in soft evening light. A pink flag with white lettering—“Saturdays are for the girls”—hangs above the couch like a declaration of friendship. Throw pillows are piled haphazardly; a blanket is draped over the armrest. The coffee table is a typical student still life: empty red Solo cups, a crumpled chip bag, a phone charger snaking across the surface. In the background, a whiteboard calendar lists midterms, a roommate’s birthday, and the urgent reminder “RENT DUE!!!” in bright marker. The scene feels lived-in and loved, the kind of casual clutter that only exists when people feel safe and happy.
Another photo captures Madison Mogen and Kaylee Goncalves sitting on the floor, legs crossed, iced coffees in hand. Both are smiling directly at the camera—Madison in an oversized hoodie, Kaylee with her hair in a loose ponytail. Their faces radiate the easy comfort of lifelong best friends who had known each other since middle school. The third-floor bedroom they shared would become the primary crime scene, but in this moment it is invisible; the photo shows only warmth and laughter.
Ethan Chapin and Xana Kernodle appear in a separate frame on the sectional sofa. Xana leans her head on Ethan’s shoulder while they look down at a phone screen together. The intimacy is quiet and natural—the small, unguarded gestures that define young love. Ethan, wearing a simple T-shirt, has one arm around her; Xana’s hand rests lightly on his knee. The string lights draped across the room cast a golden glow over them, turning an ordinary evening into something tender and timeless.
The kitchen tells its own story. Takeout containers from local spots crowd the counter beside a bottle of cinnamon whiskey and a stack of unopened mail. A full knife block stands prominently—later confirmed not to contain the murder weapon. A sliding glass door to the back patio is visible in one exterior shot; investigators would later note it was likely unlocked that night, offering an easy entry point. The basement level, where the two surviving roommates slept, appears undisturbed in the released images—a silent reminder that the attacker moved with purpose, targeting only the upper floors.
These photographs were taken in the days and hours before the murders. The four friends had gone out earlier that evening—Ethan and Xana to a fraternity party, Madison and Kaylee to a downtown bar called the Corner Club. They returned home separately in the early hours. Autopsies later determined they were stabbed multiple times between approximately 4:00 and 4:25 a.m. Kaylee and Madison were found in the same third-floor bed; Ethan and Xana were in a second-floor bedroom. The surviving roommates reported hearing what sounded like crying and a male voice but did not see the intruder. They called friends over before contacting police around noon, initially thinking someone had passed out.
The Moscow Police Department released the images as part of continued efforts to provide transparency and counter persistent online misinformation. The photos contain no forensic overlays or annotations; they are raw glimpses of life interrupted. They show no signs of struggle because the struggle had not yet begun. That ordinariness is what makes them so devastating—proof that violence can invade the most mundane spaces without warning.
Bryan Kohberger, a criminology PhD student at Washington State University in Pullman, was arrested on December 30, 2022, in Pennsylvania. Prosecutors allege his white Hyundai Elantra was captured on surveillance video circling the King Road neighborhood multiple times in the weeks before the murders, including on the night itself. Cellphone data placed his device near the house repeatedly. DNA from a Ka-Bar knife sheath found beside Madison Mogen’s body was matched to Kohberger through investigative genetic genealogy. He has pleaded not guilty to four counts of first-degree murder and one count of felony burglary. His trial is expected to begin in 2027 after multiple delays related to evidence disputes.
The house itself no longer stands. The University of Idaho purchased the property in 2023 and demolished it in December of that year to create a memorial garden for the victims. The decision was made with input from the families, who wanted the physical structure gone while preserving the memory of the lives lived inside it. The garden now features four trees, benches, and plaques bearing the names and photos of Ethan, Xana, Madison, and Kaylee.
For the families, the newly released photos are both gift and wound. They offer one more moment of seeing their children happy, carefree, surrounded by friends—yet they also serve as a brutal reminder of what came next. Parents have spoken publicly about the pain of knowing their sons and daughters were laughing and planning their futures mere hours before they were taken. They have asked the public to remember the victims’ personalities, dreams, and kindness rather than fixating solely on the accused.
The Moscow community still carries the scars. The town of roughly 25,000 people felt paralyzed in the weeks after the murders. Students left campus early for Thanksgiving. Businesses saw foot traffic drop after dark. The case fueled national conversations about campus safety, the reliability of genetic genealogy in criminal investigations, and the psychological toll of living in a place where four young people were killed in their sleep.
The photographs from 1122 King Road endure as silent witnesses. They show a home filled with laughter, friendship, and the small chaos of young adulthood. They show life as it was—until it wasn’t. In their quiet ordinariness, they carry a powerful warning: safety can vanish in an instant, and the most precious moments are often the ones we never think to protect.
