Fletcher's Room: A Silent Memorial to America's School Shooting Toll

Fletcher Merkel, 8 years old, was killed in a school shooting at Annunciation Catholic Church and School in Minneapolis on August 27, 2025.
He's not with us the way we want him to be, but this is the best we have.
Fletcher's father explains why his family preserves their son's bedroom as a memorial.
Mark

Why did you decide to keep the room unchanged? Wouldn't that be harder—seeing it every day?

Mimi

For us, changing it would feel like losing him twice. The room holds him the way he was. His worn shoes, his journal with that joke about the cookies—that's Fletcher. That's what we get to keep.

Mark

And the documentary—opening the room to strangers. How did you come to that?

Mimi

We realized early on that our grief was happening in isolation. But Fletcher's death wasn't isolated. It's part of something much larger. If showing his room helps even one person understand what this actually costs, then we have to do it.

Mark

What do you hope people feel when they see it?

Mimi

Not pity. Understanding. The recognition that this was a real boy with real interests and real plans. He was going to grow up. He had a future. And then he didn't. That's what we want people to feel.

Mark

Do you think it will change anything?

Mimi

I have to believe it will. Because the alternative—that nothing changes, that more rooms stay frozen like this—I can't accept that. So yes, I have to believe it.

  • A child's bedroom in Minneapolis has become one of the most intimate monuments to America's school shooting epidemic — not by design, but by loss.
  • Jesse and Mollie Merkel face the impossible tension between preserving their son's memory and confronting the unbearable stillness that preservation requires.
  • The family has opened their grief to public documentation, believing that visibility — letting strangers stand inside Fletcher's world — may accomplish what policy and outrage have not.
  • A Netflix documentary, 'All the Empty Rooms,' is actively expanding its archive of these memorial spaces, with filmmakers committed to continuing as long as the shootings do.
  • The project lands not as closure but as an open wound with a purpose: each room a material argument that this cannot be allowed to remain normal.

In a second-floor bedroom in south Minneapolis, the life of eight-year-old Fletcher Merkel — killed in a school shooting at Annunciation Catholic Church and School on August 27, 2025 — has been held in careful stillness by his parents, Jesse and Mollie. They have chosen not to erase the room but to preserve it as testimony: worn shoes, half-built Legos, a journal with a successful cookie heist recorded in a child's hand. Their act of witness is now part of 'All the Empty Rooms,' a Netflix documentary cataloguing the bedrooms America keeps leaving behind. In the accumulation of these spaces, a quiet and devastating argument takes shape about what a society has permitted to become ordinary.

In a second-floor bedroom in south Minneapolis, time has stopped. Fletcher Merkel was eight years old when he was killed in a shooting at Annunciation Catholic Church and School on August 27, 2025. His parents, Jesse and Mollie, have kept the space exactly as it was — not as a frozen shrine, but as a living record of who their son actually was.

For the Merkels, preserving the room is an act of witness. "It's one of the most personal monuments to who he was as a person," Jesse said. Mollie described the room as essential to her memory of him — without it, she fears something irreplaceable would slip away.

The room tells the story of a boy in motion. His shoes, bought just three weeks before his death, are already worn through. A beloved blanket sits frayed at its corner. Shelves hold Legos mid-construction, Green Bay Packers memorabilia, a Cub Scout uniform, and a cluster of plants he called "Fletcher's Garden." His journal records, among other things, an elaborate and apparently successful plan to steal cookies from the kitchen jar.

The Merkels are part of "All the Empty Rooms," a documentary project that premiered on Netflix last March. Created with photographer Lou Bopp, it documents memorial bedrooms across America — spaces that have become unintended monuments to the country's school shooting epidemic. The filmmakers plan to continue as long as families open their doors and the violence persists.

Jesse and Mollie understand that sharing their grief serves a purpose beyond themselves. "I want people to maybe have a tiny glimpse of, 'What if that was me?'" Jesse said. When asked whether it would change anything if all of America could stand in Fletcher's room, both parents said yes. "As a human, you have to say this can't happen to anybody else," Jesse said. The room, then, is not only a memorial — it is a quiet, material, and unbearable argument about what the country has allowed to become normal.

In a second-floor bedroom in south Minneapolis, time has stopped. The room belongs to Fletcher Merkel, who was eight years old when he was killed in a shooting at Annunciation Catholic Church and School on August 27, 2025. His parents, Jesse and Mollie, have chosen to keep the space exactly as it was—not as a shrine frozen in grief, but as a living record of who their son actually was.

For Jesse and Mollie, the decision to preserve Fletcher's room is an act of witness. "He's not with us the way we want him to be, but this is the best we have," Jesse said. "It's one of the most personal monuments to who he was as a person." Mollie added that keeping the room intact feels essential to preserving her memory of him. "If the room's not his, I feel like that memory—like I won't feel it the same way," she said.

The Merkels are part of an ongoing documentary project called "All the Empty Rooms," which premiered on Netflix last March. The work, created with still photographer Lou Bopp, documents these memorial bedrooms across America—spaces that have become unintended monuments to the country's school shooting epidemic. The filmmakers have visited many of these rooms over the years and plan to continue as long as families are willing to open their doors and as long as the violence persists.

Fletch's room tells the story of a boy in motion. His shoes, purchased just three weeks before his death, are already worn through. A blanket sits on his bed, its corner loved to threads from constant use. The walls and shelves hold the architecture of his interests: Legos in various states of construction, Green Bay Packers memorabilia, a Cub Scout uniform, and plants he had arranged into what he called "Fletcher's Garden." He kept a journal too. One page outlines an elaborate plan to steal cookies from the downstairs jar, complete with a triumphant note at the bottom: "This plan was successful."

Jesse and Mollie understand that opening their home to documentation serves a purpose beyond their own grief. "I want people to maybe have a tiny glimpse of, 'What if that was me?'" Jesse said. For Mollie, the visibility matters differently. "It's really important to me that people know who he was," she explained. In the beginning, she said, it was bugs and animals that captured his attention. "Constant energy," Jesse added, describing the boy who lived in that room.

When asked whether they believe it would change anything if all of America could stand in Fletcher's room and feel what they feel, his parents said yes. "They have to feel it," Mollie said. Jesse put it more starkly: "As a human, you have to say this can't happen to anybody else." The room, then, is not just a memorial to Fletcher. It is an argument—quiet, material, and unbearable—about what the country has allowed to become normal.

They have to feel it. As a human, you have to say this can't happen to anybody else.
— Jesse and Mollie Merkel, Fletcher's parents
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