Gizi, my Vizsla, and Mosby, my Weimaraner, Patapsco Park. Just after hunting in the reeds growing along the pond. Nikkromat, 24mm. Kodak TRI-X. NIK Silver Efex Pro.
I offered her my seat which she declined by shaking her head and said "you have further to go". I wonder how she knew my coffee wasn't nearly strong enough.
I offered her my seat which she declined by shaking her head and said "you have further to go". I wonder how she knew my coffee wasn't nearly strong enough.
I wrote this little vignette a couple weeks ago; just thought I would share. It's a mildly disturbing story told from the perspective of a murderer. I wouldn't suggest reading if you get squeamish!
I spent months searching for the perfect family. Eight months, two weeks, and two days, to be exact. It was April 4th, 1994, one day before I'd commit my first murder. I had been thinking about and planning the murders since my 15th birthday, but I didn't find the family until after my 30th.
I followed them home that day. It was actually a little inconvenient because they made a couple stops on the way and I had assumed they'd live in the city, but they lived a little ways away in a small village called Carrollton. Tanglewood Drive was crowded with several houses, each had its own family, but this one was mine. It was perfect. I watched the boy and his mother walk into the house carrying bags of groceries. I made a note of the house number, thirty-nine fifteen. I knew I'd be back soon.
I went back several times. I saw the husband and another young boy, about 15 years old. The boy had brown hair and he kept to himself mostly. I don't think he had many friends, just a yellow dog the family called "Charlie." I quickly discovered that the boy was deaf. I didn't catch his name for awhile because no one called him the way they did other members of the family.
Daniel wasn't home often. I'm still not sure what he did for a living. Charlotte stayed at home a lot. She seemed to be very close with her youngest son, Will. She was truly beautiful. She reminded me of my own mother. Will was an extremely active boy, which did worry me some, but he was small and I knew I could overpower him so long as I didn't let him escape.
Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, it was the day before the murders. I'd soon force my way into their home. It's not that I was particularly angry or felt underprivileged or anything. I was pretty positive about my life. I still am. There was just something about the idea of killing someone. I didn't think it would be fun. I was only curious.
I went through multiple scenarios in my head and I felt I had covered everything I needed to. I was finally ready.
I woke up the next morning, more well-rested than I thought I'd be. I did everything I always did on a typical Tuesday. I did some work from my office, laundry, called my grandma and talked for an hour or so. I talked to her as if nothing else was on my mind. I know she suspected nothing. She would have asked. I relaxed in my home for the rest of the day. After dinner, I put on some music and read a little from my favorite book and before I knew it, it was time for me to leave.
As I made my way to the house, I was surprisingly calm. I knew that things would work out in my favor. I had memorized the rooms in the house, the schedules of all of those living there–I knew precisely where each member would be at any given time. This is one thing of which I was very proud.
I arrived just after 9pm. Will had been put to bed and Charlotte retreated to her own upstairs. Daniel stayed in the study until ten o'clock every night. When he was home, anyway. And he was that night. The other boy went to bed between 9:00 and 10:00, but he stayed in his room from about 8:00 until he woke up each morning. From what I gathered, he really enjoyed making model planes, I guess because it was something he could do on his own. He didn't have to ask for help. I studied him the most. I wondered what it would be like, not being able to hear.
It was time. Luckily, the house next to theirs was empty. I was able to walk through the vacant backyard to theirs without any problem. They never locked the backdoor, so I just let myself in. I locked it behind me though. Through the backdoor was the kitchen. That's where I picked up my first weapon, a very sharp knife. I made my way to Will's bedroom. I just couldn't let him escape. I was happy to find him lying on his back and peacefully asleep. I took my knife to his throat and cut him. When he opened his eyes, I realized I did not cut him deep enough. Before he could make a sound, I twisted my knife into his neck. When I pulled it out, Will's sheets absorbed the blood that erupted from his throat. I had never seen such a display. I thought it would be slightly more sickening, but the satisfaction I felt was indescribable. I looked forward to the next kill. Daniel was next.
I walked through the living room, but as I approached the study, something caught my eye. I had hoped I'd find a better weapon than a knife, something I could use at a further distance. That's why I was so delighted to discover that the family had a working fireplace, complete with all the tools for maintaining it, including my second weapon choice, a fire poker.
I gently pushed the door to the study. Daniel didn't look back until I was halfway in the room. He yelled something I couldn't understand just before I made my first jab at his stomach. He screamed in agony and grabbed at his wound. I started at him again and he raised his arm in an attempt to block me, but the poker caught his hand in the last moment and pulled his hand apart, almost in two pieces. His thumb hung loosely from his flesh. I pushed the fire poker into his stomach again and he fell to the floor. I pushed it into him one more time, this time into his heart. I left the poker in his chest.
I ran to the boy's room whose name I still did not know. I had kept the knife on me, so when I got to his bedside, I held the knife up to the boy's throat and I waited. Charlotte burst into the room. She had seen her husband dead and let out one scream. It was the last she'd ever make. I told her not to make a sound or I would kill her boy. She pleaded with me, "Don't hurt my son. Not Luke." I told her I wouldn't, and although he was my favorite, this was a lie. I quickly stabbed Luke in the chest five times. Charlotte tried to escape, but I pulled her back into the room by her hair. I pulled a little too hard–her body slammed into the wall, knocking a few model planes off their shelf. She rubbed the back of her head and tried to get up, but by then, I already had her pinned down to the floor, my knees securing her arms. I put my knife the only place I could reach: her face. I shoved the knife into her head four times; once in her eye, once in her cheek, and twice in her ear. She was not recognizable. She was dead.
I went back to Luke, barely breathing but still alive. I slashed his throat, this time pushing the blade in deep enough.
It was finished. I washed the weapons thoroughly and put them back where I got them. I traced my steps back to my car and I drove away, making my way home. I took the scenic route.
