February 28, 1988, saw some early signs of springtime life for bitterly cold Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Lots of townspeople were out walking that day to release some of that pent-up winter energy. Two of those townspeople would make the local news for their frightful discovery near McKinney Drive and Happy Jack Road (a hell of a place to discover something so macabre).
At first, they didn’t know what to make of the blanket wrapped around something on the ground just off the road in a culvert. A feral dog was gnawing at what they first thought was a child’s toy doll.
Three mighty thunderclaps shattered the tranquility of the Anderson house on placid Sandy Ridge Drive in the Hickory Ridge area of Baton Rouge. It was around midnight, September 11, 2017.
22-year-old Corey was watching Netflix in his room when he heard the gunshots.
Thinking they were from down the block, he peered through the hallway. What he saw shocked him to the core: someone was standing at the front door shooting into their house with a pistol.
The glass in the front door shattered, the pieces hitting the wood floor and shattering like icicles in winter as Corey’s…
The tall drink of water with the Texas Ranger badge walked into the interrogation room. He sat across the table from the unassuming little man who lived to please anyone he perceived as an alpha. The media dubbed him, “the Confession Killer.”
Unlike some of the small-town detectives who made the trip from out of state to talk to his prisoner, Texas Rangers know bullshit when they smell it. Henry Lee Lucas reeked of it.
The Confession Killer was a violent vagabond, a drifter with zero propensity to control any impulse he felt. He definitively killed three people. …
“The eyes are not responsible when the mind does the seeing.” — Publilius Syrus
Fear compelled her heart to build up to a terrifying and deadly 100 mph crescendo…
Shallow, rapid half gasps emanated from the 62-year-old widow as her skin turned a pallid blue… the Monster garroting her with steel wire from her kitchen.
Slow… FAST! … Slow… FAST! … Slow.
The hands of the Monster were possessed by the brute strength of a seasoned bare-knuckle boxer and the dexterity of an accomplished concert pianist — completely enveloped by fury spawned in the latter circles of hell.
The Houston Mass Murders sent the Lone Star State and the world reeling in a spiral of moral repulsion and righteous anger. The case also exposed a rabid, multi-tentacled monster hiding in 3 men showing signs of an under-reported psychological curiosity.
Six rapid-fire thunder bolts rocked the tiny hallway in the house on Lamar Drive. All finding their mark.
Trigger cocking hammer igniting primer firing round. One fluid motion, six times. All coldly mechanized in the lean, metal death machine 17-year-old Elmer Wayne Henley Jr. wielded like a fierce, adrenaline-possessed Zeus atop Mount Olympus.
As the God of Lightning slew…
Samantha’s crying cranked in David’s aching head like a Dante-esque buzzsaw from one of the inner Circles of Hell. It was Friday night, April 13, 1973.
He. Could. Not. Take. It.
His week was hard enough.
Oh, WHY did I drink so much tonight? he thought as he tried to get much-needed rest in the next room while waiting on the children’s parents Clive and Elsie to arrive home from Elsie’s shift as a popular local bartender at the Punchbowl Tavern.
They should be only about 20 minutes, David reassured himself, pillow over his head to try to keep out…
This started as a letter to my cousin who is graduating high school this year and wants to be a writer.
2. Avoid technical jargon whenever possible.
3. Hook your audience from the first word, sentence, and paragraph.
4. Keep paragraphs short, especially if you are publishing your piece on the web.
5. Avoid adverbs whenever possible as they tend to muddle up sentences.
…he had to run like hell. The bad men can’t get him. He has to make it back to Suzanne. What the hell is happening? Branches, leaves, foliage pummeled his face and body. Yet kept a tight grip on a wad of cash. He didn’t know the denomination… but Suzanne knew his habit.
He had to run like hell. RUN LIKE HELL!!
He stumbled… the breath being sucked out of his lungs by a superhuman strength pointed into a banshee’s scream rivaling the howls of the most powerful nor’easter. Primal, VISCERAL, with every cell and neuron: Suzanne. Suzanne… SUUUUUZANNE! SUZANNE!
It angered him beyond belief.
His married boyfriend did absolutely nothing to further THEIR relationship. Why couldn’t he come out? Why couldn’t he commit?
Just thinking of it made his head throb with the palpable intensity of his heart. He heard the beating in his ears and head.
THUMP thump. Thump. thump Thump — a flash of searing pain shot through the space behind his eyes.
He kept the anger conscious as he looked at the teenager bound in front of him in the dilapidated barn.
The circular saws passing through his head were intolerable. …
What the hell is happening in the Louisiana capitol?
A simple answer: simply mass hysteria combined with one — allegedly real — murdering psychopath.
Law enforcement wants to set the record straight.
Some patently false information has been circulating about a suspected serial killer after two women were found in or near the Mississippi River. Posts circulating here and here allege, “Serial killer in Baton Rouge. Police say he bumps women’s cars and then when you pull over pulls a gun and tells you to get in his car. 3 women have been found in the Mississippi river.”