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…
They had been arguing. Again. Her voice was a mix of nails on a chalkboard mixed with microphone feedback. His head felt near exploding.
He had to do something.
Alberto had no idea what sparked it. All he remembered was his hands throttling his mother’s throat and staring into her eyes as the life slowly drained. After a while, she was no longer writhing under him.
Yet, the voice continued, ‘what have you done Alberto?’
‘What have you done?’ WHATHAVEYOUDONE? whathaveyoudone?
He had to do something.
What he chose to do that day would be labeled ‘the most heinous crime…
82-year-old Robert Edge Sr. was a man known for his love of his family, the outdoors, and working with his hands. He served with honor in the military. His family did not worry about sending him to the Louis A. Johnson Veterans’ Administration Medical Center when the long, arduous fight with dementia took its inevitable turn. Their dad had more than earned top-notch medical care as the sun set on his life well-lived.
They could not have anticipated that dementia was the least of their worries at the V.A.
A literal “angel of Death” was creeping through the hospital. Her…
Why couldn’t he just do it himself? She wondered in her not-so-subtle way. She stopped short of full-on histrionics… for now.
Valerie is a veteran NYPD officer. And she is expecting me to kill her ex-husband and a teenager? MY teenager? This has gotta be her bipolar talking.
“You’re kidding,” he said, to no response.
It was almost too surreal for John to believe. It took a few moments to sink in. He just looked at her frozen with shock and a horrible moral realization: I don’t think she’s kidding.
Did she really just ask me to kill MY daughter?
The Stranger made his way to the poor, black section of town — “the negro quarter”, as it was called — finding an axe stuck in a stump as he worked his way there.
It was late evening as “Sign of the Judgement” thundered from the open door of the local black Baptist Church. “How appropriate”, he thought.
“I am the Sign of the Judgement! And tonight I shall have blood!”