Hi everyone, I’m an ex-con and not very computer literate, but I stumbled on this website and have been enjoying reading everyone’s stories, so thought I’d share my own. I served a ten-year prison sentence between 2001-2011, and possibly, I met a man who could be considered the world’s most unknown serial killer.
It was back in 2011, when I had about six months left on my sentence, and I won’t disclose his name (for obvious reasons) but we shared a cell for those last six months. He was in for fraud. A three-year stretch. It might have been more. Can’t remember. He was in his late fifties and to put things simply, didn’t look like no con. Skinny, glasses, and always reading a book. At yard time he would always be playing chess and I heard he never lost a game in all the time he was there.
Anyway, I didn’t really speak to him much at the start, but after I told him I was getting out and was struggling with some paperwork (not the best at writing), he helped me out. I was grateful and afterwards we became more friendly.
But it was the night before my release that he told me his own story. I’d got hold of some moonshine and we started drinking and swapping stories like you do in prison. Mostly bravado and bigging yourself up.
Well, I must admit, we got pretty drunk, and that was when he told me his story. Now, at the time, like you reading this, I thought it was all bull****. We were drunk and I didn’t believe a word, just thought it was a deranged man rambling … but, once I had got out … well … Let me tell you his story first and what I found out afterwards.
He confessed that night that between 1970 and 2010 he’d killed one hundred and fifty-five people. He told me he killed his first victim when he was twenty-three, but knew it was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life by the time he turned fifteen. Just said it was a calling, like that of a priesthood.
He said he found his particular speciality were roads—mainly motorways. He’d wait in the rest stops in the dark, waiting for someone to pull in. Drunks were his particular favourite. The easiest of kills. Like taking candy from a baby. They’d be snoring in the front seat in the rest stop, trying to snooze off their ten beers before they got caught by the police, and he said he’d watch them while they slept, their heads pressed back against the head rest, mouths open as they rested.
He told me it became too easy, driving across the country, waiting for drunks. It got boring. So he graduated to couples. His favourite were university couples. Young sweet things with the whole life ahead of them. It gave him an incredible buzz to take a life with so much potential. They’d drive out to a nearby highway rest stop to make love, and in the darkness he’d watch them before getting to work.
Afterwards, he told me he used to video tape the news report which always showed the pretty young blonde smiling. Smiling at him from the TV. Then they would show the vigils, candles in the hands of those who were thankful it wasn’t them. A crying parent. A teacher who barely knew the student speaking about their potential greatness. A potential that would never come to be.
He used to categorize the news reports and play his favourites at night. Like how you would put on a movie. He’d sit down with pizza and wine and watch those news reports, reminiscing about different victims over the years.
Now, of course, I didn’t believe a word of it. Who would have? We were drunk and by the time he had finished, I felt pretty sick about it all. Of course, I wanted to smash his face in … but I couldn’t, I was getting out in the morning. And he knew that. And later on I guessed that’s why he told me. He was teasing me.
Well, anyway, it was the last part he told me that made me wonder. There was a girl murdered in the 90s called Alisha ******. I won’t reveal her full name but you can google it and it will come up the article. Everyone knew that case. It was big story in my country.
But that night he told me it was him that committed the murder. Asked me if I wanted to know where the body was buried?
I told him he was a sick ******* but he told me the location, anyway.
You should have seen the smile on his face. It was like all this time he had been playing a game with me, waiting for the night I got out to tell me. Test me, sort of.
In the morning he only stared at me blankly as I left my cell. And let me tell you, I’d been around murderers and gangsters all my life, but that look on his face was something else. I can still picture it sometimes when I close my eyes. Those cold dark eyes.
And then for the next six months after my release I thought what he had told me about that famous killing. The location of that poor girl. I would even find myself in the middle of the night trying find more information about the case, cross checking what that man had said. It came to the point where I started suffering from deep anxiety about it all.
Of course, I would never go to the police since I’m old school, but I dunno, it sometimes gets to me. I reckon he was just lying but I thought I’d get the story off my chest.
Anway, I’ve enjoyed reading your guys stories, so thought I’d share my own. I continue looking forward to reading others stories as it helps my anxiety. Thank you for reading and god bless.