Welcome, my little demons, to the NEW monthly feature at Killers And Demons. This feature will take you on a deep dive into some of the evilest minds to have scoured the earth. Serial killers are indeed a unique brand of killer. It was my desire to capture the horrifying nature of such a beast in each of my novels. I wanted to write a book that would capture the complexity of the serial killer and display the depth of such a character. Thus, I dug into the real and the terrifying. Inspired by such books and shows as MindHunter, Criminal Minds, and True Detective, I wanted to weave a tale that would have the reader immersed in a homicide investigation driven to examine more than just the clues. I wanted to take the reader on a journey into the psyche and behaviour of the monster behind the murders. After researching dozens of serial killers, it became apparent to me that these creatures all have a similar set of traits, or components. Thus, our first serial killer feature takes a look at Edmund Kemper. Edmund is a main focus on the first season of MindHunter. I watched this first season twice. Both times I was hypnotized by the words coming out of fictional Edmund’s mouth and the way in which he spoke. After digging into the facts of Edmund, I was horrified and stunned at the realization that he did in fact do everything they showed on the TV series version of him, and more. Edmund is one of the scariest serial killers. Why? Today we talk about his fantasy, his ability to blend in, his tortured child hood, and his ability to obtain a clean slate. His fantasy was extremely clear and vivid. He knew exactly what his end goal was as he practiced the act of murder on a series of victims. In the end, the main thorn in his heel was his mother. Locking him up on multiple occasions with the excuse that she thought he would molest his sisters, and reinforcing her brutal opinion that her son was worthless on countless occasions with verbal attacks. He simply wanted to shut her up, and shut her up he did. In the end, she was his final kill. At least that we know of. He beheaded her, sexually violated her head, and tossed her vocal chords in the garburator. He lived out the fantasy he’d been practicing for. He was a sneaky bugger. Pulled over for a tail light issue, he was so charming and relaxed, the police officer sent him happily on his way. Despite the two bodies that were hidden in his trunk. We may never know how many times he slipped under the radar. He blended in so well, he was a favourite amongst the cops down at the neighbourhood pub. They claimed he was a friendly and likeable guy. Yes, blend in he did.Edmund was tortured early on in his life. The physical and verbal abuse aside, he was tortured internally. He loved to play ominous games having his sister help him to pretend to the was being sent to the gas chamber. Cats couldn’t go around him without a horrifying end. When he was sent to live with his grandparents, he killed them. He started with his grandmother, later claiming that he wanted to know what it felt like to kill a person. His grandfather saw the end when Edmund decided he didn’t want grandpa to live without grandma. Was that the truth? Or did he like the kill so much he wanted another? Either way, he ended up calling in dear old mom for help. Despite the admittance, he was only fifteen, and thus he was institutionalized for a time, then released with a clean slate. It could have been his ability to sway the psychological assessments he underwent in the way he wanted them to go. Or at least it appears so. Why would his slate be clean? He was deemed to he the perfect example of rehabilitation. And why would he later be allowed to assist with the assessment of other inmates and the development of tests for fellow criminals? It’s all rather shocking. If this doesn’t chill your bones, then I don’t know what would. Please come back for next month’s feature on the scariest serial killer. If there is a serial killer you would like featured, pop your suggestions in the comments below.
The third body
Hiding in a dark, wet cave
Crouched in a corner
Staring with a single, glassy eye
Peering through a wild tiger’s mane, voluminous and orange
A bright fire against the cloak of darkness
Legs pressing against tight pleather
Threatening to rip right through
Face thick with layers of cream
Like a papier mache doll
The third body, vacant, waiting, in the back of the dark, wet cave
For Detective Mahoney to discover the clues
Figure out their bizarre meanings
And piece them together
Creating a trail to a sick monster
The first corpse was found in the woods by a little girl with bouncing blonde curls and pink boots.
This first corpse yanked Detective Mahoney from his sunny side ups and hurled him into a dark vortex in one foul swoop.
The first corpse with long dark curls, painted porcelain skin, and deep intersecting lacerations marking the work of a sadist.
The first corpse is the one that will haunt Detective Mahoney until he finds the sick psycho that left the body on a bed of leaves. Continue reading “The First Corpse”
Here I was again. In a book store, standing beside the table that I had fussed over – making sure that everything was in just the right place. I stood up tall, facing the less than spectacular crowd, and tried to ignore the feeling of doubt washing through me. Thoughts speared my brain. This is stupid. No one wants my book. What am I doing here?
We’ve all been there. Maybe you have done a book signing, maybe you haven’t. I am sure, however, that you have all had similar thoughts and feelings in some situation.
A book signing is honestly one of the hardest things that I’ve ever done. It is soul sucking. There you are, like some kind of jack-ass, telling people as they walk by that they need to buy your book. Yes, I am a local, self-published author that decided to write a book because I had this deep, burning desire within me to tell at story, and you now, some random stranger who was just going about your day, you need my book. It will change your life.
It is absolutely 100% a-okay to celebrate the S!$T out of something you did that you are very happy about.
And, as I am telling you this, I will admit that I just re-learned this lesson again a few days ago. I know – to truly celebrate you can be hard.
I worked for two years writing and producing my first novel. It is infused with things that I am passionate about. 80s heavy metal. Serial killers. Detectives and criminal profiling. And wilderness.
For an entire week leading up to the 80s Heavy Metal Party / Book Launch that I had planned, I was seeping self-doubt and dripping with a feeling that I was a self-indulgent m!#er f%&er. Yes. But – I have a tool box now for when I have these feelings. I rid myself of negative thoughts and replaced them with positive and exciting ones. And I worked on my energy – I tapped into that inner glow, that inner WHAM BAM that people see in me. I let it swell within in, a growing ball of powerful punch, until it was ready for the PARTAY! Thus, I put myself out there now to show you that it is totally OK for you to celebrate you!!!
When the launch day came, I eased into it. All my hard work and planning was done. Everything was in place. I let go. I allowed myself to truly enjoy and be in every moment. And guess what? I celebrated like an 80s rock star!!!
When you completely tap into your inner energy, your true being, things just flow. You know that feeling? No resistance. Just flow. Your energy is good. It vibrates in a warm, happy way that attracts other people.
The last couple of years have been a wild ride as I ventured down the path to writing my first novel, which turned out to be an 80s Heavy Metal Serial Killer Thriller. Yes. When I first starting writing it, characters and scenes materialized within me. And I doubted a lot of it. I thought it was just too weird. I wasn’t sure if I should write this book. It seems funny to recall those thoughts now. A lot has happened between then and now. I met a lot of really cool, interesting, supportive people. And guess what? They’ve made me realize that I am weird – and that’s just fine. The people that were already in my life also supported me every step of the way – both my writing and my weirdness.
So, on this particular day, in all my inner glam demon glory, my energy shone and I floated along my path of to-do items – all in the name of launching a Serial Killer Thriller infused with criminal profiling, ritualistic murder scenes, heavy metal, and everything 80s. Thus, it is fitting that the launch will be a spectacular 80s party. 80s clothes. 80s hair. 80s music. Glam. Rock. Metal. It will be a blast.
As I swirled along on the 80s vortex, my first stop took me to Melodiya Records. This place is COOL. You need to check it out! On the hunt for a couple of cassettes that I still have’t found…I found one of them.
It’s time for me to deliver on my promises.
I promised you a journey back to the time of 80s heavy rock, big hair and tight pants.
I promised you a murder case driven by re-enactments of a dark fantasy and ritual.
I promised to sweep you away to another time and another world.
It’s almost time to deliver the full package, the 80s Heavy Metal Infused Serial Killer Thriller, in it’s entirety.
To satisfy your desire, for the time being, here is a chilling snippet from the first murder scene. The scene in which Detective Mahoney is yanked from his morning sunny side ups onto a dark path. A path that would take him spiralling down to the vortex of underground heavy metal, death and doom.
Remember a time when you had to walk across the street and knock on the door to talk to your friend?
Remember a time when you tied up the only phone line in your house all night, every night, until your parents got you a separate line?
Remember a time when you would pick up the telephone only to hear the crackling noise of the dial up Internet followed by your dad demanding to know who ruined his connection?
Remember a time when you laid in bed at night listening to the top ten at ten on AM radio?
Remember a time when finding the start of your favorite song required a series of skillful button pushes …. rewind, stop, play, stop, fast forward, stop, play, stop, rewind, stop, play, stop, rewind, stop, play…aaaaaah.
My book is NOT perfect.
I picked up the hard copy proof of my first novel today. Yes. After almost two years of hard work, I now hold this glorious, glossy piece of work in my hands. I’ll try not to stroke it too much, but I can’t promise anything.
I did try to make it perfect. For a while. Until one day my husband said to me, “You know you’re book won’t be perfect.” He knows me and my obsessive ways all too well. He was trying to save me from myself and my tendency to nit pick at something until I’m bleeding from the inside out.