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Gordon Northcott
In February of 1928 the headless corpse of a small boy was discovered in a ditch in Puente, California. When two more Mexican boys, brothers aged eight and ten, went missing later that spring, investigators soon focused on Gordon Northcott. The ranchowner from Riverside made his guilt obvious by immediately fleeing to Canada. Police found the head of the boy found in Puente during their search of Northcott’s isolated home and soon arrested his teenaged nephew and his mother, Sarah, both of whom admitted assisting Northcott with the crimes. Found and extradited back to the US, Northcott went to trial with his nephew as the star witness. The boy told the court how his uncle had sexually abused his victims and then beat them to death. Northcott defended himself and for some reason refused to plead any kind of insanity defense despite two psychiatrist’s opinion that he was mentally deranged. Subsequently found guilty, the child-killer was sentenced to death and hung on October 2, 1930. Northcott’s nephew was set free in exchange for his testimony while Northcott’s mother, Sarah, was sentenced to life for assisting in one of the murders. Northcott eventually broke down just before his death and claimed to have murdered twenty little boys, though it should be noted that he had made several similar statements proved to be false.
On the morning of April 12, 1981, 14-year old Sheila Sharp left a next-door sleepover and returned to Cabin 28 at the popular Keddie Resort, where her family had been living for the past two months. What she found there would cast a permanent shadow over this bucolic vacation spot in the northern Sierra Nevadas of California. The walls and furniture had been destroyed and were covered with blood. Amid the chaos were the bound, mutilated and nearly unrecognizable bodies of her mother Glenna Susan “Sue” Sharp, 36, her brother John, 16, and his friend Dana Wingate, 17. Her sister Tina, 13 was missing; three younger children, her two other brothers and their friend, were unharmed in another room.
John Sharp and Dana Wingate had hitchhiked to Keddie from Quincy, Calif., the night before, possibly after a party. Either awaiting them, accompanying them, or soon to follow them were the killers, who used duct tape and electrical wire to truss Sue, John and Dana Wingate, as well as Tina Sharp. Then, over the course of ten hours, the killers brutally attacked the group—and their surroundings—with steak knives and a claw hammer. The next cabin was a mere 15 feet away, but neighbors and passersby didn’t hear a thing.
Tina Sharp wasn’t there when police arrived, but subsequent investigation showed that she had been there part of the night. The friend who’d been in the other room was able to convince police that Tina had indeed been there, and helped them determine that there had been two assailants and put together sketches of the pair. The killers were never caught. Some think the neighbors who’d invited Susan Sharp to a bar that night (she declined) were involved—the list of accusers at one time included one of the men’s own wife. Other locals whisper about Satanic worship; yet others suggest there was a drug connection, either through the two young men or in a case of mistaken identity.
In a gruesome coda, Tina’s head was found three years later near a waterfall fifty miles down the hill. The case has never been solved.
The once-welcoming Keddie Cabins would subsequently fall into disrepair. Longtime owner, Gary Mollath, tried to sell the place and renovated it, but the tragedy made the once-beautiful place unattractive. After a period of decay and infestation by squatters, he again rented some of the cabins, but Cabin 28 remained empty, becoming the object of rumors of hauntings. Locals say they’ve heard moans and the sound of slamming doors from the abandoned building and seen shadowy figures. Mollath’s stepdaughter recounts once seeing the word “no” scrawled on the house’s door, with a pitchfork propped beside it—the next day, both the writing and the tool were gone. In 2004, Mollath razed Cabin 28.

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He is just totally consumed with murder all the time.
King County Detective Robert D. Keppel, on Ted Bundy (via thethorninhisside)
Wanted Poster for the Zodiac Killer.
Jeffrey Dahmer with his mother and father as a baby.

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On September 8, 1963, DeSalvo killed his eleventh victim, fifty-eight-year-old Evelyn Corbin. He arrived at her door after trying several other apartments and failing to find a suitable victim. DeSalvo told her that the superintendent had sent him to check for leaks in the windows. At first she wouldn’t let him in. Often in such cases, DeSalvo used a clever twist of psychology: “Well, if you don’t want the work done, I’ll go. It’s your apartment.” Like all the others, Corbin eventually opened her door to DeSalvo. Once inside, DeSalvo drew his knife and put it to her neck. He said that the first thing she asked was, “You’re not the Boston Strangler, are you?”
Peter Vronsky talking about Albert DeSalvo, The Boston Strangler, in his book Serial Killers: The Method and Madness of Monsters (via brvtalbrodeo)
Coral Eugene Watts was the first known serial killer in the nation’s history to have legally acquired immunity, and at one point it even looked as if he would be released in 2006 in spite of having committed between 80-100 murders. When a detective said that he did not have enough fingers and toes to count all the murders he committed, Watts replied that there were not enough fingers and toes in the room. (There were four men in the room.)
Usually serial killers are said to kill people of their own race. However Watts, who was an African American, killed whites mostly.
He admitted to killing females because he saw evil in their eyes. He drowned women in a bathtub in order to prevent their spirits from escaping.
He was not caught for many years because he killed in different jurisdictions and different states. DNA tests also didn’t prove anything because he did not dally with his victims, unlike other serial killers.
The kidnapping and rape of Kristen French by Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka :
WARNING: DISTURBING CONTENT
When the young, attractive blond woman in the shiny sports car called out to Kristen French for directions, Kristen did not think twice. Kristen blithely walked the fifty yards to where the car had pulled up in the Grace Lutheran Church parking lot. The woman opened her door and stepped out, Her hair was held back in a ponytail. She had a map in her hand.
Before Kristen could study the map, the guy who had been sitting in the driver’s seat was behind her with a knife and the girl had jumped into the backseat. Although Kristen tried to put up a fight, the man was to strong, and once he had pushed her into the backseat, the woman grabbed her long hair and pulled hard. She was unable to move and they slammed the doors shut.
When she cried out the man told her to shut up or he’d slit her throat. After they pulled into a garage, the man put a blindfold over Kristen’s eyes.
Karla and Paul now had Kristen in the garage of their nice little Port Dalhousie home. Karla ran upstairs and disconnected all the phones.
It was just after 3 in the afternoon when Paul guided Kristen into the upstairs washroom across the hall from the master bedroom. The blindfold swaddled her forehead like a big wide bandage. He had tied it at the base of her neck, allowing her long dark curls to flow freely. Paul focused the lens of his video camera on her thighs while Kristen urinated. When she asked for toilet paper, he handed her a role and she politely thanked him.
Finding her maroon bikini briefs, Kristen hastily pulled up the beige elastic top and began tugging on her green leotards straightening them above her knees and pulling them up, along with the navy and white Georgetown boxer shorts. Paul noted they were covered with fierce cartoon bulldogs. He liked that. As Paul peered through the viewfinder, a red mark blossoming on Kristen’s lower lip was evident, a memento of her belligerent struggle with him.
Later, Kristen sat on the gray carpet in the master bedroom drinking the orange juice that they had given her.
“Tell my dick you love him,” Paul whispered, kneeling beside her and putting her hands on the erect penis which he had released from his blue jeans.
The camera was unmoving, sitting on chair across the room, as she cried and fumbled with his genitals. Ice T’s ‘Original Gangsta’ blared on the boom box. Every other word sounded like ‘bitch’ or ‘nigger.’
“Tell me you want me to be happy. So maybe you can go home later.”
“I want you to be happy,” Kristen said, but Paul shook his head.
“You suck good cock-you sure you never done this before?” Kristen shook her head.
Cradling her chin, Paul instructed her to remove her clothes. “Please,” Kristen cried, but he made her take off her underwear as well. He picked up the camera and zoomed for a close up, telling her to “Spread your cunt for me. Do it with your fingers.” When he zoomed back to take a shot of her face, it was etched with distress.
Kristen vomited so badly her blindfold came off. Paul called Karla and she cleaned up. They took off her clothes and there was blood on her turtleneck. Paul had accidentally cut her neck in the sruggle in the car. Karla dabbed it with peroxide and put a bandage on it.
Karla served chicken for dinner, and Kristen talked about her boyfriend Elton Wade and her dog Sasha. Kristen picked at her dinner. There was no more blindfold.
After, Paul entered Kristen roughly from behind while Karla focused furiously with the camera, even when Kristen cried out in pain.
“Shut up,” Paul told her, positioning himself and grabbing a handful of long brown curls while LL Cool J intoned, come on fool.
Then Paul raised both of his hands and pounded his fists into her back with tune of the music. He told Kristen to lower her hips and arch her back.
“Smile,” called Karla as Paul bent over Kristen, turning her face to the camera.
Over the next few minutes, Kristen told Paul she loved him 26 times. Each tortured phrasing was different. I’m bad, rapped LL Cool J.
Paul and Karla gave Kristen sleeping pills that night so she would not cause a fuss or try to escape.
The next morning, Kristen bathed in the Jacuzzi.
Karla and Kristen dressed up as schoolgirls afterwards. The two stood in the bathroom, and Paul said “do that stuff girls do.”
On the counter, bottles of perfume and make up were laid out. Kristen’s freshly permed curls billowed around her shoulders as she swept Karla’s powder brush over her face.
Karla droned on about various perfumes, and Kristen played along. Paul asked them to lift their skirts up at the same time and give him a nice “ass shot.”
Through his lens, Paul saw there was no comparison. Karla wore white underpants that bunched unattractively between her cheeks.
At dinner, Paul went out to get McDonald’s pizza. They tied Kristen up, because she was bigger and stronger than Karla. There was 6 o clock news report on Kristen’s kidnapping.
Paul rented Karla’s favourite movie, Criminal Law, with Kevin Bacon and Gary Oldman, and Angel Heart, a dark thriller about voodoo and ritual sacrifice starring Mickey Rourke. When Paul came back he was angry that Karla had let Kristen see the news report, which had Kristen’s dad pleading for his daughter’s safe return. Kristen was crying and had thrown up.
That night Karla and Kristen knelt together on the bed dressed in schoolgirl costumes. “Dont be nervous, it’s okay,” said Karla.
“Am I shaking?” asked Kristen.
“No just, try to feel at home,” Karla said in a friendly tone.
As she lay back on the bed, Kristen pulled a knot from her long hair. The fan whirred above her. “If I close my eyes, I’ll fall asleep.”
“Trust me, you won’t,” said Karla, telling Kristen she was a pretty girl.
“You’re pretty too.” said Kristen, saying that when she first saw them her first thought was “Holy cow, she is pretty!”
Karla knelt between Kristen’s legs and began giving her head. Kristen said Karla must be an expert at this, but Karla said “trust me, I’m not.”
Paul wanted Kristen to give Karla a hand job, and so Kristen put her fingers into Karla. “Are my nails hurting you?,” inquired Kristen. Karla said “no, it feels real good.”
Kristen’s face was half buried between Karla’s legs when Paul asked her to smile. Kristen put on the biggest grin she could manage and said, “I love Karla.”
“I like little girls,” said Karla.
“Thank you,” replied Kristen.
“I love you Christian,” said Karla, getting her name wrong.
Paul later punished Kristen later for not giving him head properly. He started having anal sex with Kristen on the floor. She defecated on him and called him a bastard. He made her sit in the jacuzzi and urinated on her. He slapped her face with his semi erect penis.
“Don’t make me mad. Don’t make me hurt you,” he said. “You’re a fucking piece of shit. But I like you. You look good covered in piss.”
The fellating of Paul Bernardo left Kristen gasping for air. Once, when she raised herself to her knees to speak at his request, Karla thought she saw him holding a flashlight behind his back. In fact, he was clutching a knife in his left hand.
“All the Holy Cross girls want you,” Kristen told him.
Thirty seconds later, Paul was holding Kristen’s mouth to his penis while he ejaculated. He told her to “keep it inside.” Kristen remained motionless.
The next day, Paul turned on the video camera just as Ice T’s Power boomed over the stereo. Karla smiled as she put the neck of a wine bottle up Kristen’s vagina to the rhythm of the music.
“Put it in there hard, Kar. Ram her hard. She called me a bastard.” Kristen was handcuffed with her hands behind her back, kneeling on the ground, still dressed as a schoolgirl.
Kristen winced as Karla brought the bottle in and out more than forty times. “Forgive me, please, I’m very sorry,” she begged.
“Nasty bitch,” Paul said, entering Kristen’s vagina. “Who am I? Who wants me?”
“Pardon me?” Kristen asked. She started on her scripted lines about him being the “master,” him deserving “better,” deserving to “fuck every girl” in her school.
When he entered her anally, Kristen screamed out in pain. She buried her head in the ground, warning him she was going to defecate. She apologized 8 times, but he continued to grind into her buttocks. “Fuck you,” said Paul. “Lick my ass, bitch,” he instructed Karla, and she did.
Kristen said the lines she had been ordered to say: “You have a very beautiful wife. And you really stick together. All the girls at my school want to fuck you because you’re the most powerful and sexiest man in the world.”
She told him she deserved to be punished and he was “the king of kings.” When he achieved orgasm, he sat back on his haunches. “You happy?” asked Kristen. “That’s what matters, as long as you’re happy. You and your wife.”
Paul pulled back and slapped her buttocks lightly. He slumped against a wall and ordered Karla to go get him Kleenex. “What are you, a fucking idiot? Bring the whole box,” Paul grumbled to Karla.
“I don’t know how your wife can stand being around you, cause….” Kristen began.
“Just shut up, okay,” Paul said.
Karla switched off the camera. This was the last rape video Paul and Karla made of Kristen. Awhile later, Paul strangled Kristen to death with the same cord he used on Leslie Mahaffy.
Paul leaned into Kristen’s ear, asking her “What do you know about death?” He strangled Kristen before she could answer. One of Kristen’s last words were, “Some things are worth dying for.”

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“Sometimes, afterward, I visited her there… to be near her… because I loved her and wanted her.”
- Ed Kemper, talking about one of the victims he had buried in a secluded area in the Santa Cruz mountains.
Arthur Shawcross was born in Maine, but the family moved to Watertown in New York State when he was young. Shawcross dropped out of school in the ninth grade, and when he was 19 he enlisted in the army. He fought in the Vietnam War where he was to later confess he had murdered and cannibalized two young Vietnamese girls, although there is nothing to back up this claim.
Back in civilian life, living in Watertown once more, Shawcross married four times, but his wives invariably left him after a short time because of his violent and erratic behavior. It was there, in May 1972, that he murdered 10-year-old Jake Blake. He lured the boy to some woods where he assaulted and strangled him. Four months later, he raped and killed an eight-year-old girl named Karen Ann Hill. Arrested for these crimes, Shawcross confessed to both murders but was later able to obtain a plea bargain with the prosecutors. He would plead guilty to killing just Karen Ann Hill on a charge of manslaughter, instead of first-degree murder, and the charge of killing Jake Blake would be dropped. With little evidence to go on, prosecutors went along with this, and the self-confessed double child killer was given a 25-year sentence. Shawcross served 15 years before he was released on parole in March 1987. He had difficulty settling down as he was chased out of homes and fired from workplaces as soon as neighbors and employers found out about his criminal record. Eventually he settled in Rochester, New York, and lived with a woman named Clara.