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"Is this for real?" It's all the teenage girl could think to ask as the boy, who had been her knight in shining armor a few hours ago, began cutting off her clothes with a hunting knife. Rhonda Louise Williams, a 15-year-old, thought she was rescued from an abusive, drunken father by a 17-year-old friend, Elmer Wayne Henley. Instead, she was taken to a man who was almost responsible for her death. From 1970 through August 1973, Dean Arnold Corll raped, tortured, and murdered more than two dozen boys and young men in Houston and Pasadena, Texas. Corll often jammed cloth rags into his victims' mouths and wound adhesive tape tightly around their faces to silence their screams. It's no wonder. Every single one of the victims whose bodies were discovered under a boat shed had been sodomized. Their pubic hairs had been plucked out, and sometimes, their genitals had been chewed. Others also had objects inserted into their rectums. Some suffered the excruciating pain of glass rods pushed into their urethra and smashed into sharp bits of glass. Medical examiners say the first victim's tongue stuck out over an inch beyond his teeth. The third victim's mouth was gaped so wide that his upper and lower teeth were exposed. He must have died screaming. Is the word "vicious" adequate to describe these heinous crimes? How about "violent," "bloodthirsty," "perverse," or "savage?" Our friendly Roget Thesaurus is filled with possibilities. Yet, all seem to fall short of the horrendous mark in the story of this homicidal maniac. In the first week of August 1973, this three-year murderous rampage in Houston was almost over. Unfortunately, there would be one more victim. On August 5, 1973, one of Corll's teenage accomplices, David Owen Brooks, shared a pizza with James Stanton Dreymala, a 13-year-old from South Houston. The two spent 45 minutes together. Poor kid didn't know this pizza would be his final meal, his last supper. But Brooks did. He would be paid $200 for the child. Brooks kidnapped the small, blond boy and delivered him to Corll. After that, the child was tied to a torture board, raped, and strangled to death with a cord before being buried in a boat shed. Dreymala is believed to have been Corll's 28th victim. Three days later, Corll was ready to kill again. Wayne Henley, who, like Brooks, was offered $200 per victim, lured a 19-year-old, Timothy Cordell Kerley, to Corll's home in Pasadena, Texas. But Henley didn't stick to the plan. Instead of just bringing Kerley to Corll's home, he also brought Rhonda Williams along. And Corll was pissed. However, Corll, a 33-year-old Air Force veteran, seemed to calm down after a few moments. He even offered the three teenagers beer and marijuana, which the trio shared. Kerley, Williams, and Henley also sniffed paint fumes. At the same time, Corll glared at the three, with demonic fantasies of sexual perversion swimming through his fevered brain. These three teens had fallen into this sexual sadist's trap. The three teenagers soon passed out thanks to the beer, pot, and paint fumes. They awoke to find themselves in a living Hell. Henley regained consciousness first. His eyes opened as Corll was snapping handcuffs onto his wrists. He tried to scream but couldn't. Henley's mouth had been taped shut, and he discovered his ankles had already been taped together. Beside Henley lay Kerley and Williams. Both were tied at the wrists and ankles with nylon rope, and adhesive tape covered their mouths. Kerley was naked. "Man, you blew it by bringing that girl," Corll growled when he noticed his accomplish was awake. Corll shouted, "I'm gonna kill all of you. But first, I'm going to have my fun!" He began kicking the teenage girl in the chest, connecting with all his might not just once but several times. As Williams lay on the floor, desperately trying not to vomit into the tape covering her mouth, Corll picked Henley up and dragged him into the kitchen. He pushed a .22 caliber pistol into Henley's stomach, threatening to kill him on the kitchen floor. Henley pled for his life, promising he would help Corll rape and torture the other teenagers if only Corll let him live. For thirty long minutes, Henley sweated and begged, hoping that he would live to see the sunrise one more time. Finally, Corll relented. Henley would be allowed to live only if he agreed to rape, torture, and kill the girl. Corll, he said, would do the same to Kerley. After Henley agreed, he was untied. Corll carried Kerley and Williams into a bedroom. Both were then tied to opposite sides of his plywood torture board. Williams was on her stomach, and Kerley was tied to her back. "Here, take this knife and start cutting off the girl's clothes," Corll said. As Henley went to work with the hunting knife handed to him by Corll, the older man began cutting off Kerley's clothes. Williams awoke, asking, "is this for real," just as Corll, who was naked now, began assaulting and torturing Kerley. Henley, cutting off Williams's clothes, stopped his work long enough to assure her that this was not a nightmare from which she would awake. This was all happening, and, yeah, it was all only too real. Williams screamed, "aren't you going to do anything about it?" Kerley, fully awake now, began shouting and shrieking. His terror and pain were overwhelming. Henley asked Corll if he could move Williams into another room but was ignored. Corll was too busy with Kerley to respond. So, Henley grabbed Corll's pistol and yelled, "you've gone far enough, Dean." Corll couldn't believe one of his accomplices would turn on him like this. He got off Kerley. "I can't go on any longer!" Henley pointed the pistol at Corll. "I can't have you kill all my friends." Corll, still naked, walked toward Henley. "Kill me, Wayne. Do it!" The pistol trembled in Henley's hands, and he stepped back a few paces. "You won't do it." Corll moved toward Henley. But Henley did do it. He fired one shot, the bullet striking Corll in the forehead. However, the .22 slug did not penetrate Corll's skull, and the killer continued to walk toward Henley. Henley, with this naked lunatic who'd been shot in the head, blood streaming down his face, still lurching toward him, fired twice more. The bullets slammed into Corll's left shoulder. But he still kept moving forward. In fact, he ran from the room, slamming into a hallway wall. Henley fired again. Once, twice, three times. His aim was accurate. Corll was hit in the lower back and shoulder. The man who'd raped, tortured, and killed more than two dozen boys and young men, slid slowly down the wall and died where he fell. (Dean Corll, laying dead) As Henley looked down on Corll's dead, naked body, his only thought was that Dean would have been proud of him. Corll had trained Henley to constantly react to danger quickly and forcefully, and that's just what he'd done. November 2, 1945: On her way to a high school football game with friends, a fourteen-year-old girl vanishes after driving away with a man who says he needs a babysitter. The FBI unleashes its top kidnapping expert, an agent who helped bring John Dillinger down. Will that be enough to find the girl and her abductor? Agents chase the suspected kidnapper from California to Illinois and back again. Arrested in Los Angeles, he admits abducting the child. He also tells the FBI he killed the girl and threw her body into the Pacific Ocean. A search for her corpse proves fruitless. Then, when all hope is lost, authorities discover the skeleton of another young woman who's fallen victim to this madman. Ready for another twist? The wife of the man who made that discovery is found dead at the bottom of the cliff. During the accused killer's trial, women around the country fall in love with the handsome monster and literally break down the doors of a courthouse to get close to him. Wild enough for you? Wait. After the child's killer is convicted and sentenced to the gas chamber, a scientist shows up and says he can bring the murderer back from the dead. The Murder of Thora Chamberlain: A Shocking True Crime Story: This is the wildest, most shocking, true crime story you've ever read. Click here and start reading now...

May 14, 1983: It’s 1:10 a.m. Officer Michael Sterling and Sgt. Mike Howard are halfway through their shift, patrolling the streets of Mission Viejo in their California Highway Patrol squad car. After yesterday’s warm spring day, the temps are comfortable now. The forecast calls for drizzle later this morning, but so far, the weather’s perfect. It’s been a slow night for Sterling and Howard. Unusual for a Friday night/Saturday morning shift. Only one DUI bust so far, a guy driving drunk southbound on the San Diego Freeway near El Toro. Now, Sterling — the taller of the pair, with thick black hair on top and a Charles Bronson thick black mustache over his lip — and Howard, clean-shaven, at the age of 37, twelve years older than his partner, are cruising north on Interstate 5, in Mission Viejo. Traffic’s light, as usual, this time of the morning. So, Howard and Sterling have no trouble spotting a Toyota Celica that’s weaving in the right lane. It’s not a question of someone driving too fast. The problem is the car’s going off on to the shoulder, then bouncing into the next lane. “He’s got to be either drunk or sleepy,” Sterling, a three-year CHP veteran says. Howard, who’s clocked twelve years on the force, agrees and they follow the Toyota for nearly a mile before lighting up their patrol car. The Celica driver doesn’t try to get away. He pulls over as smoothly as someone have trouble keeping his car between the white lines can, and parks on the shoulder. As Sterling and Howard approach the Celica, Sterling on the left, Howard on the right; the driver empties a beer bottle on the pavement and walks toward the officers. Sterling puts out a hand to stop the driver, a guy who looks to be in his late 30s, and walks him back to the front of the Celica. Talks to the driver for a bit, then checks his license. Guy’s named “Randy Steven Kraft,” and is 38 years of age. Lives in Long Beach, California. Howard continues walking toward the Toyota on the passenger side of the vehicle. He’s got his right hand on the butt of his gun, already unfastening the holster strap. Someone’s sitting in the front seat, man or woman, he can’t tell, but they aren’t moving. As Sterling administers a field sobriety test to the driver — who fails miserably — Howard taps on the Toyota’s passenger window and uses his flashlight to look around inside the vehicle. The man, who looks to be in his twenties, is slumped forward. A jacket covers his lap. Empty Moosehead beer bottles, several dead soldiers, are laying at the guy’s feet. There’s an open prescription bottle with pills on the floorboard, too. Meanwhile, Sterling handcuffs the drunk driver before stashing him in the back seat and informing him he’s under arrest for driving under the influence. Then he walks back to the Toyota, to join Sgt. Howard. By now, Howard’s tried just about everything he can, from outside the vehicle, to get the passenger to move. After failing to get a single response, Sterling opens the door and reaches in to shake the guy’s arm. It’s cold. The arm is ice cold. Howard moves the jacket laying over the guy’s lap. Oh for christ’s sake. The guy’s jeans are open, his cock and balls are hanging out. Oh fuck, thinks Howard. This is more than a drunk-driving stop. A lot fucking more. Howard grasps the man’s cold wrist. Nothing. No pulse. But he sees welt marks on the man’s wrist. He quickly checks the other arm. Wicked red strips on that wrist, too. Howard puts two fingers on the side of the man’s neck. Again, nothing. No sign of life. But Howard sees a ligature mark around the guy’s neck. This man’s been strangled, the officer decides. Sterling verifies they’ve got a dead body in the front seat. Immediately they call the sheriff’s office and paramedics. And yeah, the sarge agrees, this is a hell of a lot more than just another drunk driving arrest. After the Toyota’s towed to forensics, and Kraft is deposited in the county jail, CHP detectives start working the case. The dead man riding is identified as a 25-year-old Marine, Terry Lee Gambrel. Inside the Celica, under the rear seat, investigators find a belt, which matches the bruising around the victim’s neck. They also find more booze, tranquilizers, a variety of prescription drugs, and stimulants. Here’s something else: The Toyota’s passenger seat and carpet are soaked with blood. Gambrel’s blood? Nope. He doesn’t have a wound on his body. Detectives rip up the bloodstained carpet and find an envelope of photos, more than fifty snapshots, all of young men — most of them naked — in various sexual positions. And get this, notes one of the cops, all of the guys in these photos look like they are asleep. Or, maybe, they’re dead. Detectives pop the trunk and are amazed to discover a ring binder containing a handwritten list of sixty-one coded entries. Yeah. This is a lot more than just another drunk driving arrest. By Thursday, CHP detectives realize they’ve captured a serial killer who’s been murdering young boys and men, since 1970. Most of the homicides occurred in California. But some were committed in Oregon, and at least two in the town of Grand Rapids, Michigan. Randy Kraft, thanks to that loose-leaf binder in his car, which ranked his victims, would become known as the Scorecard Killer. Sometimes he was also referred to as, the Freeway Killer and/or the Southern California Stranger. In what became Orange County’s most expensive trial, as of August 1989, Kraft would be convicted of sixteen counts of murder, one count of sodomy, and one count of emasculation. But that is probably just the tip of this horrendous iceberg of death and depravity. Investigators believe he may have committed as many as fifty-one other rapes and murders, all of which included various means of torture. Torture? Yeah. Like burning the victims with the Toyota’s cigarette lighter. That kind of torture. Sometimes he jammed foreign objects into their rectums. He did that to a 17-year-old high school student. The boy was found on Sunset Beach in California with something sticking out of his anus. So, there was that kind of torture too. He mutilated some of the boys and young men who became his victims and emasculated many of them. The jury decided Kraft should die for his crimes. He got the death penalty. But Kraft’s still alive on death row inside San Quentin, as of this writing, a man who’ll turn 78 in March 2023, still claiming he is innocent. Sure. Before you rejoice over this killer being brought to justice, remember, Randy Kraft’s reign of horror ended only because this homicidal, sadistic maniac made the mistake of giving his last victim a ride in his Toyota, early one Saturday morning in California. Carol Bundy was looking for love. She’d been through three husbands, two boyfriends — and then she found Doug Clark. He was perfect. Handsome, spoke French, and he was a sexual athlete. In June 1980, Carol and Doug started killing prostitutes on Sunset Strip. Carol just wanted love. How far would she go to keep the man of her dreams? What if she got as hooked on murder and mayhem, and, sex and killing as he was? Would Carol ever be able to stop? Sexual Killing: A Shocking True Crime Story by Rod Kackley, a compelling, emotional tale of two stone-cold Sunset Strip serial killers and how the LAPD finally brought their summer of killing to an end in the hot, bloody summer of 1980.

Weapon of choice: a slice of poisoned cheesecake. Viktoria Nasyrova, a tall, dark-haired, Russian beauty, is going to prison. The 47-year-old convicted of attempted murder in New York, on February 9, 2023. Queens DA Melinda Katz says Nasyrova “laced a slice of cheesecake with a deadly drug so she could steal her unsuspecting victim’s most valuable possession, her identity.” Too bad for Nasyrova, her intended victim — actually her beautician — survived, and the Russian — most killers are dumb — left her DNA all over the cheesecake. Here’s how it went down: Nasyrova visited Olga Tsvyk in her Forest Hills, Queens, home on August 28, 2016, requesting an emergency eyelash repair. And she came bearing gifts — slices of “some famous cheesecake from a famous bakery.” The women were close. This wasn’t a typical customer-beautician relationship. Indeed, Nasyrova and Tsvyk more than friends — they were like sisters. The resemblance was astounding, and more than that, they both spoke Russian. So, after the eyelash repair, the women settled down to the cake. Nasyrova downed two pieces of the cheesecake herself. The third slice went on a plate for Tsvyk. That was the one laced with a Russian tranquilizer, Phenazepam. Tsvyk felt okay for about 20 minutes, but then started vomiting. She passed out on the floor. While she was down, but not out, Nasyrova ripped off Tsvyk’s passport and cash. Then, before throwing Phenazepam pills around the woman’s body, she dressed Tsvyk in a nightgown. She wanted to make it look like Tsvyk had tried to commit suicide. A friend found Tsvyk the next day and called 911. Tsvyk recovered, but doctors say she was only minutes away from a life-ending heart attack. So far, the police weren’t involved. But as soon as she returned home, Tsvyk noticed her passport and some cash missing. Thinking back to what happened when she ate the cake, Tsvyk became convinced Nasyrova had tried to kill her. She called the NYPD, and the investigation began. It didn’t take detectives long to hone in on Nasyrova as their prime suspect. She might have taken the time to filch Tsvyk’s passport and cash; but Nasyrova neglected to pick up the cheesecake container. Not only did it have Nasyrova’s DNA all over it; crumbs of the cheesecake left in the container tested positive for phenazepam. Nasyrova has always insisted this whole thing was merely a misunderstanding. “The last time I saw Olga, she was already not feeling good,” Nasyrova told the New York Post. Nasyrova will be sentenced on March 21, 2023. She faces a maximum of 25 years in prison. And, she might consider herself fortunate if all she does is a quarter-century in a New York State prison. The Russians want to put her on trial for the 2014 murder of a woman named Alla Alekseenko. Russian police talked to Nasyrova about the killing, but let her go even though she failed a lie detector test, and she was seen on a traffic camera, driving, with the dead woman’s body propped up beside her. How’d she get away with that? Allegedly, she seduced the lead detective in the case and he helped her escape. That’s when Nasyrova became an international fugitive using the names “Rachel” or “Mara” while plying her trade as a dominatrix. “We mutually satisfied each other’s primal instincts,” Nasyrova said of her customers. “I was giving them what they weren’t getting at home. You know what I’m talking about. Men who want to be women, but they can’t openly declare it.” Nasyrova denied the Russian charges in a CBS interview. As for the accusation she tried to kill her Olga Tsvyk with a slice of poised cheesecake —- “I know whom you mean,” said Nasyrova. “I know this young woman. I can tell you I did not force her to eat it.” Now, by this paragraph you know Nasyrova is not a criminal genius. Could it be that others have tried to steal the identities of people who looked like them. doppelgängers, if you will. You bet! Take for instance the case of Lois Ann Riess, a grandmother who killed her husband, then stole the identity of her next victim…. Gambling. Addiction. Murder. Granny's a killer? Absolutely. The FBI has to stop her before somebody else dies. Her husband's killed in Minnesota. Her doppelgänger's murdered in Florida. Now, she’s found a new friend in Texas. Looks just like her. Will this doppelgänger be the third victim or will police be able to stop this rookie killer before anyone else dies? Federal investigators know she's lost tens of thousands of dollar gambling. Is her love of casino games and gaming a demon forcing her to kill? Her Own Demons: A Shocking True Crime Story is the tale of two families destroyed by murder and gambling. It’s an emotional rollercoaster, a true crime story about a woman who's never had more than a traffic ticket, but who is now, suddenly, on the run from the law. Not only will you ride along with this woman as she goes from being a happy homemaker, a recreational, legal gambler, to a killer on the run; you’ll be side-by-side with federal agents racing to find the maniacal murderer before she can kill again. Her Own Demons: A Shocking True Crime Story that could happen to someone you love. Click here, read more…

This is how the story ends… It’s just after 9 a.m. on July 15, 2010. A tractor-trailer rig, big and powerful as they come, is racing toward the razor-wire topped, double chain-link fence surrounding the Kinross Correctional Facility in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Three convicted killers are inside the truck, hurtling toward the fence in a desperate bid for freedom. They commandeered the rig by overpowering the truck’s driver, hopping behind the wheel, ramming through the gears, and putting the pedal to the metal. Since they’re all looking at spending the rest of their lives in Michigan’s prison system, what do they have to lose? Prisoners, hundreds of whom are also doing life without parole for murder, are locked down, while the weapons of the prison’s guards are locked and loaded. Despite its size and speed, the truck doesn’t get far. After about 100 yards, the truck hits the fence and goes no further. The big rig gets wrapped up in the fence and comes to a screeching halt. The convicts inside do everything they can to bust the truck out of the fencing, but it’s no use. The trio decides to run for freedom. Two of them — Brian Davison, convicted of beating a man to death, and Andrew Ross, who killed his parents and older brother — are quickly captured. But the third, Seth Privacky, is shot in the head and dies almost instantly. Ironic since Seth admitted to killing four members of his family and his brother’s girlfriend by shooting each of them, one after another, in the head. Here’s how the story begins... It’s the last day of Thanksgiving Weekend, November 29, 1998, and Seth Privacky is angry. The 18-year-old’s been arguing with his father. In fact, Stephen Privacky, who teaches fifth grade at Reeths-Puffer Intermediate School, threatens to kick Seth out of the family’s home in Dalton Township, near Muskegon, Michigan. Seth, who stands 6-foot-4 inches tall, carried a B-average in high school, and his parents, a year ago, described him as a “good kid.” He played bass in a rock band. But he’d seen some trouble. For instance, he’d been using drugs. Seth started with alcohol and marijuana when he was 14. Two years later, he was doing LSD and speed. Then he began selling drugs. One time, he broke the family’s dishwasher by standing on it. His father says Seth’s problem is he doesn’t have a conscience. And there was the time Seth got caught shoplifting. As part of his court sentence, he wrote that he wanted to get married and travel. Seth also wrote that he wanted to have kids eventually, but not too many “because I know how much trouble I get into and how much of a nuisance I can be sometimes.” Nuisance. Right. Get ready for that to be ratcheted up to the nth degree. At approximately 1:30 p.m., the Privacky family is getting ready for a late Thanksgiving dinner. Seth’s mother, Linda, a receptionist at a medical office in Muskegon, is showering. Seth’s father, Stephen, is out of the house. He’s picking up his father, Seth’s grandfather, John Privacky, and bringing him home for the celebration. Seth’s 19-year-old brother, Jedediah, is in the basement watching television, waiting for his girlfriend, April Boss, to arrive. Seth walks up behind his brother, carrying their father’s loaded 22-Ruger. Seth points the gun at the back of Jedediah’s head and pulls the trigger, killing his brother. Seth hears his father’s car pulling up into the driveway. He waits with the Ruger. As John and Stephen Privacky walk from the driveway to the Privacky’s house, Seth opens fire, killing both men. Seth even shoots John Privacky twice to make sure the 78-year-old is dead. Linda’s still in the shower. When Seth hears her turn off the water. He waits in the hallway, and as soon as his mom walks out of the bathroom, Seth shoots her dead, too. That’s it. The family’s gone. But wait. Seth hears the front door opening and then closing. It’s April Boss, his brother’s girlfriend. No witnesses, Seth decides, and he shoots her dead, too. Seth has to figure out what to do with the five corpses. He calls his best friend Steven Wallace. “I’ve done it,” Seth says, “and I need your help.” With hardly a word, Steven dashes over to the Privacky home. Seth tells Steven they need to get the bodies out of the house. They go to work. But a problem soon develops. Seth never expected the dead bodies of his father, mother, grandfather, brother, and April Boss to be so damn heavy. Moving all five is going to be next to impossible, Seth realizes. He comes up with a new plan. Seth decides they need to make it look like his family and April are robbery victims. But since all five were shot in the head at near-point-blank range, Seth decides he needs to get some duct tape to make it look like his family was bound, gagged, and then executed. He heads out to a local grocery store to get the tape. First, though, he picks up spent shell casings off the floor of his home. Then, on his way to the store, Seth tosses the shell casings into a gas station garbage can. Steven, meanwhile, drives ten miles down the road to a pond and tosses the gun and clip Seth used to kill his family into the water. After taking care of that bit of crime-hiding business, Steven goes to a Blockbuster Video store. He returns a movie he rented a few days earlier. And then, and only then, Steven goes to a church youth group meeting. After a few hours, Seth and Steven return to work at the Privacky abode, now a House of Death. It’s time to move the bodies into position after liberally applying duct tape to the corpses. Seth decides that if this was a robbery and five people paid for it with their lives, something of value has to disappear. So, he and Steven lug one of the family’s television sets outside and put it in a car to be driven away. They start working on the bodies inside the house, and one of them goes outside to deal with the body of Seth’s father, still lying dead in the driveway. Close to midnight, now. Julie Cooper and her husband, Tom, pull into the Privacky’s driveway. They’re looking for Julie’s daughter, April, who failed to show up for her third-shift job. Julie sees a tall man leaning over what looks like a dead person’s body. Their eyes meet — Julie and the man — and he runs off. With her heart in her throat, Julie calls 911, telling the dispatcher she believes she’s found a dead body. She also tells the dispatcher that she’s “really worried because my daughter’s car is here.” First things first. The dispatcher wants to know why Julie thinks she’s looking at a dead person. Julie sobs, “because he is filled with blood, he is cold, and he is not moving.” Then she informs the dispatcher that the police need to look for a tall man wearing a plaid shirt and light-colored pants. Julie also says the man dropped a flashlight when he dashed away. Julie and Tom go into the Privacky’s house. They turn on the lights, and oh my god… “There’s a trail of blood through the house and garage,” Julie says, sobbing loudly now. “Okay, Julie, you’re doing really good,” the dispatcher says. “You’re being very helpful.” Police are already on the way, with more flashing lights and sirens than this rural western Michigan community has seen in years. When they arrive, Muskegon County sheriff’s deputies find bodies scattered about the Privacky’s split-level Dalton Township home. Blood is splashed and sprayed everywhere, resulting in what county prosecutor Tony Tague says is “the most serious and vicious attack on a household I have ever witnessed.” Did any of the dead ever have a chance? Nope. There are no signs that any of the dead struggled or fought to live. Tague says each of the killings resulted from a “brutal’ execution-style death.” Tague says the “shooting occurred with a definite plan of shooting all five.” Deputies catch up with Steven quickly. However, his capture is not the result of efficient police work. Steven walks out of the woods, saying he has a story to tell them. And Steven proceeds to tell the deputies what Seth has done. That triggers a manhunt like Muskegon County has never seen before. Seth stays on the run for 13 hours, finally arrested inside a pole barn after getting a ride from an 18-year-old woman who’s scared as hell when she calls 911 to tell them where to find Seth. At first, he tries to tell the cops that his older brother, Jedediah, had murdered the family. Seth claimed it was some kind of a murder-suicide pact. But eventually, he caves in and confesses. Seth cries as he finishes making his statement. Yet, Seth also complains that his father never had a good thing to say about him, and finally, his brother and mother had turned against him too. He went ballistic and started killing his family, Seth says, “because my father told me he didn’t love me anymore and that he wanted me to move out. My mom and brother didn’t say anything.” Even though he showed some emotion during those moments, Dennis Edwards, a detective captain, says for most of the time, it was like “nobody’s home.” During his arraignment on five counts of open murder, Seth asks Judge Michael J. Nolan for a favor. He’d like the judge to reduce his bond because “I would just like a chance to get out and see the world before I go away for a long time.” The judge doesn’t give him a break, and Seth is eventually sentenced to five counts of life without parole for the murders. Steven is charged with being an accessory after the fact, helping Seth after the murders were committed. But he was acquitted by a jury in 1999 after Steven testified that he only helped Seth because he feared for his life. However, Steven was sentenced to jail time — 28 months to 7 and 1/2 years for probation violations. At the time of the killings, he was on probation for receiving stolen property. Does he have any regrets? Sure, Steven tells a reporter ten years later, “I wished I’d asked him, ‘why?’ Why did you do it? Why did you kill your family?” Friends don't kill friends, do they? The Murder of Emma Brown; ebook, paperback, and hard cover. Click here to start reading now...

This starts with a young woman hooking up with a serial killer so she can become rich and famous, and ends with a serial killer coming back from the dead. In between is close to 500 pages of really batshit crazy shit. Read more...

Friends don’t kill friends, do they? Two eighteen-year-old women go out for a night of cruising and partying. Only one returns home. Now, Major Crimes Division inspectors William Gagnon and Scarlett Gauthier have to find a killer. Someone so evil they beat and strangled a woman to death with their bare hands and a leather belt. It had to be a man, right? How could another woman have done this? Oh, a woman could have done this-- a woman who learns how easy it is to cross that line between guilt and innocence and how hard it is to shoulder the burden of knowing she's committed a truly heinous crime. Guess what? Friends. Kill. Friends. The Murder of Emma Brown, a thrilling, page-turning crime novel you’ll never forget. Available as an ebook, paperback, or hard cover book. Read more...

They called him the "Kansas City Butcher." Nicknames aside, Bob Berdella is one of the most vicious serial killers you’ve ever read about. And he was lurking in plain sight. The former chef who lived near Kansas City, Missouri’s Hyde Park, ran a curio shop in the early 1980s, aptly named “Bob’s Bazaar Bizarre.” Bob was a leader of his neighborhood’s crime prevention and neighborhood watch organizations. He also represented South Hyde Park neighborhood groups at fundraising events for their local public television station. Lots of people liked Bob, especially the male prostitutes he patronized, until, that is, Bob started killing them. If they’d known in the late 1960s what we know about serial killers now, everyone would have seen Bob coming. Only 19 years of age, Bob was big into drugs and alcohol. He was busted for trying to sell meth to an undercover cop and received a suspended sentence. Later, Bob and two other students were arrested for possession of marijuana and LSD. He spent five days in jail, but the charges were eventually dropped. But it wasn’t the liquor or the dope that should have been a red flag to what Bob would do nearly 20 years later. It was the dead animals that should have sounded a loud and clear warning. Bob, after enrolling in the Kansas City Art Institute with dreams of becoming a college professor, entertained friends by torturing animals. Once, he cut off the head of a duck. Another time, Bob, used sedatives and tranquilizers on a dog. Bob, left KCIA after killing and cooking a duck, as a work of performance art. Nobody knows what flipped Bob’s switch and turned him into a mad serial killer who came to be known as “The Kansas City Butcher.” It might have been a 1965 psychological horror film, “The Collector.” At least Bob said the story of a young Englishman who stalks a co-ed before kidnapping the young woman and keeping her in a farmhouse basement inspired him. Whatever it was, this friendly yet unusual guy started murdering people somewhere along the way. And Bob didn’t just abduct and murder people. He also kept them as prisoners for up to six weeks before killing them. His first victim, Jerry Howell, died in 1984 after Bob drugged and sodomized him. Bob kept Jerry tied to his bed for more than a day, 28 hours to be exact, ignoring Jerry’s pleas to be freed and to answer the question, “why?” Finally, Jerry gagged to death on his own vomit, or maybe the drugs Bob plied him with were too strong. There's no way to be certain. But, the young man died. Whatever the cause of death, Jerry became Bob’s first victim. Bob chopped up Jerry’s body, dumped the parts and pieces in a plastic bag, and left it on the curb for the garbage man to cart away. Robert Sheldon was the second to die and the first to be blinded with drain cleaner before he was killed. Bob kept him drugged with sedatives and held the man captive in a second-floor bedroom for three days. Bob tortured Robert by inserting needles beneath his fingertips, binding his wrists with piano wire, and filling his ears with caulking. That was in the spring of 1985. After Bob killed Robert, he cut off his victim’s head and buried it in the backyard. Mark Wallace was the next to die. He was killed in the summer of ’85. Then in the fall, James Ferris fell victim to Bob. Todd Stoops was a 23-year-old male prostitute when Bob picked him up and tortured him for weeks before Todd died of blood loss. Two years later, Larry Pearson fell victim to Bob. He was tortured for six long weeks. Finally, Bob put a plastic bag over Larry’s head and suffocated the guy. Like the others, Bob chopped up Larry’s body. Most of Larry's corpse was left at the curb for a garbage truck. But not all of it. Bob took Larry’s head to the backyard, buried it, and unearthed Robert Sheldon’s skull, which Bob carried into his house and set up on display. Chris Bryson, a 22-year-old male prostitute, was Bob’s next house guest. Bob tortured him for days after smashing Chris over the head and drugging him. But one day, when Bob left to open his shop, Chris found a match, lit it, and used it to burn through his ropes. Then, naked, except for a dog collar around his neck, Chris jumped out a second-story window and ran. A utility employee, reading the neighborhood gas meters, found Chris and called the police; the rest is serial-killer history. Bob made it easy for the cops. Inside his home, police officers discovered two skulls, human teeth, and vertebrae. As if that wasn’t enough, police found dozens of photographs, syringes, and even notebooks in which Bob had detailed how he tortured and killed his victims. Bob agreed to give a full confession in exchange for a life prison sentence instead of capital punishment. Bob suffered a heart attack and died in prison in October 1992. The mother of one of his victims complained, “the guy (Bob) didn’t suffer long enough.” November 2, 1945: On her way to a high school football game with friends, a fourteen-year-old girl vanishes after driving away with a man who says he needs a babysitter. The FBI unleashes its top kidnapping expert, an agent who helped bring John Dillinger down. Will that be enough to find the girl and her abductor? Agents chase the suspected kidnapper from California to Illinois and back again. Arrested in Los Angeles, he admits abducting the child. He also tells the FBI he killed the girl and threw her body into the Pacific Ocean. A search for her corpse proves fruitless. Then, when all hope is lost, authorities discover the skeleton of another young woman who's fallen victim to this madman. Ready for another twist? The wife of the man who made that discovery is found dead at the bottom of the cliff. During the accused killer's trial, women around the country fall in love with the handsome monster and literally break down the doors of a courthouse to get close to him. Wild enough for you? Wait. After the child's killer is convicted and sentenced to the gas chamber, a scientist shows up and says he can bring the murderer back from the dead. The Murder of Thora Chamberlain: A Shocking True Crime Story: This is the wildest, most shocking, true crime story you've ever read. Read more...

Never Forgive, Never Forget: A Shocking True Crime Story by Rod Kackley tells the story of a woman whose fear of her husband was justified. It’s also the story of a killer’s wild plan to get away with murder. And it’s the tale of a mother’s quest to win the return of her child — her best friend — even if it’s only to bury her. More... Here's more: Dan Zupansky and I talk about the story behind Never Forgive, Never Forget on his True Murder podcast. Listen here...

Photo: Anna Hahn On December 7, 1938, Anna Hahn, who was dubbed the “Female Bluebeard” by one of the local papers — “The Blonde Borgia” and “Arsenic Anna” by others — was strapped into an electric chair. Electrodes were fastened to her head and leg. Her eyes were taped shut, so no one would have to see her eyeballs pop out or melt. She recited the Lord’s Prayer. Just as she finished, the switch was thrown, and electricity ripped through Anna’s body. Her muscles spasmed. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t because of the mask holding her jaw so tightly Anna couldn’t make a sound. After she died, her attorney handed over letters in which Anna had confessed to all of her crimes. Her attorneys sold the letters to the Cincinnati Enquirer for publication. The money was wired to Anna’s son, Oskar, to pay for his education. Anna Hahn’s family was scandalized by her pregnancy. She blamed the child on an affair with a doctor in Vienna. But the name she gave her family didn’t match any physician working in or near the Austrian city. This was 1929. She ran. Only twenty-two, Anna made her way to America. Relatives in Cincinnati, Ohio took her in, and before long, Anna had another man. This guy was a German immigrant just like her. They married in 1930. Anna and her husband, Philip, had a normal existence, running two bakeries in Cincinnati. So, their life was more than average, it was successful. At least it was until Philip was stricken with a mysterious illness. Anna said he’d be okay at home under her care, but Philip’s mother convinced him to go to the hospital. That saved Philip’s life. But there was no saving their marriage because Anna was bored. She took her son, little Oskar, and split. No longer did she have to rise hours before dawn to make the doughnuts. Anna’s life was her own. All she had to do was figure out a way to make a living. Actually, Anna needed to do more than just put food on the table for herself and Oskar. This lady loved to gamble. What was she going to do? Still pretty, and a real charmer, Anna fell into a gold mine. She started caring for elderly men. Ten different men. All of whom died in five years. The first to go was Ernest Koch. He hadn’t been sick a day in his life until he met Anna. Then Albert Parker died, followed by Jacob Wagner, who had willed $17,000 to his “niece” Anna. George Gsellman was next. Anna soaked him for $15,000 before a hearse transported his body to its final resting place. There were more, six more. Then, there was George Heiss. All was going well with George and his beautiful blonde nurse until Anna brought him a root beer. George was resting comfortably enough when he reached for the drink on his bed stand and noticed every fly that landed in the root beer died. Flies were dropping like, well, flies. George fired Anna but never called the cops. He figured she’d just given him some lousy root beer. That was too bad for George Obendoerfer. He hired Anna, and they went to Colorado together in 1937. After George gave Anna a check for $5,000, he died in a hotel room. Anna offered to help pay for the funeral, which, for some reason, set off alarm bells in the Cincinnati police department. An autopsy was ordered. Guess what, George Obendoerfer’s body was filled with arsenic. Yes, Anna had poisoned him, and other others. When Anna was arrested, Cincinnati detectives say they found enough “poison to kill half of Cincinnati in her home. Anna pled “not guilty” at her trial, but it didn’t go her way. Anna was convicted of murder and would soon become the first woman executed in Ohio. Her son, Oscar, lived as ordinary a life as possible, considering what kind of a mother he’d had. He was taken in by a foster care family and served in the Navy during World War II. “If I was a flapper with pretty legs, I never would have been convicted and given the death penalty. Well, I'll die with my boots on, an' in full health. An' that's more'n most of you old coots'll be able to boast on." Eva Dugan, the only woman to be hanged to death for murder in Arizona. You won't believe what happened the day Eva died. Click here to start reading now...

Ashley Wadsworth began an on-again, off-again, online relationship with Jack Sepple when they were children. She was 12. He was 15. For many years, they could do nothing but chat online since she lived with her family in Canada, and he with his in Essex, a county in the east of England. But their interest could not be extinguished by something so mundane as distance. When she turned 19, Ashley got a six-month visa to meet Jack in person during her gap year. At first, their relationship that switched from online to real life was pure romance, the sort of idyllic relationship dreamed of by many young women. Ashley, who had never been outside Canada, nor far from her home in Vernon, British Columbia, posted photos online about what she described as her “amazing” trip to London. One of the pictures showed Ashley seated in a restaurant next to Jack, his heavily tattooed arm around her shoulder, both smiling. In another, a selfie showed Ashley and Jack, who she described as “my bestie.” “She really did love him,” said one friend. But then everything went wrong. Jack lashed out at Ashley. He became violent. Ashley started sending cryptic messages to friends back home, forced to write in code because Jack monitored everything she wrote. A friend told a Canadian newspaper that Jack didn’t want Ashley to speak to her friends back home, but she was desperately seeking their help. Although Ashley had planned to stay beside her “bestie” until April, on January 30, 2022, she booked a flight home for February 3. As the day of her escape approached, Ashley grew so fearful that on February 1, 2022, she walked to a neighbor’s and knocked at the door. When the door opened, Ashley explained she was afraid Jack would kill her. The neighbor was concerned and walked Ashley back to Jack’s apartment. There, Jack, now 23 years of age, assured the neighbor that he and Ashley had simply had a lovers’ spat and the young woman was certainly not in danger. The neighbor returned home, apparently convinced Ashley was safe. However, as soon as she had a moment alone, Ashley used Jack’s Facebook account to message friends she’d made in England and plead for their help. She wanted them to do what she could not; contact the police. A couple of those friends in Essex went to Jack’s apartment to check on Ashley. They knocked on the door but were not admitted. So, they called 999 for police assistance. Meanwhile, neighbors heard the sounds of a horrendous fight and called 999. When the police arrived, Jack wouldn’t allow them into the apartment. In fact, he refused to even answer the door, so the police officers used a battering ram to get inside. Once in Jack’s home, the police quickly found both Ashley and Jack. They were in Jack’s bedroom; he was alive, and she was dead. Ashley was in bed, while Essex police said Jack was on a FaceTime call to his sister, showing her the body. And it was a god awful bloody mess. Ashely was stabbed an estimated 90 times. An autopsy would show Ashley suffered stab wounds to her stomach, liver, lung, and heart. Her face, neck, legs, and arms were bruised. Police officers immediately confronted Jack and demanded an explanation. All he said was, “I’m sorry. I strangled her and stabbed her. “I went psychotic.” On October 10, 2022, Jack was convicted of Ashley’s murder and sentenced to life in prison with a minimum of 23 years and six months. While Ashley’s family was grieving, they received a letter from Jack in which he apologized for murdering the young woman. He blamed the killing on his “intrusive thoughts.” In the letter published by “The Independent” newspaper, Sepple wrote that he’s “very sorry for what I did, and I regret my actions that led to taking Ashley’s life.” He also writes that Ashley’s family knows of his “mental health” issues because he was open and honest with Ashley about “how it affected my thinking.” ...and while it’s no excuse, I know my intrusive thoughts have a big effect on my thinking and my actions.” Sepple did have a history of violence toward women before he met Ashley. Two previous girlfriends obtained restraining orders against Sepple. He even had problems with his mother. After he dragged her to the floor during an argument, Sepple’s mother obtained a restraining order against him in 2014. Closing his letter to Ashley’s family, Sepple admitted, “there is nothing I can say that can bring Ashley back, nor can I make your pain go away.” I just wanted to say I am so sorry. Jack Sepple.” November 2, 1945: On her way to a high school football game with friends, a fourteen-year-old girl vanishes after driving away with a man who says he needs a babysitter. The FBI unleashes its top kidnapping expert, an agent who helped bring John Dillinger down. Will that be enough to find the girl and her abductor? Agents chase the suspected kidnapper from California to Illinois and back again. Arrested in Los Angeles, he admits abducting the child. He also tells the FBI he killed the girl and threw her body into the Pacific Ocean. A search for her corpse proves fruitless. Then, when all hope is lost, authorities discover the skeleton of another young woman who's fallen victim to this madman. Ready for another twist? The wife of the man who made that discovery is found dead at the bottom of the cliff. During the accused killer's trial, women around the country fall in love with the handsome monster and literally break down the doors of a courthouse to get close to him. Wild enough for you? Wait. After the child's killer is convicted and sentenced to the gas chamber, a scientist shows up and says he can bring the murderer back from the dead. The Murder of Thora Chamberlain: A Shocking True Crime Story: This is the wildest, most shocking, true crime story you've ever read. Click here and start reading now...

Only one of my favorites is a true crime story, and I am sure you know which one that is. But just like when I am writing, there are times I just hate clouding the issue with facts, that's why I go for crime fiction. Click or tap on the link. Think you'll like these books, too. Rod

Happy New Year, (here's hoping you survived the holidays) and welcome to another year of Shocking True Crime Stories…. I finished off last year talking with Jim Sulanowski on his podcast, Murder Most Foul. It’s an episode entitled, “Murder Potpourri,” during which we discussed some of my shorter, Shocking True crime stories, articles, and books. Jim even let me talk about the night when, as a teenager, I met Jane Fonda and how that changed my life. Click here to listen to Murder Potpourri with Jim Sulanowski on Murder Most Foul. One of the Shocking True Crime Stories we discussed is one of my shorter books, Kalamazoo’s Suitcase Killer. This is the tale of a college student who kills his girlfriend, then stuffs her body into a suitcase before tossing the luggage into a river. Yes, Donnovan Terrell Lewis disposed of his girlfriend’s body by putting the remains of Aniya Mack in a suitcase and tossing it into a river. But, you know he wasn’t the first to use luggage to dispose of a body nor will he be the last. Take, for instance, the story of Melanie Lyn Slate. Melanie, hardly lacking for brainpower, graduated from Rutgers University with a double major in math and psychology in 1994. And, she was second in her class at the Charles E. Gregory School of Nursing where she graduated with a nursing degree in 1997. Two years later, she married a U.S. Navy veteran, William T. McGuire, “Bill” to his friends and loved ones. Happily married, you’d think. Five years down the road, Melanie’s a fertility clinic nurse and Bill’s a computer programmer. They have two sons and a nice one in Woodbridge Township, New Jersey. It’s an apartment, however, and this family of four needs their own house, which Melanie and Bill find in nearby Warren County. Happy times, right? The American Dream comes true. Wait. This is a Shocking True Crime Story, so you gotta know it’s not going to have a happy ending. Here it is: The McGuire’s will never move into their dream home because — and this is where the excrement hits the whirling blades of a household appliance used by many in the summer — on the night they close on the new house, Melanie kills Bill. Yup. Mrs. McGuire drugs Mr. McGuire, then shoots him dead, and then — you think that would be enough? Wrong! Mrs. McGuire cuts up her dead hubby into not so little pieces and gets a nice three-piece suitcase set out of the closet. Into the luggage goes the bits and pieces of Bill McGuire, and southbound goes Melanie, traveling with her suitcases, stuffed with Mr. Bill. What did she do with the suitcases? Well, a month later, May 5, 2004, two people are fishing with their children in Chesapeake Bay, a couple hundred miles south of the McGuire’s home in New Jersey. They snag the first valise, containing a pair of human legs. Six days later, a graduate student cleaning litter on the beach of Fisherman Island National Wildlife Refuge discovers a suitcase — larger than the first — containing Bill’s head and torso. These body parts suffered three bullet wounds; a double-tap to the chest, and a .38 caliber hole in the head. Another five days go by before the third case, the smallest of the set, is found floating in the water of Chesapeake Bay. This one contains Bill’s arms. So, like we sang in grade school — the leg bones are connected to the…well you see where I am going. New Jersey state police take over the investigation after one of Bill’s friends IDs a composite sketch, and Melanie is suspect number-one. Just like the suitcases, a boatload of evidence surfaces implicating Melanie. To begin with, Bill’s torso and head had those three bullet holes, each caused by wadcutter bullets, fired from a .38 caliber gun. Guess what Melanie purchased from a store in Pennsylvania on April 26. You’re right. She bought a .38 caliber handgun that day. On her receipt it shows she bought the gun and something else for $9.95. There were only two items for sale for that price in the store, and one was a box of wadcutter bullets. I am not one to give (free) advice to murderers. BUT if I was, it would be this: Now listen closely because I am going to whisper. My advice is: If you are going to shot someone. Don’t buy the gun legally. Find somebody on a street corner somewhere. Why would you think leaving your name, address, credit card info, etc is a good idea when you are purchasing a murder weapon? Okay. Now back to the story of Melanie McGuire. There was the gun and ammo purchase. Then, there was this: a couple of video tapes of Bill’s car being moved after he was murdered. Then Melanie’s E-Z Pass showed she had driving to Delaware two days after the murder. Now, Melanie could explain that. She was shopping for furniture in Delaware. But she didn’t buy anything. Okay. However, prosecutors could also see that first Melanie, and then her stepfather, contacted E-Z Pass and tried to get the 90 cent charge for driving in Delaware erased. More free advice: Oh never mind. It seems so obvious. Let's get back to the story. Plastic bags that contained Bill’s body parts (Yuck!) and bags that contained his clothing that Melanie gave to a friend, (Double Yuck) were manufactured on the same assembly line within hours of each other. Whispering advice again: Don’t give away the dead guy’s clothing to a friend, especially not in a plastic bag that’s just like the bag you used to pack the pieces and parts of his body. Yeah. There’s more. Melanie admitted she and Bill owned a three-piece set of Kenneth Cole luggage just like the suitcases that carried his body parts. And, green fibers found on one of the bullet’s lodged in Bill’s chest were just like the fibers from a green couch in the McGuire’s home. And then, investigators found a medical towel stuffed in one of the suitcases, that was similar to there towels that Melanie used to protect furniture when she was getting ready to move to that new house. As you can see, the evidence was piling up faster than your colon after Thanksgiving dinner. Then came this bombshell: Melanie had been sleeping with a co-worker for years. Wow! Well, you can see where this is going. Melanie was accused off first degree murderer as part of a four-count indictment. She pled not guilty, but come on! Almost three years after Bill McGuire was parceled out into the three pieces of a Kenneth Cole luggage set, Melanie stood trial and was convicted No hope. But wait. You know there’s gotta be more, and there is. A convict claims from his prison cell that the Atlantic City mob put out a hit on Bill because he was a degenerate gambler who owed big money. New Jersey State Police investigating and found nothing to substantiate the story. Detectives also discovered this jailhouse snitch had a history of “entirely incredible and routinely and habitually fabricated stories.” In other words: Liar, Liar, oh whatever. Rather than face even more prison time for perjury, the inmate recanted his story. So, at the age of 34, on July 19, 2007, Melanie McGuire began serving the rest of her life behind prison bars for killing her husband, Bill. And, using three pieces of luggage to hide the evidence of his murder. Again, thanks to Jim for offering me the chance to join him on Murder Most Foul and thanks to you for reading this blog post. Rod