Originally published at: http://boingboing.net/2016/12/01/i-was-friends-with-a-serial.html
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Reminds me of that graphic novel about Dahmer’s friendship with the author. Will have to check out the article.
I thought the Dahmer graphic novel was excellent, i spent a few days after i finished it researching and reading more about him. The level of cruelty people are capable of is really something else, i can’t help but be fascinated and horrified.
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My Boss is a serial killer and a Republican, believe me it’s a lot worse.
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I was going to say the same thing. I thought maybe this was a repost even, before reading the text.
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God, that’s a chilling article. Except for one incident, he had zero clue that his co-worker was capable of violence. Makes me look around at everyone else around me.
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Reminded me of this
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It is a chilling but excellent book. I started reading it out of curiosity, but I could not put it down until I had finished the entire book.
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Booo, website is b0rked.
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Yeah i did the same at a local bookstore, i ended up reading it all in a sitting.
Also i finished reading the article for this thread. It’s pretty good, but the story is light on details and… well… story. It can be summed up as “I knew a serial killer once”, there’s really not much there but it is well written. I would like to see something more long form, but i did enjoy reading it.
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Years ago, on a very late night while I was waiting for my dead m/c battery to charge at a gas station, I was approached by a person I’ll deem One of the Creepiest People I’ve Ever Had the Displeasure of Meeting. White guy, mid-40s, brown hair with a bowl cut, mild acne scars on his face, and a smile that would scare crocodiles.
He didn’t do more than ask me, repeatedly and quietly, if I wanted to “walk behind the store” with him. Between his body language, the time of night and the dark, rural area, I was 100% sure that he had malice on the mind, and despite my being bigger than him (and technically armed–I was holding a large closed-end wrench in my riding jacket pocket), he chilled me to the bone. Whatever spidey-sense I have was screaming loud and clear–“Get the fuck away from this person–he is bad news”.
I don’t know whether I’ve ever actually been stalked by an animal during my outdoor travels, but I definitely felt like prey that night.
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I’ve definitely felt like that before, but i can’t pick out a particular instance like that. However i did have an older man once time block me with his car at a parking lot when i was walking home to hit on me (i’m a guy). I was in my early 20’s but i look young so i may have looked like a high school kid to him.
A buddy of his pulled up on the other side of me in his car to chat him up while i awkwardly stood there, but it did give me enough cover to slink away once my feet got going. I was so terrified to walk home a few blocks away that i walked in the opposite direction, was scared to walk home for a few weeks.
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Scary, but not as scary to me as when tens of millions of people vote someone who is blatantly sociopathic (IMO) to be president. People who can hide their nature are scary, people who don’t hide their nature but get away with it anyway are also scary.
(Not trying to dismiss your fears, but your post sent my mind on a tangent…)
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I feel like most women have stories like that to tell.
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I can imagine, probably with guys more aggressive or forward. I was so creeped out by the guy
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My sister was visiting me in Boston many years ago. She was of highschool age and we were walking downtown. She was so doe-eyed and amazed at the ‘big city’ that some creep crossed the busy street to follow right behind us. I oh-so-slowly took my hand out of my pocket and straighted up a bit. He immediately turned around and left. That’s my martial arts story.
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Reminds me of an experience I had in a small town in Brazil where my girlfriend and I arrived late one evening on vacation. After getting settled at our guesthouse we set out looking for a place to eat dinner but found most restaurants were already closed and so we subsequently wandered a bit further than planned. We’d turned down a side street and realized that the area was not well lit and turning a bit desolate. I pointed out a busier street ahead and as we started to make our way my girlfriend noticed that the only other people on the street, two guys standing at a public telephone, had only been pretending to talk on the phone. I questioned how she could have picked up on that so quickly but suggested we make our way to the other side of the street. As we crossed the street the two men made a beeline for us and as they got up behind us it was clear we were in trouble. I told my girlfriend to run to the busy street ahead and quickly turned around to face them. I walked backwards as they moved right up close keeping pace with me face to face. One was short and the other tall and skinny and I couldn’t help but register what a funny pair they made. I continued walking backward with fists clenched in a showdown of dirty looks, my eyes darting back and forth to each of theirs to see who would strike first. I was certain that a fight was on when the shorter guy whispered in English “Don’t worry,” in the least comforting way I can imagine expressing those words, and then they ran off across the street. We didn’t need to eat after that.
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!! I love stories about well healed citizens who’s inner predator pops out as needed. It’s an antidote to the ‘lurking menace’ stories that haunt us all.
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I’ve told this story before, so y’all can skip it if you already know it.
Shortly before my first wedding, when I was still living in eastern San Diego County, my buddies Tom and Justin and I had a band. Tom played guitar, Justin sang and played bass. Initially I played rhythm guitar and we played to a Roland drum machine, but eventually I just went ahead and bought a $299 drumkit and taught myself how to play them. But we were always on the lookout for either a drummer or guitarist, since we always wanted 2 guitars.
Anyway, one day Justin calls us up to jam, and says he met this drummer dude named Ramon who plays really well and is a cool guy. So we arrange to jam in my mother-in-law’s garage one day. Ramon has pretty good chops and is willing to play AC/DC songs with rank amateurs like us, so the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. We jammed with Ramon one other time and then kinda lost touch with him.
A couple years later, Justin calls, all excited. “Remember that Ramon dude?” “No. Who?” “Ramon, the drummer we jammed with that time.” “Oh. Yeah. What about him?” “Dude, he’s a serial killer!” “What?!”
Turned out Ramon Rogers had killed and chopped up his ex-girlfriend, and the cops had found some of her remains near his parking space at the apartment complex he managed. And it turned out he had probably killed a previous ex-girlfriend and another friend a few years before as well. Ramon didn’t seem weird or unusual at all. He was friendly and gregarious, and polite to my mother-in-law. And a good drummer, for what that’s worth.
But yeah. Total murderer. You never know. They’re out there.
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I guess even serial killers have to do something to pay the rent and fill the time between murders.
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