Between Oct. 1
and Oct. 31 of 1994, a serial killer calling himself “Lord Halloween”
terrorized Loudoun County , Virginia
Those letters
only recently came to light after Lord Halloween’s second killing spree in
2006. Most have remained sealed by the courts—until now. Following is a previously
unreleased letter from Lord Halloween to Tim Anderson near the beginning of his
first rampage.
LH File: Letter
#4
Date: Oct. 12,
1994
Investigation
Status: Closed
Contents:
Unclassified
Mr. Anderson,
Sometimes I wish we could meet face to
face. I’ve watched you, of course. I’ve seen you go to the grocery store and
the gym. I’ve even watched you on assignment—talking to the police about me. So
I feel like I know you already.
But I wish you could ask me questions.
One-sided conversations are always unsatisfying and it’s so hard for me to know
what you’re thinking. Do you hate me? Do you think I’m a monster? Or am I the
best thing that’s ever happened to you?
Come on: what’s a crime reporter without
a story? I’m the biggest story this place has ever seen and you’re at the
center of it.
Still, I keep wondering what you would
ask me if you could. I bet I know one question: why Halloween? I could have
picked any name. I could call myself Son of Satan or something equally
ridiculous. Why be Lord Halloween? Why kill just in October? Why focus on a
stupid holiday that’s just for kids?
The truth is it’s not for kids. It never was.
It was a pagan holiday celebrated with human sacrifice. It was a tribute to
death and decay and the end of the world. I’m just bringing it back into style,
the way it was meant to be.
It makes me sick to see how twisted and
lifeless (excuse the pun) Halloween has become. The little painted ghosts in
the shop windows and the cute witches with their frisky kittens. All the kids bobbing
for apples and dressing up like super heroes and fairy princesses. That’s not what Halloween is about, Mr.
Anderson. It’s not meant to be something the kids look forward to. It’s meant
to be the thing they dread.
Halloween is about fear. Fear of the
thing that goes bump in the night. Panic at what lies beneath you while you
sleep. There’s a whole world out there we don’t know or understand and it’s
filled with terrors we can’t begin to comprehend. Halloween is a reminder of
everything we don’t want to face, including our own mortality.
But like everything else, we’ve corrupted
it. We’ve made it insipid and bland, tried to tame it and pretend it’s all in
good fun. But it’s not fun, Mr. Anderson.
Jack O’ Lanterns were lit as a way to
ward off demons roaming the night. They weren’t meant to be craft projects for
school kids. Costumes were a way to hide from the things haunting you, not play
make believe. Even the candy we hand out was originally a tribute to the Old
Gods to let us live for one more year. Now the only person who finds Halloween
threatening is the dentist.
The world needs to be reminded what
Halloween is about. It needs a teacher. I am that person.
I promise you that when I am done, this
entire area—hell, even the country—won’t even want to think about Halloween
again. If anyone shows their face on All Hallow's Eve, I will consider them
fair game.
I
am staking my claim to Halloween, making me part of the legend. For now and
forever, we will be intertwined. In future years, Leesburg residents will
shudder when the very mention of Halloween passes someone’s lips. They’ll look
behind them and wonder if I’m lurking in the shadows.
And I will be, Mr. Anderson. I always
will be. I’ve told you before, but soon you will know first-hand: I am night. I
am fear. I am Halloween.
Sincerely,
Lord Halloween
For more on Lord
Halloween, check out “A Soul to Steal,” now
available on Amazon.
.jpg)
"I am night. I am fear. I AM BATMAN!"
ReplyDeleteI'm a horrible person.
Also, I couldn't help reading this in the voice of Mr. Smith/Hugo Weaving, from the Matrix. "Mr. Anderson."
Note the inflated pride and narcissism. Just as a crime writer needs a story, a serial killer who says "I am fear" needs the attention of an audience to terrify. And while the crime writer might have other motives than his own personal gain and feelings of importance to write about the murders -- like gee, I don't know, warning the community -- the serial killer can't conceive of interests beyond the self. Helping others? What? Yet he's utterly dependent on others: the reporter for one, his victims for another, and the community at large as well. He and the crime writer might as well be part of a team -- because the media feeds the fear machine that he's determined to keep up. Without the audience to terrify, the whole game is pointless and his constructed identity is destroyed. He depends on an audience as much as the reporter does; the difference is that he doesn't realize it.