The True Crime Obsession

The year is 2001. I am 12 years old. I can see the book sitting on my mother’s nightstand. Hardback. I know it must be pretty damn special if it is a hardback. Right, when she walked in from the store with it this afternoon, the first thing she said to me came out like a double dare; “you are NOT reading this one.” Reading is the only escape from my pretty crappy childhood, and also one of the fondest and most vivid memories I have of my mother. I read anything I could get my hands on at this point, and the middle school library was getting a little “kiddy” to me if you catch my drift. My mom didn’t tell me what I could and couldn’t read, she encouraged it, gloating to everyone who would listen about my willingness to read adult books. Hardback AND I am not allowed to read it? Something was up, and I had to get my hands on it; I mean, she practically double dog dared me.

That night, I waited up until my parents were both asleep. I knew that going into my parents’ room was super risky, my dad could hear a pin drop in the next room. I also knew that the book was on the nightstand, where she left all her current escapes as she began to fall asleep each night. My heart was beating so fast as I tip-toed as if the floor was literally fire. I stood and stared at my mom for a minute, the cover slippery from my already sweating sticky fingers as if it was brilliant to stand in front of her red-handed; trying to gauge just how asleep she was. When I was convinced she was snoring loud enough I was safe for a few hours, I pretty much silently bolted out for the home stretch with way more confidence than I had entered. I hopped back in my bed with my handy flashlight I hid under my pillow; I had outsmarted the “lights out” rule, a choice I always regretted the next day. Looking back, the seriously bright camping flashlight shining through my blanket at 2 A.M was probably pretty noticeable but they never said anything if they did.

I settled in and opened this provocative sounding book for a 12-year-old me, I mean …. “Kiss the Girls” there’s got to be information on how to make out in this thing at least! I snuck into my parent’s room for that book for an entire week and put it back before my parents woke up for an entire week. My mom never found out about my book-stealing but I was eventually grounded for another banned book years later; that night though, under my blankets and terrified of every little noise after chapter 1. I knew that I would spend my life learning everything I possibly could about these “serial killers” that Patterson said there are tons of. Since then, I’ve read pretty much all of James Patterson’s work (and if you’ve read half of what he’s written you’re a top fan, he pumps out mysteries like McDonald’s does McDoubles.) I mean, “murder shows and comfy clothes” is actually trendy right now.

Finally, pajamas and serial killers are trendy! I AM TRENDY! But seriously, what made something so ugly so exciting, and tee-shirt worthy anyway? Nothing grips the news like a fresh multicide. If it’s a particularly juicy homicide (sounds kinda messed up but, accurate) I mean the more barbaric or sadistic the murder is the more likely it is to make the first page and could be a Netflix mini-series, making millions of dollars before the killer has even gone to trial. I know that I could never kill anyone, I don’t like blood and I have long thick hair that literally sheds all year round so it’s futile (can anyone say DNA plethora); but I have personally researched murderers to such an extent, I would almost say with confidence that I could break every single bone in your body and make it look like an accident (if you think me saying that online publicly is bad, you should really see my google search history; I am on the top of numerous lists somewhere and that’s okay.

The fascination with murderers really showed itself in the case of Ted Bundy; women from all over the state of Florida came to watch the man who did things to women that realistically and logically should make people sick. The more twisted the trial became, the more onlookers that came; and the love letters to Ted only multiplied after being found guilty and being sentenced to death for the deaths of many women. That was only the beginning of murder fascination, as a large proportion of baby boomers raised their families and serial killed on the weekend; the next generation of people was developing; the “murder fanatics.” I mean, as human beings; we have always displayed a fascination with murder. To be fair, we had some pretty twisted fairy tales that are increasingly censored for the next generation; I mean, I don’t know about you but my parents told some jacked-up stories. 3 pigs that were burglarized by a wolf in a mass murder home invasion, Cinderella was locked in an attic and kept as a laborer by a team of sisters who hated her for being beautiful and that’s a freaking hate crime and Snow White? Pretty sure that a beautiful girl being poisoned by ingesting something that makes her fall into a deep sleep and THAT’S when Prince Charming shows up and kisses her; that doesn’t sound consensual to me.

We have literally been fascinated with murder forever, we have only just become more vocal about it. Google the term “serial killer”, go on, you know you want to do it. How many search results are found for the term “serial killer?” About 8,459,000,000,000. That’s a lot of interest in serial killers. Surprisingly, the term “serial killer” was not even proposed until 1980; less than 45 years ago. The media was an accomplice in making serial killers such as “Ted Bundy” and “Jeffrey Dahmer” or “John Wayne Gacy” more of a household name than America’s 7th president. No. I did not just look it up. Okay, you caught me. I had no clue who the 7th president was, GUILTY as charged. Anyway; the media should assume partial responsibility for our newfound interest in all things crime-y right? No, unfortunately, I think we are all just a little sick. I said it. I mean, how exciting is it when you’re sitting through a particularly realistic and gory slasher movie?! It is exhilarating, terrifying, and you become drawn to the twisted nature of it. Something is….simply entertaining.

I believe that my personal hero (I am a total nerd okay, judge me) John Douglas; one of the FBI’S founding and most notorious behavioral profilers that has caught numerous serial killers explained his extreme fascination with serial killers by saying something along the lines of some of us were born to commit the murders, and some of us were born to catch the murderer. Our thoughts are similar, but the mechanisms in which we react to those thoughts are drastically different. Basically admitting that he would be a serial killer if he could just get rid of that pesky conscience that is always nagging at him and he is an officer of the law.

So, who is this crazy lady rambling on about serial murder like it makes the world go around you ask? My name is Amanda. I am a 31-year-old psychology and criminology junkie who does think that bad guys make the world go around. My parents were always so creeped out by my fascination but luckily, the fascination’s popularity grew up with me and I am granted the chance to talk about them and my constant research on platforms such as these. I currently work for a production company; a small, female-owned company that produces true crime podcasts, websites, YouTube videos, and blog postings and is currently working on a few documentaries.

We are “The Good Wives' of True Crime," Okay, we’re not all “housewives’” but something about the 1960’s Mrs. Cleaver animations for our logo was just as trendy as Ted’s infamous bow tie. Since you have managed to sit and read this blog post up until this point, I know that you are in the absolute perfect spot for all your secret sick and twisted obsessions. Fancy Macelli (Owner, Executive Producer, and Operator), Tori Johnson (Co-Owner), Colleen McShane (Company Partner), Cajun Mama Tie (Executive), Christina Aliperti (Company Partner), and I (Amanda) are going to take you on a crazy stroll down the “sick and twisted” hall of fame.