Killer Confessions: The Memoir of the Seduction Killer

Prologue

Before I start, I want it to be known that this book is a confession but I will not tell you my name. This book isn’t about me. This book is about the victims. This book isn’t about guilt. As a former serial killer, guilt doesn’t rule my conscience. If I had one, why would I kill? This is for the families of my victims. I want them to know what happened and hope they find peace. I’m not a monster. My victims died for a greater purpose. My father, before he would abuse me, would say, “The pain you suffer is for the greater purpose and you will be rewarded one day”. Now I have rewarded my victims by taking away their pain. Their deaths have healed me as well as everyone who is reading this book. Their bodies did not go to waste. They died happy and the fruits that came from their deaths gave great gifts to the world. I know that by telling my story, you will figure out who I am. I have planned for it. By the time this story is published, I will be dead and my ashes will be spread during a secret family ceremony. The cancer will have ravished my body and I will die happy, surrounded by my family. I hope my family do not get blamed for my crimes. My wife and children knew nothing about this. I have already made plans for them too so they will be safe from retaliation. Now that I have explained why, I will start with my first victim. His name was Jonas.

Chapter 1: Jonas

Jonas Keller was my friend when I was 13. He was kind of a weird kid. He was quiet, handsome and had a tendency to have violent outburst when no one left him alone. We met when he moved to Richmond, Virginia in December 1990. We were friends for 3 years before I killed him. I remember everything about that day. The rain that hit the green and orange leaves of the oak tree that we stood under. The cold breeze that stirred when he finally stopped breathing. The copper smell of his blood as I opened his chest and pulled out his heart. Sorry, I’m skipping ahead. Let me start a month before his death, when I knew I had to kill him.

It was almost 6pm and it was raining heavily. We were sitting in the back of his dad’s 1964 Convair Van instead of his treehouse as usual, playing chess. He was winning but he was sad about it. I asked him what was wrong and he said, “I like you”. I thought he meant as a friend. I told him that I liked him too but then he kissed me. His lips tasted of alcohol; Bourbon, as I would later learn during my alcoholism years. I pushed him away and told him that I didn’t like him like that. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a homophobe. I have slept with the same amount of men as women but back then I was scared. At that time, the only type of relationship I’ve ever had with a man was the abuse I suffered at the hands of my father. When I pushed him away, he turned his back to me, rose up on his knees and turned off the overhead light. I thought he was going to leave but he turned and grabbed me by my neck and started to strangle me. I believed I was going to die. Maybe I should have. As the spots danced across my vision, I accepted my fate.

From the time I was 5, I had hoped I would die soon, either at the hands of my father or by my own hands. When he released me, there was a twinge of sadness, a loss of hope. I laid there, gasping for air, wondering where he had gone. That was when I heard his belt jingle in the darkness of the van. He appeared in front of me in a flash and flipped me over, just as quick. I struggled and begged him to stop but he wrapped the belt around my head so that it covered my mouth and buckled it. I felt for the door, trying to open it but he grabbed my hands and held them on my back. He didn’t say a word. When he entered me, he didn’t make a sound. My father would grunt and moan but Jonas was quiet as he took me. I screamed for help but no one came. I felt like I was in that van for an eternity. When he was finished, he took the belt off and turned me back over. He turned on the lights and I saw him putting the belt back on. He straightened my clothes, kissed my cheek and left the van. I stayed there for another minute or two then I walked home. I got home well past my curfew and my father beat me and told me that I didn’t deserve his “love” tonight and made me go to bed without supper or a bath. I laid in bed, smelling of him, blaming myself. “I shouldn’t have pushed him”, I thought. I finally cried myself to sleep around 3 am. The next day, I went to school and Jonas grabbed me and pulled me into the boy’s restroom. He looked furious and told me that it was my fault and that if I didn’t want him to tell everyone in school that I was a fag then I would have to please him whenever he wanted. For the remainder of that month, he ravished me.

Every day, as he took me in various areas of the school and his house, my anger rose. He reminded me of my father. He wasn’t gentle nor did he show me even the kindest of touch after he was done. So, the day of Prom, I asked him to take me in the woods behind the gym. He said “ok” without any hesitation and lead me deep into the woods. After he took me, he laid on the damp ground, smiling with his eyes closed. He looked so satiated. He didn’t see me take my father’s hunting knife out of my pocket. He didn’t see me raise it up over his chest. When I plunged the knife into his chest, he looked at me shocked and gasped for breath. I smiled down at him and kissed him on the cheek. I dragged the knife down to his navel and while he stared at me still gasping for air, I cut his heart out of his body and showed it to him. He died watching me bite into his heart.

After I finished his heart, I ran to the boy’s locker room and took a shower. I found the clothes that I hid in one of the empty lockers, got dressed and put my bloody clothes in my bookbag and ran home. It was only early afternoon, so my father was still at work. I burned my bloody clothes and ran back to school before anyone knew I was missing. That night at prom, a couple of lust filled teenagers found his body. It had already been partially eaten by some animal so the local police called it a wolf attack. His mom showed up at my house the next day to ask me why he was in the woods and why I wasn’t with him. I told her that he had had another outburst and told me to leave him alone. She asked me if I had tried looking for him after school and I told her that I thought he had ran home like he always does. She seemed satisfied with my answers and left. I watched her leave and smiled.

I wouldn’t commit another murder until I was 18. By that time my father had been dead for about a year, from the same cancer that is now killing me, and I was living with my mom in New York City. I started secretly working as a male stripper to pay the bills. My mom didn’t work. She had been living off of disability checks from her “slip and fall” at Walmart and boyfriends before I had moved in and caring about my safety wasn’t top priority. I came and went as I pleased and came home with enough money to stop her from asking the occasional questions. One night, when I was stripping for Ladies’ Night, that’s when I saw her. Her name was Megan McCleary.