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Authors: Harold Schechter, David Everitt
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not. But i am a monster. I am the ‘son of Sam.’ I am a little brat.”
D AVID B ERKOWITZ
The Sickest Letter Ever Written?
Undoubtedly the most ghastly letter ever written by a serial murderer is the one that cannibalistic child killer Albert Fish mailed to the mother of his twelve-year-old victim Grace Budd. Fortunately, Mrs. Budd was functionally illiterate and so was spared the horror of reading this unspeakable document. The original of this letter is now part of the collection of artist Joe Coleman:
My dear Mrs. Budd,
In 1894 a friend of mine shipped as a deck hand on the Steamer Tacoma, Capt. John Davis. They sailed from San Francisco for Hong Kong China. On arriving there he and two others went ashore and got drunk. When they returned the boat was gone. At that time there was a famine in China. Meat of any kind of was from $1-3 Dollars a pound. So great was the suffering among the very poor that all children under 12 were sold to the Butchers to be cut up and sold for food in order to keep others from starving. A boy or a girl under 14 was not safe in the street. You could go to any shop and ask for steak—chops—or stew meat. Part of the naked body of a boy or a girl would be brought out and just what you wanted cut from it. A boy or girls behind which is the sweetest part of the body and sold as veal cutlet brought the highest price. John staid there so long he acquired a taste for human flesh. On his return to N.Y. he stole two boys one 7 and one 11. Took them to his home stripped them naked tied them in a closet. Then burned everything they had on. Several times every day and night he spanked them—tortured them—to make their meat good and tender. First he killed the 11 yr old boy, because he had the fattest ass and of course the most meat on it. Every part of his body was Cooked and eaten except head—bones and guts. He was Roasted in the oven (all of his ass), boiled, broiled, fried, stewed. The little boy was next, went the same way. At that time, I was living at 409 E. 100 St. near—right side. He told me so often how good Human flesh was I made up my mind to taste it. On Sunday June the 3—1928 I called on you at 406 W 15 St. Brought you pot cheese—strawberries. We had lunch. Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her. On the pretense of taking her to a party. You said Yes she could go. I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had alreadypicked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wildflowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them. When all was ready I went to the window and Called her. Then I hid in a closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run down stairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mamma. First I stripped her naked. How did she kick—bite and scratch. I choked her to death, then cut her in small pieces so I could take my meat to my rooms, Cook and eat it. How sweet and tender her little ass was roasted in the oven. It took me 9 days to eat her entire body. I did not fuck her tho I could of had I wished. She died a virgin.
Albert Fish in custody (New York Daily News)
L IPSTICK
As a general rule, serial killers are not eager to get caught. Their atrocities are a source of unspeakable pleasure, and—as psychopathic personalities—they are immune to guilt or remorse.
Every so often, however, a serial murderer comes along who does feel bad about his behavior. He may even make an effort to stop. At one point, for example, Jeffrey Dahmer —who fantasized about having a zombielike sex object under his total control—stole a department store dummy in the hope that the mannequin might serve as a substitute for a human victim. Unfortunately (if predictably), the tactic didn’t work. Psychos like Dahmer are in the grip of an irresistible compulsion and find it impossible to kick the murder habit on their own.
D AVID B ERKOWITZ
The Sickest Letter Ever Written?
Undoubtedly the most ghastly letter ever written by a serial murderer is the one that cannibalistic child killer Albert Fish mailed to the mother of his twelve-year-old victim Grace Budd. Fortunately, Mrs. Budd was functionally illiterate and so was spared the horror of reading this unspeakable document. The original of this letter is now part of the collection of artist Joe Coleman:
My dear Mrs. Budd,
In 1894 a friend of mine shipped as a deck hand on the Steamer Tacoma, Capt. John Davis. They sailed from San Francisco for Hong Kong China. On arriving there he and two others went ashore and got drunk. When they returned the boat was gone. At that time there was a famine in China. Meat of any kind of was from $1-3 Dollars a pound. So great was the suffering among the very poor that all children under 12 were sold to the Butchers to be cut up and sold for food in order to keep others from starving. A boy or a girl under 14 was not safe in the street. You could go to any shop and ask for steak—chops—or stew meat. Part of the naked body of a boy or a girl would be brought out and just what you wanted cut from it. A boy or girls behind which is the sweetest part of the body and sold as veal cutlet brought the highest price. John staid there so long he acquired a taste for human flesh. On his return to N.Y. he stole two boys one 7 and one 11. Took them to his home stripped them naked tied them in a closet. Then burned everything they had on. Several times every day and night he spanked them—tortured them—to make their meat good and tender. First he killed the 11 yr old boy, because he had the fattest ass and of course the most meat on it. Every part of his body was Cooked and eaten except head—bones and guts. He was Roasted in the oven (all of his ass), boiled, broiled, fried, stewed. The little boy was next, went the same way. At that time, I was living at 409 E. 100 St. near—right side. He told me so often how good Human flesh was I made up my mind to taste it. On Sunday June the 3—1928 I called on you at 406 W 15 St. Brought you pot cheese—strawberries. We had lunch. Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her. On the pretense of taking her to a party. You said Yes she could go. I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had alreadypicked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wildflowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them. When all was ready I went to the window and Called her. Then I hid in a closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run down stairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mamma. First I stripped her naked. How did she kick—bite and scratch. I choked her to death, then cut her in small pieces so I could take my meat to my rooms, Cook and eat it. How sweet and tender her little ass was roasted in the oven. It took me 9 days to eat her entire body. I did not fuck her tho I could of had I wished. She died a virgin.
Albert Fish in custody (New York Daily News)
L IPSTICK
As a general rule, serial killers are not eager to get caught. Their atrocities are a source of unspeakable pleasure, and—as psychopathic personalities—they are immune to guilt or remorse.
Every so often, however, a serial murderer comes along who does feel bad about his behavior. He may even make an effort to stop. At one point, for example, Jeffrey Dahmer —who fantasized about having a zombielike sex object under his total control—stole a department store dummy in the hope that the mannequin might serve as a substitute for a human victim. Unfortunately (if predictably), the tactic didn’t work. Psychos like Dahmer are in the grip of an irresistible compulsion and find it impossible to kick the murder habit on their own.
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