As I scanned, I saw two figures walking to the fence line towards the prison. I could see them fairly clearly through the lenses. What I saw chilled me. They were two young, well dressed men that had just walked effortlessly through the cyclone fence as if it didn’t exist. Yet they were things that shouldn’t exist. I was so stunned by what I’d seen I forgot to grab my rifle! They continued walking and disappeared through the prison wall below me. Just before they left my sight, one figure, wearing a V neck sweater, looked up, smirked and waved to me. The thing had acknowledged my presence. If I could see them, they could see me! That was a disturbing, eerie development that I didn’t foresee. I didn’t bother to log this incident or the others for obvious reasons: I’d be ordered to undergo a psychological evaluation and likely pensioned off as a result. They’d say ole Boogey had finally lost his marbles. No wonder given the severe trauma he experienced in Korea and living with his disfigured face. Who could blame the guy for escaping from his reality?
***
Why could I see these apparitions? I’d given the question a lot of thought over the years and concluded that my war wounds may have played a part. I’d had a near death experience on the battlefield followed by many months of agonizing pain when I often wished for a quick death to put me out of my misery. On one occasion, when the pain was so bad, I begged my nurse to give me a lethal shot of morphine. Of course she didn’t, but that was what I wanted then: to die quickly and painlessly, fading into nothingness and nothing more. In a sense, maybe I belonged to the living dead and that was why I could see and feel the evil spirits and their malevolence unlike others. I’d never had those experiences outside of Stateville’s walls so there must be a connection of sorts to the evilness which manifested itself in the prison that I couldn’t explain. Perhaps I’d lived for a reason, a higher purpose after all.
***
I’d gotten a good look at the two wraiths, if that’s what they were, and spent days searching the prison’s archives to see if I could identify them. Richard Speck was an easy ID since I’d lived with him for many years. I didn’t recognize these two characters, but soon would come to know them well.
***
It was another year and another murder in Joliet. It was if there was a serial killer on the loose targeting teenage boys. The police were baffled as before with the killing of Robbie Anderson, another fourteen year old who suffered a brutal, untimely death at the hands of a sadistic killer. Unlike Bobby Rodgers, Robbie Anderson had been tortured before being strangled to death. Otherwise the similarities between the two deaths were obvious, even to the Joliet cops. Once again they rounded up the usual suspects, me being one of them. Like before, I was interrogated and released. This time, they didn’t bother to question my neighbors or anyone else for that matter. My home was placed under surveillance and my movements watched around the clock. I suspected one or more of my coworkers had been recruited to report on my whereabouts at work as well. At least I was no longer an ordinary suspect. I was now their prime suspect in both murders. But their investigation was going nowhere fast. I believed I knew who killed the boys and why.
***
My research had finally paid dividends by revealing the names of the two murderers: the incarnations of Leopold and Loeb; the infamous pair of young, University of Chicago students who kidnapped, tortured and then strangled to death a fourteen year old boy in Chicago. Now they were carrying out their so-called perfect murder scenario once again, but this time in Joliet. In this instance, they were perfect crimes, diabolical ones which couldn’t be stopped by ordinary means. Both men had been incarcerated at Stateville after being convicted and their spirits continued to roam the cellblock they once called home.
In May 1924, two brilliant and wealthy Chicago college students attempted to commit the crime just for the thrill of it. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb kidnapped Bobby Franks, bludgeoned him to death in a rented car, and then dumped his body in a distant culvert on the city’s south side. Although they thought their plan was foolproof, Leopold and Loeb made a number of mistakes that led police right to them. They committed the murder widely characterized at the time as the crime of the century. It was a demonstration of their perceived intellectual superiority which, they thought, rendered them capable of carrying out a "perfect crime" and absolved them of responsibility for their actions. The subsequent trial, featuring the famous defense attorney, Clarence Darrow, made headlines around the world. Darrow championed the argument that capital punishment was barbaric, inhumane and should be forever abolished. He was persuasive since the jury didn’t impose the death sentence on the two defendants, only a life sentence plus ninety-nine years. Loeb was murdered by a fellow inmate at Stateville in 1936. In the prison hierarchy, he was considered someone or something loathsome and repugnant: a child killer. Leopold was released on parole in 1958 and died some years later. Now they had returned with a vengeance to reprise their grisly act over and over again. Someone needed to stop them before more boys were killed by these monsters. Maybe a monster could only be killed by another monster and that was exactly what I had in mind. Walt, The Boogeyman, had some ideas about how to send two incarnate doppelgangers back to Hell where they belonged.
***
It was a clear, cold Valentine’s Day in 1978 as my diary reminded. It was one of my balaclava days that I always looked forward to. I’d taken a few days leave from the job to try to sort things out in my head about Leopold and Loeb; specifically how to kill them, if that were possible. As I walked through the park near the high school, I saw them ahead of me. Other than my first sighting of them returning to the prison, I’d never seen the wraiths out and about. I thought that very strange and it worried me. What were they up to? It was late afternoon and school had let out shortly before. I watched the students pass by, as did Leopold and Loeb. It seemed to me they took special interest in the boys. I continued to observe them until they vanished in the blink of my eye.
***
My comings and goings were still being scrutinized by the police. I had to provide blood and hair samples along with my fingerprints at their firm request. I figured, if I kept cooperating, they wouldn’t arbitrarily arrest me. Now their snooping was bordering on harassment, maybe going over the border at times. My house had been covertly entered several times and personal items moved about to let me know that they knew where I lived. It was all a bit of psychological warfare to keep the pressure up so I’d confess to crimes I didn’t commit. The cops also became more aggressive in the surveillance of my movements to the point where it was no longer discrete, only overly obvious and annoying. It was more of their pressure tactics at play. I called 911 a couple of times to report a suspicious car with two sinister, swarthy men inside tailing my every move. I had to be careful not to piss them off too much or I’d land in jail for making false police reports or worse: murdering two teenagers.
***
My interactions with the spirits of Leopold and Loeb became more frequent over the following year. They sensed my presence and I theirs. It was as if there was a mutual curiosity, or perhaps attraction, between the living and the dead that couldn’t be denied. Their spirit forms were easily recognizable to me and maybe my hideous face somehow, and in some strange way, piqued their interest in me. Still, a very odd bond had developed among the three of us. They were stoic, seemingly sad figures that restlessly roamed the prison at night. I’d long ago gotten over my fear of the wraiths. They never appeared as ghoulish monsters trying to frighten me. To the contrary, they were apparitions that looked the same as when they lived, nothing spooky or scary, just ordinary in appearance. I couldn’t ever lose sight of the fact they were sociopathic killers who would kill again if given the chance.
***
I didn’t plan to give them another chance. They had to be stopped before another innocent child died. My mind, spirit and soul had been consumed by the incarnations of two young murderers who wanted nothing more than to continue their depraved acts.
I believed I was chosen by a higher power as the instrument to stop their terrorizing.
Over a period of several months, I collected everything I could lay my hands on: photos clipped from back issues of Look and Life magazines, old newspaper stories and even a piece of the shirt he wore during his murder. The last item cost me dearly, although it came with a letter of authenticity and that was important. The memorabilia grew in number to the point I believed I had enough to set the trap. It was one that would send Leopold and Loeb back to Hell where they belonged. I only hoped it would work. Otherwise, I might be their next victim.
I kept Bobby Franks collection of remembrances in my locker at work and would surreptiously remove them from time-to-time to rehearse my plan. I was painstakingly building a shrine to pay homage to Bobby’s memory: one sure to attract the attention of the two wraiths. It was a farfetched theory, but everything about the surreal happenings at Stateville was unreal. I had to patiently wait my turn to be posted to Death Row.
It took another three months of waiting before I was assigned the graveyard shift on the Row. I was now ready to execute my plan. I placed different items of Bobby’s memorabilia in the Electrocution Chamber at the far end of the Row. I was the only warder on duty and the few inmates didn’t pay much attention to the cardboard boxes I carried in and out each night. I lit candles around pictures of Bobby and the news articles of his murder to lure Leopold and Loeb into the chamber. I kept up this routine for several days before they appeared on the Row. I could see them clearly and vice versa, I suspected. Instead of the sad, forlorn looks on their faces, they showed a certain puzzlement, curiosity and awareness I hadn’t noticed before.
This cat and mouse game continued for days. They showed up for a few minutes and walked the Row without purpose or so it seemed. When they showed themselves, I’d walk to the chamber’s viewing room and they followed. As they did, their faces became more animated, almost smiling the closer they got to the chamber itself. There was a sense of recognition in their eyes, a gleaming that couldn’t be denied as they looked at the remembrances of Bobby from long ago.
Tonight I was ready and it was time to play my trump card. I carefully placed the piece of blood flecked shirt along with all of the others items in the chamber and waited. As hoped, the wraiths appeared and were immediately drawn into the chamber. I noticed Leopold reach out to Bobby’s shirt and then I hit the switch. The overhead lights dimmed and smoked filled the chamber to the point where I couldn’t see inside. I’d jury-rigged the voltage of the chair to its maximum output believing the powerful, electrical vortex created would somehow cause a disruption to their energized, spirit forms. I’d also placed sheets of heavy gauge, wire mesh on the floor and plugged those into the power distribution box for added effect. I theorized the massive, reinforced walls might slow them from quickly exiting the chamber and escaping my trap. Maybe even a few seconds longer would be enough time to cause them to move on to the other side where they could no longer kill in this world. When the smoke cleared, they were gone!
***
It had been about a week since I killed the two wraiths. Perhaps killed wasn’t the best choice of word in describing what had happened. But it was close enough for me. I was feeling pretty good about myself for a change and maybe my nightmares would subside and allow me a good night’s sleep. I’d done something noble for once in my life and I was proud of the fact. It was at that precise moment in my thoughts I saw them fast approaching me from the far end of the catwalk. But it couldn’t be! They were dead and I saw them die in the chamber. Oh, but they were real alright and from the contorted, angry looks on their faces, I was about to die at their hands.
I quickly turned a corridor and waited. I was going on the attack and not be taken down easily. As the pair rounded the corner, I repeatedly struck them with my oak baton over and over again to the point they no longer resisted my blows. Leopold and Loeb were human after all given the amount of blood they shed over the concrete floor of the cellblock. The last thing I remembered was being grabbed from behind and wrestled to the floor. My over-the-top rage passed and everything then went to black.
***
No one believed a word I’d said during the hearing. I patiently and truthfully explained to the judge about doppelgangers, the pervasive evil existing at Stateville, the fact Leopold and Loeb had murdered the two Joliet boys and other strange happenings I’d experienced over the years. I didn’t harm anyone as the authorities claimed. I was simply putting to rest two incarnated, murderous souls. I didn’t attack my fellow warders as accused since there weren’t any warders, only Leopold and Loeb. I wondered if my monstrous face played a role in having me committed. Perhaps so, but I wasn’t crazy; not by a long shot because I alone knew the truth.
***
My new home in Chester, Illinois was a maximum security hospital for the criminally insane. There was no better, politically correct way of saying it was an insane asylum. I lived in a locked cell almost identical in size of those at Stateville. The hospital was primarily used to care for forensic patients who had been found not guilty by reason of insanity. Here we were called patients, not convicts, since none of us had been sentenced to a correctional facility. It was more of the inane, bureaucratic techno-speak which I so despised. Patients were required by Illinois law to remain confined in the hospital for a set period of time. In my case, the word indefinite was stamped all over my file. Our caretakers were not guards or warders; they were called security therapy aides. Could you believe such nonsense? And they thought I was crazy! To borrow from Gertrude Stein: “A rose is a rose is a rose.”
***
I’m almost finished writing a most exhaustive history of the Stateville Correctional Center. Pride of authorship aside, I think it’s a good read. I’m on the last chapter, but not sure how my own story will end. In the meantime, I’ve had company to pass the endless days of solitary confinement since I was still occasionally haunted by my best, new friends: Messrs. Leopold and Loeb. They continued to live out their supernatural lives to kill again. I continued to live out my physical existence of endless days in an Illinois nuthouse. It didn’t seem fair, but life rarely was to me. No one believed my story about deranged doppelgangers roaming the streets of Joliet looking for their next victim. Ironically, I was the certifiably, deranged one and I had the court paperwork to prove it!
Big Jim Morgan’s Thrills & Chills
Drac’s head had been bashed to such an extent he was barely recognizable. He was Zack’s first born and the one he adored more than any of his other children. He’d just turned ten when his mutilated body was discovered lying on the floor in the back of Zack’s camper. Now the puppet’s black tux and redlined cape lay in tatters, shredded beyond repair. Count Dracula was no more and Zack was devastated by his passing.
As he later explained to me, he’d lovingly crafted Drac’s creepy, paper-Mache head out of yellowed, obits pages taken from back issues of The Chicago Tribune he’d swiped from a local library. He then reinforced the head with chicken wire to give it better form and substance. Next he applied thin layers of vellum to finish the creature’s striking, gruesome face, carefully shaping and molding the pieces into place until he was pleased with his handiwork. Paints and costuming followed until artistic perfection. Zach excelled in creating ghoulish hand puppets for his thrice daily performances at Morgan’s sideshow of the weird and bizarre.
Zack admitted his sense of sardonic humor was a little off beat, but nonetheless he enjoyed the dark side of human nature, the more morbid the better. He said it suited his spooky, off-putting persona as the Puppet Master of the Macabre.
***
Zackary Woolsey was a carny through and through. He’d spent his adult life traversing the country to places decided by Big Jim Morgan, the owner of Morgan’s Thrills & Chills Amusements. As a child, Zack’s father worked the midways of some of the largest carnivals of the time. His dad usually worked as a shill because he was so damn good in t
he role: one blessed with an uncanny knack to easily spot the marks among the townies. Like all workers, he was expected to do other jobs as well. In his father’s case, that could mean operating the Wheel, Flying Jenny or rollercoaster as a ride jock or working as a roustie putting up and taking down tents and rides. His mom worked odd jobs in the towns they visited to help support the family. She homeschooled Zack, but he believed the carnival, with its quirky, insightful people, was the best education one could receive; certainly the lessons in human behavior and psychology. It was the carnival’s gypsy life that so appealed to him. This had been Zack’s world and home. He never wanted to leave.
***
Zack talked to his puppets more than he did with his friends and colleagues working the carny for Big Jim. That struck some people as odd, but the carny was home to many freaks and oddballs who generally got along well with each other. A high tolerance for quirkiness among the performers was the hallmark among those who made a career out of this lowbrow form of entertainment. Zack was still considered by his coworkers to be at the far end of a spectrum of what might be considered normal. He was a carnival kid who was fully accepted in the community by his peers despite his aloofness and solitariness. He simply didn’t mix and mingle well with others. Maybe he was just shy, some thought. Maybe he was just downright crazy, others suggested. Regardless, he was one of them to the core of his being.
***
Zack still mourned Drac’s death like a loving father should. He didn’t know who or why someone killed him in such a vicious, savage way. Someone who held a grudge? Someone bent on closing down his act? Someone who was jealous of his talents? Zack didn’t know, but his other puppets were whispering questions that he couldn’t truthfully answer. Brussius, the Spawn of Satan, asked if there would be more puppet deaths and if Zack could protect them? The worry and anxiety level was high among his troupe. Brussius was a favorite who scared the bejesus out of the audiences with his demonic countenance and frightening demeanor. His shtick was to warn mankind of the end of days coming to the plains of Megiddo, urging humans to choose wisely between the light and the dark forces before the war to end all wars called Armageddon.
Macabre Memories Page 6
