by Ray Black
STILL HUNGRY
Five months had gone by since the misdeed, his protein levels through the roof as he worked through the stock of Bernd meat. And now Armin was hungry again. Alone once more he yearned to consume another body and soon Franky was back in the chatrooms searching for a new soul mate. His desire to recreate the twisted affair would be his downfall.
In a bid to bring about quicker results and feed his appetite, Meiwes began to divulge details of what he had done, even posting up photos. When a student from Innsbruck, Austria saw these explicit images he immediately alerted the police.
Early in the morning of 10th December 2002 seven police officers came knocking on the door of the Wustefeld manor house. Seizing disks and hard drives filled with cannibal pornography and other obscene material, the authorities charged Armin with the glorification of violence. They also located 10kg of unidentified meat in the freezer, unearthed human remains from the garden and, later, found the video tape of the despicable dinner date.
COURT DILEMMA
A year went by before Armin Meiwes eventually came to trial, affording psychiatrists ample time to analyse this strange individual. In interviews he freely admitted to absorbing Brandes’ masculinity and even his ability to learn English, relating the eating experience to something like taking communion.
The trial took place in nearby Kassel in December 2003. While the prosecution sought a verdict of murder for sexual satisfaction (cannibalism not being a legal term under German law), his defence focused on the fact Brandes had given his full consent to the crime – a dilemma for the jury. Following more than forty witnesses called over fourteen sessions, the court came to a decision on 30 January 2004, agreeing with the defence that the killing had not been sexually motivated and Brandes had consented to his own annihilation. He was given eight-and-a-half years for manslaughter.
In April 2005 a German court ordered a retrial following an appeal from the prosecution. After psychiatrists believed he would re-offend, Armin Meiwes was found guilty of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment.
Daniel and Manuela Ruda
In a true-life tale of devilry and vampirism a freaky German couple flip from plain and pasty-faced Goths to blood-drinking death-bringers and puppets of Satan in a creepy endeavour to move closer to their dark Lord and Master.
MESSENGER OF DEATH
Life in the strange lane started early for Daniel Ruda. Shying away from ordinary human contact as a young boy, he began to lust after the metallic taste of blood from the age of twelve and by the time he was a teenager was soon to be found among the neo-Nazi movement prevalent in Germany.
From the politics of the Far Right he quickly crossed into the Gothic scene, performing in a black metal band; the portentously-named Bloodsucking Freaks. By this time Daniel was already convinced he was on speaking terms with Satan himself, who – he believed – had bestowed upon him the honour of being his personal Messenger of Death.
Yet despite this special relationship with the fallen one Daniel needed companionship and it soon became time for him to seek out a soulmate; someone with whom to share the dark times. Placing a personal ad in the classified section of Metal Hammer, a black metal music magazine, twenty-three-year-old Daniel called out for his queen. It read:
Black-haired vampire seeks Princess of Darkness who hates everyone and everything and has bidden farewell to life.
One would be forgiven for thinking such an advert would be dismissed as mere black humour by those that read it. However, there was one girl who spotted the perverse paragraph that summer. And it spoke straight to her heart.
THE PRINCESS OF DARKNESS
Manuela Bartel was an only child raised in the small university town of Witten in North Rhine-Westphalia, far from the dark side of life that would eventually consume her. In fact, little Manuela was just an ordinary young girl who loved animals and worked hard at school until, that is, she became a teenager and the monster began to take shape. It started with radical hair styles and clothes; daring to be different, preferring to shock rather than conform. Distancing herself from friends she became an angry adolescent with a desire to rebel, attending political demonstrations. However, these protests failed to slake her thirst for disorder and at the age of sixteen Manuela ran away from her small-town life to the then European Mecca for Goths: London.
It was here in the English capital where Manuela could satisfy her cannibalistic curiosities, attending bite parties where willing donors would offer their warm blood to wannabe vampires. She would consort with others like her, frequenting graveyards where she persuaded her new friends to bury her alive.
The eerie gloom of the Scottish Highlands was her next port of call, where she befriended the infamous Leopard Man of Skye; an odd cave-dwelling hermit who had chosen to cover his entire body in leopard-print tattoos and had even altered his teeth to look more feline. These were the types of people with whom she felt she belonged.
Returning to Germany in the late nineties with a developed obsession with death and the devil, Manuela came upon Daniel Ruda’s classified ad. She was the perfect candidate for his Princess of Darkness.
A MARRIAGE MADE IN HELL
When the pair met it was love at first bite; their shared mind-set allowing for a mutual descent into the dark depths of Satanism. Moving in together back in Manuela’s home town of Witten, they filled their home with unique creature comforts: fake human skulls, cemetery lights and, taking pride of place, an altar in the living room.
Their obsession knew no bounds, it seemed. No doubt taking her cue from her friend, The Leopard Man, Manuela had her incisors removed and animal fangs implanted to appear more like her beloved vampires. Then in a strange Halloween ceremony the once well-adjusted girl formally dedicated her soul to Satan. It was only a matter of time before their peculiar predilection was to have an impact on others.
In March 2001, Daniel had one of his regular visions in which he would be visited by the Devil himself. The chosen messenger of Death was given four numbers: 6,6,6,7 and from this it was deduced they should marry on 6 June (6/6) and then on the 6 July (6/7) a suitable victim should be sacrificed to Satan. This was the call they had both been waiting for; an opportunity to prove their worth to the Antichrist.
And so, as planned, Daniel and Manuela married on 6 June 2001 in a wedding ceremony befitting their oddball outlook: the groom dressed all in black and his bride in a PVC bondage corset, piercings and hair dyed pink with her temples shaved to reveal tattoos of an inverted crucifix and target. A marriage made in Hell.
COME TOGETHER
Now joined together in unholy matrimony, Daniel and Manuela Ruda could now progress to phase two of their devilish plan: the human sacrifice. They had already agreed on who would be afforded the honour: thirty-three-year-old Frank Hackert, a colleague of Daniel’s at the car parts centre where he worked. Hacki – as they called him – was the complete opposite to the gruesome twosome. He was warm, funny and loved the music of The Beatles. Once they said Hello, Goodbye to the Fab Four fan, they believed he would make the perfect court jester for the Prince of Darkness.
And so on 6th July 2001 the unsuspecting Frank Hackert attended a drinks party at the Rudas’ home. His surprise at being the only guest rivalled only by the shock at the demonic décor, he grew more troubled with every wicked glance the newly-weds shared. While Frank squirmed on the sofa Daniel left the room only to return brandishing a hammer. As if possessed by an evil spirit he struck his work mate twice savagely about the head. The fated Herr Hackert managed to stand and walk a few paces, but would not leave the room alive.
Having watched her husband honour Lucifer with his unprovoked attack, Manuela felt it was time to demonstrate her devotion. Acting on a voice in her head, she snatched up a nearby knife and plunged it into her guest’s chest again and again. Sixty-six times in total. They swore they saw the living room light flicker as Frank Hackert’s own light faded.
PILGRIMAGE TO PERDITION
Follow
ing the brutal and wanton murder of poor Frank Hackert, the killer couple bathed in the euphoria of knowing they would now be welcomed with open arms into Hell. Collecting the endless outpouring of blood in a bowl they drank to their achievement at the living room altar then adjourned to the bedroom to have sex atop an oak coffin; their final act on this mortal plane before they took their own lives.
However, with each passing minute, their frustration grew at the lack of contact from Satan, as did their doubt that suicide was the way to go. In a deviation from the plan the couple fled their home, leaving the body of Frank Hackert to fester.
In a bid to garner the attention of the Antichrist, his faithful servants chose to visit the towns of Sonderhausen, Apold and Jena – all places with strong links to the world of Satanism. Yet still the call did not come.
While they drifted aimlessly around Germany, the police had been alerted to their crime. Earlier on the day of the murder the couple had sent suicide letters to their closest relatives. When Manuela’s mother received hers she contacted the police and on the 9 July the authorities converged on the Rudas’ apartment.
What they discovered inside made even the strongest of stomachs turn. Frank Hackert’s now-decomposing body had been mutilated with various sharp instruments and a pentagram had been carved into his chest with a scalpel, which still jutted coldly from his torso. Nearby police also found a handwritten death list of fifteen names of possible future targets.
SATANIC ORDER
The Satan-smitten duo from Witten were finally arrested on 12 July 2001, thanks to a police road-block outside of Jena. Six months later a highly-publicised trial in Bochum gave the Rudas an unprecedented platform on which to perform.
Adopting a devil-may-care attitude, Daniel and Manuela flicked devil’s horn signs with their fingers and licked their lips at Hackert’s parents during the entire trial. It was yet another chance to bask provocatively in the limelight.
Their defence stated they were mere puppets, instruments of the Devil’s will, and were just obeying orders. As fan mail poured in from like-minded deviants, the verdicts were handed down to Daniel and Manuela: fifteen and thirteen years respectively to be served in a secure psychiatric hospital; their diminished mental capacity the reason for such light sentences. As they exited the courtroom the twisted Teutons gave one final goodbye kiss for the benefit of the cameras.
Dennis Nilsen
Known as the Kindly Killer, Britain’s worst serial killer at that time prowled the gay bars of Soho for willing playmates only to strangle and drown them before they could leave him to his loneliness.
THE WAKE OF DEATH
Dennis Andrew Nilsen was born on 23 November 1945 in Fraserburgh, Aberdeenshire, a bleak fishing town on the northeast coast of Scotland. His childhood soon mirrored the region’s desolation following his parents’ divorce. Forced to live under the strict Presbyterian rule of his maternal grandparents, Dennis was relentlessly lectured on the impurities of the flesh, the evils of alcohol and popular entertainment, seen as the work of the Devil.
Unsurprisingly, Dennis withdrew into a dark place, which grew even darker following the passing of his grandfather in October 1951. Forced to view the body resting on the dining room table during the wake, the six-year-old boy got his first glimpse of death. Many have suggested this became the catalyst to his future career as a killer.
School was a confusing place for the admonished adolescent as he dealt with his burgeoning attraction for other boys. With a basic education under his belt, he joined the army and travelled the world with the Catering Corps. Between 1967 and 1970 he was stationed in Germany, the Persian Gulf, Cyprus and Northern Ireland. This final port of call saw him become disillusioned with army life, and he promptly left the military. His ten year stint in the Corps had allowed him to develop a taste for alcohol, explore his homosexuality, and perfect his butchering skills that would later be used to make his male companions disappear.
Following a brief spell with the Metropolitan Police, with whom he got the chance to visit morgues, Dennis moved on again taking a job with the department of employment. Here he gradually rose within the ranks, gaining promotion to executive officer at the Kentish Town office. Both staff and clientele found the bespectacled man a kind and attentive employee. They had no idea what existed behind those myopic eyes; what transpired behind closed doors at home.
LOSING HIS TWINKLE
In private, this physically unremarkable man was indulging in disturbingly unusual practices. His developing fascination with death found him whitening his skin and painting his lips blue to mimic a corpse, whereupon he would stare at his reflection for hours on end, often masturbating at his grim pallor. He would also walk his dog in Highgate Cemetery and let his imagination run wild as he gazed upon the graves of the dead. Teetering on the brink of evil, Dennis needed just the right emotional trigger to push him over the edge and into oblivion.
Around four years later that moment came. Dennis had been living with David Gallichan, nicknamed ‘Twinkle’, at 195 Melrose Avenue, Cricklewood in North London. Then, after two years of co-habiting, his friend moved on, leaving Dennis lonely and depressed. To counter feelings of rejection, he began to trawl the Soho district for company, but when each lover departed the next morning, his despair grew more acute and he reacted to his isolation in the most violent of ways.
On 30 December 1978, Nilsen met a young Irish teen named Stephen Holmes and brought him back to his bachelor pad for sex. When thoughts turned to the inevitable departure, Dennis took out a tie and strangled the boy then drowned him in a bucket of water. He now had his very own corpse, something he had fantasised about for years and he revelled in its pliability, finding beauty in its limpness. After admiring the lifeless body for some time, he placed it under the floorboards, where it remained for seven months, festering beneath his feet.
THE BAD SAMARITAN
A year went by without Nilsen resorting to murder. Then in October 1979, he picked up Andrew Ho in a pub in St Martin’s Lane. Agreeing to be tied up, the Chinese student soon found his new lover’s hands about his neck. He broke free and escaped, heading straight for the police, but when Dennis counter-claimed Andrew had been trying to steal from him the matter was dropped.
Two months later he met Ken Ockendon, a twenty-three-year-old Canadian student, at the Princess Louise pub in High Holborn. After showing him the sights of the capital, the pair retired to the flat, where Nilsen was overcome by urges to create another corpse. While Ockendon listened to music on a pair of headphones, his host wrapped the flex around his neck and choked him to death, making doubly sure by drowning the body in the bath. Once Nilsen had had his fun, the dead student joined Stephen Holmes under the floorboards.
Over the next twenty months, Dennis repeated his double-kill procedure of strangulation and drowning, killing ten more young men. He did not care who he picked up, and often failed to remember or even ask their names. All that was important was to find company and then never let them leave. He would spend days with a corpse until the smell became too strong, and then they disappeared beneath the carpet.
His final murder at Melrose Avenue came on 18 September 1981. The previous day Dennis had found epileptic Malcolm Barlow coping with the aftermath of a fit outside his home. The killer kindly called for an ambulance and went with him to hospital. When Malcolm returned to the house to thank him, he was invited inside for a meal. Kindness failed to strike twice and Nilsen promptly strangled his guest while he was asleep. With no room under the floor, he then squashed him underneath the kitchen sink.
TO PASTURES NEW
The body situation at the Cricklewood address had become a serious problem by the time his murders entered double figures. He had to spray the flat twice a day to keep the flies away and was forced to make midnight sorties into the large garden to dump bags filled with entrails by the fence. These would be feasted upon by scavenging wildlife. Nilsen also lit bonfires to eliminate evidence, burning a car tyre along wit
h the human remains to mask the stench.
Knowing he needed to curb his murderous acts, Nilsen moved house in October 1981. He chose an attic flat at 23 Cranley Gardens in Muswell Hill as the residence had no garden nor easy access to the floorboards. But this attempt to break the deadly cycle, soon faltered. Within a month he was back cruising the bars of Soho, bringing Paul Nobbs back to the new pad. Luckily, he lived to see morning and when he visited the hospital to have some strange bruising examined, the doctor informed him he had been the victim of strangulation.
His first kill in Muswell Hill came in March 1982 after picking up John Howlett from The Salisbury pub. The pair struggled as Nilsen succumbed to his urges once again, but he managed to finish off his quarry by drowning him in the bath. With no easy way to dispose of the corpse, he leant on his butchering skills and dismembered the body, boiling the head, ribs and other sections in a pot on the stove, and hiding bags of bones about the flat.
Two more murders followed over the next year. He killed Graham Allen while he ate an omelette, but had no recollection of the attack. The desire to bring death had seemingly overpowered him to such an extent that now he was unaware of his evil actions. Finally, he murdered Stephen Sinclair, sleeping contently with the body for days after, using mirrors to watch himself perform with the corpse. By the time Sinclair’s body had been carved up and flushed down the toilet, the end of Nilsen’s savage journey was in sight.
FLUSHING OUT THE KILLER
On 3 February 1983 Nilsen’s fellow residents at 23 Cranley Gardens discovered their toilets had become blocked. Dyno-Rod were called out five days later and when the engineer opened the manhole in the street, he found lumps of rotting meat. On his return the next day, he was surprised to find the strange sludge had vanished. It was then the police were called.
