Confessions of the Serial Killer H.H. Holmes (Illustrated)

by Mudgett (aka H. H. Holmes), Herman Webster

  Table of Contents

  Forward

  Holmes’ Own Story

  MOYAMENSING PRISON DIARY.

  OTHER DISAPPEARANCES

  PHOTOGRAPHIC IDENTIFICATIONS

  MOTIVES

  Holmes Confesses 27 Murders

  Holmes’ Busy Day - The Murderer Realizes That His Time is Growing Short.

  Holmes’ Arrest - How the Insurance Company Worked Out the Great Case.

  Geyer’s Search - The Detective Writes a Book Telling - How He Solved the Pitezel Mysteries.

  His Letter to Mrs. Pitezel

  Threats of Suicide

  Account for Time

  I Never Quarreled with Ben

  The Cruel Company

  Plans for the Children

  The Hunt Begins

  Traced to Indianapolis

  Two Bodies Found

  Beginning of the End

  Howard’s Bones Found

  Not so Easily Fooled

  Holmes, the Arch Fiend

  The Wife and Mother

  In the Insurance Office

  The Dead House

  More Deviltry Contemplated

  The Fiend’s Dream

  Impoverished

  The Pitezel Children in the Net

  The Deed at Irvington

  In Detroit

  The Hunt Begins

  Two More Murders

  Foiled

  Mrs. Pitezel Further Persecuted

  A Sample Subterfuge

  Mrs. Pitezel Finds her Children

  Arrested and Tried

  Hung

  Holmes Castle

  THE HOLMES CASTLE

  A HINT

  INTRODUCTORY

  THE CASTLE.

  H.H. HOLMES

  HIS DRUG STORE

  A BUSY MAN

  MEETS A CHUM

  A SCHOOL-TEACHER’S DAUGHTER

  TWO SWINDLERS

  AN INSURANCE POLICY

  MORE MISSING PEOPLE

  FINDING EVIDENCE

  DEPARTMENT OF BUILDINGS.

  JEWELER DAVIS

  ARTICLES ABOUT H.H. HOLMES AS PRINTED IN SOME OF THE CHICAGO DAILIES.

  AUTHOR’S ARTICULATION

  ANOTHER CASTLE

  Forward

  I first started visiting Gilmanton, New Hampshire as a baby. My parents have a summerhouse there, which has been passed down through the generations. In fact, I usually spent almost every summer weekend there growing up until I reached high school and there has only been one summer where I have not spent at least a week at the summerhouse.

  And, like all kids do, my brother, sister, and I spent time with the other children in the neighborhood, including the boys who lived two houses down. I can’t say I spent tons of time in that house or that the boys were my closest friends just to enhance the story. We frequently knocked on their door to play pick-up baseball with the other kids in the neighborhood and went in their house on occasion. Surprising, it was only in the last year that I learned that the first known serial killer in the United States grew up in that house, Herman Webster Mudgett who is better known as H. H. Holmes.

  After this discovery, I developed some morbid curiosity and wanted to know more. While there are a large number of newspaper articles and books that were published during and after the trials of Herman Mudgett, most of these have not been transcribed from their original print versions.

  I don’t claim to be a writer. What I have done is to find some unique items that I thought might be of interest to others and had them transcribed from photocopies and microfilm. Specifically, the book you are reading includes two pieces that were written by Herman Mudgett. The first piece is a transcription of a book that Mudgett wrote while he was still on trial in which he claimed that he had murdered no one (Holmes’ Own Story).

  The second piece was written by Mudgett and published in the Chicago Tribune after he was convicted (“Holmes Confesses 27 Murders”). In this account, he admitted to 27 murders, including several murders where it was later shown the “victims” were still alive at the time of the trial. From my perspective, the scariest aspect of the second account is how he compliments the detectives in the case. In reading it, it gave me the feeling that he felt he was still toying with people and had gotten away with more than he had confessed.

  I added a third book from the day, called Holmes, the Arch Fiend Or: A Carnival of Crime; The Life, Trial, Confession and Execution of H. H. Holmes. This book provides a narrative that is not covered in the other texts, including possible conversations between Holmes and his victims, which could not possibly be confirmed. However, it provides yet another point of view from the decade in which Holmes was tried and executed.

  I recently added a fourth book, The Holmes Castle, adding more historical references from the time. In this book, a contemporary reporter to Holmes adds his own views on the case and additional facts based on his own investigations of the Holmes Castle. Among those findings was a second building owned by Holmes where possibly many more bodies were disposed.

  There have been claims that Herman Mudgett was actually Jack the Ripper and others that he killed close over 200 people. The only thing it seems we can be sure of is that he was a cold-blooded killer and a master manipulator.

  I should let you all know that there are a few words here and there that could not be made out from the photocopies from the Library of Congress. I apologize for these minor gaps in the text. While I do not think these misses detract from the overall book, I apologize for the misses. Likewise, there are many misspellings that were in the original texts; I left those from letters to give a little more flavor of the times.

  For me, the homes in Gilmanton have always been a little spooky. Now they are just a little bit spookier.

  Holmes’ Own Story

  In which the Alleged

  Multi Murderer and Arch Conspirator

  Tells Of

  The Twenty-two Tragic Deaths and Disappearances

  In which He Said to be Implicated

  With

  Moyamenseng Prison Diary Appendix

  Philadelphia

  Burk & McFetridge Co.

  1895

  Come with me, if you will, to a tiny, quiet New England village, nestling among the picturesque rugged hills of New Hampshire. This little hamlet has for over a century been known as Gilmanton Academy. So called in honor of an institution of learning of that name, founded there by a few sturdy, self-denying and God-fearing men, over a hundred years ago, who could they now leave their silent resting places in the church yard near by, and again wander for an hour through these quiet streets, would, with the exception of new faces, see little change.

  Here, in the year 1861, I. Herman W. Mudgett, the author of these pages, was born. That the first years of my life were different from those of any other ordinary country bred boy, I have no reason to think. That I was well trained by loving and religious parents, I know and any deviations in my after life from the straight and narrow way of rectitude are not attributable to the want of a tender mother’s prayers or a father’s control emphasized, when necessary, by the liberal use of the rod wielded by no sparing hand.

  On my fifth birthday I was given my first suit of boy’s clothing and soon after was sent to the village school house where the school was “ kept.” I had daily to pass the office of one village doctor, the door of which was seldom if ever barred. Partly from its being associated in my mind as the source of all the nauseous mixtures that had been my childish terror (for this was before the day of children’s medicines), and partly bec
ause of vague rumors I had heard regarding its contents, this place was one of peculiar abhorrence to me, and this becoming known to two of my older schoolmates, they one day bore me struggling and shrieking beyond its awful portals; nor did they desist until I had been brought face to face with one of its grinning skeletons, which, with arms outstretched, seemed ready in its turn to seize me. It was a wicked and dangerous thing to do to a child of tender years and health but it proved an heroic method of treatment destined ultimately to cure me of my fears and to inculcate in me, first, a strong feeling of curiosity, and, later, a desire to learn which resulted years afterwards in my adopting medicine as a profession.

  When I was about eight years old, an unusual occurrence took place in our village – the arrival of an itinerant photographer. He was a man apparently suffering from some slight lameness, and gladly accepted my offer to act as his errand boy, and in payment for my services he was to execute for me a likeness of myself. One morning upon going to his office I found the door still locked. It was immediately opened, however, by the artist, sufficiently for him to hand to me a small wooden block broken in two pieces. He instructed me to take them to our village wagon maker and have him make a new one, which I was to return to him. I did this, and upon entering the office again, I found the artist partially clothed and sitting near the door, which he at once locked. He then proceeded to remove the greater portion of one of his legs, and not having known until then what was the cause of his lameness, in fact, not ever having seen or even known that such a thing as artificial limbs existed, my consternation can better be imagined than described. Had he next proceeded to remove his head in the same mysterious way, I should not have been further surprised. He must have noticed my discomfiture, for as soon as his mending process had sufficiently progressed he quickly placed me in a dim light, and standing upon his whole leg, and meantime waving the other at me, he took my picture, which in a few days he gave to me. I kept if for many years and the then thin terror-stricken face of that barefooted, home-spun clad boy I can yet see.

  In those days in our quiet village, so remote from the outside world, that even a locomotive whistle could scarcely be heard, daily newspapers were rare and almost unknown, our usual source of information being the weekly papers and a few periodicals; and in one of these I saw a glowing offer, emphasized by a fine illustration of a gold watch and chain, a few of which would be sold at a comparatively trifling sum. Surely this was for me the one opportunity of my life, and although my entire wealth at that time consisted mostly of pennies and other small coins, almost every one having for me its own peculiar history, all of which I converted into more transferable shape by exchanging them with our shoemaker, who was also my confidant in the matter, was hardly more than sufficient to buy the watch.

  I was far more concerned lest, before my order should reach the distant city, all would be sold, than troubled over the depleted condition of my purse. Then came anxious days of waiting and later the arrival of the watch, and after going alone to my room to wind it and deciding which pocket was most suitable for its reception, and still later going to the several stores and some houses bargaining beforehand with a little friend that, in consideration of his accompanying me and at each place asking in a unconcerned manner what time it was that he should wear it the greater part of the day, although I was to be present that no harm befell my treasure; but before it came time for him to wear it the wheels had ceased to turn, the gold had lost its luster, and the whole affair had turned into an occasion of ridicule for my companions and of self-reproach to myself.

  My first falsehood and my first imprisonment occurred synchronously, and were occasioned as follows:

  One morning as I was driving our small heard of cows, which had a few days previously been increased by the addition of several others belonging to a neighbor, to their usual feeding ground outside the limits of the village, an inquisitive neighbor met me and asked, “Whose be they?” I replied very proudly, “Ours.” “What, all of them?” “Yes, all, everyone, and that best one is mine, my own.” An hour later upon returning to my home I found father waiting to receive me. He demanded why I had told Richard the lie about the cows, but before I could answer him my mind was most effectually taken up by the production of an implement, to which I was no stranger, and by its vigorous use. After this I was consigned to an upper room and strictly enjoined to speak to no one, and for the ensuing day I should have no food. My absence was soon noticed by my playmates and the cause ascertained, and not long after upon looking out of the window I saw my little friend perched upon the fence nearby, looking almost as disconsolate as I, and later in the day after sundry pantomime communications he came with a liberal supply of food, which, with the aid of the ever present ball of cord, which you can find in almost every boy’s pocket, I was soon enjoying. Accompanying the food was a note written in his scrawly hand encouraging me to “never mind,” and that upon the following Saturday we would go down and let Richard’s cows into his cornfield.

  But this was not done, for late at night when the shadows in my room had assumed strange and fearful shapes, my mother came and taking me into her own room, knelt down and earnestly plead with me and for me, and it was many days before I forgot that lesson. This little note, however, with two others form a unique collection. The second was a joint production of my friend and myself, addressed to an unpopular school teacher one vacation upon our hearing that some slight financial calamity had overtaken him. This was done with the belief that a new teacher was to take his place during the coming year, but in this we were mistaken. I had abundant evidence during the first day of the following term that he had received our letter, when he changed my seat from one I had long occupied, and which was very favorably located for looking into the street to the opposite side of the room. My seatmate was a very disagreeable and unpopular girl.

  The third note was also a joint production, written upon brown paper and tacked upon the barn door of a village farmer, who had, as we thought, misused us. It was not a lengthy note, the words being “Who will pull your weeds next year?” This note was occasioned by the farmer engaging us for a stipulated price to rid a field of a large weed that is common there, and a great hindrance to the healthy growth of other products. The weeds were tall and strong, and the pittance we were to receive was ridiculously small for the amount of work. But when we had finished and held out our tiny, blistered hands for our pay, it was not forthcoming. We went again and again to it, and being convinced it was useless to go more, we returned quietly with two large baskets to where we had piled the weeds, to be dried preparatory to their being burned, and very soon thereafter the seeds from all that we had pulled were sown broadcast over the field again. It is, perhaps, a small matter to speak of here, but it so well illustrates the principle that many times in my after life influenced me to make my conscience become blind, that I thought well to write of it.

  My first business ventures consisted of a pair of twin calves that I raised, and later to bring home on a stormy winter day, a tiny lab given to me by a farmer, which, in time, together with a few others purchased later, expanded into a flock of about forty sheep. Both ventures were failures, however, from a financial point of view, but the failures were nothing compared with the collapse of the innumerable air castles which had depended upon the result of these speculations.

  One day I found a purse containing about $40; an immense sum at that time to me. In the purse were other papers showing me plainly who the owner was. I know that I hesitated, but only for a moment and having made up my mind could not too soon return it to its owner, and because I had hesitated was averse to receiving the reward offered me.

  When I was about nineteen years of age (the preceding years having been filled in for the most part with six to nine months each year of preparatory studies and the balance of the time devoted to work and teaching) I was prepared to enter the Dartmouth College, but instead of doing so, I decided to commence a medical course at once, and, with this obj
ect in view, I matriculated at the University of Vermont at Burlington, where I remained one college year, deciding, before it had expired, to complete my course at some larger college, and the following September found me at Ann Arbor, Mich. After having paid my college fees, bought my books and other articles necessary for my second year in college, I found myself hundreds of miles away from friends and relatives and with about $60 in money with nine months of hard study before me, allowing but little time for outside work if I wished to keep up in my studies with the other members of my class.

  About this time I first became acquainted with a Canadian, a fellow student, and from then until the time of his death he was one of the very few intimate friends I have ever allowed myself.

  The limits of this book will not allow me to write the many quaint and some ghastly experiences of our medical education where I otherwise disposed to do so. Suffice it to say, that they stopped far short of desecration of country graveyards, as has been repeatedly charged, as it is a well-known fact that in the State of Michigan all the material necessary for dissection work is legitimately supplied by the State. At the end of my junior year I entered into an agreement with a fluent representative of a Chicago firm to spend my vacation on the northwest portion of Illinois representing his firm as a book agent. In this venture, I committed the first really dishonest act of my life.

  The firm as well as the book itself, from the sale of which I had been assured I could earn hundreds of dollars during my vacation, was a fraud, and after the most strenuous efforts, having succeeding in selling a sufficient number to defray my expenses and pay my return fare to Ann Arbor, I came back without making a settlement with the firm there, and for the remainder of my vacation earned what money I could in and about the college city.

  I could hardly count my Western trip a failure, however, for I had seen Chicago.

  The remainder of my medical course differed very little from the first two years; filled perhaps more completely with hard work and study, and almost wholly devoid of pleasure and recreation. At last, however, in June, 1884, our examinations were passed, our suspense was ended and I left Ann Arbor with my diploma, a good theoretical knowledge of medicine, but with no practical knowledge of life and of business. After taking a vacation of less than one week in my old New Hampshire home, I went to Portland, Maine, and engaged with a large business firm of that city to represent them in Northern New York in the sale of their products; my prime object being to find some favorable location in this way where I could become a practitioner. Such an opening was not easily found, however, and I accepted a winter school to teach at Mooers Forks, N. J., and later opened an office in that village. Here I stayed of one year doing good and conscientious work, for which I received plenty of gratitude but little or no money, and in the fall of 1885 starvation was staring me in the face and finally I was forced to sell first one and then the last of my two horses, and having done this I resolved to go elsewhere before all of my means were again exhausted.