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Hunting Season

Mad you might say. Perhaps. I’m not sorry I committed the crimes. I’m just sorry I got caught, but my accomplice, Stanley Warden, didn’t. He might be still out there committing more crimes that I didn’t finish, while I’m out here spending time on death row. Some of the victims’ family and friends wish I would burn in Hell, after my sentence is up.

It all started about more than two decades ago in the summer of 1989, I was 14 years old and desperate for a summer job. That was the same day that I met 53 year old Stanley Warden, the owner of “Warden’s Funeral Home and Crematory”. When I first met him I thought he was weird and creepy, especially with all those scares all over his face. I wanted to help Stan around the funeral home.

But he told me, “Boy, you should be working in an other job instead of a funeral home, besides I don’t need any help I been doing this for twenty years.”

“Yeah well, what if you get tired of this and want to retire about a few years from now, come on I’m desperate and need a job to help my brothers keep the house.” I explained to him.

See my parents died in a car accident when I was about 10 years old, my older brother, Johnny who is about 22 is taking care of me and my other brother, Parker who is 17 and a high school drop out. Johnny and Parker both have to work to support me, but it isn’t enough to pay the rent. So I want to help them out by getting a job for the summer.

So Stan changed his mind and said, “Alright kid you can have the job, but all your going to be cleaning the coffins, floors, might have to do something for me that has to do with dead bodies once or twice a week. You start tomorrow Mr...

“Grimes. Bobby Grimes.” I told him what my name was.

When I got home I told Johnny and Parker that I got a job at the funeral home about two blocks from our house they were disappointed, that they said I don’t really need a job but I insisted. I wanted do go out tonight but Johnny says no because there has been another murder in town which makes it about five so far when it all started. The spree started about a few weeks ago, with Charles Feldman, who was found face down on I-86 who was shot 6 times with a .38 revolver. The rest where unknown woman who’s bodies where never found. Even writing about it gives me the shivers.

The next day was my first day back at the funeral home and that was the day that I knew what Stanley really is. When went down to the crematory right on top on a filling cabinet was .38 revolver, which was the same type of gun that killed Charlie Feldman. That’s not all the four woman that were reported missing, I found there bodies, stabbed, gutted, throat slashed, and possibly cannibalized. I wanted to go to the police but Stan saw me and I just froze.

“Oh Bobby, I know you won’t go to the police, I was the one that got you this job in the first place. Besides if you tell the police, I would deny the whole thing, the bodies will be removed some where else. So you will do something for me as your employer.” Stan explained.

“Okay what do you want me to do?” I asked Stan.

“Tonight I need you to go to St. Richards Cemetery right next to the house on Bakers Hill and bring me some more bodies of woman that just recently passed away and I’m going to make sure you do it. Is that clear?” Stan explained and asked.

“Yes Stan, I read you loud and clear.” I answered Stan’s questioned.

“Oh Bobby...” I stopped and see what Stan had to say. “if you even think about running I will hunt you down and gut you like a fish.” Stan threaten me.

When I got home I got a little scared because of what I saw back at the crematory, so the only person I could turn to was Parker because he more like a role model to me. Anyways I ask him if he could go to the library and do a little research on Stan, he said yes and when he got back I found how something about Stan that the whole town doesn’t know.

Back in Texas, 1951, Stan murdered his parents and four brothers and sisters with an axe. It was true, even to this day it still frightens me, they where all asleep when he committed
the murders in one newspaper article it says:

Teen Murders Family On Halloween. On the night of October 31, Stanley Warden, 15, took an axe from the tool shack right next to his house and went on a murder rampage. The victims, Henry, 43, Maybelle, 41, Dawn, 17, Lewis, 13, Daniel, 11, were all chopped into bits in their sleep except for the youngest Jenny, 9, who’s body was found in the closet of her bedroom was awake while the murders were being committed. According to Sheriff Wydell, “Stanley claimed that he was at his friend’s house the night the murders were being committed. But witnesses claimed ,including the friend, that he was home that night and four of those witnesses claimed that they saw him running out of the house covered in blood.”

To make the long story short he spent most of his adolescence in “Carson Hill Asylum For The Criminally Insane” for over 20 years in group therapy, medication, therapy sessions, and shock treatment until they thought he is capable to get out. He was released 10 years ago. If I go I would be an accessory to the crime, if I don’t go he’ll find out that I knew about him and he’ll kill me without hesitation. So I had no choice, but to go.

Stan and I went to the graveyard about to dig up the grave of old Mary Rivers who just died of tuberculosis two days ago. Right we were in the middle of digging her up the undertaker came and started to attack Stanley. Stan tried to reached for a switchblade that he carries around. But the undertaker threw it out of his hand, I picked up. I didn’t know what to do, but I took the knife and shoved deep in his gut until lots of blood came out.

“I...I killed him. I’m sorry but I had no choice but he was punching you and kicking you. You would have been dead by now.” I confessed to Stan.

“Forget about him, we’ll cremate him later, let’s just get back to work.” Stan said while digging up the old woman’s grave.

When we got back to the funeral home. Stan and I took the two dead bodies with us without any more attention. First, we cremated the undertaker so no one will ever know and Stanley took some parts off the old lady like liver, kidneys, heart, lungs and other organs and cooked the her for dinner. At first I didn’t want to, but I did it any ways and to tell you the truth she didn’t taste that bad.

The next day, the incident of the grave robing of old Mary Rivers and the mysterious disappearance of the undertaker at the graveyard was allover the news. I was scared out of my wits, I didn’t know what to do but, I went down to the funeral home with a nervous look on my face and told Stan what happened. Someone heard our discussion put we had to kill him. I took a tire iron whacked him on the head and went to the old house on baker hill that has been deserted for fifty years. I took a .357 magnum, point it right a the stranger’s, face and blew his brains out. Then his disappearance was also allover the news. I want to turn myself in, but I just can’t.

That afternoon, Brooklyn Police Detective Hank Marston who working on the case since the spree first started asking me where I was the night of the undertaker’s disappearance and the stranger’s disappearance. I told him I was working. He was just asking because three witnesses said that they saw me at the graveyard and the house on Bakers Hill the time that they went missing. My brothers weren’t home so I took a shovel and slammed it on the detective’s head and called Stan to come to my house fast.

When he got to my house he looked at the dead body and asked me, “What were you thinking? Why would you do something like this? You are getting out of control.”

“Me, out of control? Stan I have seen you killed plenty, far much worse than this. Now help me put this body in your trunk.” I confronted him.

By the time we got back from the funeral home the police had heard of the disappearance of the police detective and like five to six squad cars were waiting for us. Stan had escaped, but me I was outside of the funeral home holding the head of the dead cop. The police in the basement found evidence of five or six bodies that would get me sentenced to die. No one had ever saw Stan again, some say he died and some say that he moved to a different town killing more people with a different name.

No it is about twenty years later on June 8th, 2009 the twentieth anniversary of which the locals are calling it the East Side Massacre. It is about 11:30 p.m and it is time for me to fry. Friends and Family members are sitting there waiting for me to burn in Hell. The last thing I had to say was:

“You all have every right to hate me. I deserve this. And I want you all to believe me that I wasn’t the only one that summer of 1989. I’m not sorry I committed murder. I’m sorry I got caught.” I said sitting there laughing.

The clock struck midnight and it was time for me to pay for what I have done. I sat there while the chair did the honors, electrocuting me until I’m dead. Nobody will ever forget the nightmare called the East Side Massacre. But there is just one question that no one knows including me is “What happened to Stan?” is he dead, is he still alive committing more murders, to this day his disappearance remains a mystery, even to me.

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