Disclaimer: These letters are fiction. They are meant for entertainment purposes and are only loosely based on real killers.
My name is Craven. That is the only name you need know me by. I am a collector of things – shall we say – morbid. The world has been my playground and I have spent the majority of my adult life searching for items of rather a dark nature and purpose. It has been made clear to me that many of you are fascinated by darkness, so I thought it a pleasure to share some of my findings. In particular, I want to share with you some of the letters I have uncovered in my search. These letters have never been made public – and with good reason. The content of these missives isn’t really fit for the average mind and heart to consume. What you are about to read are letters written between serial killers. In some cases these letters were actually mailed and delivered. In other cases these words were nothing more than the mad ramblings of the insane.
Never the less – read on with caution. You have been duly warned.
You do not know me. You have no reason to know me…. yet. But allow me to introduce myself. My name is Armin Meiwes. I am a German who is particularly fond of your work. In fact, one might say you have been quite the inspiration to me. I’ve followed your every move as you cut your swath of horror through Milwaukee, Wisconsin. As I read every word written about your majestic spree, something deep down inside of me began to bubble up. A profound and desperate need overwhelmed my heart. That need begged me to not only kill, but to consume.
It took me years to finally build up the courage to take my first victim. I decided the capture/kill scenario was below my station so I devised the perfect scheme. One late evening I happened across an online forum dedicated to fetishists longing for cannibalism. For the most part this was nothing more than a collection of ignorant and desperate men and women just hoping to get their jollies off by pretending to want to eat or be eaten. They had no idea how powerful and painful the desire really was – the desire to dine on human flesh.
At first I just remained in the background and read. The more I perused I realized a veritable playground of human cattle lay before me. So I posted an advertisement looking for a well-built 18 to 30-year-old to be slaughtered and then consumed. I was shocked to be met by an honest reply. A young man, Bernd Jürgen Brandes, answered that he was, in fact, interested in being consumed. We met shortly after that reply and began the titillating dance of setting up what would lead me to the discovery of my inner, deeper truth – I was born to feast on the flesh of man.
We made an agreement that we would first dine on Bernd’s amputated penis. Bernd tried to turn the tide to matters of sexuality when he insisted I bite the penis off. I convinced him otherwise and had it off with more conventional means. The meat of the member was too chewy to eat raw (although we did try) so I attempted my first penis sauté. By this point Bernd was suffering from severe blood loss and hadn’t the strength to chew. I have to confess I was quite saddened by this as I was looking forward to sharing my first meal with the added layer of cannibalistic irony.
Mr. Dahmer, I spent the next few weeks dining on the flesh of Bernd. Every morsel of flesh took me further down the rabbit hole of self I had discovered, thanks to you. But I do wish you would have been with me when I took that first bite of human flesh. Knowing I was about to step over a threshold few are brave enough to cross was monumental and I had to know, beyond certainty, I was following my destiny with both brevity and without remorse or reprieve.
The second the bloody meat lay on my tongue I knew. I was, in fact, a cannibal. The metallic tang of blood and the almost sweet flavor of the meat sent shock waves of bliss through my system. I swallowed the slice of flesh, closed my eyes, and felt the chunk traverse down my esophagus and into my intestines. My soul swam with delight, my heart beat with a newfound desire.
I have you to thank for the release of my monster, Mr. Dahmer. You have inspired me with the courage to be who I am and for that, I will never forget you – though I do dream of partaking of your flesh – I know that the Grim Reaper has taken that rapturous moment from me. Oh but the flesh of my mentor shall be the sweetest meat of all.
It is my hope that someday I will inspire others as you have me. You have made me the next big monster parents will warn their children of and Hollywood and publishers will clamor to biography.
Your student in flesh,