I am a retired Private Investigator turned Real Crime Blogger.

I have been
receiving anonymous manuscripts in the mail detailing heinous acts of appalling
psychopathy.

For reasons concerning my work and this situation, I don’t want to give you my true
identity. You can refer to me as Mr S. I started out in my early years as a
detective. Not to toot my own horn, but I was highly effective at my job, and
before too long I started taking much higher paying jobs as a freelance Private
Investigator. Over the years, I have solved several high profile cold murder
cases.

Unfortunately, in a work related attack, I was seriously injured and retired from
my job as a Private Investigator 5 years ago. Since then, I have started a well
known Real Crime blog and podcast.

Recently, I started to receive anonymous handwritten manuscripts in the mail

detailing heinous acts of dark psychopathy. No return address. On the outside of
the first envelope there was the following note:

“As my glorious life nears its end, my only regret is that nobody knows my greatest
works and accomplishments.”

Below is the first manuscript I received. This manuscript was titled, “High
School.”

Be warned, I believe that what you are about to read is the Journal of a
Psychopath.

*************

High School

It was my third week at my new high school. I’m used to being the new guy, so it
doesn’t bother me much. I’m an introvert anyway. I grew up in the Foster Care
System and had never stayed in one place for too long.

I wasn’t known as a problem child, I just never bonded with any of my foster
parents. They could tell, and my lack of attachment always bothered them. They
could send me off and hope that their next foster child would give them the
happiness they were looking for. The living conditions were usually substandard
anyway.

Most foster parents need to be needed, so I never took it personally. I never felt
like I needed anybody. It’s whatever. I was in my Junior year anyway, and in just
under 2 years I’ll be liberated from the system and on my own. College will be all
but free, as they practically beg us foster kids to go to college.

Nonetheless, I was three weeks into classes at my new school, and I had already
made an enemy. Jake Pearson.

In this suburban High School, these idiots were just like the kids at every other
school. A bunch of dudes trying way too hard to look cool and tough to the gaggles
of girls who were trying way too hard to stand out by ironically doing the exact
same thing that every other girl was doing. These hallways are filled with drama
this, drama that, look at these 100 dollar shoes daddy bought me. People are so
drab.

The day I arrived, I knew that Jake would be a problem. Jake was somehow the single
most cliche high school jock I’d ever seen, including in the movies. He was tall,
built, a lady’s man, and had rich parents. The most standout feature about Jake was
his incessant need to act overly tough at all times. I was never sure if he was
compensating for a tiny ego, or he just had a really large ego. Maybe the true
answer was somewhere in both of those options. Either way, I hated this kid so bad
that just the sound of his goddamn voice made me want to move to the next foster
home.

I was minding my own business one fateful morning when some pathetic nerd had the
misfortune of lightly bumping into Jake. Commotion stirred as students all around
the hallway gathered to laugh at Jake’s beratement of the scrawny nerd.

“Did you just push me, tiny?” He said way too loud, garnering the attention of the
other idiots.

The terrified scrawny kid stammered garbled apologies “I’m sorry, I’m sorry It-it-
it was an acci-.” Before he could finish his stutters Jake smacked the large stack
of books and binders out of the kid’s hands, scattering books and loose papers
everywhere. Laughter erupted from the crowd of idiots. Has this kid ever heard of
a backpack?

I saw my opportunity, it was time to set things in motion. “I bet you get off by
pushing little kids around, don’t you?” I spouted out, with a laugh. Silence fell
so immediately that it was comical. As Jake turned around, I could see the blood
vein popping out of his temple. This kid had some anger problems. I don’t think
mommy ever told him no.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, new kid?”

“Some idiot,” I responded without delay. Jake was really about to lose it now.
He pushed me into the locker and put his face so close to my face that I could
smell his spearmint gum and nauseating cologne. I had just insulted him in front
of his peers, Jake’s primal instincts dictated that he had to ensure everyone saw
him as the, “Alpha Male.”

Sure Jake was taller, bigger, and stronger than I, but what he didn’t know is that
when it comes to fighting, I’m a ragtag, scrappy kid with fast hands. Also, I knew
how to take a hit. When I was 8 my foster home taught me how to be tough the hard
way. Jake might be a brute, but I knew how to fight smart and dirty.

I placed my left foot slightly behind his right heel and slammed my shoulder into
his chest as I swiped his foot out from underneath him. The thud as he hit the
floor brought shock to the growing crowd. To purposefully add insult to injury, I
chimed in with some commentary. “Looks like your dad isn’t the only one who beats
you anymore.”

The statement may or may not have been true, but either way, the goal was to get in
his head. Fighting is as much mental as it is physical. He got up and came
bumbling my way putting all of his weight behind a haymaker that I could have seen
coming from two blocks away. I ducked as his fist flew over my head and landed
right in a locker. This was too easy.

His back was now turned toward me, and his body twisted, providing a perfect angle
to go on the offensive. I gave him a powerful knee to his side, aimed precisely to
give a blow to the kidney. Body shots should always be aimed at major organs,
that’s what causes the most pain. I was rewarded with a grunt of pain as he
dropped to a knee doubled over his side.

I could have stopped there, but I hated this kid and needed him to hate me. With a
quick and easy, but powerful right hook, I delivered the final blow. His nose made
a crunch under my fist, and I loved it. Satisfied, I picked up my backpack and
carried on my way. Leaving Jake laying on the ground with blood on his face,
surrounded by a baffled audience.

I went ahead and walked straight to the administrative office, helping myself to a
chair. The lady behind the desk had a nose that pointed upwards, displaying her
nostrils to anyone and everyone. She reminded me of a pig.

“Can I help you?” Mrs. Pig asked, with a high pitched tone that stank of fake
kindness.

“The Principal is going to want to see me soon,” I told her, with my legs crossed
and hands behind my head.

“Oh, do you have an appointment?” She asked. I don’t understand why this lady
feels the need to speak with such a high pitch. It reminded me of nails on a
chalkboard

“No, I stumbled across a bullying incident and long story short I broke someone’s
nose.” The amusing look on her face was somewhere between confused and shocked.

“I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Pig said slowly as she got out of her chair. She
disappeared into the back hallway and came out a couple of minutes later being
trailed by a tall trim man wearing a worn grey suit that was almost as old
fashioned as his ridiculous bushy grey mustache.

In remarkably good timing, the glorified hall monitor, who was officially called
hallway security, came walking in holding the arm of Jake. To my pleasure, Jake
was gingerly holding a large wad of blood-soaked paper towels over his nose. There
were several drops on his beloved letterman’s jacket. I hope it stains.

Behind Jake and Mr. Hallway Monitor was the stuttering little kid who had nearly
become Jake’s chew toy that morning. I almost forgot about him. Stutters shot me
a grateful look, but he still remained panicked and terrified. He reminded me of a
wide-eyed Chihuahua who had been beaten too many times. He was pathetic.

The remaining process took several hours. First, the principal and Mr. Hall
Monitor interviewed me while Jake was working on getting his profusely bleeding
nose under control. Afterward, they interviewed Stutters, who backed up my story.
Lastly, they interviewed Jake, who naturally claimed that I sucker-punched him.

After that, I was forced to call my Foster Parent, Dean, and now he sat beside me
as the principal explained my suspension. Dean wasn’t having any of that though.
Lucky for me, he’s a Lawyer. Not a big-time fancy corporate Lawyer, he was a
public defender for the city. Still, his skills would prove useful.

His arrival marked the beginning of a long argument, in which Dean laid out the
legality of self-defense and ranted about anti-bullying. The School Administration
refused to show any documentation concerning previous complaints concerning Jake’s
bullying, which likely meant that it did indeed exist and the school needed to
cover up their inaction. After Dean threatened to file a lawsuit, and go public
with it, the Principal actually backed down.

I was surprised, I’ve never had a foster parent go to bat for me. Maybe Dean could
prove useful after all.

Of course, he didn’t really do it for me. Dean was nice enough, but I could see
that he was only on board with the foster parent thing to appease his wife, Sarah.
I’m assuming that they tried for years to have a child of their own, but for
whatever medical reasons they were unable. Why or how they ended up with a teenage
foster child was beyond me.

Sarah was the single most generous Foster Parent I’ve ever had, but she had a
pathetic need to be loved and needed. I don’t share this need, but frankly, my
current Foster situation is pretty good, and I like this part of the town they live
in. It’s off toward the end of the suburban part of the city, and the woods were
nearby. The woods provided me with plenty of quiet places to visit. For this
reason, I would play into Sarah’s needs for as long as necessary. It was too easy
to turn on the grateful orphan persona and allow Sarah to feel needed. In return,
I’ll be provided with as cushy of a life as a foster kid can get.

Dean and I were now alone in the parking lot. As he reached to open his car door,
he stopped and looked at me. “Listen Rich,” Oh god, here comes the emotional talk
about how he understands that I’m going through a tough time yadda yadda. “I just
wanted to let you know that, I’m impressed with what you did, standing up for a kid
that was being bullied. So umm, let’s just not tell Sarah about this, okay?”

“Sounds good, Thanks, Dean.” He looked like he was about to give me an awkward
hug, but thankfully he settled with a slightly less awkward fist bump. Apparently,
he was touched by my bold display of anti-bullying, saving Stutters from the big
meanie. Honestly, my actions had nothing to do with defending that spineless
shrimp. I don’t give two shits about him. I did it because I hated Jake, and
Stutters gave me a golden opportunity that I couldn’t waste.

The rest of the day was dismal and ordinary. Classes were easy for me. I didn’t
do most of my homework but managed B’s and sometimes A’s simply by getting good
scores on the tests. My motivation depended on the class. Math was easy but
boring, my Reading teacher was a true moron who loved over-analyzing worthless
poetry, but my Psychology class was actually interesting and useful.

At this point, I’d already read the entire Psych textbook and continued research on
my own. It was helping me to understand more about myself. I had been reading
about Personality Disorders, and I saw a lot of myself in the section about
Psychopathy and Antisocial Behavior. At this point, I wondered if I myself was a
Psychopath. It didn’t bother me one bit. It just made sense.

Psychopathy is characterized by many things, including an inability to feel

empathy. This is where I felt uncertain. There was one person, only one, who
I’ve ever truly felt empathy for, Addy. Addy was once my foster sister, but we had
been separated when I was 8. I’m not sure if I have the inability to feel empathy
for another, or if I simply learned not to after losing Addy.

As I was walking home, only a 25-minute walk, I turned down the back road right
next to the woods. Houses were scarce on this road. Nice, quiet, and out of
sight. About 10 minutes into my walk, I realized I was being followed by a maroon
Mustang Convertible. The car pulled up, and out clambered Jake and 3 of his
minions. A group of idiots who followed Jake, like little neglected dogs hoping to
get a compliment and some positive attention.

I can fight, sure, but I’m not stupid either. I was outnumbered four to one, so I
turned and ran for the wood line. I’ll admit, these kids were fast, I quickly
realized that I wouldn’t be able outrun them for too long. So I said to Hell with
it, I’m more about fight than flight anyway. I ducked behind some thick brush and
grabbed a hefty but manageable log. If I’m going to go down, I’ll go down
swinging.

The footsteps were arriving quickly, so I swung my log right as victim #1 came
around the corner. The log connected so hard with his blocky head that it broke in
half. Unfortunately, the log was useless now, but the damage had been done and
victim #1 hit the ground hard.

I gave Victim #2 a hard front kick straight to the chest. He grunted as the air
escaped his lungs and he landed on his back with his feet in the air. King
Leonidas would be proud. I dodged the 3rd guy, a fat but strong kid who only knew
how to bull rush. That’s when a hard rock connected with my temple.

I was on the ground now, and I didn’t recall the fall. I was getting kicked
repeatedly. A blow to my gut knocked the wind out of me, but I grabbed his foot
and pulled, putting all my weight into his knee. Whoever that knee belonged to
shouted in pain. I probably just hyperextended his knee. The rock hit me again,
this time in my nose. I was dazed now, but I could see Jake standing over me with
a decent sized stone.

“Alright, let’s stop this before it gets too out of hand.” Someone said. I think
that was Victim #2.

“Shut the Hell up, Bryan.” Jake snapped back. “I’m not done.” Another two kicks
hit me hard in the ribs.

“Okay, seriously Jake, I think that’s enough.”

“Quit being a pussy!”

Another two kicks found their home in my stomach as I struggled to get air in my
lungs.

“Kick him, Bryan,” Jake ordered

“Come on man, he’s already almost unconscious.” Objected Bryan.

“I Said KICK HIM!” Jake ordered again, looking threatening with the rock still in
his hand.

“I bet you like being his little Bitch, don’t you, Bryan?” That sentence flew out
my mouth before I could stop it. I always knew what to say if I wanted to hurt
someone. That statement was the last push Bryan needed, and his shoe connected
hard with my head. My vision was now covered with black dots.

Through my blurry vision, I saw Jake lean down. “You’re messing with the wrong
person, Rich. You’d best find yourself a new foster home before I make your life
so miserable you’ll want to kill yourself. Not that anybody would care.” He stood
up, gave me one last kick, and then ordered his brainless minions to go back to the
car.

I watched them leave, one kid heavily limping, Victim #1 just as dazed as I was.
At least I did some damage. Despite the pain in my head and ribs, I laughed. Jake
may have won the battle, but I knew that I would win the war. I knew I’d have the
last laugh. Jake had no idea what I was capable of. My limits are beyond the sky.
I always win.

Sometime later I made it home. As I walked through the door trying to act natural,
it was immediately apparent how haggard I must have looked. Sarah gasped and
rushed in to guide me to the couch, demanding to know what happened. There was no
way to hide this now, I might as well tell her the truth. Dean would understand.

Sarah called Dean, who dutifully came straight home to support his distraught wife.
Sarah was choking back tears and she explained to Dean how I had been jumped. She
threatened to call the police and take me to the hospital, to which I objected. I
did not need the police to get involved in my war with Jake.

“If the system finds out about this, they might make me move to a new home. I
don’t want to move again.” I pled to Sarah, playing into her emotional state.

“I think he’s right, Sarah.” Dean chimed in, “Those boys can feel like they’re
even now, so there is no need to take any unnecessary risks, you know how the
system is.”

Dean had come in clutch again, this guy was proving himself more useful every
moment. Sarah nodded in reluctant agreement. It was just too easy to get her to
change her mind.

“But you’re not going to school tomorrow.” She demanded, “You’re going to stay
home so I can take care of you and make sure you’re okay.

I reminded myself of how I need to play into Sarah’s need to be needed, so I

agreed. For good measure, I gently touched her hand and told her thanks. She
allowed a tear to escape after that move. Something was wrong with Sarah, I could
see it in her eyes. At some point, she’s had a traumatic experience that hurt her
deeply.

I woke up late Friday morning, to Sarah bringing in fresh breakfast. Eggs, bacon,
and pancakes. My ribs twinged with pain as I sat up, and my head pounded too.
Sarah was on top of that too though, offering me 800mg of ibuprofen to be downed
with some orange juice and a cup of fresh coffee. This treatment was another
display that I was not used to. Never had anybody brought me breakfast in bed.

After assuring Sarah that the breakfast was wonderful, I told her I was going to
rest. After she left, I pulled out the computer that I had purchased with the
money I stole from my last foster parents. I was pretty good with computers. They
were useful and underrated tools that most teens just used to stir drama on social
media and post stupid fake photos.

People are so oblivious to how exposed their personal information is. It took me
less than two hours to know everything about Jake and Bryan that I needed to know.
I had his address, his phone number, and learned the fact that the family was on a
trip to their lake house for the weekend, about a 5-hour drive away. Probably his
parents attempt to draw attention away from his school suspension. Rich people in
the suburbs are all about image.

That night, after Sarah and Dean were long asleep, I quietly got ready. The house
had a security system that monitored and logged every time a door or window opened
or shut. They probably did it because they knew I was moving in. It wasn’t a
problem though, I easily detached the device without breaking the magnetic seal.
Actually, it was perfect. The security system logs would provide me with a good
alibi, should things go wrong.

I exited the house through the window and stepped off on the pre-planned route that
would mostly take me through the wooded area and out of sight. I enjoy the woods
at night anyway, it’s so quiet and peaceful. It took me about 30 minutes to arrive
at my destination. Jake’s house was huge and sat on a lot that must have been an
acre or more. I searched through the property near the backdoor, expecting to find
a spare key somewhere.

They weren’t dumb enough to keep the key under the doormat, but they didn’t hide it
very well either. The rock looked convincing at first sight, but when I looked at
it up close I could tell that it was a fake. I carefully lifted the rock and found
a little compartment underneath containing a key. Just like that, I had gained
access to the house.

Although the house was large and immaculate, it didn’t take me long to find the
room I was looking for. Jake had a life-sized football poster of himself on his
door. His room was huge, the size of a small apartment. I carefully searched for
anything that would be of use. On his shelf designated for keepsakes, I found an
old but expensive-looking sheathed knife. The knife had someone’s initials
engraved in it, signaling that it might be a family heirloom of sorts. I picked it
up with my gloved hands and pocketed it.

Jake didn’t seem too worried about his parents snooping through his stuff, his
computer wasn’t even password protected. Thanks to Jake’s carelessness, I now had
access to all of his personal information, including social media and his chat
messages that were backed up to the cloud. This was the gold mine, where I would
get all the information that I needed. I sat down and went to work.

You can learn a lot about someone’s life by going through their text messages and
photos. I found out that Jake and his friends had a certain spot in the woods
where they would meet up to drink alcohol and smoke weed. Thanks to the photos
being geotagged, I now knew exactly where that spot was. Most importantly, I
learned that Jake had pestered just about every girl in the school for nudes. If
they rejected him, he then pressured and insulted the girls. When I came across
his conversations with Bryan, I found my lucky break.

Jake has tested his luck with a girl Bryan was dating. When she refused his
requests, Jake called her a whore. After Bryan had found out, he finally stood up
for himself, and the messages show that they had quite an argument. They were not
currently on talking terms, and Jake made it clear that he would not speak to
Bryan, and would, “Ruin his popularity.” This was perfect, I now had a perfect
plan.

I saw that Jake and his family would be home Sunday afternoon. Bryan’s status
showed currently active, so I sent him a message through Jake’s social media,
asking him to meet me at the spot Sunday night at midnight. After Bryan replied
with one letter, “K,” I deleted the messages so Jake would not see them on his end.

On my way out, I stole a hoodie,
made sure to grab stuff from the
not be noticed. I took one last
noticeable trace. After locking
I had found it, I went back home
some pants, and an extra pair of gym shoes. I
back of the shelves, to ensure their absence would
look around to feel secure that I left no
the door and carefully putting the key back where
the same way I came, undetected.

Saturday and Sunday, I continued to allow Sarah to look after me. It made her feel
good, and I needed her to think that I needed her, so I could continue living here.
Finally, Sunday night arrived. I put on the clothes that I stole from Jake and
headed on my way.

I waited in the shadows for Bryan to arrive, and about 12:05 AM I heard the
footsteps approaching. “What do you want Jake,” Bryan started as he entered the
small clearing, “We have school tomo…“

Before he could finish I hit him hard in
move. Bryan fell to the ground, putting
somehow dull the pain. I didn’t care, I
and over. I watched with pleasure as he
incapacitated.
the face with a rock, Jake’s signature
his hands on his face as if that would
kicked him in his head and his gut over
rolled around in agony, betrayed, and
“Ahhh…. What the Hell, Jake?”

“Oh, I’m not Jake,” I told him coldly

Bryan squinted up at the sound of my voice, shocked. He stammered a few

disconnected words, trying to catch his breath through the pain. I knelt beside
him.

“Wha-wha- what do you want?” Bryan finally managed to muster between heavy
breaths.

“Revenge.” Looking Bryan straight in the eye, I plunged Jake’s knife straight into
Bryan’s torso, stabbing right into the liver. I was rewarded with an agonizing
groan from Bryan.

“And to get rid of Jake.”

Another stab, this time off to the side, making sure I got his kidney.

“It’s really not about you.”

Another stab, and another moan.

“You’re just on the wrong side of this war, and a convenient means to an end.”

Drawing in the delectable thrill of the moment, I thrust the knife deeper, and
listened to Bryan’s agonizing moans and shortening breath. I stared into his eyes,
so I could see the look on his face as he realized he was about to die.

“And you really, truly, shouldn’t have kicked me.”

I gave him another hard stab. This one I placed just under his left pectoral. The
blade slid right between his ribs, piercing his heart. I pulled out the knife as
blood sputtered out the wound like a fountain. I sat back to admire my handiwork.
Bryan’s breaths gurgled and rasped in the silent woods.

I realized the attack looked way too clean, everything was too precise. I needed
this to look like a stupid brute had lost his temper. I gave a dozen or so more
wildly placed stab wounds, ranging in depth. That looked better. In less than a
minute, the groans and breathing stopped. Jake lay there, or his body did at
least, covered in blood.

I dragged Bryan’s body and hid it in some thick brush, where I covered him in
branches and leaves. I took my time, to make sure that it looked sloppy and hasty.
I hid the knife about 100 feet away, knowing full well that the police would scour
the area and find it.

I took off the hoodie, sweatpants, and shoes, and deposited them in a park garbage
bin that was just a yard off the wood line, about a half a mile away from the
scene. I had worn long layers underneath Jake’s clothes and made care to never
touch his clothes with my skin. I even wore a swimming cap to make sure my hair
didn’t get anywhere. The only evidence left that could tie me to the crime was the
pair of latex gloves that I had worn to avoid getting fingerprints on the knife or
blood under my fingernails.

I made it back home with the same stealth I had used the previous night. I quietly
went into the bathroom, where I soaked the latex gloves in bleach, scrubbing until
they were spotless. After flushing the toilet to make sure Dean and Sarah would
believe I was just taking a bathroom break, I used a little more bleach to
vigorously wash my hands, and then topped off the bottle with some water, so it
wouldn’t seem that any had been used. Finally, it was bedtime and I was exhausted.
Murder is hard work.

It seemed like only a couple of minutes later when my alarm went off. I hurried to
the bathroom and took one more hard look to make sure the gloves and cleaning
supplies were in their proper places. I then took a scorching hot shower.
Scrubbing every part of my body with vigor, just in case. I then relaxed and used
the rest of the time to reflect on the kill. Sarah insisted on taking me to
school, seeing as I had been jumped last week.

In my reflection, I found it interesting that I felt enjoyment out of the kill this
time, I didn’t recall the same satisfaction from my first kill. Maybe that’s
because that was the day I lost Addy. I was 8 years old and finally understood
what my alcoholic foster father was doing when he was going into my sister’s room
and locking the door. Addy was only 6. One night when he was drunk, I put his
revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The police ruled it as a suicide. I
hadn’t seen Addy since, because we were sent to new homes that day. She was the
one and only person I ever remembered feeling love for.

School started the same, business as usual. By the second period, the gossip news
network was buzzing with the news that Bryan’s parents had reported him missing.
By lunch, it was common knowledge. The best part happened just as school was
getting out.

I could see, and hear, the commotion from down the main hall. I walked over,
peering over the crowd of idiots all trying to get a good video on their flip
phones. Three police were forcing out a handcuffed and panicked Jake. He
protested and resisted, but the police overpowered him and forced him into the car.

By the 6 o’clock local news, it was a headliner story. “BREAKING NEWS: Jacob
Pearson, a local high school athlete, charged with the murder of classmate Bryan
Jones.” I had a hard time holding back my satisfactory smile, but Dean and Sarah
were in the room.

I already had Sarah wrapped around my finger, but for good measure I told her that
Jake was the kid that attacked me. I put on my best scared orphan face during the
newscast. “That could have been me who got killed,” I told her, forcing myself to
sound scared. Her heart melted and I received instant sympathy as she pulled me
into a tearful hug.

Dean, being a public defender, was in the know. He, also believing I was scared,
offered me some comfort.

“It’ll be tough to defend this one.” He assured me, “Jake will be going away for a
long time. I mean, the prosecutors have everything. The body, the weapon,
fingerprints, even motive. It’s like someone handed the AG this case on a silver
platter.”

Indeed I had.

It was the next day that Sarah and Dean sat me down and told me that they wanted to
push forward with adopting me. I had gained their trust, and more importantly
their sympathy. I’d now be able to live in this cushy home with pushover parents
until college. Even then, they’d probably send me money and give me a place to
stay in the summer. They were good-natured idiots, but useful idiots.

What a success my first month in my new home had been. I locked in my preferred
living situation and got rid of the only problem with my new neighborhood, Jake.
The best part is, Jake hung himself in jail before the trial had even started. The
police called it good, certain that Jake was their man, and the case was closed. I
still laugh when I think back to when Jake told me that he’d make ME want to kill
myself.

Like I said, I always win.

*************

That’s where the first manuscript ended. After reading this manuscript, I was
unsure as to the validity of the story. I thought that someone may be trying to
pull an elaborate hoax on me, maybe to score a spotlight on my website. Or
perhaps, more sinisterly, it was an attempt to delegitimize my work and tarnish my
credentials.

Nonetheless, I was intrigued enough to dust off my Private Investigator hat and do
some research. What I found that this story is, at a minimum, based on real
events. I found the news articles about Jacob Pearson, the promising High School
Athlete that threw his life away by murdering a fellow student.

The question I now face is, Is this the true story from a psychopath named Rich, or
a simple fabrication based on real events?

What do you think?

Respectfully,

Mr. S

Credit : R. M. Staniforth

Reddit : https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorsOfStaniforth