Dear You,
In your mailbox you found a plain white envelope with just your address on it. At first you think it's just junk mail and you considered tearing it up and tossing it into the trash, right? It's O.K. I don't blame you. Everyone thinks the same thing at first.
It does not look like typical junk mail. There are a few elements that make you curious. Maybe it was the fact that it was not addressed to someone, but only had your address. It could have been that the envelope was hand written, and not printed out like most junk mail. Maybe it was how thin the envelope seemed to be. Whatever it was, you decided to open it because it may just be important.
Most people are always skeptical, so even as you were tearing open the envelope, you probably were still expecting to see some sort of advertisement telling you that you are now eligible for a new credit card. Did your curiosity grow when you realized that it was a letter, handwritten with great care?
When you looked to see whom it was written to, You find that the opening statement only says 'Dear You,'
Yes, this letter is for you, who ever you are. It is the most important letter I have ever written, and I guarantee that it will be the most important letter that you will ever read. If you like, you can consider this my confession of events that have not yet come to pass. In other words, consider this my letter of intent.
Before I go on, I have to tell you that you do not have to read further. If you do not want to hear my store, if you could not possibly care less about what I might have to tell you, it can end here. If that is your wish, simply toss this in the trash and think no more about it. However, if you continue to read this letter, if you chose to go past this point, you will not be able to turn back.
I've taken up less than two minutes of your time and will ask no more of you until you make your choice...
Are you still with me? Good. Do you give me your word that you will follow along until the end? Thank you. I am very happy that you couldn't resist the idea of hearing my story. It is time to confess to you what I have done, and what I will do. You will judge me, there is no doubt in my mind about that, but remember, those who judge shall be judged themselves.
Let's get on with it.
My first confession is that I have killed. How many, I don't know exactly, I never kept count. Things like that only appeal to those who are not like me.
The last thing I remember killing was a pretty young woman. I remember her very clearly. She was having car trouble, I saw her car pulled to the side of the on ramp, leading to the main highway. Her hazard lights were on. It was very late and as far as I could tell there was no one else around.
I often wonder why she did not walk back down the ramp to the gas station. Even from where we were, I could easily see the payphone sign at the bottom of the hill. She could have called a friend, any friend, to help her.
Know that there are things that we will simply never never know. We must except this fact, but this question still burns inside my head, If she had walked half a block and made a call, none of this would have happened, Why did she just stand there?
I think... she was waiting for me.
She had the hood up and was fiddling with the battery cables. I pulled up behind her car and asked if I could help her. I would tell you that I did not intend to kill her. But would you believe me?
She looked very intelligent, so unlike the airheads whom I usually have the pleasure of talking to. She was dressed nice. I would use the words wholesome and innocent to describe the warm smile on her face. Then she spoke...
She sounded exactly like the mother who abused me as a child. Maybe she really did not, I have no idea how things like this happen, but at that moment, her voice was that same as the one who laughed at me while hitting my hand with a hammer. Hitting it until the bones cracked and blood sprayed. When I heard that voice, this girl became that women to me. She was everything I hated. She had to be destroyed. She was asking for me to kill her. Begged, actually.
This mind trigger turned me into death himself. A sacrifice onto thee. I could see in her eyes that she did not even know what was going to happen until seconds after the deed was done. Her smile faded to confusion, then to terror as she realized the pain, and that she could not speak. I raised the knife to her eye level, which now had the blood of her throat on it. I gave her that mercy so she understood what had just happened to her. The look on her face as she passed from this world to the next, simply said: 'Why?' To that question, I had no answer for her, you, or anyone else. It is my nature.
This murder happened a few hours prior to me writing you this letter. It's the early morning now, I just watched the sun come up, and when I am finished recording my story, I will travel to the post office and have this sent priority delivery so that it arrives to you in a timely manner.
My second confession is that I am a thief.
As I was putting her body into the trunk of my car, her purse fell from her dead arm. When it hit the ground, all the contents spilled from it. None of it mattered of course, a dead girl no longer needs lipstick or eyeliner, and I was going to leave everything there for the police to ponder what had happened.
Destiny stepped in. As I stared into here eyes one last time, a drop of blood slowly fell from her neck, and I followed it with my eyes as it made a tiny splash on something white that had been in her purse. I bent down and saw that it was an address book. It lay open on the ground. The drop of blood happened to land next to an entry that was titled: 'Mom' The blood spread as it soaked into the thin paper.
I picked up the book and flipped through. Here was a list of people this girl had known. Any one of whom she should have called for help. Other than her body, it was the only thing I took from the scene. A trophy for a thief.
My third confession is that I am a liar.
I made you think one thing, but in truth, this one this is another. You thought I was alive, but that is not so, you are reading a letter from a dead man. Since I was a child I have always known that I would kill myself. When I closed the trunk, leaving that innocent girl's body in darkness, I knew that the moon light which I killed by that night would be my last.
After I return from the post office, I am going to take a shower, eat a slice of my apple pie, relax in my chair, and then I am going to pick up my gun, put the barrel in my mouth, and deliver a bullet to my brain.
I am sorry that I can't offer you proof of this. You are not going to see me on the news, hear about me on the radio, or read about me in the morning paper. Rest assured, while you are reading this letter, I will be rotting away in my recliner.
The blood will still flow and death will not prevent a plan from taking shape. The world shall be baptized by fire, or so it was written. Ha ha. How insane must I sound to you? Religion is a dangerous thing and the world spins on it's axis. But you will believe in me. Believe that I will not leave you until you will have full understanding. That is my promise. I am no more. But the tale is not complete.
As I had said in the beginning, this was a confession but it something much more. It is my letter of intent.
My forth confession is that I intend to kill you.
Do you want the how or the why first? Ha ha, I am so very sure that you do not see how a dead killer could ever harm you. So please, if I may, let me explain the why first.
And if you had the thought, Oh no, you can not stop reading now... Remember, you chose to continue, you gave me your word. I will hold you to that, even if you have already tried to turn away.
Why you? It is a matter of me wanting to be remembered. I was not in the paper today, but I want to be in it tomorrow and talked about for years to come. I want to be seen on those late night 'psycho mass killer' specials. I am sure you have probably seen before, considering that you have read past my first confession.
For years I have tried to be caught. The police force around here are inept in their duties. I have given so many clues to who I am and what I have been doing to people, and no one, not one single person has ever suspected me of being anything more than a nice friendly man who worked hard each and every day. So you can call this my surrender.
Because when they find your body, it will lead them to my body, and with it the list of all the sins I have committed, both past and future. The signs will shine darker for those who wish to see them. The police will not understand it all but other will. I do this for them. I will ensure my place along with the greats in my heaven.
The questions must have crossed your mind a dozen times now.... Why did I send you this letter? Who am I to you? If you have not yet figured it out, It was that dead girl's address book which gave me the idea of writing you. What you have been dying to know is that this girl I murdered last night, she knew you... You were listed as a contact in her address book.
By now you are probably frantically running off the list of young pretty girls you know. Oh God, which one is it? Which one of the people I know did this sick fuck kill? I'm not going to tell you and you are not ever going to know.
I will tell you that she could have called you to help her when her car broke down. With just a little effort and a walk to the payphone, she could have dialed you up and asked you to come giver her a ride. She did not do that. Maybe because she was scared to walk alone, maybe because she was lazy, or just maybe she did not think that you cared enough to come help her. It does not matter now. Whats done is done and here we both are.
Don't even fucking think of putting this letter down now!
You know, you are not special. You are just one of many pieces of shit that our mutual friend had written in that little address book of hers. You want to know the really crazy thing? I made an exact copy of this letter, hand wrote every word as neatly as possible and sent it to each and every address. Several others have probably already read their letter, several more will read it soon, and maybe a few people are reading theirs right now. You all get to share in this pain. My gift.
So you may have been a old friend, an enemy, a co-worker, cousin, sister, brother, ex-lover, or even Mom whom had the tiny drop of blood next to her address.. You all got this letter. You and so did 62 others to be exact.
You hate me. You are glad I am dead. This is good. But what you have seemed to forget about is that I am still going to kill you.
My last confession is while you have been reading this letter I have been committing your murder.
Please forgive me, but I think that I may have forgot to mention what my chosen profession was. I just so happen to be a chemist. I have two specialties. One of them is the mixing hallucinogenics, the other is the creation of poisons.
To be blunt, each one of these sixty three letters have been soaked in a nice little blend of chemicals I whipped up. It really is a special batch that that I spent a lot of time on just for this occasion. Now I think you will want to listen closely to this next part because it applies to you.
When this comes into contact with skin for under 2 minutes, no adverse side effects will present them self, except for maybe a slight headache. However, if it is applied for longer than 2 minutes the main compounds are absorbed and the drug will start to take effect. You won't notice it until it too late.
Remember I did give you the chance to get out while you could. This is all your fault for not throwing this letter away.
This 'poison', if you will, has been working its way into your bloodstream. You have been feeling the effects already, but probably didn't notice because you were too upset thinking about your dead friend, your dead killer and of course your own impending preposterous death. If it makes you feel better I would not have have believed any of this either.
You know that shiver that ran down your spine? That sweat that broke out on your brow? It was not just a random chill, no, that was me. And your problem now is that you can not seem to let go of this letter, you can not stand up to go for a phone for help. Muscle paralysis. It effects your whole body. In fact you can not even scream for help. You probably already tried, and it did not work. But please, go ahead if you like, it might make you feel better. That is the the vocal cord relaxers, they are the first thing that kicks in, you just did not realize it because you were too interested in reading about the girl I killed.
Now for the fun part. The hallucinations should begin very soon if they haven't already. Remember, think happy thoughts, because in the third stage, your heart will be giving out....
Kindest Regards,
Randell Smith.
P.S. When they make the movie about this I hope that I am played by someone good.
Code:
A re-posting of the actual letter Randell Smith, sent out to 63 of his victims before committing suicide. 41 of the 63 were killed. 7 seriously injured but were saved due to quick medical treatment from the families. 11 people were not home to receive the letter or never opened it. Only 4 people threw the letter away when Randell informed them of the option.
Police recovered evidence linking Mr. Smith to a total of 22 additional homicides at his residence, with dozens more suspected.
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Anyone up for reading a F'd up story?
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Re: Anyone up for reading a F'd up story?
Originally Posted by brandon13251
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