Tagged: death

Your Stalker.


NATURE OF CASE: Stalking / Homicide
VICTIM(S): Victoria S.; Peter D.
INJURIES SUSTAINED: Head Injuries / Gunshot Wounds /Stab Wounds
TYPE OF EVIDENCE: Letter containing threat.
DESCRIPTION: On 28-02-13 at approximately 5:45PM, personnel of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department recovered this letter at the scene of the homicide. It appears that the homicide was committed not long after the letter was opened, the murderer may have been waiting until the letter was opened and read.

Below is a scan of the letter, additionally – for ease of use – a transcription has been added at the bottom as well.



“I’m disappointed,
You didn’t stick to our deal,
A detective appointed,
This time I’ll make you feel,

You’ve got to understand,
It’s hard for me too,
This was never planned,

My devotion to you,

I can’t get you out of my head,
As you just tease me,
You’re better of dead,
I’ll make it easy,

I got ammo, I’ve got a gun,
I know where you live,
There’s nowhere to run,

It’ll be quick,
Maybe not painless,
Just a click,
Shiny and stainless,

They might cry,
As they watch you die,

But it’s for the best,
The ultimate test,
Your love for me,
That you don’t know of yet,
How you belong to me,
As the carpet stains red,

You’ll perish before the eyes of your fans,
By my loving, caring hands.

– Your Stalker.”

CASE# 2013-01738


Believe by Christopher Liccardi

It´s been far too long since I’ve been posting, ugh! I hate how things keep coming in between, I’ve got several things “done” that I could “technically” post but I’m waiting for them to go up on multiple places simultaneously!

So, instead, I am going to post something that is directly related to some of my bestest, most respected and appreciated writing friends: Chris Liccardi, Julie Hutchings and Kristen Strassel.

My friend, and The Darker Half co-worker, Chris has written a great (erotic) story for DeadlyEverAfter.com – where my girls Julie and Kristen rule the lands. Believe isn’t just erotic, it’s also paranormal. Curious? Excited? You should be!

Go read it here:

Believe by Christopher Liccardi.

The Death of Me.

© US Army

None of the following of which I write is a lie, every word I wrote is true.
I must have been mid-teens, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, I had  never seen a movie about Vietnam. Not even read a book.
I knew of atrocities committed, of people who left behind parts of their bodies and their soul, they’d never get them back. I knew nothing of weapons, of the vehicles that fought, I knew nothing of the landscape or the situations that were. Yet I dreamed the following, and I still cannot explain, how I dreamed all of this in perfect detail without knowing a thing.

A noise, a rumbling, which thunders through me – resonating in my bones, my blood. The deep bass of the engine, of rotors cutting through damp air.
Winds swooping over my face, through my hair, gliding across my body and cooling me down. I sit against the back wall of the open bay door, one leg outside the helicopter, the other with the knee against my chest.

I look out over the glowing hills of Vietnam, rice paddies stacked like terraces, in the water which they hold reflects the glimmering of the sun. Orange tinted is the landscape, with many shades of color.

In formation we fly, closer than any sane man would dare, and dominate the skies in our metal birds of war. By now for me it’s all routine, like car ride for another, as the landscape flashes by and the choppers sway in the winds.
We fly with many, I look at the others flying close-by. Some of our Hueys are with rocket pods, or a nervous gunner hanging from the open bay door, in others sit men like me with their legs hanging out and their arms wrapped around weapons as if surrogate lovers.

Below me, atop the hills, I can see what appears an artillery battery of most likely Soviet origin. This is Charley, the yellow-skin, the Commie bastard. I hear the pilots chatter back and forth, they’ve seen it too.
And perfectly within my view the other Hueys open fire, rockets speeding from their pods towards the misfortunate on the ground.
Explosions, right on target, the artillery disappears into clouds of orange flames and black dust. I feel fantastic, as I know they’re dying, enjoying every second that unfolds. No mercy, no sympathy, not a thought that counts.
I’m alive and they are dead, I’m safe because they perish, I win because they are gone. Supreme.

Without warning, everything changes, as rounds fire into the chopper through the open bay door. They bounce of off the ceiling, just above my head, sparks fly as I drop backwards against the floor. The crackling of metal ripped to shreds, the wails and screams of my fellow men.
I lift my head up and look down over my body as I am covered in blood. I do not care about the other men with me, only panic controls me now. I can barely fathom what has just happened, I’m so scared to die.
I keep wondering if this blood is mine or theirs, if I can feel anything at all. They are screaming still, they’re wounded and dying, God please not me…

The many alarms in the cockpit, the engine and the rotors trying hard, the screaming and the bleeding, if we’re flying or falling – I can’t even tell. I think this is it. Everything stops. Black.

I woke up screaming, sweat pouring down my back and forehead. And now a decade later, I write it down for you, what do you think happened? Did this somehow happen to me?