A Killer's Perspective: The Story of the Birthday Butcher

After hearing the confession tape of the soul snatch killer, the gentleman debate whether or not to listen to the content on the next cassette.

Transcript

Host  0:13  
Welcome back to the horror three stories podcast where tragedy is described beautifully two short horror stories that intrigue the mind and chill the soul. Season One, The Asylum Tapes, Episode Two A Killer's perspective: The Story of the Birthday Butcher. 

Gentleman 1  0:34  
 Okay, okay, okay, I'm not  gonna lie, that story was kinda crazy.

Gentleman 2  0:37  
 See man, man this is what I was talking about in the first place. Im not trying to stand here- in a - This seem like somewhere we should be bro? like, let's think about this. 

Gentleman 1  0:51  
Why would we leave now?

Gentleman 2  0:52  
This is the beginning of a scary movie! How do you not see that huh? How do you not see that man? You're not seeing that man. How do you know its not a chainsaw- 

Gentleman 1  0:58  
I 'm gonna stretch around for another tape another tape here somewhere. Something something? 

Gentleman 2  1:09  
Somehow we make it out of here alive... I'm gonna kill you myself.

The Birthday Butcher  1:16  
Good evening, Detective  doctor  can I can smoke. Thank you. You've come here a few times now. Detective and you continue to ask me? How can I live with myself? How? How can I do such a thing? How can I behave in the way that I have behaved? And here's the problem I have with that line of thinking. It looks at it from such a judgmental point of view, like, Okay, see, here's the thing. Nobody ever looks at it from my perspective. If you had to live a life like mine, you might die detective. Could you imagine living your life with no empathy? Feeling no sympathy? Do you know what that has meant For me? I remember, I remember my my father telling me you're either going to be what this world wants you to be or what you want to be but -but you can't be both. I'll never forget the smell of liquor on his lips. As he pinned me down and grabbed me by my throat. He said, If a man can't protect himself, then he doesn't deserve to breathe. He'd beat me so often that I wet the bed when I sleep. That was on a regular basis, not every now and then, at least three and four days a week until I was 10. I remember. I remember I was 10 because it was my birthday. a nd I didn't even want to have a party in the first place. But they both insisted. They made invitations they were so persistent. But really they just wanted to point the gifts from my friends except nobody showed and they wound up losing money in the end. And then, you know, my dad, he gets all mad. He's he starts to push me. He told me I had no friends because I'm a pussy. He said he could no longer even pretend to like me. Then he leans into strike me screaming fighting me at the top of his lungs, saying how he didn't think that I was assembling things that I would have done. The men can't protect themselves, and he doesn't deserve to breathe. So that night while he was passed out drunk, I smothered him in his sleep. Oh, well. Oh, well, I had to protect myself. That was just self care. I couldn't continue to neglect myself. That wouldn't have been fair. But after that night, my mom was never the same. I received all the blame for the years of time and in pain. She also blamed me for ending it.  Ironic because she tried once to when she couldn't finish it. She figured it out t he second time though. The  doctor said there were enough  drugs in her to kill her 11 times. I remember, because I was 11 at the time. The look of that social workers face when she saw the bruises all over my body. The burn marks from the cigarettes being put out on my skin. I had lost so much weight, but then I was practically razor thin. Oh, and in 10th grade. I took biology, it was my favorite class. We studied animals, I even decide to the pig I took to extremely fast. There was something about being able to see exactly what makes a thing a thing. How there are an infinite amount of ways to send that thing to an eternal dream and that intrigued me. So wanting to learn more I would go home and explore. But when my foster mom saw her cat, she just screamed in horror. I had no idea I had done anything obscure. I was just doing the exact same thing in school two days before What's the difference? Well, needless to say that, right from that day, I had to go and live with someone different. almost anyone who's ever met me is cursed my existence. I lost count of how many schools I've attended throughout the years, kicked out of here, transferred over there. But I remember what we said how this evil in my soul how there's demons in my head. I was mostly by myself up until eighth grade never really fit in with the children as they played, they'd say he can't play. He can't play. He's too stupid to understand the rules anyway. But I understood the rules, that if you're not cool, the kids would get cruel faculty had no control over those schools. Though, It was one teacher that didn't always try to control me, didn't live to just scold me, she loved me. I believed this because she told me and she showed me. The connection was instant, until one day she began acting distant. If you didn't know any better, you might have missed it, but I could immediately notice the difference in the way she treated me the absolute worst nevermind that she was my first but she made me believe in my own self worth. She gave me hope. But, in the end, she just used it as rope to hang me. I was devastated more than angry, and frankly, I wanted vengeance. I wanted her to feel what I felt in that instance, but I was young. And I thought that I really loved her. I just wanted her to learn from our mistakes. You know? That I'm not trash for you to take out to the curb after you scraped your plate. But how would she ever learned if there's no consequences for her actions? So I went and found three teachers that all shared her initials, and I stabbed them. The next day I brought her a newspaper with that story on the headline. I told her that this is a sick world we live in. Please, be safe - make it home by bedtime... And c  an you believe that is turned me into the police? I did her a favor and this is the things that she shows me. How was any of this my fault when she chose me? But hey, you living and ya learn. For whatever reason, the police didn't seem overly concerned. I answered a couple questions and back to school I returned. Later on, I found out that they thought that those murders were unrelated and each of those cases they blamed the person that they were dating. After that though, she transferred schools. She must have changed her name because I couldn't find it. But every year on her birthday, I always made a point to send her a nice reminder, you know, in the newspaper and at the end of the day I guess that's why I'm locked up here. Apparently, um criminally insane. mentally deranged, though, one could argue that from love I have been estranged and preordained for pain was I born this way I was a trained. They must think that I'm fucking stupid the way that they lie to me. And they must think I don't hear them talking about the bar to me! But obviously, I kill everyone in here before I let these sons of bitches poke and  prode to me, because if a man can't protect himself, then he doesn't deserve to breathe. I'll protect myself from them, Detective, but can they protect themselves from me? You remember this conversation. Guard! Get me the Fuck out of here!