The Beast of Berwick

Welcome to the 200th episode of Lime and Punishment! You asked for it, and we listened, so today we're finally covering the Beast of Berwick! Make sure to watch this one on Youtube because we're going to be on location, filming and recording this episode at the literal scene of the crime! But be warned this episode is extra spoopy and scary! If you think you can handle that though, be sure to also check out our patreon-exclusive autopsy readings! 

Transcript

They say that smell is closely linked with memory, and you’ve experienced that before, catching a whiff of perfume or deodorant and realizing it reminds you of someone who sported the same scent. The ocean air reminding you of your youth, transporting you back to your childhood on any beach vacation, no matter how far from your original home. When your grandmother moved in with you, you recognized all kinds of scents that brought you back to your youth. Her chocolate chip cookie recipe, the scent of her hair product. As she got sicker there was less and less of that though. When you were woken up in the middle of the night, on the worst night of your life, all you could smell was smoke. All you could do was get yourself out and call 911. You wanted to go back for her, but you couldn't make yourself do it, and by the time the firetrucks got there it was too late. Once they got you breathing in oxygen, once you could really properly smell again, you recognized another scent. You recognized a scent you hadn’t smelled in years, decades even. It was the scent of the pork roast your grandmother used to make for special occasions and family get-togethers. You’d begged her for the recipe but she wouldn't budge. You’d tried to recreate it yourself but it was never even close. But now, given the circumstances, you think you’ve got the secret ingredient figured out. And you wonder if perhaps your house burning down was some kind of karmic judgment. They stop the fire soon enough that there’s at least something to put in a body bag. When the doctors do the autopsy later they confirm your worst fears. In her stomach they find; The Podcast Inside Your House. 

“Hey there everyone, and welcome back to another episode of Lime and Punishment. I’m Ricky. And joining me today as a special guest host is the woman you’ve all been waiting for; Gin Doe!”

“Hi guys!” Rhonda said. “And that’s right! G-I-N D-O-E in the flesh!”

“Do you wanna tell our guests where we’re recording today Gin?” I asked.

“I’d love to Ricky.” Rhonda swept her arms out to the sides, and Liz panned the camera around in front of her to take in the sights. “For those of you not watching on YouTube, which by the way, you really should for this episode, we’re here at The Old Berwick Ghost Town.” 

We’d opened the episode on the main strip, where you could see Ye Old Barbershop, a saloon, and a cute little old-timey bank. Fall was the best season to visit the Old Berwick Ghost Town. They started celebrating Halloween pretty much right after everyone finished lighting off fireworks for the fourth of July. There were jack-o-lanterns on every doorstep along with gourds and fake spiderwebs scattered about. It was their peak season, and they’d roped off the entire weekend just for us. 

“Do you want to give our listeners a little history about Berwick? Or, at least this version of it?” I asked Rhonda.

She gestured for Liz to follow her and started walking down the main strip. “So this actually used to be ‘Tombstone Town’ when it was first built. There wasn’t much left of Berwick, and back in the 60’s True Crime didn’t have the draw it does now. You couldn’t fill a tourist attraction based on some old murderer no one had ever heard of. So the old owners just took some of the old buildings, and the graveyard of course, that’s all original, and built up a fake little wild west town around the bones of Berwick.” 

Rhonda took us to look at the old graveyard, and as clouds covered the sun I was grateful for all the layers I had on, even if I felt a bit silly in my costume. I was wearing some old-timey-looking suit with a stiff collar, not too different from something you’d get today, though stripes were definitely out of fashion. The fabric was cotton or wool, something that was supposed to be completely authentic. Rhonda was even more bundled up in her dress which had not one, but two different layers underneath. It had been a huge hassle to put on, but of course, it wasn’t just any dress, it was The Dress. 

We’d agreed to film a few intros so Liz could have her pick, and of course we had to get one in the graveyard. I posed in front of a broken-off headstone and said “Today we’re covering the case you’ve all been requesting for years. We’re going to be talking about The Beast of Berwick, the most famous serial killer this side of the Mississippi.”

We let Liz get some footage of the graveyard, then Rhonda took us up to the old railroad tracks next. There was an old green locomotive with a few cars trailing behind it, and it was one of the most recognizable spots for a photo opp. We stood in front for a bit to let Rhonda continue her history lesson “While only a few of the buildings were restored from Berwick itself, you can find bits and pieces of other ghost towns here. This train used to run under the famously haunted Moonville Mountain. In fact, it was the last one to pass through before the tunnel collapsed. Some say the ghosts that haunted the tunnel hitched a ride on these very cars looking for a new haunt.” 

Rhonda and I stepped inside the front car and got footage of her outfit in front of an old window. The Dress was maroon with the white underlayer showing just a bit at the top of her chest. There was black embroidery near the bottom, and Rhonda had a black ribbon on her hair to match. We disturbed the dust just enough to get some nice rays of light shining in on her, making her look otherworldly; ghostly. 

“Of course, I have to shout out the wonderful fan who made our costumes. Look up Elizabeth Stride (not that one) on Etsy. She’s just amazing.” Rhonda ran her hands down her sides, posing in the light again “She made this dress using all fabrics accurate to the time, and all fair trade sourced materials of course.” Rhonda paused for a minute, to adjust her corset top, pulling it down a bit. “My dress is an exact replica of The Dress that the Beast of Berwick’s third victim was killed in. It’s been the subject of sooooo much debate among true crime fans, and at any given time you can find a Websleuths or Reddit thread where people are just calling it The Dress, and we all know right away what they’re talking about. ” Rhonda paused “Here Liz let’s start moving to the Kill Room.” 

We walked out of the train car and started making our way down the main strip once again, passing a bar with a horse’s skull hung on the outside above the door. “Hang on, let's get this before I forget,” I said. 

I took over for this part “Right here we’ve got another old relic from a town you all might recognize. This skull is a fascinating little piece of history. It comes from the town of Old Straitsville, and this skull here belonged to the mayor’s horse. Legend has it that the townspeople cut off his horse’s head as one final warning before starting our own little chapter in the coal wars, and unleashing a fire that’s been burning for almost 200 years.” I paused dramatically, Liz zoomed in on the skull. “But we’ll cover that in its own episode.”

As we restarted our walk, and made our way to the Kill Room, Rhonda finished up “See, the dress itself is a mystery. It’s not quite scandalous enough to tell us that Gin Doe was definitely a ‘lady of the evening’ but it’s certainly less modest than the fashion of the time. Perhaps the strangest thing about The Dress is the color. The dye that was used for the outer layer was exceptionally expensive at the time, so whoever Gin was, she was either rich or had a wealthy husband.” 

The Kill Room sat between a fake brothel that had been built for Tombstone Town and the gift shop. The gift shop had been built out of reclaimed wood from a barn that used to sit on the outskirts of the town. They’d sealed up the slats with some kind of preservative, but left the peeling layers of grey and red paint underneath. When the town had started changing from Tombstone Town back to Ye Old Berwick, they’d painted the fake brothel to match. Apparently there actually had been a brothel nearby, so they wanted to make it more accurate, as if an actual brothel would have been decorated the same as an old barn. While Liz helped Rhonda adjust her corset, I ran my fingers over both buildings, comparing the actual ancient wood with layers and layers of paint, to the garish, smoothly painted brothel with speckled red and gray to match. 

The Kill Room between the two buildings didn’t look either fake old or real old. It was nondescript enough that it could have come from any time period. It was just a rectangular red brick building, with minimal flair. When it was open, almost two centuries ago, it had been a tool shop. This was where we were going to film most of our video so we left Liz to mess with the lighting and set up her second camera just outside. She wanted a timelapse of the sunset to chop into what she called “the boring parts” of the episode.

I sat with Rhonda on the front step while she smoked, and for just a bit I let myself soak in the moment. We’d had to rush out ten bonus episodes last year to time it right, but we managed to get ahead enough so that we could record episode 200 on the 200th anniversary of the crime itself. Of course, we cheated a bit, and I recorded the Patreon exclusive autopsy readings ahead of time, but hey, no one can be in two places at once.

We’d been planning this episode for years, before me and Rhonda even picked out our first case. In a weird way, the case of the Beast of Berwick was what had brought us together. I was in my edgy goth phase, and I’d approached Rhonda, drunk at a bar, to tell her about how much she looked like one of the most famous murder victims in history. The resemblance really was uncanny, and when I showed her a picture of Gin Doe, even she had to agree. 

We knew when we started the podcast that we had to find a way to capitalize on Rhonda’s tragic doppelganger somehow. We thought about making The Beast of Berwick the 50th episode, or even the first season finale, but we decided to aim big. When we made it to 200, not if, we would cover the case that we knew our then imaginary fans would be clamoring for. Well, now our fans were very much real, and they were ready for what we'd been promising since the beginning.

When Liz gave us the all-clear to come into the Kill Room I marveled once again at just how much Rhonda looked like the girl she’d dressed up as. The wax sculpture of Gin Doe was the first thing you saw when you walked in. She had the same sleepless eyes, full lips, and pin-straight hair. Even the mole on her left cheek was the same, which had led our fans to speculate over the years that perhaps Rhonda was in fact Gin Doe herself re-incarnated. The statue wasn’t perfect though. It had that uncanny valley look, her eyes a bit too far apart, her skin a bit green, and I wondered if it was intentional to evoke the actual photos of her reconstructed face. Looking at it reminded me instantly of scrolling through Namus, of sorting through countless Jane and John Does for episode ideas. 

Liz got some footage of Rhonda in front of the sculpture of course, as well as in front of a grim poster hung on the wall. It was a blown-up illustration from a newspaper at the time of how they’d found Gin’s body. I took a picture of Rhonda posed up against a more safe-for-work bit of the poster while she covered her mouth with her hand in shock. The Thumbnail Face was cringe, but it got us clicks. That was the last bit Rhonda had to really be ‘on’ for and she relaxed a bit after that. She’d barely eaten all day, after all these years she still got nervous being on camera, and she was exhausted. 

It was my turn to really run the show then. I had my notes with me, but I knew it all by heart at this point. 

“In this very town, in this very building 200 years ago to the day, The Beast of Berwick claimed his most famous victim. Until she gets her name back, the internet has dubbed her Gin Doe, and in her honor, we’ve brought our drink of the evening, Liz?” Liz handed us two thermoses “We had to pre-make them since we’re on our little field trip today, but we’ve got a simple Gin and Tonic, with a touch of lime of course, it wouldn’t be Lime and Punishment without it.” I held up my thermos to Rhonda’s and we toasted both to gin, and to Gin Doe. 

And with that, I took over. I dove into each victim, going over what we knew about them, if anything; their jobs, their families, their dreams. In older cases like this, their lives could often be summed up with only a sentence or two. Then I described how they died, and that was the real bread and butter. I held off on the most gruesome details of course, that was for our Patreon listeners only, and anyway, this was all for the Youtube version and I could only say un-alived so many times before I was ready to rip my hair out. 

For the Patreon, and even just the normal audio versions I’d spent over two hours on this part. The Beast of Berwick only had five confirmed victims. But it wasn’t the number of victims that got you fame in murder, it was the brutality. It was how long it would take a show to describe your murders in detail. Sure you could take out dozens of people with bullets, but those were quick deaths, you could only describe where the bullets hit the bodies so much before it got repetitive and boring. Just look at Ed Kemper and Herbert Mullin. They were both killing at the same time, in the same small city, but Kemper is far more famous, despite the fact that Mullin had a higher body count. See, Little Herbie just shot his victims, he wanted to give them a quick death. He didn’t play with the bodies, well except for that one. But more importantly, he didn’t fuck any of the bodies, and that’s what got Big Ed his A-lister, celebrity status. 

The Beast of Berwick also had a different Modus Operandi for each victim, and that made him stand out, even among the most famous sickos. Had he been caught after the first victim he would have been some kind of Strangler. The second victim would have earned him either Butcher or Ripper status, but the third victim Gin Doe, earned him Monster or Beast status. The fourth killing had it been caught alone, would have gotten him the rare title of Skinner, and the fifth, again in a vacuum perhaps, would have earned him the title of Vampire, which in my opinion is a bit played out. Some reports at the time even speculated that the killings were so monstrous that the murderer might not be human, he was truly a rare specimen. 

After I finished up our Youtube safe summary, we stopped to do a little tour of the kill room. They’d turned the rest of the building into a small museum, putting in display walls to create a very creepy, if somewhat cramped, display of serial killer memorabilia. Not just the Beast of Berwick either. They had a few letters both to and from Ted Bundy. They had a coveted self-portrait from John Wayne Gacy. There was a clear decorative vase of dirt that was supposedly from underneath Dean Corll’s boat shed. And in keeping with the theme of what the Kill Room had originally been used for, they had the preferred instruments of torment from each killer. Not originals of course, they didn’t have that kind of budget. But they had replicas of knives, guns, glass rods, syringes, and garrotes. 

I kept the tour short, we didn’t need to explain who these men were, our listeners knew them all well. I stole glimpses of the sun set outside as we walked through the small room, it looked to be a beautiful one. Liz would be happy about that, she could cut in the timelapse over anything she deemed dull. Though most of that would probably be tomorrow when we went through to talk about more of the Ghost Town. Rhonda was fascinated by the history here and she wanted to go on and on about all of the old relics, all collected in this one place. I’d never believed in ghosts, but as the sun set on us in this place full of so many horrible memories, so much misery, I couldn’t help but think that if anywhere in the world was actually haunted it would be here. A town resting on bloodstained earth built from the scraps of places that no longer existed, with a veritable shrine to serial murder at the heart.

While we had her in the outfit we wanted to loop back to the mystery that was Gin Doe as much as possible and give Liz a few takes to work with, so we went over a slightly more detailed account of just her murder. I talked about Gin Doe as Rhonda pointed out various highlights on the poster of her dissected corpse. When they’d first opened they’d had the spot where Gin’s body was found outlined with white paint. But tourism demanded growth and they took that out when they wanted to fill the room with more history, more memorabilia of the worst people to ever live. I wrapped up Gin Doe’s death once again, I’d talked about it and read about it dozens of times for this episode. “Alright guys, that’s as detailed as I’m going to get on here about how she died,” I said “The rest is a bit too spicy for YouTube. But let’s get into the mystery of who she was, and why she was the most famous victim of  The Beast of Berwick.” 

On the far wall of the morbid little museum, they had up all of the obituaries for the victims. All daughters and wives and sisters, all given an outpouring of love and grief, all except Gin, who no one knew anything about. See in a bigger town that might not be too unusual, but Berwick even in its heyday only had a few hundred people. Everyone quite literally knew everyone, but no one knew Gin. Her obituary just referred to her as a mystery woman. Subsequent articles talked about how strange it was that no one had ever even seen her around town before she died. She’d just appeared. This led people to speculate perhaps she’d been The Beast’s accomplice, that she’d snuck into town with him before he turned on her. Or perhaps she’d been running from the law, laying low, only to get caught by something much worse. 

There were very few answers found in the 200 years since she’d died, only endless speculation. Gin Doe had gotten her name because in her stomach they’d found only the remnants of a Gin cocktail. This led people to speculate she’d been in the run as she hadn’t eaten anything. Or perhaps her killer gave her a drink as one final mercy. 

It was almost unheard of for people to be equally as enamored with the victim as with the killer. Normally what little facts were known about the victims were said out of obligation, out of respect, to justify the level of detail given about their deaths. But Gin Doe had managed to garner just as much fame as the Beast who slayed her, a rare accomplishment. 

I tried to switch up my wording a bit as I discussed the mystery, on the parts where I didn’t have to censor myself Liz always yelled at me for making the YouTube and audio-only recordings the same. After that Liz had us pause so she could adjust her equipment and Rhonda needed another smoke so we sat on the front steps again, but this time I found myself watching the old Ghost Town with suspicion rather than awe. Something wasn’t right. The last rays of light were nearly gone and for the first time since I was a child, I felt some deep primal fear of the dark. I did not want it to come, but I didn’t know why. I felt like we were being watched. I found myself scanning the town, trying to figure out what was wrong, and I realized it looked different, something was off. 

I noticed it first with the old bank across the street. The paint on the sign had been worn and white against dark red wood, but in the twilight, it looked golden against blue, and brand new. I brushed that off as just weird lighting, but the next clue was the saloon next door. As I held Rhonda close, we watched the doors start to swing outward. We looked at each other to confirm we were both seeing the same thing for only a second before looking back. The saloon doors parted slowly, then swung back like some imaginary being had walked out. Then it was noise; laughter, and talking and moans coming from where the old brothel had been reconstructed next door. My heart was racing and I clawed at Rhonda’s hand, holding it tight. 

A few buildings down across the street, the old bar changed as well. The horse skull was bigger now, it had regrown its flesh. It whinnied at us, as something dark dripped down the newly fresh white paint behind it. 

We stood up and stumbled back inside, hearts racing. We slammed the door and Liz was already frozen, listening to the sounds next door. It lasted only a second though before she hit record on her camera. She was a professional after all.

We huddled together close, listening in silence, not wanting to interrupt or be noticed by whatever spirits were haunting this place. 

But the Kill Room wasn’t safe, of course it wouldn’t be. I watched as a scalpel on display vanished from within its case, and on the floor not far away an old shoe fell to the ground like it was dropped mid-stride from someone we couldn’t see. The bare brick walls flashed white in patches as if revealing a long-lost paint job. More weapons vanished, hedge clippers and a saw gone in the blink of an eye, and a rat that I could have sworn hadn’t been there before materialized under our feet and ran. 

In the middle of the kill room, I watched blood start to leak out from underneath the morbid displays. Then Rhonda started screaming and I held her close, but when I looked at her, her mouth was closed. She was silent and looked just as confused as I did, but the screams sounded so much like her. 

We heard a laugh then, quiet compared to the screams but unmistakably a man’s voice, chuckling in the dark. Liz was looking through her camera now, then looking up confused, like what was being filmed didn’t match what was happening. 

The blood spread out further, and with it, the screams grew louder and we backed up as far as we could, but Rhonda’s dress with all the frills and fabric stuck out the farthest. She looked down as the blood touched her skirt, then snapped her head up, like she was seeing something we could not. She grabbed my arm tighter and yelled “Get away from me!” The white paint on the walls spread further, and there was the smell of smoke and iron in the air. 

And then in the blink of an eye Rhonda was gone, but the grip on my arm was no less tight. In her place was a teenage girl, wide-eyed and terrified. I didn’t understand what I was seeing, she’d come out of nowhere. Where was Rhonda? Then the white paint receded, the smoke left the air, and the laughter next door cut off. The blood on the floor vanished. I looked at the girl then, and grabbed her arm back, thinking surely that my mind was playing tricks on me, but this girl was not Rhonda. She had on a simple tan dress, her hair in a bun. She had blood dripping down her arm, and when she pulled away my hand slipped. She broke free, slammed open the door and ran outside. 

Liz reached out to me, steadying my shaky body, and said “Where is she?” We looked around the maze of cheap display walls, but we didn’t see her. Also missing were the weapons that had vanished during the strange event. Those hadn’t come back, but in their place were a handful of antique tools scattered around the room. There was still that old single shoe too, and just the far corner of the room held patches of white paint that I knew had not been there before. 

We looked everywhere. Then the next day the police looked everywhere. Rhonda was gone. 

Now they post about her on Websleuths and she’s the hot new topic for Top Ten Creepy YouTube channels. Rhonda’s become her own mystery. I get countless messages from psychics and fans claiming they know where Rhonda is, that they know what really happened. I also get emails from people claiming that they’ve killed her, or worse that she’s chained up in their basement. On all platforms I get death threats from people who think I killed her and Liz helped me hide the body. Other YouTubers and podcasters reach out, asking for or demanding an interview. 

I don’t reply to any of them. I have my answers, but I know no one, except for maybe Liz would believe me. But we don’t talk anymore, I think that’s best for her. I guess I have my answers about Gin Doe too now. Gin Doe, the woman of mystery with just a drink in her stomach, with The Dress that didn’t quite make sense for the time. Gin Doe who no one ever saw in Berwick, who appeared out of thin air.

I wonder if they’ll ever find that other girl. She must have run off into the woods. Perhaps a hundred years from now someone will stumble across her remains and wonder why a skeleton from our time was wearing a dress from the 1800’s. Perhaps she’ll become her own mystery in the future. 

I think about that girl often. I wonder if as she was dying in the woods she was grateful that it was exposure killing her instead of The Beast. Or maybe she got away, and started a new life somehow in this time. Sometimes I like to think about that, and imagine her fascinated by cellphones and cars. I like to picture her trying new foods and new clothes. I imagine her going on silly dates, having to pretend to be from our time, slipping up, and saying silly old-fashioned words. I like to think that maybe she’ll go on to do something great, that the universe saved her for a reason. 

But most of the time I just think about Rhonda. I think about the autopsy report I read over and over again to memorize, so I could recite it flawlessly, and make it a part of our best bonus episode yet. I think of Rhonda editing it, listening with an unknown prescience to her own demise. I think about The Beast killing her and I wonder if, as each new horror was inflicted upon her, she heard my voice in her head reciting what was going to happen to her next. I guess Gin Doe got her name back after all, but no one will ever know it except for me and the Beast of Berwick. 

Thank you for tuning in to this episode of the podcast inside your house! To hear every tale of terror as they are released, subscribe to our show on your podcast app or on Youtube or follow us on Facebook and X. And Until next time, try to appreciate the present. If you spend too much time lost in the past or worrying about the future, you might just get yourself stuck there.