The Perfect Place to Die

by Bryce Moore

Think of the list that follows: men and women, young girls and innocent children, blotted out by one monster’s hand, and you, my reader, of a tender and delicate nature, will do well to read no further.

It’s amazing what a family will do to make other families think everything is normal and fine.

But the lies you tell yourself during the day don’t hold up to the thoughts that come at night.

Once I was in the city, I saw it wasn’t as perfect up close as it seemed from far away. It was like someone had taken Cinderella’s castle and added garbage and smells that you didn’t notice until you were walking through the front door.

The first taking of human life that is attributed to me is in the case of Dr. Robert Leacock, a friend and former schoolmate. I knew that his life was insured for a large sum and after enticing him to Chicago I killed him by giving him an overwhelming dose of laudanum.

Later, like the man-eating tiger of the tropical jungle, whose appetite for blood has once been aroused, I roamed about the world seeking whom I could destroy.

A domestic was the seventh victim. I thought it wise to end the life of the girl. This I did by calling her to my office and suffocating her in the vault of which so much has since been printed.

Anyone can play the Might Have game, girl, but no one ever wins. So live your life for the future, and quit questioning the past.”

This attachment was particularly obnoxious to me, both because Miss Cigrand had become almost indispensable in my office work, and because she had become my mistress as well as stenographer. I endeavored upon several occasions to take the life of the young man and failing in this I finally resolved that I would kill her instead.

We don’t kill women in this country—slice them open and scatter their insides about.