Up Close And Personal With Psychopaths

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This short story delves deep into the minds of psychopaths, trying to understand how and why these people act the way they do and discuss there views on society. Please make me aware of any grammatical mistakes.

Submitted: August 15, 2017

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Submitted: August 15, 2017

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Officially, in the Oxford dictionary, a psychopath is a person suffering from chronic mental disorder with abnormal or violent social behaviour, however the other, more informal definition is an unstable and aggressive person. Through these interviews I have talked with arrested psychopaths, kept in specially facilitated prisons. And one thing that I’ve learnt is that from the socially withdrawn to the charismatically charming, anyone could be a psychopath. The following conversations are ten minute first person accounts of psychopaths and their experiences.

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Interview One: Jenny Twigg: Born In Surrey,UK: Arrested for six counts of murder

I was dirty and unkempt and socially withdrawn. This was due to one thing. Rape. This crime managed to churn up a whole life into a downward spiral of depression. This crime has also done the same to many others. However, this crime has forced its way so far into my head that it has become my life. So, after several years of emptiness and emotionlessness, it was time to take my vengeance. 

I was 15, so I posed as 15 on the website, this needed to be as convincing as possible. I had done my research and four of the six men were ex-offenders. My darkened mind saw this as a form of revenge, but also as a form of justice. These people deserve what they get, and I was going to give it to them.

The first man was new to this form of love. I was not going to be any less forgiving. He came to my apartment expecting sex with an underage child. He stated he made a mistake. He tried to convince me, but I was not going to give in, because if I did he would search elsewhere for someone else. A quick bottle of wine round the head knocked him out cold, and my first trophy was about to be acquired.

Once knocked onto the floor I had to make sure he’d stay out cold. Sedation, and a lot of it. The castration was disgusting the first time, but surprisingly easy. But anyway, he woke up strapped to a wall in a dark room, strung up. Genitals removed and burnt away. I left him there to decompose for weeks, and during that time started to lure more men in.

Five more men came to my apartment in the period of four months. Sickening I know. And you may think that what I did was wrong but think about it, all these heroes who catch these people and lock them away; well sometimes the world doesn’t need another hero, sometimes what it needs is a monster. So, what do you truly believe in when it comes to people like those? Where do your ethics lay?

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Interview Two: Ollie Crossland: Born in London, UK: Arrested for Four counts of Murder

I had served in the army for nine years. I had seen things you couldn’t even imagine, seen things that could not be described by books or re-imagined by film or television. These are things that swamp your life, pushing out love and happiness, till your left with just pain and darkness; cold and alone.

I worked in a special operations unit, I worked in the shadows of night. I would not see the day, the horrors of day, the fights of day. Only the blood spill of night, the evil of night. Stealth would play to my side as my comrades and I snuck through. Capture the target. Or kill the target. Its drilled into your mind. Your brain forgets everything else.

I woke next to my wife, unaware of her identity. Just breathe, like they taught me too. My hands clasped around the targets neck, draining the breath from her lips, and just like that, I was back. Back standing next to my comrades, moving in. The targets were two rooms down. Asleep. The death was quick like always. The first targets daughter was there, in front of me. Being the most experienced on the team I had to take this one. My hands gently removed the pillow from beneath her. The pillow then was placed atop her face. Blocking the air from her mouth and nose. It wasn’t long.

This is what we were taught however. Of course, we had been trained in combat and weaponry. But we were a stealth operated unit. Suffocation is what we use. No violence. Quick and simple.

Move down the stairs. The next target speaks to me. Its past his bed time and he’s down stairs playing video games. He’s apologising. These comments are blank in my mind. They mean nothing to me. I move towards the target and knock him down. He's out cold and I’m standing above him. The same method as the previous target applies. All three targets are out.

I wake the next morning to see little mess. Three dead bodies scattered around the house may not seem like a little mess, but in my line of work it is. A ring on the doorbell occurs. The childminder. I’m back in the field.

Four bodies.

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Interview Three: James Tipp: Born in North Yorkshire, UK: Arrested for fourteen counts of murder and one count of arson

The taste of their blood excited me. The effusion of this was all too fun. I had the hunger of a lion and the strength of a sun. Nothing would stand in my way. I moved from town to town preying my subjects and then moving in.

I don’t know what drove me to my first kill. I was young, I was curious, but this wasn’t the thing most young adults are interested in, I know. But I’m different, all people like me are different. People like me are not men of society. We do not act with society. I’m out on a mission of my own. I watch the people in these towns, I watch the bad and the good of every place, and decide who’s going next.

Yes, I will go out of my way to be unwilling and inhumane, but it’s to rid these places of the scumbags. I kept clean and well presented, I needed to fit in and become a part of each place I went to. Then I would scout out the non-functioning members of these towns society, and yes this contradicts my previous statement, but I am doing this for a worthy cause. The people I go after are ignorant fucks who either are obsessed with money, or just want to see the world bow down to their feet.

I found my first submissive, easy. This is was got me hooked, this is what fully pulled me into the ethics that I have today. It was that first easy, cocky shit of a teenager. He dealt drugs, another teenager killed himself due to the drugs that he was dealt. This is what caught my eye. His incompetence to see what was wrong and right, and when to stop. So, I chose my first. I waited for him in his usual drug dealing spot. Behind the local pub, a back alley. He came to the back alley and expected me to be a keen customer. As I got closer to him, itching to grab him. Closer. Closer. He was inches away, and as he moved his hand into his jacket pocket, I took a hold of him and beat him to the ground.

Teeth scattered away from his face. Blood spat all over the floor. His face turned to a mess of blood and gore. I loved it. Crimson liquid shot up to my lips. Punch. Punch. Punch. Repeatedly fist into face. He was barely recognisable after I had finished with him. But oxygen still poured through his veins, filling up his lungs, flowing between his lips. He begged for mercy, and I looked down on him with a lack of pity. A blade slipped from my back pocket, then slowly it slipped into his flesh, puncturing his organs. I pulled the knife out slowly, painfully. He couldn’t scream or yell due to the pint of blood that flooded his mouth. Coughing, chocking. Death. I took much pleasure in this act, killing someone to keep things as they should be, killing someone to rid this place of filth.

 The next thirteen were just as pleasurable as the last. Cathartic. Only four of the fourteen reacted with counterviolence, reacted with a struggle. Most of them fitted my agenda perfectly and submitted with ease. And the suffering of these delinquents smacked a fresh smile on my face every time. And yes, this enjoyment may be all too noticeable when my cruelty kicks in, but once you find these types of people’s vulnerabilities, for someone like me, there is no turning back.

So, what more do you want to know?

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Interview Four: Stewart Stamp: Born in Essex, UK: Arrested for twenty-seven counts of murder, seven counts of assault and two counts of arson

I moved to America. This is where you will find them. The supremacists. I moved for a reason and one reason only. To hunt. My grandfather lives within me, and I wanted to serve the purpose that he left, complete his legacy. I believe that to hunt is in my blood.

My grandfather was a Nazi hunter. I am a Nazi hunter, Neo-Nazis specifically. These people with their hate, racism and extreme nationalist views. Those people deserve what they get. You have to search around for these people, they are good at hiding themselves. I have two choices. Either you find the meetings, or you find the rallies.

The two counts of arson I have required are from Molotov petrol bombs. Armed, I was ready to execute these supremacists, racists and xenophobes. All of them had this fate coming, obeying and following their ancestors, just like me, but in the wrong way. Thirteen murders in one night. However, I wasn’t pursed, wasn’t looked for. The police knew the groups were there, they just ignored it, pretended it didn’t exist, and I wasn’t looked for because they wanted to do the same, but didn’t have the guts. In a way, I did them a favour.

Twice this occurred. Two counts of arson, twenty-five counts of murder in total so far. The next few were counts of assault and separate murders, as you know. Slit throats, beaten to within an inch of death. And it was in these final acts that I got sloppy, hard bent on just getting out there and killing. And I got caught. Local police force. I was brought to the station and recognised. I was wanted for my crimes, but I was at the back of the board, no one on my case, not the most wanted, and it was because of who I was taking lives from, that’s all. Now of course there were questions from higher authority about why I wasn’t pursued from the start. But nothing came of it.

I suppose you know the clichés. But surely you must see my view here. The rationality of my view, if you could get away with it, would you do the same?

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Interview Five: Jackie Piercy: Born in Kent, UK: Arrested for one count of murder

Most people believe that all psychopaths are impulsive. I murdered once, so how does that make me like the rest of them. Well what I did, what I am about to tell you I did, was all pre-meditated. The plan was laid out, all that was left was to choose someone to fore fill this plan. I had many options… Wife, father, co-worker, friend, boss, by-stander, an acquaintance, a leader, anyone.

I had to choose one, just one. I was no sinner, and I was feeling no guilt and felt no guilt after. Everyone needs a release, and this was my release.

I thought long, hard and carefully about this decision. I decided to pick someone who nobody would miss, someone nobody knows. A bum. I chose someone of the street, it wasn’t hard, in fact it was rather easy. I bought a bum a coffee, slipped something in that coffee and off to sleep he went. The town I ventured in to find this bum was a ghost town at night, like I said, an easy take.

From my car truck into my home. He was washed and cleaned. I took care of him in his time of rest. Cleansed and ready for the plan to begin. Dazed and confused he woke strapped to a bed, unable to move, unable to call for help. I was the empowering force of fear that crippled this man. I felt, amazing. I asked, what’s first then, fingers or toes. No reply. I said, lets mix it up a bit, how about thumbs.

He was still confused about the situation, but this woke him up. A clean-cut knife started to grind at his thumb. This was easy enough, three or four times I grinded till I got to the bone, then I thought I would test my strength, and tear it off. This really woke him up.

Now I didn’t want to play too much, I was having all too much fun and this is the opposite of what I wanted. When you enjoy something, you want to repeat it. Want to repeat it. No. This was a one off, it had to be a one off, no addiction did I want.

But one thumb was barley anything. However, it wasn’t the fact he was in pain that I enjoyed, it wasn’t the screams that came flooding out his mouth, it wasn’t anything physical at all. It was the psychological part to it. I could smell the fear coming from within him, taste it. This was where my strength grew.

It was the thumb, then the hand, then the ear, then the eye. Deformed he became. If I let loose on the streets it would seem like an advertisement to not give up in life and to peruse your dreams, not to let yourself become like one of these people. But then a second thought crossed my mind, what if there are more like me? People like this need to stay on the streets to quench the thirst of people like me. Just one time. A carefully planned murder by a normal guy. I have one last thing to say to you, don’t trust who you think you can trust, don’t trust anybody.

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During these conversations with these specially minded killers I realised that mercy, pity, power and control are all much more important than you think. And there are much more people like this than you think, maybe milder, maybe more extreme, but anyone can be a psychopath. And society will bend to their will, no matter what we do to try and resist it, these people will carry on for years to come, and nothing can stop that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



© Copyright 2017 Tom Smith. All rights reserved.

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