I crossed paths with a serial killer.
Wayne Nance.
He was a year ahead of me in high school.
There was a series of three murders in Missoula, MT.
They thought it might be someone trying to become a witch.
Turns out old Wayne was messing around with witchcraft.
He rode the bus with my girlfriend.
He was bragging to her that he did the killings.
He was a good sized boy and a football player.
I was in Martial Arts and probably overconfident.
I braced him in the hallway of the second floor of our high school.
I told him I didn’t think he was funny and to stay away from my girlfriend.
He walked away.
His little toady friend came up to me at lunch the next day and told me that Wayne didn’t like what I’d said and that he carried a big knife.
I told him to tell Wayne that if he pulled a knife on me I’d take it from him and stick it up his ass.
He never talked to my girlfriend again.
I think you have to make serial killers afraid.
They understand fear.
Wayne was killed years later in a scene that puts thrillers to shame.
My girlfriend?
She married a runt lawyer.
I told him to tell Wayne that if he pulled a knife on me I’d take it from him and stick it up his ass.
More off subject, but my dad mentioned the same orifice as he grabbed a knife from a hippie drifter in our small town in the early 70's. I asked dad about it recently and he didn't even remember doing it. His lack of memory was less about his age and more about the fact that he constantly did stuff like that in his youth.
I think you have to make serial killers afraid.
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Wrong. What you have to make them is dead at the first opportunity.