I Bought a Serial Killer’s Relic… It Wasn't Empty

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or Amazon music. Be sure to click follow to get notified every time a new episode is released. Dr. Nose Leap I close the glass case and take a step back to admire my latest find. Jack, dinner is ready. My girlfriend, Alyssa, has made my favorite meal, chicken and dumplings to celebrate my recent acquisition. She's not the best cook, but it's the thought that counts.

Be right there, Han. It's hard to walk away from the display case. All the treasures that I have spent my life hunting down sit in this case. John Wayne Gacy's clown nose, Ted Bundy sweater, Richard Speck's lighter, Ed Geen's hunting jacket, Jeffrey Donmer's eyeglasses, BTK's rope, and multiple other nicknags from lesser known mass murderers and psycho killers. But none of them compares to my latest find. My true obsession since I was 12 years old,

the cherry on top, Gorman-Kyle Daniel's killing jar. It doesn't look like much, just a large glass mason jar. The lid is dented slightly, and there's a hint of rust, crusting up from under the threads. But otherwise it's perfect. This jar, this simple glass receptacle, was his gateway into infamy. Before that fateful may back in 2001, when Daniels started his killing spree along the Florida Riviera, a spree lasting six years and claiming the

lies of 36 people. Daniels had to work himself up to the task, thus the killing jar. Insects, small rodents, even, and I hate to think of it as I glance over it, our furry little muffin on the couch. Even kittens Daniels put them in the jar with the cotton ball soaked in his own special formula. The labs said it was a mix of formaldehyde, lighter fluid, shoe polish, and industrial glue. Apparently, Daniels had created the mixture to get high with, and when he woke up three hours later,

lucky to be alive at all, he realized that maybe it could be used in youth and Asia experiments, as he put it. The killing jar was created, tested, and when he knew he was ready, set aside and exchanged for a pair of sealed body bags he bought off Timo. Daniels switched from cotton balls to soaked sponges, but with the same results. Into the body bag, the unconscious victim went, and then it was all over, except for the grave digging. And Daniels did love to

dig graves. The authorities found 23 graves alone in his backyard, all hidden under his prize-winning

“garden. He called the graves his secret sauce, and, according to him, why he'd won the neighborhood”

associations top prize for his rose bushes, tomatoes, and raspberries year after year. A few jars of homemade spaghetti sauce he'd gifted his neighbors took on a whole new meaning.

When he was caught, and finally confessed to his horrible crimes. Daniels alerted the police to

13 additional graves at his mother's house, and coming as no surprise to anyone, Daniel's mother was in one of those graves. He'd been living off her social security for years, issuing any formal career for more time with his garden, and his middle of the night homicidal hobby. "Yeah, the food is going to get cold, coming babe!" It's so hard to walk away from this case. I spent close to a decade hunting down Daniels'

killing jar. The hunter catches his prey. A Mr. Daniels? The jar jiggles on its small pedestal.

I tried to call back, tried to respond, but just like one of Daniels' victims,

“I can't find my breath, and just stand here with my lips flapping like a fish out of water.”

The killing jar. It moved. I sighed. I feel a burning in the back of my throat, followed by lightheadedness. I placed my hand against the case, steadying myself. The jar moves again, and I shake my head, trying to clear the sudden fuzziness. "Hey there, buddy!" My lungs hitch, then go numb, and I try to suck in air, but I can't. It's like my entire chest has been paralyzed. My sinuses burn in my eyes water,

sending tears, screaming down my cheeks. "Jack, are you all right?"

My girlfriend's voice right behind me brings me out of it. I gasped, and then cough a few times,

bending over as I wipe the tears from my face. Except there are no tears. My cheeks are perfectly dry. And when I suck in a long full of air,

“it tastes clean and crisp, with the strong scent of chicken and dumplings wrapped about it.”

My sinuses aren't burning. My chest isn't numb. I'm completely fine. That was wild. I smile at Alyssa. It's a smile she knows well. "Oh, it's going to be our derves before dinner, is it?" Alyssa laughs as a grabber around the waist, and lifts her off her feet,

carrying her to the bedroom, as she streaks and playfully thrashes in my arms.

The chicken and dumplings are ice cold by the time we emerge, and stumble our way to the dining room. Both drunk on endorphins, dressed in our bath robes, are skin warm and still perspiring. I'll heat up the balls in the microwave. She takes both of our congealed balls of food into the kitchen, as I sit down at the table with the satisfied sigh. Seeing the open bottle of wine, I reach across and pour Alyssa in me each a healthy glass full.

Alyssa is back in minutes, and we dig in, both famished from our bedroom or derves. By the time we're done with dinner, I am yawning and stretching. It has been a day. "Hold up now, buddy. We still have dessert." My body goes rigid when she says "buddy." I flashed to the killing jar shaking on its small pedestal, and that strange voice in my head. "Be right back?"

Alyssa must not have seen me freeze up when she said "buddy," because she hops up from the table, and her reasoned to the kitchen. Her short bath robe, writing up a little and giving the a peek at her perfectly toned behind. A shiver and shake off the weird feeling. This is not the time for Maro's thoughts and creepy vibes. When Alyssa comes back into the dining room, having ditched her robe, for what looks like a full can of whipped cream sprayed all over her body.

I forget all about creepy vibes and killing jars, and make sure to concentrate on dessert. It's a long, delicious dessert, too. Later, when I'm brushing my teeth, I wander through the house, bored with the simple task I have to do twice a day. Alyssa says I have adult ADHD, which is why I can't stand in one spot for very long. She's wrong, though. I can't stand in one spot for hours if I feel like it.

Like right now. As I brush my teeth, I wander over to my display case and stare at my new treasure. I could look at this piece of glass and metal on my lawn. Glass and metal, glass and metal? I lean in and look closer, seeing that the metal rings that holds the Mason jar lid in place is a skew. More rust shows itself along the glass threads of the

“jar's top, or I think that's rust. It's definitely the right color. I mean, what else could it be?”

Realization hits me, and my toothbrush falls from my hand as my grip goes slack. The toothbrush is electric, so it flops and buzzes at my feet as I lean in close to the case. That has to be rust. The police would have scraped the jar clean of all evidence, right? There's no way they'd leave 'em, blood on the threads. And there's no way that jar, still with blood on it, would end up at an auction house where I could pick it up for a song.

No way. Jack, what is going on? I jump and spin around. Dressed in her night tea shirt, Melissa stands there staring at me. Where are you on her face? She looks down at the abandoned toothbrush. Jesus, Jack, that's making a huge mess. Pick it up! I reached down and click off the toothbrush and pick it up. A sheepish grin on my face.

Now, I'll clean it up so it's done right. You go finish brushing your teeth, but this time in the

“bathroom and over the sink like a civilized person. I laugh and smile, smacking her butt as I walk by.”

She laughs and swatled my shoulder, but misses spectacularly. By the time I'm done brushing, Melissa is already back in the bedroom and crawling under the covers. Once I'm in with her, she scoots over and puts her cheek on my chest. I rest my chin on the top of her head and we lie there in the dark, breathing easy and feeling so very relaxed. Are you happy you finally found it? You have no idea.

I can't believe no one else was bidding. Daniels isn't very well known. He's ever mentioned, it's a footnote, another more famous killer's biographies. He's used as a

comparison, but never as the main subject. Why do you think that is? Probably because of his

neighborhood association. It wasn't a super rich enclave, but there was some serious bucks behind those houses. The rest of the neighbors banded together and stamped out any rumors or gossip with instant lawsuits. They also officially changed the neighborhood's name so that Daniels' house would be hard to find. Eventually, they tore his place down and turned the lot into a zen garden. Minus the dead bodies underneath that fertilizer. You know, the whole fertilizer thing is a myth.

He buried them under there, but they were all in body bags. They wouldn't have decomposed within the soil. Yeah, sure. The bodies turned to human soup in those bags, but none of it leaked out into

“the dirt. But I thought he called them his secret sauce. I pushed myself up into a sitting position,”

helping Alyssa adjust so that she's draped across my legs, her head in my lap, face smiling up at me. Uh-oh, lecture time. She beams. Alyssa loves lecture time. It's one reason we're together. The second we sat across from each other at that speed dating event and both admitted to our fascination with true crime, especially serial killers. I knew we were perfect for each other. Her hand reaches up and plays with my chest hair as I begin. One of the main reasons that the

neighborhood association wanted to quash all mentions of Daniels after his arrest and conviction is that he insisted that he had helped from the other side. Other side? I can't wait. Ghosts.

Then one knows. He never elaborated. All he said was that he had helped from the other side,

“and that his actions were pre-ordained in part of a grander cosmic plan.”

So he did a lot of acid and mushrooms as what you're saying? I laugh and lean down and kiss her hand. Her fingers trace the curve of my jaw. Then go back to my chest hair. I pulled back and grin down at her. He was on a lot of drugs. They found shoeboxes filled with pills. Apparently, he'd been sneaking into his neighbor's houses and pilfering from their medicine cabinets, but they never found hallucinogens surprisingly. That's risky. He could have gotten caught.

I laugh. I don't think Daniels cared about risk. He was in it for the experience, the rush, the feeling of power, the feeling of power. She ranks the clump of my chest hair and I cry out.

Then we're rolling and laughing and loving. And finally, sleeping.

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today at Shopify.com/dns. Go to Shopify.com/dns. That Shopify.com/dns. Until I'm not. Hey buddy, wake up. My eyes bolt open. Had I see a man sitting on the

The covers tucked up under my chin. My eyes locked on an impossible sight. I know this is a little

“shocking, but it is what it is. And before you ask, no, you are not dreaming. And no, this isn't”

some chicken and dumplings induced hallucination. I am here and I am real. Daniels shrugs and giggles. It's like a little boy's giggle. Well, maybe not real. I'm a ghost of sorts, something like that. I didn't read the fine print, so I can't really say what I am. He collapses hands together and they make no sound. In fact, his hands pass right through each other. He notices me watching and knots. Yeah, being corporeal is beyond my abilities, which is why I need you. Why I

made sure no one else bit on my jar. I see something in you, Jack, a special spark. I try to speak, but my lips won't move. Daniels holds up a hand like he understands. Then he looks over at Alyssa,

“who is sleeping soundly next to me. Beautiful lady, you got there. Perfect, and all the ways I like.”

She sure would make a lovely number 40. He smurks. Yeah, 40. I lied to the cops about only killing

36. There are three bodies hidden that they will never find. bodies I used to, let's just say,

contact some folks on the other side. He shakes his head and his smirk falls away. The thing is, buddy, I didn't hit my quota, and even 40 was the deal, and those damn cops got to me before I could snuff out that last life. His hand reaches across the bed. His arm stretching, stretching, stretching, stretching way longer than it should be able to, coming to rest, just above Alyssa's body. I am authorized to offer you a life of riches and adventure and power,

if you do me this one little favor. His hand mimics stabbing a knife into Alyssa. He makes

him, screeching noise like he's in the movie's psycho. Do this for me, and you will have everything you dream of. He shrugs. Your soul will be forfeit when you die, but who cares, right? You'll be dead. He mimics stabbing again, then reaches out and pats my cheek. Think about it, buddy. I actually feel the ice cold of his palm, and the next thing I know, I'm sitting upright, screaming at the top of my lungs. Alyssa jolt's awake, and she starts screaming too. We grab

onto each other and scream and scream until we're all screamed out. Minutes later, when we catch our breath, Alyssa looks at me and asks, "What the hell was that, Jack?" I go. Daniels. The next morning, or really, only a few hours later, as we sit at the kitchen counter and sip our coffee, I relay my nighttime visitation. He said you would have the life you dream of,

“that's what he said, "But only if you kill me?" Pretty much. I make the fake stabbing motion.”

I don't think he wanted me to turn butter with you. Alyssa sips her coffee and stairs off into the distance. Does it have to be me? What? What do you mean? She shakes her head and laughs. Oh, nothing. She laughs again. What a night, right? I smile and drink my coffee as Alyssa goes back to staring into space. Work is pointless. All I hear is Daniels' voice saying, "Think about it, buddy." Oh, I'm thinking about it. It's all I can think about. My co-workers barely notice.

We all have our own shit to deal with. When I get home, I'm exhausted. My brain is much from trying to work while also trying to ignore what Daniels said, or what I dreamed he said. I mean, it was a dream, that's all. It's crazy to even think that he could be a ghost. Alyssa? Hey babe, let's order pizza. I can't even think about making dinner, and I'm sure you're just as beat as me. I set my briefcase down on a kitchen chair,

trapping my jacket over the back of the same chair. Alyssa, leaving the kitchen, I walked through the dining room and into the hallway. Now Alyssa, I see her purse and keys by the front door though.

garbled words over and over. Alyssa, I find her in the living room, standing in front of the

“display case. Shit, there you are. You had me. Alyssa, you good babe? She slowly turns her eyes”

on me in blanks, then she smiles under whole body jumps. Jack, you're home. Hey, how about we order pizza tonight? Um, yeah, great idea. Cool. I'll order her on the app. Pepperoni in black olive? Can we do hell of pennies on half? So you can spend half the night on the can? Stop, they don't affect me that badly. She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.

She moves in, gives me a long kiss, then bobs on out of the living room and toward her

purse in the hallway. Open that little will you? Yes, ma'am. As soon as she's gone, I study the display case. Everything is where it should be. Even Daniels is killing Jar. Then I pause. Is the Jar's lid open more? It looks like it. I grab the handle and pull open the display case as glass front. A feeling of deep dread fills my guts and I want to bend over and groan. Then it's gone and I reach in to inspect the killing Jar. The glass is freezing

cold, almost painful to the touch. And I'm right. The lid is partially screwed off. I tighten it and set the jar back on its little pedestal. Then I close the case and take a few steps back. Think about it, buddy. I gasp and spin around. The living room is empty. Of course it is. I'm just hearing echoes of my weird dream. Beats will be here in 45 minutes. Alyssa walks into the living room, tucking her phone into her back pocket. She sees me in

frowns. What is it? What's wrong? I take a deep breath and shutter. Nothing. Everything's cool. I glanced at the case. Just got Gorman Daniels on my mind, which probably isn't the healthiest thing to have in your bed, right? No. It's not.

“Then she puts both hands on her hips and glaring at me. What? What I do?”

It's what you didn't do, buddy. You didn't open the wine. She smurks and spins on her heels headed for the kitchen. Do I have to do everything around here? I laugh and follow her into the kitchen. Ready for a very large glass of wine. Later, I hate to admit it, but Alyssa was right.

The jalapenos do come back to haunt me. As I leave the bathroom for the third time tonight,

I nearly scream when I see Daniel sitting the chair in the corner of her bedroom. Hey, buddy, got yourself in a key tummy. I hear. Blinking is all I can do. I get it. I once dabbled in cannibalism and it tore my guts up. I feel your pain. He stares at me. Then licks his lips. So, my mouth thaws and I'm able to speak suddenly. So, what? I glanced at Alyssa, but she still sound asleep. So what? You're funny, but you know what,

buddy. Stop calling me that. Oh, quit being a baby. He points at Alyssa. You're going to kill the bitch for me or what? Hey, not cool asshole. Daniel's laughs and holds up his hands and surrender. Chill, buddy. We're just talking here. A friendly chat amongst like-minded individuals.

“We're not like-minded. Is that so? Then what's up with all the trophies out in that case, buddy?”

I said to stop calling me that. Answer my question. What question? What's with all the trophies? If we're not like-minded, then why collect all that crap? It's a little messed up if you ask me, buddy. It's a hobby. A harmless hobby. Daniel snorts him glances at Alyssa. Armless. Sure. He just keep telling yourself that, buddy. I'm not killing my girlfriend for you. I'm not killing anyone for you or for any reason. The only killer in this room is you.

Alyssa stirs at my raised voice. Daniels. Licks his lips again. You sure about that, buddy.

Then she sees me in frowns. Damn it, Jack. I told you not to eat the jalapenos. She gets up and shoves past me. I need to pee. Go back to bed. The chair in the corner is empty. I do as I'm told, and crawl back into bed. Alyssa joins me a few minutes later. It wasn't the jalapenos. Nice try. I was just in that bathroom, Jack. It was Daniel's again. Simon asked you about the stars.

This is a swiff flashback and just overshadowed. And then, hopefully, this is stupid. Paul, no, not at all. Is it my safe space? Yes, exactly.

“Is it the star of the star that just stops? Is it the star of the studio or the house?”

It stops. It's not like the star. Is it the star? It's safe. With this star. Alyssa reaches over and paths my arm.

She drifts off almost instantly. For me, sleep is slow to come, but I finally managed to drift off

just as my alarm blares. Work is worse than yesterday. I can barely read the spreadsheets on my monitor. Several of my co-workers swing by my desk, but I have no idea what they are saying. I just nod and try to smile. After a bit, they wander off. When I get home, Alyssa isn't there. She usually beats me by a good 30 minutes. But by the time I have changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, I hear the garage door opening. Hey, Jack. Sorry, I'm late. Need to swing by the

garden store real quick. I find her in the kitchen as she starts pulling pots and pans out of the

“cupboards. Hey, hey. She hurries over and gives me a kiss. How does Rose chicken and potato sound?”

Great. I look at the garage door. What were you doing at the garden center? I'm thinking of planning a garden this year. I picked up a few things. Don't worry, nothing major. Just a little plot out back. Oh, cool. I didn't know you were into gardening. She stops fussing about and looks at me. Can't a girl pick up a new hobby? What? Oh, you can't of course. I'm just surprised. She goes back to grabbing things out of cupboards.

Girl has to stay mysterious sometimes. Keep things alive. I laugh and go in for another kiss. Then I head to the living room, giving the display case a cursory glance. The lid is completely off the killing jar and resting against its side.

“Hey, babe. Did you take the lid off the jar? What jar?”

Daniel's killing jar. Oh, gross. No. And don't talk about that thing while I'm making dinner. Okay. I open the case. Take out the jar and lid and screw them back together. Then I put it back and make sure the case is shut tightly.

Dinner is amazing, surprisingly. I expected roasted to mean burnt and potatoes to mean the

open bag of ruffles from the pantry, but the chicken is moist and delicious. And the potatoes are cooked and seasoned perfectly. Desert turns out to be an on-core of the other night, but this time with chocolate sauce, we moved to the shower for coffee. Hey, buddy. Wake to hell up. Time to choose. I snap a wake and almost roll out of bed. Daniels is standing by the bedroom door his arms crossed, a frown on his face. I have been authorized to just sweeten the pod.

What does that mean? Just shut up and listen. He crosses to the bed and looms over me. Immortality. You get to live forever with your riches and privilege.

No having to worry about dying and going to hell. Hell, you never said anything about hell.

Don't be dense. You know what I've been talking about. Some. What do you say? Kill your love for me. And you can live forever with all the riches you can imagine. Yeah, yeah. You may have to sacrifice a virgin on an altar every 13 years, but with all the insels crying online, finding virgins isn't so hard to do these days. This is insane. I'm going mad. This is a dream. It's all just a dream.

100% legit. And I kind of need an answer now, okay? Give me a yes here, buddy.

No. No way. I am not killing Alyssa for you or whoever you serve. Daniel's size. He starts to say something. Glances at Alyssa. Then shakes his head and walks out of the bedroom, passing straight to the door. I lie in bed staring at the door until the sun rises and my alarm goes off. Work is awful. I can barely stay awake.

Four cups of coffee do nothing except wreck my stomach. By the time I get home, I am dead on my feet. Alyssa nearly jumps into my arms as I walk into the kitchen from the garage.

I got a promotion. Territory manager! She kisses me all over. And I do a pretty damn good job

of faking enthusiasm. Even though I feel like my eyelids weigh a hundred pounds each. I even managed to make some more derves happen, which is surprising. I guess I had a little reserve energy in me. Alyssa orders dinner and I lie on the couch staring at the display case. Then I sit up and try to look closely. Something is off, but I'm so exhausted I can't say what it is.

Alyssa walks into the living room. Her arms loaded with Chinese delivery and sets the

“cartons on the coffee table. I think she switches the TV on. I think I eat a few bites of sweet and”

sour chicken. Then maybe an egg roll. The next thing I know. Alyssa is smacking my shoulder.

Wake up sleepy head. Let's get you into bed. I groan and let her help me up from the couch. As we pass the display case, I think I see an empty pedestal where the killing jar should be. But I'm not sure. They're more in the bedroom. And I think I brush my teeth, but I'm not sure. I think I put on pajamas, but I'm not sure. I think I crawl into bed, but I gasp and thrashing come awake. My arms pressing against the blankets as I struggle to breathe.

But they aren't blankets I'm pushing against. Now, the material is cold and plastic. It feels thick. Alyssa! Alyssa! What's going on?

“Are you my girlfriend, Curse? She's somewhere. Um, above me? Maybe standing by the bed?”

But as I shift, I feel hardness under me. Not our soft mattress. Shit, he woke up! I knew I mixed to be ingredients wrong. Ah, that's okay, buddy. It's not an easy thing to get right. It took me years to reflect. Something lands on me. And I hear it slide off to the side. There you go! Just keep filling in the hall. The dirt. I'll do the work for you.

Dirt? What dirt? Alyssa! What is going on? Alyssa's size. More stuff falls on me. I couldn't turn down in mortality, buddy. A fortune and adventure and power. And I get to live forever, sign me up! What? What are you talking about? He offered me that! Oh, buddy. Don't be so short-sighted. Did you think I can come back from the dead

and only on to talk to one person at a time? Man, did I make the right choice? You aren't prepared for the power you could have been dealing with. Good thing sweet Alyssa here does.

“One virgin every 13 years is a pretty good deal, babe. You should have taken it.”

I would have had to kill you. Did you want me to do that? No, of course not. I'm just saying it's a great deal as all. The weight on me increases considerably. I tried to thrash again, but I'm held down pinned inside this. Oh shit. Pinned inside this body bag. Alyssa, you can stop. You don't have to go through with this. Sorry, buddy. We are way past that. She signed a contract and everything. In blood, babe, it's so exciting. I get to live on my true

crime fantasies. Forever, I know right? So cool. I scream and scream for her to stop, but she ignores me in chats away with Daniels. I think I hear her shouted our cat not to dig in the fresh grave. Soon, their voices are only whispers in the dark, followed by complete silence. I really should have picked a different hobby. Probably a different girlfriend, too.

I get to be part of a bigger story. My own slice of true crime. If anyone ever finds my body that is,

“I wonder what kind of garden Alyssa is going to plant.”

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