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Serial Killer Quotes

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Serial Killer Quotes

“Sept 27-69-6.30 by knife by Stewart Stafford I am the thief on the golden hill, Predator in sight, a hooded chill, Masked, armed and primed to strike, Prey pinned by the lake, as I like. Tie them up on blankets, used, In time they'll see it's all a ruse, Pretend to leave, then come back, Back-slashed in a frenzied attack. Left to die, their assailant gone, Darkness falls on two bleeding fawns, Stagger up the hill to try and get aid, Passing out as the lifeforce fades. Flashlight in the eyes, back for the kill! Help arrives, shakily standing still, Message on his car, Zodiac was here, He lived, she passed, and then only fear. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

EvilMysteryCrimeMurderMurder MysteryTrue CrimeSerial Killer1969Unsolved MysteryZodiac Killer
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“This was it. This was what I had never felt before--an emotional connection to another human being. I'd tried kindness, I'd tried love, I'd tried friendship. I'd tried talking and sharing and watching, and nothing had ever worked until now. Until fear. I felt her fear in every inch of my body like an electric hum, and I was alive for the first time. I needed more right then or the craving would eat me alive.”

FearSerial KillerFeeling Alive
Book:I Am Not A Serial Killer
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“Powder Burns by Stewart Stafford A lone boy prowls a murky sandbar, The cataract sky, judgemental kin, A wrecking-ball life's flattened vista— Any hopeful resolution growing thin. Alley dice swallowed all naïveté, Fixed or cursed, he remained unsure, Surreptitious bone-white erotic charge, Legacy besmirched by fame impure. A neon safari hunt of the vanished, Luring victims to his flytrap home, Murderous brief interval to loneliness, A purring predator refusing to atone. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

DarkCrimeLonelinessHorrorMurderNoirTrue CrimeSerial KillerPsychological ThrillerDennis Nilsen
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“Trevor could almost see the invisible gas leaking from the broken furnace, billowing around his body, wafting in his wake from the laundry room to the living room, seeking out the nostrils of the realtor, the yuppies, the toddler, and every other goddamn trespasser before seeping into their bloodstream and infecting their cells until they dizzied, ached, barfed, and fell to the floor like a bunch of— He caught himself. He breathed through his nose. He pushed away the hate, calmed the tornado strangling his gut, and thought of HER.”

AngerMurderRedemptionDark RomanceGothicCreepySerial KillerSuspense RomanceMastermindPulp Fiction
Book:Fallout Dreams
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“Trevor climbed once again to the land of the living, naked except for an antique gas mask strapped to his face. As he peered through glass eyes like a mutant fly and breathed through the alien snoot, a single thought coiled through the booby-trapped labyrinth of his brain: I need to be alone. I need to be alone. I need to be alone.”

AngerMurderRedemptionDark RomanceGothicCreepySerial KillerSuspense RomanceMastermindPulp Fiction
Book:Fallout Dreams
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“I stared down at my hands and saw the blood coat them, how warm and real something felt when it wasn’t just ink and stains. This was life and I was holding it in my hands. I drew my eyes back up and beneath the flickering streetlight and the throng of drunken cattle, I saw nothing else but the dead girl. Somebody out there had taken her life, her heart, and there I was with her warm, sticky blood. Feeling the most alive I’d felt in years. I had to find him. I just had to.”

HeartDarkBloodHorrorDepressionMurderScaryRevengeKnivesHomelessDisturbedGoreHorror FictionShort StoriesDepressedSerial KillerKillerHorror WriterKnifeGrittyHorror Short StoryDark SceneHorror Short
Book:Down by The Mausoleum
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“Detective Carr sits in his chair. In a way I think it would be terrible to live in LA devoid of aspirations. How would you do it? How would you put up with the traffic and the monotony of the sun, the way people use the word hella and lie so freely? How could you stand it here if you weren't striving for something better? Oh that's right; he liked The Wolf of Wall Street. He aspires to take someone down like me, a serial killer. But he chose the wrong guy. I am done with all that. And I will not let my past dictate my future.”

HumorSatireLos AngelesSerial KillerSocial CommentaryAllusionCaroline KepnesHidden BodiesThe Wolf Of Wall Street
Book:Hidden Bodies
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“He was about to cross a point of no return. The place separating him from the imaginary line in the sand. The one society demanded no one cross. He crossed the point on many occasions. This would be different. This could land him in prison or the electric chair. The prospect filled him with sexual energy he normally lacked”

SocietyCrimeMurderPrisonMurder MysterySerial KillerPerversionSociety DenialSexual ViolencePsychopathsPsychopathyPervert
Book:Justice of the Fox
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“I pull the fire escape door open, scoop my eyeshadow palette off the ground and slip back inside. For a moment, I pause in the corridor and catch my breath. Adrenaline is surging through me. Rage. A normal woman would call the police at this point. But a normal woman would never have been paranoid enough in the first place to pretend to go to the toilet, only to sneak out of the fire escape and spy through a window to watch what her date does when he has five minutes alone with her drink. Nope. A normal woman would have gone to the loo, done a pee and topped up her lipstick. Or she’d have texted a friend about her hot date, feeling giddy with hope and excitement. Now, let’s think about what would have happened to a normal woman. A normal woman would have headed back to her date, smiling prettily, before sitting down and drinking her drugged drink. Then, a short while later, that normal woman would have started feeling far more drunk than she normally does after just a couple of drinks, but she’d probably blame herself. She’d wonder if maybe she’d drunk too much. Or maybe she’d blame herself for having not eaten earlier in the day because she didn’t want to look fat in her dress. Or maybe she’d blame herself because that’s just what she does; she blames herself. And then, just as she started to feel woozy and a bit confused, her date would take her outside for some fresh air and she’d be grateful to him. She’d think he was caring and responsible, when really, he was just whisking her out of sight, before she started to look less like she was drunk and more like she’d been drugged. And then the next thing she’d know, she’d be staggering into the back of a cab and her date would be asking her to tell the driver where she lived. And when she’d barely be able to get the words out and her date made a joke to the driver about how drunk she was, she’d feel small and embarrassed. And then she’d find herself slumping into her date’s open arms, flopping against his big manly body, and she’d feel grateful once more that this man was taking care of her and getting her home safe. And then, once the taxi slowed down and she blinked her eyes open and found they’d pulled up outside her flat, she’d notice in a fleeting moment of clarity that when the driver asked for the fare, her date thrust two crisp ten-pound notes towards him in a weirdly premeditated move, as though he’d known this moment was going to happen all along. As though he’d had the cash lined up, the plan set, and she’d feel something. Something. But then she’d be staggering out of the taxi, even sloppier than when she got in, and her legs would be buckling, and she’d cling to her date for support, her make-up now smudged, her eyes half-closed, her hair messy. She’d look a state and he’d ask her which flat was hers, and she’d walk with him to her front door, to the flat where she lives alone. To the place that’s full of books and cute knick-knacks from charity shops and colourful but inexpensive clothes. She’d unlock her front door, her hand sliding drunkenly over the lock, and she’d lead him into the place she’s been using as a base to try to get ahead in life, and then he’d look around, keen-eyed, until he spotted her bedroom and he’d draw her in. And then all of a sudden he’d be in her bedroom and she wouldn’t be able to remember if she’d asked him back or not or quite how this happened, and it would all be moving so fast and her thoughts would be unable to keep up – they’d keep sliding away – and he’d be kissing her and she’d be unsure what was happening as he pulled off her dress and she’d wonder, did she ask for this? Does she want this? Has she been a ‘slut’ again? But the thoughts would be weak, they’d keep falling away and he’d be confident and he’d be certain and he’d be good-looking and he’d be pulling off her bra and taking off her knickers. He’d be pushing himself inside her. The next day, he’d be gone by the time she woke up. She’d be blocked, unmatched...”

RapeSerial KillerCrime ThrillerDark FictionMe TooVigilante Justice ThrillerDate RapeCamilla BlackPretty Evil
Author:Zoe Rosi
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“NK, or natural killer, cells, which, like macrophages, attack targets like microbes, do not always kill. A 2013 article reports that about half of the NK cells sit out the fight, leaving a minority of them to become what their human observers call serial killers.”

CellsFightSerial KillerNatural Killer
Book:Natural Causes: An Epidemic of Wellness, the Certainty of Dying, and Killing Ourselves to Live Longer
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“Yes, there are plenty of politicians who are liars, there is no doubt about this! But some of them are not only liars but also serial killers because they deliberately send people to the wars!”

WarPoliticianMehmet Murat Ildan QuotesLiarsAnti WarTurkish LiteratureTurkish QuotesTurkish WritersMehmet Murat Ildan QuotationsIldan Wise SayingsTurkish Wisdom WordsTurkish PlaywrightsTurkish QuotationsTurkish AuthorsIldan WisdomIldan WordsPoliticiansSerial KillerWar QuotesPoliticians QuotesSerial KillersAnti War MovementPolitician QuotationsPoliticians QuotationsAnti War QuotesLiars QuotesBad Politicians
Author:Mehmet Murat Ildan
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“Lloyd moved to the blackboard and wrote ‘Maneater, Hall and Oates’ at the bottom of a long list of songs and artists. The blackboard in the kitchen had once been installed as a way of communication for the house. It had turned into a list of Songs That You Would Never See In The Same Light Again. This was basically a list of songs that our serial killing landlord had blared at one time or another at top volume to cover the sound of his heavy electric power tools. It was a litany of 70’s and 80’s music. Blondie, Heart of Glass was on the list. So was Duran Duran’s ‘Hungry like the Wolf’. Sam had jokingly given him an Einstürzende Neubauten CD on the premise that his tools would blend right in to the music, and he’d returned it the next day, saying it was too suspicious-sounding and made him very nervous for some reason. The next weekend, we had gone right back to the 80’s with the Missing Persons and Dead or Alive. I tried not to think about why he was playing the music, but it was a little hard not to think about. The strange thumps sometimes suggested that he’d gotten a live one downstairs and was merrily bashing in their skull in the name of his psoriasis to the tune of ‘It’s My Life’ by Talk Talk. Other times I listened in horror as my favorite Thomas Dolby songs were accompanied by an annoying high-pitched buzzsaw whine that altered as if it had entered some sort of solid tissue. He never borrowed music from us again – he claimed our music was too disturbing and dark, and shunned our offerings of Ministry and Nine Inch Nails in favor of some­thing nice and happy by Abba. You’ve never had a restless night from imagining someone deboning a human body while blaring ‘Waterloo’ or ‘Fernando’. It’s not fun.”

MinistrySerial KillerLandlordAbbaWaterlooBlondieSkullDuran DuranMissing PersonsFernando80s MusicDead Or AliveNine Inch NailsHall And Oates70s MusicEinsturzende NeubaurenElectric Power ToolsHeart Of GlassHungry Like The WolfIt S My LifeManeaterTalk TalkThomas Dolby
Book:City of Apocrypha
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“Just be careful," a Seattle homicide detective warned. "Maybe we'd better know where to find your dental records in case we need to identify you." I laughed, but the words were jarring; the black humor that would surround Ted Bundy evermore begun.”

HumorVictimIdentifyingSerial KillerKillerBlack HumorCulpritTed BundyBundyAnn RuleDental Records
Book:The Stranger Beside Me: Ted Bundy: The Shocking Inside Story
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“Then I noticed the top envelope had my name on it. My real name, not Judith Broch but Julie Pike. My mother had long since stopped using that name for me. She’d lived under an assumed name herself. The only person who’d be writing to me with that name, at that address was him. Or more likely, someone working for him. Raymond Wayfield; serial rapist and murderer. My father. I stared at that letter for a long time. The light shifted in the flat as cars went by outside. Blue whirling lights and sirens went past, setting off a series of thumps and a baby’s cries in the flat above. Still I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and open that envelope. As if by doing so I’d be letting that man back into my life. Into my reality. As if he’d ever left.”

Serial KillerMystery ThrillerFamily SecretsSerial Killer S Daughter
Book:The Butcher's Daughter
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“SWAT? For me?" Still trembling, one hand clung to the ambulance gurney, the other held a massive sterilised cotton wool wad under my nose. "Tactical Support was busy. You got Dennis and Arlo," said Harry, speed-reading the papers he'd snatched from inside my jacket. Closest his hands had been to my chest in a long time. "Which one broke my nose?" "That'd be Dennis.”

FunnyMysteryCrimeMurderIntelligentPoliceContemporaryPsychologicalThrillerSuspensePsychiatristMagical RealismMurder MysterySerial KillerDark HumourStrong Female CharacterFast PaceCriminal ProfilerChandleresque
Book:Gatsby's Smile
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“Apparently, we're all in the frame," I heard Harry murmur somewhere behind me. And I whirled back to him. Innate, irrational anger surged. Then stopped, dead - as I suddenly took in Handsome, Robert and Doc. They were all staring at me. They were concentrating, all resolute, all a tad furrow-browed… upon my face. Self-consciousness burgeoned. I gingerly fingered my and lips and my chin, "Am I drooling?" "Your arse is hanging out," said Harry, not looking up from the forensics he was scanning. And so it was. Handsome, Robert and Doc averted their eyes as I, wishing I'd merely been dribbling, grabbed the back flaps of my breezy hospital gown, fully placed my back against the wall. Then, thinking better of it, dived hurriedly, carefully, back into bed. If Chinese Lady'd been here, she could've, would've, told me. I missed her already.”

FunnyMysteryCrimeMurderIntelligentPoliceContemporaryPsychologicalThrillerSuspensePsychiatristMagical RealismMurder MysterySerial KillerDark HumourStrong Female CharacterFast PaceCriminal ProfilerChandleresque
Book:Gatsby's Smile
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