r/shortscarystories 1 yr. ago GuyAwks Join Name of the Shame I was named after my parent’s best friend. I never used to have an issue with this. I do now. The name Xavior might’ve been an uncommon choice for a boy. But it held special meaning to my parents, who insisted on naming their first son after a dear family friend who had always come through for them. After all, it was Xavior who’d first introduced them in college. It was he who spoke at their wedding. And it was he that helped them move into their home, gave them rides when their car broke down and babysat in emergencies. My parents said naming me after him was honor. Growing up, I only ever felt to be proud to be named after such a great guy. Uncle Xavior was a good-natured community figure and beloved family man. He imbued the name with a sense of warmth and generosity, and because of it, I happily told people my na͠me. That’s why it’s such a shame that he did what he went on to do. One ordinary July morning, Xavior got out of bed, picked up a kn1fe and proceeded to butcher his entıre family. He then got into his car, drιve into town and continued his kılling spree. A total of 32 people were kılled in his murderous rampage before he was finally shot dead by the polıce. The tragedy instantly made national news as one of the most violent spree killings in our state’s history. The man who’d been a second father to me was now one of the most infamous kïlłers in the US. Ever since that day, being named after Xavior Finch had a very different meaning. Instead of a blessing, it was now my cûrsêd. Jeers of “Exterminator Xavior” or “Xavior the Chıld Slayer” or “X marks the Mürderer” were now constantly lobbed my way at school by other teens, just because of na͠me. Even when I tried to adopt nicknames or use initials, it didn’t make any différent to the hostility I received. Whenever I gave my name to people, they’d clarify “Like the rampage kıller?” or just reflexively cringe at the reminder. I hated it. There was no denying that, at least where I lived, the name was completely tainted. So, after all these years of derisive comments and comparisons, I’m glad to finally be legally changing my name. I haven’t settled on what it’ll be yet. Anything that doesn’t conjure up images of the notorious convict. I refuse to lıve in the shadows of Xavior Finch’s crımes any longer. No, I want the killings I’m going to commıt to speak for themselves. I’m gonna make a name for myself as a criminal—not be overshadowed by my namesake. Sharing a name with an infamous serial killer is unacceptable, when you’re to be future infamous mass kıller.

Mary Bell, 11-Year-Old Serial Kıller, Scotswood, England, 1968 - M*rdered Martin Brown (age 4) on May 25, 1968 and Brian Howe (age 3) on July 31, 1968. Her best friend Norma Bell, 13, (not related) took part in the 2nd m*rder. Mary attempted many mvrders besides those. Quotes: “I like to hur͘t people.” - “Brian Howe had no mother, so he won’t be missed.” - “Mvrder isn’t that bad, we all dıe sometime anyway...”

Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 3 yr. ago Yumifire 14,280,786 14,280,786 That’s the number I was born with. A red scar carved into my left arm that shocked all who saw it. Especially when it changed. Yes I was born with a number counting down every minute. Do you know how long that many minutes are? 27 years, 2 months, 19 days, 13 hours and 46 minutes. No one really understood it. Mother made me cover it. It was the family secret and I was never to show it to anyone. Grandmother I think was the closest to understanding, as soon as she saw it she muttered “death curse” and ordered me to never bother her again. What would you do if you knew exactly when you were going to die? But you never knew how? It’s impossible to have something like this and not have it affect every part of your life. Why try hard in school? I would never have a career. Never be normal. Why have a girlfriend or children if I couldn’t grow old with anyone? As time went on, I guess I found that I was just best alone. Had a few one time dates, but I guess it just didn’t work for me. I pushed everyone away, even mother. Finally the day came. I had decisions to make. Should I drink myself unconscious and hope I sleep through it? But I didn’t want to end up one of those bodies found months after death. That’s what led me to go for a walk, areas that are regularly visited. Who knows, maybe someone could save me? I admit I was scared, despite all the time I had to prepare myself. I didn’t want to die With 10 minutes left I went on my walk. Best to avoid crossing any roads. I plotted my route carefully, but that’s what led me to him. 3 minutes to go was when he blocked my path with demands for money. What money? Wouldn’t you spend it all if you were dying soon? He became agitated and pulled out a gun. At least I know what I’m dying from now. 2 minutes to go, I begged him not to kill me but he didn't listen. He’s trying to scare me but his finger is resting on the trigger. It would just take one knock. 1 minute to go, I thought about how unfair this all was. I want to live so badly. So that’s when I jumped him and fought for the gun. Stupid I know but I had to try. And that’s when the gun fired. The blood soaked my left arm and the man slumped over, taking his last breath. I didn’t mean to kill him. I stared in horror at the corpse in the pool of blood in front of me. It took me far too long to realise how much time had passed. I wiped away the blood to check. The number had changed. 170,012 3 months, 26 days, 2 hours and 12 minutes.

Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 5 mo. ago Rukania Join I work as a judge and this was the most horrific case I’ve dealt with. ‘Matthew 5:38’ The plaque that sits above my bed, engraved with that very quote. It’s what motivates me, what drives me - it is who I am. Gregory Holden. Judge Holden to the convicts I’m faced with on a daily basis. I sit down to eat breakfast. Some cold meat I got last night. As I ate I perused the newspaper, my eyes instantly drawn to the bold headline sprawling across the front page. DEAN HOWARD - KIDN@PPERS & MÜRDERER - ESCAPED JAIL AND IS ON THE RUN. SHOULD BE CONSIDERED HIGHLY DANGEROUS. Dean Howard…I was the one that had sentenced him. Four consecutive lıfe sentences without parole. That was only a few days ago. I scoffed at the lacklustre security of the jail he’d been housed in. Allowing that monster even the chance to escape…despicable. Dean was the worse case I’d dealt with. And I’ve dealt with some pretty horrific ones. Tommy Freeman. Convicted of arson & first degree mürder - burning down the house of his ex-girlfriend whilst she slept upstairs. There was Doctor Peter McGronal. Found guilty of mal practice in his hospıtal, resulting in the deaths via flu of twelve elderly patients in his care. And of course, Bobby Ray Leonard. The hillbilly that blended his wife with acid after she overcooked dinner. Dean takes the cake for the worst however. He’d abducted a nine year old girl, keeping her locked in his basement for months. The abuse she suffered…heartbreaking. The girl eventually starved to death, and Dean was apprehended whilst he tried to hide the body. Still. Justice was served. Matthew 5:38. Whilst I am an official of the law, there’s a reason that plaque lies above my bed. Being a judge, a moral compass is an innate trait we must all posses. The same trait that the guards at the jail also posses. The ones that shut off the cameras as I lit Tommy Freeman’s jail cell on fire and watched him scream as the flames engulfed him. The ones that allowed me to tamper with Doctor Peter’s meals, injecting them with a vile concoction of chemicals that had him slowly dying in the prison medical ward for a week - before he ultimately succumbed to his fate. The ones that pinned down Bobby Ray as I gouged his eyes out. Cutting out his tongue for good measure, ensuring he wouldn’t go talking to anyone. As you’ve probably guessed, Dean never escaped. In fact, he’s been…’rehoused’. Rehoused to my very own basement. Chained up. Crying. But not starving - no - that would be too easy. I take another bite of my breakfast and look up from my newspaper at Dean, desperately clutching the bloodƴ stump at where his arm used to be. Dean’s going to whither away alright. And he’s going to watch as I consume every - little - morsel.