Death Row Confessions

How Momma Came Apart

by The Hanging Man

I write these letters from the prison in which I am waiting for the last minute of the last hour given unto me by the state of Texas, whereby I shall walk down that green mile in chains and be brought before my final judgment. And I go to my death knowing that it were the Devil, himself, who sent me here, but it were my hands done the killing none the less.

But here I am, and here I stand, a man who is truly guilty of the crimes laid at his feet. I got nothing to say in my defense, other than to tell you that I could have been any one of you. And you best be thanking God every day of your life that it were me the Devil done found, instead of you.

Do not feel sorry for me, but for those I happened upon while the Devil was driving. Do not believe in his lies, but in the power of Lord Jesus Christ. And do not ever forget that we are called upon to love and serve one another as ourselves.

These final confessions from death row are my gift to you. Please heed them, and do not follow the mistakes I have made.

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This story was told to me by another man who the Devil lied to. He was promised power, wealth and the pleasures of the flesh for as long as he may live, so long as he did what that little voice in his left ear told him to do. And he did these all these horrible things, for he had not the wits to see where it would all lead, nor the compassion to weigh his life with the lives of others.

He says the compassion done bled out of him with his first killing, who was his own mother. She who bore him into the world in sin was the first to taste his bitterness at the fruit he had been given. He says that he always knew he would kill her, but he did not know how, or when, or why, until he did see that dark and fallen angel. After that night, much that was hidden did become clear.

 

The man was a young boy when he first met the Devil, though he did not know his true nature for many years. He saw him out of the corners of his eyes as he played with the other children in his school, making boys smaller than himself eat handfuls of dirt and crushed, wet worms. He smelled his breath on his neck as he sat in his church on Saturday nights, dreaming of the girls in his youth group and how they would sound as he lay on top of them. He felt him nearby as he walked the roads at night, waiting for the right moment to throw a rock at a window, or use his pocketknife to let the air from a car's tires.

And he felt the Devil, too. He felt him inside. He felt him when his daddy hit him with the back of his fist just because he looked like he was gonna cry. He felt him when his momma sat and smoked her cigarettes on the back porch, putting a chop of meat over her new black eye and doing nothing to stop her man from hitting her boy. He felt him when he went to his room without supper, dreaming of the day when he would be big enough and strong enough to let his daddy feel what he felt, and pay the old man back, blow for blow and kick for kick.

He never got the chance, though. His daddy died in town at work, one day when he was maybe twelve. The way his momma told it, a whole wall just fell down on him and his friends while they were eating lunch. They had to cremate his remains because there was so very little left to bury.

And when he was standing there, all dressed up in an itchy suit and tie with his mother and her new man, watching them put his daddy's ashes into the wall, he heard the Devil for the first time ever. And the Prince of Lies said "You're welcome."

 

It was the start of a mad, bad friendship. After that day, the Devil told him "you're welcome" an awful lot. He told him "you're welcome" when he made even the big boys afraid of him. He told him "you're welcome" when he gave him the power to make the girls want to lay under him. He told him "you're welcome" when he made it so that he could steal and never be caught.

And he told him "you're welcome" when he beat his momma's new man into the hospital for trying to tell him about Lord Jesus Christ. He didn't need to know Jesus anymore. He had the best friend in the whole wide world, right there in his head. The Devil made him the biggest, baddest boy in the town, and he could do what he wanted, take what he wanted and go anywhere he wanted.

But that was all in his childhood. There comes a time, the Bible says, when a man must put aside childish things and become a man. And the Devil agrees.

One day, when he was too old to go to school anymore, the Devil came to him. And the Devil told him that his services were no longer for free. From now on, if he wanted to have the power that he had enjoyed, he would have to earn it.

What must I do to earn it? He asked. And the Devil replied Whatever I tell you, my servant. No matter what it is, if I say it, you will do it.

Now do we have us a deal? the Devil asked. And he, being foolish, much like I too was foolish, agreed to the Devil's demand. He signed his name in blood, much as I did, and from that day on he was the Devil's own, body and soul.

 

At first, the deal was easy, because the Devil only asked for things that he would have wanted anyway. He hurt men who offended him. He took women who spurned him. He stole things he could not afford and traveled far and wide in one car after another. He went all places, and did all manner of things as the Devil commanded him.

But eventually, the Devil asked for more things. Before long, he was laying atop people he would not have ever wanted to, and hurting those who he bore no ill will towards. He stole things he did not need nor want, and went places he had no desire to go.

Soon, he began to disobey. It was small things, at first, but soon he got bold enough to resist big things, and the Devil started to punish him whenever he resisted. He would strike him blind, or show him horrible demons from beyond the gates of Hell. He would make his eyes bleed, and make him vomit and evacuate his bowels. He would make his entire body be wracked with pain, and be covered with boils and sores.

My freind could have stopped this torment at any moment, and he knows this, now. He knows that he could have called upon the Lord Jesus Christ and rebuked Satan, driving the Prince of Lies far away from him. Even a wretched sinner like himself could have still asked Lord Jesus into his heart, for did not Jesus pardon a murderer while upon that cross?

But he was selfish and foolish, and the power the Devil gave him was too much to let go. So he did what he was told, and took his punishments when he would not do what he was told. And he worshiped his lord and master Satan, the Prince of Lies, and swore to him unyielding and unending service.

 

The last straw, as far as the Devil was concerned, came in a small town in Alabama. He burned down a church with a hundred people in it, but each and every one of them got out alive. And they got out alive because he had left the doors clear, even though the Devil said to shore up those doors so they couldn't get out.

This made the Devil very angry. He wracked the man so badly that he bled out of every single pore in his skin, and this almost killed him right then and there.

And the Devil came upon him and told him My Servant, I know what your problem is. You still have compassion within you.

And he said No master, you are mistaken. I have no compassion left within me. But the Devil laughed and said that the man was lying, and this proved it.

So the Devil said Have no fear, for I will see you rid of this affliction. We will go and we will remove it, for once and for all.

But how will we do this, master? Asked the man. And the Devil smiled and said You will see.

 

The Devil commanded that he go home, for the first time in years. When he did, he saw that it had not changed at all, except that there was a new man in his momma's house.

The Devil bid that he wait until the new man left before going inside, and he did. And before long, the new man left, yelling as he did so and threatening to beat his momma if she didn't have dinner ready for him when he came home. And he drove away in his car, leaving him alone with his momma and the Devil, who then told him to go inside the house, and go to her, where she sat in the kitchen, nursing a new black eye.

She was not happy to see him, and he was not happy to see her. But the Devil commanded that he throw himself upon her mercy, and beg forgiveness for being such a wayward and cruel son. He commanded that he tell her that he had turned over a new page in his book, and that he would be reforming himself, and asked only that she forgive him and give him her love and blessings before he left.

Did she do these things? No she did not. She called him a number of very profane and angry things, and told him that he was just like his father. He was a good for nothing, wasted man and he would one day bring her great shame and anger. And then she told him to get out and never come back.

And do you know what happened? As he stood there, and listened to his mother treat him so, he realized something that the Devil had been trying to tell him all along. And that was that, if a mother could say such things to her repentant, wayward son, then anyone could say anything to anyone. And if a mother could send her repentant, wayward son away, and show him no mercy and no love, then anyone was capable of anything. Surely mankind was a sick and terrible creation to treat one another so!

(Of course, this is exactly true, but it is merely sign of how far we have fallen from God's love, thanks to the Devil himself.)

And how the Devil must have laughed as, at that very moment, every angry memory my friend had ever felt came back to him tenfold. His eyes went red with rage, and he struck her with her own, cut-glass ashtray.

Then he kicked her to the floor and left her there, bleeding and spitting up blood and unable to move for the pain.

 

Once that was done, he went out back to scream at himself for being such a fool. But what could he do? He still felt this pain. How could he get rid of it, and be the man that his Lord and Master demanded that he be?

Well, the Devil had an answer to that. He said that he had to cut it out of his life, and a doctor cuts away rotten, dead skin. And he asked the Devil but how can I do that with my own memories? How can I do that with my own feelings?

And the Devil had an answer to that, too. He said Do you remember the axe your father used to use to chop wood? You go and find it, and then you'll know what to do.

So he looked around, out back, and before long he found it in the toolshed. It was old and rusty, and hadn't been used in a long time. But it felt right in his hands, and as he hefted it and swung it, testing its weight, he felt the Devil slip into his skin, and heard him whispering ideas on his to use this axe to cut out the rotten, dead parts he didn't need anymore.

 

He came back into the house, and straddled his momma between his feet. He raised the axe, and brought it down upon her wrist, which cleaved right off as though the rusted axe was as clean and as sharp as the day it were made. And when he did, and she screamed and she bled all over the rug, and all over him, he felt a small piece of his past disappear forever.

He brought it down once more, and took her other arm off at the shoulder, cutting away the memory of how she'd hit him for interrupting her talk on the phone with grandma. He brought it down again, and took her maimed arm off at the shoulder, cutting away the memory of how she'd smacked him for asking if she thought Lucybell Majors was pretty. He brought it down yet again, and split her chest wide open, cutting away the memory of how she'd beaten his behind for coming in without knocking when her and one of her new men were spooning on the bed.

With each new cut, and each new slice, a piece of his past went away forever. It was there, of course, because he can still remember each moment. But the feelings of having no power, or being scared, or feeling that this was wrong all went away with each new swing of the axe.

So he hacked and he chopped, and he sliced and he split, and he cleaved and he cleft. And he didn't stop until every single memory from his childhood had lost all power over him. It took him an hour to cut all that away, and when he had finished his momma was nothing more than pieces of meat, slices of bone and lengths of gut.

But by that time she was no longer his momma anymore, but just some stupid woman who'd said rude things to him and made him feel angry, and this was her recompense. And he says that when he realized that, he smiled from ear to ear. The Devil had been right, and he has been such a fool for disobeying. From that day on, he never would question a single thing his Lord and Master asked of him.

He left a note for the woman's new man, because the Devil told him to. It said DINNER'S IN THE KITCHEN, and he put it on the front door. And then he took his father's axe, got into his car, and drove away.

 

The Devil told my friend to kill many, many people after that day, with that axe, but he says that that's the only one he really remembers. All the others were just a blur of faces, places and reasons, so much so that even after leading the police to as many unmarked graves as he can remember, he's almost certain that there's at least three times that number remaining to be found. All of them dead by his hand, as the Devil commanded and he obeyed.

And he's deathly afraid that the man the Devil bid him give the axe to, just before abandoning him to face the Texas Rangers all by himself outside of Lubbock, is still out there killing. And he is sure of it, because some of the groups who foolishly oppose the death penalty are claiming that he was mistakenly convicted and forced into a conviction. And they feel this way because other killings with his exact M.O. are still going on in this state.

But my friend is like me in that he knows that salvation was only a moment away. And though the Devil may have worn us like a suit of skin, and seen with our eyes and spoken through our mouths and killed with our hands, we are ultimately responsible, for we were the fools who let him in.

My friend has taken no appeals. He expects he will be called to glory sometime in the next three months, though no one has said anything for certain. He would like to apologize to the families and friends of all those he killed, and would also like to apologize to his mother, wherever she may be, and hope that when she next sees her wayward, now truly-repentant son, she will accept his pleas for forgiveness at long last.

 The Ugly Truth

E. takes these Death Row Confessions as they come, and has no idea that they actually do come from a man on Death Row. That man was a Spectre Cultist, too, and was used as a rape machine by the rather insipid Apparition who controlled him.

The Spectre had a lack of imagination that matched its one-track mind, and claimed to be the Devil rather than come up with anything else. Eventually, the psychic wear and tear got too much, and the Spectre left its toy to the tender mercies of the authorities when his physical health deteriorated to the point of collapse.

However, the abandoned host was able to rally his health back, and wound up converting to Christianity and confessing all his doings. The spent shell of a man now writes these missives from his cell, in the hopes that no one else will follow in his footsteps. However, he hands these writings to a priest who visits him every month, and that priest is corrupted by Banes, himself.

So the writings get shunted to Spectral Undertakingz , instead of being sent where they need to go; They all think it's a funny piece of irony, they do.

In the case of this story, the fellow he's gotten the story from was also being used by a Spectre. The axe was - and possibly still is - one of the Spectre's Fetters, and that creature is still parading around in Corrupted flesh, racking up kill after kill in the great state of Texas.

And when its new host starts to turn to black goo and meat on the inside, it'll just hand the axe over to another, and another, and another...


 Contentz

 

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