total posts: 342
updated: 2238.5 hours ago
*dni if kink*
this gives me so much secondhand embarrassment
Boy is so disappointed lmao
I would be disappointed too
Ramirez developed an interest in martial arts and music in junior high school particularly The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath. Neighbors recalled seeing him in his backyard, practicing karate and walking around with a radio. He also liked reading horror stories and magazines that carried articles about rock stars. Myers, Arredondo, Garcia, and Little said they could not remember his ever having had a girlfriend in California. But Garcia remembered that the girls in elementary school thought he was “cute.” Alma Gaytan recalled that the girls in her class used to sigh “ahhh!”when he entered a classroom. However, although he dated occasionally, he did not have a regular girlfriend in El Paso.
Dylan Klebold, Brooks Brown (centre), and Zach Heckler (right)
At the Los Angeles county jail, there was a “special Ramirez watch” which means that a sheriff’s deputy is posted just outside Cell No. 7021 and looks in on Ramirez every 15 minutes through a rectangular, plate-glass window in the steel door. Sheriff’s Deputy Jim Ellis was on such a watch on Oct.10,1985, when Ramirez launched into a chilling monologue, according to court documents. “I killed 20 people in California. I was a super-criminal, No one could catch me. Then I fucked up and left one goddamn fingerprint and they caught me.” Ramirez told Ellis. Recounting a murder in San Francisco for which he has been charged separately, Ramirez said “I walked up the stairs real slow and got into the house, and then I went into the bedroom and saw these two people sleeping there and then, boom, boom. I did them in. I love to kill people. I love watching people die. I would shoot them in the head, and they would wiggle and squirm all over the place and then just stop. Or cut them with a knife and watch the face turn real white. I love all that blood. One time I told this lady to give me all her money. She said no. So I cut her and pulled her eyes out” he said, referring to one of his victims.
While making these comments, Ramirez occasionally paused to “laugh a little bit” Ellis reported. Earlier, Ramirez had expressed a suspicion that his food and drink were being drugged, and flushed a portion of the meal down the toilet. Four months later, Deputy Robert Anderson was on watch when Ramirez slipped a postcard under the door, asking Anderson to mail it. “Read the back of it. It rhymes like a poem.” The jingle contained a threat against a former acquaintance. Ramirez’s message was that “he was going to get anybody who is directly involved with turning him in to the police” according to Anderson’s account of the incident. It was also from jail that Ramirez allegedly said last August that someone would slip him a gun so he could “get the D.A.” and then turn it on others in the courtroom. According to County Deputy Public Defender Hank Hall, who initially represented Ramirez, a court-appointed psychologist in 1985 had found him to be “borderline competent” after a 10- to 15-minute discussion that was abruptly terminated by Ramirez.
That session had to be delayed a day because, Hall told Los Angeles Municipal Judge Elva R.Soper, Ramirez was “acting up in the lockup.” During that same 1985 court proceeding, Soper observed: Ramirez replied “I am sane.” He added that he has had 11 years of education, plus one year of studies in the electrical trade. Then he volunteered “I have a psychologist in Los Angeles who has qualified me sane…I don’t want to go to no hospital, ma'am.” He did not elaborate.
“He told me how he wanted to be, He always wanted to be a little league baseball coach or a lifeguard. How much he wanted to get married and have children but things happen.”
Richard Ramirez didn’t eat well, but he had a sweet tooth, as many heavy drug users do.
“He would buy those big Hershey bars and eat one after another” Mike Little racalled.
“He ate a lot of Candy and Potato chips and drank a lot of Cokes. I would take him to a restaurant so he could eat, but he wouldn’t touch his food.”
In addition to his poor eating habits, Ramirez was also “Messy and Scuzzy” Little said, making a face. “He was a pig… He never combed his hair or took a bath. And I never saw him brush his teeth.”
Richard Ramirez aka ‘The Night Stalker’ confessed to police shortly after his arrest that he was the dreaded serial killer accused of 15 slayings in California, a court transcript unsealed revealed on May 7, 1986.
The transcript also indicated that Ramirez, 26, a drifter from Texas, broke down and tearfully told police he was ‘sorry’ for the crime spree, suggested he was controlled by Satan and said he wished he had been shot dead during the exhausting chase that led to his capture.
‘I did it, you know,’ Ramirez told police robbery-homicide detective George Thomas, who was guarding him at the Hollenbeck police station following his Aug. 31 arrest on the streets of East Los Angeles. ‘You guys got me,the Stalker.
‘Of course I did it. You know that I am a killer. So what. Give me your gun. I’ll take care of myself.
'You should. I am a killer. So shoot me. I deserve to die.’
Ramirez, speaking spontaneously before being read his rights, also told Thomas he would rather get a death sentence that a life prison term.
'I want the electric chair,’ he said. 'They should have shot me on the street. Hey, I want a gun to play with, Russian roulette. I would rather die than spend the rest of my life in prison.’
Moments later Ramirez, a self-proclaimed devil worshipper, told the detective, 'You think I’m crazy. But you don’t know Satan.’ He then laughed.
Ramirez then began humming a song by the heavy-metal rock group 'AC-DC’ called the 'Night Prowler,’ contained on the group’s 'Highway to Hell’ album, Thomas said.
The defendant then fell silent and began 'banging his head on the table,’ the detective wrote.
The detective’s report of Ramirez’s statements was read by the prosecutor, Deputy District Attorney P. Philip Halpin, during a closed session April 29 that was held to determine if Halpin could introduce Ramirez’s incriminating statements as evidence at the hearing. The prosecutor said the judge allowed him to introduce the statements only in the closed session, not in open court.
While being taken to Hollenbeck Station, Halpin said, Ramirez made other spontaneous statements to another Los Angeles police officer, Daniel Rodriguez.
'Suspect (Ramirez) started crying,’ Rodriguez stated in his report. 'He made a spontaneous statement, 'Why don’t you just shoot me. I want to die…I know all those killings are going to be blamed on me.“
When they arrived at the station, Ramirez, who had begun to foam at the mouth, asked for a glass of water, Rodriguez stated. Ramirez then told the officer that he had stashed a .32 caliber gun in a locker at the Greyhound Bus Station in downtown Los Angeles.
Halpin said the gun was recovered by investigators, but was not linked to any of the 'Night Stalker’ attacks.
Ramirez also reportedly told Rodriguez, 'I am sorry. I just feel like dying.’
During his teen years, Police caught Richard Ramirez a few times and once sent him to a Texas youth camp for juvenile delinquents, where he received some counseling, before being released to attend Junior High School. Before he was sent to reform school, Cesar Mendoza, a longtime assistant principal in El Paso’s school system, said Ramirez was a “quiet guy who never was involved in violence or vandalism.” But although he had been an average student at Lincoln and Cooley elementary school, he came back from reform school a changed person. After Ricky left the youth camp, Mendoza said, he constantly saw Ramirez for cutting classes and for having long absences from school.
Charles Hart, a spokesman for the El Paso’s school system, said Ramirez’s grades took a nosedive in Junior High School. He failed in two tries to pass the ninth grade. Teachers said he always looked sleepy and tired during his last year at Jefferson High School. He’d simply sit and not make any effort to participate. He dropped out of Jefferson High when he was seventeen.
The AC/DC cap left behind by “The Night Stalker” Richard Ramirez, found in the Hernandez Okazaki garage.
On May 30, 1985 - Richard Ramirez got out of the car in Burbank and walked to a beige stucco house with a big bay window. The windows were all closed and locked. So were the sliding glass doors. His eyes stopped on the puppy door at the bottom of the rear kitchen entrance. He got down on his knees, reached in and up through the little door, and quickly found the lock. With nimble, knowing fingers, he unlocked the door, stood up, and slowly entered the house, drawing the .22. Using a penlight to see, he moved straight to the bedroom of forty-two-year-old Carol Kyle, catwalked to the bed, and saw a lone sleeping woman. He shined the light in her eyes, pushed her, and said;
“Wake up, Bitch! And don’t scream, or I’ll kill you. Don’t make a fucking sound!” He put the gun to her head; she could feel its cold metal biting into her skin.
“I understand” she said.
“Who else is in the house?”
“Just my eleven-year-old son.”
“Where is he?”
“In his room.”
He pulled her out of bed and prodded her toward her son’s bedroom. Inside she panicking, but outside she stayed calm. Carol Kyle knew her and her son’s lives depended on what she did, how she act. She made up her mind to talk her way out of this. She was a registered nurse and knew how to stay calm in emergencies, knew how to deal with psychopaths. When they reached the boy’s room, she was about to open the door. However, Maxine Zazzara had gotten the drop on the killer, and he wouldn’t trust or underestimate a woman again. He made her lie down and told her to stay on the floor or he’d kill her. Then he opened the door, hurling himself on the sleeping boy and putting the gun to his head.
“Don’t fuckin’ move. Don’t look at me, and don’t move!” the killer demanded.
To his astonishment, Carol Kyle came running into the room after him and jumped between him and her son, shielding the boy.
“Please don’t hurt him. Take whatever you want, just don’t hurt him, please!” she pleaded.
“Don’t look at me,” he said, and trew Carol on the bed, cuffing her and Mark together. He took them to a hall closet, put them in it, and closed the door, then quickly opened it to say,
“You don’t have any guns in here, do you?”
“No, I don’t own any guns,” Carol said. He didn’t believe her and took them back to her room, laid them down, covered them with a sheet, and began ransacking the house frantically, cursing her, asking, “Where is it? Where is it?”
He made Carol and her son get up and put them back in the closet. Again Carol heard him tearing her home apart. She held Mark with her free hand, reassured him, and told him to be brave. She remained calm and cool, lest Mark see her panic, which would only serve to fuel his anxiety. The killer came back, uncuffed Carol, cuffed both of Mark hands behind his back, and let him in the closet. He took back to her bedroom, dragging her by the hair.
“Where’s the jewelry?”
“I give you whatever I have, just please don’t hurt me or my children_”
“Children? How many you have?”
“My son…and a daughter__”
“Where is she?”
“She stayed at a friend’s house.”
“When’s she comin’ home?”
“Not until morning.”
“Maybe I’ll wait” he said, and laughed a sickening hyena-like cackle, Carol thought. She did not find it funny, she knew what he’d do to her daughter. Carol felt sure and confident she could endure whatever he dished out, but the thought of her sixteen-year-old in this man’s hands send cold shivers up her spine.
“Where’s the money and where’s the jewelry?” he demanded.
“And don’t fuckin’ look at me, bitch!”
Keeping her eyes down, though remembering the contours and lines of his high-cheekboned face, she said, “There a jewelry box in my dresser” and led him to her dresser and put her hand in a top drawer. He remembered Maxine Zazzara, the shotgun suddenly in her hands.
“Stop!” He demanded. “and raise your hand real slowly with the fingers spread, or I’ll kill you.”
She complied. She knew he’d kill her in a heartbeat. It was in his eyes as clear as blinking red lights.
“Don’t do anything unless I fuckin’ tell you, understand?” she nodded.
“If I give you something valuable, will you leave?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll leave” he told her, and laughed.
Carol wore a diamond teardrop on a thin gold chain around her neck. It had been on her wendding ring, but she had had it made into a necklace two years after her husband had been killed. She took it off now and reluctantly gave it to him. He pocketed it and led her over to the bed, tied her hands tightly behind her back with a pair of panty hose, covered her head with a pillow, and searched the bedroom, all the while playing over his mind what he was going to do to her, constantly threatening her, cursing her, warning her not to look at him. He took whatever jewelry he could find, then went back to her.
“All right, where’s the other diamonds? And where’s the cash, Bitch?” he demanded.
“I don’t have any, I swear. I gave the only valuable piece I have.”
“Come on, don’t give me that bullshit, this is a nice house and everything”
“Listen, I’m poor. My husband left me the house,, he died six years ago in a plane crash. Please don’t hurt the boy. He already been so hurt by his father death”
“Don’t worry, you do what I say and you’ll both be all right” the killer said.
He viciously ripped off her nightgown, then her panties, pulled down his zipper, and forced her to orally copulate him. As he started to rape her, she told him she have her period, then that she have a disease. He told her to shut the fuck up or she was dead. Carol did not resist him. She knew if she did in the slightest way he’d explode, he truly would kill her. There was a terrible something brewing inside him, she could see it and feel it as tangibly as a summer lightning storm.
“The look in his eyes was absolutely demonic. Never I seen eyes like his on a human being” she later tell the police.
He turned her over and roughly sodomized her. Finished, he searched the place some more, making certain there were no hidden valuables anywhere, his mouvements quick, erratic. He was very nervous, and that worried Carol. He kept warning her not to look at him.
Hypersexual, unable to be satisfied, he sodomized her still again. She pleaded with him not to told him it hurt, but her pain, her pleading, only served to turn him on more. When he finished with Carol, he went to the kitchen for something to drink. As always, when he was committing an assault, he was sweating heavily. He returned from the kitchen and told Carol she wasn’t bad sexually, for her age. She thanked him, knowing that diplomacy was very necessery with him. She didn’t want to do anything that would incite him, this bubbling volcano of a man with a gun and an atavistic need to hurt and draw blood.
Near dawn he was finally ready to leave. He asked her questions about how to get to the freeway.
“He seemed confused about where he was” she would tell the police.
“He thought he was in Glendale.” She told him how to find the freeway, in a hurry to see him go.
“You must have had a very bad life to do this to me” she said.
“You’re lucky I’m letting you live. I’ve killed a lot of people, you know.” Again he let loose with his eerie laugh. “I’m going to bring your son in here”
“Please don’t let him see me naked like this. He’s already been through so much”
He walked over to her, untied the stocking binding her right hand, and said, “Don’t look at me, or I’ll cut your eyes out.” To her surprise, he gave her a second nightgown to cover herself with. He let Mark out of the closet, warning her and the boy not to look in his direction. He cuffed them both to the bed’s headboard. The stocking was still tied to her left hand and she asked to him to remove it. He found a pair of scissors and cut it off. He put the handcuff key on the mantel so her daughter, he said, could free her when she came home.
“You say anything about who I am and I’ll have my friends come back here, say I had a mask on… I know where you live, remember.” he told her.
“I won’t” she said.
“Is this Glendale?” he asked.
“Where’s the freeway?” he asked again.
“Go to the corner and make a right.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, and was gone.
Carol heard a car start up out front. He had cut the phone line in the bedroom between the receiver and the base. Mark managed to reach the phone and punch in 911. The Los Angeles enhanced system of showing the adresse as soon as a call came in was enough to send assistance to the victimes.