Do you remember when you were a young child and the most frightening thing that your encephalon could anticipate was the idea of monsters living under your bed, inside your closet, or even inside your most cherished toys? Of course you do. It's likely you remember the subsequent reassurance from your parents, too, when they informed you that there are no such things as monsters.
As we know when we get older, our parents are only people, and people are prone to error. The reality is that monsters most definitely exist, and unlike us, see no error in their ways, especially not with today's monster of interest: Jeffrey Dahmer.
The name alone is enough to give some people chills, especially those unlucky enough to be affected by Dahmer.
For those that need a tune-up on their serial killer profiles, Jeffrey Dahmer was a prolifically malevolent being disguised as a human. The Milwaukee cannibal, as he's colloquially known, kept the city at a standstill during his spree of terror - which lasted from 1978 to 1991 - until his untimely murder three years later.
The cannibalistic, mass murdering, necrophiliac rapist frivolously killed, tortured and eviscerated 17 boys and men throughout his heinous reign of sadistic trepidation; that was, until the night he goaded fate just a little too much, and tied-up would-be victim Tracy Edwards struck him over the head - which led to his imminent arrest.
But why did it take so long?
6. The Making Of A Maniac
They say that proclivities become embedded into a person through adverse iniquities that arise in their childhood. Maybe their parents were abusive, maybe they didn't perceive their child to be something worth taking care of, or maybe they just cradled them until suffocation set in.
Whatever the case, one thing is for certain. When adulthood hits, these raw, unfiltered emotions of a damaged psyche are catalytically channelled in the most explicit of ways.
Dahmer's father was always away on long work-based excursions, his mother was severely mentally ill - suffering from manic depression and suicidal tendencies - and the relationships he built during his time at school were less than stellar.
When his father was around, being an analytical chemist, he and his son bonded over this mutual love. The only problematic symptom of this elation was that this boy's mind was already infected with vitriolic hate. Hate that would soon evolve into an insatiable, homicidal fetish.
Jeffrey found his own therapeutic method for relieving that rage, as he developed a penchant for picking up gay men at clubs, killing them, then having the time of his life with their lifeless bodies.