A (13:45)
This experience took place nearly 15 years ago, back when my parents were taking me to our local daycare Center. I was 6 years old at the time and was a shy kid but loved to play with strangers, especially if they wanted to play video games with me. I didn't know everyone at the daycare center because new kids would come and go all the time. I did know a few of the kids as some of them I met in elementary school. Josh and Nolan were two of my best friends and I happened to meet them both during recess at school. I only went to daycare after school for around an hour or two depending on the circumstances. Both Josh and Nolan loved playing in the jungle gym and playing hide and seek, both of which were not my forte. Whenever we would play hide and seek, it would usually take place in the cemetery directly across from the daycare jungle gym. The daycare jungle gym was not very spacious and had virtually no trees or shrubs to hide behind, thus making the cemetery the only option if we were going to have a proper hide and seek session One evening, both Josh and Nolan asked if if I wanted to play outside with them. I was playing my favorite Wii game at the time and had just met a new friend. We were playing Mario Kart together and I seemed to be winning. I asked my new friend what his name was and he seemed to look confused at the sight of me asking. Both Josh and Nolan also seemed perplexed as they just witnessed this kid brush me off like I didn't say anything. Nolan, out of curiosity, asked, hey, any chance you want to play hide and seek with us? The kid sitting next to me put down the controller and turned to me with the most blank, lifeless expression I have ever seen on another human being's face and said, I'm only going to play if my new friend wants to play too. Both Josh and Nolan turned to me for approval and I shrugged. We set off to the exit door which led to the jungle gym. We asked Mrs. Shaw, our supervisor, if we could go out and play like we always do and she agreed. Both me, the stranger, Josh and Nolan waited and looked around for the next supervisor to switch watch duty shifts and leave everyone unsupervised as this was our only chance to hop the gate which led next door to the nearly 15 acre graveyard. This graveyard was full of trees and shrubs as well as large tombstones that were perfect for what we had in mind. As soon as we ran far enough from the supervisor's view, we all hid behind a large shrub. Josh, as usual, was the fastest one to place his finger on his nose and shout not it. Followed by Nolan and then me. The strange kid again with the same lifeless expression on his face, just stared at me and stayed as still as a mouse. It was almost like he was trying to hide from something because as far as I could tell, he wasn't even breathing. I had to check up on him at this point as he was creeping my friends out. Hey, are you feeling okay? Look, we don't have to play in the graveyard today if you don't want to. I think it's kinda creepy too. He then turned to Nolan and stared directly in his eyes and said, my name is William, but my dad calls me Will for short. Nolan looked just as perplexed as I did as we asked him this question nearly 10 minutes prior. I had to break the awkwardness of the moment and told everyone I was going to be the seeker. I was trying to help my new friend, but at the same time don't know if he was even interested in playing the game anymore as he didn't speak or say anything for quite some time. I started counting down from 20 and just as I did, both Josh and Nolan ran across the cemetery at the speed of light to find the best hiding spot. William just stood there staring at me with the same lifeless expression as before, but this time he almost looked angry. It was subtle, but I could see his eye twitching back and forth, almost like he has a big secret to tell me but can't and for some reason is internalizing the frustration. I then tell him to go hide as I am already at 10 seconds and if he doesn't hurry, he won't have time to find a hiding spot. He does a quick 180 and runs in the opposite direction back to the daycare playground. I take it as a sign that he doesn't want to play anymore and is going to tell on us. I quickly run around the cemetery frantically thinking this kid is going to get us in trouble and scream Josh and Nolan's names. They come out of their hiding spots to see if everything is okay and I tell them what is happening. Nolan, out of nowhere, bursts into a rage and goes about how this kid is going to ruin this game for everyone as now they will be keeping an eye on the cemetery for once. We quickly hurry back to the playground and to our amazement, there are no teachers searching the area for us. In fact, William is nowhere to be seen as we thought we would catch him in the act. We quickly hop over the gate and run inside to locate William. I tell Josh to look upstairs as we left our backpacks up there beside the video games. Noland and I check the downstairs area where all the playhouses and other large toys are kept. We never ended up finding finding William that night, and as the night drew to a conclusion, we had to at least ask Mrs. Shaw, our favorite supervisor, where William went. I ask, hey, Mrs. Shaw, have you seen William around by chance? She asked, who, honey? I then told her about the strange boy who was with us right before we left to go out and play around an hour earlier. She told us that he did sort of look strange and that she had never seen that boy the daycare center before. A cold chill ran down the back of my spine as I stood there, perplexed and a little scared. Both me, Josh, and Nolan discussed this further and concluded that Will was probably just new here and this was just his first day. After my mom took me home and I told her about Will, I asked her if she would call the daycare center to track him down and see if he was supposed to be there in the first place. She agreed. After hearing my disturbing hide and seek experience and called the daycare center. They told her there was no William in their books. She asked if he was a new attendee and that if they made a mistake. They told her there was no mistake and that if some kid found his way into the daycare center without their approval to contact them again and they will call the police. I never saw William again. Let me begin by saying I have always been skeptical of the paranormal. I always believed there's a logical explanation behind any strange occurrences. I normally don't talk about ghosts or even think about them really until my youngest daughter was born. She is quite the intelligent child, very perceptive and mature for her age. I have five children and I can tell that she is a little different. At 18 months old, Bella began telling me about seeing ghosts. I wasn't sure where she had even learned the word ghost, but I assumed she picked it up from her older brothers and sisters. I knew she had a very active imagination and didn't pay it much attention. Incident 1 I am laying Bella down with me for her bedtime routine. A book after her bath. As I'm reading, she puts her finger to my lips, looks me in the eyes and says really quietly. Then her eyes dart to the corner of the bedroom ceiling. She points to the corner and whispers. I reassured her that there was nothing to be scared of and continued reading. Her eyes kept darting to the ceiling and tracking side to side. I asked her if the ghost was still there. She nodded yes. Being raised by a God fearing mother, I knew you could cast out spirits in the name of the Father. I said a prayer and I politely but firmly told the ghost to leave our house and not come. Bella calmed down. She seemed satisfied with this and we continued our story and I honestly forgot about it. Incident 2 Nap time. We are laying in my room settling down for a nap. My daughter is about 20 months old at this time. Suddenly she sits up in bed, snatches her sippy cup of milk to the side and looking over the edge of the bed, she shouts no. I asked her what was wrong. She said, the little boy with black hair is trying to take my cup. Then she suddenly jerks her arm again and says, mom, that little boy hit me. I looked over the edge of the bed secretly hoping I wouldn't see anything. Nothing there. Once again I told the spirit to leave our home and to never return. Bella was silent for a few minutes before asking me, mom, why is that little boy crying? I said, is he crying? Where is he? She said he was sitting in the closet crying. I was a little freaked out, but I didn't want her to pick up on it, so we ended up leaving the room and watching a movie on the couch instead. She mentioned the little boy with black hair several times through the next months. She said he lives in the attic and that sometimes he watched her at night when she was in her bed. I didn't tell anyone about these stories, including my husband. Once Grandma mentioned that some weird things had happened while she was there. During the day, the bathroom door opened and closed by itself and she heard what sounded like child's footsteps running down the hall. She chalked it up to it being an old house and I never mentioned anything about Bella's encounters. Incident 3 I was lying in bed waiting for my oldest daughter, Gabby to come home from a date. She's 17 and her curfew is midnight. On the weekends, everyone else in the house is sleeping. My door was slightly ajar by just a few inches and the hallway light was illuminating. Outside the door, I see a hand begin to push the door open, then pause and disappear. I hear footsteps towards my oldest daughter's room. Her room is beside mine and at the end of the hallway there isn't another room besides hers. I thought Gabby must have figured I was sleeping and decided to not come in my room. So I called out to her. No answer. I listened again. It was quiet. I got up and walked towards Gabby's room. I opened the door. The room was dark and empty. She wasn't home yet. I began racking my brain about what I saw. There was no one else awake besides me and I know I saw a hand at my door. I walked around checking all the kids, all soundly asleep in their beds. I checked all the windows and doors locked. I looked on my Life360 app to see where Gabby was. She was still 15 minutes away. I don't know how to explain the hand that I saw. That brings us to the final and most recent incident. My youngest daughter, now almost three, stays at our home with her grandma while her dad and I work and the other kids are at school. One day Grandma called my husband frantically saying someone was in the house and she and Bella were waiting outside in the car. He rushed home to check it out. When he got there, the house was empty and all the windows and doors were locked except the front door where she had run out with the baby earlier. He checked the security cameras and didn't see anyone. He did see Bella start flailing in her chair and then run screaming to the front door. Beating on it to get out. Grandma explained what happened and I got chills down my spine. She said. Bella was sitting in the living room eating chicken nuggets, watching Sophia the first and playing with some dolls. Grandma stepped out onto the front porch to smoke a cigarette. Maybe two minutes of being outside and she heard Bella let out a series of blood curdling screams. Then Bella starts frantically beating on the front door to get out, calling for her grandma to help her. She told her there was a lady with crazy eyes, crazy hair and crazy fingers that bit her on the leg over and over. She exclaimed that Grandma had to come fast and help her. As a three year old, crazy was a very strong adjective in Bella's world. Grandma, seeing the sheer terror on her face, grabbed Bella and ran out the door. I don't know how to explain this. At the risk of looking like a crazy person myself, I asked a minister to come bless the house. I will send an update if anything further happens or if I do find a logical explanation after all Before I start this story off. This was about a year ago and though I do have some thoughts that this was sleep paralysis, I am leaning more towards the idea of it just being a nightmare. What makes me think that it could have been sleep paralysis was the fact that I heard my brother go to the bathroom and when I woke up he was coming out of the bathroom. But I could have just heard the bathroom door close in my sleep and my mind included it in my nightmare since it is a common occurrence during the time of which this occurred. I was asleep in my room and my door a little less than halfway open. I felt awake and I was asleep on my left side. To give you a quick layout of my room as it is relevant to the story, my bed was centered against the wall while my door is in front of my bed all the way to the right of the front wall. To the left of my bed I have a mirror which allows me to see my door even if I am facing away from it. As I had my eyes closed, I heard my brother walk into the bathroom and shut the door, making the area outside of my room dark since the only source of light that was illuminating the hallway was closed off. Suddenly from my mirror I saw a tall, lengthy woman walk up to my doorway. She looked drenched and her skin was a grayish color. Since it was dark, I couldn't make out too many details, but all I know is that I was terrified out of my mind. I tried moving but of course I couldn't. I couldn't even make out the smallest noise. All I could do was hope that my brother would walk out of the bathroom and this dream or sleep paralysis episode would end. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see the thing for much longer. This was when I didn't have carpet in my room, so the sound of her dropping to the ground was even more audible than it normally would have been. It almost sounded like someone dropped a huge piece of meat on a hard floor, with the exception of the sound of her bones cracking when she did so. My breathing became rapid as I heard her crawl on all fours toward my side of the bed, almost inhumanly fast. I kept my eyes shut, fearing that if I opened them, it would take long to get over the horrifying face that I would see. All I heard for those few seconds was breathing and my heart beating in my ears. This was in a whisper tone. Open your eyes. Out of nowhere, I was snapped awake and let out a small scream as I thought the woman was still in the room. But she wasn't. There was no one by my bed. The bathroom door opened and my brother peeked into my room, confused. I didn't have to say a word and he just switched on the light for me and went back to his room. But I stayed up for a few hours after that, being too scared to go back to sleep, terrified I would see that same woman and hear that same voice. Open your eyes. Randall Smith was raised an only child in the small town of Pearisburg, Virginia. The townsfolk remembered his mother as a nice lady who kept to herself, earning a living in a laundry room at the Giles Memoria Hospital. But for some reason, for the first few years of his life, Randall's mother chose to dress him in girl's clothing. We can only speculate as to the effect this had on the young man, but what we do know is that his school classmates would later describe him as something of a loner as well as a habitual liar. He often told tall tales of money he didn't have or of spurious sounding adventures he had been on. This led to his peers calling him lr, an acronym standing for Lying Randall. During his youth, Randall would often go walking the Appalachian Trail alone, finding solace in the rolling hills and deep primordial forests. After high school, Randall earned a living doing odd jobs around Virginia. Some might have fretted at the instability, but Randall relished it as it gave him the freedom to ramble where he liked. And just like in his youth, he would spend the majority of his spare time wandering the Appalachian trail, sometimes disappearing for days at a time. The trail stretches for just over 2,000 miles from Georgia to Maine and attracts thousands of hikers every single year, most of which see the trail as a kind of rite of passage for serious hill walkers. Most use the trail as a means of escaping their busy workaday lives, taking comfort in the peace and serenity of nature. But at times the trails are anything but serene, and there have been a number of hideously violent crimes committed in the area, perhaps the most infamous being the 2008 abduction and murder of Meredith Emerson by a psychopathic drifter named Michael Hilton, which took place in a region known as as Blood Mountain. During the spring of 1981, two 27 year old social workers from Maine by the names of Susan Ramsay and Robert Mountford decided to hike through Appalachia to raise money for a mental illness charity. On their travels, they had made friends with another hiker on the trail, but had to part ways shortly afterward. However, they had agreed to meet up near Pearisburg, Randall Smith's hometown, to catch up and grab a bite to eat together. But when Susan and Robert failed to show up to the meeting, their hiker friend became concerned and contacted the police to report them missing. Deputy Sheriff Tom Lawson gathered up a handful of other deputies and then went up onto the trail to begin the search. On the way, they spoke to a number of other hikers, asking each if they had seen anyone fitting the missing couple's descriptions. Most said no, but one group said yes, reporting that they had seen a man and a woman talking with a rather strange looking individual who seemed to be acting in a bizarre manner near the Wapiti shelter, a small log structure that had been constructed so that weary hikers could rest a while before continuing down the trail. The deputies headed straight for the shelter, finally reaching it on May 30, 1981. By that time, it had been 11 days since the last sightings of the missing hikers, and unless they were experienced in bushcraft, the chance of them reappearing unharmed were rapidly dwindling. While searching the small wooden structure, one of the deputies noticed what appeared to be a blood stainless steel on one of the floorboards. The men then fanned out, searching the area intensively until they came across a small clearing that contained a pile of leaves, one that looked like an attempt to cover something up. They kicked away the leaves, revealing a cloth sleeping bag that had a large heavy mass inside of it. When they cut it open, they discovered it was the corpse of Susan Ramsay, the female half of the Charity hiking couple. A day later, with the help of a sniffer dog, the body of Robert Mountford was found buried near a tree stump. Also wrapped in his sleeping bag. Robert had a single bullet wound to his head fired from a.22 caliber weapon. While Susan had been stabbed several times before being bludgeoned to death. Their bodies then dragged from the Wapiti shelter to the spots they were buried. Nearby, deputies found Susan's camera. They had hoped that the film might contain clues to who had murdered them, but found it had been pulled out and stolen. However, Susan's backpack was also found. A backpack which contained a paperback book that was taken for fingerprint analysis. Most of the prints obviously belonged to Susan, but one set belonged to someone else entirely. Investigators initially believed they belonged to Robert Mountford, but were shocked to find that they did in fact belong to none other than lying Randall Smith. The sheriff's deputies immediately traveled to Randall's home. He was not around, but the deputies had a search warrant and smashed their way into his place to make some seriously disturbing discoveries. Not only did they find bloody clothes and some items which evidently belonged to the murdered hikers, they also found a great deal of X rated materials and most disturbingly, some hospital instruments that had apparently been fashioned into makeshift X rated toys. Deputies also found a handwritten note stating that he had been kidnapped and was going to be executed. But analysis showed this had been written in Randall's own handwriting and was no doubt merely an attempt to throw the police off his scent. The race was on to find him before he could hurt anyone else. Days passed. The police had no luck in locating Randall Smith. All of his usual haunts reported that he had not been seen in days. With rangers and police scouring the Virginia section of the Appalachian Trail with absolutely nothing to show for it, the effort was exhausting. And Deputy Sheriff Tom Lawson found himself needing a break. So he took his family on a brief vacation down to Myrtle beach in South Carolina. But in some bizarre twist of fate, Deputy Lawson ended up getting a call from the department back home saying there had been an arrest in South Carolina of a man that was strongly suspected to be involved in the hikers murders. An arrest in Myrtle beach of all places. Deputy Lawson hurried to check the suspect out. When he arrived, he was told that the arrested man claimed to have amnesia and could not remember his name or how he had ended up in Myrtle beach, but that he was covered in insect bites in a way that was consistent with someone having hiked the Appalachian Trails for days on end. Insect bites that had been Scratched so much that they were in danger of becoming infected. In order to get the man to reveal his identity, the deputies hatched a cunning scheme. They told the man that they could not get him the medical assistance he required without a medical consent form that he was required to sign. When given the form, the man scratched out a name onto the paper. Randall Lee Smith, he wrote. The police had found their man. Randall smith was just 27 years old when he was extradited back to Virginia on charges of first degree murder. @ first, it seemed as if Randall would get the death penalty if convicted. But in a strange turn of events, he accepted a plea bargain that resulted in him getting a 30 year sentence instead of being executed. One of the victim's fathers was an Episcopalian minister who accepted the use of the plea bargain and was generally against the idea of Randall being executed. It was also thought that the plea bargain was the better option, seeing as there was a complete lack of motive in the killing, with prosecutors believing this would weaken their argument in the event of a trial. The resulting reduced sentence caused outrage among the local community and fury among hikers nationwide. Out of a 30 year sentence, Randall Smith only ended up serving 15 and was released in 1996 after reportedly being a model inmate who never caused any problems in prison. He walked out of prison a self confessed murderer, but a free man, and returned to Pearisburg as a pariah. Randall lived with his mother until her death in the year 2000. After she passed, he became more and more of a recluse, Although just like in days gone by, he spent much of his free time up in the Appalachian trails and on more than one occasion was spotted chatting with hikers who were no doubt completely unaware of who they were talking to. But even if they did know Randall Smith, the murderer by his image, they may not have recognized him by now. By that time, he was 54, no longer the portly young man who had been convicted of killing Susan Ramsay and Robert Mountford. He was skinny, pale, and walked with a slight limp, and his time in prison had hardened what had once been boyish, smirking features. Then, In March of 2008, Randall seemed to give up on life entirely. He took all the pictures down from the walls of his mother's home, packed a few belongings, then walked off into the woods. He took only a few changes of clothes, some camping and fishing gear, and Bo, his dog. For all intents and purposes, to the people of Pearisburg, Randall Smith had dropped off the face of the earth there one day, totally vanishing the next. But to them, it was simply one less thing they had to worry about, so barely a peep was raised. A few months later, on May 6, two fishermen named Scott Johnston and Shawn Farmer were catching trout up near their favorite spot on a place called Brushy Mountain. It was a beautiful summer's day, perfect for outdoor activities and feeling a little closer to nature. All was peaceful and serene, when suddenly they spotted something coming through the trees toward them. It was a middle aged man with a slight stoop, one who warmly waved before approaching their campsite. The man introduced himself as Ricky Williams. Scott and Sean followed the unwritten code of Appalachia by inviting Ricky to sit and share a dinner of freshly caught fish. Ricky happily obliged, explaining that he was starving, that he had been in the woods for weeks by that point and hadn't eaten substantially in days. Scott and Sean could see this was no lie. Ricky was pale and skinny, and the dog that accompanied him was evidently equally hungry, with its ribs protruding from its fur. The campsite the three men had dinner at was only a mile and a half from the Wapiti shelter, the site of the hiker murders way back in 1981. As they ate, Scott and Sean asked Ricky about his life. Ricky replied that he was graduated top of his class from Virginia Tech University and had gone on to write highly advanced scientific papers for NASA pertaining to complex new methods of spaceflight. He also claimed to be extremely wealthy, owning multiple homes in Florida and South Carolina, where he would spend his time with his wife, who was a runner up in several Miss USA pageants. Scott and Sean listened skeptically, recognizing that the man's appearance and his tall tales about a high flying career were most likely a complete fabrication to them. It was almost as if the man who sat before them was in a habit of lying. It came easy to him like it was second nature. As the hours passed, the sun began to dip below the horizon. Scott and Sean began to wonder why their guest hadn't started to make a move back to his own campsite, which was apparently a few miles further upriver. One of them made a comment that he had better head back before the inky black of night had truly descended. Falling and injuring yourself on such a secluded stretch of the trail could mean real trouble for even the fittest young man. But death for an old timer. Ricky stayed for about a half an hour longer before finding his feet, thanking Scott and Sean and beckoning his dog to follow. Come on, Bo. For the man's name was not in fact Ricky Williams. The man's name was Randall Lee Smith. And just as he began to walk away from the campsite of his generous fisherman hosts, he pulled a.22 weapon from his pocket and pulled the trigger four times. The first bullet struck Sean in the temple. The second shot slammed into Scott's neck. The men tried to run, but still the shots came. The third tore into Shawn's chest cavity, while the fourth hit Scott in the rear of his neck. Blood poured from wounds caused by red hot lead having ripped through their bodies. But still the fishermen hurtled into the woods for safety. Scott had managed to find cover behind a tree as Sean reached his truck parked in the grass just a few yards away. But as he climbed into the cab of the vehicle and slammed the door behind, he saw the face of Randall Smith through the window to his left. Randall raised his.22 weapon, pointed it at Sean's head, and once again pulled the trigger. But no shot rang out. The weapon hadn't fired. Randall Smith had run out of bullets. As their potential murderer began to reload the.22, Sean gunned the truck's engine and put the pedal to the metal, screeching towards a nearby road with a bullet wound to his head. When he found the road, his headlights illuminated a figure standing in the middle of it. But it wasn't Randall Smith. It was his fishing buddy, Scott. He had survived his wounds and had cut Sean off at the road in order to escape. Sean threw open the passenger door, and Scott dived in, still holding onto the open wound to his neck that leaked fresh blood onto the upholstery. But although they were in the process of escaping certain death, their chances of survival were horrifyingly slim. Scott was bleeding to death from a wound to the throat. Sean had been shot in the head. The nearest hospital was over 30 miles away, and they were driving on an uneven dirt road in the middle of near total darkness, their headlights the only thing to guide them in woods so deep they had no cell phone reception whatsoever. And to top it all off, Scott had left his truck behind with the keys in the ignition. There was every chance that Randall Smith was following them, having tasted blood, looking to finish them off. It took just five minutes for Scott and Sean to find a house with lights on inside. But to them, those five minutes felt like an eternity. As they pulled up outside it, Scott leapt from the cab of the truck and began to hammer on the front door, screaming for whoever was inside to call 911. The homeowner, a woman named Melissa Miller, initially thought it might have been some kind of home invasion and was reluctant to actually answer the door. But when she did, she screamed for her 21 year old son Randy to fetch some towels before calling 911. Twenty minutes passed after the first 911 call, and still no ambulance had arrived. There was a pile of blood soaked towels sitting in front of each wounded man. When Scott asked to use the Miller's family phone to call his mother and father, he believed with all his heart that he would never see them again. But shortly afterward, an ambulance did arrive, and with it came a police officer. The EMTs tried to stabilize both men and ensure that neither would bleed to death in the Miller family home, but it was impossible, and they soon called for helicopter support to airlift both men to a hospital for emergency surgery. Scott, still bleeding from his neck wound, was loaded onto one of the medevac choppers. By that point, convinced that he was going to die, he could think of no other reason for such drastic measures. His fishing buddy Sean had been shot in the head and chest, but it was he that was being airlifted. If his wounds were more serious than a straight up headshot, he knew his chances of survival were bleak. As the helicopter took off, he felt his mouth filling with blood and heard one of the EMTs talking over the radio, saying she didn't think he was going to make it. He felt himself slipping away and said that at one point he thought he was already dead. But as the helicopter landed in nearby Roanoke and a blast of downdraft from the rotor blades hit him as he was unloaded, he knew he was still alive thanks to the swift actions of young Randy Miller, who had not only helped with fetching towels, but had also managed to get a hold of one of Randall Smith's missing posters. The police knew who the shooter was. Later that night, a Virginia state trooper was driving along the road about eight miles away from Pearisburg when he spotted Scott's stolen gray truck going in the opposite direction. The trooper turned in the road, turning on his lights, and the truck picked up speed dramatically in an attempt to evade him. But in the frenzied effort to escape justice, Randall Smith ran the truck off the road and flipped it upside down. The trooper pulled up alongside the overturned truck with his weapon drawn while Smith was still strapped inside of it. The same.22 he tried to kill Scott and Sean with lying on the ceiling of the truck cabin just out of reach. The trooper caught a glimpse of Randall's eyes with his flashlight and later described them as the coldest he had ever seen. In a chilling twist of fate, the unconscious murderer was Then taken to the very same hospital that Scott and Sean had been airlifted to, and when he awoke, tried to claim the shootings were in self defense. When Randall was well enough to be transported, he was taken to the medical wing of the New River Valley Regional Jail in Dublin on May 9, 2008. Then a few days later, a jail officer went to give Randall his dinner. But when the crazed killer didn't retrieve his meal, the officer called his name once, then twice, but there was no answer. The officer rushed to unlock the cell door, finding Randall lying unconscious on the floor in front of him. Medical staff hurried to revive him, but their attempts were in vain. And shortly afterward, Randall Lee Smith was pronounced dead at the age of 54 years old. Forensic analysis showed there were no obvious signs of foul play, no marks on his body whatsoever. And in all likelihood, Randall had simply died of natural causes. So distraught at the prospect of spending more time in prison, so disappointed that his victims had survived the attack and deprived him of the thrill of killing, that he had simply given up on living. His funeral service lasted just 30 minutes, and to avoid any angry displays by the local townsfolk, the service was only announced after he was buried. Randall was buried next to his mother while his dog Beau scratched in the dirt during the graveside ceremony. You may be pleased to hear that Bo has since been adopted and given a home with a loving, caring family who feed and walk him regularly. Perhaps the most terrifying thing about Randall Lee Smith is that it seems there were absolutely no motives to his murders. Scott and Sean could well have been the kindest people Randall had met in his entire life. Two people who shared food and warmth with a total stranger, owing him nothing but giving nonetheless. In return, Randall tried to take everything from them in a sneak attack that changed both men's lives forever. It seems that Randall killed simply for the sake of killing, because it made him feel powerful. There was no rhyme or reason to his bloodlust, and not even those who were kind and generous to him were safe. Mankind has long fabricated beasts, demons, and malevolent spirits that have only ever been confined to the page or screen. An attempt at creating a kind of controllable fear. A simulation, one intended to distract us and comfort us, because the reality is much more terrifying. Real monsters walk among us, looking and sounding just like our friends, neighbors and family. But they are not driven by love, and they are hungry. It's. It's.
