Chapter Text
OVERTURE
______
In A Small Room
LET US BEGIN WITH THIS:
I have been sentenced to death by the state of Indiana for three counts of capital murder.
And also this:
I did not commit these murders.
On this day many still call for my blood to be spilt upon the grimy cement floor of that particular room in Indiana State Prison, either by frying in the seat of the oh-so immutable electric chair or by slowly succumbing to the paralysis of that fashionable lethal injection. I know this because of the letters I receive addressed to The Satanic Cult Killer Eddie Munson, some weeks by the dozen. They come delivered to me in an arrogant pile, some containing Bible verses like Genesis 9:6, ‘Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed; for in the image of God has God made man’. Others contain a usually unintelligible scrawl that varies in length from a few words to a few pages urging me to kill myself. Some of them beg me for details about my so-called murders, asking things like ‘how much did Chrissy Cunningham scream before I gouged out her eyeballs and strangled the life out of her with my bare hands?’ I imagine that the people who make the effort to send these letters secretly love it that those kids were brutally murdered, just so they have an excuse to lick their envelopes and reprimand me from their homes in the free world. Finally, they can put their morbid curiosity and zealous Bible-thumping to good use.
It’s interesting, if you hear something about yourself over and over again, no matter how untrue, you have to fight real hard not to start believing it yourself. I know I didn’t kill Chrissy or Fred or Patrick and I wasn’t the one who put Max in the hospital, but there have been times late at night in my cell when I’ve given in to wondering. The good letters help with that, along with the good people. The good people are the sole reason why I am still here today for a number of reasons. Family, friends and unlikely allies. The humble words before you are my attempt at setting the record straight, a complete and definitive chronicle of my life untwisted by the lies and panic that put me on death row for twenty years.
So, Dearest Reader, I implore you to take my hand as I guide you through this rocky terrain. Steel your resolve and make sure you have enough food and water for the journey ahead. Remember the words of a wise man, that the world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but there is still much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater. And when people tell you to be afraid because They do not bear the sword for no reason, heed the words of a great man: who doesn’t like a good old sword fight?