Go to shortscarystories
r/shortscarystories
5 mo. ago
Rukania
Join
I work as a judge and this was the most horrific case I’ve dealt with.
‘Matthew 5:38’
The plaque that sits above my bed, engraved with that very quote. It’s what motivates me, what drives me - it is who I am.
Gregory Holden. Judge Holden to the convicts I’m faced with on a daily basis.
I sit down to eat breakfast. Some cold meat I got last night. As I ate I perused the newspaper, my eyes instantly drawn to the bold headline sprawling across the front page.
DEAN HOWARD - KIDN@PPERS & MÜRDERER - ESCAPED JAIL AND IS ON THE RUN. SHOULD BE CONSIDERED HIGHLY DANGEROUS.
Dean Howard…I was the one that had sentenced him. Four consecutive lıfe sentences without parole. That was only a few days ago.
I scoffed at the lacklustre security of the jail he’d been housed in. Allowing that monster even the chance to escape…despicable.
Dean was the worse case I’d dealt with. And I’ve dealt with some pretty horrific ones.
Tommy Freeman. Convicted of arson & first degree mürder - burning down the house of his ex-girlfriend whilst she slept upstairs.
There was Doctor Peter McGronal. Found guilty of mal practice in his hospıtal, resulting in the deaths via flu of twelve elderly patients in his care.
And of course, Bobby Ray Leonard. The hillbilly that blended his wife with acid after she overcooked dinner.
Dean takes the cake for the worst however. He’d abducted a nine year old girl, keeping her locked in his basement for months. The abuse she suffered…heartbreaking. The girl eventually starved to death, and Dean was apprehended whilst he tried to hide the body.
Still. Justice was served.
Matthew 5:38.
Whilst I am an official of the law, there’s a reason that plaque lies above my bed. Being a judge, a moral compass is an innate trait we must all posses.
The same trait that the guards at the jail also posses.
The ones that shut off the cameras as I lit Tommy Freeman’s jail cell on fire and watched him scream as the flames engulfed him.
The ones that allowed me to tamper with Doctor Peter’s meals, injecting them with a vile concoction of chemicals that had him slowly dying in the prison medical ward for a week - before he ultimately succumbed to his fate.
The ones that pinned down Bobby Ray as I gouged his eyes out. Cutting out his tongue for good measure, ensuring he wouldn’t go talking to anyone.
As you’ve probably guessed, Dean never escaped. In fact, he’s been…’rehoused’.
Rehoused to my very own basement.
Chained up. Crying. But not starving - no - that would be too easy.
I take another bite of my breakfast and look up from my newspaper at Dean, desperately clutching the bloodƴ stump at where his arm used to be.
Dean’s going to whither away alright.
And he’s going to watch as I consume every - little - morsel.