"When I was five we lived in Florida. Coming home from somewhere we had to stop at a drawbridge. My father asked me if I wanted to get a better look at the ship that the bridge had opened for as it was passing underneath. I said okay and we walked as far as we could. I couldn't see very much because of my size and the concrete bridge railing. He picked me up with both hands under my arms and held me over the water. He pulled me back a little closer and put his head right next to mine and spoke directly into my ear in a quiet voice and told me that he could drop me and I would splatter on the steel deck of the ship like a cantaloupe. He told me that he wouldn't get in any trouble because he would say that I had started squirming and he hadn't been able to hold me. That was the first time, there were others.
He was a manic depressive narcissist, when I was eight he was institutionalized for about three years. Evidently I didn't do him any good as he wound up assaulting me in my home when I was 20 and pointed a gun at my 1-year-old daughter. I decided that I had had enough of his craziness and put an end to it. Not the best possible outcome but at that point I just wanted it to stop. He died from a shotgun blast shortly after that. My daughter is fine, she never knew anything about it for years."
"When I realized that a father was sexually abusing his two small children. The little girl and boy who I babysit cried in pain when they sat down after a weekend gone. But it was the casual descriptions of implements used that were the most horrifying. And I knew, absolutely knew, that I was the only person who had listened to them and was willing to step out and call authorities.
The police wanted to arrest him at my home as he was picking up the children to minimize the threat of bolting.
When he stepped through the doorway and they handcuffed him, he did not say a word but looked at me with the most bone-chilling glance. I saw pure evil in his eyes. He reminded me of Charles Manson.
I truly was fearful for a long time that he would find me and kill me."
"I became aware of 'evil' when I woke up in the hospital.
I'd been attacked from behind by a group of people for nothing I had done. They'd probably done it for entertainment was the police's finding.
The optic nerve nearly disconnected in my left eye and I suffered from secondary brain damage (similar to a stroke), which meant I was subject to nerve damage on my left side. I walked with a limp for about a year, muscle wastage on my left side lead to back pain. My right arm became heavier than my left. The muscles still existed on my left but they weren't getting the nerve messages and so it lost some mass. This twisted my shoulders slightly causing neck and back pain.
The psychological problems are still with me over 25 years later. It's very hard to trust people when you know they might attack for their own fun. How can I relax when there is a real possibility of being attacked for nothing?
This lead to 'hyper-vigilance' which in turn caused me to self-medicate. Sleep was a real problem, any noise could cause panic attacks. Waking because the house creaked and standing, waiting for another noise was how my nights went.
'Hyper-vigilance' never leaves, it just becomes less controlling. I still wake, but usually it's not as sleep-destroying as it once was."
"I live in Tokyo, Japan with my wife and 4-year-old son. During our time in Tokyo, I have seen many things that make me realize what a dangerous place the world is, but there is only once that I ever saw something 'evil.' My son was 2-years-old when this happened.
We got on a relatively crowded train one day. My son was in a very friendly stage where he would say hello to anyone who looked at him. We were standing by the door with my son holding my hand as the train pulled into the next station. Two business men in suits got on the train talking about a meeting they had just gotten out of. They were rather tall and caught my son's eye. He looked up with a big smile on his face and watched them as they spoke. It would seem that being watched by the 2-year-old bothered one of the men and after a minute he looked down at my son.
'Konnichiwa!' (good afternoon/hello), my son said to the man with a smile on his face. The events that happened next happened so quickly that it all felt like a single moment. The man, without skipping a beat, kicked my 2-year-old right in the chest with a kick that forced my son's hand out of my own and knocked him against the door. His co-worker did and said nothing.
Completely unaware of what had just happened, and as pure as any 2-year-old child would be, my son got up, grabbed my hand, looked at the man again, and tried to smile. It was at this moment that I tried to pick up my son and get away from the man, but before I could do this, the man moved in and kicked my son again with even greater force. The train's door had just opened for the next stop. There was a gap between the train and the platform. My son's leg fell in. He started to scream and panic. And then I witnessed true evil:
Both the man and his co-worker were laughing hysterically at the toddler stuck between the train and platform. With the help of a few strangers, my wife and I managed to get our son up and out to safety. My wife picked him up and ran for the station office for help. Holding back more rage than any one person should ever have to feel in their life, and honestly, in shock about what had just happened, I got off the train and followed my wife and son. We filed a police report.
The man was never found and never had to face up to what he had done. In the months and years since this has happened, I still can't believe it. But at the same time, I can't believe that I didn't do anything to this man. In all fairness, a large part of me knew that in this case, if I started, I wouldn't have stopped, and my son may have been without a father for quite some time.
The powerlessness of the moment, and the laughter of both the men still stick with me to this day. The experience changed all of us and our view of the world we live in."
"I had never really experienced a truly evil human being until I was incarcerated in a small upstate NY county jail at 26 years old.
I had been in jail for about 4 weeks when the headaches began. It started with pain around my sinuses that spread to the top of my head, face, and neck. In jail, you have to fill out request slips if you'd like to be seen by medical staff. So a day after my symptoms began I put in a slip to be seen by the Physician Assistant. I told her my symptoms and was diagnosed with a sinus infection and was prescribed antibiotics.
A week went by and my pain was steadily getting worse. When it began it was very painful, but after 7 days it was excruciating! I couldn't eat or sleep. I again put in a request slip to go to medical because I knew I was suffering from something other than a sinus infection and was beginning to suspect it was something very serious.
I told the PA that I was in a huge amount of pain. I told her that it had spread to my entire head, including gums and face, and also to my neck and right shoulder. She felt my neck and back, then asked about my teeth. I told her I didn't have any teeth problems, but she concluded that I had an impacted tooth. I told her I disagreed, and asked to go to the hospital, but was she refused, saying that hospitals were only for emergencies.
A day goes by and I am in extreme agony. I couldn't move from my bunk in my cell. I cried constantly. If I moved my head even the slightest bit it felt as if my head would explode, or my eyes would pop out of their sockets. I began asking the CO'S and sergeants to send me to the hospital. I kept getting denied. I remember I was curled up in my bed sobbing when the CO doing her rounds stops at my door, opens it, and said, 'Would you knock it off!? Crying isn't going to help you!'
On my 8th day into the pain, I requested and was sent to Medical for the 3rd time. I told the PA that I was seriously ill, that the pain was torturing me, and that I desperately needed to go to a hospital. She felt my neck and right shoulder and said I was stiff as a board. She says, 'It's not a tooth problem after all. The headaches are tension headaches. You need to learn to relax.' I told her that it wasn't just some headaches, that I was in the worst pain of my entire life. I begged to go to the hospital. She said, 'That's not happening.'
The next day I began having double vision. When a fellow inmate stopped by my cell to check on me, she looked horrified and said, 'Oh my god... Your eyes... They've shifted.' I immediately went to my mirror to see that I had gone cross eyed!
A sergeant was called to talk to me. I showed him my eyes, told him I couldn't handle this pain, and that I could no longer walk right. I was unbalanced and walked in little-shuffled steps. I remember telling him that I was dying. All he said was, 'Oh is that your expert prognosis? I didn't know that you're a doctor! You can go to Medical tomorrow.'
The next day at medical I told the PA everything, and that I had now started vomiting constantly, that I was being tortured. I remember saying something like, 'Please, I'm dying, I'm only 26 years old, please don't let me die.' She looked at me for a minute and called the guard. 'Take her back to her cell. Tell everyone to stop bringing her here, she's wasting my time. This is her own fault for taking other inmates' medication.'
I was stunned. I thought for sure that when she saw my eyes she'd HAVE to believe me. I began sobbing and just absolutely begging, but she just stood with her back to me, and the guards took me back.
I was lying on my cell floor trying to find the least painful way to position myself when I moved my head to the side. When I did that I felt a pain that caused me to start screaming. It felt as if my brain was too large for my skull, and that my brain would burst. The CO ran over to my cell. A sergeant was called in, and when he came to my cell I recall saying something like, 'Please help me, I'm a human being, I'm dying, you have to help me.' To my great relief, he says, 'Okay, get your shoes on, we'll get you checked out.'
The sergeant leads me into a new cell. I ask, 'When am I going to the hospital?' To which he replies, 'You're not. We can't have you screaming like that, bothering everyone on the unit. You're staying in Constant Watch until you can grow up.'
I was utterly shocked, I've never felt more let down in my entire life. That night as I layed on a mat on the floor, I sang songs to myself to try to distract myself from the pain. I kept asking the CO who was watching me to help me. I cried and screamed. I kept vomiting, which made everything hurt even worse. I even called out for my mom. The CO just sat there watching me, looking bored and irritated. It was easily the worst night of my life. I started wishing that I would die so that the pain would finally stop.
In the morning the PA came in to evaluate me. I just kept begging to go to the hospital. She turns to a sergeant and says, 'Take her back to her cell, all this is her own fault.' She actually said, 'If it was something serious, it would have killed her by now, that's how I know it isn't.
A different sergeant came in to talk to me. I again reminded her that I am a human being. That they were just letting me die a slow and painful death. I had given up all hope at that point when she said it. 'Okay, we'll get you looked at.'
At the hospital, one of the first things they did was a spinal tap. The doctor who performed it told me that my spinal fluid shot out like a geyser. Tests confirmed that I had Fungal Spinal Meningitis. During the spinal tap, my Intracranial Pressure (pressure on my brain) was checked and was found to be 48 mm Hg. Normal intracranial pressure for adults is between 5-15 mm Hg, with high normal being 20-25 mm Hg. Between 40-50 one usually becomes unconscious, and 60 is nearly always fatal. The Dr said it was unbelievable that I (unfortunate for me) never passed out. He said he believed I would not have made it another 12 more hours.
This was when I first experienced true evil. In a building full of people, and a medical unit, I was tortured for 11 days. Most people wouldn't let an animal suffer in such a way. Not one guard who witnessed my agony tried to challenge the medical personnel and sergeant's decision to not send me to a hospital. I was in jail for a misdemeanor charge and nearly died as a result.
To jail personnel, I was just a good for nothing criminal. They viewed me as a lower life form than themselves. To them I deserved the pain I endured because I broke the law and was a prisoner. They are evil. Totally evil to not show an ounce of compassion for their fellow man.
It took a long time to recover. I had double vision and trouble walking for a long time. I do get chronic headaches, but I have physically recovered. I will never recover mentally."
"When I was in my early twenties, I took a break from my studies and went to India. I didn't have a lot of cash with me, but I didn't really care. I decided to do a walking tour around the rural villages of India. It was a great holiday, just walking from one village to another, sleeping in old temples or temporary shelters between villages. This was all in the early seventies, before modernization started in India. I would earn my keep by helping people with chores.
One particular day, I was following a trail that skirted a mountain, heading for a village in the valley nearby. As I walked, I could hear the sound of blow flies humming and as I drew closer, there was the smell of rotting flesh. I came to a small clearing and was disgusted to see a large pile of 'meat' and hair and some old clothes nearby. It looked like someone had gutted an animal and left the mess where they had processed the animal. I couldn't work out what it was but I thought I saw a clump of hair still attached to its scalp. It looked human almost.
When I arrived at the village, I was talking to the village master using my limited Indian language skills and his equally limited English skills. I mentioned my find on the track, and he told me that no one in his village would have done that, but he would look into it. The next day, a vehicle pulled up and two police officers stepped out and walked straight up to me. They asked me to show them where the putrid flesh was. I agreed. As we walked towards the spot, I noticed two men standing near the clearing, chatting. One of the police grabbed me and pulled me to the ground. They wanted to see what these men were doing. After a few minutes, I saw the most horrific thing in my entire life before or since.
One of the men dragged a young girl over to near the pile of rotting flesh. Not gonna go into details because what I saw was impossible to watch, but I will tell you they completely gutted this girl. Then they dragged her away and returned with another girl. At this stage, the cops moved in and caught them, clubbing them quite severely, before tying their hands and elbows together.
They went into the bush and retrieved the body of the first girl and also found 5 more girls, waiting. They were all tied up ready to be taken, one at a time. The police also found some other remains in a pile nearby. What shocked me a bit more, as if I hadn't been shocked enough by now, was that these girls must have watched what was happening, but made no attempt get away. It was as if they accepted their fate. They were sent to orphanages eventually. The cops told me that, in a way, these girls were lucky. Many were sold into slavery or prostitution. They were treated mercilessly and then would be killed when their usefulness ended.
I couldn't work out what was happening, but one of the police told me that these guys were making skeletons for export. They could buy girls from villagers for the equivalent of about 5 dollars. Usually from a family that had two or more girls. A lot of couples who had girls regarded them as valueless because they could not work as hard as men. They were virtual slaves and were seen as parasites because they were eating food that they didn't help to grow. So someone offering them the equivalent of $5 meant they could buy other food to add to their measly diets. Then they would take these girls away. After they were killed and cleaned of flesh and internal organs, they would be thrown into the river where small fish would pick the bones clean. After that, the 'Muls' as they were called would tie all the limbs to each joint and leave them in the sun for a few weeks to make them bleach to white. Once that was done, they were sold to a wholesaler who would, in turn, sell them to other merchants. There was a big market for real human skeletons and buyers would pay good money for them. The Muls would get about $20 per skeleton.
Something else that scared me vividly was that the policeman told me I was lucky. I must have found the mess while these Muls were away, getting more girls. If they had caught me, they would have done the same to me, as extra tall skeletons were worth thousands of dollars to them. I am 6?2?.
After that sight, I stopped my tour immediately and flew back to Australia a few days later. During my tour I had noticed some men watching me almost hungrily, I had thought, each time. It would only take one greedy chief to club me while I was asleep and I would never know. Sometimes I see skeletons on display including bigger ones and I wonder if they are the product of Caucasians who went missing while in India.
These days, skeletons are made of plastic, or so I am told. But some that I have seen looked much more real than others. And, as I mentioned before, who's to know that there are still Muls around India carrying out this horrifying trade."
"There was a 14-year-old girl on my caseload. Her father, a paroled multiple murderer with a stable position in the world of 'organized crime,' had managed to get 50% custody of her by way of a very good, very expensive lawyer. The other children had been old enough to request 'no contact' with him. He'd introduced her to drugs, alcohol & the party life some time before, and while he had not sexually abused her himself, he had groomed her to be available for his associates.
He also had litigated, bullied & threatened staff in the children's services agency so well that caseworkers were told NOT to document, not to 'make waves,' not to try and do anything about him pimping his daughter out. The entire family, including the 14-year-old & her father, had told me this was going on. Mom & the siblings wanted it stopped. The girl said she wouldn't testify if it went to court; she was 'having fun.' She said she 'didn't like the sex' but she 'didn't mind it' if she could get high first.
That's not the evil part. The pure evil was him. I had to interview him. Once. He insisted it is at his house because that was the girl's 'home.' His lawyer was there. The man looked me over, including - down at my breasts, back up to eyes, down to breasts, back up to eyes - sat back, put his arm around the 14-year-old, smiled/sneered and told me that social services couldn't touch him and dared me to try. The girl leaned her head back on his shoulder and smirked.
Evil: he was enjoying it all so much."
"My mother deliberately poured bleach in 4 glasses before calling and telling the police my father threatened to kill us all by forcing it down our throats...
When I was around 10, my mother started bringing this man home when my father was at work. She used to tell me that he was fixing something in her room and that I could not enter the room for safety reasons. At this time, my parents were still together so it was obvious that she was cheating on my dad behind his back. As a 10-year-old with no idea what 'cheating' was and no clue that my mother could stoop so low, I assumed she was telling the truth and went with it.
One night while I was brushing my teeth, my mother told me she was going to go see the man and that she will be back by morning. I went to my room where my father was waiting to tuck me in and after a while we heard the garage door open, making my father jump to his feet and run down stairs. He called her several times, then told me to look after my sisters while he goes and looks around the block.
Note: at this time my father was afraid that my mother suffered from Bipolar Mood Disorder.
Just after he left, my mother returned in panic, and when she saw that my father was not home she ran inside and filled four glasses with bleach and set them on the table. She then phoned the police and told them that 'he threatened to take my children and my life by feeding us bleach.' She then took us all and locked us in a car waiting for the police to arrive. When my father returned, she told him that she was finally free and that he had no control over her anymore. He started to cry, which made my heart hurt (even now my heart aches). When the police arrived they arrested my dad immediately, and because of new laws for violence against women, they believed every word she said and we children were simply 'brainwashed.'
It was almost a year before we saw our dad again, and when we did my baby sister did not recognize him.
My father, the best father alive, has quite literally coped with 'true evil' for 10 long years and is now remarried with another woman and is living happily. My siblings and I now live with him as well after a long court battle against my mother."
"I work in a long-term healthcare facility as a nurse aide. Although it's seen as just a job to most of the people there, it's something I truly love doing and as such I get very attached to some patients. The building I work in is specifically geared towards dementia patients and those with mental disorders. One of my favorite patients is a mentally challenged woman with schizophrenia. She's very very sweet, and has a somewhat stilted way of talking and has some problems forming words. One morning, I walked into the shower room to retrieve a watch for a patient I'd given a shower to earlier and heard two of the other aides mocking her mercilessly as they showered her. She was very upset and crying, asking them to stop and saying she'd be good. I went into the stall to confront them and discovered that the water they were using was freezing cold. I pulled the emergency alarm, told them to get the hell out, and turned the water as warm as I could. When the head nurse came in to respond to the alarm, I told her what had happened. Once we had the patient warmed back up, dressed warmly, and in bed, she had me fill out an incident report. Both the aides involved had complaints by other patients against them and were fired. The fact that anyone can look at a person who is so in need of help and do something like that to them is completely repulsive to me."
"This just happened in Mexico. Apparently, people in the health administration of Javier Duarte, former governor of the state of Veracruz, deviated many resources to the governor (now on the run) after making fake purchases of...here it comes...chemotherapy treatments for children.
It resulted in hundreds of children being treated for months with mere bags of distilled water instead of their chemotherapy. All to increase the wealth of one man.
That is sick and just raised the bar on what I thought was the limit of wickedness in the human kind."
"This isn't witnessing true evil in someone else. In fact, it isn't witnessing it at all, but actually feeling it.
At the age of 7, I was traumatized by my parents' constant arguments, and the divorce. I was affected as I became too shy to talk to anyone other than my mother. I was scared of interaction, and became socially awkward.
After I turned 14, I started having urges. Not sexual ones, but aggressive urges to hurt people. I was content with the thoughts of cutting others, inflicting pain not on myself, but on people around me. I was happy. Truly happy.
At one point during the school year, a girl and I started having regular conversations on similar topics. She was suicidal, and loved to inflict harm on herself. One day, I began urging her to actually go ahead and commit suicide, I gave her instructions and tips.
It chills me now to know that I took joy in watching her suffer. It makes me sick to recall that I imagined how blood would feel like if I was covered in it. Homicidal tendencies were one thing, wanting to torture people was something worse.
Of course, that isn't who I am today. At least, I don't think so."
"I first witnessed true evil when I was nineteen. I was just a dippy young girl, nice but virtually clueless. I had a boyfriend (first love) who was older than me (28), nicknamed 'Wild Bill' (this was Texas). He was in a motorcycle 'club.' He and a couple of his friends had this big money-making plan. They would have to spend some money, he said, but in the end, they would make several times what they put in. Dangerous (of course, they didn't describe it to me that way) and I was squeaky-clean, young, no record. He had introduced me to heroin and cocaine; he said this was a simple thing, really. Of course, he would fly in with me, but I was the one who had to actually exchange the money for the cocaine.
Bill and I flew to Miami. Got a hotel room. He talked on the phone to two or three different individuals. He called a taxi and gave me an address and some money. He said a man would be waiting for me outside of the building (Stan). I do as Bill says. When I gave the taxi driver the address, he turned around and looked at me. He looked from my toes up to my face. Then he turned back around and kind of shook his head. I was wearing a white cotton dress with a veil of eyelets over it and a pink sash with matching shoes, you get the picture, totally, la-la-la, clueless. Sure enough, there was Stan when we drove up. I paid the driver and he said, 'Be careful,' without looking up. Stan took me into the warehouse.
There are some crates at the other end of the warehouse that have another language written on them and two men standing beside a table. Stan said, 'Don't say anything' as we walked up to the table. Two other men came out from the shadows and stood on either side of us. By this time, I'm starting to 'wake up.' And then when this well-dressed kind of greasy-haired man came out and sat down at the table, I got a chill down my spine. He asked Stan in Spanish, 'Who's the girl?' Stan told him. 'She's got all of it?' Stan answered yes. I look at him. He says, 'Go ahead, put it on the table.' I do as he says. One of the men counts it. The man looks at me again kind of like the taxi driver did and smiles. 'Cuidate' ('take care of yourself'), he says, and one of the men puts a smaller-size suitcase on the table. Stan says 'Pick it up.' I do. The man nods his head at Stan slightly; Stan nods back. I'm thinking, 'Thank God! Let's get out of here!' The two men, Stan, and I move to leave. Then the man at the table says to the man closest to me, 'Oye, Paco.' The man turns slightly, 'Senor?' 'Que 'ciste hoy?' ('what did you do today?') I could actually feel this man's body tense. He asks, 'Senor?' again.
And the man at the table looks at him, gives kind of a small side smile, and shoots him. One of the men next to him shoots him one more time. The man stumbled 2-3 feet backward and dropped. The gunshot reverberated in the warehouse. My ears were ringing...and then I looked down at myself. There was blood and bodily matter all over me, my pretty white eyelet dress and my pink satin shoes. I was shaking. I looked up at Stan; I can imagine what kind of look was on my face. He didn't look so great, either. Then he just grabbed me by the arm and practically dragged me out of there. He took me to his car, handed me some kind of cloth and said, 'Clean yourself off. Where are you staying?' I told him. He dropped me off. As I got out he said to me, 'It would be in your best interests to forget about this. Just keep your mouth shut.'
And I have, until now. 45 years later, I'm not sure why I chose now. That's what witnessing true evil can do to a person."
"I coached a girl's soccer team that my daughter played on from the time she was 8 all the way through the end of high school. It was a group of girls that had played together so long that we were pretty decent. One game we met a team that was tied with us for the top spot in the league. The other team was led by a man who coached two other teams but didn't have a daughter on any of them. This particular team consisted mostly of the youngest girls in our division, showing their skills at beating most teams with older girls. We played the game and I noticed he was very touchy with the girls - putting his arm around them, placing his hand in the small of their backs when he talked to them - but I didn't think too much about it. I thought maybe he had coached his girls for a long time and was close with them.
We beat them, even though it was close and they played extremely well. After the game when all the girls were gone, he came over and asked me the age of my girls. I said most were 13, some 12. He said his were mostly 11 with a few 12-year-olds. We had a quick conversation and I told him they were impressive for their age and they shouldn't feel bad about getting beat by a larger, older team. He asked if I would come talk to his girls and tell them that, since they were very dejected they had lost. I agree to do it, knowing how important self-esteem was for young girls.
The next week we played before him, so I stayed after our game to go talk to his team. When I arrived, he was addressing them with what he wanted them to do for warm up. I stood out of the way to allow him to continue, planning to let him know I was there to talk to his girls when he was done.
When he finished he turned around. He saw me and the look on his face was something primal. I can't describe why it was so powerful, but it is far beyond a piercing stare. There was hate there, I could tell, and it was strong. It was a challenge. I knew deep inside he was saying 'these are mine.' It was animalistic. It was about territory and claim. It was pure hatred, pure evil. It burned into me forever.
When I told him who I was, it didn't change, then when he remembered and recognized me, it changed, he smiled, and everything seemed all right. To him anyway. I will never forget that stare. I knew right then and there he was a pedophile. And I immediately reported my belief to the officials. Nothing came of it and I forgot all about it. I never saw him again as we played the tournament on different days and they didn't advance. He didn't bring his teams back to our league. I never knew his name.
But two years later I read an article in the newspaper. It was about a man that had been charged with multiple accounts of child molestation. Many girls on his soccer teams had come forward with accusations of being touched, some molested. Even before I turned the page, I knew. It was a photo of him. He had taken his own life rather than face the charges."
"Evil almost has a smell. I was born to a very evil mother and was the victim of it every single day. My earliest memory is being hit and thrown back into a crib. I remember being aware that it was not normal. Even as a toddler, I wondered how anyone could do things like this to their child. It was not just that constant abuse took place but that she so thoroughly enjoyed physically and emotionally hurting a child.
Years later, I finally became able to describe enough that I have been working on a book for the past two years. A lot of suppressed memory is slowly coming through but I know there is a great deal more there. Every time I research and define a type of abuse, I find I was a victim of it. However, what has amazed me the most is other people's reactions. They are rarely concerned about me but make excuses for the abuser!
I went to an abuse counselor at one point. She told me that she had counseled hundreds of victims. There had only been two that ever had family members admit that the abuse took place in the home. Families overwhelmingly deny that the abuse took place and consequently protect the abuser. I am having similar experiences being discredited because I am talking about what happened. I am actually being treated like the bad one because I do not want any contact with an evil and abusive parent.
I think this is where the real evil comes in and why it continues to flourish. Evil is able to get otherwise good and accountable people to cover it up. As long as evil can hide it will remain strong. I hope anyone who has witnessed true evil will confront it, talk about it and weaken it. Evil is very powerful. Only open goodness can take away that power."
"Around 10 years ago I witnessed true evil.
In most areas, there are gangs, young men fighting each other on a regular basis. Stabbing and murders occur every now and then and are met with sadness if not surprise.
The night I refer to ten years ago started with a birthday party, an 18th. One well-known gang member 'J' attended this party and was enjoying the night oblivious to what had been planned. Two brothers had come up with an idea to lie in wait on J and attack him when he stepped outside.
J finally came outside at some point during the party and the brothers attacked, machete and bats in hand. It did not go to plan for the brothers, J also had a large knife tucked in his trousers and after some fighting, he managed to stab the older brother and knock him unconscious. The younger brother, only 16, was left to try to save his older sibling's life. What happened next is still to this day the most horrifying thing I have ever witnessed and the evilest. J, being much older, bigger and stronger managed to easily overpower the younger brother and stab him 3 times. The younger brother, now lying on the ground, J picks him up, and in front of the majority of the party who had come outside, and cuts him one last time. The boy died within seconds of hitting the ground. This was evil, absolutely. Lifting the boy up holding him out in front of everyone to kill him was pure evil, undoubtedly.
This will stay with me forever, however, this was not what will stay with me as the evilest thing I have ever seen.
It was what one of the girls who was at the party did after the killing took place. The brother had been killed, horrifically, in front of everyone and this young woman walked over and spat on the dead kid's body. This in my mind is unforgivable. He might have been involved in gang fighting and instigated the whole night that led to his death but no one deserves to die that way and no one deserves to be spat upon and disrespected in that way after death.
Some might say the brother lived by the sword, died by the sword which I agree, but, to spit on a dead boy's body is beyond contempt and evil beyond doubt in my eyes."
"I was about 15 when she came into our lives. Her name was Ruth. My brother called her Ruthless and it stuck. She was my father's girlfriend. She was money hungry scam artist. She scammed previous husbands. 4 of them. She befriended my mother which I thought was weird. She told her a lot. Like how 3 of her 4 husbands were dead, how one of her 5 children had died...
When her own mother died, she left Ruthless a healthy inheritance. But there was a catch. Her sister got more money. Ruth had taken so much money from her mother that in her will she basically called her out saying more went to the sister to compensate the difference. It was to the tune of $100,000. This enraged Ruthless and before the estate was probated, her sister was dead...Ruthless got the entire estate.
Ruthless had volunteered to do my grandmothers taxes. It was none of our business what my grandmother's portfolio was like. She lived very meager, we knew there was stock, we knew there was assets and money. We had no idea how much. Ruthless did...her and my father almost immediately moved in with my grandmother.
My grandmother hated her but had like Stockholm syndrome. Ruthless had convinced her she was unable to care for herself. Had her severely medicated and slowly began stealing, first money, then assets, then her identity. My grandmother tried to tell me when I was 19. I tried to fight for her but ended up in a huge fight with Ruthless who was abusive to both my dad and grandmother. I didn't know the extent of the abuse or theft until many years later.
My dad fell ill when I was 39 and I couldn't bare to leave him in that house. My grandmother had passed away years before. She was 96. My brothers and I insisted we clean the house for our father's safety. Ruthless wasn't having it so I took him to my house as we cleaned the endless stacks of papers and s--t. My oldest brother found an uncashed dividend check, then another. Ruthless told us my grandmother was broke because the medical bills and nursing homes fees drained her. She lied. 7 years after my grandmother died she still had banks accounts, stock, CDs, etc. and that b---h was stealing from our dad. I snapped and almost killed her. I had her pinned against the wall demanding answers. Why are there banks statements and checks dated recently to my dead grandmother??! Why didn't that money get turned over to my dad? She sneered and with a disgusted look said, 'I bought him that car.' I was about to smash her face in. The car was a $1500 car. My oldest brother literally tackled me off of her.
My poor dad, he was devasted. She had stolen close to 2 million dollars from his mother which should have been his. No one in authority did anything. Not the bank when I brought my grandmother's death certificate to them and I demanded they freeze the accounts. Not elder task force who laughed, yes, laughed when I told the story and said the police wouldn't help. I lost my mind. I stared at deposit slips and checks signed by my dead grandmother 7 years after she died and no one would help me.
I took a stock check and was able to go online and secure the remaining stock. Dwindled down to $100k but still, that was something to help my dad. The notices thanking me for signing up online was what broke Ruthless. She snapped when she saw them and went ballistic in front of a horrid woman from CPS. She slapped that woman who called the police.
The nightmare that ensued basically killed my dad. The stress exasperated the cancer we later found out he had. He died before the mess of the probate was completed. The stress and agony my family endured will haunt us forever. I couldn't even mourn my father and broke down in the attorney's office begging for part of the estate to cremate him.
In the mess, I found disturbing things and I'm pretty sure Ruthless had something to do with other people's deaths. I couldn't prove it and the stress of it all and my father being sick took a toll on me that even now more than 9 years later, I still get upset.
Ruthless died exactly 10 years after my grandmother. Part of me envisioned my grandmother pushing her down to Hell. May she rot there. Evil has a name and it's Ruth."
"When I was 12, I had always been taught that a policeman was my friend. If ever I was in trouble or lost or threatened, I should run to a policeman for help. I still believe that is good advice for a child.
One night, my family was watching the news on television. Some ladies were trying to eat at the dime-store lunch counter, or ride on the bus or something. I can't remember exactly, because I was a kid, there were several nights of similar news, and that was 60 years ago.
What I saw was shocking to me. The ladies - middle-aged and elderly - only wanted to have lunch or get a ride home on the bus or vote...something like that. Normal stuff. Harmless stuff. Just living their life, like everyone else.
The part I remember vividly to this day was the sight of policemen hitting those ladies with clubs, having police dogs viciously bite the ladies, knocking them down with fire hoses. The ladies were crying, screaming, bleeding, but none were fighting back, trying to hit or kick the policemen. The police and people on the street were all yelling at the ladies, calling them ugly names.
I remember crying when I saw this. I asked my mother, 'What did the ladies do that was so bad to be treated like that by big, strong men?'
'Nothing,' she said. 'They just want to be free.'
It was then, that I first witnessed true evil."
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