EXCLUSIVE… "Skull": A true story

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© MrPete103

Carol Demech helped bring up up one of the young men murdered by serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. Here she explains why she believes the victim’s mother’s bad parenting lead to his demise…

His skull was in the freezer.

That’s how he was identified.

My friend Pamela called to tell me the news.

We both cried, sobbed, wailed.

We both knew his mother killed him.

Jeffrey Dahmer did the deed but his mother killed him.

Her utter neglect and abuse killed him.

Every time someone mentions Dahmer’s name or his mother’s name, I grieve.

His mother is a member of the lesbian community and was my first landlady when I moved to Brooklyn in 1980.

She had six children – four biological and two adopted biracial boys.

Her oldest daughter lived on a Kibbutz in Israel, her oldest son lived with a friend in the city.

A daughter was in California and the youngest daughter quit school at 16 and got married with her mother’s permission.

A year later she was divorced.

The mother’s (and I use that word loosely) philosophy was that of an anarchist view of raising children.

As soon as they could tie their shoes, they were on their own.

I call it being a lazy, loathsome, neglectful, selfish, bitch.

One of her friends told me that to be her friend, you had to accept the fact that she was a poor excuse for a mother.

I could not accept that!

When I moved into the apartment in her Park Slope brownstone, she not only owned the brownstone but a house in Chicago, a house in Florida, a house in Flatbush and a restaurant.

Her ex-husband had married an ex-nun and they both embraced Hasidim.

The nun wanted nothing to do with his brood of children.

The father paid no child support.

The mother did not file for child support because she didn’t want him bringing up the “lesbian thing” in court.

The children wore rags.

Their clothes were tattered – big holes in their shoes.

The soles flapping against the ground as they walked.

The youngest boy, one of her bi-racial children, wanted to go to his best friend’s Bar Mitzvah.

She told him to get a job. He was 12.

I bought him a pair of shoes.

His oldest brother bought him a tie, other people chipped in and bought him a suit and a shirt.

He wanted his own Bar Mitzvah.

Again, she told him to get a job.

She was hardly ever home.

On Thursday night she stopped by long enough to drop off food money for the boys.

Within a few days, the boys ran out of money.

She also came by every Sunday and stayed a few hours but gave them no additional money or food.

The woman in the 3rd floor apartment and I would feed them.

Social workers were constantly knocking on the door looking for her.

She was with her lover. That’s all I knew.

I didn’t know where she lived; neither did the boys.

The older bi-racial boy, 14 years old, was extremely handsome, very bright, a very talented artist and very gay.

He was a sweet soul, oh, so gentle, a wonderful boy.

We would sit and talk for hours about his dreams. He wanted to create beauty. Fill the world with more beauty.

Jeffrey Dahmer's mugshot

Jeffrey Dahmer’s mugshot

He was constantly running away from home.

His mother told me that he had been a difficult baby.

He would tense up and scream when she held him.

I’m sure he knew as an infant that he was in the wrong place.

He broke into my apartment and the apartment above mine. He took whatever he could carry and he ran away again.

The other tenant and I didn’t call the police because we knew his mother was the one who needed to be arrested and not him.

His mother was not concerned about the robbery nor that he ran away again.

A few weeks later, his 12 year old brother came to my apartment to tell me that he was on the phone and that he wanted to speak to me.

When I picked up the phone and said, “Hello, Jeremy”

He started to cry and apologised for robbing me.

He was grateful that I did not call the police.

He was in a group home in the Bronx.

We spoke for over a half hour.

I told him that I had forgiven him.

He cried.

I told him that I was moving but hoped that he would visit me when I was settled into my new place.

I never saw him again.

My friend Pamela called me every day for a week.

We cried and cursed his mother.

There was no doubt in our minds that she murdered him.

There still is no doubt.

I still grieve for him.

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Chloe Marshall

Chloe Marshall is a London-based freelance journalist writing for the Huffington Post, The Guardian, Diva and of course Biscuit. Chloe loves to write about gender, sexuality and feminism, with a healthy dose of travel and culture on the side. She's into chicks, chocolate and cats, in no particular order.

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