True Urban Legends: Candyman, with Ashley Flowers
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Happy October, listeners! All this month, we're bringing you a special series we're calling True Urban Legends. Every week, we'll dissect one classic urban legend and the haunting true story that either inspired it or is eerily similar. As an added surprise, each new episode will be presented by a different host, including one with yours truly. All of us had a hand in choosing the urban legends we found the most compelling.

But you'll have to tune in each week to find out which tales we chose and the true stories behind every legend. Due to the nature of today's case, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes discussions of violence, murder, and substance use. Consider this when deciding how and when you'll listen. Urban legends run on fear. And fear requires belief, often in dangers that are beyond our imagination—

That maybe there could be a monster lurking in the shadows over your shoulder. A child-eating clown living in your woods and hiding razor blades and candy. A deranged killer living in the space between your walls, watching every move you make. Now, you might not believe any of it. You might think you know the difference between reality and pretend. A scary story and the nightly news.

You might consider yourself the kind of person who only believes in what they've seen and experienced firsthand. If that is you, do me a favor. Go into your bathroom later tonight, shut off all the lights, stare into your mirror, and repeat the name Candyman five times. He said to prey on people like you.

Let's see if it's true. Welcome to the Serial Killers October special, True Urban Legends. I'm your guest host, Ashley Flowers. You may recognize my voice from my hit true crime podcast, Crime Junkie.

Every week on Crime Junkie, we bring you a brand new episode covering everything from the most infamous cases to ones that you've never heard before until now. So add Crime Junkie to your queue after you finish this episode. If it's not already, I promise Monday will be your new favorite day of the week because new episodes of Crime Junkie and Serial Killers release every Monday. All this month, Serial Killers is talking about urban legends and the haunting true stories behind them.

Today, it's the real-life murder behind the Candyman legend. Stay with us. This episode is brought to you by Netflix's new film, Woman of the Hour. The stranger-than-fiction story of an aspiring actress and a serial killer whose lives intersect when they're cast on a dating game show based on a true story and directed by Academy Award nominee Anna Kendrick. Woman of the Hour, now playing only on Netflix. Rated R.

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Okay, so Candyman didn't actually become an urban legend in the traditional sense until after the 1992 Hollywood film came out. So it's fair to say that it's pretty new to the scene.

But its plot borrows from some much older legends. You've probably heard of at least one of them. It's a sleepover favorite. You repeat the name Bloody Mary in a mirror with the lights down until she appears in the reflection. She's always covered in blood, sometimes holding a knife, and in certain versions, she crawls out of the mirror to blind, kill, or haunt the summoner.

If you're familiar with any of the Candyman movies, there have been three added to the franchise since the original. The inspiration is clear. Candyman is this vengeful, murderous spirit with a hook for a hand. He appears after someone says his name five times in a mirror, hell-bent on killing the summoner and anyone else who questions his existence.

The movie was partly based on a short story by Clive Barker, who also co-wrote the film. But what most people don't know is, the Candyman film franchise and the urban legend it spawned might also have roots in a real-life crime. Buckle up, because it's a dark one. The story starts back in 1987.

Apartment 1109 sits at the end of a windowless corridor on the 11th floor of a public housing high-rise. Ruthie Mae McCoy lives inside, one of the building's 3,600 residents. The facilities are in a constant state of disrepair. Think broken elevators, vacant apartments, and missing or burned-out light bulbs at every turn. Dark corridors make it hard to see. Like, time isn't actually passing because it always feels like night. ♪

It's the '80s, an era known for consumerism, the rise of cable TV, and the crack epidemic. The housing development where Ruthie lives is known as ABLA. It's near the south side of Chicago, an area notorious for high crime rates. She's 52 years old and a bit of a polarizing figure in the community.

Reporter Steve Boguera, who covered this case extensively for the Chicago Reader at the time, wrote that she dresses like a bag lady and carries around a stick to ward off teenagers who try and bother her. She has a reputation for being a little fearful and paranoid, which may have something to do with the fact that she lives with residual schizophrenia. It's why, actually, she drops by Mount Sinai Psychiatric Center from time to time.

On April 22nd, 1987, Ruthie is taking a van home from the center when she tells a woman sitting next to her that someone has threatened her life. The woman advises Ruthie to report her concerns to Mount Sinai staff, but Ruthie says she doesn't want them to get involved. She swallows her fears and carries on home. Around 8:45 that night, 911 receives a call from Ruthie.

Her voice is frantic and hard to understand, but the dispatcher is able to make out a few words. Someone's trying to break into her apartment. When the dispatcher asks where they're coming from, Ruthie says, "I'm in the projects. I'm on the other side. They want to come through the bathroom." Then she gives her address and the apartment number.

And as she's presumably listening to the intruders break in from feet away, she makes sure to mention that the building's elevator is actually working that day. Now, here's where the decision-making gets a little questionable. The dispatcher reports the call as a, quote, disturbance with a neighbor and not a break-in. Maybe that's because they didn't fully understand what was going on. Who knows? But the police don't rush over to Ruthie's place right away.

Then, at 9:02, a full 17 minutes after Ruthie's call, 911 receives another one, this time from one of Ruthie's neighbors. They heard gunshots. Two minutes later, a third call comes in. Another resident heard shouts and gunshots coming from apartment 1109. But by the time police actually arrive outside of Ruthie's place, it's quiet. Officers bang on the front door and announce their presence, but no one answers.

They contact the 911 dispatcher from earlier and ask them to call Ruthie back on her landline. They think someone might be in the apartment with her. A few seconds later, the officers hear Ruthie's phone ring, but no one picks up inside. The phone just rings and rings and rings. I'm not sure why they're not busting down the door knowing what they do about the gunshots. I mean, it seems like enough probable cause to me, but they don't.

Instead, they wait until more officers arrive with a key from one of the building's managers, which is like, okay, fine, I guess that works too. But when they go to stick the key in the lock, it doesn't fit. It's the wrong one. Except the building's janitor swears it's right. It's the only key they have to apartment 1109.

At some point, the police go knocking on neighbors' doors. They find that the apartment next to Ruthie's is completely vacant. No one lives there. And most of the other neighbors either aren't home or aren't answering their door for police. Weirdly, one of the only people to actually answer their door says she has no idea what could be wrong. She didn't hear anything. No gunshots, no screaming, nothing.

And this lady, who apparently didn't hear anything, must have totally swayed police because they just leave. They carry on with their night clearly not that concerned about Ruthie's safety, despite everything that happened up to that point. They exit the building at 9:48, almost exactly an hour after Ruthie first called 911. Cut to almost 24 hours later,

and police receive a phone call from another resident on the 11th floor of the same complex, a woman named Deborah Lassley. Deborah and Ruthie are friends. She'd seen police come by the night before. She was worried then, but she's even more concerned now. According to Deborah, any time Ruthie leaves the building, she stops by Deborah's place on her way out and on her way back in. But Deborah hasn't seen Ruthie since last night, and to her, that's a sign that something's definitely wrong.

So police send more officers over. They go through the motions of knocking on Ruthie's door again. I don't know why they're expecting different results, but once again, no one answers. And while they at least contemplate breaking the door down this time, someone from the building convinces them not to. You know, they're like, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Someone might sue. And the threat of a lawsuit is apparently enough to scare them away.

So another night passes before Deborah has to go through the whole song and dance again. This time, she contacts the housing office directly and not the police. She begs them to do something. And when a carpenter arrives to drill through the lock on apartment 1109, well, let's just say that's when they find Ruthie. This episode is brought to you by SimpliSafe.

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Shortly after 1:00 p.m. on April 24th, 1987, Ruthie Mae McCoy is found dead in her Chicago apartment. Inside, there are tons of papers and magazines and coins all scattered about. It kind of looks like the place has been ransacked, but oddly enough, there are no clear signs of forced entry. Ruthie's body is laying in the bedroom in a pool of blood with one hand resting on her chest.

There's a shoe still on one foot, the other's off. And based on the smell that fills the room, she's been dead for quite some time. The cause of death is easy enough for a medical examiner to determine. Ruthie had been shot four times. One bullet passed through her left shoulder, another through her left thigh, a third through her abdomen and liver. But it was the fourth bullet that ultimately killed her.

It traveled through her right arm before entering her chest and rupturing a pulmonary vein. The examiner estimates she didn't die right away, but probably didn't last very long. Notably, investigators don't find Ruthie's phone inside her apartment, the same one that officials had called that first night, which means her killer or killers either took the phone with them on the night that she was murdered or they came back for it later.

There's actually a good chance that they were on the other side of the door that night. Police calling from just outside, them listening to the phone ring and holding their breath on the inside. Given the earlier reports of gunfire, Ruthie had probably already been shot by the time police arrived. As for whether she was still alive and could have been saved, that's anyone's guess. Now, what if I told you that the murder of Ruthie Mae McCoy didn't make a splash in any major newspapers?

Would you be surprised? The story only reaches a broad audience after police learn that Ruthie's killers broke into her apartment through her medicine cabinet. You know, like the mirrored thing that hangs over a bathroom sink. You open it up, maybe there are a few shelves inside to store toiletries and stuff, like that thing.

To the general public, the bizarre detail feels straight out of a horror film. I mean, you think about locking your front door at night, closing the windows, you don't really expect someone to barge in through the bathroom mirror. It's unsettling enough for the Chicago Tribune to run a short piece on Ruthie's murder in early June, weeks after it happened.

As for the logistics of the break-in, officials learn that in Ruthie's building, the two apartments on the ends of every hallway are mirror images of one another, separated by only two thin walls and a few pipes running between them. Plus, all the bathrooms have holes in their walls behind the medicine cabinets. They're meant to give handymen easy access to the plumbing, but obviously it had some unintended consequences.

The holes are about a foot and a half wide, but if you're small and thin enough, it is totally possible to squeeze through and around the pipes. If you're looking for the killer, your next logical thought is to question the people who live in the apartment next to Ruthie's. But again, that one's vacant.

It's not like police can look at a lease and find names. For all officials know, Ruthie's killer or killers could have been squatting in that empty apartment for hours, days, even weeks. Or maybe not at all. Maybe it was someone who knew that the place was empty and just walked in. The point is, the pool of potential suspects for police is broad. Luckily, there are a few pieces of the puzzle that give investigators some direction.

Ruthie's phone wasn't the only thing missing from her apartment. A rocking chair and her television had been stolen as well. A neighbor ends up telling police they saw two young men carrying those items down a hallway on the night of Ruthie's murder. Now, I'll cut to the chase a little bit. Those two men are eventually found and even charged with her murder.

But after about two years of delays and two separate, drawn-out trials with one key witness that's proven to be unreliable, they're both acquitted. At the end of all of it, there's just not enough evidence. And so, to this day, Ruthie's murder remains unresolved. But what's most tragic about this story is not how sensational it was to the outside world. It's how ordinary it was for those who knew better.

Sure, there are elements that are undeniably strange on paper. The key that didn't work, no signs of forced entry, the neighbors who didn't hear any gunshot. But most of it is easily explained with context. See, Ruthie was one of three people killed in ABLA housing that month.

Just two days after she was found, a 40-year-old man was beaten to death. Three days after that, a 20-year-old woman was stabbed in the chest right outside Ruthie's building. In Chicago public housing, drug dealers wielded incredible power. Substance misuse ran rampant. Babies were thrown out of windows. People were pushed down elevator shafts.

According to Steve Boguero's reporting, back in 1987, ABLA residents were more than twice as likely to be physically assaulted, sexually assaulted, and murdered than the rest of Chicago. And Ruthie lived in a building that he believed was one of the worst. We mentioned earlier that Ruthie had a reputation for being a little paranoid. In one of his articles, Boguero wrote, quote, "'In the towers, you're crazy if you're not looking over your shoulder.'"

That fear is probably why Ruthie's neighbors, for the most part, stayed silent. They were worried about retaliation. Ruthie's killers might have still been on the floor as police did their rounds. Cooperating with officials could literally mean having your apartment door set on fire, leaving you with no way to escape but the windows. I mean, that actually happened more than once. So there's that. But also, residents didn't trust law enforcement.

Many believed the police didn't care. I mean, about them in general, but also about responding to their calls. Ruthie's former next-door neighbor said that she stopped reporting violent incidents altogether because no one would show up. Some residents said it was because they were poor. Others believed the police were as afraid of their building as they were. Remember how during the 911 call, Ruthie went out of her way to mention that the elevator was working that day?

That's because apparently when it wasn't working, police would sometimes just turn around and leave rather than take the stairs. I mean, you heard the story. How long did it take officials to arrive? How many opportunities did they have to enter Ruthie's apartment? What if it was your loved one who needed help behind that door? ABLA residents were maybe the only ones not shocked by the one detail the rest of the world seemed to care about, that the culprits entered through Ruthie's medicine cabinet.

And that's because Ruthie's murder was not an isolated incident. Intruders had been breaking into apartments that way for at least a year. I mean, it happened often enough that one resident said she would tie her bathroom door shut at night. If she or her kids woke up and had to use the restroom, they would go in a bucket. Many reported their concerns about the medicine cabinets to the building's management, but nothing was done to fix it.

When asked for comment, an ABLA janitor said, quote, they usually wait until someone dies. Then they jump. But not even Ruthie's death made the Chicago Housing Authority address the medicine cabinet situation. Months later, they still hadn't taken any action. And that ambivalence ties into why the key to 1109 didn't work.

Ruthie had her locks changed after an earlier break-in attempt. She did it herself, which is why the staff had no record of it. And technically, that was against policy, but I think it's fair to question whether the so-called proper channels would have gotten her anywhere.

At the time, the CHA blamed finances for their lack of security and upkeep. They said they didn't have enough funding. But no matter the cause, the result was the same. ABLA residents couldn't rely on anyone with any power to make real, substantive changes. And that just leaves us with one unanswered question. Why? Why kill a defenseless 52-year-old woman living with a mental illness inside her home?

Well, it turns out the answer lies in the fact that Ruthie was on her way out.

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In the months leading up to Ruthie Mae McCoy's murder, her life seemed to be heading in a positive direction.

Her neighbors noticed a change in how she dressed and carried herself. She seemed happier, more patient, more trusting, which likely had something to do with the work that she was doing at Mount Sinai. Ruthie's visits to the psychiatric center amounted to more than just mental health support. Mount Sinai offered community meals, group therapy sessions, and different types of classes. Apparently, she was only about six months away from earning her GED.

The people at Mt. Sinai saw a very different side to Ruthie than the image she projected at ABLA. They didn't see a paranoid bag lady. They said she was warm, considerate, and well-liked. She even allowed staff members to help her. Most notably, they got her to apply for additional federal aid. She was approved two months before her death, and the difference it made was huge. She was saving to finally move out of public housing. The checks more than doubled her monthly income.

Investigators who worked on Ruthie's case believe her neighbors caught wind of the change. Word got out or someone noticed Ruthie had made purchases that seemed out of the ordinary. And they think that's what got her killed. Ruthie was originally from Arkansas and one of eight children. She was never married, but she left behind a daughter and two grandchildren. The bulletin at her funeral read, "'Life was hard for Ruthie Mae.'"

Family attended the service, but Ruthie's brother Willie attended the murder trial alone. He told reporter Steve Bogura that he didn't harbor any malice or bitterness against the defendants. Not because he believed the two young men didn't pull the trigger. He just felt that the people who designed Chicago's public housing should also be held accountable for their part in his sister's death.

for creating and sustaining the kind of environment where violence thrives, where it's easier to find narcotics than it is to get someone to replace a broken light bulb or properly investigate a murder. Now, you might have noticed I mentioned reporter Steve Bogiera a few times throughout this story, and that's because he's one of the few people who reported on Ruthie's case. Seriously, I mean it when I say the episode would not have been possible without the work he did for "The Chicago Reader."

Without him, there actually might not even be a Candyman, period. Apparently, months after he wrote his first big piece on the case, which was titled, They Came In Through the Bathroom Mirror, Steve got a phone call. John Malkovich was on the other end. As in the award-winning Hollywood actor. He's done a ton of movies and TV shows, Of Mice and Men, The Man in the Iron Mask, Billions, and of course, being John Malkovich. You can look him up.

Anyway, back in the late '80s, John was in Chicago for work and he happened to read Steve's piece about Ruthie's murder. That's why he was calling. He thought it might make for a good movie. Steve and John met at a bar and talked the idea through. John thought it would be good if the lead character was a white reporter investigating the murder. He thought it would be easier to get the project funded that way.

According to Steve, he pushed back on the idea of a, quote, "movie about poor Black people focusing on a middle-class white person." John said he understood Steve's position, but wanted to pitch the idea to some Hollywood producers anyway. It's hard to say if those conversations led directly to the 1992 Candyman film, but I'll let you be the judge. And fair warning: If you haven't seen the movie yet, there are some spoilers ahead.

The main character in the film is a white woman named Helen Lyle. Helen's a grad student writing a thesis about urban legends. And over the course of her research, she hears of a string of murders in a nearby public housing community. Some people who live there attribute the murders to a legendary figure named Candyman, a killer who comes through the bathroom mirror. But no one really takes their concerns seriously.

Most everyone basically considers it made-up nonsense, folklore, paranoia even. But in the film, Candyman is obviously not made up. He's all too real. The similarities are striking. The movie is set in Chicago, and most of the murders take place in Cabrini-Green, a real public housing community located in the same neighborhood as the one Ruthie's building was in.

In the very beginning of the film, they reference the murder of a Cabrini-Rean resident named Ruthie Jean. They even show a newspaper article called Who What Killed Ruthie Jean? Life in the Projects. One of the articles Steve wrote was literally called Cause of Death, What Killed Ruthie Mae McCoy? A Bullet in the Chest or Life in the Projects?

Film Ruthie called 911 for help. Her concerns weren't taken seriously, and she was later found dead. Oh, and they created a neighbor character for Ruthie Jean that they named Anne Marie McCoy. Of course, the film does go off in its own directions. But just like the real-life murder of Ruthie Mae McCoy, there's a clear and pervasive racial undercurrent.

Before he was a bloodthirsty spirit with a hook for a hand, Candyman was a black artist who fell in love with a white woman. When her father finds out she's pregnant, he sends an angry mob to brutally murder him. They cut off his hand and cover him in honey until bees sting him to death. After burning his body, they scatter his ashes to the wind. Why does Candyman target people who don't believe in him?

Why is he so hellbent on making sure his bloody legacy carries on? To be honest with you, I have no idea. I could try and wrap this episode up in a nice bow with some explanation about how it has to do with wanting people to believe in the types of violence that got Ruthie Mae and Candyman killed in the first place. But those are questions probably best saved for the film's creators, or maybe for Candyman himself. After all, as we said at the top,

He's made the leap from Hollywood story to urban legend in his own right. And if you've learned nothing else from Serial Killers programming this October, it should be that some urban legends have truth to them. Maybe this one's even truer than we think. Find a mirror and say it with me. Candyman. Candyman. Candyman. Candyman.

Thanks for tuning in to Serial Killers, a Spotify podcast. Serial Killers will be back Monday with another episode. I'm your guest host, Ashley Flowers, and if you're like me and can't get enough true crime content, check out my podcast, Crime Junkie. In fact, I created an entire podcast network of amazing chart-topping true crime shows for people just like us.

My company is called AudioChuck, and I guarantee we have your next favorite podcast waiting for you. You can listen to Crime Junkie and other AudioChuck true crime shows on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. For more information on Ruthie Mae McCoy's case, check out Steve Boguera's reporting for the Chicago Reader. Among the many sources we used for this episode, we found it extremely helpful for our research. Stay safe out there.

This episode was written and researched by Connor Sampson, fact-checked by Laurie Siegel, and sound designed by Alex Button. Serial Killers head of programming is Julian Borreau. Their head of production is Nick Johnson, and Spencer Howard is their post-production supervisor.

Hi, I'm Ashley Flowers, creator and host of the number one true crime podcast, Crime Junkie. Every Monday, me and my best friend Britt break down a new case, but not in the way you've heard before, and not the cases you've heard before. You'll hear stories on Crime Junkie that haven't been told anywhere else. I'll tell you what you can do to help victims and their families get justice.

Join us for new episodes of Crime Junkie every Monday. Already waiting for you by searching for Crime Junkie wherever you listen to podcasts.

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