John Gerard Shaefer | Butcher of Blind Creek - Part 2
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Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast. The podcast dedicated to serial killers. Who they were, what they did, and...

Episode 223 I am your humble host, Thomas Roseland Weyborg Thun, and tonight we continue the tale of the killer cop, John Gerard Schaefer. Last episode we left things with a young woman desperately trying to escape, only to find herself face to face with whom she is convinced is her killer.

What happened next, and Schaefer's extreme depravity, is what we'll uncover this evening. Enjoy.

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And of course, if you wish to donate $15 a month, that's only $7.50 per episode, you are more than welcome to join the ranks of the TSK Producers Club too. So don't miss out and join now. A sliver of blonde hair, like a beacon in the murky river water, caught Sheriff Crowder's eye. Nancy, still struggling in the current situation,

Eighty, maybe a hundred yards from the damn road. Relief. A cold, unwelcome snake slithered into his gut. At least she was alive. Mostly. Just an hour earlier, a trucker, with eyes sharp as a hawk, had spotted Sue, a tangled mess of fear and fury, screaming from the side of the road.

handcuffed, the poor girl. Her story, a garbled mess of terror, sent the trucker scrambling for a phone. Crowder usually sprawled on the couch, drowning his worries in. A cold beer on a Saturday afternoon had been jilted awake by Deputy Schaefer's hesitant call. Something in the man's voice—

A tremor that sent a shiver down Crowder's spine had him barking questions into the receiver. What the hell was so important it couldn't wait till Monday? "'I messed up,' Schaefer mumbled. The words thick with something that sounded suspiciously like fear. "'You're gonna be pissed.' A childish whimper followed, making Crowder clench his jaw."

Turns out the good deputy had gone all Boy Scout on a couple of teenagers. Trying to scare the hitchhiking foolishness out of them, he said. A little rough around the edges, maybe. Tied them up for their own good, he claimed. They probably wouldn't understand poor things. And now, of course, they were gone. Crowder wasted no time. One called to his right hand, the ever-reliable Lieutenant Waldron, and the search was on.

but the knot of unease in his stomach wouldn't loosen. Something about Schaefer's story did not sit right. Like a bad fish, it left a metallic tang in his mouth. A bad feeling that had nothing to do with a couple of scared girls, and everything to do with that deputy who seemed a little too eager to play hero. Crowder slammed the phone down. The plastic receiver hot against his ear. Melvin Waldron.

His right hand, his eyes that had been the bottom of too many dark wells. He needed Melvin on this one. A search. A real one. Not some half-assed patrol. He barked orders at the station, his voice, a storm cloud rolling in. Any word, any whisper about Nancy Trotter or Paula Sue Wells, it came straight to him. No filters, no time for small-town niceties. The knot in his gut tightened with every passing minute.

Then the call came. A trucker, voice crackling with a mix of fear and righteousness, reported a girl on the side of the road screaming like a banshee. Crowder was on it before the dial tone finished. He found Sue there, a tangled mess of blonde hair and tear-streaked cheeks, a glint of handcuffs, a cruel joke around her wrists. The story tumbled out, a frantic jumble of terror and escape.

Crowder wrapped her in a blanket, the thin fabric a poor shield against the gathering dread. He uncuffed her, the metal cold against his skin, then gently settled her in the back of his cruiser. As he drove, the silence stretched between them, punctuated only by Sue's shuddering breaths. The story, pieced together from her choked sobs, painted a picture darker than any swamp Crowder had ever seen.

A picture with a deputy at the center. A man whose badge seemed to tarnish with every passing mile. Sue told Crowder about her friend, and that she thought she might have managed to escape. After letting Sue off at the station, Crowder was back out on the road, rushing back to where he had found Sue. There he spotted a silver-blonde hare, down in the river. Nancy was safe again.

After individually questioning Nancy and Sue and confirming that their stories matched, he approached Schaefer and in no uncertain terms fired him. It took a while, but eventually Schaefer did face charges related to the kidnapping of the young women. Unfortunately, the charges were not of kidnapping, but aggravated assault, which carries a much lighter potential sentence.

He was found guilty and given a term of six months in jail. To the detriment of innocent victims, he did not begin his stay in prison until the 15th of January 1973. If prison bars had held him back following that sweltering July day in 1972, the day the Trotterwell's nightmare began, then at least four lives could have been spared the Reaper's touch. Maybe more.

maybe many more schaefer clean cut they called him a pillar of the community a face any mother-in-law would feel at ease with the badge supposed to be a symbol of protection became a twisted mockery leniency that's what they had dished out

A slap on the wrist, a stern talking to, six short months, and then he would be back on the streets, a wolf in sheep's clothing. But the truth was, he had been hunting long before Nancy and Sue managed to slip his leash, leaving them tied up in those woods like some macabre game. That was just a mistake caused by arrogance.

A slip-up that exposed the monster lurking beneath the clean façade. The woods held secrets now. Dark whispers carried on the humid breeze. Secrets of screams choked back, of struggles for survival. Secrets that would come to light piece by bloody piece as the truth about Deputy Schaefer and his twisted desires clawed its way out of the Florida muck.

The Schaefer case was strange, even by Florida standards. At the time Schaefer was caught kidnapping the two young women, several other young women had gone missing. No bodies had been found. It is tempting to speculate if authorities would have looked closer at Schaefer had he not been an officer of the law at the time.

If they had just bothered to peek behind the thin veneer of respectability, the truth about Deputy Schaefer would have been staring them dead in the eyes. Like flies buzzing around a rotten melon, they focused on the immediate two girls, shaken but alive. But a simple search, a rummage through Schaefer's private hellhole, might have revealed a different story altogether.

Nestled amongst the mundane — bills, receipts, maybe a half-smoked pack of cigarettes — lurked a darkness deeper than any Florida swamp. Stories, he called them. Stories, scrawled in a hand that tried and failed to appear normal. Each a chronicle of unspeakable acts. A symphony of violence disguised as lurid fantasy.

Here, within these twisted pages, was the essence of Gerard Schaefer. The man who wore a badge like a grotesque mask. These weren't stories. Not in the truest sense. They were the ravings of a madman. A roadmap to a soul as black as a moonless night. Schaefer's defense team would later try to paint them as harmless scribblings. The frustrated imaginings of a lonely man.

But we, the ones who know the stench of truth, saw them for what they are: diaries of a monster. Confessions whispered on paper, waiting to be unearthed. What follows is one of Schaefer's supposed stories, more likely a diary. Fair warning: the content is graphic and disturbing. I quote:

She was expecting dinner, but instead was driven down a deserted road. She was asked to get out of the car and submitted to a frisk search. Then the handcuffs were locked around her wrists and the blindfold placed over her eyes. She was then led away into the dark of the place of execution. She was assisted in mounting the ladder and sat down on top of it.

The hangman's noose was placed over her head after a pillowcase was dropped over her face in a hood arrangement.

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as a family man with three kids i know first-hand how extremely difficult it is to make time for self-care but it's good to have some things that are non negotiable for some that could be a night out with the boys chugging beers and having a laugh for others it might be an eating night

For me, one non-negotiable activity is researching psychopathic serial killers and making this podcast. Even when we know what makes us happy, it's often near impossible to make time for it. But when you feel like you have no time for yourself, non-negotiables like therapy are more important than ever.

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Visit betterhelp.com slash serialkiller today to get 10% off your first month. That's betterhelp, H-E-L-P dot com slash serialkiller. She sat there very composed and ladylike while I adjusted the rope. She obviously had no inclination of what was about to happen.

I told her some stories about Vietnam, and then I told her I had to make a radio call. I warned her that if she made a sound that she would be hanged immediately. I went back to the car and had something to drink, and then brought the car up. I got out and tied the rope to the bumper, so that if I pulled away it would pull the ladder from beneath her and she would be left hanging.

I went back to see her and asked if she was comfortable. She replied that she was getting bored, and would I please hurry up with whatever business I had to attend to. I said I would, and before I went back to the car, I made sure that the rope was tight around her neck. I wanted her to stand up, but she was afraid, so I let her sit.

She sat there, very ladylike, in a black chiffon dress, with her hair done up and black pantyhose and high heels. She was wearing perfume and was very sexy. I went back to the car and finished off the bottle of wine and then promptly, at 9pm, I started the car and after allowing it to run for a few minutes, I threw it into reverse and backed up quickly. Turned off the car and got out.

straining to see if the branches were moving in the trees or if there were any other sounds. There were none. After fifteen minutes, which I judged to be a sufficient time for her to die, I went slowly forward into the grave of trees where the execution site was arranged. It was nothing more than a rope with a hangman's noose over a limb dangling above the ladder where she was to sit.

I had a light, but I almost didn't want to see what I was responsible for. I approached in the dark and could make out her body turning slowly, suspended from the tree. I went forward and turned the light. I was a little shocked. There was a considerable amount of blood staining the white pillowcase hood that was over her head.

The noose was pulled tight around her neck, and her head was tilted to one side because I placed the noose beneath her left chin. When I was within a few feet of her body, I could see that where her feet had been tied tightly, that she had broken the bounds, obviously in her violent death throes. One of her shoes was kicked off.

I was probably shaking as I slowly ran my hand up under her dress just above her knees and began to work upward. I felt a big heart growing in my pants as my hand travelled up her legs still warm and very much alive to me. The inside of her thighs were wet where she had urinated in her panties. Her underpants and pantyhose were soaked

She was wearing her pantyhose over her panties that were white nylon mesh and very skimpy. I lifted her dress and her wet slip and pulled down the pantyhose over the back of her backside just leaving her panties.

I slipped my fingers beneath the rim of her panties, down near the front of her cunt, and moved them slowly back toward her asshole, fully expecting and hoping to find a nice pile of shit. My fingers found the hair of her ass and inched towards her hole. Her hole was open, and my finger easily slipped into her hot rectum.

There was a small amount of excrement slithering the crotch of her panties, and more clinging to the area around her asshole, but there was not nearly as much as I had hoped to find. I went back to the car and stripped, and then returned to the grove. I then untied the rope and lowered her body to the ground where I stripped off her dress and slipped and pulled down her panties and hose to around her ankles.

I then draped her body over a crate that I had brought along for that purpose and fucked her up her asshole. I shot off, almost at once, and then felt very sorry for her. Oh, before I took her body down, I forced myself to lift up the pillowcase hood and look at her face. The face was swollen,

and a little mottled. The eyes were closed and swollen at the temples. Her mouth was open and her tongue was visible, but not protruding much. I was sick at the sight, but I left the hood off, because of the blood which I didn't like. After a few minutes I got on her again and fucked her ass some more. It was still hot in there. And I shot off quickly once again.

Then I stripped her out and threw her clothes into a pile. I then carried her body over to where I had rigged up a toilet seat between two crates, and I sat her limp body on it. I then went down beneath the seat and stared up at her cunt and asshole playing with them and fantasizing that she was in the act of shitting or pissing.

After a while, I tired of this and left her body on the toilet seat and went back to the car where I think I slept. After a while, I went back to her and for the first time noticed that she was getting cold on the outside but was still warm on the inside when I fucked her asshole again. This time I left her nude body sprawled out on the ground with her ass sticking up in the air, sort of like she was kneeling.

I went back to the car and went back to sleep again, feeling sick to my stomach. Later I woke up again and got out and went to her and stuck my prick in her ass again. This time I noticed that not only was her body getting cold, but it was also getting stiff too.

I woke up cold and went to the car, leaving her lying in the pine needles after humping her hiney and then passing out over her dead nude body some time before. The next time I woke up it was nearing daylight, so I went and took her body, which was becoming stiff down in the joints of the arms and the legs, and dragged it over to the rope. I replaced the noose around her neck,

and hauled her up to see what she looked like in the grey daylight. She was too difficult to haul up very far, so I took her down and hauled her up on a lower limb where I could support her body as I was pulling it up. For the first time after removing her handcuffs I noticed that her wrists were very bruised, most likely from where she tried to get out of her predicament just before she died.

Earlier I had lain beneath her and looked up her dress with a flashlight, but now with her hanging there naked she was not too stimulating. I went to the car and got a woman's slip and put it on her then as she was suspended from the rope. I stood on the crate behind her and screwed her ass from behind, but it was hard to keep her still on the end of the rope because she kept wanting to swing out.

Her body was cold by this time, and it was exciting in another way, being able to fuck her cold corpse. I got off in her ass once more, and then, since it was getting light, I took her down and wrapped her up in a white sheet and took her to the car. I dumped her body in the trunk and picked up her things and watered them all up except her panties, pantyhose and slip, which were soaked with her piss.

I wanted to save these for souvenirs. I drove to another deserted spot and took her corpse out of the trunk, wrapped up in the sheet. I half-dragged and carried it about a good two hundred yards into the bush along a dike. She was very heavy now, and it was real work just to move her.

When I got to where I decided I wanted to dump her corpse, I opened the sheet and rolled her out, now noticing that in the full daylight that she was still wearing one earring and a gold chain. These I took and threw into a canal. Her clothes I also threw into another canal, and then I rolled her corpse down the side of the dyke into a palmetto thicket.

In the daylight, her corpse was very cold, stiff and grotesque. She had large bruises on her legs, from where she probably kicked herself during her death throes. This, together with the distorted face and her bruised wrists, made her appear very unattractive. I propped her up as best I could and stuck it in her asshole again.

and then turned her over and for the first time really noticed her auburn V covering her cunt. I forced her stiff legs apart as best I could and screwed face to face, which was not easy since she was very stiff and a little tight from the rigor mortis between her legs. I finally got my nuts off in her and then I was exhausted for a while.

I sat for a while and then decided to dump her body in the canal. I pulled her body down to the water and pushed her in headfirst. Her auburn hair swam around her as she began to slip beneath the hyacinths. Finally the water came up over her butt and went into her asshole. I let her feet go and she sank beneath the water. I went back to the execution site

and cleaned up any traces of our having been there, and then went to a rock pit where I dumped her pocketbook and the sheet and a few rags and things. Then I went to Lum's and had lunch and didn't enjoy it too much. About two weeks later, I was curious to whether she floated to the surface. I was horrified when I went to where she was dumped and saw her body swollen and bloated tight, skinned, floating there.

She was face down and her hair was covering her shoulders. Her ass was sticking way up in the air and I was looking right at what had been her cunt and asshole. The maggots had evidently been at work on her because there was a big hole from her cunt to the top of the crack of her ass and she stunk to high heaven. She was putrid with all the flies buzzing and landing on her too.

I poked her with a stick, trying to get her down under the lilies, but ended up having to pile lilies upon her to hide her corpse, which was a funny reddish color. Another few weeks, and she was out from under the lilies again, and I tried to sink her with a few blasts from a shotgun. I would almost puke when I got a whiff of her corpse. It was that bad.

I would always go there and beat off toward her, just out of range of the smell. Eventually she began to rot away, and every now and then, when I could stand the stink, I would drag her out and try to mash it with a stick. It seemed even the maggots didn't want to have anything to do with her after a certain point. Anyway, finally I managed to break up the body and make it sink.

I took the skull and let the ants eat her brains out, if she had any, and then I pulled out all the teeth and scattered them all over the county. The lower jaw I buried, and the rest of her skull, with the face smashed in and the teeth out, I put in another canal some ten miles for the rest of her body.

All in all, she is probably scattered over some 30 square miles and I hope that she will continue to remain among the ranks of the missing, even though there is no possible connection between us." End quote. Need new glasses or want a fresh new style? Warby Parker has you covered. Glasses start at just $95, including anti-reflective, scratch-resistant prescription lenses that block 100% of UV rays.

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Acast helps creators launch, grow, and monetize their podcasts everywhere. Acast.com It is important to remember that while Schaefer wrote this, probably after torturing and killing innocent women, he lived a life as a married man. The resemblance to Dennis Rader, aka BTK, is chilling.

As with Schaefer, BTK also held positions of authority, including serving as a deacon of his church, a Boy Scout leader, and a community compliance officer. As with Schaefer, Raider was married and was viewed by everyone as a pillar of his community, an all-American, red-blooded, barbecue-loving, patriotic man.

But also as with Schaefer, Raider wrote twisted diaries and lived a double life as a serial killer who bound, tortured and killed several innocent people. The main difference between Raider and Schaefer was that Raider was far more intelligent and evaded the long arm of the law for decades. And with that, we come to the end of part two covering the saga of the killer cop Schaefer.

Next episode we'll continue his saga, so as they say in the land of radio, stay tuned.