Excerpt from the book The Highwayman: Larry Eyler, the Hoosier Highway Killer
Foreword
If there was ever a man that could be considered the personification of evil and cruelty, it was Larry Eyler. He was purely evil. He even believed in demons, and, considering his actions, might have wanted to be one himself.
One of the many serial killers who struggled with the fact that he was homosexual, Larry Eyler was the youngest of four children brought up in Indiana, often beaten by step-fathers and sent to live by his mother with a bunch of other families.
Eyler, a house painter and liquor store clerk, stalked the streets of mid-western cities and towns of Indiana, Kentucky, Illinois, and Wisconsin, even though he wasn't a "transient" by any stretch.
He had three areas where he worked and played, as well as killed. He could be found in Greencastle, Indiana, where he worked in a liquor store, a friend's place in Terre Haute, Indiana, and Chicago, Illinois, where he shared his space with not only his lover, but the lover's wife and kids. Living this way gave him a wide area to find victims to fulfill his violent sexual needs. And when he would be satiated, he would take out his anti-gay sentiments on his victim, usually ending up with the victim dead of stab wounds while bound, and even dismembered.
In March of 1982 it all began.
And like transient serial killer Henry Lee Lucas, Eyler literally got away with murder because of his usual MO; never or at least very rarely killing in the same area twice. But unlike his counterpart, Eyler did not attempt to cover up his crimes with false confessions or lies; he was proud of what he’d done, and had readily admitted to his crimes upon capture. He enjoyed raping, torturing, and killing.
This book is not for the squeamish or weak of heart.
It describes his crimes in vivid detail.
If you are brave enough to read further, this is his story.
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PROLOGUE
March, 1982
It starts with a thrumming in his ears, a sound very much like the thick, coursing current of a river swelling its’ banks. Gradually he becomes aware that the frantic pulse is not water, but blood rushing through his veins, echoing in the pitch black cavern of his inner ear. A bead of sweat forms in the crevice of a worry line that strains his forehead, and trickles past the indentation of his temple. His sweat reeks of fear, panic. It is a perfume that both excites him and gives him pause.
The deafening thunder grows louder, terror wrapping it’s icy fingers around his pounding heart until he fears he may drown in his own blood. Louder, and fiercer, it doubles, and triples in intensity. Abruptly, all falls silent. Still entombed in sleep, he gasps. Shivers. He rides out the frigid silence. And then it starts. A scream pierces his to the core. And then another. Another.
The agonizing screams of his first victim.
Lying beside his victim, he feels the arctic breath of fear against his own cheek, as the sacrificial scream of an innocent man tears at the walls of his memory palace.
His attention returns to the shivering figure on the bed. He draws closer mere inches from his face, now. Just below the young man’s chin, his jugular is clearly demarcated by the rapid flutter of his elevated pulse. The multiple stab wounds weren’t enough; now his captor wanted to bleed him out. He faints dead away.
With effortless grace, Larry Eyler extends his index finger and slides it gently over the creamy skin of of the young man’s neck. He jolts awake, eyes flashing open, greeted by two bloody pools hovering in his view. “Don’t worry,” Larry says, kissing the young man gently on his ruined, bloody lips. “It will all be over soon.”
Before the terrified young man can utter as much as a muffled grunt, Larry’s other hand appears, brandishing a large butcher knife. “Don’t worry, my love. I will end your pain and suffering.”
With a swift flick of the wrist, Larry severs the young man’s jugular as casually as he would drink his morning coffee or brush his teeth.
#
The shades of night lifted slowly from the windows of the motel outside Lexington. As the first blush of dawn stained the sky, Larry Eyler passed a hand wearily over his heavy-lidded eyes.
The voice of last night was quiet now, his ordeal of indecision ended. But his vigil could not end with the coming of the day; there was business that required his attention.
There were a lot more young men out there waiting for their Mister Right.
And Larry had to be there to make sure their wish came true .
Her grandma always said she had “the blessing”, and to always use it for good, but sometimes there is shame in fame if a person can’t handle it. Don’t let the Boo Hag ride ya
Foreword
