Eric H.

The Prom Night Reaper

"We find the defendant Guilty of all charges." Those words have been repeated in my brain for the past seven years as I have sat in this cold, dark cell. According to the judge and my hometown, justice had been served; but, it most definitely had not. I didn't even know Mark Finch, Tom Harding, or Summer Stanton, let alone lure them into the woods, bind their hands and feet, and murder them execution style. I mean, that is simply too far outside of my skill set. Thankfully, my "atrocities and violence" had landed me here, on Death Row, alone in my cell awaiting the final appeals in my case to waste away. After seven years, with few personal interactions, I must admit that even I am questioning my innocence, trapped in my thoughts of how I stumbled across those three lifeless bodies in the woods that night, after sneaking back from an...engagement... with my girlfriend.