Meet Eddy, aka Edgar Allen Little

Note to Reader: Content Warning: This fictional story contains references to kidnapping, violent acts of physical and sexual assault including strangulation, involuntary incapacitation, bondage, alcohol and tobacco consumption, supernatural influences, and the handling and disposal of human remains. The story also explores themes around generational trauma and addiction.  

Eddy & Azzy 

By J.S. Roebuck 

Chapter 1: The Man in the Blue Cadillac 

A robin's egg blue Cadillac with a white top, silver trim, and a body in the trunk, was winding its way down a dirt state park service road, in backwoods Indiana. The night was brisk, it was early autumn, the year 1951. The light blue Cadillac’s headlights jumped around each corner ahead of the caddy as it wound its way deeper into the dark forest. It was half past one in the morning. The car passed a pull-off and circled back around in it to point back the direction it came from. The caddy backed next to the edge of the woods, and the bumper halted just shy of a large maple tree.  

The door to the Cadillac clunked open, and two well shined black dress shoes stepped out onto the gravel road’s edge. Edgar Allen Little got out of his caddy, and gently closed the door. He was wearing a black hat, thick black, round frame glasses, black gloves, burgundy suit with a white undershirt, black vest, and black tie. The suit color choice made him stand out, but as a traveling salesman, it was deliberate. Edgar passed the open window to the back of the car. He slid his suit jacket off his broad shoulders and dropped it into the back seat. Edgar Little was six foot four, and despite his last name being Little, was quite the opposite. He had to bend halfway over to reach into the back seat to get below the level of the caddy’s roof. Edgar pulled his hat off his recently starting to bald head of sandy blonde hair and tossed it on top his jacket. His piercing blue eyes adjusted in the low light as he looked back into the woods, away from the direction of the caddy’s headlights.  

Edgar listened quietly to the sounds of the small creatures and insects of the night filling the air between the trees. He took a deep breath and let it out. It wasn’t cold enough to see your breath yet, but the air was crisp, and he could taste the changing leaves in each breath of the saturated natural space around him. Edgar walked back to the front of the Cadillac and killed the engine, the lights, and popped the trunk. Among his usual cargo of encyclopedias, a bag of tools, some wrapped clothes, a blanket, and a shovel, was the young Rachel Downs. She was currently wrapped up in a white hotel room bed sheet with some rope tied around to keep the sheet taught. The shape of Rachel’s body was more defined by the tight ropes holding her in a bundle in the back of the trunk.  

Rachel Downs was Edgar Allen Little’s seventh victim. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and slender build. She wore glasses, and not much makeup. An innocent young woman at the age of 22, just graduated from college. Edgar had kept an eye on her for two years while coming and going from her town. Edgar was a traveling encyclopedia salesman, and a darn good one at that. He worked in all the Great Lake states for the last ten years, driving along highways from town to town across Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, and Michigan. Edgar shuffled some of his bags of books to the side to get at Rachel’s body. He had her further in, covered by bags, just in case anyone opened the trunk other than himself. He was always taking extra precautions, sometimes completely unnecessary ones, but he was thorough.  

The body was stiffening up already and was cumbersome as Edgar tried to pull it out. At age thirty-seven, and being gigantic, his back was feeling about twenty years his senior these days. He had a hard time getting enough oomph to pull Rachel from the back of the trunk over laundry bags of encyclopedias. The far end of Rachel’s body hit the ground with a firm thud as Edgar slid it from the trunk. This pull off in the forest outside Lafayette was one of three spots scattered along Edgar's travel routes that he used for disposing of remains. He had become a meticulous serial killer and prided himself on his ability to leave no traces behind. He kept his gloves on at all times unless he was in a hotel room, which he always stayed in since he was on the road 24/7. The sheet that Rachel was wrapped in was the extra one from Edgar’s hotel bed the night before. Just one way of him making sure the cost of the sheet went under his business expenses. The rope came from a hardware store in Flint, Michigan. The Millers owned the hardware, great clients of Edgar’s. They bought a set of encyclopedias for their niece's wedding gift last year.  

This forest pull off was Edgar’s Indiana drop spot. He had two others; one in Ohio and the other in Michigan just outside Detroit, one of his favorite hunting grounds. He slid the body about a hundred yards from the road till he was on the opposite side of an embankment. A perfect place to dig just out of sight from the road, but close enough to see if anyone pulled up to his car. The cold air began to sink in and gave Edgar a chill.  

Time to get to digging so I can warm up. Edgar thought to himself, settling into his routine. He walked back to the caddy and grabbed a small spade shovel from the back that was wrapped in a thick wool gray blanket. Edgar took off his vest and tossed it in the car. He rolled up his dress shirt sleeves firmly to his elbows as he walked back to dig Rachel’s grave. He’d strangled her earlier that evening, as he did all his victims. Edgar’s kills were those of power, and control, not sexual in any way to him. In fact, he could barely look at the bodies once he’d choked the life out of them. He would wrap them up immediately, clothes still on, and place them gently in the shallow forest graves he dug up under the stars.  

Edgar began to dig. It was quiet now in the woods, and the echo of the metal shovel sliding into the loose cold forest sod danced through the trees and low hills surrounding. Edgar had a system to avoid his murders being connected to him, and it had been working so far.  

After a decade of running the same routes, eventually towns here and there would grow colder for sales, and as Edgar noticed a decline, he would start to narrow down a potential victim in said town. After a few months of no longer making calls or pitches in that area, Edgar would make up a reason to pass through, but only let his prey know he was coming. He’d find a young woman, living alone in the town who liked books, an easy in for a tall, handsome, encyclopedia salesman. Edgar’s prey was always a woman he’d already picked long before along his route. He would befriend her and be sure he knew how to contact her in the future. Edgar then waited for just the right time. Upon his return, he would make sure his plans with the woman were last minute so she wouldn’t have time to tell anyone where she was going. He’d tell them he was only in town for the one night and ask them to dinner. The pickup was easy, he’d roll up after dark, pick the girls up, and instead of dinner, the girls found themselves breathing in a face full of chloroform and cotton rag a few turns down the road.  

Edgar would take the unconscious girls to one of a few different places just off the beaten path from civilization like his burial spots. With the girls' wrists tied, hood on their heads, their feet bound, and a gag in their mouth, he’d have them get down on their knees. Edgar would take a thick rope and make a noose. He’d made sure to practice his knots late at night while he sat in hotels planning out his kills. Edgar waited till the girls regained consciousness while they were kneeling, he would slip the noose around their neck, as he did earlier that evening with Rachel, and cinch the noose tight while standing behind them. Edgar would walk around slowly to the girl's side, listening to their whimpers of fear, then when he was ready, he pushed the noose tight and forced the girl's head down onto the ground in front of her. Edgar put his shoe to the back of the girl's neck just under the knot and pulled the rope with both arms, using his foot to add pressure to the noose, till everything was still and quiet. With each victim, Edgar leaned in and whispered as they faded away, “It’s ok. You’re all mine.”  

Edgar paused digging for a moment to listen into the dark woods around him. Not a sound. He took his glasses off and wiped some sweat from his forehead before placing the thick frames back on his nose. No one was really looking for people like Edgar yet, or even knew how to. There wasn’t much in the form of forensic sciences to speak of. As long as Edgar kept himself tidy, his gloves on, and stuck to his sales, no one looked at him with any suspicion. He finished up the grave and stuck the shovel standing upright in the loose pile he’d dug. Edger picked up the body and placed in in the grave. He took another deep breath in and out, grabbed the shovel, and started spreading dirt on the sheet covering Rachel. With seven victims over four different states, there hadn’t been as much of a whisper of a murderer on the loose. There were only scattered reports of young women going missing under suspicious circumstances. The term “serial killer” hadn’t even been coined yet. Everywhere Edgar visited he was seen as a welcome friendly face. Often, he would set up his encyclopedias on a table at local fairs, carnivals, gatherings, parades, town halls, and libraries, so he knew most of the more respectable folks in the communities he frequented for repeat business.  

Edgar patted the last bit of dirt down on Rachel’s grave with the back of his shovel. He spent a few minutes after finishing the grave raking around leaves, moving sticks, and even transplanting some smaller weeds to make the site blend with the surrounding undisturbed forest floor.  

The deed was done. Edgar grabbed his shovel to trek back to his car by the road. Edgar unrolled his sleeves and popped all the buttons on his dress shirt and tossed it into the trunk with the shovel. He quickly retrieved a new clean and pressed shirt from a bag in the back seat. After a quick splash of water from a canteen and toweling off some dirt from his arms, Edgar slid on the spare shirt and looked good as new. Or at least, he didn’t look as though he was a serial killer who just strangled and buried Rachel Downs in the woods outside Lafayette, Indiana. Edgar checked his watch; it was almost four in the morning. A quick snooze in the car and then breakfast before my first call of the day I suppose, he thought to himself as he started the Cadillac and clicked it into gear.  

Edgar made his way down the dirt forest road, out onto a country lane, and then on to I-65 south towards Lafayette. After about ten minutes on the highway, Edgar pulled off to his favorite roadside diner, Trudy’s. The neon sign was still lit in the early morning twilight as Edgar pulled into a spot close to the side entrance. He turned his car off, rolled up the windows, leaned his seat back, and shut his eyes.   

TAP, TAP, TAP! 

Gladys, a regular waitress at Trudy’s tapped on the glass window of Edgar’s caddy, startling him awake. “Morning sweetheart! Just getting in from Illinois again?” 

Edgar cracked his door, “Yeah, Glady’s. Mornin’. Thanks for the usual wakeup call, I was counting on ya.” He groaned.  

Gladys gave a smile and continued towards the back entrance of the diner. Edgar had parked here many times before, after long drives making sales on the road. Gladys showed up like clockwork at seven every morning on weekdays, and Edgar used her as his alarm clock sometimes. Edgar tussled his hair and checked if he had a 5 o'clock shadow. He still looked good from the shave before his “date” with Rachel the evening before. He stepped out of his car and popped the door shut. As he rounded the side of the diner to enter from the front, he made note of the different cars in the parking lot before walking in the entrance. The bell above the door jingled as Edgar walked into the nearly empty eatery with a long countertop lined with stools across from booths that surrounded the diner's outer walls underneath its windows. Edgar sat down at his usual booth; the small two-man seater in the back, closest to the restroom so it was usually free, and nearest seat to the back exit, which is why it suited Edgar.  

Gladys came out from the back with her waitress uniform in full; white hat and apron with a pot of coffee ready for Edgar who was already turning over his mug on her approach. “Morning again sweetie!” She said. Gladys was in her late fifties and doted on Edgar like a mother. She was about the age his mother would be now. Gladys was of no interest to Edgar other than the coffee and bacon she provided him with on a regular basis, or a slice of pie in the evening with a side of occasional conversation. She was the most familiar person in Edgar's life at the time, having lost both his parents and no family to speak of otherwise. He’d been on his own ever since he turned eighteen. Orphaned right at adulthood.  

“You want your usual breakfast this mornin’?” Gladys asked while pouring the hot bean water into his cup.  

Edgar rambled off his usual order as he started dumping some sugar into his cup, “Yes darlin’. Toast and six slices of bacon please.”. He enjoyed the playful banter back and forth making small talk with Gladys.  

“Oh, I have another one for you this morning. I think it’s a good one. You’ll never get it.” Gladys teased.  

“Edgar adjusted his jacket and turned his torso more towards Gladys, “Ok, lay it on me.” 

“Barracuda.”  

Edgar paused for a second, then rambled off, “Let’s see...according to the encyclopedia...The barracuda is a long silvery fish, that is somewhat aggressive, and lives in mostly warm tropical climates.” 

Gladys chuckled and slapped her apron, “Drats! Thought I had you with that one Edgar. That memory of yours sure is sharp. I’m gonna get you one of these days.” Gladys and Edgar had played this encyclopedia trivia game many times before.  

It was good practice for him. Most of Edgar's interactions were so non-repetitive that every day was just filled with first impressions. His memory wasn’t photographic, but it was damn close. He’d spent many nights on the road in hotel rooms and sitting in his car with not much else to do but flip through the pages of his volumes A through Z that he always kept in the Cadillac. 

Edgar was born in 1914 in the suburbs of Detroit, Michigan. His father left in the thirties during the great depression. Edgar was sixteen when his father lost his job and had to go on the road trying to find anything for work to mail money back home. Edgar’s father made it for about a year, barely able to get any money back. And then one day the letters from him simply stopped, and after another year passed, they had to assume the worst. Edgar's mother had been getting part time work with some other women in a few of the city factories. Edgar was trying to finish school but had to quit and find work of his own when his mother got sick with pneumonia one winter. Edgar took up a job selling tools on the road since the family at least had a car that he could take. He’d made a little bit of money and was on his way back to bring some to his mother and tell her the good news, but when he got back it was too late. He ran up to their little attic apartment, the best they could afford just the two of them on her income, and found her there, cold and alone. Within the year, Edgar had lost both his parents to poverty.  

Gladys came back with Edgar's plate of bacon and toast with some butter and jam slathered on the edge of the plate for him to knife onto his toast. Edgar yawned as he took another sip of his coffee and nodded. 

“There you go sweetie, enjoy. You have another late-night driving darlin’? Gladys asked, commenting on Edgar’s yawn.  

“Oh no, not this time Gladys. I had a late paperwork night again at the library in Lafayette. It wasn’t far to drive, but I had already checked out of my hotel for the night, so this seemed like the best option before my local appointment today. Saved me one expense for the week that I can pocket.” Edgar said tapping his inner jacket pocket holding his wallet. 

“Goodies for them grandkids someday.” Gladys remarked. 

Edgar’s brow furrowed, “Don’t expect there to be any of those in my future.” He said. 

“Oh please, tall handsome fella like you, I’m sure you got a girl in every town you sly dog.”  

“Sure Gladys, you figured me out!” Edgar confirmed sarcastically. He had learned by now that it was easier to deflate Gladys by bantering back to her rather than to playfully argue the truth. Which would’ve been that Edgar in fact did have “a girl” in almost every town, but not in the way that Gladys implied. All of Edgar’s candidates assumed he might be romantically interested, when in fact he only had other fatal intentions for getting more comfortable with them. Edgar Allen Little was a virgin, his mother had gotten pregnant with him by his father before they were married, and she had always told Edgar how she regretted it, and that she wanted him to wait till he found the right girl to settle down. Edgar’s mother always made him promise that to her, and he wanted to keep that promise to his mother. He never sexualized his victims, if anything, he detested most of the girls, and targeted them for sleeping with “lowlifes” in town that Edgar didn’t care for.  

People talk to strangers late at night at bars, especially roaming traveling salesmen strangers. Guys go out to bars avoiding their families, get loaded and shoot their mouths off to a group of strangers about who they’re fooling around with thinking “Who’s this guy ever gonna tell?” Edgar would listen to their stories, and then later tail them when going to meet some of these women. He would peep and watch them in disgust as they let these other men have their way with their bodies without making any kind of commitment. It sickened Edgars twisted moral code.  

They’re starting off a life that’s going to lead down a path to sorrow and death, just like my mother, he would think to himself while watching.  

Edgar would put them on his candidate list so that he could potentially move them to the kill list. He would come back later to save them from their misery before they ended up like his mother, or as Edgar would think, before they have kids that end up like me.  

“More coffee before you hit the road sweetheart?” Gladys startled Edgar out of his daydream.  

“Yes please, one more darlin’.” Edgar replied taking a quick sip to free up more space.  

“You’re the only man I know who keeps his driving gloves on while taking his coffee.” She pointed out quizzically as she poured and noticed his black leather gloves.  

"When you drive as much as I do, and handle as many books as I do, your hands take a beating. This keeps my skin from cracking, so the ladies don’t mind holding hands with me on the dance floor.” Edgar joked back explaining away the gloves.  

Gladys giggled. The gloves did keep his hands looking nice, and the paper from the encyclopedias would take a beating on them, but the real reason for the gloves never coming off was Edgar’s way of dealing with the paranoia of leaving his fingerprints in the wrong place, at the wrong time.  Some new murderer was caught every year with fingerprinting, and Edgar’s would be all over every town he visited if he didn’t wear gloves. 

Gladys slapped Edgar's ticket on the table. “I’ll see you next time sweetie.”  

“Before you go Gladys.” 

“Yes dear?” 

Edgar leaned forward and whispered, “You mind letting Frank down there know he has a flat tire on his red dodge out in the parking lot. I’m sure he’d like to know that before he goes to leave, and... I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”  

“Oh! Well of course, so nice of you to notice sweetheart. I’ll make sure he gets the message.” Gladys confirmed with a wink, and she moved on to a couple gentlemen who just sat down in a nearby booth. Edgar paid for his ticket, leaving his usual tip of 20% that his expense budget he’d constructed allowed for, and he headed out the front door, back to his blue Cadillac.