A note to listeners before we begin. Today's story is extremely graphic in nature
and some may find its contents disturbing. And this is coming from me,
the creator of a true crime podcast. Listener discretion is advised. It was
a beautiful Sunday morning in the High Park district of Kansas City. Monty,
a representative of the local power company, was making his rounds of checking residential
electric meters. Helloa, this is Monty, sir. I'm with the Missouri
Public Services. So you've come to steal more of my heart and money,
then don't shoot the messenger, mister Duval. I'm just here to do a
meter reading. We'll make it quick and then get off my property. You're
kind of welcome you, thank you, mister Duval. Monty started toward the
back of the house before being stopped once more by the grouchy homeowner. Oh
and son, Yes, sir, don't get too close to that tree line
bad. There there's a beast that lives near the sure thing, mister Duval.
As Monty approached the electric meter on the back side of the house,
he counted out the numbers to himself, ignoring mister Duval's warning. Fifty one
twenty nine, seventeen, thirty eight, sixty three forty Who's there? Before
Monty could gather himself, a beast emerged from the woods with swollen red eyes,
blood dripping from its skin, and rope wrapped around its limbs. Jesus
Christ. Monty started back, attempting to get away, but found himself falling
on his back. The beast frantically ran to Manti, getting near his face
and letting out a horrific, raspy screech, help me. Over the past
couple of years, I have covered some horrific crimes injustices, disappearances, and
even serial killers, but none of these strikes a chord of dread quite like
the thought of being gay. In the nineteen eighties, remnant of attitudes from
the decades prior, homosexuality was still publicly perceived as a deviancy during this time,
as a result of families disowning their children and the repression that spawned from
it, an underground scene of drug use, prostitution, and transient lifestyle emerged
in the gay community on a national scale. It was this network of outcasts
that allowed infamous serial killers like Jeffrey Dahmer and John Wayne gacy to thrive.
Our story today takes place right in the thicket of this dark scene, and
at the heart is a monster whose crimes are cosidered to be some of the
most heinous of the late twentieth century. Welcome to Deadtime Stories. Our story
begins in nineteen eighty four. The American dream is alive and well in suburban
Kansas City. Despite this, the Howell family can't seem to catch a break.
Living out of a small apartment. Peter Howell supported his family by running
a small merchant stand out of a local flea market. It paid all about
as well as it sounded. The hard times didn't seem to get in the
way of Peterson Jerry from having a good time Gary, Gary, what's up?
Dad? Quit that queer dancing for a bit and come help me down
at the shop. Really on a Saturday. After further demands, Peter was
able to peel his son away from the music and down to the nearby flea
market. However, when they got there, they found something different. It
looks like we have a neighbor. A new merchant had set up shop next
to the Howels. The items for sale ranged from cooking utensils, handcrafted trinkets
and my personal favorite gay sex toys. Oh what the hell? Yis?
Well, at least you probably won't be around long selling that kind of shit.
The owner of the merchant stand, clad with a bold mustache, seemed
just as eccentric as the items he sold. Good morning, fellas, Welcome
to Bob's Bizarre Bizarre. I'm Bob Burdella. Pleasure to meet Bob. I'm
Peter Howell. This is my son, Jerry. We on the stand next
to you. Baby. I was worried a psycho was going to be next
to me. No, no psychos here. Jerry wanted to contribute to the
conversation, but couldn't it seem to take his attention away from Bob's provocative collection.
You know, families like to shop here. Baggots aren't really well go
oh, I'm sorry, scared of a little culture in your life. No,
it's just fucking gross, Jerry. Peter took his son aside to have
a little father son chat. You're being very inappropriate, Jerry. Come on,
dad, I don't want to have to look at that shit all day.
I don't either, But a stand like this may bring in a different
kind of clientele, and that may be better for our stand. In the
long run, the stand did bring a new clientele and different. They definitely
were. Oh my gosh, I just got it as a gift. Actually,
my boy gave it to What is something you might have picked up to
your Actually he's been over here before it, I mean Bob. Bridella's stand
was successful in its early days. Driving that success, we're men from the
local gay scene. Often these men had tattoos and piercings, and their energy
always seemed to match that of Bridella himself. Oh my god, Oh my
god, Bob, that's yeah, that's my Oscar Meyer. Okay. Jerry
was taken aback by this sudden shock of culture. He coped with this by
being a total asshole. Oh hey, Bob, are you and your buddies
going to pass around diseases in the back alley after you're done working? Sure?
Are? Do you want to join? Because I'm sure you can expect
a friendship blossom soon after. Jerry enjoyed teasing and Bob threw it right back
at him. What a beautiful symbiotic relationship. One day, Jerry became particularly
interested in an item that Bob was playing with. Hey, is that a
Polaroid camera is Oh, I never used one. They're amazing. I like
getting my picture immediately too, mind if I try? Go ahead? Oh
wow, that's awesome. Photography is a side hobby of mine. What kind
of pictures do you take? I like to take pictures with my friends as
a keepsick of what's good in my life. That's heavy, man? What
are you doing when you're done here? I'm not gonna help my dad with
some projects back home. Sounds boring. Would you want to come and hang
out at my place instead? Come on, Bob, I don't want to
be around anything gay. Why you afraid you're gonna catch it? It's not
polio, I don't know. I've got plenty of booze there. All right?
Fine, but not for too long. After they finished work, the
duo made their way to Bob's house in Hyde Park forty three fifteen Charlotte Street
to be exact. As they arrived, Jerry was shocked to find out that
there were other people already at the house. Don't look too shocked. That's
Mark. He helps me out with my yardwork sometimes. Mark looked far from
a normal yardworker. His clothes were tattered and it appeared he hadn't slept in
a bed and well over a year. Ah, take a break for a
minute. Come have a drink with my friend, and I sure, saying
Boss. Inside, Bob poured a round of drinks. Mark the yard guy
partook in other things as well. Hakin, do you like to crank?
What do you mean, Mark? You're not doing that kind of shit here
anymore. Oh, come on, Boss, you always say that. But
I know you got Tina stashed around here. Well, Jerry doesn't party.
He's straight lace. I'm not straight laced rinking, aren't I? Yeah,
kid, but you aren't doing any of the fun Cherry. Tell me more
about your dad. He seems nice. He's all right. We're pretty tight
most of the time. Must be nice having a close relationship with your father.
I guess it's fine. Where is your dad? He died when I
was a team Jesus, I'm sorry to hear that. Don't be sorry,
kid, Bobby's father was a huge day Mark. Will you shut the fuck
up for just one minute? Sorry? Boss? Is it true? Though?
Of course it is. He was a fucking asshole. He loved my
younger brother, He loved his athleticism, his charm, and I didn't have
any of that. He made me hate people heavy, man, I'm sorry,
let's change the subject. What do you want to be when you grow
up? I don't know, man. My dad has eyes on me helping
him with his merchant stand. I kind of want to be a dancer,
though. Who boss. I knew you had the skill of getting fags back
to your place, but this kid is a new level. I'm not gay,
yeah, and this isn't mess. I'm serious. Do you have a
girlfriend? Not at the moment. So you want to be a dancer.
You have no girlfriend, and you're buddy buddy with Bobby Burdella. That sounds
like the perfect fruity cocktail to me. Don't listen to him, Jerry.
You discover your sexuality on your own terms. There's nothing to discover. I'm
not gay, are you sure about that? I mean, have you even
sucked at dick? No? No, of course not. He is so
lying. I haven't spill it, kid, Okay. I did once one
of my friends and knew a guy and he was gonna give me some money.
Jerry, I knew you were one of us since the day I met
you. Shut the fuck up, Bob. You know nothing about me.
I'm not a fucking faggot and I'm not like the two of you. Stop
trying to rope me into your shit. Don't you just love having hangouts like
that with your friends? Okay, moving on. As you can imagine,
this would not be the end of Jerry and Bob. I mean they worked
in neighboring's dance for Crying out Loud. Their toxic friendship continued well into the
following months. Their fueling tensions seemed to culminate to one evening when Jerry called
his older friend for a favor. What's up. This is Robert, Bob.
It's Jerry. Jerry, how's your weekend? It's whatever. Listen,
I got invited to this dance contest and Miriam and you called to ask me
to give you one. Yes, I'd appreciate it. The weather is supposed
to be pretty bad tonight. Can't you take the bus? It starts in
two hours. I don't know if i'll get there in time. All right,
fine, but we aren't going to make this a regular thing. Yeah,
whatever, thanks Bob. Bob was a man of his word and went
to pick up Jerry once the teenager was in his car. Bob could see
that something was wrong. Everything all right, Jared, Yeah, I'm fine,
let's just go. You don't seem fine, I'm just nervous. Well,
here, why don't you try some of this. Bob pulled out a
flask from his pocket and gave it to the passenger. What is it?
Just some alcohol with a hint of value. It will make you relax.
Thanks, Bob. Listen, I want to apologize for the other day.
Mark's kind of an asshole. You were kind of an asshole too, Bob.
I guess you're right. I shouldn't make assumptions so quickly, Bob.
Can I ask you something? Of course? Do you think that dancing is
gay? What do you mean? I mean, do you think I'm gay
because I like dancing? I don't think that's for me to decide. Oh
my god, I don't feel so good right now, Bob. You're probably
just getting car sick. Yeah, you're probably right. Do you think dancing
makes you gay? I don't. I don't. I don't think so.
It makes me so happy, though, really, Yeah, when I'm dancing,
it feels like one of the only times I feel like like me and
I get this huge rush of bliss. Like like I'm getting lost in something
incredible. Everything's incredible, Jerry. You just have to know how to look
at it right. One thing isn't right. I feel funny. It's all
gonna be all right, Jerry. What is London? You know? When
Jerry came to he wasn't at a dance contest in Miriam. Instead, he
was in Bob's room, tied to his bed. It's okay, it's okay.
All you have to do is behave and it will all be over soon.
Oh, I know, I know it's a lot to take in.
Don't worry though, I'll take good care of you. The first thing Bob
did was put chalk into Jerry's ears. This was to prevent him from hearing
too much. The next thing Bob did was pull out his syringe. In
an attempt to sedate Jerry and to tickle his own torturous fantasies. Bob began
to inject drain cleaner into the boy's neck. The torture and rape lasted over
twenty eight hours. Jerry repeatedly begged to be set free, but to no
avail. At some point in the middle of the night, most likely caused
by choking on his own vomit. Jerry Howell died at the age of nineteen.
Suddenly, Robert Burdella had a lot bigger problem on his hands. Up
until this point, Robert had never murdered someone. Jerry's kidnapping and tortureous spur
of the moment, and his death left the problem of disposing. He set
the body onto a meat hook and made multiple incisions, letting the blood drain
from the body into a container below. What's up? This is ROBERTA Thank
god you answered. Have you seen or heard from Jerry? He hasn't been
home in almost two days. I drove him to a dance contest the other
night in Miriam, but that was the last I heard from him. Oh
God, I don't know where he could be. If you hear from him
at all, please please let me know Sherif than Peter, You're in my
thoughts and prayers. Once the body was free of blood, Bob started to
saw the limbs off. He planned to hide the body parts in his backyard,
confident they would never be found. It was still raining in the Kansas
City area, which made the ground wet and muddy, perfect consistency to dig
a hole. Once finished, Bob went to go put his shovel into his
shed, only to find a surprise waiting for him. Jesus, Mark,
Hey, Boss, what the fuck are you doing in here? I'm sorry,
Boss, I don't do fucking well sleeping on the street when it's raining.
I knew you didn't use the shed much and I just had nowhere else
to go. At first, Bob was I need to kick Mark out on
the spot, but then he got an idea. Mark, Mark, It's
okay. Please just stop crying. Why didn't you spend the night tonight.
We'll watch a movie and then figure out where you'll go tomorrow. Okay.
Bob led the yard worker into his house, putting on a movie for him,
ass he prepared drinks. I don't think i've seen this one. Oh,
it's my favorite. What's it called a Collector? It came out when
I was a kid. For listeners who may not know, the Collector is
a movie about a guy kidnapping a woman and holding her captive in his rural
farmhouse. I think I might know where Bob got his inspiration from. I
can't thank you enough. Boss. It's not a problem him. Why don't
you have a drink You've got the best liquor around here, man. I'm
sure you can see where this is going. The drink was made with a
similar concoction used to sedate Jerry, and well, things went real south from
there. He had Mark captive in a similar manner to his previous victim,
except for one thing. This time, Bob had his victim tied up on
his stomach shut up, Bob ripped open mark shirt, revealing his back.
Next to him, Bob laid out a series of syringes, each with a
different sedating drug the Moyeu squirm, the mo It's gonna hurt. Bob began
to inject different drugs into Mark's back, wanting to see how they would interact
with each other, like a six science experiment. Eventually, Mark had close
to a dozen syringes in his back all at once. Bob thought it was
beautiful, good boy, good bye. Between the violently dangerous combination of drugs
in his system and the tight gag, Mark Wallace died later that evening.
Robert Berdella was now a serial killer. He disposed of the body the same
way he did with Jerry's, this time keeping the skull. Over the next
few years, Bob would continue to kidnap, torture, and murder young gay
men who were unfortunate enough to meet him. He often took advantage of gay
transience, offering them a place to stay temporarily before drugging them and tying them
to his bed. He heavily documented all of these murders, both in a
journal and through pictures with his Polaroid camera. Meanwhile, as Bob continued his
House of Horrors and Hyde Park, twenty two year old Christopher Bryson was getting
ready for a night out in downtown Kansas City. Chris, Chris, what,
mom, make sure you're back by sunrise. I'm going to need help
getting this food to church in the morning. All right, whatever, and
don't get too drunk this time. Chris's mother thought he was going to the
bar with France, but really he was heading to the Kansas City bus station.
How are you doing to night? Fine? How much fifty four?
Suck? One hundred four? Fuck? Nah, I'm good, dude,
Chris solicited men in hopes of making some extra cash. He was saving up
to get his own place with his girlfriend, but unfortunately for him, this
happened to be one of the bus stops that our friend Bob frequented as well,
How are you doing tonight? I'm good, betty. How are you
doing? I'm doing all right. How can I help you? There's lots
of ways you can help me. Why didn't you get in the car and
we can discuss on the way. So why haven't I seen you around the
bus station? You definitely have a face I would remember. I'm a little
nude of this. I figured, don't worry, I'll teach you well Instead.
As they walked through the front door, Bob smashed an iron rod into
Chris's head, a ritual by now. Bob immediately tied Chris to his bed.
He injected drain cleaner into the boy's throat, just as he had done
with Jerry Howell years before. For added measure and protection, Bob decided to
rub some ammonia into Chris's eyes. Yeah. The torture continued well into the
night. During a reprieve, Chris began to beg to his captor, pree,
why who You did not choose to be here? But you are?
For you to survive being here, and for you too, you know,
make it. It could either be rough or it could be easy. If
I grow to like you and to trust you. Then I could do special
things for you, such as by you cigarettes, pick up a movie on
the way home from work, and so forth. Don't try to fight me.
I'll just get more of what you had earlier. You see, what
you got is nothing compared to what you can have. Oh a wroth good
because I've gotten this far with other people before, and they're dead now cause
of the mistakes they've made. The torture continued for over three days. Chris
behaved himself, and this time Robert was a man of his word, allowing
longer rest periods. You've been a good boy, so I'm going to put
the TV in here for you to watch. Well, what a saint anyway.
Toward the end of his third day of capture, Chris asked Bob for
a favor, Master, Please, can you tie my hands in front of
me and stuff above me. It's really fucking with my circulation, all right,
boy, but no funny business. You've earned it. This once,
Bob freed Chris's hands from the headboard, allowing them to rest after days of
being tied to the bed. Later into the afternoon, Bob left Chris alone
to make dinner, downstairs. Seeing this as one of his few opportunities,
Chris snatched a pack of matches from Bob's nightstand. Come on, Come on.
Eventually, Chris was able to burn through enough rope to break his arms
free. After untying his legs, Chris was a free man for now.
Oh my god, Oh my god. Because of the ammonia in his eyes,
Chris couldn't see much around him, but he could make out faint markings
on one of Bob's walls. What. As Chris got closer, he could
see that the wall was covered in polaroids. The collage depicted heinous torture of
over half a dozen men. Chris put two and two together, realizing that
these must have been Bob's other victims. What the fuck. Realizing that Bob
was in the room, Chris grabbed one of the photos and bolted toward a
nearby window. Having no time to try and climb out, he leaped and
fell from the second story onto the ground below, breaking one of his feet
in the process. Oh my god. Fuck. Chris opened his eyes enough
to see his captor staring down at him with pure evil in his eyes.
He knew it was now or never to get away. Barely able to get
up, Chris limped into the nearby tree line. After seeing Bob was trailing
him, Chris picked up speed. Eventually, as Chris broke through the tree
line, he saw a meter reader behind an old house. This was Chris's
only help, Jesus Christ, help me? What police? He's after me?
Who's after you? Bob was the next to break through the tree line,
stopping in his tracks as he realized it was all over. Who who
are you? Bob bolted back into the trees, confusing the meterman even further.
What the hell? He went to aid the boy walking him toward the
occupant of the house. Mister Duval called a police. The police arrived soon
after and the questioning began. So he kept you captive for three days?
Yes, how did you guys meet? I was hitchhiking, he offered me
a ride, and what happened when he took you? I don't want to
talk about it. Son. We can't do anything to this guy unless you
give his some concrete testimony of what he did. I can't. I don't.
Chris was lost and traumatized, feeling like he wasn't doing enough to convince
the authorities of his torture. Suddenly he remembered the photo. He grabbed the
polaroid. He had a wall of polaroids in his room, and I grabbed
one here. He pulled out the polaroid and gave it to the detective.
It depicted a boy hung from a meat hook with blood draining from his body.
That's enough testimony for me, Kansas City. This is a Detective Wadley
iding back up over in Hyde Park. That evening, Robert Berdella was captured
and charged with kidnapping and torture. Shortly thereafter, a search warrant was granted
and police were able to take Bob's polaroid collection and journals. They gave a
detailed account of the torture he had put his victims through, in addition to
exact locations of where he hid the remains. This obviously led to further charges.
Bob initially tried to plead not guilty on the charges of murder to his
other victims, but eventually settled in a plea bargain in order to avoid the
death penalty. As Bob began his journey of rotting in prison, the detective
assigned to his case began the task of tracking the victims back to their families.
Hello, there, how can I hope you today? Peter Howell stand
at the flea market, had found quite a bit of success, and he
was eventually able to open his own storefront. His family was able to live
comfortably in the apartment above, well, most of his family. Are you,
mister Howell? I sure am. You can call me Peter though.
Good afternoon, Peter. My name is Detective Walley. I'm with us about
Jerry, isn't it, yes, mister Howell, Peter, we recently apprehended
a gentleman by the name of Robert Berdella. There's some mounting evidence, though,
Are you okay? Bob Bardella ran le Margaret stand next to us.
He was a family friend, mister Howell. I'm so sorry to have to
ask you this. There was multiple photos taken from Bridela's home that shows victims.
They're pretty graphic, but it would be really helpful and it would help
Kansas City PD if you could possibly identify one of the victims. We think
he may be your son. Oh God, I don't know if I can
do I don't know if I can do it, but I know I have
to. It only needs to be for a quick moment. Okay, The
detective pulled out the same photo Chris had taken during his escape. Peter immediately
recognized the body on the hook. Jerry, No, no, no,
no, no, that's my little boy. Being gay in the nineteen eighties
was difficult and dangerous. It was a dark span of queer history that is
often overshadowed by the violently destructive AIDS crisis that was to follow. Our culture
in recent decades has been moving in the right direction and changing how we view
gay people, but LGBTQ youth continue to make up a sizeable portion of homeless
people in the United States. These youth are often at risk of falling into
the care of someone dangerous, someone like Robert Berdella. I hope in future
decades we as an entire nation embrace and love our children so that they don't
fall into the embrace of a monster. The Polaroid Project was written by Keelan
Brown, narrated by me Skyler Fasteno, and executive produced by Daniel Jones.
Voice talent was provided by Tamer Perry, Marissipis Stone, Jeremy Staple, Walker,
Barnes, Vince Perez, Daniel Jones, Matt McNelly, Rainy Blake Jordan,
and Alan Anthony Morion. I'm so glad you could join us for another
episode of the Original Deadtime Stories. If you enjoyed this episode, let us
know by leaving a five star rating and review wherever you listen. It helps
us out so much. You can also check out our Patreon for ad free
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We are also active on YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. The
links to all of those are in the episode description. We will be back
in just seven short days with a Thanksgiving special. Until then, stay safe
out there. I don't want you to become the next chapter's topic on the
Original Deadtime Stories.