The Boys of the Bayou

The day their parents died in a horrific car accident marked a devastating blow in William and Steven's lives. Now orphaned, the boys were shipped off to live with their Aunt Pamela, a woman they barely knew. Pamela, a recluse who dwelled on a ramshackle houseboat deep in the Cajun bayou, was the furthest thing from comforting. Her life revolved around the rhythm of the swamp: the cast of a fishing line, the sharp crack of a rifle, the barter of fresh catches for threadbare clothes. Gossip followed Pamela like the scent of swamp gas. They spoke of a past shrouded in secrecy, of a husband who mysteriously disappeared, and a woman some believed possessed the chilling ability to tame even the hungriest alligator.  Now, with William and Steven thrust upon her, Pamela's solitude was shattered, replaced by a simmering resentment. Children, with their relentless need and boisterous energy, were repugnant to her solitary existence.

Pamela prepared breakfast for the boys. Unbeknownst to them, she laced their meal with Oleander, a poisonous plant.

Steven suffered stomach cramps, paled, and grew cold. William's condition was more severe, leading to seizures and collapse. Tragically, both boys died within minutes of each other.

As night fell, Pamela disposed of their bodies in a horrifying manner, feeding them to alligators. Freedom from the responsibility of caring for the children was her twisted motive.

A year after the murders, Pamela's life had become a mausoleum of silence. One night, a luminescent moon cast an eerie glow on her bed as a sound shattered the stillness. A wet, rhythmic patter, like a child's bare feet slapping against damp wood. It approached slowly, sending chills down her spine.

Pamela's hand instinctively reached for the rifle beside her bed. Her voice, roughened by disuse, cracked as she yelled, "Who's there?"

The sound grew louder, closer, each pat a chilling reminder. With trembling fingers, she flicked the safety off. "This ain't gonna scare me!" she roared, her bravado masking a rising tide of terror.

Throwing off the covers, she stalked toward the source of the noise. A single, bloodcurdling scream ripped through the night, abruptly cut off.

The following day, the Sheriff's Department arrived at Pamela's houseboat, responding to reports of a gunshot. Inside, they found a scene of carnage. Splintered furniture and overturned belongings spoke of a struggle. In the center of the mayhem lay Pamela, partially devoured, her face a mask of horror.

Yet, the real terror lay beside her. A monstrous, twelve-foot alligator lay dead, riddled with bullets. Its belly, grotesquely distended, hinted at a gruesome feast. The Medical Examiner's scalpel revealed not only Pamela's remains, but also the skeletal remains of two young boys.