(Source:Your Average Serial Killer, tumblr)
Stephen Hicks was nineteen years old. He was a free-spirited guy, and on the twenty-fifth of June of 1978, he was to be found hitchhiking around the Bath township in Ohio, on his way to a concert. As he wandered along the road, looking for a lift, another teenaged boy pulled up alongside him. They conversed, and the teen in the car, whose name was Jeff, offered to take Stephen back to his family’s house to drink beer and smoke cannabis. Stephen liked the idea, hopped into the car and went back to Jeff’s house.
Well, the beer and the drugs were produced, and the pair of them spent the afternoon, as far as I can ascertain, consuming them. Then, a couple of hours later, when said substances had run out, Stephen made the rather inconvenient decision to leave. Jeff didn’t like that at all, because he’d been dreaming of a day like this for years, and the fact that Stephen had no physical/romantic interest in him whatsoever somehow didn’t compute, as is the case with most selfishly deluded people.
So, when Stephen bent down to pick up his coat, Jeff launched himself at him and knocked him over. The pair of them fell to the ground and a struggle ensued, both antagonists under heavy influence of alcohol and drugs, which never goes well.
In the heat of the moment, Jeff grabbed a ten-pound dumb-bell, hefted it above his head, and sank it into poor, unlucky Stephen’s skull. But he was only unconscious, not dead, and Jeff got a little carried away.
He wrapped the dumb-bell around Stephen’s neck and strangled him.
Jeffery Dahmer, at eighteen years of age, had killed a man, and he wasn’t about to own up to it. Unthinking of the many relatives who would now never see their loved one alive again, he sliced up the body, placed it in several black bin bags and drove to the quarry with the intention of disposing it, but changed his mind after an encounter with the police, who pulled him over for suspected drunk-driving. Dahmer passed the sobriety test, passed off the foul-smelling, mysteriously lumpy black sacks in his back seat as grass clippings, and drove home. He buried the body in the crawlspace of the family home (his parents and brother were absent). It is worth noting that his father and eleven-year-old brother, David, most likely lived on top of this makeshift burial ground for the next few years, until Dahmer came back a few years later to pound the remaining bones to pieces and scatter the fragments.
The Hicks family, meanwhile, composed of Stephen’s parents, brother and sister, lived a life of torment for the next several years. The first night he didn’t come home, they weren’t that worried, as he often pulled all-nighters like that. However, as the days passed by without sign of him, they grew frantic. They searched and searched, calling all of his friends and acquaintices and getting the police in on the act as well, but no-one could find him. It was as if Stephen Hicks had vanished off the face of the earth.
About thirteen years later, detectives acting on the directions of Dahmer went to the old family home to set about on the task of recovering that unfortunate first victim’s remains. The first indication that Dahmer was telling the truth about the murder was when they checked the crawlspace: the walls inside were awash with dried blood from where Stephen had been dismembered. They found enough bone fragments in the surrounding forest to establish that Stephen Hicks, the friendly, outgoing young hitchhiker, had indeed met his abrupt end at the hands of the teenage Dahmer.
Stephen’s parents followed their son a couple of decades later; his mother died in 2008 and his father in 2010.
I’m just about finished here with the story of Stephen Hicks, but I just want to clear one last thing up. Some sources claim that Stephen engaged in sexual intercourse with Dahmer. This is not in any way true. Jeff, not that anyone cared, said it himself:
“From the time I spent with him I could see he wasn’t gay….” (but that never stopped your gallop, did it?)
It’s just a made-up detail with no truth to it, possibly to make the story more interesting. That happens a lot with murder victims, as we shall see.
Interestingly, Dahmer’s final moments echoed those of his first victim’s. In a twist so epically fitting it could’ve been scripted, this born-again Christian was battered to death with a piece of weight-lifting equipment, by a man who called himself Christ.
Rest in peace, Stephen.