Ernest Miller was twenty-three years old at the time of his death. He was handsome, well-built, and was a talented dancer. On the third of September, 1990, he met Jeffrey Dahmer in a small business district in Milwaukee and accepted an invitation back to his flat.
Dahmer faced a predicament once they were back at the flat. Usually he used three sleeping pills to knock out his victims, but he only had two left. He gave them to Ernest anyway, who fell asleep.
However, the young man soon began to come to. As Dahmer did not want him to leave, he grabbed a nearby knife and stabbed the unfortunate wretch in the neck. As poor Ernest bled out, his killer took Polaroids of him, so as to relieve the moment at a later date.
Jeff later stated that he stabbed Ernest because he didn’t want to cause him any pain. Now, let’s just take a nice close look at that statement. Has anyone ever seen the 2007 film “Sweeney Todd”, the titular character of which routinely slashed the throats of the patrons of his barbershop? Well, there is a scene in that film where a rival barber whom Todd has just beaten up and hidden in a trunk attempts to crawl out and escape. Todd messily slits his throat, and then has to hold the man’s chin up as he bleeds to death. It’s a horribly gory, protracted scene.
Imagine that same thing happening to Ernest Miller.
Without a doubt, it’s a nasty way to go, and Ernest was probably conscious for every second of it. And Jeff stood noncholantly over his body the entire time, taking pictures!
Ernest deserved better than that. They ALL did. I won’t say what Jeff deserves, but I find myself wishing that he could’ve been eaten by specially-bred boars, like how a few people in the book “Hannibal” meet their maker. Or maybe sacrificed to fearsome pagan gods.
God rest your soul, Mr. Miller. (I’m sure you made a brilliant dancer.)