Friday the 13th
So, this will be a little bit different from my other postings for a couple of reasons. The first reason is because, well, today is Friday, not Monday! Lucky you! You get a new blog post three days early! The second reason is because I am giving a little background information on this serial killer. I know I don’t usually do this; however, there is so much information that goes into what made this guy snap, that I felt like I wouldn’t be able to do his story justice by merely speaking from the mind of David McGreavy.
Are you ready to read a story about a serial killer you can only find in movies? Well, buckle up, grab some popcorn, because this is going to be one crazy ride.
David McGreavy was born to Thomas and Bella McGreavy in 1951 in Southport, England. His family frequently traveled due to his father being a sergeant in the British Army. In 1967, McGreavy decided he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, and he enlisted in the Royal Navy.
McGreavy soon turned to alcohol after enlisting. He was called arrogant and cocky by many of his colleagues, who got to his head. Due to his drinking, McGreavy began to unravel, which led him to start a fire in his Chief Petty Officer’s office. He was soon dismissed from the Navy in August of 1971.
Shortly after being dismissed from the Navy, McGreavy met and fell in love with a woman named Mary. With a quick engagement, one week after meeting her, McGreavy was head over heels in love and was looking forward to a big, extravagant wedding to celebrate.
After working many jobs and being let go from all of them due to his drinking problem he developed while in the Navy, Mary ended their engagement on December 31st, 1971. Yeah, that’s right. She broke off their engagement on New Year’s Eve.
Lucky for McGreavy, his old school friend Clive Ralph, offered him a place to stay at their home in Worcester in 1972. McGreavy became a crucial part of their family, which quickly grew from 4 to 5 after Clive’s wife, Elsie, gave birth to their third child, Samantha. McGreavy helped out in any way he could, including cooking dinners and babysitting when the Ralph’s had to work late. Until that one, fateful night on April 13th, 1973.
Friday the 13th
“David, let’s go. You’re woozy. I can smell the beer on your breath from a mile away.”
“I don’t need to go home. I need to have one more pint, you twat.”
“David, you’re pissed; move along, mate.”
“Fine, you wet blanket.”
Clive is always trying to control my life. Where does he get off telling me what I can or cannot do? I just wanted a few pints. Blimey. Such a twat.
“Alright, I’m going to help Elsie close the pub, have a pint, and we’ll be home soon. Keep an eye on the kids, would ya? They should be sleeping, so there should be no trouble.”
“Go, I’m fine. Run along Clive, get your wife.”
Finally, some peace. All I do anymore is watch the kids and help out around the house. What a useless wanker. Good for nothing, useless wanker.
McGreavy lays down to sleep in the room he shared with the oldest Ralph child, Paul.
This baby cries all the bloody time. She never shuts up – this fucking baby.
*Samantha still crying*
I can’t take this anymore. I’m no good for the Navy; I’m not suitable for any civilian job; my old lady left me. Now the baby won’t stop crying. I just want some quiet – some shut-eye – I need sleep.
McGreavy goes to Samantha’s room.
Look at you. Baby. Why are you crying, baby? Why won’t you stop crying, baby? Do you want me to help you stop crying?
*Samantha cries louder*
I laid my hand over her mouth, and I could feel the warmth from her cries on my palm. I felt my hand push down harder, tighter. She still wouldn’t stop, so I lifted her head, slammed it down with my hand over her mouth.
Better. Now to get some sh–
Fuck. Now Paul is crying. I can’t take any more of these fucking babies and their crying and complaining.
I felt it before I saw it. I felt Paul’s hands grabbing at mine, trying to stop me from doing it. By the time I realized what was happening, his hands had slowed down, and I saw the wire in my hands, pulling tighter and tighter around his throat. His lifeless body fell to the floor when suddenly, Dawn.
I didn’t even know I had a knife in my hand. It wasn’t until I saw the blood gushing from her throat that I realized what had happened. I cut her throat. The babies are quiet now.
This is not how the story ends, but I have a line regarding crimes of murder. I took a chance to write this backstory and inner monologue of someone I only heard of because I searched for Friday, the 13th serial killers. The reason I say I took a chance is because any crime involving children is challenging to talk about, read about, hear about, or see on television. I cannot and will not pretend to understand what McGreavy did with the bodies of the Ralph children after he murdered them. I will simply tell you what happened.
McGreavy claimed that he did not want to bury the children. He instead decided to mutilate their lifeless bodies with a pitchfork, and proceeded to impale their bodies on the fence of a neighbor.
This senseless act is something I refuse to pretend I understand. It’s hard enough trying to justify why you’d want to kill children. I will not pretend to understand what possesses someone to mutilate the bodies of children, or anyone, and put them on display like they’re some kind of prize.
If you want more information on David McGreavy and the fact that he was cleared to be released on parole in 2018, please see the sources below.
Thanks for reading!
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