The following is the suspect's recollection of what took place on January 21st, 2006.
It has been two weeks since I last slept. The doctors say I suffer from a rare form of insomnia causing my brain to remain active and refuse rest. My eyes are beginning to hurt, and I pray that I will soon drift off to sleep. No such luck. I am not awake nor asleep, but in the twilight of our world and the dream world. I am becoming delusional.
The visions of past memories begin to flash before me. It is becoming hard to recognize what is reality. The visions are becoming more frequent, blending in with reality. Earlier today, I saw my grandmother walk over to me and kiss me good night. She had died ten years ago.
These unrelenting hallucinations consume me. I am obsessed and terrified by them. Every second I wait, trying to determine what is real, and what is a figment of my imagination. I hear a noise down stairs: a social gathering. I reach over and pick up a screw driver. It was still there from the time I put together the dresser I got from IKEA. I grasp it one hand and slowly reach for the door with my other.
The laughing and talking from downstairs do not go away. I slowly turn the handle, then swing open the door. Poking the screwdriver out first, then my head, I observe the landing. No one here.
I creep down the staircase with great care, yet each step creaks, echoing through the house. I come to the door to my living room, and I hear the voices from inside. I grab the handle, turn it slowly, and push open the door.
What I saw chilled me to the very bone: a man wearing a long black Victorian style cape, a suit, and a top hand. Blood littered the floor and dripped from a large knife he held loosely by his side. He turned his head and looked me dead in the eyes.
A large cut ran across one of his eyes, and thick black hair covered some of his face. Using the hand that held the knife, he brushed the hair out of his eyes. A smile broadened across his face. He lifted his hand to his mouth and gestured me to be silent. Blood remained on the floor.
Looking down at my hands, I notice a thick, red liquid enveloping them. The screwdriver is no longer in my hand. I bring my hands to my face in examination, and tremble in fear.
The door knocks. A woman in a cleaning uniform was standing there. Her face was white, and her eyes red from crying. I allow only my face to be shown, hiding my blood-stained hands.
"Have you seen my boy?" The woman asked with a tone of fear and desperation. "He came over, looking for his ball seven hours ago."
"No", I replied. She insisted on entering the room. She forced herself in and noticed the blood on my hands. She began to scream. I dash towards her and cover her mouth with my bloodied hands.
"Be quiet! I'll explain this!" I close my eyes in fear, knowing this woman will never understand my story. I open them, and to see the man in the top hat again. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out that same knife.
He grabs the women by the hair, and she turns her head to look at him. She lets out a sob. I am unable to help, frozen in place. I can't bring myself to move. I observe in horror, unable to intervene.
The man then sticks the knife in her cheek, and it pokes through the other. He pulls the knife straight through the two gashes he had inflicted on her, further ruining what was once her face.
She lets out a scream of agony, her words completely incomprehensible. She flails her limbs about in a failed attempt to escape his grasp. The man grabs the woman's jaw and pulls until it is no longer attached to her.
The mutilated woman collapses. The man catches her, and slowly brings her down. Breaths could be heard escaping through the gap that was once her mouth. Unfinished, the man set about the woman's eyes.
He holds her eyes open and pries them out with his fingers. Blood trickles down her cheek. Her hands reached up to feel where her eyes once were and then fell to the floor. The man stands and looks at me. He points at me.
I stare down at my hands. In my right hand was the knife he used to mutilate the woman. I look up. The man is gone. I walk out of my front door and collapse onto my hands and knees. A long, piercing scream leaves my lips. Neighbors rush out and see me holding the knife, and covered with blood.
I am completely unaware of the missing boy's whereabouts. I have told you everything that I know. I am not murderer. I am a witness.
Testimony from Eliot White taken on February 6th, 2006.