I was 10 years old, Easter Sunday 1980

I had awakened to presents. Don't ask me why - my dad was a wayward Catholic, gone Mason, my mom was an Athiest - so it wasn't a family tradition to give gifts on Easter.

Many chocolates, some eggs and a Star Wars action figure.

We take off at 6 am to the local Flea Market to set up our stand.
My father sells hardware tools (hammers, screwdrivers, etc.).

My mother always gave me $2 to go buy lunch, which I would usually spend it on coins. I collected coins from the many dealers there,
but this Sunday was different... I wanted a pet.

I asked a dealer, "How much for a parakeet?"

$40

"God damn, that's a lot of money!" yells a stranger behind me.

I notice him and keep walking along.

About ten minutes later I ask another dealer, "How much for a turtle?"

$10

"God damn that's a lot of money!" yells the same stranger.

I notice it's the same guy and keep walking. Only to have him follow me and approach me.

He puts his arm around my shoulders and asks me to walk with him. I trust him and go on.

He asks where my parents are, and I explain they're dealers here.

"I see you want to buy an animal. You need money; I'll give you money. I need help selling what I have in my car, but I can't sell it here. We'll get in my car and go sell, and I'll give you $10 for a turtle."

I told him I needed to tell my parents. He holds me tight and whispers in my ear, "You wouldn't tell your parents you were in the bathroom jerking off, would you?"

Admittedly, at ten, I hadn't heard the term "jerking off", but it made me feel dirty.

I soon make nothing of it and continue to walk. Almost to his car, and the crowd thinning out, I insist telling my parents. He proceeds to repeat his "jerking off" line adding, "You wouldn't want them knowing you were playing with yourself."

I made the connection and felt sick. When it really hit me I pulled away. He grabs my hand. I fight. He tries to cover my mouth. My hands slip out of his grasp and I run like hell. He follows and yells for me to return, as if I actually would. I run, and run, and run to my parents. I hide in the back of my father's van. I cry, thinking he will come back. I can't talk... I try to explain. I remember thinking he knows where I live. "Calm down. You're okay," they tell me.

Morbid thoughts of a battered 10-year-old's corpse found dumped on some side road after being sodomized for days.

That summer, while working with my father (as we could not afford baby sitters), while on a break, and walking the local neighborhood I purchase a copy of the book Helter Skelter at a used bookstore for 50 cents.

My interests in murder begin.