"I had this special grave in mind.  It was a small mausoleum, the burial site of a family of Russian immigrants from the 1917 revolution.  I had already pried open the iron door a few days before, and I had closed it afterwards so it would seem that nobody had ever touched it.  All I had to do was kick it open ... At this point, my mind was in total chaos.  I had flashes of death in my head.  I took a deep breath, and I climbed down the steps leading to the crypt.  It was a rather small one, with damp walls, buried deep inside the cemetery ground.  There was no other source of light than the candles I had brought.  To begin, for more than an hour, I removed one of the heavy coffins from its stone casing.  It was especially hard not to let the coffin fall all of sudden to the ground, but somehow I managed to slowly lay it down without making too much noise.  However, one edge of the coffin scratched my lower leg when it touched the ground.  But that didn't stop me at all.

"I examined the casket for a while.  It was solid oak and sealed with big screws.  It looked like brand new, so I expected to find a recently deceased corpse.  First, I unscrewed the coffin, which took me less than 10 minutes.  Then I pried it open with the crowbar.  Once opened, a horrible stench of putrefaction came out of the box.  It smelled like Thanatyl, the product embalmers use on a corpse in order to delay the process of decay.  Then I saw the body inside.  It was a half rotten old woman, shrouded in a white sheet, covered with brown stains.  Her face seemed to be smeared with oil, but it was simply the death fluids oozing from her skin.  The stench was so intense that I nearly fainted.  I tried to lift one side of the sheet, but it was glued to her petrified skin.  The teeth were protruding from the mouth, but her eyes were gone.  I stared into the empty eye sockets, and all of a sudden something broke into my mind.  I felt like I was falling into a whirlwind.  That's when I picked up a screwdriver.  The corpse inside the coffin started to move slightly, like if it had guessed what would happen next.  So I began to stab the belly, the rib area and the shoulders.  I stabbed her at least 50 times.  I really can't remember.  All I can remember is that when I woke up my forearms were covered with corpse slime."



At 20, Nico joined the military, where he was trained as a gunsmith, cleaning and repaired weapons.  But he soon found this lifestyle boring.  His only satisfaction came from fantasizing about murder.  After serving just a year, Nico moved on and soon began to consider a career as a mortician.

Claux: "Most of the autopsies were done by us, the morgue attendants.  We would do the Y-shaped incision, cut the ribs at the joints, and open the skull with an electric saw.  The pathologist only dissected the organs and put them in a box.  I would be left alone with the body after the autopsy to do the stitches, which were my specialty.  This is when I began eating strips of muscles from the bodies.  I always checked out their medical files first.  I talked with a butcher once who told me that meat is better three or four days after death.   This was something I had always dreamed of doing, and it was the opportunity to do it on a regular basis.  Sometimes I brought select meats home with me to be cooked, but my preference was to eat them raw.  It tasted like tartar steak, or carpaccio.  The big muscles of the thighs and back were good, but there was no good meat in the breasts, only fats.  People often ask me what went through my mind the first time I indulged my cannibalistic fantasy.  Well, to be honest, I said to myself: 'Wow! Now I'm a cannibal. Cool!'"

Account of Nico Claux, convicted French murderer, grave robber, cannibal, necrophile
DOB: March 22, 1972

Here's more:


Claux: "Back then it was a common practice in the gay community to meet on Minitel (an early version of the internet).  They would establish contact through this means since it was quick and easy for them.  I found out that it was an easy way for me to kill them without any witnesses, plus I had the guarantee of remaining anonymous, since there was no possibility of tracing back the discussions on Minitel.  So I agreed on meeting Thierry around noon.  With me I carried a single shot 22-caliber handgun, which I hid under my jacket.  When I arrived at his place, a one-room apartment under the roof of an old building, I knocked on the door and gave him the fake first name that I had given him on Minitel.  He opened the door, I stepped inside, quickly turned around while he was closing the door and pulled out the gun.  I looked at his face just as he turned his head towards me and saw the gun pointed at his eye.  After a few awkward moments passed, I pulled the trigger.  He instantly fell face down without a word.  It was really eerie.  It all happened like in slow motion.  Then I watched him bleed on the carpet.  Soon I decided to see what the apartment was like and wandered around a bit.  When I returned to where he was lying I observed that he was still moving and making horrible breathing noises on the floor, like if he was breathing through a straw.  I reloaded the gun and shot again, this time striking him in the back of the head.  I reloaded and fired a few more times, but he was still alive and making noise.  I was surprised that he was still holding on, I had expected the first shot to kill him.  After a few minutes, I went into his kitchen and found some cookies to eat and then sat in a corner of the room and watched him as I ate.  When I was finished, I decided to get out of there quickly, so I shot him one last time in the back.  I also lifted a huge plant container and smashed it on his head, crushing it some.  I then wiped down my fingerprints; picked up his checkbook; a credit card and a wallet (with ID papers); his driving license; an alarm clock, and an answering machine, and finally left the scene."

According to Thierry Bissonnier's autopsy report, the first bullet had entered the eyeball and stopped just short of the brain.  The following rounds crushed against the skull, except one, which slightly penetrated the brain.  The final shot entered through Bissonnier's back and pierced his heart, causing almost immediate death.  Only two questions remained for investigators: who and why?

A pic of the perpetrator, Nico Claux:
[image]http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2002-11/70658/5-1(150skull.jpg[/image]

...okay

Dude, seriously, you need help.

I don't know what's bothering you but it ain't good! [:O]





[devil]

You're a strange one c_c.

Ummmmmmm

C_C maybe you should try and relax, try some decaf.

WTF is up with all the posts on killers?

clean_cut, you are a strange one.  The last thread of yours I remember reading was about your quest to find a nice Christian girl.  You posted several pictures of a Christina singles party in which no alcohol was invloved, just good "clean_cut" fun.  

Maybe you should start drinking.

Then again, maybe not.

CC,

Why did you say "This is a true account...[B]enjoy[/b]"?

What makes you think it's something we'll enjoy?

-ChaZ

Enjoy, as in interesting I suppose. Creepy story.

'Wow! Now I'm a cannibal. Cool!'

Just another account from www.crimelibrary.com.

More morbid reading. Can you tell I just discovered this site?

And to think some folks stutter when confronted with the question, "Why do you carry a weapon?"  Well it's obviously not for the same reason as this frenchy wacko.[shock]


Not that I'm judging you C_C, other than studying Police Science or something I can't figure the intrigue of such accounts.  Unless someone you know needs reasoning as to why it's a good idea to defensively carry concealed.

Sly
(Armed to the damn teeth...And for good reasons)

Well, it's gross. The novelty of reading this stuff is wearing off quick.

Dude, you've been listening to too much Acid Bath!

From Pagan Terrorist Tactics (or something like that):