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Certain personalities work well together, but you knew that already, didn't you? /MBTIDating is a R4R style personals and dating advice subreddit for the 16 Myers-Briggs (MBTI) personality types.
When I was younger, I had what you could call an ‘irrational fear’ of mirrors. I hated them. I don’t know when they started, but it has always stuck with me. Perhaps when I was young, I made a face into the mirror, and my reflection didn’t make the face back, or perhaps that was just a bad dream. But I can’t look into a mirror without, to this day, without thinking like the other side of it may be alive. That there might just be more happening there than just what my eyes could see. That’s why I don’t have mirrors in my apartment. I look into the phone camera to fix my hair, and even that- I do rarely.
Now, I know how stupid that is. Mirrors aren’t a portal to some uncanny world, and nor do they contain something dreadful or terrifying. They contain us, reflect our image, and help us be beautiful for the world to see. I’m a man of science, and as much as I struggled in maths in high school, I know and trust science. Science says that smooth surfaces reflect light while rough surfaces scatter light. If a smooth surface reflects all the light that strikes it, we see our image on that surface. That smooth surface is a mirror.
However, sometimes having irrational fears may save your life as it saved mine, and today, I’ll tell you how it happened. By the end of this, I promise you- you’ll never look at mirrors or me the same way again, and if it helps someone out there, my job here is done.
Last week, I received a call on my phone from a number that I instantly recognized. It’s not always that I got to do that. In fact, it was one of the few numbers from highschool that was still etched into my memory.
It was Ashley’s number.
“Ashley?” I said as I picked up the call.
“James, this is Ashley’s father.”
I waited for him to say something, but a momentary silence filled the space between my response.
“Yes?” I said, after a few seconds.
“Ashley has…” his voice trailed off as if he was forcing the words out of him. “Ashley has passed away.”
“Yes. It happened a month ago. In her note, she wanted me to send over a CD that she had marked for you. It came back to me yesterday and the courier service said that you had moved away from your apartment in San Francisco. Can you tell me your new address so that I can send it over?”
Ashley was dead. His words crashed into me like a sudden tidal wave, bringing with it all the memories I had with her. I didn’t know for how long I was silent, reeling in shock, but her father shouting my name brought me back to my senses.
“James?” he said louder than the last time I heard him. “James, do you want this or not?”
“I do. Sorry, here’s my address,” I said and told him my address slowly, knowing that he was writing it down. An intuitive part of me guessed already how Ashley might have died. The rational part of me was busy fighting that irrational part, urging me to ask him how she died.
It couldn’t happen. It wasn’t possible. She didn’t kill herself, right?
“Very well, James. I’ll send this over.”
“How did she die?” I asked, and the momentary silence returned.
“Suicide. She hanged herself,” her father said. I didn’t remember what he said next and hung up the call. I was lost in the reverie of my 20s, thinking about our time. And I couldn’t help but blame myself for it. It was my fault that Ashley was dead. It should’ve been me, instead.
Me and Ashley were good friends, but I fell in love with her after our first night together. We were young and filled with copious amounts of alcohol when she leaned in to kiss me. We made love for hours, and the hours of the night flew by. She woke me up in the morning and gave me the ‘talk’ that shattered my innocent romantic heart in pieces.
“Last night was just a one-time thing. We are good friends and we shouldn’t ruin that.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, feeling my heart sink deeper in a hole that I didn’t know existed. “Don’t catch feelings,” I said and smirked at her.
She looked at me, still smiling as she raised her eyebrow, and I wondered how it was even humanly possible to not catch feelings when eyes as perfect as hers looked at me like that.
“I didn’t know you had a laptop,” she said, looking over to the corner of the room. In those days, laptops were rare and only starting to gain relevance as something which could be a substitute for the all-efficient and bulky personal computer. They weren’t cheap either.
“That’s not mine,” I said. I should’ve stopped her from touching it, and I should’ve told her not to open it, but as she did those exact things, my primate mind was still coming to terms with what had just happened and what it meant for my friendship with her.
“Whose is it?” she asked as we watched the static Windows logo fade in and out on its screen.
“My uncle sent it over today.”
“Is this the state detective uncle or the uncle that looks like Al Pacino?”
“The state detective uncle.”
“I always thought Al Pacino was the rich one,” Ashley said as the laptop screen lit up. “What’s the password?”
“Exactly,” I said.
She typed the word ‘EXACTLY’ on the screen and the ‘Incorrect password. Try again’ dialog box popped up.
“Is it not in all caps?”
“I don’t know the password. This isn’t a gift. Look closely at the lid,” I said pointing towards the grey outer body of the laptop. It had the initials “P.Y” on them.
“It belonged to Peter Yolundire,” I said.
“The Peter Yolundire? The writer of the Higher Fate series?”
“Yep. My uncle’s investigating his suicide. His IT guys couldn’t get this to open and he sent this over to me to see if I can,” I said.
“He should’ve sent it to me instead of his writer nephew. You should tell him I’m in Comp Sci.”
“For that, he has to know you, which he doesn’t,” I said. She smiled and went back to typing his name on the password box, only to get an error again.
We spent the morning trying different combinations. We tried the names of Peter’s books, we tried the name of his wife, and we went on to try dates of his birthday, his marriage anniversary, but nothing worked.
Finally, I had the brilliant idea of entering 12345678, and it opened up.
“I guess only a genius writer knows how a genius writer thinks,” I had said, which made her laugh. I think many of the things I did when I was in college were an attempt in trying to impress her or make her laugh in some way or form. I was in accounts, and I took up a writing minor when she had told me that she loved reading.
Readers are impressed by writers, in the same way that plants are impressed by the sun. Without the former, the latter would wither. I didn’t think I’d have the skill or talent in writing, but when a few short stories of mine, stories that I wrote without knowing about sentence structures, exposition or cadence, were published in the college magazine, even I had started to believe that I may just have the talent after all.
Ashley was different. She couldn’t write fiction in the way most aspiring writers would want to write fiction, but she was a voracious reader. I sometimes wondered how she even found the time to balance doing her computer stuff and read two to three books a week. She was obsessed with reading, a trait that I found quite attractive among other traits like her brilliant mind, her obsessive desire to outperform her peers and her innate curiosity for all things she didn’t understand.
I dreamed that I would be a bestselling author one day, write books that would be made into sub-par movies and spend my life married to her and writing- a cardinal sin that I later knew not to ponder about.
The laptop screen opened to the desktop, and it was filled with folders named “Writing1”, “Writing2”, etc. and a few shortcuts to softwares like PowerDVD and WinAMP, among others. Naturally, Ashley ignored the software shortcuts and went and double-clicked on the “Writing1” folder. It opened up to reveal dozens of .doc files. They were each titled with chapter headings like “Chapter 1”, “Chapter 2” and so on.
“Jackpot!” Ashley shouted as she clicked on the file titled “Chapter 1”.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” I said as she started reading through them. She didn’t answer, which I found quite endearing. It only took two minutes of reading for her to get hooked on the first manuscript. She nodded, still staring at the screen, as if to let me know that she heard me.
“Are you planning on missing college today?” I asked while fixing up my hair with my fingers.
“I’ll catch up with you at lunch. These are amazing!” she said. I didn’t know what she had found in those text files on Peter Yolundire’s laptop, but she seemed to be immersed in them. Needless to say, I didn’t see her in college. I didn’t expect her to be there in my room when I returned home at seven, but there she was. The dark room lit only by the white screen of Peter’s laptop, illuminating just her face and shoulders as she hunched over endlessly scrolling through pages and pages of text.
I turned on the lights. She turned around, covering her eyes by holding her palm near her forehead as if she had just seen the sun.
“God, turn that off,” she said.
“Have you had anything to eat?”
“Food is for the lesser divine,” she said, and smiled.
“These books are filled with all these amazing lines. The plot is amazing. The characters aren’t so great, and most of them feel like they are based on the same people, but the writing is solid. It’s a shame he didn’t publish these. But that’s not the best part! There’s something hidden in all his stories. I can feel it! It’s there in every one, and yet I haven’t found it yet. I know that I can-”
“Why aren’t you picking up your phone?”
“Your phone. I called you several times. Your dad called. He asked me where you were and why you weren’t answering your calls.”
“What!” Ashley mouthed as she jumped towards the bed. She reached for the phone and called her father, and judging by her conversation, her parents weren’t pleased to know why their whiz kid daughter wasn't returning their calls.
“When is your uncle coming back to take the laptop?” she asked when she disconnected the call.
“Tomorrow morning,” I said. It was true.
She appeared to be disappointed for a moment, but then her eyes lit up as if she just remembered something important. She went over to her backpack and pulled out a CD case.
“I should have a blank one here, somewhere,” she said, shuffling through the case. “Found it!” she said, pulling out a CD and holding it in the air like she had just found the solution to all her problems.
She ran over to the laptop.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked as the CD tray popped out of Peter Yolundire’s laptop.
“I’m copying the files to this CD,” she said with a casual excitement in her voice. “I think I’m starting to figure it out. There are patterns in every story, in every novel. I can feel it, and I think the beautiful writing and tight prose is hiding something spectacular!”
“Yeah, but do you need a CD to copy three files?”
“Three? I found more than 5300 text files on his drive. All of them contain parts and portions of books he never finished. And trust me, James, these have some of the best lines and descriptions I’ve ever read. It might help you hone your own craft. Want me to make a copy of this CD?”
I sighed. “Let it be.”
“But don’t you want to read his work? He was a genius at this, trust me. I know,” she shouted.
“I’ll spend my time reading things which are finished, thank you very much,” I said and smiled at her. She eyed me as if to say something else but she didn’t. The CD made whirring sounds inside Peter Yolundire’s laptop till it got burned with all the text files inside Peter Yolundire’s laptop. She went home happily, as I opened my own computer to write.
I never considered myself a “writer” in the strict sense of the word. Sure, anyone can write. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you how they’ve always wanted to write a book, and they just have the perfect idea for it. But to actually sit down, think of the world, of the characters, of the story and its numerous plot threads, to think of the theme, of the conflict and the rising and receding ebbs and flows of tension and emotions that glues a reader to the pages, and finally to tie it all down neatly with a perfect ending- that’s something very few people can do. Even the few that manage to do it, ask them after a drink or two, and even they’ll tell you they have no idea how they did it.
It’s like that with me. I outline, yes, but never stick to it. I write and write till I cannot write anymore and wake up in worlds of my own imagination, interacting with characters I’ve killed holding me hostage and asking me reasons.
“Why did you kill me?”
Because it made sense. You served your purpose in the story.
“But I had a life of my own. I had people who loved me. I had my own desires and goals. I had my own responsibilities.”
Doesn’t matter anymore.
Three sharp knocks on my bedroom woke me up. Three sharp knocks always meant that it was my uncle.
“Did you figure it out?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, and we both shared a hearty laugh.
“The guys at the station tried everything from his mother’s birthday to the name of his childhood school!” he said while chuckling.
I asked him how Peter Yolundire had committed suicide, to which he said that he had broken his mirror and stabbed himself in the chest with it. Then he bled to death. I didn’t know what to do with that morbid information.
I went to school hoping to tell Ashley this information, but she was absent. I called her and she didn’t pick up. I asked her friends where she was, and they didn’t have any ideas either.
I drove to her house in the evening and saw that she was still glued to her laptop, typing away something. A new laptop, that she hadn’t had before.
“My dad bought me a laptop today,” she said when she caught me looking at the laptop. Her hair was still all over the place and she didn’t look like she hadn’t slept, probably since the previous night.
“I guess my rich uncle has new competition now,” I said. She laughed, and in that laugh, I could feel the tiredness in her voice.
She went back to typing. I asked her what she was typing.
“I’m trying to write in his style. I copied and typed a few stories, trying to understand what’s underneath them, but I think I’ll only be able to go there if I write something myself.”
“This is why you skipped college? You know we have semesters this fall, right?”
She didn’t answer that question.
“I think it’s the characters, but I’m not sure. In each and all of his stories, one of the characters gets drunk and high and sits in front of a mirror or looks into a lake, or the reflective surface of anything, and then smokes a cigar. That’s what always happens, but there is more after that. One character ends up there somehow, and every time the story reaches near the ending, he stops writing them. At the peak of all conflict. You know, you’re a writer. You can’t just leave a scene with exciting tension unresolved. But he does exactly that. I need to find out why, and what the pattern means,” she said and looked out the window for a moment. “I’ll be taking this week off, Jacob. I won’t be coming to college. I need to figure this out.”
“A week? You’re going to skip a week of college for this?”
“Yes. You’ve always known how obsessive I am. I won’t be able to focus on anything else if I leave this unresolved,” she said and gave me a sheepish smile.
“Are you sure you’re not reading too much into this, searching for patterns? This is not real. It is fiction.”
“Every fiction contains some truth to it,” she said and started shuffling through her desk, “You should know that well, mister writer.”
Then she took out a CD and handed it over to me. “Here. I made a copy. Read these. It’ll change the way you think about writing. I know you don’t read much, but try. I’ll call you this weekend.”
She didn’t call that weekend. She texted. “Come over. Imp. Bring beer,” that’s all her text message said and I took a beer with me.
“What does Sylvia Plath, Hunter S Thompson, Virginia Woolf and Ernest Hemmingway have in common?”
Ashley asked this with a smile on her face. She had large dark circles on her eyes and looked as thin as a twig. Something was terribly wrong, and although she was excited, her attire said something else entirely. Her room was a mess. Empty bottles of beer everywhere, scraps of paper all over the place, spiderwebs on the corner of the rooms where small black spiders busily continued their web-building tasks confident that the woman they lived with won’t lay a hand on them.
“I don’t know. They’re all great writers, I guess,” I said, trying to understand what went wrong in one week that led her to looking like that, and living like that.
“They all killed themselves,” she said with an odd excitement in her voice.
“Ashley, what has happened? Why are you living like… this?” I asked.
“I’ve figured it out, John! I'm finally on it!” she said and yanked my hand towards her messy desk where she had her laptop screen open.
“Read,” she said, opening a text file.
“Ashley, I really think we should talk about how you’re living. What is wrong?”
“Read just the highlighted parts. Please read!” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I started reading the highlighted text on the screen.
“We avoid death but we need to chase it.
Run after it.
Love it and seek it out with all our heart.
Drink. Drink and drink and drink some more.
Then turn off the lights and stare into yourself.
Look into the reflection and contemplate death.
Great writers knew this. Now I know.”
“Do you see it?” she asked as I finished reading the highlighted portions.
“Yes,” I said.
“Instructions!” I said and looked at her.
“Exactly!” she shouted.
“But instructions to what?” I asked.
“To death and creativity from the looks of it. Like all great writers it seems he had managed to tap into something involving death. Look. There are more here in all these files and I’ll figure it out. These lines occur as dialogues or statements, some characters say it and sometimes it is hidden in metaphors. The three files on his desktop were like a map to the 5600 files on his drive. And look at this-” she said and clicked away to one of the drive files.
“This shows the dates on which the document was created,” she said and opened it. “All of these files were created in the last two weeks before he died.”
“How is that even possible?” I asked, trying to calculate how much he would have to write in a day to write that much.
“I don’t know but I did the math. Each of these files contain around 50,000 words, so he wrote around 280 million words each day. That’s 2 million words each day. That shouldn’t be humanly possible!”
“I can’t even write a thousand words a day,” I shouted.
“That’s why i told you to read these! Did you check the CD out?”
“No, and you should stop digging so much into this!”
She didn’t listen. Whenever I called her, she picked up and told me she was busy. She didn’t come to college. A few weeks later, she stopped receiving my calls. A month later, she was gone. I heard from her neighbours that her parents had shifted to Switzerland and they took her with her. I tried calling her number, but she never picked up.
I never got around to opening the CD and reading Peter Yolundire’s unfinished works. I didn’t have the patience or time to read through someone’s work-in-progress. Perhaps I should have. Perhaps that would’ve changed my career and I wouldn’t have ended up slaving away as a corporate accountant. But I discovered soon enough, after countless rejections, that writing won’t pay for my next meal.
No matter how much it emotionally made sense, it was financially unviable. I wasn’t miserable at my job, but it never gave me the fulfillment that writing gave me. Even when I was alone, I spent my time writing stories and novels which I knew would never see a bookshelf in a real world. I did it for myself. It was fun. It was a faint line of color in my otherwise routine, gray world.
Then, came the package from Ashley’s father. It was a CD shaped box. A second CD- when I hadn’t even dared to read the first. There was a letter attached to it from Ashley. I placed the CD in, and opened the letter.
I’m sorry for disappearing like that all those years ago. But circumstances were out of my control. I did what I had to do. If you’re reading this, it means I’ve successfully stepped across to the other realm of life. I’m not dead, but living humans can’t grasp the concept of death. Like them, I used to think that once you close your eyes, it’s over. But thanks to Peter Yolundire’s work and the instructions hidden beneath, I’ve discovered that it's not like that.
I will kill myself soon and that is the only way to experience the true life on earth. A life that is real and unforgiving. A life that waits for those who seek it.
It would be a tragic end if I didn’t share this process and secret with the one person who led me to this. The instructions were simple, and I had figured it out years ago. You just have to get high or drunk and then look into the mirror. Do this in a dark room. You’ll see what I saw.
I hope it will help you transcend this boring plane of life as it helped me.
Don’t kill yourself if you can resist it, but if you can’t, I will be waiting for my best friend on the other side.
I promised myself I would never do that. Remember when I told you about my irrational fear of mirrors? That came back almost instantly, and I knew that I’d never do anything like that. For the next two days, I couldn’t stop crying thinking about Ashley. It was my fault, in a way.
I had to know what happened to her, but I didn’t want to look into a mirror either. Then, a strange thing happened one day, which explained everything.
When I went to sleep, I thought about the lines.
“We avoid death but we need to chase it.
Run after it.
Love it and seek it out with all our heart.
Drink. Drink and drink and drink some more.
Then turn off the lights and stare into yourself.
Look into the reflection and contemplate death.
Great writers knew this. Now I know.”
Instead of looking into the mirror, I closed my eyes and looked into myself. I thought about my own death and who would care if I was gone. Nobody. But as I did, I noticed that I was standing in front of a mirror. In a dream that almost felt too life-life to be true.
My reflection had larger eyes. My reflection had his mouth open.
He was screaming. I tried to wake up, but I couldn’t. I saw things worse than any person should be able to see. True suffering. Despair. Each person’s sadness experienced quickly and swiftly, vicariously through swiftly flowing dreams. I saw the darkness as it screamed and I couldn’t leave. It was as if I had discovered a deep dark hole and I couldn’t look away. I know things now that I wish I hadn’t known.
The dreams didn’t stop. Each day I tried to look away from the mirror in the dreams but I couldn’t. My head ached too much during the day. I quit my job. I screamed into the pillows to make the whispers top. They wouldn’t.
Then, I started drinking. And I started writing. That helps. Everyday I write and I can see myself writing about characters, feeling their sadness in a whole new visceral way. I project my suffering into them and they project it back. The headache stops when I write. Stories help me escape. I get paid when people buy my books. They leave good reviews sometimes.
I know things that will happen in the future and things that happened in the past that I have no way of knowing. It’s the whispers. They scream into me everything. Perhaps this was a small price to pay for total knowledge across dimensions that our minds are too small to understand.
I soon realized where Peter and Ashley had gone wrong. Both looked at mirrors when the answer was to look into yourself and search for your own death. I looked into me and the mirror followed. I don’t want to die, and I don’t know why they died. I’ve never tried getting drunk, thinking about death and looking into the mirror. I don’t think I’ll ever do that. Nor should you.
If you expected a ghost story, sorry there isn’t any. But if you’re still reading, I should tell you a few things that might help you.
- Don’t go out of your house on November 23rd if you can. Wherever you live, just don’t. Trust me.
- If you find a black cat near your house in the month of March, 2023, PLEASE FEED IT. Don’t ignore it and send it away.
- If someone ever says your name in a crowded place in the year 2020 and you see the person and don’t recognize them, pretend you didn’t hear them and keep doing whatever you were doing. Under no circumstances should you talk with them. If you’re someone relatively famous, try avoiding crowded places in 2020.
That’s all. Feel free to call me crazy and ignore the above.
The headache’s not returning, so I’ll stop here. I miss Ashley and think about Peter Yolundire often. Of course, those aren’t their real names. I’d like to think that the monster I see in my dreams is the same one they saw in the mirror- the one that drove them to kill themselves. I don’t know. I’m not getting drunk, switching off the lights, lighting a cigar and looking into a mirror. I don’t need to find out.
You don’t need to find out either, okay? [===A.B===]
This post is in reply to u/TheAgentpp
who posted a question
about which Zodiac suspects matches most or all physical descriptions and also resembles the sketch.
Well, we could break down all of the suspects based on what (if any) measurements are known about them vs what's estimated to be the Zodiac. This
website have been used as references for suspects. Some of these suspects may not be official suspects, might be speculation, and may seem insane, but as they are listed as suspects I will note their physical measurements and address how they match up to the sketch in my opinion. I will discuss how much each of these men look like the sketch at the end, as this is really a matter of opinion (to some degree). I will be rating how much I think they look like the sketches on a scale of 1-10; then I will put together looks and measurements. I do provide some sources for measurements, however, most of them were just found by doing a Google search. This is a Reddit post, not a court case; estimates are fine imo. As we know, the descriptions of the Zodiac vary. This means it could be two people, or someone just isn't good at estimating height, weight, etc. Here is the link where I've gotten measurement ranges from this website. The shoe size can be found in multiple locations, although it is not listed on this website. I will not be getting into other specifics such as handwriting, etc. This is based on appearance/measurements alone. Any average shoe sizes will be taken from this website.
Zodiac measurements: 10.5 US Man's Shoe/Boot size. Height 5'8" - 6'0" (although most descriptions put the person below 5'10"). The weights reported vary, but range from 180 lbs to 220 lbs, according to my source listed above. It should be noted that according to that website, multiple witnesses reported that the Zodiac had reddish brown hair. However, hair color can be changed or a wig can be worn, therefore this is not something that I am taking into account.
SUSPECTS Arthur Leigh Allen
- Height is listed 6'0" on driver's license, which can be found here
, weight is 250lbs, according to driver's license. His shoe size is 10.5, according to a quick google search. So, he's taller than most of the reports, he's also about 30 pounds heavier. Personally, in my group of friends, we have one who is 5'8" and one who is 6'0" and there is a clear
difference. In my opinion it would be insanely hard to mistake as tall of a person for someone shorter. Therefore, even though he has the same shoe size, I believe based on this description, ALA can be ruled out.
- Height 5'9", weight is appx. 160 lbs. Source
. His shoe size is not listed, nor can I find it in a google search. The average shoe size for someone of his height is 9 - 10.5. He matches the description pretty well, although he seems to be a bit light, however, if he's a very stocky looking man, this could make up for it. Based on physical description, if his shoe size matched, I would say he’s a pretty good physical description (based on measurements.)
Richard (Rick) Marshall
– In my research I have found no height. I have also found no weight measurement, although from pictures he appears to be heavy-set. His shoe size is unknown, as his height is also unknown, I cannot estimate. Due to lack of data, there is no determination to be made here based strictly on measurement of the physical form.
– Height 5’11”, weight appx. 200 lbs. Source.
The average shoe size for someone of that height is between 11 – 12.5, however it is possible he could’ve worn smaller. According to a tapatalk forum
, he “supposedly” wore 10.5 size shoes. No source for the information on this forum is given.
Theodore (Ted) Kaczynski
– Height 5’9”, weight 153lbs (this was in 1997 upon his arrest as the Unabomber. It is possible he could’ve weighed more in the era of the Zodiac, as he was not living in the woods in a shack…) His shoe size is not listed, but the average shoe size for someone of his height is 9 - 10.5. If he happened to wear bigger shoes, he did pull a stunt as the Unabomber
, where he used smaller soles on the bottom of his shoes. However, I imagine this would be hard to do with boots. Overall, he matches the requirements with one exception for weight. He is too thin.
– Height 6’2”, weight 260lbs. (However, this weight is disputed, multiple website entries say he was closer to 200lbs.) His shoe size is unknown. An average shoe size for someone of his height would be 11 to 12.5. A smaller shoe size is always possible, as some people do just have small feet. Overall, he matches a “stocky” build, but he seems to be too tall and too heavy to be the Zodiac. Also, if his feet were average size, they would be too big.
– Height 5’9 1/2”, weight 200lbs. Source.
Shoe size is unknown, but the average shoe size for a man of his height is 9.5-10.5. In general, if he has the right shoe size, he matches the description (at least measurement wise) fairly well.
– Height appx. 5’10”, weight 225 lbs. Weight is from a google search, this website
only gives height and shoe size. Shoe size is 10.5. Overall, this description fits well.
Now, I will get into the discussion of if each of these men match the sketch or not.
Arthur Leigh Allen
- I do not
think that he matches the sketch. His face is far too round. He has the wrong eye shape, and his eyes are too close together. Based on the sketch and physical description, this is not the Zodiac Killer. 1/10, does not match.
- I do not think he matches the sketch. His face is a bit too wide and his head is too round. Even with glasses
he does not match the sketch. 3/10, might be a match to some people, but isn’t in my eyes. Again, this is somewhat subjective.
Richard (Rick) Marshall
- He doesn’t match the sketch at all. His face is too round
, and his cheeks are too prominent. His nose is too bulbous as well. His jaw is too rounded. No, he doesn’t match the sketch, period. 1/10, he doesn’t match the sketch at all.
- Based on this picture, and this picture
, I do not think he matches the sketch well. He might be the best match so far, but he is not a good match. His nose is far
too big, and his ears are very prominent. However, his general face and eye shape is an alright match. 4/10, I could see how some people say he matches the sketch, but his ears are very noticeable.
Theodore (Ted) Kaczynski
- I generally do feel that photos of young Ted
are an alright match to the Zodiac sketch. If he put some glasses on, I believe it would be about a 60% match. His nose is too big, and his chin protrudes a bit. However, his brow structure matches. His eyes appear to be the right shape, and they have the “baggy” structure underneath. However, I think they are a bit close. Overall, he matches the physical description fairly well, and he was in the San Francisco area (Berkeley, about 30 mins away) in 1967-1969. He isn’t in the area for long enough and imo it seems pretty ridiculous to suggest he is the Zodiac. Plenty of people match the physical description, it doesn’t mean they’re the Zodiac. 6/10 I know this is a controversial opinion, but other than his nose, I think he matches the sketch adequately. Remember, we are going off of appearance and measurements here, not solid evidence in the case against them.
- I do feel that Ross matches the sketch somewhat. He has a widow’s peak, the same size forehead, the right face shape, etc. The problem I have with him is again, his nose. It appears to be too large. Also, I don’t think the lip size is quite right. His chin is a bit rounded. In a quick glance, he matches the sketch, but as I said with Ted, many people match the sketch, it doesn’t mean they’re the Zodiac. Is there evidence? Can you place them at the crime? Those are the questions that need to be asked along with appearance, as eyewitness testimony can be unreliable and inconsistent as we’ve seen in the Zodiac case. 6/10 matches the sketch adequately, isn’t a perfect match.
- Overall, I think at first glance or in a traumatic event, you could see/describe him as the sketch. He
isn't an exact match. His nose appears to be the right size but I think his face is too long. His
cheeks are too hollow, his ears are too prominent, and his chin/jawline is not wide enough. 4/10 I could see how he could be perceived as a match, especially with a brief glance. However, his face is very long compared to the sketch, which makes me believe that this is not a good match.
- Again, this is a case where if you got a quick glance, he matches the sketch okay. His
nose is about the right size, maybe slightly on the large side. His eyes are the right shape, and his jaw has the right shape. I think his eyes are not the right shape, as they are downturned instead of upturned, and also they are too far apart. However, glasses might minimize this and make it harder to notice. His ears do stick out quite far, which is something that none of the eyewitnesses noted, even though it is something very noticeable. His top lip is also very bowed, which doesn’t match the sketch at all. 5/10 He matches the sketch alright, aside from his ears and top lip. Especially with glasses to focus on, I could see him being an alright match for the sketch.
- I do not think that he is a match to the sketch. He is a man with glasses, that seems to be about it. I think that his
ears stick out and are quite large, which again, was not mentioned by any of the witnesses. His nose is quite bulbous on the end and has a very noticeable “triangle” shape. His cheeks are too round and full. He also appears to have a cleft chin, which I can imagine would be of note as well. He also seems to have a hairline that is quite far back, even in younger photos 2/10 He has glasses, but that’s really about all he has going for him.
Now we must put all of the pieces together. I will also state birth years, to take that into account. According to Wikipedia
the first confirmed Zodiac incident is the December 1968 murder of David Arthur Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen. The earliest suspected Zodiac incident is the June 1963 murder of Robert Domingos and Linda Edwards.
Arthur Leigh Allen (not a match)
: He was born in 1933, making him around 30 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and 35 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. On the tall end of the 5’8”-6’0” height range for the Zodiac, 30 lbs overweight of the 180-220 lbs weight range for the Zodiac. Right shoe size. He has possibly 2/3 descriptive measurements on lock. He does not match the sketch. Overall, I don’t think based on this he matches what you are looking for.
Lawrence Kane (unlikely match)
: He was born in 1924, making him around 39 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and around 44 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. About the right height, about 20lbs underweight of the 180-220 lbs weight range for the Zodiac. If his shoe size is average, he could fit into a 10.5. Assuming he can fit into the right shoe size, he also has 2 out of 3 descriptive measurements under his belt. He is a poor match for the sketch. He could be a match, but I would be shocked.
Richard (Rick) Marshall (not a match)
: He was born in 1926, making him around 37 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and making him around 42 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. All of his measurements are unknown, although he looks like he is probably over the weight range. He matches 0 out of 3 measurement descriptors according to the limited data that we have. He does not match the sketch. This is not the Zodiac killer, if we are going based strictly on appearance.
Richard Gaikowski (potential match)
: He was born in 1936, making him around 27 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and making him around 32 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. He is in the height range, in the weight range, and if we go with the tapatalk forum source, he is the right shoe size as well. This is 3 out of 3 measurement descriptors that he matches. He looks somewhat like the sketch. This could be the Zodiac killer, based on appearance and physical details alone (if the shoe size is correct).
Theodore (Ted) Kaczynski (potential match)
: He was born in 1942, making him around 21 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and making him around 26 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. He is in the height range. He is about 30 pounds underweight of the weight range. If his shoe size is average with his weight, he could fit in a 10.5 shoe size. He matches 2 out of 3 of the measurement descriptors. He matches the sketch relatively well, meaning, based on physical looks and measurement descriptors, there is a possibility he could be the Zodiac killer.
Ross Sullivan (unlikely match)
: He was born in 1941, making him around 22 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and making him around 27 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. He is too tall, slightly out of the height range. He is about 40 pounds overweight, but with his height, it could look like he was 220, instead of 260. If he had an average shoe size for his height, it would be too big. He has 0 out of 3 measurement descriptors, although he does match the “broad” or “stocky” description of the Zodiac. Overall, he matches the sketch pretty well. While it is possible he could have a size 10.5, and eyewitnesses could’ve misreported his height and weight, those are all theoretical and not known fact. Based on known fact, it is probably unlikely that he is the Zodiac killer because he does not match the assumed measurements for the Zodiac.
Gareth Penn (unlikely match)
: He was born in 1941, making him around 22 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and making him around 27 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. He is in the height range, but on the high end. He is about 10 to 20 pounds underweight of the weight range. His shoe size is 12, his foot is far too big. He has 1 out of 3 measurement descriptors. He doesn’t match the sketch very well but could possibly be mistaken for the sketch at a glance. I do not think it is likely that he is the Zodiac based on these findings.
Donald Bujok (potential match)
: He was born in 1936, making him around 27 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and making him around 32 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. He is in the height range. He is in the weight range. If his foot is average size for someone of his height, he could fit into a 10.5 size shoe. He has 3 out of 3 measurement descriptors. He does somewhat match the sketch, especially if he had glasses. However, his ears do stick out. I think based on measurements and appearance he is a potential, if not likely, match.
Jack Tarrance (unlikely match)
: He was born in 1928, making him around 35 at the time of the earliest suspected Zodiac incident and making him around 40 at the time of the first confirmed Zodiac incident. He is in the height range. He is 5 pounds over the weight range, but, I’m going to waive that as 5 pounds is not very much for someone that is 5’10”. He wears a size 10.5 shoe. In my eyes, he has 3 out of 3 measurement descriptors. However, if you really wanted to discount the weight measurement, he has 2 out of 3. I do not think he matches the sketch other than his glasses. If we assume the sketch is not accurate, then it is possible he could be the Zodiac. However, I am going off of the assumption that the sketch is accurate, therefore, based on my opinion (as look is subjective) I am saying that he is an unlikely match.
Bonus!!! If you think astrologically examining the suspects is stupid or worthless, move along.
On page 8 of Zodiac Unmasked by Robert Graysmith he mentions that crimes happen near water, and that the Zodiac cloaks himself in astrology; perhaps hinting that the Zodiac is a water sign. Later, on page 140, an astrologer thought that the Zodiac might be a Capricorn (which is an Earth sign). On page 130 of Zodiac by Robert Graysmith, the story about Joseph DeLouise (a Chicago psychic) begins.
He mentioned that he kept getting the word “Berkeley” in connection with the Zodiac. (page 131) There’s more interesting details here that I feel could point to one suspect, but I won’t go into detail. I’m talking about astrology here
. This psychic thought that the Zodiac was a Scorpio or an Aquarian because they kept seeing the numbers 11-2 or 2-11. (page 132) I’m going to look at the birth dates of all our suspects and their sun signs. Do with this what you will.
Arthur Leigh Allen – Sagittarius (December 18, 1933) Fire Sign
Lawrence Kane – Taurus (April 26, 1924) Earth Sign
Richard (Rick) Marshall – Pisces (March 13, 1926) Water Sign
Richard Gaikowski – Pisces (March 14, 1936) Water Sign
Theodore (Ted) Kaczynski – Gemini (May 22, 1942) Air Sign
Ross Sullivan – Leo (July 28, 1941) Fire Sign
Gareth Penn – Capricorn (January 1, 1941) Earth Sign
Donald Bujok – Cancer (July 6, 1936) Water Sign
Jack Tarrance – Aquarius (February 6, 1928) Air Sign
I have been dealing with mental health since I was a kid...
Right now I am going through a breakdown and I'm crying so much, wishing I was never born...
I want to tell you a bit why I feel like this.
I was born to a middle upper class family in Mexico City, when I was just a kid I got abused by my grandpa multiple times... I'm now guessing why I was such an introvert because ever since I was in elementary I was bullied mainly because of my small height (I'm 1.64CM). I had always the need to love someone and be loved back, but in middle school all girls thought I was a nerd.
Things changed for me in high school, my dad had multiple raises at his job and at that moment we were considered wealthy, I got my first car as a gift when I was 15 (a small smart roadster). Still I was socially awkward to girls and they did not like me.
Years passed....One day as I went to a deathcore concert with my crew I saw one girl that kept staring at me (maybe she liked how I was moshing at the pit) and talked to me, I didn’t hesitate to invite her out, we became bf and gf and I cried tears of joy.... She was from a lower class family, to both of us that was no biggie...
My dad had to take us to the San Francisco bay area in a small city called Cupertino for a 3 year period, I did everything to get her legal papers in order for her to be able to travel to the US, she liked it and went to visit me almost every weekend... Those 3 years became 6, at one point I decided to move back to Mexico by myself in order to stay with her, we still travelled to the States very often just to visit. She met a guy trough Instagram.. told me they were just friends, made me go with her to meet that guy in person... They ended up getting married, living in the US. At the end she said that she was never attracted to me and she was only with me for all those years because of the money.
I tried to commit suicide after finding out, I survived...met another woman that her family is lower class too, I find those girls to be the less superficial... dated 3 months, I was really afraid she would let me for any reason and asked her to marry me. got her pregnant on purpose, because I suffer from BPD it's been hard for me to quit drinking, I drink alone only. She hates it and constantly beats me up. She ended up leaving me.
I really like this reddit girl that I met, shes so sweet.. I'm just scared.
I'm going through a huge breakdown.... meds aren't working nor therapy....
Just needed to get that’s off my chest.