* This is a fictionalized account of some shit that actually happened. All the names, locations, etc. have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the guilty. – JG *
These are the actual facts of the matter:
On September 16, 1985, approximately a month after Katie Hoehner was murdered and 6 months after Rand Myers shot himself in the head, Jeremy Janks came home from Kenton North and put a record on the stereo in his bedroom. It was Stormtroopers of Death, Speak English or Die, one of the first great metal/punk crossover records. Jeremy had bought it the day before at Needle Trax, the same day he gave himself a homemade Mohawk haircut. No one else was home, and Jeremy was playing it fucking loud, the only way a record like that should be played. The Janks family lived in a one-story ranch-style home which is way too small for a family of four. I know because I grew up in the exact same type of house in Towaphna with my parents and younger sister.
Mark came home about 3pm from Kenton Middle School, walked to the door of his brother’s room and shouted for him to turn that shit down, the way you do. He did a sort of double-take at his nerdy brother’s Mohawk and then backed up into the tiny hallway and went into his bedroom, directly across the hall. Jeremy snuck into his brother’s bedroom soon after and stabbed him 8 times in the back with a 5-inch hunting knife. The little pussy couldn’t even look Mark in the eyes when he killed him.
Next Marge came home from the plant where she worked the assembly line and came in through the back door after she parked her 1980 Chevy in the garage. In this type of house, the back door opens up into the basement stairs and a narrow hallway that leads to the kitchen, the bedrooms and, eventually, the family room in the front. Jeremy was hiding behind one of the doors, jumped out, stabbed Marge a couple of times then pushed her down the back stairs. Then he ran down and fell on her, stabbing her 14 times in total. Marge he could look in the eyes. Marge was obviously the one this was all about.
So then Jeremy cleaned up, himself at least. He washed the blood off his hands, changed his clothes and drove the 1980 Chevy to another plant where his father, John, worked the coke ovens. He drove his dad home, not talking. Apparently this was typical for the two of them. Then, as soon as they got home, out came the hunting knife again and Jeremy stabbed John four times in the back. Again, as if it needs to be said, what a goddamn coward.
At this point, his entire family is dead by his hand. Jeremy has to drink two glasses of Kahlua, crème de menthe and orange juice to get it up to kill himself. Even after downing these ridiculous girl drinks, he swipes both forearms with a razor blade but can’t quite bring himself to get the job done. ("It was like Friday the 13th in there," a Kenton cop would later be quoted, "and most of the mess was his own blood.") So he gets in the driver’s seat of the 1980 Chevy, bleeding profusely, and drives down Industry Row at 50 mph until he reaches the stoplight at Kenton Avenue and slams into the back of a stationary 1968 Camaro. Will Haynes was killed instantly and the Camaro burst into flames. By the time the cops got there, Jeremy was cowering under the dashboard. When he looked up and saw a cop, he screamed “I killed my family! I killed my family!” The cop looked at him, looked around the inside of the Chevy, then said, “But you’re the only one in the car.” Kenton cops. You can pretty much append “duh” to any quote attributed to them.
All this shit actually happened.
