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Charles Manson was known as prophet, a singer, a messiah - and then a mass murderer. But what the public didn't know was that behind the façade he so cleverly conveyed to his followers - and victims - was a little boy in a man's body, one who had never known a loving touch or a sincere hug or a tender kiss. Abused as a child, Charlie was passed around by his mother's boyfriends, who performed licentious acts upon him to further his education in the cold, cruel ways of the world that awaited him in manhood.

In They Don't Always Open Their Eyes, author Brian Lee Tucker takes a horrifying look into the mind of Richard Trenton Chase, the so-called “Vampire of Sacramento”, an American serial killer who killed six people in the span of a month in California, and into his delusional beliefs that eventually led to his capture and imprisonment. 

Richard Kuklinski would kill more than 125 people - some just for fun. Some would call Richard Kuklinksi a “hit man", while others would refer to him as one of the prolific serial murderers of our time. Or was he both? Did he suffer from antisocial and paranoid personality disorder, or was he, as some experts say, just born to kill? Born with an “evil gene” in his blood?

Some time after his second meeting with the therapist, Marty Smartt was overheard telling someone he was afraid if he didn't get help soon he was going to go back to Keddie and “kill somebody, and didn't really give a shit who it was.” Within a short period of time following his last session, he returned to Keddie, California with a "friend" he'd met at the hospital, Severin Bob “Bo” Boubede.  Author Brian Lee Tucker examines the weeks leading up to the murders, and the aftermath, with two suspects who were never charged, and the detectives who bungled the case.

In this book, you will come face to face with some of the most vicious, depraved, remorseless serial killers in history - but, I'm quite sure you will want to keep listening until the very bloody, bitter end. I know...you just can't help yourself. And neither can I.

The city streets are a carnival, they are burlesque. The city moves like an insect. It scurries. Neon beats against the window like a probe, even in the day. And somewhere, buried deep within this crazy world, are two killers who call this place home. One of them, a man whose birth given name was Kenneth Bianchi but whom his friends know as Ken, waits in the shadows sipping beer and smoking a cigarette and watching the show with delightful glee.

An in-depth look into the mind of Henry Lee Lucas, as he sits on death row, just weeks before his death, reflecting back on his life and the reasons for his crimes. Henry is, indeed, almost an anomaly in a genre full of faceless, cardboard killers. Henry is no Jason, Michael, or Freddy. He's real. That's the most frightening aspect of the film; Henry could be the guy next door, at times wearing an almost pleasant, trusting expression.

The nightmare that 12-year-old Shanda Sharer had to endure was beyond horrifying. Kidnapped and beaten, stabbed, tortured, and then burned alive by her assailants, one can only imagine the horror she suffered in the last moments of her life. Green Eyed Monster provides a terrifying glimpse into the minds of her killers, young girls who had led such horrible home lives and eventually descended into a life of sexual promiscuity, drugs, alcohol, self-harm, and physical violence.

There's arguably no one man who's been more inadvertently influential to the horror genre than Mr. Edward Gein. Because of him, authors and screenwriters were inspired to create the following characters: Norman Bates in Psycho, Leatherface in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs. But let's not give Gein too much credit here. After all, he was a murderer who also dug corpses out of graveyards.

In the book, Growing Up Jeffrey: The True Story of Jeffrey Dahmer, author Brian Lee Tucker examines Dahmer's life from the other side of the coin, from his early childhood to his teenage years to his first murder - seen through the eyes of a young man who, feeling as though he had never been a part of anything normal and loving, kept his inner demons bottled up inside until he couldn't fight the urges he'd kept at bay too long, and exploded in a frenzy of sexual violence, murder, and unadulterated evil, his deviant sexual appetites finally satisfied - until he became lonely again.

Henry lee Lucas was a serial killer, there's no doubt about that fact. But, as far as his seemingly endless barrage of confessions were concerned, the validity of a lot of those confessions was questionable at best. But whether it is true or not, I hope this story will help clear up at least some of the mystery behind his long list of confessions.

This is the first section of the forthcoming book chronicling serial killer Richard Ramirez' hellish descent into the occult and murder.

Jeffrey loved fire. Since he was a little boy, he would see fire trucks racing down the street with their lights flashing and sirens blaring and he'd hop on his bike and chase them down and watch the fire burn. He would sit there on his bike and smile as he took it all in, and wished he, himself, could have been involved in their misery. To this day, nobody really knows where Jeffrey went wrong, but wrong he went, and unfortunately, innocent people went down with him. One of those innocents was a beautiful young girl named Jill Slater.

Other than rape or pedophilia, I can't think of a worse crime than patricide. The killing of one's own father or mother, the two people who gave you life and love and nurtured you and took care of you is, to me, an unforgivable crime. For example, the case of Jeremy L. Vennard, who, on August 8, 2001, killed his own father and stepmother in cold blood - and for no real apparent reason. There had been no history of abuse at the hands of his father or stepmother. No history of any reason whatsoever why he would have felt compelled to murder them.

Based on real-life events, author Brian Lee Tucker provides us with an in-depth view into what can happen when an online friendship is carried too far and too fast, and results in sudden and bloody violence. Are social media platforms like Facebook and Myspace still being used for a hunting ground for online predators? Statistics - and this story - say yes. 

In Love and Bullets, author Brian Lee Tucker offers up an in-depth view into his own personal experience with blue collar crime. In 1991, he began dating the woman of his dreams - only to be unwittingly thrust into a real-life nightmare that would almost claim his life in the end. He would end up trying to defend his girlfriend and himself against a deranged military veteran and serial stalker who was intent on seeing the author either break up with her, or end up with a bullet in his head.

Believe it or not, female stalkers - and killers - are more prominent in our society than males. Now, although they are more likely to go after members of their own gender, if they find a male they are fixated on, as in the case with Donna and I, they will go after the male gender instead - and often with devastating results.

Unlike his cohort in crime, Henry Lee Lucas, Ottis Elwood Toole didn't make a habit of lying about this crimes - unless, of course, it was to save his own skin. More often than not, if he told you he had just killed someone in some unspeakable, horrific way, you could just about bank on the fact he was telling the truth. Then again, what would you expect from a self-admitted killer, grave robber, transvestite, arsonist, and cannibal?

When Rob and Charlene Spierer dropped their daughter, Lauren, off at Indiana University in 2009, they felt she was in a safe place and had nothing at all to worry about. But what they didn't know was Bloomington had its dark side, an underground culture of booze and drugs and a totally carefree and careless lifestyle - of which, unknown to them, Lauren had become a part. But...was it true? Had she really become involved in this culture, or was it all simply rumors started by someone who was wanting to cover up the real truth?

Every small town has a Brent Brand. Maybe they aren’t killed. Perhaps they were just beaten badly, were harassed to suicide, or just vanished. It’s difficult to find a little rural town without some gossip about a Smear the Queer game that got out of hand, or about the homosexual who was “taught a lesson”, came home black-and-blue and never spoke about it, or mysteriously disappeared.