This blog post contains sensitive topics. Not everyone will be interested in what is written here. If true crime stories bother you, I’d suggest finding something else on my blog to read.
Within the past couple of years of my life, I’ve really leaned into my interest in true crime. Though my fascination began much more than two years ago, it wasn’t until I began working night shift at a nursing home that I spent many hours listening to podcasts outlining stories of the most horrific acts humans can do. It started innocently enough, with podcasts like In the Dark and Up And Vanished. These two are similar in that they are the work of investigative journalists, diving deep into a single case. In the Dark season one covers the case of Jacob Wetterling. Up and Vanished details the tragic story of Tara Grinstead.
It wasn’t long before I found new podcasts. It seemed as if I could devour episode after episode, and I was eager to listen to whatever I could get my ears on. I stumbled upon My Favorite Murder. Their take on true crime, well it’s a bit different. Karen and Georgia are the hosts, and while they’re not technically journalists, they both have plenty of experience in writing. Before starting their podcast together, Karen could be found writing for an assortment of television shows and doing stand up comedy. Georgia has appeared on the Food Network channel, and she had a show with another friend of hers where they created different alcoholic drinks together. As unlikely the pair seemed, Georgia and Karen became fast friends after discussing their favorite murder mysteries at a party they both happened to attend. The rest is history.
I quickly fell in love with Karen and Georgia’s personality. They reminded me so much of myself and my best friend Alina that I demanded Alina begin listening to their podcast as well. They tell the stories of tragic murders, mysteries, and disasters, but they do so in their own comedic relief way. Obviously, this sort of thing isn’t for everyone, but it became my new escape. When I began listening, they had a back log of over 200 episodes available. I found myself listening at every available opportunity. Any time I had to drive out of town, do the dishes, fold the laundry, or go to work, I had murder in my ear.
It may be odd to hear that people are interested in that kind of thing. I still can’t totally explain why I am so fascinated by these stories. On one hand, I believe there is something extraordinarily interesting about criminal minds, especially those of serial killers. On the other, I believe that the most anxious part of me wants to hear about every single worst case scenario so that perhaps I can prevent similar things from happening to me. If I had a third hand, I’d say on my last hand, the thing that drags me back time and time again is the feeling that every single one of us is capable of terrible things. Yet some people never act on those capabilities, and others do.
I’ve never committed murder, nor have I ever wished to, nor do I ever intend to. However, hearing stories, especially about people who are not unlike me (except in their heinous crimes) really hits something within me. Maybe it’s my capacity for empathy. Maybe it’s my understanding that some people can be raised horribly and turn out to be great people because of it while others crumble and turn into the trash of human society. Maybe my own traumatic upbringing, my own tendency to be dishonest in ways I’m not fully aware of, my own acceptance of the darkest pieces of humanity, is what draws me to these stories. I cannot say I fully understand, but I can say some stories affect me more than others.
About 6 months ago, I heard, for the first time, the story of Skylar Neese’s murder. She and the others involved in her death were born only a year before me. They were active on social media in the same way that I myself was when I first began using it. Remember the dawn of Facebook? Everyone would post every single private thought that crossed their mind as a Facebook status. They would post statuses that were inside jokes, making sense only to those who knew. When I was in middle school, everyone I knew used Facebook in this way, a public journal. We didn’t really consider who might see those things one day, and I’m sure many of us have long since deleted those parts of our past.
Skylar Neese had a best friend named Sheila. They were both an only child, and they became each other’s sisters. When they grew into teenagers, a third friend entered the group: Rachel. The duo became a trio, and they did what most teenagers did. They smoked, drank, took selfies, and posted everything on social media. The thing that drew me to this particular story was the similarities I found between Skylar and Shelia, and myself and Maggy. When I was 3 years old, Maggy was my neighbor. We grew up together, and as teenagers, I was a little follower. I always ached for approval. Maggy was more severe than me. She would threaten to beat people up, and in general, she was dramatic and aggressive. However, I didn’t let this stop my friendship with her. I figured she was nice enough to me, so what she did to others didn’t matter. Not only that, but I had no sense of self outside of her. I truly had wrapped my identity around our friendship.
Anyway, the story of Skylar got dark. For one reason or another, Shelia and Rachel grew closer to each other, while slowly pushing Skylar away. The trio seemed to have a lot of conflict and drama. They were always posting passive aggressive tweets online. As I learned about the murder, I myself looked up their twitter accounts and looked back as if it were real time. I think this simple act was what took it to the next level for me. It went from a vague story about strangers, to suddenly feeling connected to these people. As if I could have known them myself. As if I could have just as easily been them. The crime occurred in 2012, and that year was a terrible one for me. I was incredibly mentally unstable. The thought occurred to me that had my best friend suggested something dangerous and illegal, I can’t be sure I wouldn’t have gone through with it.
Rachel and Shelia brutally murdered Skylar. They lured her out of her house, took her to a secluded back road they had used to smoke weed before, and when Skylar began walking back to the car to grab a lighter, Rachel and Shelia counted to three and then began stabbing Skylar. As she died, all Skylar could ask, over and over again was, “Why?”
Throughout the investigation, Shelia and Rachel continuously posted on social medias. Sometimes, they would post pictures of themselves with Skylar, declaring how much they missed their “best friend.” They acted as if nothing had happened. They weren’t suspects at first, however, it was at least thought that they knew what happened. Some speculated that perhaps Skylar had overdosed on drugs, and the other two girls, afraid of getting in trouble, must have hidden her away somewhere. Shelia put herself into the investigation. She’d often go to Skylar’s parents house, throw herself onto Skylar’s bed, and sob.
Slowly, but surely, Rachel began to crack. She began having explosive arguments with her parents, sometimes even getting violent with them, or destructive to herself. This led to her eventually being admitted into a psychiatric unit. It was around then that police began cracking down on the girls harder, desperate to get a confession from one of them. Finally, Rachel admitted, “We stabbed her.” She told the police the entire story. She agreed to show them where Skylar’s body was, but by this time, there was too much snow to find it. The police would have to wait for it to melt. In the meantime, they wanted to surveil Shelia and perhaps get a confession from her. They wiretapped Rachel’s room, but were unable to get anything incriminating from Shelia.
As I was scouring the Twitter accounts that exist now only as a fossil of Rachel and Sheila, I found a few tweets that absolutely made my stomach sick. One tweet said, “Why? Always my favorite question.” Another, “We really did go on three.” Both of these were in reference to the moments before Skylar was murdered.
I have no idea how things got to the point of murder for Rachel and Shelia. I will not pretend to understand their thought processes. It is beyond rationality. I did some ridiculously stupid things as a teenager, as I’m sure many of you did as well. I was an impressionable kid. I was naïve, and attention-seeking. I was a follower. I didn’t stand up for myself or anyone else. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d only met the wrong person. All of these thoughts crossed my mind while hearing the story of Skylar Neese, and it sent me spiraling. I felt like I was somehow relating to murderers, and what did that say about me? I fell into a bit of depression, unsure of how to reconcile this information. I posted some things on a forum about true crime, asking if anyone had experienced something similar. Even now, the thoughts are convoluted and hard to explain. I know I would not commit murder, but something about the way that I personalized myself with those girls via their social media pages really messed with me.
When scrolling through the replies to Rachel and Sheila’s tweets, I saw comment after comment of people calling Skylar’s murderers psychopaths. I think it’s easy to label killers as such, especially when they try to live a normal life after committing such a horrible crime. Yet, I’m not so sure they are psychopaths or even sociopaths. I realized that while people like to think that murderers are always cold blooded psychopaths, often times they’re not. It is possible to do terrible, terrible things, go on to pretend it never happened, and not be a psychopath. It’s a hard realization to make. Many people who end up being murderers are not psychopaths. They are people who did a horrible, stupid thing without first thinking of the consequences. They are people who likely did not truly understand the gravity of the plans they made. Not everyone has the same upbringing in life. Some foundations are rockier than others. What seems like common sense for you and me may not be for everyone. True crime is endlessly fascinating, because I can see myself in the shoes of anyone. I can, even only momentarily, see how circumstances lead to criminal acts. Anyone is capable of murder and other crime. Not everyone become criminals.
True crime is interesting to me because I want to figure out a motive. I WANT to understand, even that which cannot be understood. People who are particularly empathetic may even feel bad for a murderer, depending on the story they tell about themselves. Some children truly don’t get a fair start in life, and while that isn’t an excuse, it is important to understand how terrible things happening to children can lead to their future demise. Far too many stories of horrific serial killers begin with an unstable, abusive, traumatic upbringing. For me, it’s difficult to not feel a bit sorry. It’s difficult to not ask, “What if they had just been given parents who were a bit more loving?” How would things have turned out then?
I don’t know what Shelia nor Rachel’s upbringing was, nor do I think it matters. They did something unspeakable. They lived like nothing happened for almost a year afterward. They made inside jokes on their social medias, eluding to the murder. It’s hard to believe they truly thought they were going to get away with it. If Rachel hadn’t cracked, maybe they would have. As disturbing as the details of this case are, even more chilling are the mugshots of Shelia and Rachel, in which both of the girls are smiling. After being arrested for the murder of their supposed best friend, they are SMILING.
In 15 years, Shelia and Rachel will be eligible for parole. It’s hard telling if they will get it. Maybe their behavior in prison will lead us to believe they’ve really turned a corner in life. Perhaps they will spend the rest of their lives in jail. I do believe in recovery. I believe in second chances. But situations like these are complicated. How can you ever get back from something so terrible? One thing is for sure, I’m glad I am not the person responsible for determining their eligibility for parole.
Skylar Neese’s murder truly changed the way I view most true crime stories now. I try to, instead of watching for solely entertainment purposes, remind myself of the lives these people lived. I try to remain connected to the humanity, and not let myself get lost in the fascination of criminal brains. I think the girls who get obsessed with Ted Bundy can only do so out of ignorance of the gritty details. If you confronted the reality of what he did to his victims, you wouldn’t even be able to look at a picture of him without feeling sick. So, while I see nothing wrong with interest in true crime, I have now changed, at least a bit, how I look at each case. I try to always maintain the utmost empathy for the victims, while not automatically condemning the perpetrators. Life is not black and white. Anyone is capable of damn near anything. People you think you really know can ultimately be strangers, portraying only a mask they wish for you to see. The possibilities are endless, the gray so vast that you might find yourself spiraling within it like I had. I hope that if you are spiraling, you too, like me, can find stable footing in this crazy world.
