Letters

On April 17, 1977, the Son of Sam was born when he left a hand-written note at the scene
of the murder of Valentina Suriani and Alexander Esau.
Here is the letter with its spelling mistakes:

Dear Captain Joseph Borrelli,

I am deeply hurt by your calling me a wemon hater.
I am not. But I am a monster. I am the 'Son of Sam.' I am a little brat.

When father Sam gets drunk he gets mean.
He beats his family. Sometimes he ties me up
to the back of the house. Other times he locks me
in the garage. Sam loves to drink blood.

'Go out and kill,' commands father Sam.

'Behind our house some rest. Mostly young -- raped and slaughtered --
their blood drained -- just bones now.

Papa Sam keeps me locked in the attic too.
I can't get out but I look out the attic window
and watch the world go by.

I feel like an outsider. I am on a different wavelength
then everybody else -- programmed too kill.

However, to stop me you must kill me. Attention
all police: Shoot me first -- shoot to kill or
else keep out of my way or you will die!

Papa Sam is old now. He needs some blood to preserve
his youth. He has had too many heart attacks.
'Ugh, me hoot, it hurts, sonny boy.'

I miss my pretty princess most of all. She's
resting in our ladies house. But I'll see her soon.

I am the 'Monster' -- 'Beelzebub' -- the chubby behemouth.

I love to hunt. Prowling the streets looking for fair game -- tasty
meat. The wemon of Queens are prettyist of all.
It must be the water they drink. I live for the hunt -- my life.
Blood for papa.

Mr. Borrelli, sir, I don't want to kill anymore.
No sur, no more but I must, 'honour thy father.'

I want to make love to the world. I love people. I don't
belong on earth. Return me to yahoos.

To the people of Queens, I love you. And I want to wish
all of you a happy Easter.

May God bless you in this life and in the next.

I say goodbye and goodnight.
Police: Let me haunt you with these words;
I'll be back!
I'll be back!
To be interrpreted as--Bang Bang,
Bang, Bank, Bang, Ugh!!
Yours in Murder
Mr. Monster

---

He also wrote a letter to Jimmy Breslin,
a writer for the Daily News in New York City:

Hello from the gutters of N.Y.C. which are filled
with dog manure, vomit, stale wine, urine and
blood. Hello from the sewers of N.Y.C. which
swallow up these delicacies when they are washed
away by sweeper trucks. Hello from the cracks in
the sidewalks of N.Y.C. and from the ants that
dwell in these cracks and feed on the dried blood
of the dead that has settled into the cracks.

J.B. I'm just dropping you a line to let you know
that I appreciate your interest in those recent and
horrendous .44 killings. I also want to tell you
that I read your column daily and find it quite informative.

Tell me, Jim, what will you have for July Twenty-Ninth?
You can forget about me if you like because
I don't care for publicity. However you must not
forget Donna Lauria and you cannot let the people
forget her either. She was a very sweet girl but
Sam's a thirsty lad and he won't let me stop killing
until he gets his fill of blood.

Mr. Breslin, sir, don't think that because you haven't
heard from me for a while that I went to sleep.
No rather, I am still here. Like a spirit roaming
the night. Thirst, hungry, seldon stopping to rest;
anxious to please Sam. I love my work.
Now, the void has been filled.

Perhaps we shall meet face to face someday or
perhaps I will be blown away by cops with smoking .38's.
Whatever, if I shall be fortunate enought
to meet you I will tell you all about Sam if you
like and I will introduce you to him.
His name is 'Sam the Terrible.'

Not knowing what the future holds I shall say farewell
and I will see you at the next job. Or should I say you
will see my handiwork at the next job?
Remember, Ms. Lauria.
Thank you
In their blood
and
From the Gutter
'Sam's Creation' .44
Here are some names to help you along. Forward
them to the Inspector for use by N.C.I.C.
'The Duke of Death'
'The Wicked King Wicker'
'The Twenty-two Deciples of Hell'
'John Wheaties - Rapist and Suffocater of Young Girls'

PS:J.B. please inform all the detectives working on
the case that I wish them the best of luk. Keep Em
digging, drive on, think positive, get off your butts, knock on coffins, etc.
Upon my capture I promise to buy all the guys working on
the case a new pair of shoes, if I can get up the money.

Son of Sam

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