Some killers have claimed they were driven by demons, forces, voices, urges, alter egos, or something beyond themselves. Whether those claims were delusion, manipulation, or excuse-making, they reveal something chilling: evil often tries to separate itself from responsibility. It says, That wasn’t me. That was the thing inside me.
That idea sits at the heart of Edward in my Legacy of Darkness trilogy. Edward is not a man who wakes up one day and becomes monstrous. The part of himself that wants permission seduced him. The Darkness does not force him so much as flatter him, study him, and feed the emotional wounds that already exist: resentment, desire, entitlement, and the need to possess.
That is where real-life killers become relevant—because some of them wrapped their crimes in private mythology. David Berkowitz, the “Son of Sam,” famously claimed that a demon-possessed dog commanded him to kill. He later recanted parts of that story and called the demonic-dog explanation a hoax, but the original claim became part of the horror surrounding the case. That version of evil is external. A voice. An instruction. A demon outside the self.
Dennis Rader, BTK, used a different language. He referred to “Factor X,” describing it as a force or element that drove him and other killers. That phrase is terrifying because it sounds almost scientific and supernatural, as if murder were caused by some mysterious ingredient instead of a human choice.
Ted Bundy is closer to Edward in another way. Bundy often spoke in the third person when discussing the mind of a killer, creating distance between himself and the acts he committed. He framed the killer as someone overtaken by appetite, possession, and compulsion. His evil was not a barking demon in the yard. It was charm with rot beneath it. It was the polished surface hiding the predator underneath.
And then there is H.H. Holmes, often connected to the phrase, “born with the devil in me.” Whether read as confession, performance, or self-mythologizing, the idea is powerful: evil as something present from the beginning, something that claims a person before he ever fully understands himself. This is where Edward becomes more than a killer. He is a man who wants evil to be destiny. If The Darkness chose him, then maybe he is special. If it has always been with him, then maybe he is not responsible. If it whispers, encourages, and approves, then maybe his desires are not monstrous—they are ordained. That is the seduction.
The Darkness does not arrive with teeth bared. It arrives with understanding. It tells Edward: You are different. You are powerful. You deserve what others deny you. You are honest enough to take what you want. That is why Edward frightens me more than a monster who simply attacks. He listens. He rationalizes. He believes the voice because the voice tells him what he already wants to hear.
In real life, claims of demons, entities, or mysterious forces can become a way for killers to shift the blame away from themselves. In fiction, that same idea can become a doorway into something deeper: the terrifying possibility that evil does not always overpower us. Sometimes it courts us, flatters us, speaks in the voice of our own secret desires.
And sometimes, like Edward, a person chooses to answer.