Luke Woodham Writings: The Crawling Death

This collection of Luke’s writings has been gathered from several sources.
WARNING: the journal entry from April 14, 1997 is a graphic description of extreme
cruelty used to kill Luke’s pet dog.

Writing Assignment (9th grade, 1995-1996)
Students were asked to write about how they would spend the day as their
teacher.

If I could spend a day as Mrs. Neal, I would be very, very nice to Luke Woodham
and pass him for the year. Then I would knock the crud out of the 'omniscient dork' for
putting junk on my computer.
Then I would go crazy and kill all of the other teachers. Then I would slowly and
very painfully torture all of the principals to death.
Then I would withdraw all of my money in the bank and give it to Luke
Woodham. Then I would get all of the other teachers and principals' bank account
numbers, withdraw all of the money and give it to Luke Woodham.
Then I would do acid. Then I would get a gun and blow my brains out all over the
dog-gone room and leave my house to Luke Woodham.1
Writing Assignment (9th grade?)
The assignment was to write about an incident that upset his parents, but Luke
decided to write fiction instead.
I’ve never really done anything that bad, so I’ll make up a story.
One day I killed a guy and shot his dog in the butt with a big friggin pellet gun.
Then, I went to a phone booth and robbed it by yanking the little coin box out of it.
Then I threw water balloons at some nuns, and I went inside their church and set
the priest’s wig on fire. (It was the first time I’d heard a good Catholic person say G.D.).
Then I burned the church down, then, danced around it and sung 2 Nine Inch
Nails songs, one called “heresy” and another called “terrible lie.”
Then I robbed a bank and set it on fire. I love to set things on fire, and killed all
the tellers. When the police came I killed them all and when the National Guard came, I
killed most of them but they finally caught me.

From his journal, April 1997
… I am the hatred in every man's heart! I am the epitomy (sic) of all Evil! I have no
mercy for humanity, for they created me, they tortured me until I snapped and became
what I am today! My advice to any man who has been tortured by humanity is this: Let
these words ring through our our heart, mind, and soul! Hate humanity! Hate humanities!

… Hate what humanity has made you! Hate what you have become! Most of all, hate the
accurssed (sic) god of Christianity. Hate him for making humanity Hate him for making
you! Hate him for flinging you into a monsterous (sic) life you did not ask for nor
deserve! Fill your heart, mind, and soul with hatred; until it's all you know. Until your
conscience becomes a firey (sic) tomb of hatred for the goodness in you soul. Hate
everyone and everything. Hate where you were and are. Hate until you can't anymore.
Then learn, read poetry books, philosophy books, history books, science books, auto
biographies and biographies. Become a sponge for knowledge. Study the philosophies of
others and condense the parts you like as your own. Make your own rules. Live by your
own laws. For now, truly, you should be at peace and your own true self. Live your life in
a bold, new way. For you, dear friend, are a superman.

From his journal, April 14, 1997
On Saturday of last week, I made my first kill. The date was April 12, 1997 about 4:30
p.m. The victim was a loved one. My dear dog Sparkle. Me and an accomplice had been
beating the bitch for a while and last Tuesday I took a day off from school just because I
didn't want to go. My friend came over and we beat the dog. In the process of doing so
we hurt her leg. Later in the week, about Thursday, I'd say, my brother said she was
limping. He suggested we take the dog to the vet, but I talked him out of it saying that she
probably stepped on something hard, that she would be O.K. in a day or two. Saturday
my brother brings up the vet again but said he didn't have the time to do it today but he
would do it next week. I was afraid the vet would notice all of the bruises on the dog and
I would get in trouble. So I called my accomplice and he came over at 2:00. We beat the
dog, tied her up in a plastic garbage bag, put that bag in another bag …We put the
subdued little pooch in an old book bag and went to some woods. When we got out to the
woods I took a billy club…. I … handed it to my accomplice. He ran and hit the bagged
dog with it. I will never forget the howl she made. it sounded almost human. We laughed
and hit her hard. I picked up the book bag, which was now soaked in her blood, and drug
her across the ground dropped into the woods. A hole developed in the bag and the dog
stuck her head out, fully engulfed in flames. We put more on her, and more and more,
and more. She got out and tried to run. I took the night stick and hit her in the shoulder,
spine and neck. I'll never forget the sound of her bones breaking … We set her on fire
again, the foolish dog opened her mouth & we sprayed fluid down her throat, her whole
neck caught on fire, inside & out. Finally, the fire went out and she was making a
gurgling noise. I silenced the noise with the club again. I hit her so hard the crusted burnt
scar on her shoulder fell of(f). I hit her so hard I knocked the fur off her neck…. Then we
put her in the burned bag and chunked her in a nearby pond. We watched the bag sink. It
was true beauty.

From his journal, June 3, 1997
This night (June 3, 1997) is a monumentatious night. With this writing, I do swear, that I
shall never get myself in a position where I can be hurt by a woman ever again. To
myself I swear this, and to the higher powers I swear this.5
His manifesto (This is reportedly a 5-page document. I have seen a photograph of one
page—the content from this page is reproduced first. Other passages have been found in
books and articles, but without seeing the full document, I don’t know the order of the
excerpts.)
I am not insane! I am angry. This world has shit on me for the final time. I am not spoiled
or lazy, for murder is not weak and slow-witted, murder is gutsy and daring. I killed
because people like me are mistreated every day. I did this to show society “push us and
we will push back!” I suffered all my life. No one ever truly loved me. No one ever truly
cared about me. I only loved one thing in my whole life and that was Christina Menefee.
But she was torn away from me. I tried to save myself with [student’s name], but she
never cared for me. As it turns out, she made fun of me behind my back while we were
together. And all throughout my life I was ridiculed. Always beaten, always hated. Can
you, society, truly blame me for what I do? Yes, you will, the ratings wouldn’t be high
enough if you didn’t, and it would not make good gossip for all the old ladies. But I shall
tell you one thing, I am malicious because I am miserable. The world has beaten me.
Wednesday 1, 1997 shall go down in history as the day I fought back. (At this time Grant,
say what you will, when you are through I ask you to read to them sec. 125 of the Gay
Science “the madmen.” [This is a reference to The Gay Science by Nietzsche.])
Grant, see you in the holding cell!
* * *
I, Luke Woodham, being of sound mind and body, do hereby will to Grant Boyette my
books. To Lucas Thompson: my guitars and amplifier and their equipment. Also, all of
my guitar magazines and guitar books. I leave my music and lyrics to Lucas Thompson,
so that he may perform them. I also leave my other writings of philosophy and poetry to
Grant Boyette, they are a part of me and may be published as a process of my life. Also,
to Grant Boyette, I will all of my cassette tapes.
* * *
It was not a cry for attention, it was not a cry for help. It was a scream in sheer agony
saying that if I can’t pry your eyes open, if I can’t do it through pacifism, if I can’t show
you through displaying of intelligence, then I will do it with a bullet.