The Glendalough Killer

By Austin Corbin

Back in the rebellious land of the nineties, the citizens of Wicklow, Ireland, found difficulty sleeping. Along with the bombings in the north, a more overlooked issue presented itself just outside the town. In a famous tourist and pilgrimage destination by the name of Glendalough, the stench of death met the nostrils of all in the area.

Sarah McBride walked along a small path; no matter how overgrown it became, she prevailed. The sweet smell of the lough met her nose as the soft green moss welcomed her hiking boots with a damp embrace, the long grass swept across her ankles, and the ancient trees above provided a blanket of humid shade to bask in. A quiet rustle in the grass and movement in the corner of Sarah's eye caused her to look up. Her eyes fell upon a rabbit, coarse hair that blended itself into a collage of warm neutral earth tones, contrasting a soft white tail with long hind legs just beneath it. A truly pristine little creature. Sarah was shocked at how close she was to the living, breathing animal; she slowly brought up her camera to her eye, however, the sound of fingernails softly tapping against plastic had the rabbit gone before a proper photograph could have been taken. Sarah, although disappointed, was delighted to have met the rabbit along the trail.

As her journey progressed, Sarah would often catch hushed whispers of leaves whirling behind her, a sweet little breeze keeping her good company—although seldom did the breeze ever sweep the leaves right before her. The trail eventually came to a head, where Sarah found herself right on the shore of the pristine lough. As she peered into the shimmering water, she watched her reflection, a perfect image, and let all of her worries seep out of her fingertips, a relaxation beyond relaxation washing over her; a momentary peace broken suddenly by the figure that swiftly appeared behind her.

It was in that singular second that Sarah may have realized that she had been followed; however, it is more likely that this second was filled with surprise, panic, or confusion. Short-lived was this feeling, whatever it was,  it soon turned into fear. 

The crime scene was gruesome, to say the least. Blood defiled the clear water of the lough. Two large bruises around the neck suggested strangulation; however, an array of stab wounds and lacerations to the abdomen, eighty-seven wounds to be exact, suggested otherwise. When the autopsy report came back, it had been determined that Sarah McBride, age twenty-seven, had been murdered by strangulation and only afterward was the stabbing frenzy. The weapon used to deliver the eighty-seven stab wounds was a simple steak knife. Upon further inspection of the weapon, the blood of two other recent murder victims was found.

The first victim had been John Hiller, age thirty, murdered in his own apartment, with exactly eighty-seven stab wounds and a pair of bruises around his neck. The second victim, Maureen Rose, age twenty-five, had been murdered in a public restroom on a day trip to Galway, once more, with exactly eighty-seven stab wounds, and a pair of dark purple bruises around her neck. All of these victims had been strangled, stabbed, and left where they lay. A strange case indeed. Who would do this, what motivation was there, and what was the idea behind the method? Captain Stephen McRoy found himself pondering each of these questions and more as he stepped through the Glendalough visitors center. 

All the Captain knew was there was an intense search for the killer in Glendalough, Wicklow, and other surrounding areas. Fortunately, it was not long before a disheveled sixty-two-year-old man by the name of Owen O’Malley was found living in the Glendalough round tower. Blood soaked his clothing. The following is the interrogation record between Captain McRoy and Owen O’Malley.

Capt. McRoy: Good afternoon, I am Captain Stephen McRoy. You have been charged with the murder of Sarah McBride, Maureen Rose, and John Hiller-

O’Malley: I did it.

Capt. McRoy: Excuse me, you did what exactly?

O’Malley: I killed them.

Capt. McRoy: Are you certain you wish to admit to this?

O’Malley: Yes.

Capt. McRoy: Who did you kill-

O’Malley: All of them. McBride, Hiller, and Rose

Capt. McRoy: Sir, do you understand what this means for you?

O’Malley: Yes, yes I do.

Capt. McRoy: Can you describe in detail how you murdered each victim?

O’Malley: I had my knife on me for the first one; damn bugger let out a shriek when I stabbed him, so I cut his scream short with my hands, caving in his esophagus with my thumbs. I held him there, waited what seemed like an age for the light behind his eyes to finally fade.

Captain McRoy chokes. He regains stoicism and listens on; however, the story goes on a strange tangent.

O’Malley: Have I ever told you about my family? Of course I haven't. I have none to speak of; they're all dead now, all gone.

Capt. McRoy: Mr. O’Malley, please stick to the topic.

O’Malley: Oh, yes, of course, an urge to mangle the body of this son of a pig came over me. I proceeded to stab him eighty-seven times-

Capt. McRoy: Why eighty-seven?

O’Malley: Well for that you must let me speak of my family.

Capt. McRoy: Fine, go right ahead.

O’Malley: In Belfast, I lived with a beautiful wife and two wonderful children. How could they know? ... Anyway, I had a best friend who lived in Enniskillen—we were there… He and I were inseparable brothers; his mother was my mother, and mine was his, the uncle of my daughters, although not by blood. I lost them all. The bomb. It took them all. My family and I were visiting my best friend, Derek, on November eighth, nineteen eighty-seven. The remembrance day bombing. Gwendallin O’Malley, Malinda O’Malley, Stephen O’Malley, and Derek Carny. Eighty-seven. Why do you think we are where we are right now? Robert McBride, Daniel Rose, Dean Hiller. The men who orchestrated the death of my family. If my children paid the war toll with their blood, then so must the children of these men.

Capt. McRoy: So that’s it. You murdered the children of the men who killed your wife, children, and friend. You do realize there are more men that orchestrated the death of your family, don’t you?

O’Malley: Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. That’s exactly why I’m here.

Capt. McRoy: Excuse me?

O’Malley: Earnie McRoy.

[REDACTED]

By the time the interrogation room scene was finally discovered, Captain McRoy was dead, with a pair of bruises around his neck and exactly eighty-seven stab wounds given by his own knife. As for O’Malley, he was nowhere to be found, with the door to the interrogation room having been left wide open.