Transcription
Four-year-old Billy Gaffne is playing in the hallway outside his New York City apartment. Right beside him is his three-year-old neighbor, also named Billy. They're just kids laughing, arguing, doing what little boys do. And then they're gone. Panic sets in. Neighbors search the building floor by floor. Finally, the father finds his son alone on the very top floor. He kneels down and asks, "Where's Billy Gaffne?" The little boy says, "The boogeyman took him." No one ever saw Billy Gaffne again.
And for the longest time, they didn't know who to blame. They didn't realize the little boy got it right the first time. Except the boogeyman isn't imaginary. He has a name, Albert Fish. He looks like your grandpa, but he's one of the most disturbing criminals in American history. His murders are so horrifying, they inspired Stephen King. And trust me when I tell you that reality in this case is so much worse. I'm Chris. Let's recap. >> [music] >>
It's May 1928. The Great Depression is looming. And for working-class families in New York, life is already a struggle. 18-year-old Edward Bud thinks he's found a solution. He wants to leave the crowded city, work in the country, and send money home to help his family. So, he places a classified ad with his name, his address, and one simple request. "Young man, 18, wishes position in country."
A few days later, there's a knock at the Bud family apartment. At the door is an elderly man with gray hair and a gray mustache. He's polite, soft-spoken. He introduces himself as Frank Howard, a farmer from Farmingdale, Long Island. He tells Mrs. Bud he's responding to her son's ad; he'd like to interview him for a job. As they wait for Edward to come back from a friend, Mr. Howard tells Mrs. Bud all about himself. He says he raised six kids on his own after his wife took off years earlier. And with the help of several farm hands, he says he has a booming 20-acre farm out in Long Island with hundreds of chickens and lots of cows. But he's down one farm hand and needs a replacement.
Just then, Edward comes in. Mr. Howard looks him over and comments on his size and strength. Edward assures him he's a hard worker. The offer comes quickly, $15 a week. Edward accepts the job right away. Mr. Howard even agrees to hire Edward's good friend as well and promises to return Saturday to pick the boys up. Everyone is thrilled about this amazing opportunity with what looks like a kind old man.
Saturday arrives. Edward is ready to go, but Mr. Howard doesn't show. Hours pass. Then a telegram arrives. He's been delayed. He says he'll come by the next morning. And on Sunday morning, there's another knock at the door. It's Mr. Howard. This time he's carrying gifts. Fresh strawberries and cheese, he says, straight from his farm. The family is flattered. They invite him inside for lunch. As they're sitting down to eat, the front door opens. 10-year-old Gracie Bud is just home from Sunday school. She's a friendly little girl, the kind who charms everyone she meets. Mr. Howard takes a liking to her right away.
After lunch, he tells the family he'll come back later that night to pick up Edward and his friend. But first, he says he has another stop, a birthday party for his niece. The girl, he explains, is about Gracie's age. There will be a lot of other kids there. Maybe Gracie would like to come along. He'll have her home by 9 that night. The Buds hesitate. They ask the question any parent would ask. "Where's the party?" Mr. Howard gives them an address. It sounds reasonable. Close enough. Nothing that raises immediate alarms. And in these times, joy is hard to come by. They want Gracie to enjoy herself. So, they say yes. She puts on her coat and leaves with Mr. Howard. She is never seen again.
And almost immediately, the cracks in his story start to show. Frank Howard from Farmington, Long Island, doesn't exist. The strawberries and cheese he brought them weren't from a farm at all. They came from a shop in Manhattan. The address he gave for the supposed birthday party doesn't exist. He came looking for Edward, but he noticed Gracie, and once he had her, he vanished without a trace. Because Frank Howard is Albert Fish, a man known by many names. Names whispered after children disappeared. The werewolf of Wisteria. The Brooklyn vampire. The moon maniac. The boogeyman who took four-year-old Billy Gaffne from his apartment building just a year earlier. The gray man who walked away with 8-year-old Francis Macdonald, found murdered in 1924. No one connects the dots. Not yet. And so Albert Fish is free to disappear, free to reappear, and free to keep hunting.
Then in 1934, everything changes. Out of nowhere, a letter arrives for Mrs. Bud. At first, it looks ordinary, almost polite, but as she reads, the tone shifts. The letter describes that day. "We had lunch," it reads. "Grace sat in my lap. I made up my mind to eat her." He goes on to say, "He strangled her inside an empty house in Westchester County, then roasted her remains in an oven before eating it over the next several days." No one wants to believe it. It's so twisted it can't be real. Except the letter includes specific information about that last lunch at the Bud home. Details only the killer would know. This isn't a prank. It's a confession.
But it's also a clue. The handwriting is neat, careful, deliberate, but it's the stationery that matters most. It's traced back to a private chauffeur's association. Someone there left some stationery and envelopes at a rooming house in Manhattan. From there, they track down the landlady. They described the fake Mr. Howard to her. His gray hair, his large gray mustache. Only one former guest matches that description, 65-year-old Albert Fish. He checked out already, but he's expecting a letter from his son. He sends him money, and Albert will be coming around soon to collect it. Sure enough, he comes to the boarding house for his mail a few days later. And when he does, the landlady calls the police and they quickly realize this isn't just about one little girl because now Albert Fish is talking.
He lays out in deliberate and horrific detail the things he claims to have done to at least 100 children across the country. Not whispers, not remorse, bragging. At trial, his attorneys argue he's legally insane. Then Fish's own children take the stand. There are six of them, just as he told Mrs. Bud. His wife really did leave. By the time he was arrested, his kids were all grown, mostly estranged and long familiar with a man they never truly understood. They describe a childhood shaped by chaos, by sudden mood swings, by intense, punishing religious beliefs, and by violence, not as discipline, but as something their father seemed to enjoy. Pain excited him.
Over the years, Albert Fish deliberately shoved more than two dozen sewing needles deep into his pelvis. Acts of self-inflicted torture he later framed as moral punishment, which tells you everything you need to know. This isn't a man who couldn't control himself. This is a man who enjoyed suffering, his own and everyone else's. It takes a jury less than an hour to decide he's legally sane and guilty. On January 16th, 1936, Albert Fish is strapped into the electric chair at Sing Sing Prison. He's executed, but versions of him live on in fiction, including the fisherman in Stephen King's *Black House*. And even after death, he's still terrifying.