There is a place in Indiana. It's a spacious house sitting on several, wooded acres, which for many years became the final, but not restful place for young men, the victims of a ruthless killer.
His name was Herb Baumeister, born on April 7, 1947, the son of Dr. Herbert and Elizabeth Baumeister. He was one of four children. His father was an anesthesiologist who had been practicing since the late 1950s. One has to wonder what Dr. Baumeister thought of the oldest of his four children. His behavior was disturbing from an early age, but it became undeniable when he reached puberty. He started to develop a fascination with death, and wondered aloud what urine would taste like. He would chase his male classmates asking for a drink. Herb would torture animals and play with the corpses. Another time he took the carcass of a dead crow he found on the road, and placed it on his teacher's desk.
