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In the heart of Indianapolis in the mid 1960's, through a twist of fate and fortune, a pretty young girl came to live with a thirty-seven-year-old mother and her seven children. What began as a temporary childcare arrangement between Sylvia Likens's parents and Gertrude Baniszewski turned into a crime that would haunt cops, prosecutors, and a community for decades to come…
When police found Sylvia's emaciated body, with a chilling message carved into her flesh, they knew that she had suffered tremendously before her death. Soon they would learn how many others―including some of Baniszewski's own children―participated in Sylvia's murder, and just how much torture had been inflicted in one HOUSE OF EVIL
- Sales Rank: #66354 in Books
- Brand: Dean, John
- Published on: 2008-07-29
- Released on: 2008-07-29
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.80" h x .72" w x 4.20" l, .30 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 256 pages
From the Back Cover
Death came knocking…
In the heart of Indianapolis in the mid 1960's, through a twist of fate and fortune, a pretty young girl came to live with a thirty-seven-year-old mother and her seven children. What began as a temporary childcare arrangement between Sylvia Likens's parents and Gertrude Baniszewski turned into a crime that would haunt cops, prosecutors, and a community for decades to come…
Behind closed doors…
When police found Sylvia's emaciated body, with a chilling message carved into her flesh, they knew that she had suffered tremendously before her death. Soon they would learn how many others―including some of Baniszewski's own children―participated in Sylvia's murder, and just how much torture had been inflicted in one HOUSE OF EVIL
*With 8 pages of startling photos! *
About the Author
John Dean is a former newspaper reporter who has had articles published in Rolling Stone, Esquire, and the Chicago Journalism Review.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter one
“ THE MOST TERRIBLE CRIME “
TWO CHILDREN—A boy and a girl in their early teens—knelt over the motionless body of another teen age girl, trying to breathe life back into her mangled, emaciated form. They were trying to deny what was already, but for a few last, labored breaths, a fact. A deputy prosecutor was later to call this death “the most terrible crime ever committed in the state of Indiana.”
“She’s faking! She’s all right!” screeched the haggard, panic- stricken woman standing in the doorway.
The boy, a gangly 14- year- old whose straight blond hair tended to slide over his black horn- rimmed glasses, rushed the woman back downstairs.
“Someone better call a doctor or somebody,“ his companion told him when he regained the top of the stairs. Stephanie Baniszewski, 15 years old, had never looked more serious. A glint of reproach in her eyes told Richard Hobbs that she meant it.
He started back down, taking the last three steps in one jump. Stephanie heard her mother, the woman who had been forced downstairs, tell Richard that the police were the ones to call. The Hobbs boy, joined by the woman’s husky 12- year- old son Johnny, headed for the nearest telephone—a pay phone at the Shell station across the corner. It was at twilight of what had been a brisk October day, but the boys knew they had no time to put on wraps before darting across the busy one- way street.
Patrolman Melvin D. Dixon had been cruising the neighborhood about two hours when the radio crackled with his signal. He saw no reason to expect any particular trouble on this night. It was a Tuesday, and it was chilly. It had been quiet so far, except for the usual rush- hour headaches. The traffic had slacked off now, and since it was not quite dark yet, Dixon thought he would have things easy for a while. Lean, dark, and roughly handsome in his dark blue uniform, Dixon, 45 years old, had been on the force long enough to know you sometimes get trouble when you least expect it, however.
It was 6:27 p.m., October 26, 1965, when the dispatcher called Dixon’s signal. “Go—to—3850 East New York,“ the dispatcher spaced out the words in his usual casual manner. “Investigate possible dead girl.”
You don’t get one like that every day. But then, more often than not, it turns out to be a fainting spell; occasionally a child might bleed to death from a household cut.
But Dixon had heard the homicide car being radioed to the scene too, along with other patrol cars; and any “possible dead” calls rated prompt attention, he knew, for the simple fact it might not be too late for resuscitation. He was there in minutes.
The door was open; he walked in. The haggard woman, wan and drawn for her 37 years, met him. He talked to her long enough to take down her name—”Gertrude Wright, white, female, 37”—and the name of the girl—”Sylvia Likens, white, female, 16.” Mrs. Wright handed him a note and showed him upstairs, telling him the girl had wandered into her backyard bare- breasted an hour before, clutching the note. The girl had been a boarder at her home, Mrs. Wright said, but had run off with a gang of boys several days before.
The note, on a sheet of lined notebook paper in a childish scrawl, said:
To Mr. and Mrs. Likens:
I went with a gang of boys in the middle of the night. And they said that they would pay me if I would give them something so I got in the car and they all got what they wanted and they did and did and when they got finished they beat me up and left sores on my face and all over my body.
And they also put on my stomach, I am a prostitute and proud of it.
I have done just about everything that I could do just to make Gertie mad and cause cost Gertie more money than she’s got. I’ve tore up a new mattress and peed on it. I have also cost Gertie doctor bills that she really can’t pay and made Gertie a nervous wreck and all her kids. I cost her $35.00 for a hospital in one day and I wouldn’t do nothing around the house. I have done anything to do things to make things out of the way to make things worse for them.
This pitiful note was not signed. Had Dixon taken the time to read it then, he would have suspected it was phony, merely from the formal form of address from a girl to her parents. He would have seen that the note no doubt was dictated by someone else, from the writer’s mistaking the sound of “cost” in the third paragraph for “cause,“ as is apparent in the correction made. But Dixon, who later handed the note to a detective, was more intent on seeing the body.
What he saw was the long, thin body of a teenage girl stretched out on her back on a mattress on the floor of the bedroom. Although she wore sweater and slacks, her midriff was exposed, and Dixon could plainly see the words “I’M A PROSTITUTE AND PROUD OF IT!” freshly carved on her belly. Above that inscription, deeply branded into her chest, was a large, curious “3.” Her light brown hair was shaggy, disheveled and cut short. Her face was covered with sores, and the entire left side of her face was discolored where the skin had eroded. There were open sores also around the markings on her abdomen, and bruises. Dixon knew that she was dead.
The deputy coroner, Dr. Arthur Paul Kebel, arrived about an hour later. He found the body in complete rigor and at room temperature, indicating she may have been dead eight hours. But he also noted that she had been bathed recently, perhaps after death, and that the water could have lowered the body temperature quicker; he knew also that prolonged shock before death can quicken rigor mortis and loss of heat.
The 47- year- old physician examined the body thoroughly, observing a few things the policeman had missed. There was a large bruise on the left side of the head, about the temple. A tooth was missing. Cuts, burns and scald marks covered the body; the numerous patches where skin had eroded seemed to have been caused by scalding water or acid. The body was covered also with more than 100 small, round sores—”punctate wounds,“ the doctor called them. One was a hole almost to the bone, on her right wrist. Each “punctate wound” was about the size and shape of the end of a cigarette.
The vagina was swollen and puffy. On the girl’s back was a discolored, bruised area about the size of a hand. The sores were in various stages of healing.
The skinny, distraught matron of the house hovered about Dr. Kebel as he examined the girl’s body, explaining that she had applied rubbing alcohol as first aid.
Kebel was surprised to find no evidence of sexual molestation other than the swollen pubic region.
Also hovering about the doctor, jabbering away, was the Hobbs boy. “What are you doing here?” the doctor demanded.
“I’m a neighbor and a friend of Gertie’s,“ he said.
Kebel was shocked and confused. He suspected no one around him. He assumed the murder to be the work of some anonymous madman.
Dr. Charles R. Ellis, the young resident pathologist who performed the autopsy on the girl’s body a few hours later, noticed a few more things. Her lips were in shreds; her fingernails were broken backward, all of them. Though not yet 30, Ellis was a veteran of more than 250 criminal autopsies; but he cringed as he thought of the pain Sylvia had endured.
Ellis noted that the patchy skin- loss areas were mainly about the face, neck and breasts; the right knee also was bare of skin.
Examination of the internal organs revealed more. The liver was fatty and yellow, indicating malnutrition (the pelvic bones’ prominence also indicated loss of weight). An alteration in the kidneys indicated the victim had been in shock for some time prior to her death, perhaps as much as two or three days. Examination of the brain showed the effect of the large external bruise about the temple. The doctor drained off two tablespoons of free- flowing, unclotted blood. Unstopped bleeding in such an area causes loss of consciousness and eventually death as pressure on the brain builds up. The doctor concluded that Sylvia died of a “subdural hematoma” caused by the blow to the head, with shock, malnutrition and the excessive injuries as underlying factors.
DETECTIVE SGT. William E. Kaiser had arrived at the Wright home within 10 minutes of Patrolman Dixon. Other policemen already were swarming through the house, taking photographs, making notes and controlling traffic.
Shortly after Kaiser’s arrival, a tiny teen age girl limped toward the house from across New York Street. A rake in her hand, her dingy blond hair stringing from her shoulders, the crippled girl quickened her pace as she saw the patrol cars parked outside the house. A wave of anxiety swept across her face. Her shriveled left leg was encased in a steel brace, but she broke into a near trot as she neared the home.
Police reports listed her later as Jenny Fay Likens, white, female, 15. Sylvia was her sister.
Jenny burst into the front room. Someone said Sylvia was dead. Tears streamed down the polio victim’s face.
Arriving about the same time, home from her job at a neighborhood cafeteria, was a large, brown-haired, slovenly, bottle- bottomed girl named Paula. She was 17, Mrs. Wright’s eldest daughter. She, too, heard the news that Sylvia had died. “You’re kidding!” she exclaimed.
They were not kidding. Paula reached for her Bible. She began reading to Jenny. “This was meant to happen,“ she intoned then, softly. “If you want to live with us, Jenny, we’ll treat you like our own sister.”
Mrs. Wright came into the room, bustling about like a busy stage director. “Did you tell them I’d been doctoring Sylvia?” she reminded.
Jenny remembered he...
Most helpful customer reviews
80 of 81 people found the following review helpful.
Just the Facts, Ma'am
By Shanna McQueen
I have mixed feelings about this book. It is undoubtedly interesting and well researched and explores, sometimes in horrifying detail, the lengthy torture and eventual death of 16 year old Sylvia Likens in 1965. However, as other reviews of this manuscript have commented, there is little psychological exploration of the motives of 37 year old Gertrude Banisweski to orchestrate and encourage the kind physical pain both she and her children inflicted upon Sylvia in the short months that Sylvia was a boarder at the Baniszewski home. Then again, I am not certain there could be or that certain forms of sociopathic behavior really need explaining.
During the time that Sylvia Likens and her sister, Jenny, lived with Gertrude Baniszewski, both were subjected to repeated verbal, emotional, and physical abuse. Soon, however, Gertrude focussed her rage upon Sylvia. What is most horrifying is that this wicked woman encouraged and incited additional violence using her own children and other children from the neighborhood as pawns in her vicious game. I must say, it is REALLY unclear as to why Gertrude did focus so much hatred and rage upon a child she hardly knew. The theory cited by the prosecuting attorneys is that Gertrude was jealous of Sylvia's beauty and the promise her life held. Perhaps this is true, but if one is hoping for a clear motive that meets the criteria for basic understanding (i.e. money, love, or revenge), there simply is not one.
While the court did find it necessary to evaluate Gertrude and her 17 year old daughter for legal sanity, Gertrude was never fully psychologically evaluated. Her 17 year old daughter, Paula, was. The psychologist noted that Paula's mental functioning, emotional immaturity, and violent behavior were consistent with that of children reared in homes where "emotional neglect" is the norm. It is known that Gertrude, as a single mother, could not afford to feed her 7 children. The children regularly fought over food and Sylvia was once severely beaten for eating a sandwich given to her by her oldest sister during a visit. It is also known that Gertrude was heavily addicted to prescription pain medication and regularly spent her days in bed. The children had little superivision and Paula was expected to perform many of the duties that Gertrude avoided.
When Gertrude turned her deadly rage upon Sylvia, I do not find it difficult to believe that several of her children also found Sylvia a convenient target for their own unexpressed rage born of a childhood rife with abuse and neglect. The most basic needs of the Baniszewski children were never met with any consistency and they, in turn, were angry and hurt. These feelings were unleashed upon the only person available to them to hurt in return. Still, it is shocking that children as young as 10 could gleefully watch and participate in the kind of extended torture to which young Sylvia was subjected.
There is some powerful evidence that Gertrude was also having a sexual relationship with a neighborhood boy, 14 year old Richard Hobbs. Though neither admitted they were sexually involved, Richard did state that he was a "good friend" of Gertrude's and regularly visited her home after school. He also told police investigators that Gertrude had once "danced" for him in the living room of her home. (To see photographs of Gertrude, who appeared at least 10 years older than her chronological age of 37, this image is both laughable and repulsive.) If Gertrude manipulated or exercised any psychological power over Richard, it was manifisted in his unflinching willingness to carve into the flesh of Sylvia's stomach, at Gertrude's direction, the words "I am a prostitute and proud of it." (There is horrifying photograph of Sylvia Likens battered body in which these words are clearly visible.)
In short, Gertrude and 3 of her children, along with Richard Hobbs and another neighborhood boy, were all conivicted of murder. Eventually paroled, Getrude changed her name and lived in solitude until her death in 1990 from lung cancer, the result of years of habitual chain-smoking. The parole of Gertrude leaves one cold and feeling as though justice was not served. Richard Hobbs, however, was not so fortunate. At trail, Richard admitted to the jury during questioning that he had "no feeling" at the time he carved words into Sylvia's flesh with a hot wire. While Richard attempted to later soften the blow of this admission by stating that he now felt remorse for his actions, I find this difficult to believe. He died at the age of 21 in prison from cancer. (I suppose Richard got what was coming to him from a higher court. Sometimes justice is swift and harsh.)
There was considerable discussion among the public about why Sylvia and her sister never ran away from the Baniszewski home. Effectively abandoned by their own parents who were, by all accounts, poverty stricken and shiftless, where exactly were the girls supposed to run? While their parents worked for a travelng carnival, the girls were left in the care of a woman their father hardly knew and never felt it necessary to know better. There was nowhere to go and no one to run to.
In short, I do recomend HOUSE OF EVIL to those who appreciate True Crime. But there are many questions that will never be answered.
124 of 127 people found the following review helpful.
Same story with minor amendments
By Azuree Riordan
I once owned the reprint of this book, but was so disturbed by what I read that I very scarcely read it and eventually gave it to someone who needed it for research this past spring. Last month I decided to give it another chance and bought this new paperback version. For those who have not heard this story, let me tell you something: This tale of the sadistic side of human nature is just as horrific the second or third or tenth time around as it is the first. To this day, my head spins and my stomach churns as I think of the unspeakable horror that sixteen-year-old Sylvia Likens endured at the hands of her monsterous caretaker, her equally heartless children, and their demented friends. This is a story that in four years time has NEVER left my memory and probably never will. If you do decide to read about this, prepare to be shocked as this story is told with a terrifying realism that should only exist in our nightmares.
As for the differences between this publication and the original, this book is in fact the same book, except that: 1. This book is a traditional paperback book as opposed to the copy with the original red vellum cover (hence, the steep price tag for the latter); 2. There is an added foreword as well as an updated afterword; and 3. The photos have been moved to the very middle of the book as opposed to the random placement in the original, including two or three never-before-seen pictures. There are also some very minor amendments such as the name of the song that Sylvia sang at night and the change in spelling of her older sister's name ('Dianna' as opposed to 'Diana'). Since this is more or less the same publication, and neither better nor worse than the first copy, I'll give it the same rating as I did originally: 4 stars.
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Horrifying story
By Karen M. Rodiek
This book is based on the true story about a young teenage girl put into the care of a supposedly responsible woman. Unfortunately, the woman turned out to be seriously disturbed and took her anger and frustration out on the girl. What was even sadder was that she encouraged her own children and their friends to torment and torture the girl. It was a heartbreaking story which should have been avoided as neighbors were aware that something was wrong in the home and any of the children involved (some of whom did not participate in tormenting the girl) could have contacted the police, told a teacher or even discussed it with a minister who one the family. Slightly wooden writing and the reasons for the behavior of those involved was not gone into very deeply, although this could have been due to an inability to spend time with the people described or not getting any cooperation. Still, a serious commentary on how seemingly small failures by those around the girl ended up in being instrumental in her death.
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