what's a nice Victorian girl doing writing about a modern serial killer?

Ah the dark thoughts that nest under all these crinolines. Actually it was an almost toothless crone wrapped in layer upon layer of flannel, like a sad Matrushka doll. She confessed to me that she was "play strangled" by Ted Bundy back in the 70's when people still hitched rides. "Play strangled" sounds like something Stephen King ,the writers of Law and Order or all the CSI shows dreamed up. The would-be victim escaped with an uncrushed throat by claiming asthma. Also, Bundy apparently was on the lam and they drove into Manhattan with ill disguised cops in lackadaisical pursuit. She wanted to know what would cause anyone to commit multiple murders. I'm as interested in the human psyche as anyone, but I'll leave this one to the criminal psychologists or the reader(s) or this blog. Simply, the reality of human monsters scares me terribly. I much prefer fairytale beasts. Mother Flannel showed me a true crime book with photos of the victims. Naturally, my over active imagination imagined my photo there, though Bundy's dead. And my days of accepting rides from strange men are over. But it's one more fear to engrave upon my fretful brain. Being my Scorpio thanatocentric self, I'm always interested in stories of everyday Persephones or Orpheuses journeying to Hades and back. I just don't every want to be one of them.