Ed Gein, the name alone evokes a chilling chapter in American true crime. Born in 1906 in Wisconsin, Gein lived a reclusive life on his family's farm, shaped by a domineering mother who preached fire and brimstone. After her death in 1945, his descent into madness accelerated. For years, locals whispered about oddities in Plainfield, but it wasn't until 1957 that the full horror unfolded. That November, police discovered the mutilated body of hardware store owner Bernice Worden hanging in Gein's shed, gutted like a deer. Gein confessed to her murder, along with that of tavern keeper Mary Hogan three years earlier, making two confirmed killings. Yet the real revulsion came from his farmhouse: lampshades and clothing fashioned from human skin, skulls turned into bowls, and a collection of body parts from exhumed graves—up to nine women, authorities later determined.
However, pinning an exact victim count remains elusive. While Gein admitted to the two slayings, rumors swirled of more unsolved disappearances in rural Wisconsin. Investigators found no hard evidence beyond those, but his grave-robbing spree from 1947 to 1956 painted a portrait of obsession, not just violence. He targeted women resembling his mother, preserving parts as twisted tributes. Deemed insane, Gein spent his later years in a mental hospital, dying in 1984 at age 77. His crimes, though limited in number, scarred the national psyche.
Now, Netflix revives Gein's legacy with Monster: The Ed Gein Story, the third season of Ryan Murphy's anthology series, dropping today. Starring Charlie Hunnam as the disturbed killer, it delves into his fractured childhood and grotesque acts, much like prior installments on Dahmer and Menendez. Critics already buzz about its unflinching gaze, drawing parallels to the horror icons Gein inspired—Norman Bates in Psycho, Leatherface in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Indeed, his influence on pop culture endures, turning personal demons into cinematic nightmares.
Moreover, the series arrives amid renewed interest in serial killers' psyches, prompting questions about sensationalism. How does retelling such depravity serve us, beyond morbid fascination? It leaves room to ponder the thin line between monster and man in history's shadows.