Gosnell: The Trial of America’s Biggest Serial Killer (2018)

May 11, 2026

In 2013, Kermit Gosnell, late-term abortionist extraordinaire, was found guilty and convicted to three life sentences for the murders of three babies who were born alive and got their spines cut with scissors. He was not, as the sensationalist movie title declares, a prolific serial killer à la Ted Bundy or John Wayne Gacy. No, not at all. He just killed thousands of babies inside and outside the womb. Okay, okay, he just killed thousands of ‘fetuses’ and/or ‘clumps of cells’ inside and outside the womb. (Science proclaims life begins at conception, but if you cannot handle that fact and believe life begins when the mother feels like taking up the job, then you might as well stop reading now and go learn how to make shakshuka. iykyk)

Good morning, horror friends! Hope you had a great Mother’s Day yesterday. Let’s talk about abortion, shall we?

The feature film Gosnell: The Trial of America’s Biggest Serial Killer (2018) was such a trip and I had zero idea it was based on real life events, after all, the only reason why I was interested in watching the courtroom thriller was because Dean Cain was in it. Well, color me surprised, not only was the movie great with terrific acting, storyline, production, cinematography, and editing, but it was also funny and introspective. And shocking, too.

Against my will thanks to our robust trash reality TV culture, I already knew what a hoarder was and looked like, however, I was not prepared to accept the notion that there were professional hoarders, that is, people exercising their professional careers—and with plenty of paying customers—while being surrounded by garbage, bodily waste and urine, pet waste and urine, dirty floors and surfaces, dirty dishes in break rooms, bags of hazardous waste material inside communal fridges, cockroaches, mice, and mountains upon mountains of clutter in every room. Yikes. Filth and squalor are clear signs of severe mental illness and unsavory behavior, so I wonder why no one said anything. It could not have been because they thought those were normal conditions for inner-city businesses, or could it? (Oh, wait, yes, it could and they did; a grand jury witness offered that as her excuse for never reporting it. Double yikes.)

So, from the 1970’s until the 2010’s, Kermit Gosnell provided late-term abortions in Philadelphia with his main clientele being struggling women of scarce financial means looking for a final solution to their problems, and all done legally at affordable prices (link to sources included below):

Business was booming and money was good. Not only did Gosnell make an enviable living by providing his medical services, but also by running a pill-pushing side hustle. In the end, spoiler alert, the pills were the ones who had the full force of the law (the DEA, the FBI, and the local Police Department) knocking at his door, not the late-term abortions (legal limit is 24 weeks a.k.a. first and second trimesters… Gosnell’s specialty was third trimester abortions a.k.a. illegal), or the multiple health-code violations, or the unlicensed ‘medical staff,’ or the death of Karnamaya Mongar. Nope. It was the pills. Fascinating, just fascinating.

The film provided insight about the criminal case and courtroom trial, about why the judge opposed it from being treated as an anti-pro-choice case, about how the media was biased from the beginning, and, more interestingly to me, it provided a chilling portrayal of Dr. Gosnell’s perverse personality. He was a freaking weirdo.

In my opinion, Gosnell’s psyche must have broken after having seen so much death for so many decades, so much so that eventually he must have not noticed his blasé attitude, his own bizarre behavior, and the hazardous surroundings he had created at work and at home. (Goodness, I almost became sick while watching the residence basement scene for being beyond disgusting, although, in all fairness, we were given a sort of head’s up when he said to the detectives they better not go downstair because it was a bit untidy. Triple yikes).

Personally, I think he was emotionally numb and mentally checked out. Simply going with the flow by showing up to work day after day at 3801 - 3805 Lancaster Avenue, while portraying the character of the popular late-term abortionist that he was, or rather, that he convinced himself to be. Did he enjoy the mechanics of it? Did he honestly believe he was saving women? And let’s not forget about the pills side hustle. Did he like the excess of money? Did he truly believe he was helping the community? If the definitions of delusions of grandeur and self-aggrandizement had a picture, it would be Gosnell’s mugshot.

You have to watch the film if you want to revel in the depiction of a human being belonging to a different species: one that is unnatural and soulless.

In Love and Fear,

—Marath

Sources:

http://gosnellmovie.com/press

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3727460 [Documentary]

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/may/15/philadelphia-abortion-doctor-kermit-gosnell-sentenced-life

Agnes’s Hail Mary – The Devil’s Bath (2024)

February 18, 2026

“AS MY TROUBLES LEFT ME WEARY OF THIS LIFE, IT CAME TO ME TO COMMIT A MURDER.”

Hello, my dear horror friend, happy Ash Wednesday. As this season of prayer, fasting, and reflection begins, I find it suitable to sit down with you and talk about Agnes (real person) and her fervent devotion to her faith which, shockingly, made her believe that in order to save her soul she had to commit a crime punishable by death.

The words you just read were a gross oversimplification of historical records from 1750 Upper Austria as they pertained to Agnes Catherina Schickin, taken from the 2023 research book by Kathy Stuart titled Suicide by Proxy in Early Modern Germany: Crime, Sin and Salvation. The book was so impactful—haven’t finished reading my copy yet, but can clearly see why it inspired the creation of this historical horror-drama movie—that the Austrian filmmakers did not hold back from showing the brutal realities of murder and of public execution.

As today’s movie, Des Teufels Bad (2024), so graciously explained, in 17th and 18th century Europe, people who wanted to kill themselves would commit murder, so as to be executed. After confessing, cleansed of sin, they hoped to enter heaven and thus avoid the eternal damnation that awaited suicides. The majority were women, and their victims primarily children. The phrase “des teufels bad” translates to “the devil’s bath” which was an 18th-century metaphorical concept for depression and spiritual anguish, representing a state of being trapped/losing one's soul.

Before I move forward, and so we are on the same page, I would like to share with you the trailer that stopped me on my tracks and made me watch the movie immediately. (At the time, I came across it by happenstance, and had zero idea of the plot or even of the genre, so it captivated me by pure merit. Just look at the ambiance, at the cinematography, at the location, at the costumes, at the vibe!) Here it is, please enjoy:

**spoilers ahead**

Agnes was a young woman getting married. Wolf had the promise of being a good husband; he offered their own humble home at a great location, next to the water and by his mother’s house, and by default, a helping hand from her whenever the newlywed couple needed assistance with the keeping of the house, the cooking, the tending to the animals, and, of course, to the future children; he also offered a steady income as a fisherman. On paper, Wolf was a great man.

Agnes would miss her mother and her brother, but was excited for her new role as a wife and future mom. She was a devoted believer, so she would pray with more fervor now than ever to not only be a great wife to Wolf, but a great mom to the future children. The future children. The future children would never come, Agnes realized, after her marriage was not consummated; not on the wedding night, not on the following night, not on any other night. Agnes was distraught.

Agnes would keep her sadness and loneliness to herself, but she would pray more and go to the church more. She would still show up to work at the lake to learn the family business as fishermen, but she would be distracted while lost in thought. She would remain a dutiful wife doing house chores, inside and outside the home, but she would be more talkative to the local women, getting acquainted with the new people and the new surroundings, taking time for herself and by herself.

Even though her new life was not what she expected, it was manageable – until it wasn’t. Time passed and her husband would still not have sex with her. The loneliness in not having a close, physical relationship with Wolf would eat up at her as it meant the children would never come. More often than not, she would use her spare time to go to church to pray for things to change, but she would lose track of time and not look after Wolf or their animals, thus her mother-in-law would take over and do the cooking and the tending.

The breaking point for Agnes’s fragile emotional state happened when a friend of the family committed suicide. When the priest at the church informed the congregation that the man would not receive eternal salvation and would not be properly buried—his naked body was simply disposed of like trash, out in the open field—as suicide was a bigger crime than murder itself. How could this be? The thought of no longer being on earth brought her comfort, but she could not have that either now?

Agnes ran to her mother and to her brother and begged them to take her back as she was scared. They couldn’t. She had to return to her husband. She wouldn’t. So the brother fetched Wolf and alerted him of the problem so he, immediately and rightfully so, took her back home. Agnes broke.

She would not get out of bed all day, she slept all day, she would not bathe, she would not eat. At night, in a hurried state she would secretly go to her makeshift altar and pray and pray and pray, and she would also, terribly and horribly, ingest very small amounts of rat poison to make herself sick, and she would pray and pray and pray that the poison would kill her quietly so no one would know what she did so she could finally die peacefully and go to heaven and get a proper church burial.

When a very ill Agnes felt death was soon approaching, she had Wolf bring the priest for her final confession at her deathbed, but the priest was not available so Agnes unexpectedly told Wolf she had been taking poison. Wolf would not have any of it. Wolf returned Agnes to her mother and to her brother. Agnes got her wish, partially.

A defeated, weak, dejected Agnes now alone in her childhood home. A failed marriage and a foiled motherhood now in the past. She officially gave up, and, with that, she also made up her mind about the only thing she knew was still fully hers and worth saving and protecting… her soul.

Even in her madness she believed in two things: one, that suicide was strictly prohibited and her soul would go to hell and her body would rot out in the open like trash if she committed that unforgivable sin, and two, that even murderers received the Christian benevolence of a last confession right before lawful execution, thus their souls would get cleansed of sin and allowed to enter heaven with the rest of the faithful. Murder was her answer.

And so, Agnes got cleaned up, quietly said her goodbyes to her mother and to her brother, and went to find a child. When she was done, she went to the officials to confess her crime. Simple as that.

When it was time for her execution, she was given the promised last confession and the priest absolved her. She was maniacally happy. She had been saved.

Wow… this last scene, the prison confession, was incredibly hard to watch as it showed the pain and anguish of someone dealing with extreme religious fears. When the priest absolved Agnes I felt—I promise you, I did—such a heavy weight leaving my body. As she started laughing and thanking God, I exhaled with satisfaction. Nothing mattered anymore to Agnes, nothing needed to matter anymore. She did it. She won and got away with it: suicide by proxy. She will die and go to heaven forever and ever, amen.

“LORD, HAVE MERCY ON AGNES. I ABSOLVE YOU FROM YOUR SINS. IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY SPIRIT. AMEN. AGNES, GODSPEED.”

In Love and Fear,

—Marath

J-Horror Vibes: THE WOMAN IN THE YARD (2025)

December 30, 2025

Japanese horror is the superior horror, period. That is why when you hear me say that an original American movie had J-Horror vibes, it is the highest praise I could ever give to it. So, my dear horror friend, please join me today in complimenting The Woman in the Yard (2025) which, at five minutes into the movie, became my favorite release of the year.

The story focuses on Ramona, a widow struggling with mental illness, a farmhouse she does not want, and two kids. She used to be a painter back in the city. Even though she did not have the clarity and courage to tell her now-late husband she rather stayed there, she made sure to be passive-aggressive about the topic whenever she got into one of her moods. It cannot be stressed enough how talented Ramona was as an artist, and how miserable she was as a person.

She had trouble coping with everything, now more than ever, and her kids gave the impression of running the house themselves. The teenage son made sure to wake her up, feed her and her little sister and himself, feed the chickens and the dog, and, had he been a couple of years older, he would have known how to maintain the truck, pay the bills, and, most importantly, reaffirm his position as the new man of the house who had not only the instincts, but also the ability, to keep everyone safe. But he was just a boy, maybe fourteen, fifteen max. And the sister was just a kid, maybe six? Young enough to not know how to write properly yet, but smart enough to understand that her father was dead and would not come back. Smart enough to be on high alert whenever her mother had a bad day, staying small and quiet when the yelling and fighting and the throwing of things started.

Ramona prayed every morning that she had the strength, not to get out of bed, but to end it all. TODAY IS THE DAY.

An unknown woman appeared on the front yard. She was wearing all black. She was covered completely in black, head to toe, in a warm and sunny day which made it more unnerving. Jarring. A clear threat. You see, the farmhouse was in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbors for miles, a big house with two children, and a mentally unstable, suicidal, invalid mother still in crutches due to being in the car accident that killed her husband. They were sitting ducks. They could not call for help either as the power had been cut off due to lack of payment, the cellphones were out of battery, the truck was unable to start, and the shotgun was out of shells, except for one. TODAY IS THE DAY.

The woman in the yard was particularly threatening to look at as her attire evoked two foreign visuals: Victorian-era mourning rituals, and middle east dress codes. To witness that in rural America would be, to put it politely, quite a peculiar sight to see.

As you have guessed it by now, the woman in the yard was Ramona’s death. Ramona felt her kids would be better off without her. She was impatient with them and seemed to not know how to love them. She hated her life. Maybe she missed her husband, and maybe she felt guilty for having been the one driving angrily—while not paying attention to the road—during that rainy night. Maybe she wished it had been her who died. TODAY IS THE DAY.

Dread. Despair. Isolation. A broken soul. A broken body. The supernatural fighting the living and winning. Death. That is what I call top-notch horror. #jhorrorvibes

The ending was almost perfect. The only thing missing was the sound of the shotgun blasting and echoing across the night. It was quite frustrating not having that detail in the film, as it would have made the story more compelling and effective. Because one thing is for certain, the reality of suicide is horrendous and heart-wrenching, and the more you are exposed to how nasty it is, should you ever feel compelled to think about it for yourself, the more you would realize how wrong and messy and ugly and destructive it is.

Don’t be like Ramona, and instead contact the “988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline” for help (just text 988 on your cellphone to get connected). It might not feel like it right now, but a universal truth is that your life (and my life, and your neighbor’s life, and each and every human life ever to exist) is valuable and worth fighting for, I promise you that.

You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world. – 1 John 4:4

In Love and Fear,

—Marath