I was twelve when I first heard Ted Bundy’s name. While other kids were watching Disney Channel, I was secretly binging true crime documentaries when my parents thought I was asleep. (Sorry Mom, the secret’s out.) But something always bothered me about these shows – they spent 45 minutes on Bundy’s “charisma” and “intelligence” and maybe 5 minutes on the women whose lives he stole.
Let’s fix that, shall we?
Beyond the Bogeyman: The Lives He Took
When we talk about Bundy, we’re really talking about the gaping holes left in dozens of families. The birthdays never celebrated. The careers never fulfilled. The children never born.
Bundy wasn’t some criminal mastermind – he was a mediocre law student with abandonment issues who targeted women who looked like the ex-girlfriend who dumped him. (As subtle as a bloodstain on white carpet, that psychology.)
His victims, however? They were extraordinary in the most ordinary ways.
The Women Whose Names We Should Know
Linda Ann Healy was a 21-year-old psychology major who broadcast ski reports on the radio. She disappeared from her basement bedroom in January 1974, leaving behind bloodstained sheets and a mattress. Her family spent years searching for answers while comprehensive details about Bundy’s victims remained elusive.
Susan Rancourt vanished while walking across Central Washington State College campus. She was known for her dedication to her studies and kindness to others.
Janice Ott was 23 and worked as a probation officer. Denise Naslund was 19 and studying to become a computer programmer. Both disappeared from Lake Sammamish State Park on the same July day in 1974.
(I’ve walked that same park trail. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.)
The Youngest Victims
Lynette Culver was only 12 when she disappeared from her junior high school in Pocatello, Idaho. Twelve. The same age I was when I first learned about Bundy. The same age as my niece is now.
Kimberly Leach, also 12, became Bundy’s final victim in February 1978. She was abducted from her junior high school in Lake City, Florida. Her body was found eight weeks later.
When I think about these girls, I always wonder what they’d be doing now. Would they have grandchildren? Would they have traveled the world? Would they have become the scientists or artists or teachers they dreamed of being?
The Survivors Who Lived to Tell
Not everyone Bundy attacked died. Karen Sparks (sometimes called Joni Lenz) was his first known victim in January 1974. She survived but suffered permanent brain damage.
Rhonda Stapley kept her story hidden for nearly 40 years after escaping Bundy in Utah. She was too afraid of judgment and victim-blaming to come forward.
My husband Ryan always says, “The stories of survivors are just as important as the stories of those who didn’t make it.” (This is why I keep him around – he’s smart AND he tolerates my murder board in the guest room.)
The Ripple Effect of Loss
The murders created ripples that still affect communities today. Parents became more protective. Young women changed their behaviors. Universities implemented safety measures.
The psychological trauma experienced by families, friends, and entire communities can’t be quantified. Some parents of victims died never knowing what happened to their daughters, as Bundy’s full victim count remains uncertain.
Why Their Stories Matter More Than His
Every time we focus on Bundy’s “charm” or “good looks” (seriously, have you seen his eyebrows? They’re as subtle as a police lineup), we diminish the women whose lives he stole.
These women weren’t just “Bundy victims.” They were daughters, sisters, friends, students, and dreamers. They had favorite songs and inside jokes. They had career plans and vacation photos. They had futures.
The notorious serial killer might have dominated headlines, but it’s the stories of Linda, Susan, Janice, Denise, Lynette, Kimberly, and dozens of others that deserve to be remembered.
So the next time you find yourself in a true crime rabbit hole (no judgment here – I live in that hole), take a moment to remember the names and faces of the victims. Their stories matter more than any killer’s ever could.
And maybe – just maybe – triple-check that your doors are locked tonight.