—You seem to know a lot about the Macleods. It’s almost as if you knew one or more of them personally.
—Oh please, even the papers have speculated on this; it’s hardly insider knowledge. And you’re responsible for revealing plenty of the same on your show.
—Yes and I believe you used that as a … as a smokescreen to hijack this show and spread your agenda. You’ve ranted to me on this podcast against bad parenting, people being more interested in how they appear to others. I believe you have a reason for feeling that way. I believe you’re carrying shame inside you … or guilt. I believe you were either there in Cornwall, when whatever happened to Arla happened, or you know more about it than you want to admit. I believe you had a closer relationship to Arla Macleod than you make out. Maybe you spoke to her when you were on those Skexxixx message boards all those years ago? Maybe you tried to help a lonely girl, maybe you were rebuffed?
—Oh please. You’re full of pretty little theories. You can’t prove anything.
—Maybe I can’t. But if this isn’t true, why don’t you deny it? Surely being able to orchestrate something like this is a demonstration of your influence, your power? Surely if you did this you should be revelling in it, not hiding from it like a scared little boy. Because that’s who you are inside, isn’t it? That’s who drives all this? A frightened little boy. I believe you probably did have something happen to you – something that would besmirch your reputation, something that left some emptiness inside you, some whirling, black, empty hole that cries out inside you, that drives you to do this shit. That’s why you hated Skexxixx so much; you saw him give hope to empty people like you; you saw his own emptiness and, for whatever reason, you hated it. The same with Arla. For whatever reason, people looked up to her after she did what she did, and you couldn’t stand that. Who are you, really?
—That doesn’t matter.
—It does matter. Of course it matters. People are dead and I believe their deaths are directly or indirectly your fault. I think you’re now after me because I’ve turned over the stone you hide under. Like all cowards, you’re running away.
—You’re telling me that I am that influential, that I can cause people to die – that’s high praise indeed. But did I cast the fatal blow? I think not.
—I’m also saying it won’t be difficult to find you and prove what you’ve done. Tell me who you are! Tell me here and you’ll get your notoriety. You’ll get what you want.
—It doesn’t matter who I am. You are as stupid as the rest of the sheep. You can put all your effort into finding me, exposing me, then finding the evidence you need to prosecute me; you might even turn the tables and try to doxx me. You can do all of those things but in the end it doesn’t matter. None of it. You see, behind me, there are thousands more vying for my position, vying to be top dog. It’s like a hydra, Scott; every head you cut off, two more grow in their places. And we’re everywhere – hiding, waiting. You’ll never ever stop us. If you try, there’ll be repercussions and you know it.
—So if it doesn’t matter, tell me. Tell me who you are…
—Goodbye Scott.
Cruelly, frustratingly, infuriatingly, our call ended there. He hung up. I tried calling back but I imagine it was another burner phone that he’d immediately thrown away. For all of his cheesy super-villain talk, he’s educated, experienced, careful and ultimately a coward.
It’s a sorry end to what I thought might just be a breakthrough. I am left with no definitive answer in the case of Arla Macleod – only theories and more questions.
This is not a whodunit – we know who dun it. What we don’t know for sure is why. That’s why I took on the case of Arla Macleod – to discuss, to theorise, to speculate on what caused a young woman to do what she did, then to reach out to a show like this.
I believe that somehow, Arla’s family found out what happened to her in Cornwall and – for the sake of her mother’s narcissism, her stepfather’s piety and her sister’s public reputation – did nothing. I believe all of these elements had their part in the family’s decision-making, to whatever end. I also firmly believe that somewhere, some way, our troll had his grimy hand in proceedings.
The official line is that Arla Macleod was suffering from psychosis. She killed her family during a psychotic break. This appears likely, but I believe this psychosis was induced or exacerbated by what happened to her in Cornwall. But who did that terrible thing to her? What exactly happened that night? And why did no one outside the family tell?
I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll ever know. There are too many loose threads, too many questions…
And now I’m frightened. I don’t know how much more I can say, lest I be doxxed.
But what worries me most is that this series becomes a springboard for our troll, sending him to where he wants to be. I don’t want him to eclipse the sad tale of Arla Macleod. I don’t want his hatred of the enigma she has become to be the main point of this investigation. That’s why I will not name him. I will not give him any excuse. Although I don’t believe he is a man of his word, so I presume that he will have me doxxed anyway.
So where does this leave us in the sixth episode, on the last inch of our path?
The answer is that I’m not sure. All I know is that, like Skexxixx, I will have to think about vanishing for a little while, disappearing under my rock, working out how to step up my own personal security.
And where does it leave us with the late Arla Macleod? I wonder if, like the troll, Arla used my podcast too. For her, maybe it was a way to reach out and try to explain, one final time why, she did what she did.
All I can say is that here, at the end of episode six, we truly have the essence of what Six Stories is about.
And that’s not me, not Skexxixx or the troll. It’s not even about Arla. It’s about you – your thoughts, your theories, your opinion of what happened to Arla Macleod and why she killed her family in 2014.
I hate myself for having to say this, but I feel like I can no longer watch as you discuss, theorise, debate and sway in your various directions around these cases like so much corn beneath the wind.
I will stop speaking now, and leave it up to you. All I can hope is that if anything changes with regards to this case, I can add something, an update of sorts that might feed your discussions. A seventh story, if you like.
Until then though, this has been our last.
And I have been, as always, Scott King.
Farewell.
Six Stories: An Update
Audio extract from a news report on BBC Radio 5 Live
A doctor at a controversial psychiatric unit has today been arrested.
Dr Jonathan Barrington, former therapist to Arla Macleod, who killed her family in 2014, has been found guilty of breaking patient confidentiality laws by publishing audio records of Macleod’s therapy sessions online. Barrington will almost definitely face expulsion from the GMC and a hefty jail sentence.
Audio extracts of the sessions were leaked onto several torrent sites before being deleted. However, they are now reappearing in the dimmest corners of the dark web as swiftly as they were taken down. YouTube, Twitter, Facebook and other social media sites say that anyone caught posting these audio files will be prosecuted and banned for life. Other, more obscure areas of the internet are proving more difficult to police, however.
Barrington, when asked why he had released the recordings, an action sure to have ruined his career, answered only, ‘I had to.’ He would not elaborate further. Barrington’s son, a recent émigré, was unavailable for comment about his father’s crimes.
Among countless malicious communications found on Barrington’s hard drive, the personal details of Scott King, host of true-crime podcast Six Stories, were also found. Threats to ‘doxx’ or share online Mr King’s personal details were also recovered. Whether these details were indeed shared is not yet known. King was involved in documenting the case of Arla Macleod on his podcast series but has since shunn
ed all media activity and was unavailable for comment on these findings.
The trial continues.
Welcome back to an extra episode of Six Stories, for a short while, at least.
I’m Scott King.
The only audio that remains of Dr Jonathan Barrington’s sessions is buried deep in a dark place online, shared by a name I will not reveal. By now, you’ll all understand why.
What I can say is that Dr Barrington is clearly my troll. And he’s clearly worked long and hard to become the focus, the centre of attention in the case of Arla Macleod. He’s worked to bring the Macleod Massacre back into the spotlight. And he’s used me to do this. But I also think that Barrington’s agenda towards Arla Macleod goes beyond simply hijacking the case, and using it as a stepping stone to notoriety. As I told him during our interview in episode six, I think he has something to do with Arla – some personal motive. Some connection that prompted him somehow, through some means, to have himself appointed as Arla’s personal therapist. I believe, like I said to him, he’s covering for someone.
As I’m sure you do, I have my theories about why Barrington did what he did … and might have done. All I have to work with, though, is what I know – what I have presented in these six episodes. And from these threads, the frayed edges of this whole mess, I try to build my ideas.
I believe that Barrington, in his quest to turn the ‘broken’ generation away from Skexxixx’s message of embracing emptiness, discovered that he held a lot of sway over these young, lost and impressionable people who spend so much of their time online. I believe he may even have encountered Arla herself in a chat room or on a forum. Certainly, in those long hours spent alone while her mother and father watched Alice training, Arla was at the mercy of whoever she came across on the internet. And then later, after Arla killed her family, perhaps Barrington saw rearing up, Hydra-like, around her the same sentiment as had surrounded Skexxixx.
Perhaps I’m in no position to comment. Perhaps I am as guilty as him of using the case of Arla Macleod – of using all of the cases I cover – for my own ends.
But in here lies a paradox – he knew that if Arla died, she would become a martyr. Look online now and those pictures of teenage Arla are everywhere again – her defiant image is, yet again, two fingers to a society of conformity. That’s what I don’t understand. He has done precisely what he’s worked against for all this time.
When I started out I wondered if I was going to get any resolution to the Macleod Massacre. Usually I delve into cold cases, try and get a fresh perspective on something that happened a long time ago, get different perspectives on a long-forgotten death.
I rake over old graves.
This whole series, though, has been opportunistic from the off. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I sent that request to Elmtree Manor to see if Arla Macleod wanted to talk. I was just throwing my hat into the ring as I sincerely believe in not passing up opportunities when they present themselves. This was one of those opportunities and, like any case, it leaves us with questions whose answers have been lost, forgotten, carried to whatever place that comes after death.
Only the Macleods will know what really happened that night in 2014 and maybe only one of them will really know why.
But that’s reality, unfortunately. That’s what happens in most cases. There’s no final resolution, no twist, no nice tying together of loose threads. Brutal cases leave gaping, open wounds, some that will never heal. That’s how life works. There’s a smokescreen that Dr Barrington has brought down entirely on purpose – and it’s thick and inpenetrable.
And it’s within this fog that we will end.
There’s little more I can do here save for re-treading the same roads. I have nothing more I can reveal.
Barrington told me that when one troll vanishes two will sprout up in its place. I find myself accepting this. Accepting that there’s no place for me to go anymore where some troll won’t follow. All roads lead to me having my pale and vulnerable underbelly exposed by someone who has a vendetta against me, or is, as Barrington told me, using me to gain leverage.
He’s certainly done that himself. When this final update airs, it will grant him the notoriety he craves, the profile he desires, the attention that he needs to fill whatever gaping wound is inside him. But hasn’t he already achieved that? He’s all over the media now, after all. Maybe that’s what he wanted, to become a bigger mystery than Skexxixx, than Arla. Maybe he’s done just that and this nagging feeling I have that there’s something beneath is just me looking too deep.
What I really hope is that one day he finds some peace, that ultimately, he realises that behaving this way only accentuates this emptiness, and that whatever satisfaction he gains will only be fleeting. That he’ll never be able to mend the fracture he may have been part of causing.
As for Arla, her story is over. Angel; Tessa; Paulette, Anthony and Skexxixx – their stories will be left in the balance, to be speculated upon.
Mine too.
As I’ve said before, I will seek to disappear, to take cover from the glare of the internet, the media, even my own fans. This case has rattled me, it has changed me, has made me cautious.
Whether Six Stories will return is uncertain. If it does, I think my own face is the first thing I will hide.
But I will remain, for now, Scott King.
This has been our last.
TorrentWraith – Audio (Music & Sounds)
Type Name
Audio Arla Macleod Rec006 [320KBPS]
Uploaded 2 hours ago, Size 32.4 MiB. ULed by JBazzzzz666
—What happened when they found out, Arla?
—It were … it were so hard. Alice had told me that it’d be ok – that they’d understand. She said that I just had to sit them down and tell them … about Cornwall. I were so scared. I was looking at Alice, but she wasn’t saying anything. She was just staring at me, blank-faced. So I explained what happened to me that night. I told them what those lads did. I broke down crying. I were sobbing … sobbing so hard. I could feel all the hurt trickling out of me, with my words, my tears. I knew it were a good idea to tell them, and I were starting to feel better. But then, when I looked up, they was all just gone.
—Gone?
—They’d all just got up and left the room – even Alice. She said they’d understand, her boyfriend had begged her to say something. He’d said that you shouldn’t keep these things bottled up. Families, mams and dads, they’d understand, they’d help. He’d been through bad times and his parents had helped him. They were all disgusted with me. We never talked about it again. They never mentioned it.
—Did you ever try talking about it with them?
—No. I knew. I knew how it would make them look, what they would look like to everyone if folk found out. Alice was about to skyrocket with her swimming. If there’d been a fuss, if people found out about what happened to me I would have ruined all that too. Mam said I’d nearly ruined Alice’s career when I were a teenager with all my nonsense. So I just shut up and didn’t mention it again.
That were the night I heard them crying the first time. That’s when I saw them shuffling down the path at the back of the garden.
—Your parents?
—No. The black-eyed kids. It were like all that hurt, all that pain had dribbled out of me and turned into something else.
I thought it would help!
—I think Alice’s boyfriend was right that talking always helps. Why do you think your family reacted in that way?
—I don’t know, I never felt nothing after that. I never felt nothing.
—What would you tell fifteen-year-old Arla? How would you soothe her?
—I don’t know. What did you tell your son when he was fifteen? When he felt bad? How did you make him feel better?
—Arla. You know we can’t be personal here.
—He must be a lucky boy to have you as a dad.
—You protect your kids, you should protect your children.
Whatever mistakes they make, whatever stupid and terrible things they do … you should … I’m sorry… [Pause] Let’s bring her into the room. That young girl. Let’s bring in fifteen-year-old Arla, shall we?
—No. I hate doing this, I really hate it.
—Let’s imagine fifteen-year-old Arla’s here. Sat in the chair over here.
[Silence]
—What do you feel towards that young girl?
—Anger. Just … I’m angry with her.
—Why do you think that is? Why are you angry with her?
—[Indistinguishable – sobbing] … fucking known better!
—She was fifteen. She was a girl.
—I’d never even had…
—‘She’d’ never even had…
—Sorry … yes; she’d never even had a boyfriend before. She lived her life online, talking about Skexxixx for God’s sake!
—So how was she to know, that fifteen-year-old girl? She was naive, she was young, inexperienced.
[Sobbing]
—What would older Arla say to her, to that little, naive, inexperienced girl? What would older Arla say to make her feel better. Not to punish her, she’s been through enough.
—I don’t know.
—Had young Arla ever known forgiveness?
—I … sorry, she were always being told she were no good, that she should be more like Alice.
—What do you think that did to her?
—I … it … I know that it … it made her want to be more like her sister – her prettier, successful sister; her sister who everyone liked more; her sister who didn’t play stupid games. That’s all she were doing, that’s all. She were just trying to be like her. So when Alice told her there were a party, that those lads had invited them, of course she wanted to go! She should have stayed though. Oh God, she should have stayed and finished it! She should have stayed and closed it!
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