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Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast. The podcast dedicated to serial killers. Who they were, what they did, and how. Episode 203. Before I tell you about this evening's saga, I would like to share with you some happy news from your humble host's life.
My wife and I was recently blessed with having twins. A baby girl and boy, named Thelma and Toribjörn. Our family of five is now truly complete. So, back to our serial killer saga.
In this episode, I will bring to you, dear listener, the tale of another one of these rare killers we seldom hear about, namely Scandinavian serial killers. This time it is not your humble host's home country we visit, but Norway's friendly neighbor and previous colonists, the Kingdom of Denmark. Our subject is also a rare breed.
While the vast majority of serial killers are male, a select few are women. And tonight's subject is just that. And what women serial killers might lack in numbers, they take up in absolute depravity and evil.
I am, of course, talking about none other than Dagmar Overby, serial killer and murderer of at least nine young children, perhaps as many as twenty-five. Enjoy. This episode, like all other sagas told by me, would not be possible without my loyal Patreones. They are... Lisbeth, Cassandra, Russell, Lisa, Cody, Kathy, James, Corbyn,
Kylie, Niao, Sabina, Val, Marilyn, Craig, Emily, Missy, Jonathan, Lance, Susanna, the Duggletons, Jennifer, Lunavar, DMACC, Cheryl, and Richard. You truly are the backbone of the Serial Killer podcast. And without you, there would be no show. Thank you.
I am forever grateful for my elite TSK Producers Club, and I want to show you that your patronage is not given in vain. All TSK episodes will be available 100% ad-free to my TSK Producers Club on patreon.com slash the serial killer podcast. No generic ads, no ad reads, no jingles. I promise.
And of course, if you wish to donate $15 a month, that's only $7.50 per episode, you are more than welcome to join the ranks of the TSK Producers Club too. So don't miss out and join now. Imagine if you will, dear listener. Copenhagen, Inge Harveywey, 21, the 1st of September, 1920.
Dagmar went to the tiled stove in the living room and knelt down in front of it. Carefully, she piled up the firewood and crumpled up the newspaper before packing it good between the dry kindling. The can of kerosene stood by her side, and she uncorked it, then let a thin stream of the flammable liquid drench the wood and paper. She struck a match, glanced briefly at the flame, and felt the heat against her face.
with a steady hand she guided the match to the newspaper and still sat on her knees as she watched the fire take hold she closed the damper a little so that too much oxygen did not enter the licking flames just enough for the fire to roar
There was nothing better than looking into a blazing fire, watching the flames dance as they licked up the knots of wood, feeling the warmth on your body and enjoying the life-giving energy that sprang from it. Dagmar took a deep breath as she turned her face and looked into the bedroom. She could make out the suitcase that was still under the bed, and with her gaze fixed on it, she stood up and approached with slow steps.
She bent down and grabbed it. It was lighter than she remembered. With slightly shaking hands, she opened it and looked down at the small corpse, which stared back with empty, lifeless eyes. Reflexively, she turned her face away. She still did not like looking dead babies in the eyes, but she quickly got control of herself and fixed her gaze on the baby's chest instead. So quiet and calm at once.
Not a sound came from its small, pale lips. Dagmar smiled blissfully as she lifted the infant to her. She held it close to her body as she moved back to the living room. With confident steps, she approached the roaring stove again. She knelt down once more and opened the middle shutter. Laboriously and with some difficulty, she managed to push the lifeless body through the hole,
and was finally able to close the door again. Dagmar got up and stood completely still in front of the stove, almost devoutly. She held out her hands and accepted the warmth that spread from the hot metal to her cold fingers. Her eyes were still fixed on the flames she could see through the shutter, and a small smile curled her lips. That's how easy it was.
The stove was a good servant in her fight for survival, in the fight to erase all traces. Let us for a while wind back time a bit. We're still in Denmark, this time on the mainland called Jutland, in Danish Jylland. And the date is the 23rd of April, 1887, a gravel road led past a farm worker's dwelling, which was a little out of the way.
It was a small thatched house with an attached barn. Next to the barn was the well, with its worn handle that bore witness to years of use. Small wildflowers grew up the half-timbering of the house wall. From the outside it looked idyllic, but the view is sometimes deceiving, because when you got closer you could see the beginning decay and rot.
Anna Maria Overby stood at the kitchen table. Her eyes roamed over the brickwork of the barn, where the half-timbering gaped here and there, testifying to the beginning of decay. It was not out of any bad intention that they had let it fall into disrepair, but living for rent as a boarder, where you had to do hard work for little pay, they did not give the greatest profit.
they only had resources for food and the most necessary clothing as a day laborer there were so many tasks to take care of for others and in return you had to put up with being almost the lowest in society
Anna-Maria knew that well, and as a servant's wife she had to follow her husband, both in the fields and in the stables. Of course, the tasks were divided between them, but they each knew what they had to do. At times it could be frustrating, the idea that you worked yourself ragged in order to put bread on the table for others. Even the children had to help with the workload from an early age.
As soon as they could pull up weeds, they joined the fields. Anna Maria knew in her heart, however, that there was a meaning to everything. The priest said that nearly every Sunday in church, their reward came in heaven if they behaved themselves and did their best while on earth. Anna Maria moved around, breathing heavily. She kept one hand on her aching lower back as she set the table.
Surin and the two men would soon be on their way in from the field, and she had to see to it that the porridge was ready. Anna Maria brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her forehead and let out a small startled gasp as a searing pain ran through her stomach. She held both hands to her stomach and bent her body a little. Was it contractions? Was she going to give birth now?
Anna Maria hobbled over to her chair and sat down heavily. Finally, the pain subsided, and she stood up again. At the age of twenty-nine, she had given birth three times before, and she knew that it could take some time before the birth really started, time that had to be utilized. A quick glance at the table told her that wooden bowls, spoons, and sugar were ready.
She went over to the hot stove and stirred the porridge one more time, while again massaging her lower back with her free hand. She thought about a new small child that would arrive. Another mouth to feed, of course. But they also benefited from the children when they grew up. This pregnancy had been very different from the first three.
The child seemed so impetuous and violent, as if it had its own temperament and willpower. The boys and little Emilie had been so easy to bear, little kicks that could barely be felt. But this kid kicked so hard it hurt. Anna-Marie felt sadness at the thought of the firstborn boy. He was no more than fourteen days old, and a long way up,
to the cemetery with his little wooden coffin on the horse cart was the heaviest walk she had ever walked fortunately they had gotten baby gustav the following year and he was now a small thin four-year-old boy a few years of pregnancies had then followed but she had lost the children both times in connection with birth
She had almost given up hope of more children when luck finally smiled on them last year, and she had given birth to Amelia. But even though she had been happy to discover she was pregnant again this year, she could not say anything other than that she was looking forward to the fact that this little being would release the strain on her aching pregnant body and instead kick freely in God's free air.
The pregnancy weighed heavily on her now, and it made her duties more difficult. Now breakfast was ready, and she thought the men had better come before the porridge burned. Annamarie appeared out of the small kitchen window that faced the dirt road that led up to the fields. In the early morning light it was hard to see anything but haze and shadows, but it seemed to her that she could make out some figures up at the bend.
At the same time, another contraction raced through her body and she bent over in pain. She propped one hand on the rough kitchen table as she gasped for air. The other pregnancies and deliveries had not hurt so much. Desperately, she contemplated who would be able to help her, as she was alone with little Gustav and Emilia. She contemplated sending Gustav out after surgery,
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visit betterhelp dot com slash serial killer to-day to get ten per cent off your first month that's better help h e l p dot com slash serial killer anne-marie let out a sigh of relief when soren just then passed the window he looked startled at her anguished face and hunched body then hurried in his cogs to join her
he did not even stop in the scullery to take off his clogs but came running into her kitchen and took a firm hold of her upper body and asked if the time had come for her to give birth anne maria shook her head cautiously as she waited for the contractions to pass she said she did not think so but that the contractions would probably last a while but oh how it hurt she told her husband and she feared something might be wrong
It wasn't like this the other times. He should probably call the midwife to be safe, even though they might end up paying for her services twice. Her husband, a kind and gentle man who heeded his wife's advice and decisions in most things, immediately agreed and said he would send the eldest boy to get the midwife right away. But first he would help her get into bed.
Grateful for his help, Anna Maria leaned on Sören, and they almost reached the bedroom door when a new wave of pain set in. At the same time, she felt something warm and wet run down her legs. At first she thought that her water had broke. Anna Maria gasped and moaned in pain. She herself could feel how dizzy she became and how the bed sailed before her eyes.
Looking down at her legs, she saw to her horror that they were coated in blood. She cried out for Ceren to, in God's name, get help. The sight of the blood, but mostly the sound of Anne-Marie's despairing voice, filled Ceren with dread. He stormed into the kitchen, roaring at one of the boys to saddle up right away and get both the midwife and the doctor.
Little Gustav woke up in the small bed he shared with Emilie, which was next to their big one. He looked at Anna Maria with sleep-drowned eyes. "'Mommy, are you sick?' he asked in a thin voice. Anna Maria tried to keep calm. She said a prayer to God to take care of her and the little one, but she sensed how all the energy seemed to ooze out of her body, how the world became more and more distant.'
the last thing she heard was the sound of the pot which sren knocked over on the floor in his clumsiness anne-marie woke up to the sound of a child crying dazed she tried to get up but she had to give up she was still so dizzy a good week after the birth lucky she had survived they all said even she had no real concept of the battle that they had fought on her behalf
The placenta had detached, and both Anna Maria and the little girl had been close to death. Fortunately, Dr. Peterson had been at home, and together with the midwife, he had delivered the girl and stopped the bleeding. Time and rest, they had said, but she wondered how to do that with a tiny newborn when there were also Gustav and Emilia to look after.
Surin had gotten hold of a young girl from the neighboring farm, Tine, and she was a great help. How the infant baby screamed something fierce and took up most of Anna-Marie's time. Tine asked Anna-Marie what she would call the infant girl. She answered Dagmar, Johanna, Amalie, Overby. A few years later, when Dagmar was seven years old,
She was already known as a willful and bright young girl. Even though she was the youngest, she bossed her young siblings around easily. While her youngest sister wanted to stay indoors and be coddled by her mummy, Dagmar wanted to play like the boys. She loved to jump in the large haystack in the barn and to go on little adventures. The only one who could put Dagmar in her place was her mother, who she knew better than to disobey.
Her father was a different story. He doted on her, and she had him round her little finger, as the saying goes. At school things were different. She did not get very much along with the other children, and when word got out that she had been caught stealing candy from a shop, the bullying had started. One day all the kids had gathered in a circle around Dagmar and chanted, Thieving Dagmar, over and over and over again, as they pointed at her.
She hated her classmates, and she hated school. At home, she did not get very well along with her siblings. They feared her more than they liked her, and Dagmar spent a lot of time daydreaming and going on little adventures on her own. Her mother had never seen a child with such a vivid imagination, and she was quite tired of Dagmar's constant fabrications and outright lies.
In 1896, when Dagmar was nine, the family moved to Denmark's second largest city, Aarhus. She had looked forward to starting over at a new school where perhaps she would be popular and have girlfriends like a normal girl. The apartment they moved to was a cramped and tiny affair, and their big family had to share beds.
It was cluttered, and the only toilet was a shared outhouse in the backyard that they shared with all the other tenants. Shortly after they had settled, Dagmar's grandfather came to visit, and he planned on staying a whole month. Dagmar loved her grandfather, and when he looked at her with admiring eyes and complimented her on her beauty, she was thrilled.
Due to how cramped the apartment was, everyone had to share beds. Dagmar would sleep with her father and grandfather, and her mother would sleep with the other children. In the middle of the first night of her grandfather's visit, she felt a searing pain in her vagina. It was very dark, so she had at first difficulty seeing what was happening. Then she saw
that it was her grandfather who was pushing his fingers inside of her. She whimpered in confusion and fear and told him to stop. Luckily, he did, probably because her mother called from the other room for Dagmar to keep quiet. But as soon as she thought her grandfather had fallen asleep again, there his fingers were again. This time he did not stop, and the pain was unbearable.
She called out for her mother, saying that her grandfather was touching her, and that it hurt. Again the elderly man stopped, and a short while after her mother came inside and ordered her husband to lie in the middle, so that Dagmar could get some sleep and not disturb everyone. The next day her mother discovered that Dagmar had not been lying. She saw the blood on the sheets and on Dagmar's nightie.
She ordered all the children to go out in the backyard to play. When they came back in, their grandfather was gone. In a rare moment of tenderness, her mother gave her daughter Dagmar a hug and assured her that the old man would not be coming back. The incident would haunt Dagmar for years to come.
Four years later, in 1899, Dagmar was thirteen years old and more wilful than ever. She was caught stealing over and over again, and her parents were at their wits' end. One day, as her mother was taking her to the police station to confess a petty theft, Dagmar ran away.
She only lasted two days on the run before she got homesick and wanted to get back home where there was food and shelter. When she returned, her mother acted as if nothing had happened, but her usually meek and mild father was a different story. He stood up and slapped her hard and in no uncertain terms told her that she had better not try something like that ever again.
His admonishment did not stick. She was soon caught stealing, this time money, and her father gave her a painful whipping of her behind. Once again she ran away, but this time she sought out her grandmother. She turned out to be sympathetic, and managed to get her a job at a large farm, where she would work as a servant girl.
The working hours were from 8:30 in the morning until 8:30 at night, seven days a week. Every third Sunday would be her day off. The farmer, named Hegor, would make sure that Dagmar was fed, given decent clothes, and that she would be confirmed in the Christian faith. The farm was located far away from Aarhus, on the Danish island of Fyn.
Dagmar thrived on the farm. She was well suited for the work, and the people seemed to like her, especially the farmhand boy who had picked her up at the train station, Nils. Her first taste of death came with his assistance. One day he was tasked with killing seven kittens, as the farm could not keep so many cats.
Nils, who was an animal lover, could not bring himself to hurt the cute little furballs, so he asked Dagmar for help. She gladly helped him, and they went to the well. There Nils brought up a bucket of water. Then he handed Dagmar a kitten while he closed his eyes. She held the kitten underwater until it stopped squirming. Then she continued holding it underwater, to be absolutely sure it was dead.
She felt delight at the feeling just when the kittens died in her hands. When all seven kittens were dead, Nils cried. Dagmar admonished him and told him to get his act together. The farmer had given an order, and they had carried it out. Simple. She was still only thirteen.
one year later when she was fourteen dagmar was confirmed in the christian faith as all so-called decent danish children were at the time the ceremony went well and it would remain a fond memory for her for the rest of her life
Dagmar stayed at the farm for many years. However, in 1909, when she was 19 years old, Dagmar was caught stealing from the farmer's wife. Again, it was money that Dagmar had stolen. When confronted with this, Dagmar refused to admit it and remained defiant. The local sheriff was called, and Dagmar was fired effective immediately, and the sheriff took her away.
She was sentenced on the 7th of September 1909 under Section 228 of the Criminal Code and Section 13 of the Act of 1st of April 1905 with imprisonment on the usual prison diet for ten days. It was lucky that it was the first time she was punished, and she had therefore only received the ten days.
Remember, dear listener, this occurred in Denmark. And even though it was well over a hundred years ago, the criminal justice system was far more lenient than what my American and British listeners are used to. When she got out of prison, after ten days, she used what little money she had on a train ticket back to the city of Aarhus. When she arrived there, she only owned the clothes she wore.
She had no money, no references, no job, and she was hungry.
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And with that, we come to the end of part one in this uniquely Scandinavian serial killer saga. Next episode, we'll continue Dagmar Overby's tale of misery and murder.
So, as they say in the land of radio, stay tuned. What follows is a message to my dear Norwegian listeners in Norwegian. I remind you that my Norwegian-language podcast, Serimordepodden, is available and listened to both on Spotify, Apple Podcasts and all other places you listen to podcasts. As they say in Radio Land, follow along.