Legends of Sugar Creek: The Journals of Jim Corrie, Part Eleven

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​What follows has been edited for content and relevance to the ongoing investigation
into events in Sugar Creek, Ohio on the night of September 26-27, 2015.
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​On October 21, 2015, Miranda Corrie contacted BCI requesting that her interview be moved forward, saying she had new information related to the investigation. Below is the edited transcript of Ms. Corrie's half of the interview, which took place on October 26.

Portrait of Miranda Corrie from Jim Corrie's journal.

Let me start by saying my dad was not crazy. I don't agree with what his therapist said. I don't think he ever took the time to get to know him. Dad could get really sad, in a way that both Mom and me worried what he might do to himself if we left him alone for too long like that, but what Dad wrote is true: he would never hurt us. He wouldn't hurt anyone. Ever. He wasn't capable of that. Dr. V_______ is full of it. 

But some of the things in this journal...I didn't know the man who wrote them.

I see him clearly in the parts where he's joking. I had trouble stopping myself from laughing, even under the circumstances. He had this incredible self-deprecatory wit that I loved so much. Even in a deep funk, he could tell a joke that would have me and Mom rolling. I mean, he could be vicious with it, too, but only with people who deserved it, some asshole or bully who was begging to get cut down to size. And his takedowns were legendary. When he was done with someone there'd be nothing left but a pair of smoking shoes and a crater. That was the extent of how "violent" he could be. 

He could get angry. Like anybody. He gets frustrated when he feels misunderstood. Like the thing with the doll head and the media. I can see exactly how that happened. My dad always gets...got...carried away with things he's excited about, didn't really think before he acted. And then he thinks so fast his words can't keep up with his thoughts. It upset him when people didn't understand him, but he would turn that on himself. Called it an "opportunity for self-improvement." He wasn't vengeful. He didn't want to hurt anyone. 

But when he writes about nearly crushing a man's skull...those horrific blood-soaked nightmares...I didn't know that man. That man was a stranger.

He was suffering. I don't deny that. He'd been suffering in one way or another my whole life, so when I came home between semesters and felt that low-level tension, I was familiar with it.  Dad had lost his job - his career! - and was in a bad funk most of that summer. So that New Year's where he spent most of the night alone in his office, staring out the window? That was weird, but not unexpected.

He was listening to that CD boxed set I'd gotten him for Christmas. The Corries? I was generally aware of my dad's enjoyment of things Scottish, and I thought it would be a great joke.  When he said it was one of his favorite groups, it kind of blew my mind. I literally had no idea! I mean, I loved my parents, but I still spent my childhood aggressively ignoring their musical tastes out of embarrassment. Yeah, I was one of those kids. It was really kind of a thrill to know how lucky I got with his gift, and the music actually wasn't bad, either. 

If I had it to do it again, though, I never would have bought them. I might have burned them, just to be safe.

I asked Mom if anything was going on, if Dad was still depressed, and she muttered something about his "new hobby" taking up all of his time. By that time the first bunch of nightmares had calmed down, so she was less on-edge. I mean, she was always worried about him; it was part of their relationship. 

I thought it was nice that he had a hobby! And that it was so in line with what he used to teach...that's how he got me hooked, you know. "Hooked on History?" The way he talked about it, it was like all those dead famous people were still alive and making news. He made them so real. And he'd seemed so excited at first. I mean, how could it be bad if it pulled him out of a depression? 

The thing with the doll and the news was embarrassing, but like I said...it was Dad. He made a mistake. And the fight with our neighbor was...a problem, but Mom and I both knew that guy was a bully in need of taking down. It didn't have to be Dad's fault. At least until I learned about the other stuff. 

All the other stuff.

Why did he send this to me? Why did I have to learn about all of this like this? This was torturing him. Was he afraid it would torture Mom if he told her? Was he afraid she would take Dr. V______'s side? It would have messed with her, but she never would have done what Dr. V_______ asked.  Maybe he didn't want to take the chance. Maybe he thought she'd shared enough of his suffering. 

I think it was the interview that changed him. Really changed him. I helped him prepare. I didn't know what I was doing. He seemed so excited, so eager, I thought I was doing something for him. I didn't help him cyber-stalk that Weaver guy, by the way - I just showed him how to use Google Earth! I thought I was doing a good thing supporting his hobby! I just made things worse. Make him worse.  I wish I hadn't come home that weekend. I wish I'd known what was going on!

I wish I'd never given him those godd__ned CDs...

The interview. I think that stranger was inside him when he came back from that.  This was the man who almost killed our neighbor. The man who quit his job and started a bone collection. Who started harassing public officials. Who nearly got himself arrested so many times! 

The man who brought a gun into our house.  You don't understand: my dad hated guns. With a passion.  He said they were dangerous, a homicide waiting to happen just by being there.  And then he randomly buys one off the Internet one day? Do you see?  I had no idea who this man was.

But I think I'm staring to get one. 


​(At this point in the interview, Ms. Corrie reaches down and retrieves an envelope from her bag. She opens it and removes a sealed plastic container bag with a collection of crumpled white papers inside that have been smoothed flat again. Each sheet of paper is covered with cramped handwriting and drawings. There are six pages total, front and back.)


This came in the mail a few days after I got the journal. It fills in what you're missing. It fills in a lot. 

My dad learned something terrible in that interview, and it did change him. But it didn't make him crazy. It made him afraid. Afraid for my mom and me. Scared enough that he was willing to bring a weapon into our house. Terrified enough that he was willing to throw away everything that he had been to try to save us.  

All of us.