'Dear God, Don't Let This Butcher Kill Me': Milwaukee Monster Jeffrey Dahmer's ONLY Surviving Victim Speaks Out

"I'm going to cut your heart out!" My blood turned to ice and I shuttered as I heard those chilling words from brutal mass murderer Jeffrey Dahmer. I was lying face up on his bedroom floor. He had slapped handcuffs on my left wrist, pulled my arm under my back, and pressed a 12-inch knife to the crotch of my pants. His head was against my chest as he listened to the pounding of my terror-stricken heart.

"I can hear it beating now," he said in a quiet voice. "Soon it will be mine!" I wanted to run for my life, but I was trapped by the crazed cannibal in his real-life house of horrors.

I'd seen a human head in Dahmer's bedroom, hands hanging in his closet, and body parts in his refrigerator. And with the stench of rotten flesh in my nostrils, I knew he'd already picked out his next victim — ME!

"Dear God, don't let this butcher kill me," I prayed. In my mind, I struggled to develop and escape plan — and tried to understand how I'd gotten into this mess.

Only a few hours earlier at 5 PM on July 22, I had met a clean-cut Jeffrey Dahmer at a mall near our Milwaukee neighborhood. I'd seen him before in the neighborhood, but this time he introduced himself, saying he'd recently moved from Chicago.

He showed me a hundred dollars and said we could spend it on beer and party with friends. It sounded great to me, so we went back to the neighborhood and told my friends about it.

While they were getting ready, Jeff suggested we go to his place and have a couple of beers. I went with him — and it was the biggest mistake of my life!

The first thing I noticed about his apartment was an overwhelming stench. "It smells like somebody died in here!" I said. Jeff laughed. He told me there was a sewer problem.

In spite of the smell, his three-room apartment was clean and neat, with a beige carpet and couch in the living room area. But the walls were various pictures of young men without shirts.

I began to wonder whether Jeff might be homosexual. We sat on his couch, drank a couple of Budweisers and made small talk about Chicago. After we finished, I wanted to leave because of the smell, but Jeff quickly brought me a rum and coke.

When I drank it, I started to feel groggy. Later, I figured out that the drink had been drugged.

I turned my head to the right to look at a fish tank and suddenly, I felt a handcuff snap around my left wrist. Then Jeff jabbed a black knife against my chest.

At first, I figured this was some kind of sick joke. But then Jeff narrowed his eyes and said in an icy voice: "Do exactly what I tell you — or I'll kill you."

A chill ran up my spine. "I've got to get out of here NOW!" I thought as my eyes frantically searched the room. The only escape was through the front door — but it was double-locked.

The doorknob had a lock that had to be twisted open. Above the knob was a sliding deadbolt. I was afraid that he could plunge his knife into me in the time it would take to open both of them.

He moved the knife to my back and forced me through a small hallway to his bedroom. Then he turned on a VCR and began playing The Exorcist while he made me sit on his bed.

"I want to show you something," he said as he opened a file cabinet. I was shocked beyond words when he pulled out a human head! He started rubbing the head, staring at me, and saying: "This is how I get people to stay with me — and you'll stay with me, too."

Over the next few hours, as he held me at knifepoint, we alternated between talking, watching the movie and him struggling to get my other arm handcuffed. Finally, he ordered me at knifepoint to lie on my back on the floor so he could listen to my rapidly beating heart.

He got on top of me for about 15 mins and that's when he told me he was going to rip out my heart — and eat it! My skin crawled with horror and a voice screamed in my head: "Tracy, get out of here! It's now or never."

I talked him into taking me back to the living room but on the way, we stopped in the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator to reveal a bloody mass of flesh inside. I recoiled in horror as he took me back to the couch. Keeping the knife pressed against me, he sat next to him.

Then he started rocking back and forth, chanting in a singsong voice: "It's time! It's time." I told myself, "Get out now, or you're dead!"

In a flash, I stood up and threw a right-handed punch to his jaw. I kicked him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then I dashed to the door.

I opened both locks at the same time, as I prayed, "God let me out before he plunges that knife in my back." I heard Jeff running behind me. I turned the knob, and the door swung open. Just as I was about to get out, I felt his grip on my wrist. I swung around and shoved him back with every ounce of strength I had. Within moments, I was on the street, running as fast as I could as I flagged down a police car.

They arrested Dahmer, and as they took him away in manacles, I breathed a sigh of relief. But it was only after he was gone that the full impact of my ordeal hit me: I spent five hours in hell. Fifteen others had died — but I alone lived to tell about it!