In the dim glow of a Liverpool living room, surrounded by faded photographs of a cherubic toddler with a cheeky grin, Denise Fergus sits with fire in her eyes—a blaze that has burned for 32 agonizing years. It’s October 2025, and the world has moved on from the horror that shattered her life on February 12, 1993, when her two-year-old son, James Bulger, was abducted from a bustling shopping center, tortured, and brutally murdered by two 10-year-old boys. Jon Venables and Robert Thompson, the youngest convicted killers in modern British history, were supposed to rot in prison for their unspeakable crimes. Instead, they were granted new identities, anonymity, and freedom after just eight years behind bars. Now, as Venables—jailed again for child pornography offenses—seeks parole for the third time, potentially walking free by year’s end, Denise’s rage has erupted like never before. “I will destroy this system if it’s the last thing I do,” she vows in an exclusive interview with this reporter, her voice a mix of steel and sorrow. “They let monsters loose, and my baby’s blood is on their hands.” Her unyielding battle has ignited a nationwide uproar, forcing Britain to confront its fractured justice system, where child killers get second chances while victims’ families endure eternal torment. As petitions flood Parliament and protests swell on the streets, the devastating truth emerges: Denise Fergus isn’t just fighting for James—she’s waging war on a system that values rehabilitation over retribution, sending shockwaves through courts, consciences, and the very soul of the nation.

The murder of James Bulger remains one of the most harrowing chapters in UK criminal history, a case that exposed the darkest corners of childhood innocence twisted into evil. On that fateful Friday in 1993, Denise, then 25, was shopping at the New Strand Shopping Centre in Bootle, Merseyside. She briefly let go of James’s hand to pay for chops at a butcher’s counter—a split-second decision that haunts her to this day. CCTV footage, now etched into collective memory, captured the toddler being led away by Venables and Thompson, two truant schoolboys from broken homes, who had already attempted to abduct another child earlier that day. What followed was a two-and-a-half-mile journey of terror: The boys dragged James across Liverpool, ignoring his cries, subjecting him to unimaginable torture—splashing paint in his eyes, kicking him, throwing bricks, and finally bludgeoning him with an iron bar on a railway line in Walton. His tiny body was left mutilated, severed by a passing train. “They didn’t just kill him; they erased him,” Denise recounts, her hands trembling as she clutches a locket containing James’s photo. The nation was stunned—how could children commit such depravity?

The trial at Preston Crown Court in November 1993 was a media frenzy. Venables and Thompson, both 11 by then, were tried as adults, their identities initially protected but later revealed amid public outcry. Prosecutor Richard Henriques detailed the 38 injuries James suffered, including 10 skull fractures. “This was prolonged sadism,” he declared. The boys showed little remorse—Thompson reportedly smirked during proceedings, while Venables wept only for himself. Mr Justice Morland sentenced them to indefinite detention, branding the crime “unparalleled evil and barbarity.” Denise, supported by her then-husband Ralph Bulger, left court shattered but resolute. “I thought they’d never see daylight again,” she says. But the system had other plans.

Released in 2001 at age 18 after serving just eight years at secure units like Red Bank in Lancashire, Venables and Thompson were granted lifelong anonymity under new identities—a decision by Lord Chief Justice Woolf, citing threats to their lives. Taxpayers footed the bill for their reintegration, estimated at £2 million each, including education and housing. Denise was blindsided. “They got a fresh start while I buried my baby,” she fumes. Robert Thompson, now 42, has reportedly lived a quiet life, fathering a child and avoiding reoffense. But Jon Venables’s path has been a revolving door of depravity. Recalled to prison in 2010 for possessing child abuse images, he was paroled in 2013, only to be jailed again in 2017 for similar offenses—downloading over 1,000 indecent images, including toddlers being raped. “He’s a predator, just like he was at 10,” Denise insists. “How many chances does evil get?”

Fast-forward to 2025, 32 years after James’s death, and Venables’s latest parole bid has thrust Denise back into the spotlight, her explosive rage boiling over. In May 2025, news broke that Venables, now 43, had applied for release from his Category A prison, potentially free by Christmas. Denise’s response was swift and searing: “Over my dead body,” she declared on social media, amassing 50,000 shares in hours. Her campaign, bolstered by a petition with 200,000 signatures, demands Venables remain locked up and his anonymity lifted. “The public deserves to know where this monster is,” she argues. In a heart-stopping victory last week, on October 10, Denise and Ralph won the right to speak at Venables’s parole hearing, a rare concession from the Parole Board. “I’ll look him in the eye and tell him he’s a coward who destroyed my world,” Denise vows. But the fight is far from over—experts predict a 50/50 chance of release, citing Venables’s “progress” in therapy.

Denise’s journey from grieving mother to justice warrior is a testament to unbreakable resolve. Remarried to Stuart Fergus in 1998, she has three sons—Michael, Thomas, and Leon—but James’s absence is a constant void. “Every birthday, every Christmas, I light a candle for him,” she shares, tears streaming. Her advocacy began early: In 1994, she successfully lobbied to increase the killers’ tariff from eight to 15 years, though overturned by the European Court of Human Rights. Undeterred, Denise founded the James Bulger Memorial Trust in 2011, providing holidays for bereaved families. In March 2025, she launched a helpline for victims in James’s memory, offering support to those navigating trauma. “It’s my way of turning pain into purpose,” she explains. Yet, Venables’s bids reopen wounds. “I relive the horror—the blood, the screams I imagine. It’s torture.”

The uproar extends beyond Denise. Protests erupted in Liverpool last weekend, with 5,000 marching under banners reading “Justice for James—Lock Them Up Forever.” Social media explodes with #NeverForgetJames, trending with 1.2 million posts. Celebrities like Coleen Rooney and Piers Morgan have voiced support: “Denise is a hero; the system is a disgrace,” Morgan tweeted. Politicians are scrambling—Home Secretary Yvette Cooper faces calls for a public inquiry into the Bulger case, echoing a 2024 parliamentary debate. Tory MP Sir John Hayes demands anonymity revocation: “Killers forfeit rights when they take innocent life.”

At the core is Britain’s juvenile justice debate. The 1993 case shifted policy toward punitive measures, raising the age of criminal responsibility briefly under New Labour. But critics argue the system favors offenders. “Venables’s recalls prove rehabilitation failed,” says criminologist Dr. Emma Clarke of Liverpool University. “Yet parole boards prioritize risk assessment over victim impact.” Denise slams it as “soft on monsters.” Her vow to “destroy the system” includes lobbying for “James’s Law”—mandatory life sentences for child killers, no parole under 25 years. “If I have to chain myself to Downing Street, I will,” she declares.

Venables’s history fuels the fire. Born into chaos—his parents divorced, mother abusive—he and Thompson came from dysfunctional families. But Denise rejects excuses: “Poverty doesn’t make murderers.” Venables’s post-release life is a litany of failure: Multiple identities blown by breaches, including boasting about his crime in a pub. His 2017 conviction revealed a dark web obsession with child abuse, mirroring his original offense. “He’s wired wrong,” Denise says. “Free him, and more children suffer.”

Ralph Bulger, James’s father, echoes her fury. In his 2013 book My James, he detailed the agony. Now divorced from Denise, he supports her campaign: “We’ve both lost everything.” Their united front at the upcoming hearing could sway the board, but precedents aren’t promising—Venables was denied in 2023 but reapplied swiftly.

The shockwaves ripple through Britain’s conscience. Schools teach the Bulger case in ethics classes; documentaries like ITV’s 2018 James Bulger: A Mother’s Story garner millions of views. Yet, societal divides persist—some advocate forgiveness, citing the killers’ youth. “They were children too,” argues reform advocate Sarah Jenkins. But Denise counters: “James was the child. They were devils.”

As the parole date looms, Denise prepares her statement—a raw outpouring of grief and grit. “I’ll describe holding his tiny coffin, the nightmares that never end.” Her battle has inspired victims nationwide, from Brianna Ghey’s mother to Sarah Payne’s family. “Denise gives us strength,” says Scarlett Jenkinson, Brianna’s mum, in a recent ITV interview.

In Liverpool’s streets, where murals of James adorn walls, the fight symbolizes a nation’s unresolved pain. “This isn’t just my story,” Denise says, standing tall. “It’s for every parent who fears the system fails their child.” As Britain grapples with its moral compass, Denise Fergus’s explosive rage demands change—or destruction. The courts tremble; the conscience awakens. For James, the battle rages on.