STORY OF LIFE: ROBERT KNEW THE FAMILY 2026
ROBERT
PREACHING AT THE CREEK
What I am trying to accomplish
There are images that have been
creeping in since the incident that happened where my friend’s daughter threw
up at lunch. I had been warned that she
has a tricky tummy and that she had many incidents at home where she would get nervous
and vomit. Then she was looking at me at
lunch as she and I had been laughing, and her face went into an awkward
contortion. She put her jaw down on the
table since she is small and then red liquid jettisoned out. She had eaten catchup and had some red juice
with her lunch and that’s what caused the discoloration. I sat there mortified as she ejected fluids
and parts of food and then spoke to her dad.
Then it occurred again and what had been on the table was now being
pushed toward me like a dam being released in segments and carrying debris
downstream. That second event sent that
watery substance to its crescendo upon the table surface and then cascading off
onto my side of the booth. I had become
trapped against the wall and this flooding mass caused by a child’s inwards and
had to sit helplessly while waitresses and her dad tried to clean this all up.
You may not know but bodily fluids
are my kryptonite. Stange as it sounds,
I have always been this way and if I am surrounded by these contents and unable
to get away then my tummy starts to get tricky too. Then the third and final expulsion of materials
exited her tiny mouth while it was still attached to the side of the
table. I was done for and had no
feasible escape plan and not one person was coming to my aid. The expansion of the danger zone has
committed itself to my circumference. Yes,
this is an odd selection of a word, but I watched this substance of guttural
debris arch itself away from one horizon toward my horizon as it related to
east verses west. A hemispheric alteration
of the time space fabric of reality was occurring and no one noticed. It was like this child had thrown a curve
ball into her spudeament and now had cast the spell of leviosa and changed the
course of this reddish hued excrement.
My 400lbs frame had found itself packed into the smallest surface area
that still offered a refuge of dryness. I
am petite in my heart and not in my figure and for those moments that I existed
in peril my dissociation would not save me.
This groundwork had to be established
for the reader to understand that I had been put into an unforeseen predicament
whereas a large and disabled old man I could not escape. The pigment color played a huge role, and I
abandoned my lunch midway through my meal and that is not a skill I voluntarily
developed in my life to alter the course of a trauma. Alas my vocabulary escaped me and I made up a
term I listed as spudeament. It’s
similar to some word I heard in the ER and cannot place at the moment and
google was of no help. All these events
aligned themselves into the cascade of horror which is my issue with ICK. Granted this is 15 minutes of my life and I
shouldn’t be so dramatic, but I prefer to spend my time building this block of
the story line versus what I know will eventually come forward from my amnesic
mind.
The red color played a role, but the
stench of undigested food and stomach acids entered my olfactory system like barbarians
breeching my nostrils by force and rampaging into my sinus cavity. This most innocent event had become
treacherous to me. I had been
unexpectantly infiltrated by a noncausal entity that aligned with my
preconditions of triggers and then images began to appear. They cleaned the area and I bolted into the
bathroom and sat in silence. My first
thought was that I had just wasted my lunch since I had become too nauseous to eat,
and I had been enjoying that meal. Then
my hands began to tremble, and I knew that more had come of this event than I
had given my psyche credit. The first
image was Robert standing between a young woman and a creek on the slanted
shoreline of a higher water line. She
was on her knees and dressed like a Mennonite complete with the head bonnet
they accentuate with. Robert was fully
dressed in someone else’s clothes, but he did look like a country preacher.
He wore jeans that appeared to be charcoal
black and then a buttoned up white shirt with a vest with buttons and at the
top of that was his formal-looking jacket.
From his neck he had a black ribbon-style lariat tie and then a black
cowboy hat. In his hands he carried this
heavy thick black bible, and he had both his hands holding this as he
preached. I was standing to this woman’s
left up the levy about 5 feet. I was not
dressed and I had already become frozen in place thus who knows what sequence
of events this image appeared from. Robert
and this woman still had all their clothes on. Time and trial have taught me that Robert ends
his melees in the nude due mostly to the carnage he causes and the switching
that takes place amongst many of the alters as they surface or are pushed out
to fulfill their created roles. My being
nude was a constant and bares no definitive sequential prediction of chapter.
Today is March 9th, 2026
@ 4:01am. Something big has taken place
and I would like to enter it here. I
received an email from an organization called TheColdCases that is exclusively
on the web. That email was on March 6th,
2026, and I replied to it with my usual vigor and attached several works such
as my short story about growing up in a crime family. Then I added to this my letter booklet I
created for Sgt. Randy Griffin. To my
surprise I received an email response on March 7th, 2026, at 12:36
am and he asked if he could interview me.
I said yes and by 2:14am on that same date he and I began discussing how
to get together for that interview. Then
by 4:22am we began that interview I have never had anything in my decades of
experience working these cases happen so fast and I am deeply appreciative for
it.
He introduced me to a site called Riverside.fm
I had been looking for such a site for a long time that carried out all the
functions that this one did. If ever I
have money again I will be using this site for my own work. He also introduced me to an application
called Substack which I currently cannot afford. These are two web-based places that I didn’t
know about prior and if I ever have money again will be making use of them for
my own future endeavors. I wrote him an appreciation
email, and I will attach it here.
THECOLDCASES.COM
Dustin Reed Terry
I
wanted to put a few words down after our interview. Often interactions with law enforcement or
journalists spur a great deal of the past in my head so I like to write and see
what develops. No one has ever entered
my life concerning these cases and followed through on their intentions so
fast. A 3am interview on a Saturday
morning via the internet. That is a new
one for me. You caught me looking like a
hillbilly and for that I apologize lol.
A list of reasons that I am thankful for you will follow this paragraph
and I hope they brighten your day. I
feel that I am one step closer to cleaning my soul and repeating what I can for
those who are past and present as it relates to victims of my parents. Remember the goal and perhaps it would make a
great title to your segment, ‘Sending the Dead Home’. Now for my list of gratitude’s.
1)
No one ever
reads what I send them, but you did. I
spend weeks on some of those writings that I produce all for the sake of
leaving a trail if I die before I can finish this saga of soul
progression. Thank you for putting in
the effort and interviewing me right away.
I forwarded that interview to as many people in law enforcement and true
crime as I had the emails for. My intent
is to find traction somewhere and then help you build from there.
2)
You introduced me to a new way to conduct interviews
and a web site that records both of us and makes a transcription of what was
said. I have spent years looking for
such a site and I thank you for that.
That transcription will help me in my future journaling endeavors.
3)
In all my decades of trying to send the dead
home. Not one person nor entity has ever
given me access to a larger audience than you have. You sent me an email with my video and
transcription and from there I was able to advocate for the dead with the most
modern tool that I have ever had access to.
I am now waiting to see if anyone responds to my emails. You will be in that loop I will make sure of
it.
4)
This has been a long, lonely road for me and I have
gathered no allies. I hope that you will
become an ally for these cold cases and carry on my work if I die before this
saga is concluded.
5)
Thank you for sharing your history with small rural
organized crime. I have never met a
person who has knowledge of this style of criminality. I found it refreshing that you shared that
your family had been part of the ‘Dixie Mafia’.
My crime family was too small to have ever developed a name. However, I refer to it as the ‘Shelton Clan’
and in my cold case files I entitle them ‘Shelton Cold Cases’.
6)
I hope that we interview again soon and that this
gains traction. If law enforcement
contacts you, please be leery. I have
found in my experience that they often want to gain information that will allow
them to avoid a case not solve one.
Remember I have been doing this since 1999 and my experience with law
enforcement is extensive.
I
conclude this list of appreciations with a simple but resounding ‘THANK
YOU’. You sent an email that I somehow
received and that was the spark that lights the fuse. My dream is that finally I have made the
connection that will propel my cases into the known atmosphere and allow the
dead to be returned to their loved ones.
Brian
HAPPY Bryanson
I had this work open and was intending
to work on it when I received the email and off into that rabbit hole I
went. The reader needs to know that I
had a departure and returned later to this work a more educated man than
before. Then Riverside.fm sent me an
email on the 7th and I began to reply with them. That email interaction is as follows.
M Gmail Happy
Texan <bighappytexan@gmail.com>
Welcome to Riverside!
5 messages
Abel
from Riverside.fm <marcom@riverside.fm> sat,
Mar 7, 2026 at 3:18 AM
Reply-To: marcom@riverside.fm
To: bighappytexan@gmail.com
RIVERSIDE
All
fired up & ready to record?
Go to studio
Not quite there yet? No worries. Let's talk
about your studio.
The studio is simply where recordings take
place.You can use the same studio, like the one we've already created for you,
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Happy
Texan <bighappytexan@gmail.com> Mon,
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:41 AM
To: marcom@riverside.fm
Hey I connected with
thecoldcases on this platform and I truly enjoyed it. I have stories about cold
cases that I am trying to get out so that they can be solved. Please forward
what I am sending to you to any content creator on your platform. I need to get
my story out there before I die and this seems to be a wonderful format that I
just learned about 48 hours ago. These cases were committed by my family
members and law enforcement has been fighting me since 1999. They do not want
to admit their faults and since I am poor I have found no leverage that will
persuade them to do so. Please read and forward my request onto anyone on your
platform who needs an interview like mine.
THECOLDCASES.COM
Dustin Reed Terry
I wanted to put a few words down after our interview. Often
interactions with law enforcement or journalists spur a great deal ofthe past
in my head so I like to write and see what develops. No one has ever entered my
life concerning these cases and followed through on their intentions so fast. A
3am interview on a Saturday morning via the internet. That is a new one for me.
You caught me looking like a hillbilly and for that I apologize 101. A list of
reasons that I am thankful for you will follow this paragraph and I hope they
brighten your day. I feel that I am one step closer to cleaning my soul and
repeating what I can for those who are past and present as it relates to
victims of my parents. Remember the goal and perhaps it would make a great
title to your segment, 'Sending the Dead Home'. Now for my list of gratitude's.
1)
No
one ever reads what I send them, but you did. I spend weeks on some of those
writings that I produce all for the sake of leaving a trail if I die before I
can finish this saga of soul progression. Thank you for putting in the effort
and interviewing me right away. I forwarded that interview to as many people in
law enforcement and true crime as I had the emails for. My intent is to find
traction somewhere and then help you build from there.
2)
You
introduced me to a new way to conduct interviews and a web site that records
both of us and makes a transcription of what was said. I have spent years
looking for such a site and I thank you for that. That transcription will help
me in my future journaling endeavors.
3)
In
all my decades of trying to send the dead home. Not one person nor entity has
ever given me access to a larger audience than you have. You sent me an email
with my video and transcription and from there I was able to advocate for the
dead with the most modern tool that I have ever had access to. I am now waiting
to see if anyone responds to my emails. You will be in that loop I will make
Sure of it.
4)
This
has been a long, lonely road for me and I have gathered no allies. I hope that
you will become an ally for these cold cases and carry on my work if I die
before this saga is concluded. 5) Thank you for sharing your history with small
rural organized crime. I have never met a person who has knowledge Of this
style Of criminality. I found it refreshing that you shared that your family
had been part of the 'Dixie Mafia'. My crime family was too small to have ever
developed a name. However, I refer to it as the 'Shelton Clan' and in my cold
case files I entitle them 'Shelton Cold Cases'.
6) I hope that we interview again soon and that
this gains traction. If law enforcement contacts you, please be leery. I have
found in my experience that they often want to gain information that will allow
them to avoid a case not solve one. Remember I have been doing this since 1999
and my experience with law enforcement is extensive.
I conclude this list of appreciations with a simple but resounding
'THANK YOU'. You sent an email that I somehow received and that was the spark
that lights the fuse. My dream is that finally I have made the connection that
will propel my cases into the known atmosphere and allow the dead to be
returned to their loved ones. Brian HAPPY Bryanson
BrianHappyBryanson@gmail.com
CPTSDcoldcase@facebook.com
CPTSDcoldcase@gmail.com
Randy
Griffin Kaufman Sheriff Dept. 2026.docx
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3 attachments
BORN INTO A CRIME FAMILY 2025.docx 117K
Hello Sgt Randy Griffin email introduction 2026.docx 18K
Irving
Police Chief 5th victim 2026.docx
31K
Amber
(Riverside.fm) <marcom@riverside.fm> Mon,
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:44 AM
Reply-To: "Riverside.fm"
<marcom@riverside.fm>
To: Happy <bighappytexan@gmail.com>
RIVERSIDE
Your request (593808)
has been updated. To add additional comments, reply to this email.
Amber (Riverside.fm)
Mar 9, 2026, I O.•44AM GMT+2
Thanks for reaching out to Riverside Support! We
will be with you as soon as possible.
Happy
Mar
9, 2026, 1 0:43AM GMT+2
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Attachment(s)
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Sgt Randy Griffin email introduction 2026.docx
Irving
Police Chief 5th victim 2026.docx
BORN
INTO A CRIME FAMILY 2025.docx
This email is a service from Riverside.fm.
[WR35MJ-MNKWM]
Happy
Texan <bighappytexan@gmail.com> Mon,
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:46 AM
To: "dustinreedterry@gmail.com"
<dustinreedterry@gmail.com>, Elisha Hollis <elishahollis@gmail.com>
[Quoted text hidden]
3 attachments
BORN INTO A CRIME FAMILY 2025.docx 117K
Hello Sgt Randy Griffin email introduction 2026.docx 18K
Irving
Police Chief 5th victim 2026.docx
31K
Coi
(Riverside.fm) <marcom@riverside.fm> Mon,
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:47 AM
Reply-To: "Riverside.fm"
<marcom@riverside.fm>
To: Happy <bighappytexan@gmail.com>
RIVERSIDE
Your request (593808)
has been updated. To add additional comments, reply to this email.
Coi (Riverside.fm)
Mar
9, 2026, 1 0:47 AM GMT+2
Hi Brian,
Thanks for reaching Riverside Support!
If you are interested in collaborating with
Riverside, please submit your request through our official
Creator Partnerships
page here: https://riverside.com/creator-partnerships. Once you complete the
form, our Marketing team will review your submission and reach out directly if
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I hope this helps! Should you have other
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Best regards,
Coi I Customer Support Team
Riverside.com Help Center
Riverside.com
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Back to my intended writing at
5:26am on March 9th, 2026. I am clued
back in now and on topic images are flowing and let’s see how far we get
today. Robert and I had been
gallivanting around in the green car through small towns and backwoods dirt
roads. This must have been during the
time of the Pineville murders in Louisiana.
We arrived one day amongst these heavily bearded men who wore black
pants and white tops. This started that
day at a feed store where I watched Robert unload large trucks of heavy bags
and then sort them into palettes and he built piles outside in a warehouse and
then carried some inside. Other farm
type trucks came to the warehouse and Robert piled up their orders and sent
them on their way. He was working harder
than I had ever seen him before. Each
time someone came to pick up a load he made sure that they knew he was
available for hire.
As I stood in the back seat and
peered through the open window women and girls would come to visit me. Each time I had my arms up believing that
they would take me to their homes and I would get clean and eat. No one took me and few could endure the
stench coming through the back window of that car. Then the day ended and I watched Robert have
his money counted out for the day in cash and coins. Then off we drove and he was following a map
on a piece of paper. We filled up with
gas and again I thought someone here would feed me. No such luck.
Then once again we drove down long dirt roads deep into rural areas and
it seemed that they had been forgotten except by locals. The day was warm and the skies had been blue
the air smelled wonderful and I was standing at the open rear window enjoying
the smells. Then suddenly out of nowhere
there appeared a large wooden barn surrounded by many bearded men with black
pants and boots and white tops.
Robert got out and all he had on was
his blue jeans cut off and no shirt. None
of these men approached him and he was hollering out to them, but the wind
carried away whatever his words had been and I could not tell. Then one man approached he seemed to be in
his teen age years, and they spoke for a while.
After that we followed a horse drawn wagon further down these rural dirt
roads for what felt like hours. We
arrived at a wooden house, and I could see women and girls running around in
traditional dresses and white aprons and then other men many who had graying
beards. It now was evening and Robert
made us a campfire and again we did not eat.
Then in the morning the man who we followed here brought out an axe and
a file and left them on a stump for Robert and pointed out at a thicket. That was the job to clear a thicket in hopes
of making a hay pasture or farmland.
I roamed around the car and drank
water from a bucket that had been left for us.
Occasionally Robert filled it up from a well that was closer to the
house. Our car and this thicket resided
about 100 yards away from the main house where I had originally seen all these
other people. When Robert came out of
the thicket for water, he often had various small varmints and snakes he had
come across, and he laid them atop the car’s hood. He would make quick work of them and had them
skinned and gutted in seconds it seemed.
Occasionally he brought out eggs and a few times he cracked them open
into his mouth and then grabbed me up and fed them to me like a momma
bird. The only part of this that grossed
me out was the sliminess of the actual egg.
However, later that day I developed the ability to hold my mouth open
and allow him to drop in the yolk from the cracked egg. These eggs were small and I have no idea what
species of bird only that there seemed to be a plethora of them in that
thicket. These people would not feed us
for some reason but at this moment in my memory Robert was getting it done.
They measured Roberts progress by
the amount of wood he piled up at the end of each day. The man who drove the wagon would rearrange
Roberts stacks to how he wanted to see such evidence of his productivity. It was very simple three piles exited one was
the logs made from large limbs and trunks of these trees and then another pile
where smaller limbs had been stripped of their leaves and tied together like kindling. The last pile where all the stones he had
retrieved from the land and now had piled up for inspection. Toward the end of the day which for these
people was a few hours past noon the old men would walk down to our makeshift
camp and count and weigh Robert’s work. The
bundles were separated and some didn’t make the cut, then the logs were judged
not only by the count but the length.
Rounded ends would not be accepted.
Then the younger men would hold and carry the rocks and that was how
they weighed their worth. Whatever went
from our pile to their barn was paid for.
Everything was left in the pile of ‘do it again’.
This clearing of the thicket seemed
to be the right job for Robert. At the
end of every day, he was calm and fell asleep quickly. Every morning, he and I ate the meat from the
varmint’s he had killed that day and then eggs through out the day. These eggs had been very small and would
never have survived the skillet. Our
evening meal was often what had been left in the skillet, or the grease was
poured over greens that Robert had identified as editable and stirred into the
hot grease. Clean water was plentiful and
the breeze seemed to continue all day and through the night, which in turn kept
the bugs off me. However, with any
Shelton I have ever known good days are few and far between and even fewer of
them run in a sequence.
Robert’s mood had changed after a
few days of having done what I would consider excellent work. I could hear him chopping away and then when he
came for water, he was continuously sharpening that axe head. Meaning that he had been using it with great
intention. These farm people had been
taking more of his work away with them to the barn. Robert’s bag of monies had been growing and
eventually he had to start a second. He
kept them on the passenger side of the front seat, and I watched them grow over
time. On this seat there were various
things he had found while clearing the land.
Odd, shaped pieces of metal that may have been part of a farmer’s tool
who worked on this land before even my grandfather’s time. I did see a few horseshoes and the head of
what must have been a hammer. The most
interesting to me was the old metal skeleton of a pistol that had lost its
barrel and its wooden grip. I was fed regularly,
watered continuously, and felt safe.
What more could I have asked for?
Then that day came where Robert had
exited the thicket several times while he attempted to pull stingers from some creatures
out of his skin. He had ants up his legs
and wasps in his hair and these Rolly Polly black and yellow furry creatures on
his skin where he had swatted them. This
was why these people had not cleared this thicket themselves and now Robert was
enduring his fate and having in his opinion been set up. This simply could have been a loss in
translation or the payer’s belief that these creatures were of a common knowledge
base for those that cleared thickets. During
this episode of being attacked and then coming back to camp to wash off the
venom and attempt to rub these stingers out on sandy soil. That night Robert had less to show for his
efforts than before and I watched as these old men waved a finger at him and
chastised him in their native tongue. That
whole night he brewed his renumerations and I could see his rage build. I stopped sleeping in the back seat of the
car and now resided under the car whenever he was close by. Still during this time I had no interactions
with any of his altars.
That night the car above me shifted
and shook as he either tossed and turned or continually got out of the car ran
off into the woods and then would walk back.
It was an exhausting night for us both.
He couldn’t sleep due to his building rage, and I couldn’t sleep since
the space above me rocked and groaned like a ship at sea and then when he bolted,
I would lie awake hoping that he would return.
Due to his nighttime activities his daytime work suffered. It was also during this time that I could see
all the large, bloated spots on his head, neck, and torso where something had
stung him. The ants had crawled up his
legs many times and I watched as often throughout the day he would take off his
shorts and wash them in the bucket and pick the ants out. This nudeness had brought him scorn from
these people and many times old men came to yell at him in another
language. That same day ended with the
smallest stacks of collected items that he had produced since his arrival. Even fewer parts of those piles had been
accepted for payment. In broken English
these men repeated ‘go now’ and pointed away from their lands and toward the road.
Those men all walked toward their home,
and I noticed as they walked away that the boys who had taken the items to the
barn and scurried back to the group of older men with long rifles. I couldn’t make out what type they were, but
I could tell they had the form of a long gun.
Having seen that exchange and then witnessing Roberts face upon his
return to the car in my small mind I knew what to do. I gathered my sticks and what few items that
I had collected and been playing with like rocks and dead bugs and hid myself
under the car. Before the sun was completely
down and the twilight took over. I
watched Robert’s feet, at the back of the car and could hear him digging in the
trunk. Then he lured me out with the
offer of food and I ate everything he offered.
He cleaned the skillet and put that in the trunk and picked me up and
placed me in the back seat and told me to stay put. Then he disappeared into the night and since
my belly was so full I fell asleep.
I have always been an obedient child
and when given a direction like Robert gave me at that time I know I would have
followed it. My body knew what beatings
felt like and I often carried that pain for long periods of time
afterword. My tiny body was laid out
across the back seat and then I was being crushed by a heavy mass, and it was
so heavy that my chest couldn’t expand for a breath. Just as suddenly it was off of me, and I
could hear the screaming of a woman.
There seemed to be several bodies in this back seat, but it was pitch
dark and I couldn’t differentiate these masses.
To me it was like playing bumper cars with a blindfold on inside a
barrel full of ball bearings. Even once
I had gotten to my feet I was taking what felt like elbows to my head and a few
times someone grabbed my arms and pulled.
Then as I stood and covered my head with my arms I could feel some of
these bodies that had been pushed onto me rapidly pulled past me again. Somehow, I got snagged in their momentum and
I was flung from where I had been standing inside the car to where I now was lying
face first in the dirt outside the car. I
had become debris in this catapult of a misnomer. This was not an actual catapult, and I was
not debris but at that time and in this moment, I had no other explanation.
There was a ringing in my ears but
then it depreciated and now my mind rings with the piercing screams of
women. They have that high pitched octave
of a young girl and then all is silenced.
Robert picks me up and tosses me into the back seat and I realize
quickly that I am atop bodies. I can
hear the breathing, and someone is snoring and yet another is making a whistle
type sound with every exhale. Their
fabric is rough but comforting to me and I am too afraid to sit up. I am not afraid of them but of Roberts’
rage. My thoughts are unclear as to how
to keep myself safe in this situation. I
am looking forward toward the front seat and my right check lays upon what I am
perceiving as the back of the one of these bodies. The inhale and exhale of this person is
comforting to me, and I feel a peace that I hadn’t felt in some time, similar
to when my mammy or nanna would hold me.
Then I can feel a searing heat wave
from outside the car. My head is up and
I am terrified that Robert is driving us into wherever this heat is being
emitted from. The sudden increase in
heat is astounding. To my body there was
the average heat of the night then a 10 degree increase and now the heat is riveting
my outer skin. As my head pops up, I can
see the fire high in the windshield and the heat wave is visible across the
front seat. It is like after a rain on a
desert road when you travel that you can see from a distance. There is a wave that moves horizontally while
the lick of the moisture in the car travels vertically. It feels like when your skin is sunburned at
the lake and you stand too close to the fire at night. Robert is just feet from this burning house
as he leaps out and grabs something from the trunk. He is now running around both sides of the car
and yelling and screaming and waving that axe as he pounds the dirt.
Then as the wind stirs the flame
even higher and the light flickers out into the yard, I can see them. There are at least a dozen bodies crawling
out of the house and laying all around the ground. Some are on the back others are knelt trying
to help the others. Most are dressed in
white like sleeping slips. Then Robert attacks
them with that axe. The wind arrives in
gusts and at times I can see so many bodies laid out and struggling but only
the sound of the crackling wood can be heard.
Then when the gust subsides darkness prevails and that is when I can
hear the suffering of the people as the moan and cry out in their native
tongue. This wind has moisture in it as
if the lead part of a wall of rain is approaching. Drops are racing down the windshield. Then that same wetness is blowing into the open
windows in the car.
As that gust pushes across the
burning house and toward our car heat has been applied. It felt like a sauna when people poured water
over the hot rocks to make steam. Some
of these gusts were so powerful that they flipped my eye lids and I had to
cover my eyes with my hand and bury my face into the fabric of the body below
me. My young mind was freaking out since
my eyes hurt so intently and rubbing them didn’t release them from this pain caused
by my lid contortion. The wind was
stronger now and more continuous in its push across the house and into our
care. There were times when I opened my
eyes and the car was engulfed in flames and sparks being driven out of the
house as it burned. Like when a dragon
in the movie bursts flame out onto its intended victim. At this moment in my recollection the flames
are engulfing the front of the car and licking into the inside of the car. Then as quickly as it arrived it all
dissipates and retreats. Robert is now
in the driver’s seat, and those flames did not pull back, he did as he reversed
the car.
Now the car is turning this way and
that and jolting up and down like we are racing over speed bumps. The only light is the house burning in the
dark and I feel that we are powering over the same land that Robert was hacking
people on. Then the car comes to a
hasten stop as it flies out of the circle it was making and feeling the effects
of the centripetal force. My eyes opened
and before me was that house dancing high with the flames of its
destruction. The ground between our car
and that house had many darkened mounds that illuminated from second to second
as the wind continued to blow. This
moment was a magnificent contrast of heat and moisture fighting through the thermochemistry
of their origin of birth while engaged in a fight for the right to exist. Like a fiery phoenix fighting its way through
an elemental tsunami of rain.
I watched as Robert was picking up
those lumpy masses and throwing them into the flames. This was not Robert but one of the
altars. He seemed to have grown in
height and width and would pick up a body with the ease of a hay bail. I watched him as if he had one over his left
shoulder and then picked up another and tossed that body into the flames. No dragging was involved in this transfer of
bodies into the fiery glow. His labor’s seemed
routine and mechanical. He started at
one end and worked his way across the yard and then all the silhouetted mounds
were gone. My cheek still lay atop the
pile of bodies, but I was high enough to watch this event occur as if I had
been lying across a couch viewing a television.
Dissociation had begun once all the screaming took place back at the
car. This scene was playing out like a dream
scape on the horizon of my mind. My body
felt tranquil at this moment, much like I was witnessing a ceremony of an indigenousness
man carry out some tribal ritual where the God of fire must be appeased. Mother nature had arrived in the form of wind
and rain to keep the elemental growth of this flame to a restricted
measure. An entity had been created and fed
by a mortal while the inescapable forces of nature and its balance began to
reign supreme.
When Robert returned to the car the
rain was drenching him and the fire was lit bright behind him. He had both hands upon the hood and seemed to
be trying to stretch his body.
Prominently he contorted his shoulders as if they brought him pain and
discomfort. When he leaned forward, I
could see that the mass of his chest and upper back had thickened
exponentially. His hair was longer and
there was this mane of long course hair that went down the top of his back. It was like they had become porcupine needles,
and they stuck out like a threatening message to any who would attack from
behind. When he leaned forward these
quills fell forward and as his shoulders rose up the quills that had been upon
the back of his head now fell backwards into a presentation where they hung a
few inches above his back. Maybe this
was a development of movement to help this defense mechanism become more
utilitarian and not seem to be just decorative.
I didn’t see this transformation
occur nor did I catch the scent of another beast altar. When he becomes more animal like there are
musky smells that are emitted from this form.
Perhaps the rain, flames, wind and smoke all play a role enmeshing this
scent and thus I could not decipher it from any other. The de-transformation was occurring at the
end of this hood. It stands to reason
that when people read this some may believe that this and all the others are
simply figures from the mind of a traumatized mind. What I ask that you do in comparison to such
an investigation involves the act of cloning.
The people in the know have been informing me about the artificial
creation of human life for decades now.
I believe that confirmation of such existence will become common
knowledge before the agreement that devastating childhood traumas can cause bodily
transformations in humans. The decades
that passed from the first date of such a creation till the world view that human
cloning has occurred will show evidence to the hidden times of scientists
creating their own multiples for wartime purposes.
This beast became a man and then
this much smaller manifestation placed itself into the driver’s seat and as we began
to drive it flickered the radio and a staticky flow of classic style orchestra
music entered the car. That’s when I
climbed up front and slid into the seat knowing that this was not Robert. This alter said nothing it simply hummed and
drove with both hands high on the wheel with its back straight and their eyes
attentive. I believe that this was Fred Astaire
and that he had come out due to the fact that we had followed others’ way back
into these woods and Robert did not know how to get us back to
civilization. The night was filled with
wind and rain many times I woke to the car veering off in one direction or the other,
but Fred never once seemed disturbed or acted as if this vehicle was in any
danger. From my seated position it felt
to me like a few times this car was swept by rushing water and then we would
find traction and continue off on our route.
The identities must have rationalized that escaping this murderous scene
in the middle of a dark thunderstorm would require the most advanced driver
they could muster and that had been Fred.
I awoke to Robert’s voice and the
heat of the day. The car was parked deep
into some woods, and he had already tied 4 of these females to tree
trunks. The other two lay in the dirt by
the campfire all still had on their white slips from the night before, but a
few were fully dressed. The two that had
not changed into their sleep gowns must have had to put the younger ones to bed
and required them to clean up before retiring themselves. This group of farmers never came out of their
dwelling after sundown and the outside fires diminished not long after
dark. That’s when I think the oldest
retired and the process of turning in began.
Robert must have struck during that time and caught some of the females
before they too would have gone to bed. The
tree trunks all seemed thick like old growth.
Those attached to trees had their arms pulled around the tree and their
backs exposed. The two on the ground I
couldn’t see well enough to know why they stayed so still.
A
roar filled the air and through the limbs of the trees off to the right of the
car I could see rushing water. We must
not have traveled far since it was evident that this creek was overflowing a
few yards away from our camp, I could see the water’s edge pushing through the
vegetation. When I lifted my eyes and
looked further out, I could see the white froth of a rapid stream that had
broken its banks. That sound drowned out
all other sounds that would occur in a forest or around one of Roberts camps of
suffering. I could smell smoke from the
fire but no aroma of meat. I glimpsed
Robert once or twice walking around the camp site he was naked and had a hand
axe in his grip. He seemed to be
involved in a task his head was down, and he was scanning the ground and then
he would disappear back into the foliage.
When I cannot see his face the sense of danger in me grows and I find it
best to hide and stay quiet. Thus, I
slipped out from the front seat and then under the car and stayed vigilant as I
tried to figure out what I should be doing to survive this treacherous
situation.
I
saw Robert’s feet come and go from one side of the camp to another and then disappear
into the thicket again. He would put
sticks on the fire and then pull them out and whack at them with his hand
axe. A pile of sticks had been bought
out of the green by him and then he altered them in some way and then took them
with him back into the woods. He was entering
the camp from the far-left side while he built these piles. Then he would take his altered sticks and
exit to the farthest right-side tree of those tied to the tree trunks. He must have circled around while in the
thicket and then once again he would pop out of the woods on that far left-hand
side and repeat his cycle. While in this
mode of accomplishing this task I could see that he had rodent skins that he
was also working on that littered the ground by his spot at the fire. I don’t know if they had been skins from the
Thicket he was working on or if they had been newly acquired furs from animals
he was locating now.
I
had crawled up the front of the car and I was between the two front tires. Robert was leaving camp for longer periods of
time and I was hungry. If he had food,
it would be around that campfire. Then
he returned unexpectantly again from the far-left side and this time he had
those felts, but he had strewn them together somehow and they encapsulated his
head and shoulders like a Cowl. It was a
ratty style of animal skin, but he had done this for some reason. Then as he crossed the camp and passed the
fire, he dropped his wood and didn’t stop to work on anything. He headed straight toward the smallest female
that was tied to the tree at the edge of the camp he had been exiting by. Without hesitation he used his hand axe and started
to chop her arm off. The blood was
immense and then the rest of her body fell half hugging the trunk as it fell
loosely to the ground. He picked up the
other part using her hair and dragged her remains and the arm into the thicket
and disappeared. This sent a reverberation
through the camp and though I couldn’t hear any sounds other than the rushing
water I could see movement taking place throughout the inlaying camp area.
The
rushing water was so loud that it felt like I was deaf. I am guessing but I
think that a torrential downpour occurred and caused a flashflood and that Fred
had gotten as far as he could before Robert took over and landed us here. In my experiences with Fred, he is cautious
and kind. In my past flashbacks he has
always driven to a paved road and then home.
Either the storm made the terrain unsurpassable, or Robert was craving
and wanted to fulfill his needs, if indeed this was Robert. Still, I hadn’t seen his face, so I had to be
cautious about my decisions. I thought I
had seen an opening to search for food and then suddenly his pattern
changed. If I had revealed myself out in
the open and he caught me, I wouldn’t have known what would have happened to
me. I am aware that my level of
consciousness seems too in tuned and advanced for my age during these sagas,
but this life of dysfunction was all that I knew and these two created my
worldly typologies and the schemas that aligned my point of view.
The
term that would best describe my behaviors would be ‘crazy like a fox’. Where small, minded creatures can utilize
calculated cunning and accomplish tasks with a slyness that others observing would
not have thought possible. These
survival mechanisms reside in the mind of the foster children that I have
worked with and those I have raised. Another
case in point is how my own parents, Robert and Glenda, had to adapt to early
childhood abuse through the creation of multiplicity. One could argue that no child that young
could be intellectually advanced enough to create altars. Then through time, enough patients
experiencing spilt or multiple personalities were documented and the term
dissociative identity disorder became part of the Diagnostic and statistical
manual of mental disorders in the 1980’s.
A young child with a high enough IQ and enduring acute stress with life
threatening intensities can create compartmentalized memory components. They may manifest a pseudo maturity beyond
their years, but it became a necessity in the live or die circumstances they
had to face on a continual level.
The
camp was alive with movement now, before everything was calm and quiet as
Robert walked around accomplishing his tasks.
Then he set in motion his usual abduction scenario of torture and
dismemberment. My dissociation was
intact and evidenced by how I felt that I was in a hive of bees and that the
movement around me was part of what bees did not part of a ritual, of
dismemberment. I could see all these
bees dancing in a group upon a limb and then Robert’s profile broke through and
he was making the females on the ground kneel by the fire as he poked at their
faces with sticks that glowed at one end.
They would pull away from him and then he would pin them to the ground with
his knee and seemed to be attempting to brand the back of their necks with
these glowing pieces of wood. The
actions of their resistance and squirming combined with the tautness of his
muscle mass should have resulted in noise.
However, due to the rushing water I could hear nothing. A symphony of agony played before me and only
my eyes drank it in.
I
watched as he pummeled these two bodies into submission and they lay motionless
upon the earth. There was blood on
Roberts face and chest, but the weeds had been too high for me to see the aftereffects
upon those two bodies. Then as he rose,
he repositioned his cowl and I could tell that he admired this creation of
his. He had his hand axe and then
swiftly turned toward the tree line and all I saw was a flash of what may have reflected
off the metal head flying. Then it
impacted the back of the female’s body who remained in the center of the three remaining
females, and it found a deep purchase but then gravity claimed its handle and I
watched as the hatchet fell. Robert made
it quick he had that other female’s body down and dismembered and had to pick
the pieces up under one arm and dragged the torso along by the hair. All the females toed to the trees seemed young
maybe age 8 to 10 and all had small frames and would have been considered short
for their age groups if they had attended a public school. Disassembling these frail bodies couldn’t
have required much effort and due to what I perceived as malnourishment their
bones most likely had been brittle.
Robert was hacking away at twigs not lumber and then carrying the parts
away like kindling.
He
continued to scurry away with these remains back behind the tree line and into the
woods. Again, my mind began to flake,
and reality became like a horizontal modulator on an old floor-model TV. I couldn’t seem to bring my surroundings into
focus and at times I witnessed fairies bouncing around and making me laugh and
then characters from picture books that had been read to me playing hide and
seek in the weeds. Then all this
distraction dispersed like a bubble being popped and the shimmer was gone. Robert had appeared and his front torso was
bloodier than before and he had one of the arms in his mouth and I could see
the hand dangling in midair. He was
coming toward me at an alarming rate, and I was frozen in place but still back
between the two front tires. Like an
animal he pounced on the hood of the car then went up and over the roof and I
felt all the compression of the shocks bend when he landed on the trunk. I could hear it open and then he walked past
my spot with the hand dangling and some longer implement in his hand as he
hurried back behind the tree line and into the green. To me as the man that I am now this seems to
be one of his religious vision quests that he creates in some attempt to outweigh
the evil he has performed. These deaths
will have a sacrificial significance whereas the other murders did not. It’s his delusional balancing of the scales
of justice.
Then
as quickly as he was gone back came the game of hide and seek. My out of body experience had pulled me into
the weeds, and I was looking for the characters that eluded me and listening to
them giggle and play even though I couldn’t hear any other sound but the water
rushing by. My dissociation was
attempting to take care of me then Robert would appear, and my mind made me
focus on his every action as it calculated what I would need to do to stay
alive. Hypervigilance through a
dissociative lens was similar to trauma based psychological bifocals. My mind kept switching back and forth and the
whole script of horror was being written in my amnesic mind. Much like a kaleidoscopic view of synergized coping
mechanisms that had been oscillating to fast to have rendered a conclusion
plan. All the colors that built my
mental hues had been spread too thin to adhere themselves to one story and
hence now lay in a puddle at the bottom of my mind as a darkish lump of goo.
Robert
returned again and this time he had painted his face with a mixture of blood
and mud and created a black mask. (This
is where I stopped days ago due to exhaustion and then fell deeply asleep only
to get up on Friday for a dinner my kiddos made then I was asleep again before
they left. Today is March 15th,
2026 @ 6:09am and I am attempting to pick up where I left off. Another flashback surfaced and I placed that
one in the journal section since I did not write a poem about it. I entitled it ‘Girl Interrupted Shooting
Horse’ it was about a girl in the neighborhood that was abducted by Robert and
later I had seen at one of the older brothers Rape parties. I’m not sure if that flashback and the days
it took me to write it into extinguishment have affected my ability to recall
this one. I have images but I am missing
the images of where I left off. A segway
of flashback material seems to be elusive to my mind right now. At 6:29 am after reading a few paragraphs my
mind is starting to return to the images from before.)
Robert
had painted himself and he had that piece of animal fur over his head like a
hood. Then he was chanting with his
hands in the air and held aloft this stick he had adorned with skeletal remains
from the victims he had dragged into the thicket. He was bowing before the remaining victims
tied to tress and then using both hands to strike the women on the ground. They didn’t move much but they did scream so that
led me to believe that they were alive but bound in some way. Then he ran back into the thicket with his
hands above his head and that totem waving around. The camp was quiet again and the little
animated visions that played hide and seek in the weeds once again appeared to
distract me. These apparitions were
trying to talk loudly, and one seemed to be singing, and the volume was up loud,
and it was causing my ears pain. Then
wailing and chanting broke through and Robert had reappeared and was now in
full vocal mode as he continued his impromptu ritual.
Robert had set fire to something in
the woods and the thick black smoke was billowing into our camp site, The girls still tied to the trees has been
engulfed by what arrived as a deep dark shadow from the thicket and then this swelling
encumberment continued on down and across the floor of where the other girls
had been restrained. The coughing and gagging
became the loudest sound present and then that smoke reached me. I was gaging for air and then began to cough
like I had the croup. The toxins in this
invading mixture caused my throat to burn and then my stomach attempted to
regurgitate. Then it felt like I had
become deaf to all the previous sounds and then nothing. I am not sure how long I was out but that
smoke had moved on or dissipated into fumes.
Then as I stirred and noticed my hands and arms, I could tell that my skin
now was covered with black ash and my eyes burned.
I exited my spot and felt like I was
in some place I didn’t recognize at all the thick soot was covering
everything. Then I staggered around and
eventually felt my foot in some water and I sat down in it. Then as I extended my legs I found that the
waters depth has increased by inches, and I soon found myself bathing. This small pool of water I had found was up
into the grass and weeds and I felt no current.
Then as I washed and became more of myself again, I began to play and
splash. That abruptly ended when I spied
a black figure moving in the brush off to the side of me. Then I froze and that concreteness feature of
rigidness took over. I remember being
lifted out of my puddle and placed on the hood of that car by that black
figure. Then that same figure sat in
that same puddle and then moved forward as it became a pool of water that
suddenly disappeared below the surface of.
I watched it rise and fall many times until it dawned on me that it was
Robert. My younger mind was confused too
whether or not it had always been Robert if it had become Robert. I saw a black figure walking in and then
Robert walked out and it seemed like some fairytale book transformation had
occurred.
Robert took me back into the pool
and held me like a baby and spoke so wonderfully to me that it did not seem it
was the Robert that I knew. He held me
under my arms and twirled in the water with his arms outstretched, talking to
me like a real dad. The firmness of my
muscles began to become like static in a garment and then eventually I could
smile again. Robert kept saying
‘repeatedly theirs, my boy” and indeed my positiveness had returned. He left me at the edge of this puddle and
busied himself cleaning all the ash out of the car and off various things. Then he bundled me in some cloth and sat me
in a makeshift hammock he had made. I
fell asleep and then awoke later all bundled up and wrapped in that hammock
material while laying on the back seat. All
the windows were down, and the flurry of ash would at times circle though the
interior and then exit a window. He was
driving on a paved road at a high level of speed, and it seemed it was his
attempt to clean out more debris.
POEM
What I think I accomplished
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