The Coast by THOR Florence Oregon

• When ever I come to this place with its rolling sand dunes, twisted pine trees, and quiet people; I am filled with a calmness likened to a home coming. I often visit the same places: my old home where friends still live, the tree in the park across the street which was hit by lightning, or walking down to the docks at night. I remember one night when a friend Mellisa came knocking at my door. She was excited and insisted I follow her to the docks that night. I remember how cold it was; frost was just touching the glass outside, and the pavement had almost a slick feeling under the tires under my bike. As we neared the water she said, “I often come here at night, tonight everything’s wrong.”
• I parked my bike and we walked down the ramp to the water level; half way to the edge she stopped and pointed ahead of us. Ice lay on the mooring lines from the boats, yet they did not glisten in the light from the half moon because of the mist that flowed from the warm sea water, and flowed inland like some great ground fog from an early monster movie. Visibility was obscured in the crisp cold night, but not enough for us not to see the sea birds of every type lined along the dock, pilings, and boats. None were in the warm water like some great fear had beset them. As we came closer they stirred for a moment casting furtive glances in our direction, but returning to their vigil staring at the water in the inlet. No sound could be heard except the occasional rustle of feathers, and the rhythmic lapping of the water against the pilings, and rocky shore. Mellisa grabbed my arm and leaned close whispering in my ear, “There’s a shark in the bay. I saw it come up and take a bird earlier, and then they all moved here even as cold as it is.”
• We stood in stunned silence all to aware of the quiet surreal implication of the night until it became to cold to stand. We then backed away almost timidly so as not to alert the unseen death that lurked beneath the black water.

THOR

“March to the Sea" by THOR

The pure magnitude and danger of what I requested, the meeting of the ruling Mafia families, was the equivalent of walking into no mans land in between two great armies. I had called for a meeting, of not just two, but all the ruling Mafia families to gather on July Seventh, 2007 on the beach at the North Jedi in Florence, Oregon. The walk to the coast along Rhododendron Drive took two hours with a full pack. In it I had: a change of clothes with extra socks, food consisting of an apple, a bag of chips, and a cheeseburger which never made it to the shore. I eat when I’m anxious. Thirteen copies of Peace-UP Family were rolled around a victory cigar and tucked next to the book “The Essential Ghandi”. On top of all this lay my green bed roll with my name “Thor” written so any person approaching from behind could see who was who was walking along Rhododendron Drive, which followed along the near by Siuslaw river finally empting into the Pacific ocean.

Along the road the banks of sand and moss lifted a few feet and were crested with stunted pines reaching over the way forming a macabre twisted canopy which all kinds of flying foul had made their home. As I trudged under these tangled trees along my solitary sojourn an occasional car would pass. The occupants would sometimes smile and wave, but most looked upon me with curious quizzical eyes wondering; where and what in the world I was doing the lone solitary soldier marching this serene scenic route to the sea. I turned a corner and climbed a hill. Below me and to my left lay the river running and skipping through the wind which ruffled it’s wavy hair causing small tufts of foam on the sharper peaks to lay down like white shadows against the dark olive of the water. Gulls swooped and soared like the swallows above L.C.C.; never landing, and winging with child like abandon through the corridors of the sky. The road was a black tarmac tearing a straight strict line for a half a mile before me. The trees to my right were wild and swept inland like some great comb had tediously and tactfully lay upon them teasing every branch and limb. Still I continued my march to the sea. I came upon a disheveled looking windsurfer morosely tying his board to the top of his vehicle. I said “It’s a hard wind to tack in”. He nodded back, his defeat showing in his squinting eyes as he deftly tied the knots that would keep his board safe from the winds that had surely bested him all day. I continued to place foot after foot and step after step alone and untiring in my march; shifting my pack here and there determined to make my goal. Up another hill and behind the trees again as the road set by engineers’ years ago followed the contours of the land.

Finally, a sign ahead, gave notice of my final leg pointing me to the left. I set off lighter in step straight west and on a gentle grade leading me into the North Jedi state park. The smell of the sea air hung in my nostrils’ giving scent to the pines that had been my only bouquet for miles. The road layout shifted quickly, running down hill twisting and turning away from me like a black snake in tall brown and green crab grass. From my vantage I could finally hear the distant booming roar of the surf like the back round din around a major airport. I shut my eyes’ letting the distant pounding of countless waves wash over me like an auditory blanket of sound. I began crisscrossing my way down the hill diligently watching for cars on the numerous blind corners until I reached the bottom of the steep slope. The road wrapped around a small alcove where a group of people and a dog were frolicking and enjoying themselves in the small offshoot inlet. I walked down the road a ways passing some covert cunning weed smokers in there car and spy a small gathering of people talking and laughing around a picnic table. I stopped and asked them how much further till I reach the Jedi if I stay on this road? They replied “About a mile.” As I turned to go, a man called out to me and said “It’s a lot faster to go around the lagoon” while pointing over his shoulder.

I continued by the group intent on not losing my momentum and passed through a path in the grass. There in front of me lay a calm water lagoon. A rock wall set by the Army Core of Engineers’ bordered it on the left keeping the river in its turbulence at bay. On the right sweeping around in a crescent was a sandy beach which was hedged by tall sharp beach grass. The wind blew gently here from the North causing small ripples across the surface of the water. The sand had a few foot prints which were erratically followed the meandering tracks of two dogs, one large and one miniature. The smaller of the tracks often were interrupted. I would assume, the owner picked up the smaller of the two dogs and tended to it’s delicate needs. Small strange sand critters resembling alien see-through grasshoppers jumped and hopped at every step I took. My passing must have seemed a great earthquake to the tiny fellows, for they jumped as each of my feet fell, creating a bizarre dancing duet in the wet sand. The sound of the surf was becoming rhythmic the closer I got to the actual shoreline.

 I crested a small hill which thread its way through the tall grass and crossed the parking lot which I had crossed seven years before. I passed the final bluff and looked over the fields of sand and small dunes that spread between me and the sea. Some great storm raging had washed and strewn salt white bleached logs of every shape and size upon the tan sand; as if some mad voodoo doctor was throwing bones in a fortune telling ritual. I stopped putting my hoddie on under my leather for it suddenly was very chilly. The North wind was blowing its’ cold breath in a steady stream, intent on moving the sand one granule at a time, covering the tracks of those who had passed and resetting the hills and dunes in its’ fervor. I plodded to the waters edge dipping my fingers into the receding surf and then licking off the sticky salty sea water in sort of a ritual. I took my laurels and climbed atop of a stump that resembled a large gnarled fist of giant that was buried beneath up to his wrist. Small birds ran and scampered back and forth on the beach cheeping and peeping always a step in front of the waves like small children playing tag with the surf. I pulled out my victory cigar, lighting it and pulled hard allowing the rich tobacco flavor to circle around in my mouth like a dark sultry lover. The sun was setting, dipping down to sleep below the fleecy clouds which were its’ heavenly blankets of cotton and lace. The orange light seemed to start a thousand fires on the crests of every wave. When the sun sets on the horizon you can almost see it move down degree by degree. Within a few minutes it was gone, yet the red hue of the sky still remarked and told of its passing. My cigar was just a stub in my hand, long forgotten during the celestial display that had unfolded before me.

I had set out at the beginning of the day determined to make it to the North Jedi in Florence. I had started my soldiers’ march to the sea intending to find others of my brethren at the end of my journey. What I found was serenity, majestic glory and over whelming peace. Maybe that was all I was looking for.

Thor

    

Twins AKA Monsters of Chaos, Making of Serial Killer 2

Agent Morris  and Agent  Simmons overview.  Alert to all branches.

FBI task forces on serial killers

"There over 200-300 serial Killers working in the whole United States" on that first day where the numbers kicked into my head form the task force leader and the guide book constantly updated with profile intros, types of serial killers, motives, the whole eerie look into the killers psychopathic mind. 

As an Agent my partner and I were tracking know mad men who at one time had been locked up. No one could ever prove it but the population of the whole prisons homosexuals, had been a mystery of cruel deaths so thought done by mad men from inside gangs and cartels, the reality of what we found in Baltimore changed everything. The camera, the trophy pictures. The house that was smashed beyond belief in one room, the poor mangled body of a young dealer, male on the floor under a group of brand new  white sheets covered in feces, blood, cocaine and semen, and the young girl traumatized by what she saw on the video for only a few seconds with the man who found the camera.  Some heads can handle horror in raw but others it is the existence of this horror that ends any existence they may ever have, other than screaming off and on the young lady was mostly comatose from what she saw. I don't know how the man who told me why he was in the house. I couldn't bust the guy he was just a college kid in the wrong place with an addiction who found the camera and then the body and called it in.

I talked to him for a  short bit about what he saw, but it was the same thing I saw.

We called them Twins for they were twins and were caught as juveniles after killing their own mother and the old man in the house she was watching after at the age of 14. The twins then began a systematic removal of all the drug dealers in the Downtown area around Mt. Vernon.

DNA a whole new realm, and this was the first time we had a video, sometimes we found a body in the river ravaged by sexual  violent death, the new white sheets whapping the person usually a Drug dealer and the trolling in gay neighborhoods gave them their first hunting ground. They had been released at 18 ad this was the first time that the truth came out. I had a video and the crime scene, and was waiting on the DNA. I was guessing that they had been responsible for up to 13 deaths in the local area that fit the M. O.

Agent Simmons bust through the door, her face a dark olive color to her hair and eyes yet a light color over shadowing red from running and something a gleam of something in her eye. I loved working with a doctor of psychology as my partner, she may be a little green but the Chopper fixed that. I had seen things of horror but the "Chopper" changed that, they were still going through the bones, the old man's Drivers license was taken a few years before so all his victims were in the walls in plastic, in the flooring, cut dismembered looks of extreme terror frozen on their faces if the whole face was there. The bodies were all over the back yard in the cellar, and bones, piles of bones, some with strange markings breaks, scrapes, like teeth just barely but the strange slices marks were so bizarre, until the lab came back. An electric knife used to carve Turkeys in the 50-80's was scraping the bone. Cannibalism for so long the old  man was all white and pinkish. The lab suggested he had not been eating regular food for the most part of his diet for some time but all that was just the medical report.

"DNA' She screamed in a eureka with death right behind it, a shadow of horror lay in her words.

She lay the report in front of me. I expected 2 folders and that is what I got; One of all the DNA of over 100 victims counting they were still ripping the building apart. The next folder had the DNA of the "Chopper" and matches. 613 matches hit some all over the country, and a direct link to my last crime, "The Twins" true monsters on the loose and having spread carnage in Baltimore they left.

There was one other thing that pulled at me, the kids and the old man had the same blood type. I had figured the kids was a victim, and we had given him back to his family.

My mind began to real as I picked up the still of the Twins holding the body of their last victim, this young man who looked like a very demon had taken him in horrific lust and violence, and in his Chest was carved "Carnival"  with both the twins in either side taking a picture, and also a date.  June 14, 2015 40th anniversary. I began to take shape all the murders now tied to three serial killers, madmen, and a small boy taken by a woman with papers, back to his loving family who said they were leaving tow to put this terrible incident behind them.

I typed my last conclusion, perspectives. I was too afraid of what I was finding.

1. Connection in DNA between "The Twins" and the "Copper" direct matching a string of murders in 9 states that other task forces were working on, Florida, Kentucky, New York, Washington State, Texas, Alabama, Tennessee, California, and Oregon.

2. Possible conclusion. We have a family who have brought up as serial killers.

Agent Morris April 20 2015

 

The Boy.

                My ma was new, she liked to have parties with her sisters, she said she was ma now, that Da was gone but she really my sister. She say I got a lot of sisters. They come get me because they woman folk in nice small town, "Respected, here we are" she would say.

Parties were different , they would go to the big city and get a motel room, was very important, and the men came in from places the ladies brought them then used them in party like Pa showed me. Then they play cut. I liked cut, and they let me play. The man would be naked and the goal was 9. We copped off his fingers and his party thing but it took a while that is why is it a game. We all stand around the bed and when we ready sis she yells go, and we got things for cutting like knives or short swords and meat cleavers. It was so fun I could barley reach but I tried, and it was so fun Da never lests it get real messy, and we whipped it on each other when we were done, laughing the girls always licking each other. Not for me till I was man. Then they would teach me like Da. One my sisters always won the prize, one who he partied with and it was hers and still full of sweet love as she swallowed the limp fragment of manhood. W played splash then, before we took the plastic down. We would go camping next and a have a feast in the woods with just the sisters and me and the van in tents and they told the stories of Carnival like Da. I liked my new home.   

 

Horror is knowledge of what is really happening, now as we speak, horror.

THOR