Over the next few minutes he frantically moved around and violently ravaged his flesh for survival. I could see his abdomen was swelling up more and more as the seconds passed. When I was putting out the cigarette he was stabbing the ice pick deep into his abdomen as he was trying to release the pressure, and as brown water and blood was squirting out of the puncture wounds, I could hear his ghastly moans as he was suffering with horrendous pain. Brown colored water from his puncture wounds and blood from the carving in his chest covered his sides and the table top before it dripped to the floor. Suddenly, he jerked his head back and started choking as water pushed through his esophageal sphincters and filled his esophagus, then he started violently shaking as water, blood, and shit pushed through the rag and tape. I stood up as the fluids started gushing out from under the tow sack and onto the floor. As the kitchen filled with the putrid odor of a diarrhea shit storm, I took Orlando’s knife and cut the tape along Kevin’s leg, and soon as I pulled the hose from his ass, water and shit gushed out of his body and filled the room with even more of a disgusting rotted ass odor. I took a syringe and sucked up some of the fluid that was puddled on the floor, then stuck it in a zip lock bag. While he continued to leak out, I took all his clothes, quilts, towels, and anything fabric I could find and piled them on the floor next to the kitchen table, then cut him loose and pulled him onto the pile. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with Orlando’s knife, so I stuck it up his ass. Before I went any further, I grabbed the kerosene lantern and walked down the hall to a back bedroom, then set it on the floor and turned the flame up as high as it would go. I had brought a small gas can with me, but I also went back out to his storage shed and grabbed more gas. When I got back, I poured my gallon of gas and his three gallons all over his body and the pile of fabric he was laying in. After I loaded my duffel bag with everything I had brought, except for the shit covered ropes he had been tied down with, I checked my list to ensure I wasn’t forgetting anything. Right before I left I broke the gas line that went to the stove, and as the kitchen started to fill up with natural gas, I snuck out the backdoor and across the yard.
My heart was pounding and my adrenaline was pumping as I ran down the alleyway, and about the same time I was getting on my bike in the storm drain a boom shook the neighborhood. While I quickly rode down the drain I could see porch lights were coming on from people that had been awoken from the loud explosion, so I made sure I stayed in the darkness of the night. Right before sunup I slipped back into my house. I took my bike and duffel bag into the chamber, then stripped down and rinsed off under a showerhead. I went upstairs and quickly cleaned up the mud and water I had brought into my house. If for some reason the police were led here, they most likely wouldn’t be able to find the chamber. I was just being a worrywart because I had just tortured the shit out of someone and blew up his house a short distance away. I usually have state lines, or at least city limit boundaries, between the crime scene and me.
About thirty minutes later my doorbell rang, so I went to answer it while wearing my pajamas, a night robe, and flip-flops. When I opened the door, I found my neighbor, Tom, standing on my porch in his robe. Before I could speak he started frantically pointing in the direction towards Kevin’s house. “The child molester’s house is burning down! Let’s go check it out!”
He waited in my living room as I ran upstairs and threw on some pants and shoes, then we took off in his car. When we reached Kevin’s street we had to park several blocks away—the police had already blocked off the roads. Several blocks down from the fire, a man let us go through his yard to the alleyway that went behind Kevin’s house. There were a bunch of people already standing in the alleyway, and everyone was in shock as they watched the smoke as it rose over houses and trees in the distance. Some people were screaming and yelling to call the fire department and some were just screaming from excitement. I followed Tom and a few other people as they ran down the alley towards the smoke. There were probably seventy-five to a hundred people that were running and walking up and down the alley. They were talking, looking, and pointing at what was going on, and I could hear people saying the child molester’s house was on fire, and some of them were saying they hoped he was inside it. I could see there were people on the other end of the alley watching the house burn as well. The large number of people walking around was a relief. Their footprints were destroying any possible incriminating evidence left behind, and if there was something found in the alley that was traced back to me, I wouldn’t be lying about being there with my neighbor.
When the fire trucks arrived, they made everyone leave and go back into their yards. After Tom dropped me off at home, I went upstairs and sat at an open window so I could watch the smoke as it was rising into the sky.
I knew it would take the police a day or so to do their investigation, so that night I went and looked for Orlando’s car. I found it at a buddy’s house. I took his shoe that had the planted mud on it and stuck it with the other one. He had a large speaker box behind the back seat, so I stuck the dirty magazines in it through the vent ports. For the final touch, I took the syringe and dripped Kevin’s fluids on the drive side floorboard and smeared some on the steering wheel and the stereo’s control knobs.
Several days later I got a knock on the front door, and when I glanced at a monitor I saw it was a cop. I opened the door. “Can I help you, Officer?”
“I’m checking around the area to see if anyone saw anything unusual the night of the fire.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary besides the burning house.”
He handed me his card. “If you can think of anything give me a call.”
While he was walking to his patrol car I asked, “What happened?”
He turned around briefly. “You don’t want to know. You wouldn’t get any sleep at night.”
Several weeks later, the newspaper mentioned the incident and stated after a thorough investigation the police had arrested a local gangbanger for the murder.”
Oklahoma Massacre
Seth walked across the chamber, and a few minutes later he came back with a sign that read Thank God for dead soldiers. He leaned it up against the bars so Dicky could read it, then he sat back down on the stuffed man. “Kevin’s death made the local news. I usually don’t like drawing any kind of attention to any of my activities, but there was one incident that drew national coverage.”
Dicky looked at the sign, then at Seth with disbelief. “You couldn’t have been.”
“The one responsible for the Oklahoma Massacre. With the right amount of imagination anything is possible.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing and showed a sign of interest. “How did you get away with it?”
“Like I said, imagination. And of course, detailed planning, electronic and mechanic skills and a burning desire to give a needed spanking played an important role as well.”
He stood up and walked over towards Seth, and as he held onto the bars he had a cheerful look. “Now you have the whole country looking for you.”
“No need to get excited there, pal. Not one shred of evidence was ever found. Remember what I said? Detailed planning.”
He had a solemn look on his face as he sat back in his dark corner.
“It was a risky move and I had always kept a low profile with my activities, but at the time all I was seeing on the television was how these jackasses were protesting the funerals of soldiers; I was absolutely appalled. I understand the importance of our freedom of speech in our country, but there is a time and place and a right way and a wrong way about doing things. Regardless of their opinion and our right to free speech, these jackasses showed they had absolutely no respect for the fallen soldiers or for their families. They were parading around with signs that read Thank God for dead soldiers and God hates you as they yelled and chanted disrespectful remarks. My attitude is they do have a right to freedom of speech and I have a right to bash their head in with a hammer if I feel offended. I wanted to take these
jackasses out really bad while they were being inconsiderate, self-righteous hypocrites, but I knew there would be cops and media at every one of these funerals where they would be protesting.
A month or so later while I was watching MythBusters one night, I got an idea of how I could take the jackasses out. The guys on the show had installed some equipment inside a car to make it remote controlled. Three weeks later, I was testing a remote controlled 1985 Toyota 4x4 that was equipped with all types of gadgets. A long-range RF remote operated the vehicle and I installed cameras on the inside of the cab facing outwards so every direction could be seen on some monitors. I didn’t want anyone to know the truck had cameras or was remote controlled because the police would be looking for the operator. To solve that, I tinted the windows, and strapped in a manikin in the driver seat, securing its hands to the steering wheel so its outline would appear it was driving. I needed a way to haul the truck around, and a place to control it. I found a box truck in Mississippi on Craigslist that was exactly what I needed. When I went to pick it up, I was extra cautious. I had disguised myself as a Jamaican and drove a throwaway car to the opposite side of Mississippi, then took a bus to where I was picking up the truck. If the truck was traced back to the guy I got it from, it would appear I had come from the east.
When I got back home I installed several monitors, a remote-control panel and a couple of televisions in the back of the truck. Because I had to install a large antenna on the top of it for the RF system, it made sense to disguise it as a channel 6 news vehicle. I could have gone with a smaller antenna, but I wanted a three-mile range so I wouldn’t be near the mayhem. I also welded over all serial numbers and removed the vehicle identification tags on the 4x4 and the box truck to reduce the chance of them being traced back to the original owners.
About a month later, the protestors’ website announced they were going to hold a protest in Oklahoma in two days, which was only a six-hour drive. I immediately went to Google Maps and examined the satellite view of the surrounding area around the cemetery, then took a road trip to see the layout in person because the map was a few years old. When I arrived back home I put together a plan from all the data I had gathered. That evening I loaded the 4x4 and a motorcycle in the back of the box truck and left my house around 10 PM and drove nonstop to Oklahoma. I arrived about 4 AM, and the funeral was scheduled for 10 AM. I drove out in the country to an area where there was an unsupervised off road park for ATVs and 4x4s. It was dark as I unloaded the Toyota, which was the reason for arriving so early. Using the transmitter in the back of the truck, I moved the 4x4 into a wooded area so it wouldn’t be seen, then drove the box truck into town. I parked in the parking lot of a coliseum that was hosting a livestock show. It was filled with all kinds of vehicles, including news vans, so I blended right in. I had a few hours to burn, so I sat in the back of the truck and ran a diagnostic check on the RF transmitter and receiver to ensure there wasn’t any interference from other signals, buildings or the terrain. The 4x4 operated very well and I had a very good field of view; it was just like playing a video game. I drove the 4x4 to the side of town where the cemetery was located and parked it in a shopping center parking lot that was a short distance away. I was at ease—usually I am very nervous when I am in the middle of one of my undertakings, so I analyzed everything again to make sure I wasn’t overlooking something. The 4x4 and all its components were free of anything incriminating or traceable, and I had placed a lot of false evidence. Only the box truck could have some hair or lint from me, but it was fingerprint free and all its components were untraceable.
It was about 9:30 AM when one of the local news stations starting broadcasting live footage from the cemetery. The protesters were there early with their chicken shit signs as they paraded around with eager looking faces. These idiots don’t realize their actions were doing more damage than good. They should witness to others by living for Christ and setting a positive example. By far I am the last person that should be casting stones, but I am not using the Bible to justify my actions either. The actions of these jerk wads would encourage a non-believer or an unsaved person to want no part of the Christian way of life. If fact, their beliefs and actions are way in left field and are so far from the truth.
Right around 10 AM the funeral procession entered the cemetery, and I watched with disgust as the jackasses didn’t hesitate to run over and start yelling and waving their signs as the cars drove past. They were ready for a showdown and didn’t even know it. I took control of the 4x4 and took off for the cemetery. I became more agitated with each passing minute as I watched the jackasses taunt the family of the fallen soldier. Before the 4x4 approached the main gates, I parked it on the side of the road to give the family respect so they could bury their loved one. I couldn’t see the funeral from the cameras in the 4x4, so I sat patiently as I watched the news coverage on the television sets. It was a media circus. There were numerous news teams and a whole bunch of cops standing guard.
Fifteen minutes later, about the same time the preacher began the service, I noticed a man, who appeared to be the father of the soldier because of the seating arrangement, had jumped out of his chair and was running towards the chanting group of troublemakers. Before he had a chance to engage the group, a couple of cops took him down linebacker style. I could see the sadness in his eyes as they cuffed him and dragged him towards a patrol car. A couple of the other men and a woman who were part of the funeral were also detained when they tried to interfere with the cops. The group of jackass troublemakers really started prancing around as they watched how their First Amendment right was being protected at the cost of the solder’s dignity, which was pathetic, because he gave his life protecting that right. Within seconds of witnessing their promoting of their agenda and their absolute disregard for the sanctity of privacy and disrespect for the family, I had flipped all switches on and the 4x4 was cruising towards their direction at a fast speed; no one saw the truck as it barreled across the green grass. I drove straight towards the first asshole holding a sign, chanting, and about the same time the jerk-off turned and noticed what was about to take place, I had run smooth over him. The truck was quick and nimble because it was small and light weight, and before the others had a chance to catch on I had spun around and was headed back in their direction. The group of jackasses quickly realized what was happening when the 4x4 took out two more of the jack wads that were standing together. The cops were running towards the commotion about the same time I flipped a switch and began spraying a chemical mixture of gas and foam onto several of the assholes that were running in front of me, and as soon as I flipped another switch and ignited the flammable liquid, a huge fire ball caused the cops to retreat to safety. The cops began firing at the 4x4 as the jackasses were scattering throughout the cemetery in all directions like scared little rats. Unfortunately for them they were all wearing chicken shit bright yellow shirts, which made them easy pickings as the truck hunted them one at a time. The cops were chasing the 4x4 as I took out the assholes one at a time, and after I had got most of them, I released a group of chains from the rear that were lined with large shark hooks. Some spectators were helping the first injured jackass that I came upon. They quickly scattered right before the 4x4 ran back over him. To their horror, they watched as the hooks ripped into the skin of the yellow-shirted fucker and jerked him into the cloud of dust and debris that followed behind the truck. Bullets were punching holes in the metal of the truck, but it was a useless attempt because all the vital mechanics and electronics were being protected by bullet-proof materials and the tires were filled with foam.
Within three or four minutes I had about eight of the jack wads bound up in the chains and I could hear their screams over the monitors. To my surprise, two of them had managed to crawl up the chains and were sitting in the bed, so I flipped a switch and ignited four propane blow torches. One of the assholes jumped over the cab while he was on fire and rolled off the front of the truck and wound back up tangled in the
chains. The other one had jumped out the back where he joined his burnt buddy. When I couldn’t find any more of the jackasses I high tailed it out of the cemetery with about twelve of them bound in the chains, and as soon as I hit asphalt I flipped a switch and covered the group with the flammable liquid, then I ignited the mixture at the same time I showered down on the throttle. The police were horrified as they chased the 4x4 at a high speed as it dragged the burning group of protestors down the highway. The cops were swerving as they were trying to miss the body parts that were flopping around in the road. About three-hundred feet from a bridge that ran over a deep ravine I flipped a switch and engulfed the entire inside and outside of the 4x4 with gas, and as soon as the truck went off the cliff I ignited it. The cops stopped and stared in horror as they watched the explosion below.
I had been too focused in on the monitors and didn’t realize what kind of barbaric aftermath I had created until I looked over at the television screens. There were yellow shirt wearing fuckers laying everywhere in the cemetery and some of them were still smoking. People were running around hysterically as they were trying to help the ones that I wasn’t able to hook with the truck. There were almost forty police cars and emergency vehicles. Cops were running around and throwing up police tape all over the place. I knew it would take a while before they realized the truck was remote controlled, so I simply lowered the antenna and drove off in the box truck. I went out in the country to an abandoned rock quarry I had checked out during my original visit. The area was real secluded and there wasn’t anything else around that would burn, so I drenched the inside and outside of the truck with gas, then lit a twenty-foot slow burning fuse. I took the motorcycle and rode down the highway for several miles until I came to a hilltop. A couple of minutes later, I saw a huge fireball in the direction of the quarry, so I headed for Texas.
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 13
