We are sorry but his dark span of recent creations  has really been  quite necessary, and they address another facet of this work.  When you monitor long tracks of ground like we do watching the air the bridges and of course the woods, you will come upon the evidence of  human activity, ruins of long forgotten houses, absorbed into the terrain, and other proofs of the presence of men, materials set in traps you would see in Vietnam, or a turn of the century hunters setting.   And then there are the clear indications of dump spots and cult activity.   There will always be an abundance of proofs of life about us , that (both normal, and that which for the most part goes unnoticed,) that which was native to this earth long before us possibly. We will continue to stalk those secrets as long as we can   and hopefully this year  bring home trace evidence as well.  If we cannot bring it home in a physical sense,we will  capture it between the seconds of the clock in our marvelous, but affordable  and sometimes infernal  little machine.

But today were showing something i made recently, really one of a set.    Most of the art I do is portraits, murals, and the occasional fantasy illustration and for years they were the heart of my interest .

These recent  statues, models, or  folk art creations, whatever you call them, are a reminder for investigators both professional and amateur to be aware of their surroundings, Sometimes a picture holds more power than an eloquent speech,and the purpose of this one is to remind us of real possibilities, and the fragile  barrier between us and them.  When  looking for the Orb or the apparition, the disc shaped object or the humanoid,  try to  remember our species has its owns monsters . Some are indoctrinated into the faith of madness, cultivated in it, their base? The very same platform of freedoms we all rise from.  The one that leads most of us to somewhat well-adjusted lives, yet in their case the same freedom’s of choice in religion, in personal philosophy,  are taken to wanton, and sometimes homicidal extremes. The severity of the image to the right is not an alien scene from another planet, based on impulses we could never understand.   It is a setting a wife or husband could easily find themselves in , with acts of infidelity, perpetrated  against the wrong individual.    Investigators must always approach a home as though they are going to talk with a hostile witness.  That is to say they should use kindness and manners, but be leery all the same.

As you walk through the woods in the  night-time or day time, as you approach the house to ask directions or get permission to look closer at an area, you cannot any longer suppose the unlikelihood of the worst case scenario,, or doubt that the home owner may be the Ed Gien type recluse .

another view

Back in the early to mid 70’s a girl was killed in Belton, Missouri,  It was  finding  the girl’s hand in the creek that led to the discovery of her corpse, which also was deteriorating in these same waters.

The boy responsible? I never understood whether his dysfunction was retardation or a more severe psychological problem, but this same individual encountered us one fall day. He came very close to my little brother as he (this kid ) was wandering through the length of woods, looking for what (?) Luckily he waved and walked by us, but not before coming up to my brother in an attempt to embrace him.     Of course my brother didn’t reciprocate.We were told  part of the boys  problem was sexual, and he well could have  been looking for another victim in the same stretch of woods he’d found the girl. He had been a simple person maybe damaged, who dealt with the rejection of a girl all wrong ,, and im sure  She was unaware of the danger she was in.   That was some 38 odd years ago, Today in the tracks of rural America and the jungles of concrete, there is a purer form of killers coming to power.

When I was 21 I had a  tragic encounter with a girl my age. I say tragic because I tried to get her home to her family,We had talked and she told me how after a fight with her mother she had run away, how each new step to survive had led her down , further and further until she began selling herself, under the guidance of a criminal.  from that point on, 5 ft nothing, 100 pounds possibly wet, she was easily convinced of her position.  I had made an offer id  get her a ticket home if she would really go, and give her family a chance again. I had  planned to escort her personally there, and turn back afterwards for home.No strings attached  nothing required.  She was in a bad position and I knew if she didn’t get free soon, it would eat up the best years of her life and  possibly claim it, my naive 21-year-old mind had no idea how close i was to the  truth.  We were set up to meet at her hotel, her bag was to be packed and her ready to go.

The day I arrived , she was not in the downstairs of the hotel waiting.  A number of old black men obviously forgotten, one stretched out on the floor unconscious in pants soaked with urine laid about the lobby and an old black lady, in her 70’s had directed me to her room.

I went, after a while upstairs. Others were milling about  outside her room in the hall. like they were waiting for someone,  when i asked if this was her room they had only shy’d away. This was on the third floor and  her door was open a crack. I knocked, but it was clear no one was there.  I pushed open the door and saw a wrecked bed, syringes laying about  and a suitcase in the floor near the door. It had been packed and some  its contents were spilled out, still semi folded.( she had been ready to go,)    The window of the room was not just open, but removed from the casing, and a breeze blew the white sheers bunched in its corners here and there.   All the drawers were removed from the dresser. One was shattered and the others were left laying helter-skelter.

As I looked out the window, careful not to touch anything even though I had gloves on, it started soaking in.  Three floors below a dumpster had been drug or pushed beneath the window.  Anyone could merely drop something from this height and with certainty hit that target. It was then i saw blood on the floor by the window 3 drops.  What froze me to the bone was what I saw out of my right eye. Through a bathroom door a toilet was half painted, half filled with red tempera, a spray was on the wall behind the stool.  With my spine turned to welded ice,and the real fear i would not be able to move, I inched towards the door and looked in again to the right, the tub,and wall’s there were no better .

I backed out of the room, trying hard as I could not cry, and went down the stairs past the hollowed eyed addicts, individuals who’d long since made their choice leaving their families and real life behind them.  The old  lady I met downstairs, who’d sent me to her room, was waiting,   I have a minor form of epilepsy and get dizzy spells when upset at times.  As I sat wobbling, trying to gain control,waiting for it to pass and futilely fighting the tears that come with recognition of the fatal,  that same old woman said “nothing you could do honey”. She never once took her eyes from the screen of a black and white TV that was so fuzzy that  only faint shapes could be made out.

Of course the city processed her death, just as they did probably hundreds if not thousands of others through the decades of its history, and I’m sure, once finding out what her reputation and her profession were, it became  pretty much an open and shut affair .  There are many horror stories much worse, I’m sure , in the woods of our county and others like it,  bones long since detached by time, or the forceful push of  bushes and vines alike.  Husbands ,wives, rivals,  and children who became more of a problem than just  an extra mouth to feed.  There are those who just could not be left alive to report  the crimes of the abuser.  They were too great a threat to the predators way of life, their hunger.

When you go to a door go in numbers if you leave your car at all. Go armed with some measure of self-defense , that allows you the option of flight ,and remember the old rhythm and blues song about “smiling faces”.

Is this scene a view from one of our photographs,? No.  Could it be a possible scene  in some haunted place,so lost in time  it is removed from the human eye,, a view of some beaten down remembrance of a home, one enshrouded in a canopy of trees, the porch-like  structure all that still remains ? Yes.       Could Evil people find This sort of setting ,  a desolate and isolated place useful,,,?       I have no doubt.