Bowler hat, the Jasper Brown story Part one

“I am the angel of death,
some say,
the demon of night,
they all do agree,
I am the worst of my kind,
I the one,
who takes the souls,
of the good and the bad,
damned and the dead.”
~Apoc_05

August 12th 1955, Texas

The house, if that’s what it could be called, sat beyond its wrought iron fence, nestled in a copse of cotton wood trees. The old Victorian had seen better days, vines grew up the walls covering the peeling paint. Windows no longer clear gazed out on the weed choked yard, where bumble bees buzzed lazily about under the Texas summer sun.

Otis walked out onto the rickety porch, and stood there for a moment sipping luke warm tea out of a chipped blue glass. He could hear his wife in the kitchen, and smell the baking bread, and smiled in anticipation. She made some of the best damn bread in the county, and her cornbread could win awards, if they gave out awards for cornbread.

His smile faded as he saw their son near the barn, he had once felt sorry for the boy, but not these days. No these days the boy bothered him, a lot. It wasn’t the over sized head, or the hunched shoulders. Nor the way he shuffled about the yard, with that pinched look of concentration on his triangular face. It was the dead look in those flat eyes, the eyes of the devil his daddy had called it.

And damned if the kid wasn’t talking away to some one that wasn’t there again. Otis thought but didn’t say a word. He only sipped at his tea, watching as his son pulled his Red Flyer wagon over to the base of one of the cottonwood trees by the barn.

Jasper fiddled around the boxes of parts Otis had stacked there at the beginning of spring, talking quickly with his invisible friend. Just ain’t right, Otis thought while looking on. The boy should be going to school and making friends, and that would have ended this invisible friend nonsense.

But his wife had insisted that the odd looking child would only be the object of ridicule and bullying if he attended school, so she would teach him what he needed to know in the safety of their own home. There were times Otis honesty thought it had been all the long days alone with Jasper that had turned his wife into what she was today. The lively vibrant woman was now aloof, arrogant, and disdainful of every one but Jasper. She doted on him, almost worshipped him.

Otis had stopped trying to get her to act more normal when he had awoken one night and found her sitting in bed watching him sleep. She just sat there, her eyes like dark pits in a face with no expression. After that he had just agreed with her pronouncements, no matter his own opinion And his drinking had increased as well.

Jasper had obviously finished with his conversation, as he had turned and began to walk down towards the river beyond the brush and distant tree line. Otis felt a bit of relief once his boy was out of sight.

He would never admit it to anyone, but that kid scared him sometimes. It was in the eyes, the way he would just watch someone with no expression. Lord help him, but their lives would have been better off with out little Jasper.

Jasper stood on the bank of the Brazos River, looking across to where Bethany Stills and Darrin Cooper were skinny dipping. The two high school students lived down the road aways, but spent every chance possible making out here at the river.

He crouched in the reeds and brush watching the water drip from Bethany’s large heavy looking breasts, each droplet glittering like diamonds in the sunlight as it dripped slowly from the golden brown skin.

Darrin was aroused he noted, with clinical detachment. As he took in details, with no real interested beyond the information

He watched the couple embrace and then come together half in the water on the far bank. Observing them for a moment he then slunk away, back to the cool shade under the trees, turning his gaze towards the house where Mother was cooking and Father was no doubt on the porch wondering about his Jasper.

He cocked his head, listening, and then nodded. “You’re right, Father doesn’t like me,” he said. The thought didn’t bother him. He had his friend, and that’s all that really mattered. “But Mother does, and a boy should always love his mother.” Today was his birthday. An auspicious day, his friend had said. And so it was.

Father was sitting on the porch, a handsome man really, dressed in faded Levi jeans, work boots, and a white sleeveless t-shirt. Jasper noticed how his father’s pale blue eyes followed Jasper as he shuffled thru the weeds and up to the creaking steps of the porch.

“Your mama is inside, waiting for you to get ready,” Otis told him. Jasper frowned at the word mama. His mother had raised him not to use colloquialisms and it bothered him that his father would do so. Jasper didn’t correct Father, instead nodding silently. It always surprised Otis that the boys neck didn’t break under the weight of the oversized and oddly shaped head.

“Yes Father,” Jasper responded, only because it was expected of him.

“Did you have fun down by the river?” Otis asked. Jasper was sure that Father had prayed he would fall in and drown. Father didn’t like Jasper or Jasper’s friend, whom he claimed not to see. Jasper was indifferent to his fathers feelings. He saw no reason to like or be liked, beyond what was expected in the situation.

“Yes Father” Jasper responded, having no desire to tell him about the couple that had sex in front of him. Father probably wouldn’t have cared either, but that was something Jasper wanted for himself, not to share it.

Otis studied his son and had to stifle a shiver at the look in those eyes, then gave up on trying to get some sort of real emotion out of his son, anything that showed him his boy was even halfway normal.

“Well get on inside, she has your clothes laid out for you,” Otis said, waving the boy into the house.

Jasper smiled as he stepped into the foyer of the ancestral home and started up the stairs. Reaching his small room he saw his mother’s choice in clothing and clapped his hands delightedly.

Linda Sue looked up as the kitchen door swung open, and smiled in greeting as she saw Jasper standing in the doorway. He stood, dressed in a neat brown coat over a white shirt and vest. His brown pants set off the spats he wore over his shiny black boots. She reached out and adjusted the bowler hat and then smiled at him. “A man must look his best as often as is possible Jasper. Never forget that,” she said.

“Yes Mother,” Jasper said, as he climbed up into his chair and eyed the small cake on the table.

Linda Sue cut a small slice for her son, setting it on a saucer and then in front of him. Jasper smiled as he neatly cut off a small piece, placed it in his mouth and chewed delicately.

“Your father wished to invite other children over Jasper, but I told him no. You’re too special to mingle with the other children.” She said patting his hand. “Your father doesn’t understand, Jasper. Like everyone else he only sees what he wants to see.”

“Yes Mother. The cake is delicious mother, may I have a second piece?” Jasper asked. Linda Sue smiled hugely and took up the glittering sharp knife.

“Yes you may,” she replied, lifting the knife.

October 31st

Jasper’s bedroom was on the second floor, tucked into a corner, with windows that looked to the back where the Brazos could seen thru the trees. Moonlight splashed into the room creating a pool of light that only made the darkness in the rest of the room deeper.

There were no comics, no models, nothing a boy his age would normally have. What few toys he owned were balsa wood airplanes that his father had made for him when he was younger, before he found out that Jasper had no need for toys. They sat unused and mostly forgotten on a shelf over his bed. Instead, two book shelves lined with books showed his interest. All concerning serious topics that boys his age normally wouldn’t read: history, geography, science, and chemistry. The toy box at the foot of his bed contained only blankets and pillow cases. There was nothing in the room that said a child lived there.

Jasper sat at his desk, reading by the light of a oil lamp. His parents had never installed electricity in the old house. He studied the gilt edged pages of the book his mother had checked out of the library just for tonight, a history of All Souls’ Night. While other children were out in costumes going from house to house in town, Jasper was deep into the ancient Celtic tales that had ultimately inspired the holiday.

At midnight he closed the book and stretched, then blew out the lantern, plunging the desk into darkness. He undressed in the dark, folding his clothes neatly by touch and placing them on the small trunk at the foot of his desk before pulling on his pajama’s.

He climbed into the bed, pulled the covers up to his neck and stared out the window watching the tops of the moonlight trees sway in a gentle night breeze. Stars glittered in the blue black sky, and from his position he could only see the lower half of the full moon.

He sat up suddenly as he saw the rocking chair by the window start to rock slowly, as if someone sat there. The chair moved back and forth, bathed in the moonlight. Smiling, he leaned forward and out of the night a voice as light as the wind, came to his ears.

Otis paused by his son’s door, his trip to the kitchen forgotten. He could hear Jasper talking, the words indistinct. Unbidden, the image came to Otis’s mind of something dark, something evil, sitting in his son’s room perched on that rocking chair Jasper had hauled up to his room for his friend. It wore the rotting face of his great grandfather, one of the vilest men Otis had ever met. He had shed no tears at the old man’s funeral, he had been happy that abusive, evil man had died. But standing in the hallway at this moment on this night, he believed if he opened that door he would see Dante Brown smiling at him from the shadows, maggots and worms crawling across the rotting pus-covered flesh of the long dead bastard.

Otis shivered, his hand hovering over the doorknob, he only had to grasp that knob and turn it to find out the truth. Slowly he pulled his hand back and continued on his way to the kitchen. Nothing on God’s green earth could get him to open that door and find out if he were just imagining things.

July 19th 1961, Texas

The Fourth had come and gone, and it was the usually oppressively hot Texas summer, full of droning insects. Hot even in the shade of the trees.

Jasper crept thru the brush along the railway tracks. He didn’t want to be seen, not today. No, today was the day he took his first step towards his destiny and anything that might interfere was to be avoided.

Up ahead he could see a thin thread of smoke spiraling up thru the trees where the hobos camped, a filthy group of people if there ever was one. Well, hobos and hippies were really equal in filth, but today he was interested in hobos.

A man, on the shortish side, sat beside half a metal barrel where a fire burned. His hair looked greasy, and the hat that he normally wore hung on a branch over his blankets that had been spread out next to the barrel. He watched as the man stripped off his shirt, revealing a dirty torso. The man folded the shirt and placed it beside his knapsack, trying to hold onto some semblance of neatness, Jasper thought as he watched from the shadows.

On his right shoulder was a USMC tattoo, and a naked woman tattoo adorned his forearm. Instant dislike flowed thru Jasper. Like his father, this miserable excuse for a human being was a veteran. Jasper averted his eyes, knowing that people could sense when they were being stared at. Instead he watched out of the corners of his eyes as the man stripped off his pants and folded those up as well, then knelt beside an old chipped basin that he must have dug out of the old shack, and used a rag to try to wash the grime off his body.

Slender he might be, but his body was nothing but rippling muscle, with no fat to hide it. Oh what a work of art, the human body, Jasper thought as he admired the man. It was nothing like Jasper’s misshapen form.

His mother had told him his entire life he was special. He believed her, and today was the day he found out how special.

He quietly placed his bag on the ground, and withdrew the tools he would need. He couldn’t have described the urge, the anticipation that filled him. He couldn’t know it was the same feeling most men got at seeing the female body naked and ready for them. Even if he had he would have told them that his feeling was more intense, a soul consuming fire that took him up and lifted him above the mortal human insects.

As the shadows grew longer and the sun sank towards the horizon, Jasper slipped around and silently approached the hobo from behind, watching as the naked man scrubbed himself down and tried to rinse off with the small amount of water in the basin. Jasper crept up slowly, almost hoping the man would turn around, but he didn’t. Jasper’s hand darted out like a viper and drew the knife he held across the man’s throat. He stepped back, letting the man fall to the ground clutching his throat trying to stop the spray of blood. Jasper watched eagerly as the man rolled over onto his back, his legs kicking a little bit, his eyes full of fear and only one question. His mouth came together and framed the unspoken word.

“Because I can,” Jasper said, answering the silent question. Jasper knelt, staring into those fear haunted eyes, and watched the life flee from them. He felt the energy flow of the dead man pour into him. There was no other way to describe the feeling. It didn’t matter to Jasper if it was in his mind or not, it was real to him.

After the man had died he cleaned up the area as much as possible, then repacked the man’s meager possessions into his bag and placed it by the tracks.

For all his slight misshapen appearance Jasper was freakishly strong, he quickly gathered the dirty clothing of the hobo, and dressed the corpse, with that done, he carried it out by the tracks, waiting until he saw the glow of a train’s lamp in the distance. It was then he placed the corpse on the track making sure the neck was across a rail.

. He whistled as he walked back into the woods, waiting till he heard the wail of the train’s horn as it passed before heading home, smiling broadly.

August 12th 1962

It was a hot August in Texas. While the nation mourned over the death of Marilyn Monroe and feared the soviet’s launching of Vostok 3 on the 11th and Vostok 4 on the 12th, children immune to the fear their parents had devoured the new comic book character Spiderman, while listening to such new songs as The Lion Sleeps Tonight or Chubby Checkers’ The Twist. But not all kids knew or cared for such things.

Jasper Brown sat at the battered little formica table in the dingy green painted kitchen and blew out the seventeen candles on his small cake while his mother clapped her hands delightedly. She was trying her best not to be upset, as she had accepted that Jasper would be leaving the old family home to seek his place in the world.

“She will be dead in a year Jasper,” the cold impersonal voice of his old friend whispered in his ear. “Do not let her stop you from finding where you belong.”

Jasper didn’t reply, he rarely did around his mother. His father had vanished last year, leaving for work on Christmas Eve he had never returned. Neither Jasper nor his mother had notified the Sheriff. There was no need to, neither of them cared that Otis Brown was gone.

“Thank you for the cake Mother,” Jasper said as he accepted a slice of chocolate cake on a chipped blue saucer.

“You’re very welcome Jasper,” she said with a huge smile. A smile that would have seemed a bit insane to anyone else watching, if someone else had been there to watch that is. “I would like for you to write me, and tell me of the discoveries you make as you travel. Your great grandfather traveled the world himself when younger, you know.”

“Your great grandfather was the product of incest and even molested your grandfather well after his marriage to your grandmother. Dante’s travels were to allow him to binge on his molestation and murder,” the voice told him with a laugh.

There were times his friend was a bit trying and this was one of those times. He had already been given the catalog of his great grandfather’s sins, more than once actually. He knew of his Great grandfathers sins, and of his grandfathers homosexual trysts and even his own father’s liaisons with married couples after Mother had stopped loving Father. But Jasper was tired of hearing it over and over again.

“Yes Mother,” was all that came out of his mouth. He finished his cake and rose, kissing her on the cheek. A duty he would no longer have to perform thankfully. Picking up his carpet bag, he walked from the house of his birth, leaving it behind in the dust of the past where it belonged.

“You will be famous,” his friend told him as he paced alongside Jasper. “You will be famous and you will be my right hand.”

The first few years were a whirl as he discovered television, which he didn’t like much, and libraries with thousands of glorious books. He understood that his looks were a distraction, so he joined a traveling circus, the only job that would hire him and he wouldn’t stand out. He learned the art of the clown and began to explore stage magic, which fascinated him.

He also discovered sex, which wasn’t as satisfying as he had been led to believe after watching couples for years on the bank across the river from his home. His first had been one of the dwarf women that worked the circus. She had been drunk of course, but at least hadn’t acted disgusted or made fun of him when she woke the next day. He discovered rape was as satisfying two weeks later, and rape with murder was even better.

The hippie girl that had volunteered to be his first in that regard hadn’t made fun of him either. But she had, of course, been to busy dying to take the time to note any failures or shortcomings Jasper might have had. Disposing of the body had actually been easy; flensed and cut into pieces, then ran through a grinder before being fed to the lions and there was nothing for the local sheriff to point to.

New Years Eve was quite fun for Jasper, who was accepted by the circus folks. One of the acrobats had even kissed him at midnight, then tried to get Jasper to go back to his trailer with him. Jasper had politely refused, and the man had wandered off to hit on the female assistant to the knife thrower. Jasper had refused namely because he didn’t want to see the scene that would occur when the man sobered up and realized what had happened.

He dutifully wrote his mother, until one day his letters were returned undelivered. Jasper knew that she had died at home alone, waiting for him to return so she could serve him, as was her duty in life. He burned those letters and then put her out of his mind. It was time for him to start learning the things he would need for the future.

The circus traveled across the nation from town to town and allowed Jasper to meet many people. He controlled his desires except on the rare occasions that circumstances allowed him to indulge on traveler passing through the area that would never be linked to that town or the circus.

November, 1963

Jasper awoke in the small canvas tent he used as a home, and heard the others outside getting ready for the show that would start at noon. He could smell the popcorn and cotton candy already being prepared. The animals were complaining, wanting their morning meal.

“You must go watch the television in the office,” his friend told him, “You will enjoy this.”

Jasper didn’t argue, he simply rose and smoothed the wrinkles out of his pants and shirt then exited the tent, heading for the small office where Carson the ringmaster had set up in. Carson owned a new 13 inch black and white TV that everyone but Jasper had dropped in to watch all week. Jasper entered and was engulfed in the smell of coffee. Carson stepped from the small closet that he had set up as a kitchen of sorts.

“I thought I heard someone. Here to see my new toy? Take a seat Jasper, the president is on TV,” Carson said, ducking back into the closet and reappearing a moment later with a steaming cup of java. “Would you like one?” Carson asked.

“No thank you, Mr. Carson. Coffee is not a drink I indulge in,” Jasper replied. Sitting down, he watched as the news cameras followed the president as he climbed into the back seat of his car with the first lady. Carson chatted happily about how much he liked the president, and Jasper tuned him out as he watched the motorcade roll through Dallas.

“Pay attention,” his friend said, “Now.”

Jasper focused on the TV and had to hide his smile as the president was shot before the nation. Carson’s coffee cup tumbled from his now nerveless fingers and shattered on the floor. Carson could only stare in shock at the TV, and Jasper mimicked his reactions, not wanting Carson to know he found it amusing.

The word spread by radio and people from town had just arrived. The nearly unanimous horrified response to the tragedy brought almost everyone in and around the office watching television. They were stunned and shocked, expecting the soviets to launch missiles at any moment. Most believed the soviets had killed the president. For the first time in its history the Carson Family Circus did not perform. They were too busy clustered around radios or trying to catch a glimpse of the news on Carson’s TV, unable and unwilling to miss even the slightest bit of news. And even if they had performed, no visitors arrived that day or the day after.

By August of 1964, Jasper found himself in San Francisco. The circus was performing just outside the city, but Jasper had come into the big city to see it for himself. It both awed and disgusted him, until he met Antonio De’Aspion, a stage magician who had a predilection for young men that the hippie free love movement only encouraged. His interest in Jasper was puzzling to the young man that Jasper had become.

It was in no way sexual, but one night Antonio had mentioned he had seen Jasper perform one of his limited magic acts at the circus. Antonio frequently visited any show that featured any kind of magic act to get a feel for the competition and possibly a new trick he could alter to suit his own show style.

Antonio had been impressed with Jasper’s skills and had decided to take the young magician under his wing. Jasper’s looks could be both an asset and a hindrance. They created a horror movie themed show where Jasper’s appearance would draw in an audience. Then Antonio had taught him how to alter his looks allowing him to pass as almost normal in public. Never good looking, the young man no longer drew attention and looks of revulsion from those he passed.

Finding out that Jasper never had a birth certificate, having been born at home in the back woods of Texas, and had never attended schools, Antonio had set him up with an identity and all the necessary papers.

Through Antonio’s instruction, Jasper had exceeded his mentor’s wildest hopes. Antonio was one of the very few humans Jasper ever truly liked and respected.

August 8th, 1969

Jasper sat quietly as Antonio talked with a man involved in movies, trying to work out some kind of business deal. Jasper paid little attention to such things, and as a result was becoming quite bored. He rose and excused himself, deciding to take a walk in the gardens where there were some nice sculptures. He had acquired an appreciation for fine art from Antonio, and took every moment he could to view it.

The Gardens of the Hotel were open to the public, and these days hippies were frequently run out of the grounds for protesting. He found it repulsive and vaguely amusing to watch a group of young men and women strip down to only love beads and head bands in order to stage a nude protest to the war in Vietnam. Personally, Jasper enjoyed the concept of war. Killing was something he enjoyed like others enjoyed a good book. War was the crudest way to kill of course, but he found it amusing that society would generally tolerate such behavior while condemning people like Jasper.

After the police had dragged the naked protestors out, Jasper decided continue his interrupted art viewing. He stopped to admire a sculpture of a nude Greek athlete, noting the flowing curves and gentle touch of the artist who had brought the portrayal to life from within the rock, where it had previously been unseen.

Jasper’s reflection was interrupted when a man came to stand nearby. Jasper noted the slim frame, the shoulder length wild hair, and the typical hippie beard and mustache, but it was the eyes that really drew him. Magnetic, deadly insanity lurked in their depths, and such an intensity in that steady gaze that it set his nerves to singing.

It was the closest he had ever come to feeling real sexual excitement, yet it was more than that. There was an instant kinship between them. The other man turned that gaze on Jasper and he found himself smiling, the kind of smile only his victims usually saw. Their eyes locked and something passed between them and then the man nodded and walked away.

It wasn’t until later that Jasper saw him again on the news; Charley Manson and his so called family were on trial for several brutal murders. Jasper had only smiled, privately enjoying what his soul partner had done. Jasper was of course more of an artist, but the fear, the pure terror that Charley had inspired was something to respect, Jasper had decided.

His child hood friend had faded over the five years that Jasper had performed, and during that time Jasper had added new skills to his old desires. It took ample planning and observation to set up for each of his victims, but once he went after them there were no clues left behind, only mystery. Jasper was very good at what he did. His mother had driven home the lessons about excelling at your chosen profession. Jasper might not have chosen his profession, murder was in his blood. It always had been. But he more than excelled at Murder

Antonio died during a burglary in early 1970, and Jasper became a very rich man when Antonio left his small fortune to Christopher Markson, the identity that he had set up for Jasper. Jasper quietly canceled all his shows and by the end of the day was gone. Once more back on the road, where he was meant to be.
His childhood friend came back that October, and things changed forever.

It was Halloween night, one of those cool nights with a gentle breeze, and a large bloated orange moon that hung over the horizon.

Jasper eyed the sign at the gate distastefully, “ tonight’s double showing, The tombs of the blind dead and Night of the living dead, Happy Halloween”

His eyes drifted to the black 64 mustang two cars ahead, he had Chosen them to be his next victims, and as usual he was following them to determine their patterns in life. Tonight they had broken from their normal, Dinner, and sexual liason.

He generally despised Motion pictures, he had only seen five over the years. they were a means for weaker people to escape the world. Tonight however their escape was not a certain thing. he could kill them here, and leave the bodies to be find, but that was to risky. The chances of being seen were to high. He paid for his ticket, and drove in parking one car over from his potential victims.

he covertly watched the couple from the darkness of the van, which being higher than the cars, allowed him to see partly into his victims car. The mans hand was resting between Evelyns thighs, moving slightly. Jasper would never understand why Sex drove so many men mad. It was a biological function, nothing more or less.

Now Rape was a different story, it could be used for power, to enforce the inferiority of the victim in the victims minds, it was a way to mold a persons mind and he enjoyed the fear and loathing it generated.

he had at one point considered keeping one of his victims alive to see how being held for a long period of time and being raped would affect their minds. But it held little attraction for him, and the chances of the victims escaping or being seen and the police becoming involved was too great.

The movie started, Jasper pretended to pay attention, no point in having some one notice he was staring at the other couple in the Mustang and remembering it later, when the bodies were found.

He was only half aware of the couple on screen walking through a cemetery, or the stumbling man heading towards them. “ they are coming to get you Barbara, Look there is one of them now” the man on screen said.

The screams of the woman sounded fake to Jasper who had heard real fear driven shrieks in person, he had caused those screams.

But something drew his full attention to the screen, and before he knew it, he was engrossed in the film, watching the story unfold.

‘He became aware of the van growing colder, a foul odor filled the air. It had been so long since his Mentor and Friend had appeared Jasper had thought it was gone for good. Something stirred in the passenger seat. Dark man shaped, more shadowy than flesh and blood.

“you have done well Jasper” a voice said that came from every where and no where.

“I thought you had left me” Jasper replied smiling.

“I’ve always been with you Jasper, as I was with your great grandfather, and your grandfather, your family line is special to me.” It said in a voice colder than space.

“tonight the future begins, what you see before you is a mere shadow of the reality that will come Jasper, a Reality that you will rule over as the right hand of the Dark one.” it said, with no inflection to its words. It was neither excited or disappointed. Happy or sad. It didn’t care. “ you will be free to kill, torture and Maim. Humanity is nothing but cattle to those like youself. You only have to embrace it, and the world will in time belong to you Jasper Evan Brown.”

Jasper smiled as he focused on the movie, His, the world would be his. he saw flashes in his mind of walking through city streets filled with the dead, every where were the dead, the putrid corruption of man made real. blood covered his arms from blade tips to elbows. He was like unto a god, the bringer of death, the harbinger of the Dark.

“do this for me Jasper, your destiny stands before you” was that eagerness in the voice, was if finally showing emotion. Jasper knew it was his decision, nothing of such importance could be just given to a man.

:” Yes” he said softly, a smile playing on his lips “ Yes, I will be the Harbinger of the Dark” he could feel a deep satisfaction fill the van, and a dark amusement.

“each life you take, is a tribute to the dark, each death serves a higher purpose. You are mine now. Spread terror, and despair, destroy the hopes of mankind, for they are doomed to extinction.” The voice whispered. “forget the two that brought you here, when you leave, you will head to Maine and begin your work. and I will never leave you again.”

the presence faded, leaving only a lingering smell of death in the van that it too vanished as if it had never been.

Jasper, was filled with excitement, he gave one wistfully glance at the other Car, where Evelyne was obviously enjoying the activities of her boyfriend. They would have been fun to add to his list, but he had more important things to do, and his list would grow beyond measure doing his job.

He started the motor, ignoring the protests of those around him, he was eager to be about his work. he backed out and drove slowly away. Leaving a young couple who would never know just how close to the Death and horror they had come. For them it was the best Halloween they would ever unknowingly have

California had gotten old, during his years there, so he drove east, in his white van. Dubbing it the pale horse after hearing song, by a man with a deep voice. he acquired a souvenir in each state he passed through, a woman walking her dog, in Las Vegas, a man stranded on the side of the road in Arizona, a woman and her daughter in New Mexico. The pale white van cruised the dark roads, bringing death to the unlucky.

He arrived in Maine during the summer, where he panhandled for cash in Bangor, using his stage magicians act to earn what he needed to supplement what his victims provided, he left the state with a 16 year old runaway named Tad, who only lived long enough to reach the next state. Jasper almost but no quite regretted that one, Tad might have made a good assistant. By late summer he had worked his way down the coast to North Carolina, where he was forced to use his disguises. People in North Carolina seemed more fixated on how he looked than other places.

By August he had reached the panhandle of florida where he set up house for a month on the beach in Pensacola, during the day watching the scantily glad men and women frolic shamelessly on the beach as he picked his next victims.

He left the wreckage of the married couple displayed on a pier for the locals to find, then left the area heading for Louisiana. New Orleans became his new home.

What man calls history, is only part of the story. Things never begin the moment an event begins, Like fate, it’s a tangles skien that stretches across the years, till all the threads merge into the Pattern of events that Man calls an event. As the years and bodies piled up, Jasper Walked through blood and bodies reaching for the destiny that would help decide the fate of Humanity

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