Creepypasta AU

In another world…

[pyrovverse]

THE PYROVERSE .

In another world…

Pyroverse (PV) is my Creepypasta AU. It will unfold through a series of posts on this blog and you can follow along, help uncover the story and explore the world through cryptic messages, police reports, and stories. IT IS NOT ALL IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER. A part of the fun is piecing the story together :]

The characters included are Jeff, Nina, Liu, Ben, Jack, Jane, Brian, Tim, Toby, Natalie/Clockwork and The Slenderman.

This AU strays far from canon, so don’t expect to see much of that here. I heavily put my own spin on the characters and utilize dark realism.

Follow my regular Creepypasta account here: @pyrondeeznutz

All full PV art can be found on @pyroverseart

CONTENT WARNING! Most of the content I post will have very dark themes such as murder, death, drug abuse, slight NSFW mentions/themes, animal abuse and death, many forms of abuse and trauma, self-harm, extortion, prostitution, suicide and torture. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THIS.

All art posted is made by my lovely girlfriend. No she doesn’t have a Tumblr, but I will pass on any kind regards to her. For the non-art photos, they are all edited by me.

[pyrovverse]

Just wanted to sneak in here to say that I absolutely love what you've done so far, and I'm very excited to see what comes next

Thank you very much anon :] Im taking a tiny bit of a break cuz of writers block but Ill have more posts coming out within no time 🔥🔥🔥

[pyrovverse]

THE MILITARY MAN .

Brian Thomas was something of a social butterfly, a mans man. He raised by his father, Robert Thomas, in Auburn, Alabama. In his early years Brian was a friendly, outgoing boy who took on a lot of Roberts ideals and values.

Robert was a veteran who served 10 long years in the military. He had a wide range of knowledge on topics such as weaponry, cryptography, and was a rather disciplined man. As an excitable young boy, Brian would sit by the elders side as stories of war, brotherhood and triumph encompassed his developing mind. The strict, yet good man his father was paved a clear road of friendliness, assertiveness, and firm handshakes for the boy. Cryptology was an interest that Brian picked up from Robert, learning morse code and phonetic alphabet by heart.

In high school, he would begin to develop a keen interest in psychology, interested in how the mind works and how to guide patients through hard times. Deep empathy for others came natural as he would stay true to his fathers teachings of respect, kindness, and maturity in all situations. Brian was an outgoing, charismatic boy with a witty sense of humour. He was the type to light up a room with a clever one-liner or a bright smile. The boy had a good head on his shoulders, and his good grades proved he had a remarkable grasp on the world and his place in it.

After graduation, Brian moved to Tuscaloosa, Alabama where he began working towards a bachelors degree in psychology, and minoring in video production. It was at the University of Alabama where he met Tim Wright, and later an ambitious man named Alex Kralie. During the summer of ‘96, when Brian was 18 years old and in his first year of university, he and his friend Tim joined a cast for a student film called Marble Hornets, filmed and directed by Kralie himself.

Brian would spend 7 long, torturous years falling into the hands of a deep, unshakable sickness from that point on. It started out with a boy blinded with innocence, such a hopeful view on the world, a future to strive towards. His memorable grin would soon fade as he fell victim to a series of gruesome and violent incidents between the unfortunate cast; the main perpetrator being an entity far beyond the groups comprehension. It strung Brian and his peers up and forced their bloody hands like a parasitic puppeteer.

At the end of those seven torturous years, Brian was left alone with a horribly bruised spine from a fall, two dead friends, and blood on his hands. Life would never be the same, and now he was nothing more but a conduit for the strange entities motives, if it had any to begin with. As far as anyone, including his father, was concerned, Brian Thomas was dead. And while he still walked the earth as nothing but a shell of a man, he certainly felt that way.

His optimism and boyish enthusiasm faded through years of torment and harsh lessons from unreality, to be replaced with a much colder, vengeful side. Brian would dance with criminals, tango with killers. He would put on a face, the Hooded Man, or Hoodie, to protect his real identity and possibly to make the cruel persona a bit more real. He did what needed to be done, and a good, friendly person he was no longer.

Brian Thomas continued his life holding the values of his father close to his nearly unbeating heart. And while now he was a monster by any definition, he stayed true to his word, and his handshakes were always firm. This is the life the man would make for himself, carrying the weight of the sickness and the underground on his sore back. This was all that was left after the war, if he ever had gotten out of it.

[pyrovverse]

HOME SWEET HOME .

CW: Paranoia, death, murder/gore, abuse, fire, alcohol abuse

During the blazing summer of ‘96, the Rogers family made the impromptu decision to go for a trip to Lake Catherine State Park in Arkansas and to visit family which nested in Bentonville. Toby was early in his boyhood at eleven years old when he found himself lost deep within the forest that surrounded the lake. Though it was only afternoon when the young boy had found himself misplaced, the woods were dark and cold. Was it evening already?

It took eight long hours until the search party brought him safely back into the arms of his mother who was worried sick about her troublesome son. He was first discovered in an unresponsive daze, staring off into the wilderness as though he was looking at something in particular. There wasn’t anything there. It wasn’t spoken of since, and soon the family, and the boy, began to forget all about the strange situation.

Though the ordeal had long slipped his mind, the aftereffects stayed. Toby had found himself plagued with random coughing fits, nosebleeds, strange dreams and violent intrusive thoughts. Slowly, he felt himself rotting away from the inside. On some occasions, the young boy would wake up behind his home late in the night, having sleepwalked to the forest edge that bordered his backyard.

It seemed as though tragedy followed Toby like a stray dog. When he was 17 years old, he fell victim to a sudden, violent car crash that took the life of his elder sister, Lyra, who was driving her brother home from a doctors appointment. The force of the steering wheel crushed her and she died on impact, while the boy was left with a broken arm and concussion. The last imagine Toby had of his dear older sister was her bloody body mangled, and the awful sound of life escaping her through a gruesome series of groans and wheezing.

Throughout his life he wore strength like a golden medal that he held in between his canine teeth. But on that godforsaken day, his knees fell weak, as so did he. Life slipped through the cracks of his scarred hands and from the moment he stepped out of the wreckage, he hadn’t felt real.

From that moment forth, a sure descent into insanity grasped his now fragile mind. He felt a sickness take hold of him, far heavier than any grief that struck his sore heart. Through the midst of despair and loss, he lost all sense of what to do with himself. The stress proved to be too great for the boy who’s medal of strength was crumbling under the weight of the world. He was angry. Angry at his father for not being there, angry at his peers for their rejection, angry at the world for turning its back on him. Angry at himself.

But hating himself did nothing but prove Dan right, and so every fibre of that hate he directed towards the outside world. And his “me against them” mindset only strengthened its resolve as he lost the only person in his life who treated him as a human being. Now she was gone, and no amount of screaming and yelling and begging could get her to turn around from that pearly white staircase and come back to him. Now he was as alone as he’s felt his entire life.

Nobody taught Toby how to bear the burden of loss. He spent his entire life destroying everything through a rough series of fury and malice, that he was at a disadvantage when something left his life not of his own doing. Every semblance of control he mustered up over the years slipped through the cracks of his fingers like murky water, and he began searching for solace in liquor. Alcohol became a familiar coping mechanism for him, stealing booze from his father which prompted more violence in the unsteady household. His days for the next couple months would begin to consist of him running away from home, fighting with his parents, or drinking in the forest behind his house.

On cold, lonely nights he would sit on the edge of those woods in his backyard with a bottle held in his busted knuckles, and he would wonder if any fire could burn hot enough to rid that house of its sins. If anything could stop the war from raging on, if some day he could lay down his arms.

Over the next few burdensome months after the funeral, a bizarre, creeping feeling of being followed would begin to drape over Toby like a blanket of paranoia. It started off small. He would sometimes see things out of the corner of his eye, peeking around corners or standing amidst the trees that would disappear when he blinked. Then he’d begin to experience face blindness, or something of the sorts, where he could catch glimpses of people in crowds with no faces. And when the sleepwalking found itself back to the boys nights, he felt as plagued with disease as he did when he was 11 years old.

It had gotten to the point he would spend hours staring out his bedroom window at the woods behind his house, only being interrupted by his concerned mother noting that his nose had started bleeding. The trees had eyes, and they were watching him. There was something waiting for Toby in that forest. Something that would begin to torment the boy with nightmares and haunting visions of his deceased sister. Sometimes, late in the dead of night, he could swear he heard that terrible groaning and wheezing coming from outside his bedroom window. It beckoned him.

It was a cold November evening when the boy killed his own father by bludgeoning him to death with a baseball bat. After an early morning altercation with his father, Dan had been drunk and aggressive, and Toby was hanging on a very thin thread that inevitably snapped.

There was something primal within the younger as he brutally attacked his dear old dad, mercilessly battering the elder until his face was nothing but unrecognizable mush. The familiar scowl was the last thing he saw of Dan Rogers. Toby looked into the terrified, furious eyes of his creator as he beat him down, and in his fathers eyes the boy only saw his own reflection.

Toby lost everything that day. Or rather, he gained everything. He had nothing to lose to begin with, and now he was free from the chains of that house. And the visions of that warzone of a home being engulfed in flames only became true as he left the battlefield with gasoline and blood soaked hands. Dazed, and coming off of a rage-fuelled adrenaline rush, Toby thoughtlessly made his way to the forest he had been called to for weeks. The smell of smoke began to heat up the chilly autumn night, and as the fire grew, it accompanied the moon in lighting up the dark sky.

The last thing he remembered from that fateful night, one that was a long time coming paved through years of abuse and torment, was the feeling of flames on his skin and rough smoke in his lungs as the forest he sat silently in became a victim of the housefire. As the heat engulfed his surroundings, his vision went blurry and his head felt full of static.

This was the death of Tobias Rogers, the boy born of forest fire.

[pyrovverse]

FOREST FIRE .

CW: Abuse, violence

Tobias Rogers was not a good person by any means. A problem child from birth, he would prove to be too much for his mother, Connie Rogers, to handle. She never knew what to do with him. On the other hand, his father, Dan Rogers, was only fuel for the forest fire the boy would become.

For years Toby and his elder sister, Lyra, would fall victim to brutality and instability at the hands of their father who would begin to lose himself to alcohol. The violence that the boy witnessed enveloped his developing brain as he only began to do what he saw, oftentimes throwing aggressive temper tantrums. These fits would cause a tense relationship between him and his sister in their early childhood.

With Lyra being the eldest, Connie had far more expectations for her daughter unlike with her son. This led to Lyra growing out of her conduct issues, and Toby growing into them. While his sister matured and became a decent girl with friends and good grades, Toby would on the other hand fall victim to his fathers image. With his father being a strict man who desired complete control over his family, Toby and Dan often clashed. And the two men had bullets in their teeth, creating a battlefield of a home. The dignity being brutally stripped from Toby only led to him attempting to compensate.

He would repeatedly be pulled out of public school due to continuous fights with the other kids, who would ruthlessly bully the boy due to his strange tics and demeanour. Being unsocialized and isolated, Toby found himself intruding on others boundaries, or rather not having a care for them in the first place. He did and said whatever he wanted, if anybody tried to tell him what to do, they would immediately be struck down. Nobody but himself was in control of his life, and in his life he was in power.

Toby was a callous, vulgar, and loud-mouthed boy who had a sadistic streak. He never fit in anywhere, his wild eyes and unkempt appearance made him stick out like a sore, eerie thumb. The other kids his age would pick up that he wasn’t quite like them, he was antisocial and strange. He had a dark sense of humour and would make morbid jokes, even laughing at others pain. And his macabre fascination with death and destruction was the cherry on top for Toby’s bad reputation.

Obnoxious as he was, Toby had a way of making his way in the world. The boy was crafty and eccentric, blazing through life and leaving behind nothing but char everywhere that he went. The fire within him would carry on throughout his life, never expiring, even when he was brought to his knees.

[pyrovverse]

OBSERVATION #01 / 03.28.2003

[pyrovverse]

ROCK AND A HARD PLACE .

Little Rock, Arkansas. Circa 2003.

CW: Gore, murder, general dark themes

Drug dens, cheap motels, and couch surfing. This was the life Jeffery Woodson made for himself during the escape from his crimes in Arizona. He wound up in Little Rock through various hitchhiking adventures and decided on a whim to take residence in the bustling city for a short while.

He quickly created a reputation for himself in the underground as a notorious extremist. With due time, Jeff developed a circle of followers so tight knit it was almost to the point of intriguing exclusivity. These people crowded around him like winged insects to a funeral pyre, and the man was one they worshipped like a God. Handpicking each and every person, he crafted a group only of associates who would subserve themselves to him. Jeff preached to them words of war, mayhem and hatred as though he was reading from the gospel of destruction. He painted a picture of the weak versus the strong, the winners versus the losers. In this little corner of the city, he was king.

It didn’t take long for him to settle in and begin making his mark through a rough series of murders, exerting power over those he viewed as inferior trash such as women who were a bit too much like his mother and men who were a bit too much like himself.

Three unfortunate sex workers fell victim to Jeffery. Amanda Chapman (31), Aimee Robinson (25), and Hannah Carter (24) were all found dead in various locations from motel rooms to dumpsters. Besides being brunette female prostitutes, the victims all shared one other distinct quality. They all had their mouths slit. Autopsy reveals this was done before the actual murder occurred, alongside various means of battery and torture. The sudden spike in murders throughout the past 4 months slowly gained the attention of authorities who slacked on investigating the killings due to the bad reputation of the victims. A criminal getting rid of other criminals wasn’t much of a worry for the police force.

It took one man who was assigned the case, George Harrison, to really enunciate the potential dangers of the murderer they had on their hands. Three victims in such a short time span meant they were now dealing with a serial killer. A man who effortlessly beat, tortured and mutilated the bodies of women he swept off the streets. It was clear the murderer was going down a road he would not come back from. Now, as the lead investigator, it was up to George to track the unknown assailant down.

For the next few months, the dedicated cop would obsessively pursue leads. Eventually he learned from his daughter, Jane, of a case in Arizona earlier that year of two women who were found in similar states as the victims found in Little Rock. The identical M.O was what brought George down the path which led him to the dirty streets of the city where no man with a good conscience would go. He interviewed the traffickers, met with gangsters, made deals with thieves. It was a quick and swift descendent into the madness of humanity.

All it took was one tired afternoon in a coffee shop for George to sheepishly scan over his notes and pick up on a hidden clue he hadn’t seen before. A lightbulb lit up over his head that sent a wakening bolt of electricity through his overworked body. This was it. This was it.

Hopping into his old, sputtering car, he drove down to the crime-ridden streets of Little Rock and stopped out in front of a small, dark, broken down home. Inside the house was three women - two hookers, and one younger lady named Shelly Markson - and two men, Aaron Cooper and Jeffery Woodson.

George approached the building with caution and roughly knocked on the creaky old front door which was hidden behind a screen door that had the screen slashed open. The lack of answer, followed by the muffled sound of irritated chatter from inside, prompted the man to knock once more. It took a minute for the door to open, presenting a slim, pale man with long black hair and brooding blue eyes that were so dark they nearly resembled the depths of the sea. Gods great flood. Most notably, the stranger had a deep scar on the left side of his mouth, leading up his cheek like half a smile. The authoritarian energy of the younger male overpowered Georges by every means, and the police badge plastered in his wallet did nothing to offer the elder a sense of power. This wasn’t his terf, and he knew he oughta be careful now.

Softly but firmly, George opened his mouth and dryly escaped words of introduction to the man he was faced with. He let it be known he was a man of law enforcement, and was only there on business of pursuing leads regarding a case. To his surprise, the younger man was very cooperative, friendly even, as he agreed to answer any questions of his and offered George to continue the conversation with him inside. Away from prying eyes, away from the outside world, away from witnesses.

In that house, God did not exist. Peace did not exist. Humanity did not exist, or in other words it existed far too much. Primitively, Jeffery Woodson would beat George Harrison to death in front of the other four inhabitants of that devils house. Despite the witnesses pleads for him to calm down and back off, to a bloody pulp Jeff beat the elder man, and he wouldn’t stop until George was nothing but an unrecognizable corpse. The cops blood coated Jeffs hands and it fitted tightly like gloves, an article of crime and punishment.

“This is our territory. And this is what we do to anyone who stands in our way” Jeff stated with pride, his strong voice booming with such charm and vigour it brought the witnesses to their knees. Great Marquis of Hell, Jeff stood bold amongst the bloody mess of his wrath.

“He was sticking his dirty nose where he shouldn’t have been sticking it. This fuckin’ pig was going to bring us all down. You wanted to sit by and let him prey on you? I did you all a favour.”

October 23rd, 2003 was the morning Jane Harrison received the unfortunate news that her fathers body had been recovered in a dumpster outside of the police station. She later learned that he was left beat so unrecognizable that he was only identified through his badge.

Denial was the first thing that flew through her mind after hearing the words through the phone. Ending the call then and there, not to entertain that disrespect on her fathers name, crossed her mind. He had to have been still alive, and he was surely going to be home for supper as he always did. Surely.

5pm, 6pm, 7pm. The clock ticked on and each minute that passed began to burrow painfully into her chest. It was well past dinnertime when Jane finally made the devastating decision to go to the station to identify the body. Not a single tear was shed as George’s brutally mutilated body was presented to her.

“That is my father” were the only words to leave her lips etched into a frown. The weight of the world fell onto Jane in one single night, suffocating her with a heavy coat called grief. Loss was far too a familiar subject for her. Her fists balled and her breathing became shallow as the moment of sadness quickly grew into pure anger. It was her duty now to pick up where her father had left off and find the man responsible for destroying her world. She was going to get her revenge.

[pyrovverse]

THE SURVIVOR .

CW: Lighthearted dark themes

Jane Harrison grew up in Little Rock, Arkansas with her father George Harrison. She lived in a poor neighborhood ridden with drug crime and gang violence. As a police officer who worked in sex crimes, George raised his daughter to be knowledgeable of the streets and the types of criminals she could run into. Alongside this education, her father taught her self defence, how to shoot a gun, and how to never take an ounce of disrespect from anybody.

In high school, her grades were above average and Jane would make herself many friends. Her teachers often noted an immaculate sense of understanding and achievement from the girl, highlighting her intelligence. From the very beginning Jane made her place in the world as a fighter who always worked hard towards the things that she wanted.

Throughout her early teenage years, Jane developed a venomous tongue stinging anyone who tried to tear her down. Independence was plastered on her sore, overworked back like a black widows hourglass. This wasn’t to say she was a mean girl though, Jane was instead a strong person who always stood up for herself and others. Her confidence shone brightly as did her maternal kindness, always lending a helping hand because God knows she knew what it was like to struggle.

Jane lost her mother to a long battle with cancer when she was 11 years old. Loss was a familiar subject for the girl, from birth it was taught to her as though it was a class in school. She sat neatly at her desk as the teacher of life pointed to the chalkboard with the words “everything ends” scribbled messily on it in. From that moment forth, she witnessed her father fall silently victim to neurosis. He would often work long torturous hours, and worried senselessly about his daughters health and safety. After she graduated, Jane worked herself to the bone at her waitressing job to make enough money for law school, which only grew the worry in Georges heart for his daughter. He always insisted she slow down and allow him to provide, but Jane refused to rely on anybody else. She was driven and dedicated.

When the murders in her hometown started, she was 22 years young and still living at home with her father. Jane followed the case closely as George had gotten placed as a lead investigator, often offering him tips and outsider insight. During the following months she would witness him fall into the hands of the aggressive world of drugs, crime, and violence as he tirelessly chased the tail of the unknown killer. It wasn’t very long though before George caught onto a series of promising leads which brought him closer and closer to finding the one responsible for the growing unrest in the city.

Everything went downhill from then on when George Harrison was a heels turn away from uncovering something he simply shouldn’t have ever tried to uncover. Neither Jane or her dear father knew the mess they’d be getting themselves into. Neither of them knew how the story would end, or rather, how it would begin.

[pyrovverse]

THE DAMNED .

CW: Gore/death, CSA, animal abuse, general dark themes. Dead Dove.

Nina Ramirez was a bizarre girl. At 9 years old she witnessed her father, Hector Ramirez, be shot to death by Phoenix PD. She’s hated authority ever since. The sole inheritance that Hector left his daughter was a cruel exposure to death that began to feel nearly paternal for the young girl.

As she grew up, the vision of her dear old dad collapsing to the ground with his brains splattered on the floor followed her around like a rabid dog. It nipped and bit at her until she was nothing but scar. She lived her teenage years missing a layer of emotional skin and every small touch felt like catastrophe.

A gaping hole in her chest formed, and it had teeth that bit hard. These feral teeth would snap words of war at Ninas mother. The two never got along, they were far too similar for that. Nina was always a daddy’s girl.

She found refuge in internet sites such as MySpace and online forums, giving herself off to older men for any ounce of attention that she lacked at home. She was first introduced to the world of true crime through a forum discussing a young girl named Sally Williams in the 60s who was raped and murdered by her own uncle. It wasn’t long after which that she began falling into a morbid trap of manic obsession with all things dark.

Nina would skip class to smoke and webcam with strangers online, doing things such as watching people self-harm, hurt animals, and humiliate themselves on camera. Often she found herself researching different serial killers for hours on end. The lonely girl was consumed by the desire to be loved, wanted, needed. She spent her teenage years trying so desperately to feed that hole in her chest and never had anyone to guide her. Nina grew up to be an attention-seeker with very a questionable moral compass.

On April 7th, 2003, Nina joined a forum where people were discussing a possible new serial killer in Phoenix, Arizona. The city where she lived. For a moment, as she read through the official police report, Nina felt electricity shoot through her body. This was love. This was love.

Soon her time was dedicated to researching the strange man who had taken the life of a girl named Millie Houghton, and she was Ninas age. She must be his type. And being his type was all that mattered. Her mother would often argue with her about this dark fascination, but Nina was enveloped in the fantasy of being this killers one true love, his exception. She could pull him from the dark, and he could save her.

[pyrovverse]

KILLER KING .

CW: Gore, abuse, misogyny, general dark themes

Jeffery Woodson grew up in a small town in Arizona named Tolleson. Jeff was always a violent kid who was a bit too much like his father. He would spend his early years being brutally beat, and then going to the playground to project the abuse onto other children. This behaviour followed him into his teen years, even though his mother had left his father and married a better man named Patrick Woodson.

He first took anothers life when he was 15 years old. There was no hope for 9 year old Bradley Henderson as Jeffery held the young boy down in the rushing river. His body was shortly recovered by authorities after it had washed up on the forest edge and found by park rangers. Despite knowing Jeff was last seen with the boy, there was not enough evidence that Bradleys death was foul play and all charges were dropped. Jeffs stepbrother, Liu Woodson, witnessed the murder happen. He knew better than to open his mouth.

Hatred followed Jeff throughout his life like a disease. It stuck by his side and wrapped around his soul, plaguing him with rage. Every word that escaped his mouth was those of disdain and resentment. He lived his life full of brutality, and god forbid anybody get in his way.

Superiority was important for him. He was taught from a very early age that man shall be put on a hierarchy of weak versus strong, predator versus prey. Jeff believed he was at the top of the food chain and this proved true as he began taking the lives of street whores and inferiors in his early twenties. He knew what he was capable of, and better yet, he knew he could get away with it.

Strangely enough, or rather not all that strange at all, a majority of his victims resembled his own mother. Colleen Woodson was a desperate woman. She would often bring men into the house for sex and money while her husband was at work, letting Jeff be exposed to the lustful sin of humanity in his adolescence. This exposure developed a very unfortunate view on women, and humanity in general, for the boy. To him, people like her were nothing but disgusting inferiors who pathetically flaunted themselves as prey to the predators of the world. Predators like him.

Jeff had a very big, and very fragile, ego. He had a vile mix of primal rage and need that painted a clear picture of his life. Often finding himself in the palm of various hard drugs, Jeff was a fiend for stimulants. Cocaine and methamphetamine paved a labyrinth of mania for the man and only encouraged his brutality.

His arrogance knew no bounds, and he had a very morbid fascination with the idea of cults, death, and corruption. These fantasies were only a catalyst for the man he would become. A cruel and dangerous man who would make a name for himself being a notorious piece of shit in not only the civilized world, but the world of criminals as well. Jeffery Woodson was born scum, and he lived his life encased in amber, forever unchanged.

[pyrovverse]

POLICE REPORT UPDATE .

May 5th, 2003. IMPORTANT UPDATE.

Tabitha Jefferson (aged 24, pictured left) and Millie Houghton (aged 17, pictured right), have both been found mutilated with the corners of their mouths slit. Authorities have reason to believe the two are not connected, but both fell victim to the same killer.

It is currently believed that the suspect first met Houghton in a bar which she got into by using a fake ID, and the two went to a motel for the night. The suspect held her captive for 37 hours where he tortured her before strangling her to death. The slits on her mouth were done pre-mortem. Her body was discovered and reported to police by motel staff on the morning of March 31st.

The suspect later met Jefferson, paying her for prostitution and brought her to a secondary location where he beat, tortured, and stabbed her to death. Her mouth was slit post-mortem. Her body was found by a civilian near the local station on May 22nd.

If you have any information on the suspect or the victims, please call our tip line [phone]

[pyrovverse]

BREAKING NEWS .

April 7th, 2003. IMPORTANT RELEASE.

At 6:27am on March 31st, police received a phone call from an employee at Motor Inn, Phoenix AZ, regarding a deceased female found in one of the rooms. After further investigation, the girl was identified as 17 year old Millie Houghton.

Due to the conditions her body was found in, authorities have reason to believe she was murdered. Witness reports say that Houghton was seen at a bar on March 27th around 11pm and arrived at the Inn around midnight with a man who is identified as a prime suspect. She had used a fake ID to enter the bar and willingly left with the man.

Witness reports the suspect as a white man in his early 20s, approximately 5’8ft 140lbs, and has long black hair. He was last seen wearing a white sweater and black pants. Any information on this suspect please call the Phoenix police force [phone]

Please note that police sketches may not be accurate.