Randy and Walter: Killers (17 page)

November 16, 2009

WALTER BRENEMEN DISCOVERED TO BE RANDY BARCER’S BROTHER!

The entire world watched as disgraced police detective Walter Brenemen’s final verdict was delivered. During the ruling, it was discovered by local anthropologist and CSI agents involved that Walter Brenemen is in fact Randy Barcer’s half brother.

Psychiatrists have now stated in the record that Walter Bren
e
men is a sociopath and a truly dangerous killer. In fact, many of the deaths Randy was accused of may have been Brenemen’s doing as he was in a position of authority to do such things. Not much has been discovered of Brenemen’s family. They seem to be mis
s
ing as well. What is known is that the two men are r
e
lated by their father, Dennis Barcer Brenemen, who is also missing along with Brenemen’s step-mother. Brenemen had nothing to say in the court room.

Though cameras were not allowed in the courtroom, r
e
ports from those within have stated that he only smiled at everyone around him as if
he
didn’t have a care in the world.

December 4, 2009

SHOCKING RULING OF WALTER BRENEMEN!

The world was stunned today when by a technicality Wa
l
ter Brenemen was found not guilty! They say the evidence was too few; there was simply not enough evidence to co
n
vict him. The policemen who once reported watching the beating of Police Chief Donald Harrison would not take the stand. Some say out of fear. Because of this, along with several other details not released to the public, the DA could not get a solid conviction of Walter Bren
e
men.

Brenemen’s lawyer stated that, “There is no cause for alarm. He is not like his brother, Randy Barcer, and other than a small temper pro
b
lem he’s harmless.” Despite local psychologists saying otherwise. Psychologist Linda Hende
r
man states, “Walter Bren
e
men is a sociopath. He is a truly devious man who is also a genius. It’s not surprising that he was found not guilty. He more than likely has put fear into the hearts of the local police as he has most of the world. Simply put, people are too afraid of him to convict him, for fear that he will somehow get to them and their families.”

This shocking turn of events has the state of
North Carolina
, along with several other states fuming.

People around the world are crying out for blood and justice.

December 12, 2009

JUSTICE SERVED FOR WALTER BRENEMEN! TOWN OF
BIRMINGTON
CLOSED DOWN!!

In yet another shocking turn of events, former Police Detective Walter Brenemen was captured by local residents of Birmington North
Carolina
. The residents, which included many of the local p
o
licemen and firefighters, lynched Brenemen.

Witnesses reported the man was carried to the center of the town and stoned almost to death. His clothes were ripped off and the mob continued to ruthlessly beat him. After a few hours of beating Brenemen
,
they then hung a rope around the fountain at the Birmington Court House and hung him
un
til he
was
de
a
d. Afterwards, his body was imm
o
lated, the mob stating that the flames claimed the justice the courts
had
failed to dole out!

After this incident, all of the residents of
Birmington
NC
began to move out of the town. Even residents who had lived in the town all of their lives were now immigrating north. All businesses were soon closed down and houses have all been abandoned. The few remaining holdouts say that the town is unfit to live in. Authorities have now closed off the roads to and from the town.

Talks are in session to one day begin reco
n
struction of the town. For now, though, the town of
Birmington North
Carolina
has been officially closed off to the public.

This town has also been this reporter’s home since I was a child. The closing of it has sa
d
dened me. Yet I feel as though it’s necessary to report this as the town has always been a little closed off from the rest of the world. I feel that this was partially why the residents had become so hostile, like animals. Even I partic
i
pated in the lynching of Walter Brenemen. It’s funny. I didn’t feel like I had served justice or God. Instead, I felt terrible and frigh
t
ened for my own soul. I remember Brenemen as he was stoned and beaten and finally hung by the neck, to then be burned in effigy. Not once did he cry out in pain. Not once did he beg. Not once did he lose that awful smile.

The only thing he said was and I quote, “What took you f***ers so long?”

Every night I find myself having nightmares of this man. Every night I awaken covered in sweat and drowning in my own tears. I lost my own wife and daughter because of this terrible thing that has happened. I pray to God everyday to forgive me. I pray that Walter Brenemen and his brother, Randy Barcer are burning in Hell. Somehow, I don’t think monsters like them will ever suffer enough. This is my final article after twenty years of working for this press so to those who are reading this right now, know that I hope the town of
Birmington
is never reopened. Know that I am sorry for tomorrow’s article. But it must be said. I just can’t get the images out of my head. I can’t get that little red-haired girl out of my head.

By James Stanson

January 13, 2010

LOCAL REPORTER JAMES STANSON FOUND DEAD!

Police found reporter and columnist of NC Press, James Sta
n
son, dead this Saturday at his home in
Black Forest
Mountain
. Preliminary r
e
ports say he shot himself in the head with a shotgun.

James Stanson wrote for this paper for twenty years. His final article was seen as a suicide note. We here at NC Press did not know this at the time so we printed it as we always had. This is an unfortunate event. However, he is not the only reported suicide from Birmington recently. It seems all of Birmington’s past res
i
dents who participated in the lynching of Walter Brenemen have killed themselves in one way or another, many saying the same thing; that they can not forget what they did and the horror that now hangs over of this small town. The real strange occurrence of these suicides is the mention in each note of a little red-haired girl.

This has caused yet another panic throughout
North Car
o
lina
. Police have begun to search for this reported red-haired girl. So far, nobody has been found matching this description.

A memorial service will be held for James Stanson and all of the victims of Birmington this Thursday evening at Little Valley Cemetery. Please come and show your support and respect. 

James Stanson leaves behind his daughter and wife, Le
s
lie Stanson.

We hope to see you there. God bless.

       
William McCarthy, Editor

   
NC PRESS

   
January 14, 2010

157

RANDY AND WALTER: KILLERS

WALTER

Chapter 11

T
he tiny black spider had been working hard on its web all through the night and finally finished in the early breaks of day. To the spider, it was a perfect web built to ensnare food. It had d
e
cided after careful deliberation to spin its web at the very top of an oak tree so as not to be disturbed by any animals that may venture by. This made it easier for its prey to be captured, as well. After admiring its beautiful handiwork, the spider began its descent from the top of the tree.

By letting out a tiny jet-line of web which stuck to the side of a nearby branch, the spider ever so carefully made its way dow
n
wards. The wind was gentle and only mildly rocked the spider to and fro as it swung down limb from limb. It had no thoughts, but if it did, oh what thoughts it would have had. To see the things the tiny arachnid had seen would blind the eyes of any man. A human would have felt helpless hanging from the limbs of a tree su
s
pended only by a slight cord.

This spider didn’t feel helpless. It felt free. As if the world, the universe, was its own personal playground; its own personal feeding ground. It did only as nature had intended. It did not kill out of love or hate. It didn’t kill for pleasure or fear of pain. It killed merely to survive. It killed to eat. This tiny, beautiful black arac
h
nid had not a worry in the world. This predator was the ultimate hunter; the ultimate, perfect killer.

It slowly made its way to the ground.

The gentle breeze was no threat as it did so. In fact, the breeze helped the spider move. It aided in pushing the spider farther along its quest towards the ground. There really was no reason for the spider to have left its web. It just did as it felt. It just did as it wanted. And right now, at this very moment, the spider wanted to feel the ground beneath its hairy legs.

It wanted to crawl along in the sun.

After nearly an hour of descent, the spider finally reached its destination. It landed on a cement rock of some kind, the grey thing seeming to go on forever. It didn’t matter, though. The arachnid gladly began to scurry across the grey rock formation. Its tiny, hairy legs moving quickly along as it made its way to its new destination. It felt as though the spider wanted to do something else before returning to its beautifully designed web high in the tree tops.

But then it came to the edge. The rock formation had an edge. With its multiple eyes, the spider peered down and began to crawl downwards towards another even longer grey rock thing. It scu
r
ried and hurried down the wall, easily clinging onto the side as it made its way.

The spider reached the bottom and continued to scurry along the next formation. As it did so, it began to notice its fatal mistake.

There was something there it hadn’t noticed before now, and there were a lot of them. And they were big. Whatever the giant creatures were, one thing was certain, they
were
a threat to the spider’s life.

Several hundred pairs of giant feet walked over, beside, in front, and behind the spider.

It had to move quickly as it made its way towards a safer de
s
tination. There were no thoughts in its tiny brain, but if it did have any thoughts, it probably would have wished it had stayed in its web.

The feet were just as quick if not quicker than the spider. It was nearly crushed several times before it had reached a place of safety.

But it wasn’t safe.

Before the spider knew what was happening, a shadow fell over it, blocking out the sun, and then a fist came down on top of the spider, crushing the tiny black arachnid into nothing more than a tiny pile of ooze.

With that strike it was as if the spider never existed. A remorseless h
u
man had killed it. Its web was still up in the tree, still swa
y
ing within the wind, now abandoned by its owner. A fly, caught in the web, was now left to starve to death instead of being devoured. The spider, the perfect pred
a
tor, had quickly become the perfect prey.

It never had a chance, for the spider had the misfortune to e
n
counter Walter Brenemen.

“Walter! Get over here! We’re leaving!” yelled his mother, J
o
sephine Brenemen from afar.

Eleven year old Walter Brenemen looked away from his clenched fist but didn’t withdraw its position. He looked towards his step-mother and scowled. His father was standing next to the car with her, both wearing impatient looks. They may have been calling his name for some time, he didn’t know; sometimes he got lost in his mind and didn’t hear the outside world.

He turned away from his parents and pulled his fist away from the sid
e
walk.

The crushed spider had left tiny entrails on his fist. Disgusted, he wiped his hand on his shirt, leaving small specks of ooze on his white shirt.

They were at
Newbury
Park
for a few hours now. His parents had been elsewhere arguing over something adults argue about. Walter, annoyed with his two parents, had walked away from them towards the swings. He’d swung on the wooden swings until his hands began to blister, then he left the swing set and walked towards the slide where another mother was helping her daughter off of it.

They were both laughing and having a great time together. Nearby, more children and adults laughed and played in the sand. It all annoyed Walter. He just didn’t know exactly why. The sounds of happiness they made were stupid to him.

Then he’d spotted the tiny black speck crawling across the sidewalk. Feeling annoyed and wanting to inflict pain on som
e
thing, he walked over to where the spider was and brought a fist down upon its back. The spider had made no noise, which was disappointing to Walter.

Now he walked over to his parents’ car and got in the backseat without a word. The two looked at each other, exchanging aggr
a
vated glances. His parents climbed into the car with his father behind the wheel. The engine started and his father backed out of the parking spot.

His father turned away from the park and drove away towards their house.

During the drive, his father began to scold Walter. “You know better than to just wander off like that, son. We don’t like having to go in search of you.”

“I didn’t feel like listening to you two today, okay?” Walter muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Josephine asked while turning to look at her son.

“What were you two fighting about this time, anyway?” Wa
l
ter asked.

His father glanced in the rearview mirror at his son and then back at the road.

“We weren’t fighting, Walter.”

“Oh, really, then what would you call it?” Walter asked, his voice sarca
s
tic.

Josephine continued to stare down
at
her child, “We weren’t figh
t
ing, Walt. We were just talking. There’s a difference.”

“Not from where I was standing,” he replied.
             

The car came to a sudden halt, his father slamming on the brakes. The car behind them hit their horn and then drove around them, a man on a cell phone looking at Walter’s dad angrily.

Walter’s father spun around in his seat and looked directly into his son’s eyes.

“This little attitude problem of yours has got to stop! You’ve been ac
t
ing like this for several days ever since...well, ever since the Kinnegan kid died.”

“His name was Stan. He was my friend,” Walter said, looking his father right back in the eyes.

Josephine turned around in her seat and flashed her husband a look that said to leave it alone, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“Look son, I know what happened. It was a terrible accident. But you’ll make other friends. You’ll see, sooner or later you’ll forget what happened. So let’s just go home. Okay, bud?”

Walter shook his head in agreement, not wanting to push his luck and get a slap. As of right now all he wanted was to go home to his room and be left alone.

His father put the car back in drive and continued the trek home.

Walter leaned his head against the side window and stared out at the passing trees.

His father wanted him to forget what happened, hell, he wished he could forget.

He wished he could forget everything but he knew deep down that he never would. Nobody ever forgets such a thing.

As he sat watching the trees fly by, his mind fell back to a week ago.

Fell back to when his best friend Stan was still alive.

157