It began with a simple walk in the woods.

In November 1985, a hunter exploring Bear Brook State Park in Allenstown, New Hampshire, stumbled across a rusted metal barrel half-hidden under brush and leaves. At first, it seemed like ordinary trash left behind in the forest. But when he peered inside, he froze.

Wrapped in plastic were human remains.

Police arrived quickly, and soon, the grim discovery became clear. Inside the barrel were the bodies of a woman in her twenties or thirties and a little girl, no older than ten. Both had been brutally murdered.

The community was horrified. Small towns like Allenstown rarely saw violence, let alone such a grotesque scene.

Detectives scoured the woods for evidence, but the trail was cold. With no names, no missing person reports that matched, and no obvious suspect, the victims became known only as “the Allenstown Doe” and “the Allenstown Child.”

Years passed.

Then, in 2000—fifteen years later—another hunter stumbled across something disturbingly familiar.

Just a few hundred feet from the first barrel, another rusted drum sat hidden in the trees. Inside were the remains of two more children, both young girls.

Now there were four victims.

The case became known as the Bear Brook Murders. And the questions multiplied: Who were these women and children? And who could commit such atrocities?

For decades, investigators tried to untangle the mystery. Composite sketches were drawn, circulated, and plastered across New England. Yet no one came forward.

The victims seemed to have no past, no identities, no families looking for them. They were ghosts, erased from memory.

Meanwhile, suspicion fell on a drifter—Terry Peder Rasmussen.

Rasmussen had been known by many names: Robert Evans, Gordon Jensen, Larry Vanner. He was a chameleon, slipping in and out of communities, always leaving broken families and disappearances behind.

He was arrested in California in 2002 under the name Larry Vanner for the murder of his girlfriend, Eunsoon Jun. But even in custody, no one realized the full scope of his crimes.

Back in New Hampshire, detectives continued to investigate the barrels. They tested hair, bone, and teeth fragments. Advances in DNA technology provided new hope.

By 2015, forensic genealogists began building family trees from the victims’ DNA. Piece by piece, they uncovered identities.

The adult woman was identified as Marhlynn Elizabeth Honeychurch, who had vanished in the late 1970s after a family dispute.

Two of the children were her daughters: Marie Vaughn and Sarah McWaters.

The fourth child, however, was different. She was not related to Honeychurch. DNA revealed she was Rasmussen’s own biological daughter.

This meant the killer had murdered his girlfriend and her children—and even his own child.

The horror deepened.

Investigators linked Rasmussen to other disappearances, including a woman named Denise Beaudin and her infant daughter, who vanished in 1981. While the child resurfaced years later alive, her mother was never found. Rasmussen had raised the girl as his own until abandoning her in California.

The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Rasmussen was no ordinary drifter. He was a serial killer hiding in plain sight for decades.

By 2017, with genetic genealogy advancing, police formally identified Rasmussen as the man behind the Bear Brook Murders.

But there was a twist: Rasmussen had died in prison in 2010 while serving time for the California murder. Justice had come too late.

Still, for the first time, the victims had names. Their families could finally mourn them properly after nearly 40 years of silence.

The Bear Brook case became a landmark in forensic history. It was the first major case where forensic genealogy—using public DNA databases and family tree analysis—unmasked a killer.

It changed how cold cases were solved. Soon, the same method would lead to the arrest of the Golden State Killer in California.

For investigators, the case was bittersweet. They had solved the mystery but could never prosecute the killer.

For the families, it was both closure and heartbreak. Decades of uncertainty ended, but the reality of their loved ones’ fate hit hard.

Rasmussen’s name is now etched in history as one of America’s most cunning and cruel serial killers—responsible for identities stolen, lives erased, and families shattered.

Yet the victims—Marhlynn Honeychurch, Marie Vaughn, Sarah McWaters, and Rasmussen’s unnamed daughter—are no longer Jane Does. They are remembered.

The barrels that once hid their bodies became symbols of both horror and hope.

Horror, for the unimaginable crime that placed them there.

Hope, because even after decades, truth emerged.

The Bear Brook murders remind us of two truths about justice: it may be delayed, but it is never gone. And even the coldest secrets, buried in rusted barrels deep in the woods, can be unearthed by science, persistence, and the refusal to forget.