Louisiana shooter Shamar Elkins made chilling remarks about ‘demons’ weeks before killing his 7 kids and their cousin
Louisiana shooter Shamar Elkins made chilling remarks about ‘demons’ weeks before killing his 7 kids and their cousin
The deranged Army vet dad who gunned down his seven children and their cousin confessed he was drowning in “dark thoughts” and told his stepdad that some people “don’t come back from their demons” just weeks before the heinous killings, according to a report.
Shamar Elkins, 31, killed eight children — five girls and three boys ages 3 to 11 — and seriously wounded two women believed to be his wife and girlfriend when he went on a shooting rampage through Shreveport following an argument with his spouse around 6 a.m. Sunday.
Shamar Elkins, 31, told family he was drowning in “dark thoughts” just weeks before he gunned down his seven children and their cousin. Facebook/Shamar Elkins
Just weeks ago, on Easter Sunday, Elkins called his mother, Mahelia Elkins, and his stepfather, Marcus Jackson, and chillingly told them he was drowning in “dark thoughts,” wanted to end his life, and that his wife, Shaneiqua Pugh, wanted a divorce, the New York Times reported.
“I told him, ‘You can beat stuff, man. I don’t care what you’re going through, you can beat it,’” Jackson told the publication. “Then I remember him telling me: ‘Some people don’t come back from their demons.’”
Mahelia Elkins said she was unclear what problems her son and his wife, who were married in 2024 and had four kids together, were dealing with, the Times reported.
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But a relative of one of the wounded women said the couple was in the middle of separation proceedings and was due in court on Monday.
They had been arguing about their relationship coming to an end when Elkins — who was later killed by cops — opened fire, Crystal Brown told the Associated Press.
The killer father worked at UPS and served with the Louisiana Army National Guard from August 2013 to August 2020 as a signal support system specialist and fire support specialist, according to the Times.
A UPS co-worker described Elkins as a devoted dad, but said he often seemed stressed and would pull his hair out, creating a lasting bald spot, the publication reported.
Elkins worked at UPS and served with the Louisiana Army National Guard from August 2013 to August 2020 as a signal support system specialist and fire support specialist. Facebook/Shamar Elkins
Elkins’ mother noted that she had reconnected with her son more than a decade ago after leaving him to be raised by a family friend, Betty Walker. She had Elkins when she was a teenager and struggling with a crack cocaine addiction.
Walker said she did not witness the shootings on Sunday morning but knew that Elkins shot his wife several times in the head and stomach, the paper reported.
She last saw the deranged father when his family came over for dinner just last weekend — but noted he did not appear off at the time.
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“I was getting up this morning to make myself some coffee, and I got the call,” Walker recalled. “My babies — my babies are gone.”
Elkins also had two previous convictions, including for driving while intoxicated in 2016 and for the illegal use of weapons in 2019, the outlet said.
In March 2019, a police report detailed that the National Guard vet had pulled a 9 millimeter handgun from his waistband and shot at a vehicle five times after a driver pulled a handgun on him — with one of the bullets being discovered near a school where children were playing.
Most of the victims were shot in the head while they slept. AP
The victims killed by Elkins have been identified as Jayla Elkins, 3, Shayla Elkins, 5, Kayla Pugh, 6, Layla Pugh, 7, Markaydon Pugh, 10, Sariahh Snow, 11, Khedarrion Snow, 6, and Braylon Snow, 5. Seven of the eight were his own children, and the eighth was their cousin. They were all found dead inside their home in Shreveport.
Most of the victims were shot in the head while they slept, Shreveport Police Department spokesman Christopher Bordelon told NBC News.
One child was killed on the roof while trying to escape, police said.
Elkins, who was later killed by police during an attempted carjacking, also shot and wounded two women — the mothers of his children — during his murderous rage.
He shot his wife in the face at the home with the eight kids, Bordelon told the outlet. The other injured victim is believed to be Elkins’ girlfriend, who was shot in a separate house nearby, the police spokesperson added.
Elkins shared four of the slain children with his wife and three with the other injured woman, according to Brown.
My Daughter-in-Law Gave Her Mother the Keys to My Late Wife’s Cabin Without My Permission. She Thought I Was Too Old to Fight Back—Until a County Officer Saw Her ID and Everything Changed. But the Real Shock Came When I Found the Files They Left Behind… 💔
“You’ll have to give up this property eventually, whether you like it or not,” my daughter-in-law’s mother declared as movers hauled her furniture into the cabin my late wife had built with her own hands. She had obtained a key, learned the gate code, and secured my daughter-in-law’s approval. The one person she hadn’t asked was me. I didn’t raise my voice or start an argument. Instead, I called for assistance and settled into my wife’s old rocking chair. Twenty-four minutes later, a county officer pulled up, glanced at the woman standing near my porch, and requested her identification. The moment he examined it, his entire demeanor changed.
That Saturday morning, I headed to the cabin intending to replace a single porch board that had begun to rot.
I certainly didn’t expect to find a rental truck parked against my front gate.
Two movers were carrying a mattress wrapped in protective plastic through the entrance of my home.
Near the walkway stood Phyllis, my daughter-in-law Lindsey’s mother, holding a clipboard and directing their every move.
I stopped at the foot of the porch.
“Would someone care to explain what’s happening here?”
Phyllis barely reacted to my arrival.
“Lindsey gave us the gate code and handed over a key,” she replied. “She said we could come in and settle ourselves.”
Without waiting for me to respond, she turned back to the workers.
“Please take that upstairs, into the bedroom on the left.”
Her complete disregard for my presence was almost more astonishing than the scene itself.
This wasn’t some abandoned cabin I had forgotten about or a property sitting unused for years.
My late wife, Layla, had planned every inch of that house.
For three years, she had worked over architectural sketches at our kitchen table, debated the smallest design choices, and personally stained the timber until it achieved the rich honey shade she had envisioned.
She had been gone for two years.
Even now, I made the drive from Asheville every few weeks because nowhere else brought me as close to her memory as that cabin.
Yet here I was, watching strangers move another family’s bedroom furniture into the home she had created.
Phyllis finally turned her attention back to me.
“Burton and I need somewhere to stay while we work through our problems in Asheville. Eventually, you’ll have to move on from this place anyway, Elton. We’re simply trying to make the best of the situation.”
I reached into my pocket, took out my phone, and contacted the appropriate local authorities.
For the first time, a hint of unease crossed Phyllis’s face.
“You really don’t have to involve anyone else,” she said. “This is a private family issue.”
“I own this property.”
I provided my name and the address, then explained exactly what I had discovered. I kept my voice steady and stuck to the facts.
When I finished, I ended the call.
I had no intention of wasting the morning arguing in my own driveway about whether I had the right to decide who could enter my house.
Instead, I walked along the porch and lowered myself into Layla’s old rocking chair.
Roughly ten minutes later, Lindsey emerged from the cabin holding a small decorative mirror I had never seen before.
She stopped short when she noticed me sitting there.
“Dad, I should’ve spoken to you first. I know that.”
“You gave your mother access to my property without even asking me.”
“Mom and Dad are going through a difficult time. I was only trying to help them. I honestly thought you wouldn’t have a problem with it.”
My eyes moved to the unfamiliar mirror resting against the porch railing.
“Well, you thought wrong.”
Twenty-four minutes after I had placed the call, a county vehicle appeared between the hemlock trees and pulled up beside the moving truck.
The officer climbed out.
Then his eyes landed on Phyllis.
He stopped walking.
It lasted only a moment, but the sudden pause was enough to draw everyone’s attention.
He took off his sunglasses.
“Ma’am.”
Phyllis stepped away from the porch, keeping her chin raised.
The officer requested her identification.
She handed him her card without hesitation.
He studied it, lifted his eyes toward her face, and examined the card once more.
His expression had grown noticeably more serious.
“Could you tell me exactly why you’re at this property today?”
Phyllis answered before anyone else could speak.
“We’re relatives. Elton hasn’t been himself since losing his wife, and we came here to help him.”
I rose from the rocking chair and faced the officer.
“This land belongs to me. I never authorized anyone to enter the cabin, move their belongings inside, or distribute my gate code.”
The officer shifted his attention to Lindsey.
“Did you give these individuals access to the property without the owner’s permission?”
Lindsey lowered her voice.
“I just assumed that because we’re family—”
The officer interrupted her explanation and instructed everyone to stop moving furniture until he could confirm the relevant details.
He returned to his vehicle and began making phone calls.
Twelve minutes went by.
The atmosphere on the porch grew increasingly uncomfortable, yet nobody seemed willing to break the silence.
Phyllis continued to hold herself with an air of confidence.
But she had stopped telling the movers what to do.
When the officer finally came back, the authority in his voice was unmistakable.
He directed Phyllis, her husband, and Lindsey to remove every item they had brought inside and leave the property.
Phyllis demanded an opportunity to speak with his superior.
“You can request that once you’ve left the premises,” he replied.
Within twenty-two minutes, they were gone.
Just before climbing into the truck, Phyllis turned around to look at me.
She offered a small, courteous smile.
It was almost friendly.
Somehow, that expression unsettled me far more than an angry outburst would have.
After the rental truck vanished down the gravel road, I stepped back inside the cabin.
Something about the place felt unfamiliar.
The comforting scent of Layla’s cedar oil had been replaced by an overpowering fragrance of artificial lavender.
Her clay pot was no longer sitting on the entry table where she had always kept it.
The four family photographs above the fireplace had disappeared.
In their place hung framed pictures of Lindsey and her relatives.
I climbed the stairs and entered our bedroom.
Layla’s blue-and-cream quilt had been taken off our bed and shoved into the closet.
Her reading room had suffered a similar intrusion.
The wooden box where she stored handwritten letters and birthday cards had been opened and emptied across the desk.
The contents hadn’t been carelessly scattered.
They had been arranged across the surface, as though someone had examined them one by one.
Someone had been searching through my wife’s private belongings.
I carefully returned each item to its proper place before carrying the box downstairs.
That was when I spotted three black contractor bags arranged in a straight line beside the gate.
I opened the first bag.
Inside lay Layla’s worn canvas jacket, her gardening shoes, and several of her favorite paperback books.
The second contained her clay pot and our wedding photograph.
The third held our wedding album.
I lowered myself onto the gravel, resting the album across my knees.
For several minutes, I couldn't bring myself to move.
Then my phone began ringing.
Ethan was calling.
“Dad, Lindsey’s really upset, and so is her mother. You had a county officer show up and treat them like they were complete strangers who had no business being there.”
I glanced at the three bags beside me.
“They packed your mother’s quilt into a garbage bag, Ethan. They did the same thing to our wedding album.”
Silence followed.
He had no immediate response.
“Come up here tomorrow,” I told him. “There are some things you need to see with your own eyes.”
That evening, I began putting Layla’s possessions back where they belonged.
While checking the guest room, I discovered four boxes the movers had apparently overlooked.
The first three contained ordinary household belongings.
The fourth was noticeably heavier than the others.
I opened it and found a collection of hanging file folders, each labeled in Phyllis’s unmistakably precise handwriting.
I removed the top folder and examined its tab.
The word written there made me pause.
ACCOUNT—
Whatever Phyllis had intended to accomplish at my cabin, she had left something behind that suggested her plans extended well beyond finding a temporary place to stay.
And my name was already part of a scheme I had never consented to.
