Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - 9 Hours of Ghost Stories and Nightmares

Episode Date: November 24, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #haunted #ghoststories #nightmares #supernatural “9 Hours of Ghost Stories and Nightmares” is a full-night horror marathon packed with terrifying ghost encounters, restless spirits, and chilling nightmares. Each story builds suspense and dread, keeping listeners on edge for nine straight hours. Perfect for fans of paranormal tales, horror marathons, and stories that linger in your mind long after the lights go out. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, haunted, ghoststories, nightmares, paranormal, supernatural, creepystory, spookystories, thriller, darkfiction, chillingtales, suspense, horrorcommunity, scaryreads, midnightreads

The case of Manuela Orlandi is one of the most twisted and controversial investigations that has captivated the attention of many. Her disappearance became an international mystery, drawing significant media attention and sparking widespread interest. However, as we will explore, the very nature of her case, the way it was handled, and the individuals involved made it clear that something more sinister might have been at play, something that could have been connected to powerful figures, even within the Vatican. Manuel Orlandi was born on January 14th, 1968, in Rome, Italy. She was the daughter of Maria and Ercoli Orlando, and though her early childhood seemed typical,

her life took a significant turn due to her father's career. Ercolee Orlando had managed to secure a job as a civil servant within the Vatican's pontifical household, which eventually allowed him to climb the ranks and become the personal secretary to Pope John Paul II, one of the most beloved popes in history. This role, as important as it was, made the Orlandi family part of the Vatican's inner circle. They were invited to live in Vatican City, a small, independent city state protected by its own military, which made sense given the risks of kidnapping and violence outside the Vatican's walls. Manuela's life was relatively ordinary in the beginning.

She had a passion for music, specifically playing the flute, and her family noticed her musical talent early on. By the age of 15, Manuela was enrolled in the prestigious music school. of Santa Polinaris, where she honed her skills. Her routine involved early mornings catching a bus to school, attending her music lessons, and then returning home in the evening, like any other teenager. But by 1983, things began to change. On May 20, 1983, a popular Italian TV show, Tandem, visited her school, and Manuela appeared on national television. For a young girl, this was a big deal, and Manuela felt that it was the beginning of something greater, perhaps a chance to become a famous flautist. However, she soon realized that to achieve

her dreams, she would need more than talent, she would need connections and money. This is where her tragic path begins. Between June 15th and 20th, 1983, a friend of Manuel's told her about a new opportunity with Avon, a company looking for young people between the ages of 15 and 17 to sell products. The friend shared that two young men had approached him with an offer to sell Avon products, and they promised a huge payout, $200,000 lira for simply selling the goods. To a 15-year-old like Manuela, this sounded like an incredible opportunity. She knew how much her sister Natalia had made from a similar venture and how she had been able to buy everything she wanted.

Naturally, Manuela was eager to jump on board. On June 22, 1983, after finishing her second year of high school, Manuel continued her regular routine, attending music classes at the Tomaso Ubico Music School in the Vatican. That afternoon, she took the same bus she always did, but her life was about to take an unexpected turn. When she got off the bus and walked toward the music school, she was stopped by a man who offered her a job with Avon, only this time, the payment had increased to $375,000 lira. Manuela, surprised and intrigued, agreed to think about it, but the man insisted that she make a decision quickly, even offering to wait for her outside the school after her class. She agreed to meet him after school.

Around 4.30 p.m., Manuela entered her music class, but she couldn't focus. She had already made up her mind to take the job, but she still needed to discuss it with her parents. After class, she used a pay phone to call home, but her parents weren't there. Instead, her sister Federica answered. Manuela excitedly told her about the offer, but Federica was cautious, warning her not to accept anything without their parents' approval. She urged her to come home immediately. After the call, Manuela got on a bus to head home. However, at the bus stop, a strange encounter occurred.

A girl with red hair stopped her from getting on the bus, and Manuela ended up staying at the stop talking to the stranger. That was the last time anyone saw her. Her sister, Christina, waited for her at their usual meeting spot for 45 minutes, but Manuela never arrived. The Orlando family immediately began searching the streets of Rome, asking everyone they could find if they had seen her. By 8 p.m., they filed a missing person report, and the investigation began. The case quickly gained international attention, but it was shrouded in confusion from the start.

The first mystery was that, on the same day Manuela disappeared, Pope John Paul II had returned to Italy from a visit to Poland. Before his trip, he had been outspoken in his criticism of the communist regime, which was unusual for a Vatican leader. Some speculated that the timing of his return and Manuela's disappearance was no coincidence. Further complicating the investigation was the fact that witnesses came forward claiming to have seen Manuela in different places after her disappearance. One of the first testimonies came from two policemen who said they had seen a man approach a young girl with a bag labeled Avon near the scene of her disappearance. The next clue came from a young man, Pierluigi, who said he had met a woman resembling

Manuela in Campo de Fiore. She was selling handmade necklaces and claimed to be called Barbarella. Pier Luigi noticed that she carried a flute case, a detail that was known only to Manuela's close family and friends. Other testimonies followed, with individuals claiming to have seen Barbarella at various locations, selling Avon products and interacting with people in ways that seemed suspiciously similar to what Manuel would have done. Yet, despite these sightings, no concrete evidence was found to confirm where she had gone or who was behind her disappearance. On July 1, 1983, 3,000 posters with Manuel's photo were

put up all over Rome, urging people to come forward with any information. This prompted Pope John Paul II to make a public statement, expressing his sympathy for the Orlando family and offering prayers for Manuel's safe return. This international attention, however, only added fuel to the fire, and many began to suspect that there was something much larger at play, possibly something involving the Vatican itself. As the investigation progressed, theories about the motives behind her disappearance began to emerge. One possibility was that the kidnapping was politically motivated, linked to the Vatican's secret of financial dealings and

high-profile individuals involved in illegal activities. Some speculated that the mafia, specifically the notorious Magliana gang, might have been behind it. This criminal organization, active in Rome during the 1970s and 1980s, was rumored to have connections with the Vatican, and it was believed that they could have used Manuel's abduction as leverage to pressure the church for money. Others believed that her kidnapping might have been tied to a larger conspiracy, involving individuals within the church who were worried about their own corruption being exposed. This theory suggested that Manuel's father, who worked closely with the Pope, might have been targeted because he could have been a threat to those involved in financial

scandals. To add to the complexity, in 2005, a former member of the Magliana gang, Sabrina Minority, spoke out, revealing that she had been involved in Manuel's kidnapping. Minardi claimed that the church was involved in orchestrating the abduction to warn those who might have known too much about the Vatican's financial scandals. However, despite these explosive revelations, the case remains unsolved, and Manuel's fate remains a haunting mystery. The disappearance of Manuela-Orlandi is one of the most chilling unsolved cases in modern history. With ties to the Vatican, international intrigue, and a web of secrets, it's a case that continues to captivate and haunt those who hear it.

Whether it was the result of a political plot, mafia involvement, or something more sinister, the truth may never fully come to light. The search for Manuela continues, with every new theory and every new lead adding more questions than answers. Don Paramo told a few friends about it, sent them some videos, and swore up and down that it was true, the whole house was full of worms. But when he tried to record everything again, they had disappeared as if they had never been there. We begin this story back in October 2017, when Don Paramo moved into a new apartment. Up to this point, it could be anyone's story. if not for one small detail, from the very beginning, this man's new life became wrapped in a series of strange events. The apartment in question was the kind of place many of us can only dream of, a 250-square-meter duplex with a private terrace, fully furnished, and very well-located.

Many of you might be thinking this magnificent property must have cost a fortune for this university professor, yet strangely, it was incredibly cheap. Don Paramo describes himself as an extremely atheist man. He doesn't believe in ghosts or otherworldly entities, so when he got the apartment at such a low price, he automatically assumed the reason must be water damage, electrical failures, poor ventilation, or very little natural light, plenty of possible explanations. But what he was about to experience inside had none. The user's tweets began the night of November 30th to December 1st. In them, he gave full, detailed accounts of events that started to strike him as eerily sinister.

The first strange incident he faced was the reception he got from the building security guard and one of his neighbors. According to the following tweet, he overheard part of a conversation regarding the history of his new apartment. When I moved here, I heard the security guard talking to a resident saying they had rented out the 11th floor apartment again, mine, and saying no tenant ever lasts long there. When they saw I was listening, they changed the subject. Any reasonable person might assume these two were playing a tasteless prank on the new neighbor, maybe testing him out. But what came next was far from a joke. On the second night Don Paramo spent in his new home, two friends came over.

They intended to help him unpack his things. After working for a while, the three men took a coffee break, and one of them placed his cup on the living room table. It was at that very moment, under all their watchful eyes, that the cup slid a full meter across the table, as if something or someone with extreme rage had shoved it with all their might. Obviously, they all looked at each other in disbelief and started looking for rational explanations, a slanted table, wind, vibrations from the traffic outside, a collective hallucination.

They thought of everything. To truly understand this story, we must consider our protagonists' radical atheism. As mentioned at the start of this video, Don Paramo does not believe in the existence of God or demons. For him, everything must have a rational explanation. And that's what makes this case so striking, because as the events unfold, we see how his wall of skepticism starts to crack. The next inexplicable event involved a simple door. A door that, when no one was looking, would swing wide open. Put like that, it sounds like something with many rational explanations.

But what if I told you the door was always locked with a key? Don Paramo explained that the terrace door was always locked. His reasons, he didn't want his cat to escape, and obviously didn't want any thieves getting in. But from day one, it always found a way to silently open. The first time, Don Paramo thought he had simply forgotten to lock it. The second time, he was sure he had. And the third and most unsettling time happened on November 30th. Our protagonist left home in the morning for work.

While waiting for the elevator, he realized not only was the terrace door open, but he had also forgotten his charger on the bed. He quickly went back in, entered his room, grabbed the charger, and upon coming out, he froze. The terrace door was once again wide open. There has to be an explanation, he thought, but at that moment, he was. had no time to think. So he closed it again and left. He could never have imagined what he'd find when he returned home that night. As I said, the apartment has these old pieces of

furniture that match its age, it's actually cozy. Except for this door here, the more I try to keep it shut, the more it opens. I keep finding it open all the time, and I'm sure I've locked it. And yet, when I look again, it's open, even though I turned the key. After posting this video, Don Paramo added another one, explaining things he hadn't mentioned yet. One point was that the paranormal activity in his home wasn't just in the living room, it was also in his bedroom. And these events had caused his cat, a very affectionate, calm animal, to slowly become more and more aggressive. I forgot to mention the bed. When I moved in, as I said, there was furniture, including this beautiful, old cedar bed.

I removed the mattress that came with it and put mine on. But twice now, I've woken up because I hear someone snoring loudly right next to me. And of course, when I wake up, no one's there. I live alone. The snoring is so loud it can't be from another apartment, and this is the only apartment on this floor. As you can see, there are no more units above me either. As we mentioned earlier, Don Paramo moved into a fully furnished apartment. meaning he didn't need to buy a sofa, chairs, or a table.

But of course, he brought his own clothes and personal items, assuming those would be missing. In this case, however, the apartment looked as if the previous owners had never left, or if they had, they left in such a rush that they forgot most of their belongings. At first, this fact seemed great to him, there was a washing machine, a TV. But also old photo albums, toys, clothes, things specifically. people obviously take when they move. Another strange detail, upon entering the apartment, he was informed that the water and electricity had been cut off for exactly one year. But over time, he realized that wasn't true. This apartment had actually been uninhabited for more than five

years. On December 3rd, Don Paramo tweeted something that had just happened to him 10 minutes earlier. That day, a female friend came to visit. They spent a while chatting at the apartment and later went out to eat. The woman didn't take her purse with her, she left it on the dining table to avoid carrying it. They left without much thought. When we came back ten minutes ago and opened the door, we found the purse on the floor with its contents scattered everywhere. You can see on screen how the things were found. But there was one object that his friend insisted she had not brought in her purse, a stick of sugar cane. From this point on, the protagonists' posts about the paranormal events he was experiencing became sporadic. He claimed

he felt too uncomfortable to constantly talk about the strange happenings occurring in his house during this time, and so he chose to remain silent. Don Paramo traveled to Paris and left Octavio, his cat, at his brother's house. Unfortunately, upon returning home, his worst nightmares returned too. I was out of the city and the apartment was unoccupied. When I came back during the day, everything felt completely normal. I even questioned if things were truly as intense as I remembered or if it was just my imagination. Everything was fine until night came. He arrived at the apartment around noon and was so tired that he left the suitcases in the living room and laid down to sleep. When he woke up, he got out of bed and started unpacking,

but he was still so exhausted that he decided to lie down a bit more. Once again, sleep overtook him. He doesn't know how long he was asleep. The only thing he remembers is waking up to a loud noise coming from the dining room. He got out of bed, went downstairs, and discovered a terrifying scene. All the suitcases were open and their contents were scattered everywhere. He was so shocked that he left everything as it was, grabbed his keys, and ran to his brother's house under the excuse of going to pick up his cat, but the truth was, he didn't want to spend the night there after witnessing such a terrifying scene.

On Wednesday, when I came back, the suitcase stuff was even more scattered than when I left. Some of my clothes were even out on the balcony. Surprised and scared, I picked up my underwear and tidied everything. From this point, things seemed to have calmed down, or at least they did until February 4th, when he began a new Twitter threat. In the morning I had class, and in the afternoon I ran some errands. I returned to the apartment at 7.30, and as soon as I opened the door, I saw a shawl moving toward my room. I went in and peeked into the room, and the clothes in the closet were

thrown on the floor. I didn't even bother to pick them up. I just left the apartment and went to a shopping mall to be around people, to feel like I was somewhere these things don't happen. I stayed there until 11 p.m., but eventually, I had to come back. It's now almost 1.30 a.m., and I haven't been able to sleep. Dozens of people began advising him on how to deal with the problem. Some told him to install cameras, others suggested calling an evangelical pastor. But he kept his arms crossed, hoping everything would magically end on its own, until finally, on February 13th, he managed to capture a truly disturbing image. In his room, strange and constant noises could be heard, noises that only stopped when Octavio showed up. Things slowly

worsened in his apartment, banging and more banging from the closet every night. Octavio no longer slept with him at night, and once again, the protagonist began recording with his phone camera, something that only fueled more and more controversy. Everyone claimed to see inexplicable things in his videos, in his photos. In everything he posted, someone would see an orb, a face, or claim they could explain what he was experiencing. And every comment made Don Paramo more and more nervous. On April 11, his case was updated with a new thread.

This time, he didn't speak about the events he was experiencing but about what he discovered regarding the previous tenants of the apartment. He had recently spoken with a neighbor and the son of the apartment's owner, and both told him truly disturbing stories. The neighbor told him that the previous tenants were a family, a father, a mother, a teenage son, a five-year-old girl, and a dog. after moving in, the little girl began talking about an imaginary friend named Tito. The parents didn't pay much attention since kids have big imaginations. But things got worse when the family

dog began behaving very strangely, it was restless, anxious, and barely ate. This could have been stressed from the move, but one day, the girl ran to her brother, who was playing PlayStation with the neighbor's son, and tearfully told him that her friend Tito was playing with the dog. The boy ignored her, not wanting to participate in childish games, but she was so distressed that eventually, both boys got up and accompanied her. They searched the whole house, but the dog had vanished. It was odd that such a large dog could disappear like that, but they finally found it. Upon seeing it, the little girl had a panic attack, and her parents rushed her to the emergency room, leaving the older son and his friend in charge of the house. They talked about the

dog, the girl, everything seemed normal, aside from the sadness. Then a rotting smell began to fill the apartment, and maggots started to appear on the kitchen table, in the bedrooms, in the living room. Faced with such a situation, they left the apartment and told the neighbor what had happened. The man didn't believe them, so he went up with them, and indeed, there was nothing. No smell, no maggots. At dawn, the parents returned. They had given the girl a sedative or something. The older brother was in the neighbor's apartment and didn't want to go back. They convinced him that nothing was wrong, that the maggots were just his imagination. Over time, the strange events worsened to the point where the family was forced to call a priest

to bless the home. But the blessing was useless. They had to leave everything behind so the entity wouldn't follow them. After this, Don Paramo shared what the owner's son had told him, 20 years earlier, When he lived there with his family, they had never experienced anything strange. But when he moved abroad, a new family rented the apartment, a father, a mother, a man with Down syndrome, and a little girl. This family eventually experienced a terrible tragedy, the little girl died in a car accident. As a result, the mother fell into depression, the father into alcoholism, and the man with Down syndrome, who was the little girl's uncle, became extremely aggressive. The parents gradually neglected him, even leaving him alone for days. The owner's son said they stopped paying rent, and the only one left in the apartment was the

uncle, locked up and alone. The third time he found him like that, he used a spare key and found him sleeping on the floor, filthy and very skinny. When the uncle saw him, he didn't attack, he hugged him, cried, and begged for food. The man ordered takeout and stayed with him until the father returned, except he never did. The landlord didn't know what to do, so he left some food and went home. When he managed to contact the tenant, the man told him not to get involved, that he didn't know what they were going through, and that they were going to hire a nurse to take care of the uncle.

And they did. The family hired a nurse to care for him Monday to Friday, and on weekends the father would take over. But one Friday at 5 p.m., the nurse left and never came back, and as you might guess, neither did the father. It wasn't until 12 days later that someone returned. By then, it was too late. Tito, the man with Down syndrome, had died of starvation. On April 15th, Don Paramo shared with all his followers a strange nightmare that had been keeping him up for several nights, he dreamt that he found several white maggots on the kitchen floor, the kind that come from decomposing meat. The image was so repulsive that his eyes snapped open, freeing him from the disgusting nightmare. But the event impacted him so much that he went downstairs to check if he had

indeed taken out the trash the night before, which he had. Yet there, in the middle of the floor, he found. Maggots even in the living room. After making this repulsive discovery, Don Paramo told some friends. He sent them videos and swore up and down that it was real, the whole house was full of maggots. But when he tried to film again, they were gone, as if they had never been there. So he thought the problem might be in some object left behind by the former tenants. A couple of days later, he cleaned out the apartment with the help of a friend. For a while, the events in his house were mild, knocks from the closet, the snoring of someone who couldn't possibly be by his side. Finally, on May 14, Don Paramo went live on Twitter to share

updates on the case. Around minute three, all of his followers, absolutely everyone, saw a shadow lying on his bed. A shadow that Don Paramo clearly wasn't able to see. We begin today by heading to the sector of Alerza in Puerto Mont, a commune located in the south of Chile. Specifically, we will go to No. 332, Esperanza Street. At first glance, this might appear to be a completely normal little house inhabited by the five members of a happy family. According to the neighbors, they were ordinary people, believers, like most of the people who live in that area. They were not people who particularly stood out.

Even so, what happened in that house on February 26th would make headlines around the world due to how bizarre the events were. Mr. Wan-in-Sulza, the owner of the residence, would urgently call the Chilean police at around 6.30 p.m. The reason for his call. The ghost had returned. At first, the police took the call as a joke, but even so, they decided to show up at the residence with a patrol, since perhaps the call carried a hidden message.

After all, not every day someone calls you and asks for help against an unexplainable manifestation. So they thought that either it was a prank or that the family was actually in real danger. The police presence in the area alerted the neighbors, who had already been hearing noises and screams coming from inside the residence for over half an hour. That was when everyone came out of their houses with their cell phones recording everything that was happening. What was going on inside seemed to have no explanation, and the testimonies were even more

surreal. Everything happened very quickly, so the versions of the story began multiplying. Absolute chaos spread throughout the street when a second patrol arrived. Several officers got out and began dispersing the crowd, asking everyone to go back to their homes because there was nothing to see there. But how did it all really begin? According to Juan in Sulza, the homeowner as we've already mentioned, the events did not start on that afternoon of February 26 but several days before, specifically, on the 8th of the same month.

On that day, his 13-year-old grandson found a circle of excrement placed in a plastic bag at the door of the house. The boy, upon seeing it, didn't hesitate, he grabbed the bag by the corners, made a sort of bundle, and threw it in the trash bin. He found it so disgusting that he made sure nothing ever entered the house. He told the whole family, and all of them, absolutely all, agreed that it was a very sick joke. Still, they didn't know who had pulled the prank or why they would do it. They chose not to give it much importance and continued their lives as usual.

However, that very night, their nightmare would begin. Furniture seemed to vibrate in unison, glass cups began to crack, and multiple objects appeared to move on their own. These highly unusual events alarmed the family, who, as we've said, were believers. So they decided to go to the church and request a blessing for their home from a church representative. They believed someone envious might have sent them some sort of witchcraft or curse. They sought out a specific priest, Father Nelson, whose parish is located in the Alersa sector. Reportedly, when the priest entered the residence, he was attacked by flying objects, objects thrown at him by an invisible force. Pieces of wood, plates, spoons, glasses,

forks, objects of all kinds were launched at him. Witnesses say they will never forget that night, nor the aggression of the paranormal events, much less the moment when Father Nelson had to leave the house to go find reinforcements from other priests. Unfortunately, when Father Nelson returned with other representatives from the church, the events did not die down. Quite the opposite, became far more aggressive. Small spontaneous fires began breaking out, what, in paranormal terminology, would be considered a fire poltergeist. Curtains, armchairs, chairs, all kinds of household items caught fire. This group of church representatives had not come to perform a simple blessing, as in the first religious intervention in Amityville, they came to perform a real exorcism.

and an exorcism, due to its high level of danger, can last from four hours to several days or even months. In this case, it went on from the afternoon until 3 a.m. On that February 8th, once the exorcism concluded, the house seemed completely liberated. The Insulza family offered a donation to the priests, deeply grateful to finally have their beloved home back. The next morning, the family decided to begin a process known as the main main thing. of the home's spiritual integrity. They began reading Bible passages aloud. That's when they

noticed their Bible, the family Bible, was missing. They searched everywhere until they finally found it in a place where it had never been stored before. Upon recovering the book, they realized that not only were several pages missing, torn out, but the entire Bible was soaked, as if someone had destroyed it and then submerged it in a bucket of cold water. They thought this had happened accidentally during the exorcism the night before, so they didn't dwell on it and continued living their lives, or at least tried to. The paranormal events had not ceased completely. Now, they were reduced to whispers, presences, and inexplicable cold spots in the hallway, less aggressive phenomena. They assumed these were simply after effects of the exorcism and that

they would slowly fade away. The cry for help came on the afternoon of February 26th because the fires returned. That was when the head of the household picked up the phone and called the Chilean police, thinking they were his last hope. This event, which occurred around 6.30 p.m., is the one we all know, but I still consider it important to mention it again so no detail is missed. Around 6.15 p.m., the Insulsa family decided to listen to Christian music, believing this would help continue the exorcism's maintenance. Unfortunately, that only caused the entity still residing in the house to return with greater force. As soon as the first musical note sounded, a jar of cream was thrown by an invisible force against one of the house's glass panes, shattering it into

a thousand pieces. From that moment on, and as the song progressed, all kinds of objects began to levitate and smash into walls and furniture. The aggression of the phenomena was such that spontaneous fire started again. These fires blocked the family's paths, exits, and windows. All types of furniture and household items began to burn out of nowhere. It was then that one in Solza, in despair, called the Chilean police and begged them to come to the house and rescue him. When the police arrived, logs and multiple objects were thrown at them. The officers reported that all the windows in the house vibrated in unison, and some even shattered before their eyes. They claimed a large number of objects were levitating without human intervention and even falling from the ceiling.

But there was something even more disturbing, straight out of a Hollywood movie, a 15-centimeter's knife was hurled at the back of one of the officers. Fortunately, he was wearing a bulletproof vest. That was when the police decided to evacuate the family and relocate them to a shelter located 300 meters from the residence. According to some consulted sources, when the paranormal events began in the house, the family did not immediately turn to the church. Instead, they contacted someone knowledgeable in these matters, a Colombian parapsychologist named Alfredo Mesa, who lives in Port-O-Mont.

Reportedly, they paid him 300,000 pesos to intervene and free the house from the evil entity residing there. That same weekend, when the most publicized events took place, they had agreed to pay him another 400,000 pesos. But that last payment was never made due to these serious accusations. Alfredo Mesa has defended himself, saying that he never received a single payment from the Insulza family, that he never asked for money for his services, and that it is true they contacted him and that he gave them advice, mainly telling them not to turn to the church, as these kinds of events worsen with the presence of people who represent the Lord. But I suppose we will never know the truth about whether or not he received these sums of money.

But this doesn't end here, as many experts have gathered at this residence in recent days. The first intervention worth noting is that of the old Catholic Church, or Vettero-Catholic church, and several priests representing this church made a press statement claiming that on the night of February 26th, they performed a total of three exorcisms on the house and had succeeded in completely freeing it from the evil presence. However, the story doesn't end there, as hours after this press release became public, Jose Luis Canso, another well-known medium, said he had shown up that very night at the Insulza House and claimed to have discovered that it was all a hoax. He assured that the case was entirely fake, that the fires had been caused by humans,

and that the levitations and everything else that had happened were nothing but lies. He said that behind all this uproar were clear economic interests and that, as always, we are faced with the clear monopoly of television networks, which feed off stories like this, even paying for them. The psychic assured that the Insulza family had been paid not to speak to anyone else about what happened in the house. According to his final verdict, nothing happened in the house, and it was all an invention by the family to make money, given their very precarious financial situation. In contrast to his statements were those of Vanessa Dirac, another well-known psychic and

medium. She claimed that to this day, a very malevolent entity still resides in the house and that no exorcism could drive it away. Following her statements, the events supposedly moved to the home of one in Solza's daughter, and according to supposed experts in the paranormal, this proves that the entity is so evil it can come and go wherever it pleases. But from my humble point of view, all these arguments lack meaning, accusations without solid evidence from either side. There was neither a logical argument for everything nor one using serious paranormal terminology. Everyone spoke of feelings, emotions, and fraud, and they also lacked solid evidence, no compelling arguments from either side.

That was until the intervention of Oxal Castro, a colleague from this platform and an expert in debunking false paranormal testimonies. According to him, it was all due to a short circuit, and I'll explain briefly. The fact that some furniture had burned marks, that smoke, but not flames, came from some objects and footage presented as irrefutable evidence, that lamps shattered, and glass was scattered on the floor, all this suggests more of a short circuit combined with the self-suggestion of the witnesses. From my point of view, his argument is the most convincing and valid to explain the reported

events. So I'll leave the link to his video in the description box in case you want to take a look. Setting aside all this controversy, let's talk a bit about the history of the region. Annexed to Chilean territory just south of Puerto Mont, we find the Chilei archipelago, where supposedly the only organization of warlocks existed, called the Doctors of the Earth. This is not a detail based on legends or children's tales but is widely documented in historical records. When the Spanish arrived in Chilaue, the indigenous peoples of the archipelago adopted Catholicism, but they never completely abandoned their rituals, they continued practicing them

in secret to avoid being accused of witchcraft. Religious ignorance and intolerance became a curse, and all these practices were now seen as the work of the devil. In April 1880, the intervention of ANUT, led by Luis Martignano Rodriguez, issued an arrest warrant for all the witches and warlocks in the region. The jails quickly filled up, and a judicial process began, known as the Witch Trials of Chilaue, and why do I mention this? Because the family, in trying to argue the paranormal infestation of their home, claimed to have been cursed. Remember the circle of feces that the grandson found at the door of the house.

It's important to note here that one of the worst black magic spells that can be performed involves human feces. These kinds of curses come from northern Argentina and Bolivia and are often used to break up couples, transmit severe illnesses, tear families apart, and for many other terrifying purposes. But has someone really sent the Insulza family this kind of curse? According to local testimonies, some neighbors mentioned that the family had problems among themselves, some financial disagreements, and it was likely that these types of spells were being performed among them. At this point, we cannot avoid looking for similar cases in the area and surroundings. This is not the first time something like this has happened in Port-Omont.

In the 1980s, something very similar occurred on Pudito Street. At first, it all began with slight flickering of lights, not something too concerning, suggesting only a simple electrical fault. However, very soon, the events evolved into lights turning on and off by themselves, furniture moving in unison, objects disappearing or relocating entirely on their own. The terrified family contacted a church representative, a Christian pastor to bless the residence. That man, named Jose Roberto Aborto, coincidentally also participated in the three exorcisms performed that the insult a house. His testimony proved key in considering this one of the most powerful poltergeist events in the area. He reported that while the paranormal events were taking place in the house,

he tried reading Psalm 91 aloud, an invocation used to cleanse houses and people of all evil. As he attempted to do this with the Bible open in his hands, the page where the psalm was written suddenly caught fire and turned completely to ashes. The rest of the Bible remained untouched, the only thing that burned was that specific page. In 2013, a family in La Florida, Santiago, also experienced very similar events, presences, shadows, the laughter of children, entities lying next to people in their beds. One of the most emphasized points in this investigation was the fact that when the couple argued, the events ceased. It was as if the entity, or entities, living in that house were there to tear the family apart. Now let's

Let's talk about typical demonic infestations. As we've seen in previous videos, everything usually starts with objects disappearing, followed by bad smells and feelings of discomfort. There is a behavioral scale and patterns that all poltergeist events tend to follow. These events escalate depending on their intent, but normally the patterns are clear, up to the point of spontaneous combustion and even physical aggression. Once we reach this level, we are no longer just dealing with a simple poltergeist manifestation, which are considered playful infestations, but rather we are dealing with a true demonic infestation.

Since ancient times, there have been many records of poltergeist activity around the world. Some of the best parapsychologists globally have categorized a total of 63 general manifestations, 63 characteristics they all share. Among them are loud bangs during the night, dark shadows sliding through rooms, whispers, and voices. Before the 19th century, all poltergeist activity was associated with something spiritual or ghostly. However, in the 1930s, Hungarian psychologist and parapsychologist Nander Fodor proposed a controversial theory, that some poltergeist events could be caused by repressed anger, rage, and emotional suppression in certain individuals. Fodor demonstrated his

theory through several cases, including the Thornton-Heath poltergeist. But I don't want to fill your heads with theories and more theories about parapsychology. Now, I'd like you to express your opinion in the comments section. Do you believe the Insulza family truly suffered the ravages of a paranormal event, or was it all a hoax? The end. The mystery of the vanishing corpse in Chicago, when time is against you, and the crime has no evidence, can you uncover the truth before it's too late? It said that North Avenue Beach in Chicago is one of the best spots to spend summer, were the refreshing breezes from Lake Michigan blend with the sparkling city lights.

But as the tourism season neared, a shocking event shook everyone, a mysterious murder at a nearby motel by the beach. The police had only a few days to solve the case before the news reached the media and tarnished the reputation of the area. Everything seemed clear at first glance, a hotel room, bloodstains, and chaos indicating a violent struggle. But the biggest problem wasn't the crime itself, but the most important element, the body had disappeared. Searching for clues in the dark, detectives, led by Detective Jack Harris, began their work, following any lead that could take them to the victim or the killer. Surveillance cameras showed no sign of a body leaving the scene, and testimonies from hotel staff only offered vague details about a mysterious guest who entered the room the night of the crime. As hours passed, the truth started to fade amidst a sea of possibilities.

Was the body hidden inside the hotel? Or did the killer use a clever method to dispose of it without leaving a trace? An unexpected twist. Just 48 hours before the tourist season began, a mysterious call came in from a fisherman on the lake, reporting a large suitcase floating on the water's surface. Inside, human remains were discovered, confirming that the body hadn't disappeared, it had been cleverly hidden. But the mystery wasn't over. Forensic tests revealed something shocking, the victim had not been killed in the room as initially believed. In fact, the person had been dead for hours before the hotel incident, meaning the crime scene might have been. have been entirely staged. The killer is close. With the help of forensic analysis and hidden

recordings, a suspect was identified, a man who had reported his brother missing just days earlier. But under pressure, he confessed that he wasn't looking for his brother, he was hiding his crime. He had staged the murder to make it seem like it occurred at the hotel, while the victim had actually been killed elsewhere. As the case was closed, the coast welcomed visitors once again, but some Chicago residents would never forget that season, which almost began with a perfect crime, if not for the truth finding its way to the surface. Mary Bliss Parsons' story is an incredible blend of suspicion, rumor, and resilience, set against the superstitions and social pressures of colonial New England.

Born in 1628 in Gloucestershire, England, Mary immigrated to the Massachusetts Bay Colony as a child, where her family worked to establish themselves with limited resources. Mary was noted for her striking beauty and independent spirit, characteristics that set her part in a society that expected women to be obedient and restrained. Her forthright personality drew the attention and envy of her neighbors, laying the groundwork for the events that would follow. In 1646 at 18, Mary married Joseph Parsons, a prosperous and well-regarded man. Together, they built a successful life and expanded their wealth through business ventures, including a mill and a tavern. They also had 11 children, which further solidified their standing. However,

their success only fueled the envy of those around them. Notably, Mary's beauty, outspoken nature, and wealth caught the attention, an ire, of a woman named Sarah Bridgman, a fellow settler with a less fortunate life trajectory. Sarah, envious of Mary's beauty, wealth, and perceived luck, began to spread rumors that Mary was a witch, attributing Mary's successes and her family's good fortune to dark magic. As Sarah spread her suspicions, tales of Mary's alleged witchcraft spread throughout the community. Neighbors reported seeing Mary wandering at night, speaking to herself, and even walking on water. These stories fueled suspicions, and soon the entire community became convinced that Mary was dabbling in sorcery. When Joseph Parsons, aware of the growing rumors,

put a lock on their door to prevent outsiders from entering, this act only deepened the community's suspicions. Some said it was to prevent Mary from leaving at night, others claimed it was a sign of guilt or fear of retribution. Rumors about Mary reached a fever pitch, especially when the Reverend's daughters experienced a fit in church, supposedly due to demonic influence. Mary, stricken with fear, reacted similarly, collapsing and scratching at her own throat in a fit of hysteria. Her distress was interpreted as evidence of guilt rather than a reaction to the intense social and psychological pressure she was under. Around this time, her father passed away, and she lost a child, deepening her grief. Looking back, it's

likely Mary was suffering from postpartum depression, anxiety, or other psychological issues, however, her community saw only witchcraft. Joseph Parsons, determined to protect his family, relocated them to Northampton, but Sarah Bridgman and her husband followed, reigniting the cycle of rumors. Sarah even blamed Mary for the loss of her own children, alleging that Mary had cursed them. One day, after Sarah's only surviving son experienced an accident while searching for a lost cow, she claimed that Mary had transformed into a beast to attack him. This was the breaking point for the Parsons family.

Joseph filed a defamation suit against Sarah Bridgman in 1656, resulting in the historic Parsons v. Bridgman trial. In court, Mary and her family presented their case, asserting that Sarah had harassed and defamed Mary for years out of jealousy. Many witnesses testified in support of the Parsons, painting Sarah as an envious woman who could not tolerate Mary's success. Ultimately, the court ruled in favor of Mary, ordering Sarah to pay a fine and publicly apologize. Despite the verdict, the rumors persisted. Sarah continued to defame Mary behind closed doors, and the damage to Mary's reputation was irreversible.

The situation escalated further in 1674, when Sarah's daughter Mary Bartlett died under mysterious circumstances. Once again, Sarah blamed Mary, accusing her of using witchcraft to harm her family. She convinced her son-in-law to file formal charges against Mary, leading to Mary's arrest in 1675. Mary was subjected to a humiliating examination, where her body was inspected for, which marks. Though the court ultimately found her innocent, her reputation suffered irreparably. Even though Mary was legally exonerated, the taint of the accusations followed her for

the rest of her life. Her family, too, was ostracized and ridiculed by the community. Though the Parsons returned to Springfield, Mary never regained her standing. The constant suspicion and isolation wore on her, and she died in 1712, burdened by the enduring legacy of the accusations against her. In the end, Mary's strength and resilience have become an inspiring part of her story. Today, one of her descendants is working to clear her name, emphasizing that Mary was a courageous and strong woman who defied the oppressive norms of her time.

Despite the bitterness of Sarah Bridgman and the unfounded accusations, Mary's legacy endures as a testament to her character. In a way, her story does find justice, as her strength and spirit are remembered long after the bitterness and envy that tried to tear her down. What do you think of Mary's story? Do you believe justice has been served, or do the echoes of history still demand recognition for the suffering she endured? Today's story begins at dawn, on July 22, 2018 in a building, more exclusive from Guaripava, Brazil said several time several. Neighbors listened to shouts came, of the latter and then followed. Inside an apartment they sounded like, a woman asking for help but nobody knows. It happened to see

anyone looked out. Let's see what nobody opened the door. They simply waited and from nowhere everything. Just made a silence only, interrupted by a dry blow and that. It was so striking that a neighbor called. Police when agents arrived, it was too late and that is that. Enter the house in question. Find the lifeless body of a woman is where the incident begins. Case of. Today the protagonist of the story of, today was a great reputation lawyer, called Tatiana Spitzner Tatiana was a, 29-year-old woman who had a great, future ahead is said to be very, worker-sociable, charismatic, and a great music lover liked, a lot to go to concerts and festivals with, friends but especially with his sister, Luana to which she was very close were, practically

better friends and they did, altogether as if they were twins. Another thing that attracts attention and that. Later it will be very important is that. Tatiana has a very delicate skin. Red spots came out and four. More cream that was put did not serve as, not nevertheless this point, obsessed but what he did was, his work for which, a certain moment of his life knew, a 32-year old man named Luis Felipe, Manail and quickly jumped, among them but before continuing four. There we must meet this subject, Luis. Felipe was born and grew in Curitiba, Brazil, being one of the three children of, marriage of Rita and Pedro Man Bale. We know that his family had enough money since his father was a advisor to, Yuselmatographic Court of Accounts. I had a good job and this,

allowed his three children to study. In the best schools all, they managed to have races. Luis Felipe University. He studied a master's degree in biology and his. Notes were so impressive that he could. Opt a doctorate in Germany all in. His life seemed simply perfect, but unfortunately some arrived. Miss fortunes in 2006 his father. He died from cancer and in 2018 his mother was diagnosed with the same disease but still according to several witnesses seems that Luis Felipe was a very fighter man was for his mother. He gave all his support and did not leave her alone. Not for a moment according to his brother Andre. It was a very peaceful guy who never, I put in trouble felt passion for, who studied like sports, music and

the latter joined a lot to Tatian Spitzner the relationship with Tatiana from. A beginning was very easy the boys. They wanted madly and according to their families, they were the perfect couple were always. Together they were always happy and according to, the Spitzner Tadiana family had never been happier about it when the couple announced that in 2013 they were going to marry everything. The world was happy for them a year. Next 2014 Luis Felipe was, presented the opportunity to make a doctorate in Germany and invited Tadiana to move with him temporarily, married so it was more or less logical. That will move together however. Tatiana didn't want to do it alone and invited to this trip to his sister Luana until this moment this couple in the eyes of the

others was perfect always worshipped. They were together they were very good but once in Germany this image is Luana began to come down all from the outside how they behaved in front of people how they acted in public but living with them count that everything was pure facade Luis Felipe did not do any homework but nevertheless I expected Tatiana I did everything for him to keep him all clean collected that always made the food dinner and something refused it quickly released comments. Evidently in front of Luana seemed that Luis Felipe contained a little but the things they said are still very, hurtful and incredible to seem. Tatiana always gave Tatiana, new friends' friends among whom, Rizilda Boylack found who more, less told him everything

he was, happening told him that Luis Felipe, it never went to her that before it was more, open that respected her a lot, but it was in Germany everything was changing. That is why Rosnilda gave him some, advice told him to speak to him that, we'll try to dialogue but from night to Tomorrow he realized that Tatiana, he had marks on his skin were marks, small but with the skin I had, they caught the attention was purple, in the arm I asked him several times there are, physical aggression but she didn't want, talk about, however, the stay in Germany does not, it would be forever and as Luis, Felipe finished the doctorate the couple, he returned to, Brazil back in Brazil the couple, he threw roots in Guaripava and went to, live to the apartment

403 of the exclusive, Golden Garden Building, and this is when, different versions arise the first, Version says it was Tatiana who chose this building since she liked it, lead a luxurious life and the second. Version says that it was the two who chose this place since both. They liked that life she was a good, lawyer with a very good reputation and, back in Brazil he exercised his trade and, for his part, Luis Felipe was a professor at two different universities and occasionally, when this couple gave English classes, life was very good with which you could afford to live in this place.

Of doors to his life continues, being perfect were handsome athletes, Vian in a good area had good. Jobs had enough money, but inside doors is known that Tatiana, he began to suffer. Depression began to suspect that Luis Felipe was unfaithful, especially with some students. I sent messages wondering yellow, insisted a lot and above all, I commented to do what I did. It seemed that he saw him bad to start. Some sources say that if everything was, the day was working when Luis returns, Felipe demanded that all tasks, they had to be made had the house, clean cooking ordered and he instead, I didn't have to do anything in second. Place according to several sources was Luis.

Felipe who administered the money of, Tadion Spitzner everything she won. He administered it because supposedly, she didn't know how to do it and thirdly, and among many other things it is said that, if the woman wanted to buy something before, Dia consult him on one occasion. It is said that a dress was bought that he, he did not authorize and when he returned home Luis, Felipe broke it but things still, they could get worse and Luis, Felipe began to meet his, physical appearance always liked the sport went to the gym ate healthy and from time to time he took food accessories but from at a certain point it began to consume anabolic steroids which according to

tautiana changed his humor no longer had desire of anything was always very irritated the minimum between march and june 2018 the lawyer sent her several messages to her friend rose nil telling him that he could no longer messages among which were the following words i can no longer yesterday i had a bad conversation with louise Felipe the first just lack value to, face a stupid rude divorce. He said he hates death that he doesn't know. When this anger will happen to him, he even wants to talk to me alone, criticizes anything I say is, against a month and a half that does not. We don't have a, bomb is completely changed. I know the person I have to me, side with all this context we reach. The night of Saturday, July 21, 2018, that day was Luis's birthday, Felipe, and of course they decided, celebrated with several friends F. F.A. Bar, located in Guarip Wava, and, And initially, everything was very good Tadian danced with his. Friends had a great time I see several cups, but according to witnesses Luis, Felipe did not release the phone in any moment he spent the whole night and, sending messages and at some point, Tatiana got fed up approached him to see, what was he doing and who was

talking with, so much and then discovered that he was, chatting with a woman she doesn't. I knew everything was fine we are, interacting we have taken a photo. He left very angry, he snorted. He went to dance with her friends returned to, improve and the message came to me every time. That I saw it I saw her. He approached and told me why you are with him. Telephone for what do you use it so much with. Who are you talking to those foxes your lovers? And again the situation worsened. From here the chaos on. Two in the morning on Sunday 22, Julio the couple returned home stops. The car in front of your building at, two thirty-four minutes and they're a

camera of. Surveillance everything is seen the couple. Inside the car arguing and in a certain moment Luis Felipe La Beauphidiya Tatiana. Try to go out open the door. Foot but Luis Felipe lengthens the arm the, grabs the hair and introduces it from, new with the passage of the minutes arrives, a second vehicle, and there they start, the engine and get into the parking lot inside. The fight continued the fight. The vehicle goes down from this is the door of, Tatiana opens the aid to come out and, grab the neck by the neck, returns the vehicle starts, the engine and carries and Tatiana low, follow slowly when it is about to. Park Luis Felipe lolled the vehicle and, it attacks her again hits her so many times, that the woman falls to the ground and then,

He returns to the car just parking. He returns and helps him get everything. What happens from beginning to end is, recorded by the cameras and looks. Clearly that at this point the two, they go to the elevator but on the way. Their Tatiana hides and Luis Felipe no, realizes this the elevator arrives.

Press the button and when you see that Tatiana, it is nowhere to, behind looking for her look everywhere, and when he finds it, A, persecution the intention of women is, very clear to call elevator to go up without. He go to the street and ask for help but Luis. Felipe is faster arrives on time, puts with it and struggles the, leave a corner and the subject clicks the. Number four, however, Tatiana already, he pressed and when the elevator

arrives, so far try to escape, but Luis, Felipe is stronger and after. Struggle the elevator and continue, Taiton continues to fight, loses his things and on the fourth floor, the elevator opens there the woman believes, I imagine what is going to happen so, extend your arms and refuse to go down. But Luis Felipe once again struggles, with her and throws her all the, process seems that neighbors, they were listening to the, shouts the women asking, help supplicating but no one knows. It happened to look at the door inside. From the apartment those screams continued, and the neighbors still did nothing. There were screaming shouts and, soon a dry blow according to Luis Felipe. What happened outside the house inside, this escalated continued fighting,

discussing Taiton he assaulted him and when, the woman jumped on the balcony, but according to the surveillance cameras, what happened was very striking and it is that the, outside cameras captured the body. Falling but that fall was very strange. When a person throws himself through him, balcony instinctively puts your hands, but Tatiana or imited fell lead, without moving a centimeter and staying. With this because later it will be very important surveillance cameras. They capture this moment, but minutes later, they also capture Luis Felipe going down to. The street and grabbing the body is this. Scene is seen by a passenger and the man quickly approaches them and, ask what happened there is a interaction, a small dialogue and this. Subject leaves that

Luis Felipe take advantage to grab the body and leave. House PRC on the portal falls, two boots of his wife and a second. Man approaches them return to, interact there is a brief conversation and, this new man takes the phone and, call the police but Luis Felipe low, ignore everything opens the block door, enter and then close it to themselves. What Luis Felipe does is very simple. The elevator goes home leaves the. His wife's body changes clothes, grab a rag the elevator goes and clean the music blood here comes part of no believe and is that at three oh five minutes of the the police arrived at the property early there were several neighboring witnesses complaining shouting someone saw what was a woman on the balcony but in this point arrives the striking part

and it is that although the police enter the building louis philippe is faster and is that just when the police enter the door he gets into the elevator clean the blood and he goes to parking goes down there go to the car starts the engine and quietly surveillance cameras leave they capture running right next to. Police and witnesses and now you. You will ask and where exactly. He went in the direction of the border with. Paraguay and on the way had an accident. Accident that according to many was caused. The stamped car was shattered and he, he got off this and tried to crosswalking. The border but that attempt did not work. You're welcome and the police caught him. Quickly while being questioned, Luis Felipe denied having killed his wife. He said he didn't remember anything that

was traumatized that had lagoons but. Then she said that she herself launched for, the balcony that both within the house. They were attacked that he already hit him, that he, defended and that in an oversight Tadiana, jumped on the balcony however while, he declared the experts put themselves, hands to work on the one hand they did the, autopsy to the body of Tadiana and on the other. They investigated how this woman fell down the balcony. They made a, physically very similar mannequin to her, with the same height and the same weight. They threw on the balcony three times. E, that's when they discover three points. The camera's very interesting on the one hand. Of surveillance as I said they saw that. The body fell to lead instinctively. A person would put

their hands when falling is, inevitable, but Tatiana did not do it in. Second place the angle did not seem like a, jump through the balcony, but rather a fall was a right angle there was no, just curved and third Luis. Felipe said that in an oversight Tatiana, he threw himself on the balcony but the railing. Of this was quite high so that carelessness should take long, I would put a leg with a lot of effort. Then the other would be quite a while and, then the body's autopsy arrived. Autopsy revealed that this woman had more atones throughout his body and that his face because of the fall was, destroyed but another very, interesting is that in his neck there was, hand brands and the cause of his death. It was not the fall but strangulation. When Tatian fell

was already dead like this, that the previous three points had, all the sense of the world that did not put, the hands that the angle was straight end, that Luis Felipe's story does not, had neither feat nor music head on July 31st, 2018 this man was charged with homicide, taxed and few days later the police spread the recordings of the surveillance cameras those recordings. They appeared on social networks and media of communication and it is possible to say that they gave. The return to the world the crime appeared in, all parts and many people not. They believe that so many recordings were real, so many evidence was impossible for a whole blog will not listen to the screams end. It was impossible for no neighbor to do, nothing

about it but unfortunately, it was real for several years Luis Felipe. He was in prison waiting for trial and, finally in May 2021 this was, carried out many you will think it was. A quick trial a couple of days a popular jury and would quickly be sentenced but this trial lasted seven days, and in all of them there were statements. Really scandalous the defense made, to do low, posable poor Rebajar La Pena Al, maximum and to demonstrate that this relationship, the brother was toxic by both parties, by Luis Felipe Andre said that this case, It was innuble, however, he remarked that Tatiana was a jealous compulsive. From this the defense remarked that Tatiana, it was very insecure that he had low, self-esteem

lack of affection and symptoms of, depression and that in 2014 was also, thinking about taking your life and evidence. This were photos that sent to Luis Felipe and which were seen, although the trial lasted seven days and Monday, May 10, 2021 a popular jury, composed of seven men, declared guilty of qualified homicide, by feminicide and futile motive through, suffocation and a few cruel a few minutes. After the jury's decision the, criminal judge of Guaripwava Adriano Scusi, announced that the convicted would have to, fulfill a penalty of 31 years, nine months and 18, prison days as well as paying a fine, of 100,000 Reyes for moral damage to the, the victim's family so now

is, your turn what do you think of the case and you believe that the sentence was fair? I live way out in the sticks, like, seriously middle of nowhere rural New Bruns We're talking long-ass drives just to get milk and maybe spot a deer or two. Anyway, this all started in early September, the first day of the new school year. Yeah, I was 19 and still in high school, thanks to being held back my senior year. Not my proudest moment, but whatever. Since we were such a tiny, isolated community, our middle and high school shared the same building.

It was weird, but you got used to it. My first period was study hall, basically, just a free-for-all in terms of doing homework, daydreaming, or sneaking in a nap. That day, I walked in and immediately noticed someone new sitting across the room. New people stuck out like sore thumbs around here. Everyone knew everyone, and this guy was definitely not from around here. Curious, and trying to be polite, I walked over and said, hey. We shook hands. His name was Chester.

Said he had just moved here. I was like, cool, man, let me show you around. We made small talk while I gave him the dime tour, cafeteria, classrooms, lockers. Normal stuff. But something about him just, didn't sit right. At first, his question seemed fine. How long you been here? Where's the science lab?

But then he hit me with, what's your home address, and can I get your snap? Chat. Uh, dude. Not the kind of stuff you ask someone you've known for ten minutes. I didn't give him my address, because obviously, but I figured Snapchat was harmless enough. Wrong move. Final period of the day was English. Only nine of us in that class, so you notice things fast. I sat down, opened my book, and glanced behind me. There was Chester, straight up making out with his sandwich like it owed him money. I mean, disgusting level of commitment. Then he looked up, saw me, and smiled. You ever lock eyes with someone and instantly feel like a hunted animal? That's what it felt like. He motioned for me to come over. I just stared at my book harder. Five minutes later,

I peaked up, he was still looking at me, but now with this creepy, intense stare like I was the next sandwich he wanted to devour. I noked out of that interaction and went back to reading. My phone buzzed. Snapchap. Guess who? Chester. Follow me. I replied, we're in class right now. Then he got up and asked the teacher to use the bathroom. A minute later, he was gone. I was curious, so after a few minutes, I asked to go to. I stepped into the hall and saw him about 50 feet ahead, walking slowly, like some kind of horror movie character.

I stayed way behind him. Didn't want him to know I was there. He turned a corner into a hallway that led to the basement. I watched him open the basement door and go in. No way was I following him down there. Absolutely not. I turned right back around and went to class. back at my desk my phone buzzed again why didn't you enter the basement my blood went cold i texted back dude leave me alone

you're creeping me the hell out then i blocked him when i got home that evening i threw myself into homework to shake off the weirdness around 11 p.m i was just finishing up when i got a new Snapchat notification. Someone had added me. The username? Why didn't you enter the basement? I blocked that one too. 30 seconds later, another request. This one was from, Why did you block me? Blocked. Then another, I know where you live. Then, I'm right outside your house. Right then, a window shattered downstairs. I froze, heart thudding like a war drum. I called the cops and told them what was happening. The dispatcher told me to hide and lock the door.

I dove into the hall closet, heart pounding. From my spot, I could see the stairs. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Chester appeared at the top of the stairs. He stood there, looking around like he owned the place. Then, he looked straight at the closet.

I held my breath. He walked over and opened the door slowly, feeling around for a light switch. Luckily, he didn't find it. He gave up and moved on. Eventually, I heard him going back down the stairs. Then, sirens. I bolted out of the closet, opened the front door, and told the cops everything. Of course, Chester was gone.

They searched the house and found that he'd escaped through a basement window. I showed them the Snapchat. and they promised to investigate. The next morning, I marched into the principal's office and reported everything. I wasn't about to let this slide. Chester was seriously disturbed, and I believed he was a real threat. Then came the real shocker. My principal looked at me with confusion and said,

we don't have any new student named Chester. No one by that name had registered. No new student had transferred. Chester wasn't even in the system. He had just, blended in, walked into the school like he belonged there, and no one noticed. He was never seen again. And the cops never followed up. I still think about that damn basement.

What would have happened if I'd gone down there? What did he plan? He really might have made me the next sandwich. Now, you'd think that'd be the end of my crazy encounters, right? Wrong. Fast forward to a few weeks later, I was just trying to survive senior year. Still living in the same quiet rural spot, except now everything felt off. My second period was uneventful, until I noticed this dude named Keith giving me the side-eye. Keith wasn't new. I knew him, kind of. He was just always around, like wallpaper.

Never caused problems. But that day, he was watching. me. Just, watching. He mouthed something I couldn't hear. I looked away. The rest of the day, I'd catch him in the halls, staring like I owed him money or had killed his dog or something. Final bell rings. I'm out of there. Or trying to be. I see him again, at the end of the hallway, just standing there like a ghost. I pretended not to see him and slipped out with the crowd. got in my car and peeled out in the rearview mirror there he was watching again at home i was too tired to think about keith did my homework eight chilled then my phone buzzed unknown number i know where you live cool creepy probably a prank ignored it then came a photo it was me walking into school. Next photo. Me in the hallway. Both from behind. Both taken that day. Then came a text with my home address. I freaked. Parents were out. I turned off every light, closed every blind. Got to the living room, peaked out. There was a figure in the yard. Just standing there. I couldn't see who it was, but I knew. Basement

I ran down and hid under an old desk. Silence. Too much silence. Then, the front doorknob. Jiggling. Then footsteps. Upstairs. Then, the basement door creaked open.

Light from the hall poured in. Then, darkness. Then, I know you're down there. I can see you. Come out now. It was Keith. I didn't move. He came down the stairs, knocking things over.

Getting closer. Closer. Then, he stopped right in front of the desk. I held my breath. Well, I gave you a chance, he said. Now you've really pissed me off. My eyes adjusted. He had a hammer in his hand.

I didn't think. I exploded out from under the desk, slammed into him, knocked him over, and sprinted to the stairs. He screamed, I'm going to kill you. Something smashed behind me. The hammer. I slammed the basement door shut, locked it, and ran out the front door. Cops.

Parents. Chaos. Police showed up. I told them everything. But when they opened the basement door, Keith was gone. He'd escaped through a side window. Turns out I'd forgotten to lock the side door. Showed them the messages, the photos, everything.

Two days later, I got called to the office. Keith had been arrested. Expelled. Gone for good. Never saw him again. Don't want to. I don't know what it is about me and attracting weirdos, but I swear, I'm getting a ring camera and a taser. Just in case Chester ever comes back for seconds.

Yvonne doesn't know how everything happened. She says she has gaps in her memory and doesn't remember many things, but she says they struggled, he shot her, and then they kept fighting. The weapon fell and fired on its own in Josh's direction. This story begins on December 30, 2017, when a supposed couple of lovers had what would be their last date. Everything went well, they had dinner together, drank, but around 4.30 a.m., the neighbors heard shouting. A witness looked through the window and indeed saw them fighting, shouting, and gesticulating

a lot. At some point, one of the guys took out a weapon and pointed it at the other's head. The witness was in shock, not knowing what to do or who to call, so he went inside and dialed 911. But before the police could arrive, several gunshots were heard. The witnesses couldn't agree on how many shots were fired. Some said 10, others 20, others 30, but whatever the number, the story ended the same way, with one boy dead and a girl in the emergency room, having received a shot to her shoulder. What led to this argument at those hours, and what made a couple of lovers shoot each other? Next, we'll find out. Joshua Ashton McKin was born on May 5, 1998, in Houston, Texas, as one of the four children of Minerva Barbosa

and Ashton McKin. There is very little information about this boy. The only thing we know is that, according to his family, friends, and neighbors, he was an incredible guy. He was always responsible, never got into trouble, and was dedicated to helping his loved ones. He studied at Gus Creek Memorial High School, and in 2016, he graduated from the Texas Challenge Academy, a military academy for young people aged 16 to 18. According to its website, this academy focuses on helping at-risk youth regain the potential through education, training, mentoring, and community service. After reading this,

we might think Josh was as perfect as he was portrayed, and that he never got into any trouble or that studying wasn't his thing. But according to his family, he enrolled there for five months because his dream was to be in the military. He wanted to gain responsibility, be independent, and believed the academy would help him achieve that. According to the academy's instructors, he was incredible, punctual, responsible, always meeting his goals, and from the very beginning, he was a standout cadet. He always wanted to be a Marine. He truly wanted to serve his country. He was someone everyone wanted to be around. He was a great kid and a great student, and will never forget him, said Elisa Solomon, Josh's instructor. After graduating in

2016, Josh enrolled in Lee College with the intention, of course, to become a Marine. He became independent, had many friends, got along well with his neighbors, and at one point, became good friends with the grandson of one of his neighbors, Gloria Chaplin. The boys would hang out at this woman's house, playing video games, eating, and having dinner, and this neighbor had only good things to say about Josh. He was a sweet boy with good manners, always saying thank you and play. please, and when he ate, he helped with the dishes. I mean, he was a good guy. We could say everyone was delighted with him, everyone had good words and great memories of him. But at the

end of 2017, he started dating a girl named Devon Raquel Ramirez. There's hardly any information about this girl. We don't know anything about her family, if she has any criminal background, nothing at all. So, to learn more about her, we need to look at her private Facebook profile, which is currently private and cannot be viewed. However, some pages managed to find two interesting posts. The first one was posted in October 2017, where she shared a meme of a woman's police photo smiling crazily, with the words at the top saying, this will be me when I run out of patience and resolve everything with violence. The second post was made on December 30th, 2017, and fortunately, we have a screenshot of it. Everything is falling into place. I start my job on

Monday, we'll get my car soon, and then my apartment. I couldn't be more blessed. Thank you, God, what happened between October and December 2017? What changed for Ivan to go from being angry to being very happy. This raises many questions, and perhaps Yvonne was with someone who cheated on her, she felt very hurt for a long time, and eventually overcame it. On the morning of December 31st, 2017, Yvonne and Josh had a date. Maybe they went out on the night of the 30th, maybe in the early hours of the 31st, but either way, at 4.30 a.m., Josh's neighbors heard him shouting. Josh lived in Baytown, specifically at 100, Mitchell Street, and a neighbor saw them shouting at each other in the middle of the street around 425 to 4.30 a.m. They were yelling at each other, calling each other names, and at some point, Josh grabbed the girl by the neck, took out a weapon, and pointed it at her head.

That's when the neighbor went inside, grabbed the phone, and called 911. But before the police arrived, several gunshots were heard. When the police arrived at the crime scene, Josh was dead on the ground, and Yvonne had a gunshot wound in one of her shoulders. This is how we get the first version of the events. Yvonne says that night she had a date with Josh, and they both consumed drugs. She says they were having a good time, enjoying themselves, but at some point, Josh lost his mind, changed his attitude, became aggressive, and accused her of stealing from him. She says he accused her of scamming him, of stealing weapons, and demanded that she returned them. They started disrespecting each other, shouting, went outside, and he grabbed her by

the neck and pointed a gun at her. Yvonne doesn't know how everything happened. She says she has gaps in her memory, she doesn't remember much, but she says they struggled, he shot her, and then they kept fighting. The gun fell, and it fired on its own in Josh's direction. For some reason, the police don't believe Yvonne's version of the events and insist she tells the truth. She finally admits that she killed Josh McKin, but she emphasizes that it was in self-defense. She admits that they struggled, that the boy grabbed her by the neck, that he pointed a weapon at her, and that she managed to take the weapon from him and shot. But once again, there are inconsistencies, and forensic evidence and witnesses suggest things didn't exactly happen as she

says. This entire case has been confusing from the very start, because if Josh had the weapon, Yvonne's shot would have made sense. But the shot that killed the boy doesn't make sense. So, the police wonder if someone could have come to the girl's rescue. Maybe someone appeared at the scene and shot Josh to get him off her, but no second shooter has been revealed. We don't know who it was, why they were there, or why they shot Josh. Yvonne has never said that anyone else was with them. Ivan Raquel Ramirez was sent to prison under a $50,000 bond, and while she was behind bars, the police continued investigating.

This is when new witnesses came forward. First, according to the Fox 11 News portal, Gloria Chaplin, Josh's neighbor, said that at 4 a.m., Josh knocked on her door asking for help. Josh came knocking on my door saying that someone was chasing him, and then he ran off. This all happened between 4 and 4.30, and then the police showed up. It all happened so fast. According to Chaplin, between 20 and 30 shots were heard on the street, which didn't sound

like a simple argument but more like a shootout. This is when anonymous witnesses started to appear. One of them said that after the shots, they saw Ivan crouching over Josh's body and searching his pockets to steal his wallet. Yvonne obviously denied the accusation, but according to forensic experts, inside Josh's pockets, there was blood, which could support the words of the eyewitness. No one saw or heard anything else, and no one could prove that Yvonne had any accomplices. So, the police decided to search her social media and phone, where they found some interesting

evidence. First, it was confirmed that when Josh went completely crazy and accused her of stealing from him, he wasn't lying. According to Yvonne, the night had gone smoothly, they were calm and consumed drugs, but at some point, the guy lost his mind and accused her of stealing weapons. Yvonne claimed she didn't understand this, that she didn't do anything, that she never stole from him. But according to her phone, Yvonne was lying, as it seems she had been blackmailing Josh McKin for several weeks. The girl had previously stolen weapons from him and was asking for $10,000, to return them. Anyone would say no to this blackmail. But here's the problem, all weapons have

registration numbers. So, if someone steals your gun, kills someone with it, and leaves it at the crime scene, the police will probably come looking for you. If there are no fingerprints or clues, the weapon already has an owner, and that owner will pay for the crime. We can imagine Josh was desperate. His record was impeccable, and his big dream was to be a Marine. so he would do anything to recover his weapons. They also found messages in Yvonne's phone where she was talking to other people about what she was doing, about the blackmail, laughing about it. We don't know if these people were involved or if they just knew what was going on and didn't do anything. In any case, with this information, the police now know why Yvonne and Josh were fighting.

Then an anonymous witness came forward saying that in the hours leading up to the altercation, Josh was on the phone demanding that someone return his weapons. According to the witness, the boy was beside himself, shouting, gesturing a lot, and didn't seem like the Josh everyone knew. This story appeared on all the headlines as the New Year's Eve date that ended in murder. However, it's important to note that the police concluded that they were never a couple. No one knows if they were ever involved, but many media outlets say that according to him, it wasn't more than a cover-up to blackmail Josh and take as much money as possible from him.

Some people have used Yvonne's Facebook posts to claim that the two were indeed a couple, that they got along well, that they had a lot of chemistry, but that at some point, Josh cheated on Yvonne, so she decided to get revenge by stealing his weapons and asking for money to get them back. But other people say this isn't true, and that they were never together. People who think they were never a couple believe that Yvonne gained his trust, and at most, they had a couple of dates before carrying out what she had planned all along, stealing his weapons and blackmailing him. As of today, there is no resolution to the case, or at least if there is, nothing has been published.

The latest we know is that the police are convinced of An Raquel Ramirez didn't act alone, and that there are several people behind her. It's unknown how many, whether it was an organization, a settling of accounts, or anything else. But this girl is currently being held in Harris County Jail and had her first hearing on January 3rd, 2018. Now it's your turn. What do you think of this case, and what do you think really happened that night? End. My buddy Gavin had always tried to be a superhero.

Yes. You read that right. Not he always loved superheroes, not even that he always wanted to be a superhero. He made a costume and mask when he made a costume and mask when he was a superhero. we were in middle school and had been crusading around the neighborhood to stop crime all the way till I was a sophomore in high school. I'm sure you've heard about people like this in the news, like the people in that movie kickass. Gavin and I lived in the projects and, even though I doubt he helped in any way, there was a lot of crime and drug dealing to go around. The most difficult

thing for Gavin, I think, was that we lived in Minnesota, a state, which at the time didn't allow wearing masks in public. I know how things have changed. While most beat cops that came around our neighborhood laughed at Gavin in his masked antics, there was one cop that would have none of it, Officer Mitchell. He had a real hard on for Gavin, or the depths as he called his alter ego, and would always demand he take the mask off and not go around disguised in public. More on him later. In truth, Gavin's outfit was pretty sweet. It was all black, The fabric was flowing but not too baggy, and the mask was made of this tough black plastic. It looked kind of like a skull, and the eye lenses were a piercing silver tint.

He'd actually been working on it for a year. Every night after school, instead of hanging out or doing his homework, he'd go into the basement and sew up his costume. I kept telling him he could just buy a Halloween get-up from Kmart, which would be a lot less traceable, but he insisted on making his own. As you can probably gather, he was big into Batman and, just like the character, would only work at night. This helped him avoid Officer Mitchell a few times when being chased down so he wouldn't be unmasked. The outfit was perfect camouflage for the dark alleyways. A lot of people, including teachers and most of the

grown-ups in the projects, had figured that Gavin was mentally unstable or retarded. I never thought that was accurate, though. If I'm being totally fair, Gavin was an averagely smart kid who was just preoccupied with things that took away from him ever getting good grades or learning anything that would get him a job. And he wasn't crazy, he'd, just been through a lot. His parents divorced when he was five. Before you dismiss this experience as just another typical 21st century reality,

he should know that his father was in deep gambling debt and his mother was hooked on crack from the Minneapolis Crips. I'll let you imagine how this all played out for young Gavin when the three of them were living under the same roof. They didn't so much divorce as they separated and really neither of them was fit to raise Gavin, so he went to live with his grandfather. When his grandpa croaked, he went into foster homes, getting passed along seven times in four years.

He eventually landed back in our neighborhood with his older third cousin Howie, twice removed. Howie did shift word. at a supermarket warehouse and didn't have much time or patience for Gavin so you can imagine what their relationship was like. I actually remember going along with Gavin, or the Deps, a few times when he scoured the streets that night for trouble. I don't know why, but for some reason he was never bothered with me knowing his secret identity. In truth, when you live in the ghetto, there's little your neighbors don't know about you. Anyway, I remember one night I tagged along with the depths after we'd heard news of a serial rapist in the area. I wasn't in costume, but he was,

as well as Durwood, his sidekick. Now, trying to be a superhero in real life is pretty pathetic but being the sidekick to a faux superhero. That's got to be the shits. We mostly drank coffee and soda, freezing our balls off on a street corner and spying on the opposite side, looking for anything suspicious. Now, Derwood and I, after an hour and a half half, had had enough. There was nothing there except a few drunks, ranting crazies, and maybe a hooker in a long trench coat. The depths, however, refused to call it a night, insisting we'd find the rapist. Not long after, we saw this tall man wearing baggy, layered clothing, who kept circling the block, over and over again. That guy keeps circling back, Gavin hissed through his mask.

Derwood and I looked at each other and, even though we weren't friends, we could read the concern panic in the other's eyes. I think we both knew the shit was about to hit the fan when we heard Gavin's paper cup hit the sidewalk. Gavin, like a shadow crossing your room when a car goes by at night, lurched forward and ran to the other side. He got right up and grabbed the guy by the lapels of his coat, yelling at him, demanding to know his whereabouts on such and such a date. A struggle ensued. I watched from the other side, paralyzed. D'Urwood stood next to me like a statue. A fist flew from the man and he shouted, The fuck's with you freak.

Get the fuck off. Gavin then retaliated with one of those karate punches he'd taught himself from online videos and it did rock the guy back a few steps. Then the next thing I saw brought a swell of feverish heat bubbling to my otherwise shivering body. From out of the guy's steep pocket he brought out a gleamingly silver, snub-nosed revolver. He pointed it, tidal to the side at Gavin's head. Get the fuck off me, bruh. Gavin didn't move and I thought then that it was over, but he suddenly reached up and grabbed the guy by the wrist. The wrist of the hand holding the gun. I sunk back into the shadows and heaved, watching the

gray barrel teeter and sway in several directions as the two of them grappled for it. Without a word, Durwood ran forward to the scene. I watched an abject horror, as he got closer to the point of the flaying firearm. I sunk deeper into the darkness. I then leapt and waxed cold upon the thunder of the gun's shot. The bullet ricocheted across the concrete and the weapon fell from the man's hand as both Gavin and Durwood pushed him to the ground. I don't know if it was the second person or the gun firing, but the man scrambled to his

feet and scampered away. I watched the two of them panting, Gavin much more than Durwood. Then, before they walked back across the road, Durwood stooped down and picked something up from off the sidewalk. When they brought it over, we saw that it was a small plastic packet of meth. The guy had been a drug dealer, which would explain why he'd been circling the block over and over. The elusive serial rapist was never caught. Durwood seemed the most embarrassed about the debacle. Gavin figured he had still stopped injustice. Me? I stopped tagging along.

But I know that most of his crusades ended up in street fights, some he lost, some he won. Sometimes he'd get unmasked, but, that was okay, they didn't know who he was anyway. I stopped paying much attention. Around this time, I was starting to think ahead a little bit. I was going into high school and wasn't too glad to be put into the lowest set. class in one of the worst schools in the city. Gavin wasn't going to high school. He was instead focusing on his crime-fighting career. Truth is, he was terribly behaved and was probably suffering from undiagnosed ADHD. In retrospect, our school just couldn't support him.

The worst came about when Gavin collected up his paper route money in Christmas cash, and some pilfer dollars from Howie's wallet, I suspect, to buy a police scanner. Like the karate moves he'd taught himself, he soon figured out what each of the coded numbers stood for. Three days after this purchase, our projects got introduced to Officer Mitchell. He went door to door of the row house Gavin and I lived in with a sketch of the mask that Gavin wore as the depths. Luckily for Gavin, no one in the project talks to cops, especially when it's about someone who lives there. This usually applies to drug dealers and gangsters, but they didn't make an exception for a mildly disturbed would-be superhero.

Officer Mitchell came to my door last. My mother, who was home, told him she'd never seen anyone wearing that mask before, but called me over to take a look. Mitchell had told her that he believed the suspect was a child. I took a look and immediately recognized the skeletal quality of the mask. Regardless, I shook my head no. The officer then kneeled down and looked into my eyes. He smelled of stale coffee in fresh sweat, and his face was puffy, his eyes cold.

Are you sure about that, son? No idea who this character could be, again, I shook my head no. He then stood up and adjusted his uniform then thanked my mother. He left, but I knew he knew I was lying. I felt a chill go up my spine and it lingered there long after he'd left. After that, and with much prodding from me in Durwood, Gavid, haven finally decided to stop going out at night. All right, he told us.

I'll wait for something big over the scanner. This wasn't exactly reassuring but was enough to settle my nerves for the time being. One night, the three of us were hanging out in Howie's cramped basement, playing Xbox and sipping on some of the canned beer from the fridge, the police scanner occasionally buzzing in the background. After we got to the second to last level of the game, the scanner buzzed rather loudly with, Car 64 be advised, 261 and possible 217 in progress on Young and Lexington. Neighbors said that they heard screaming, likely female. Over.

Derwood and I heard it but neither of us paid it any mind. Gavin, though, he sat right up, dropping his controller to the floor. 10 to 4, this is Car 64, on pursuit to location, over. leapt to his feet, rushing toward the scanner and putting his ear right next to the speaker. Derwood and I were still sitting on the carpet. What's up, Gavin? I asked. Shoo, he hissed then promptly put his ear back to the radio. There's a woman being attacked ten blocks from us.

At that moment I felt a chill wash over me. I paused the game and listened with him. Several minutes crawled by of nothing, just the low frizzle of the static. Then we heard the officer's voice return, dispatch, this is CAR-64, we have a 217, requesting medical, over. From the officer's defeated tone, I didn't need to know the codes to figure out what happened. The woman was dead. Roger, Car-64. Is the suspect in the area?

Over, negative, dispatch. Suspect is reported to be a number one male, possibly local. Witnesses say he fled seen going west off Burlington. Notify all cars of situation. 10 to 4. Derwood's hand was then clasped on Gavin's shoulder and I could see that Gavin was writhing. Maybe they'll catch him, I said pathetically. He's right, Derwood jumped in.

No point in going over there. Come on, calm down. It took a few minutes of restraining him, but Gavin agreed to stay with us. We turned on the TV and channel served for a bit, mostly watching cartoons. Derwood and I each popped open a new beer. Gavin didn't even finish his already opened one. Didn't even touch it. He just sat there, next to the police scanner, his eyes staring lifeless into nothing.

The next day, I saw the front cover of the newspaper, hideous rape murder on Young and Lexington. Police officers are in hot pursuit of evasive. of culprit. This wasn't good. I didn't see Gavin for two weeks straight. I went over to his house a couple times but each time there was no answer. Or I'd see his cousin, telling me Gavin was out and that he didn't know where he was. I was scared then. This was bad. All I knew was the detail of the suspect as they were relayed on the radio, number one male. It didn't take me long to find out that number one meant black. I didn't want to know how the depths was going about finding the guy. By the third week, on a Wednesday's afternoon after school, I heard

heavy tires crunching over the ragged pavement of our block. From living in the projects for as long as I had, I had developed a sixth sense for cops. I looked out a second-story window to see a squad car had pulled up on our curb, right in front of how he stoop. My mind filled with fears of the worst and I dashed down the steps and flew out to our front steps. I watched Officer Mitchell emerge, his face rigid, his movement stiff and sudden. He then jerked open the passenger door and there was Gavin, his face exposed, bloodied, one eye blackened and swollen shut, his hands cuffed behind him. Mitchell dragged Gavin toward the door, Gavin giving little resistance and showing even less mental presence. The policeman wrapped his knuckles hard on the plywood door,

but no one ever came. Howie was working double shifts that weak and hadn't been home, spending his nights working a barstool. I looked around and saw everybody on our block watching out their windows or over chain-linked fences. Where the fuck is your parental unit? Mitchell spat, shaking Gavin's bound form violently. Gavin shrugged. Mitchell gave him another shake and shouted in his face. I could feel the eyes of our block peering harder on both of them. Officer Mitchell must have felt it too because after taking a long glance at the scene around him, he went behind Gavin and took off the cuffs. Gavin was about to unlock his door and go in, but not before Officer Mitchell clasped his hand against the plywood and brandished

Mitchell's mask in front of his face in a squelching grasp. Listen to me, you little shit, he said in a low voice, but it carried in an echo so I could hear it. Do yourself a favor and throw this and that faggity outfit in the trash. I see you wearing it again anywhere and I will arrest you for suspicion of mischief. And we'll see if we can even get a hate crime charged tied to you, eh. He then threw the mask hard at Gavin's feet. Hate crime. Oh, Jesus, I thought.

Had Gavin actually been going around the neighborhood harassing random black guys because of what he'd heard on the radio? Officer Mitchell grabbed his heavy belt under his paunch and adjusted his trousers. Your guardian or parent will be called later this week to inform them of the situation. Have a nice day. The eyes of the projects faded back into the houses as Mitchell's prowler peeled off and Gavin's door slammed shut. I was glad to know Gavin was okay and thought at the time the whole thing was over. Looking back, now know how wrong I was. The next day, I invite him. Gavin over and the two of us hung out in my room. We were there to play cards, but, mostly, I needed to know what had happened. The first thing I asked was about the Shiner on his left

eye. Did that prick Mitchell do that to you? He shook his head, almost smiling. Nah, this was from one of the rapists. I must have looked at Gavin then with complete confusion. He relayed to me how there had been more than one rapist murderer, that there had in fact been five, maybe ten who were involved in killing that girl over two weeks ago. Gang rape is the term he kept using. I swear to you, Corey, there's literally hundreds of them. What do you mean? His eyes shifted to my door, perhaps checking that it was closed before he leaned in close and said.

The blacks, my heart started pounding in my chest. Was I really hearing this? He then told me how, John Dyke, at whose house he had stayed on his two-week hunt, had told him about the uncontrollable lust that apparently all blacks have for raping white women. This theory wasn't surprising. John Dyke had grown up, just a few years before us, in our projects, and was now an active neo-Nazi. What shocked me was that Gavin had bought this crap. For Christ's sake, the girl who'd been killed hadn't even been white.

I'm not even going to bother fighting street crime anymore, he lectured on. The real criminals that are sucking our communities. community dry are being protected by the government, the immigrants taking our jobs, the blacks, and Spanish spreading drugs, the queers and lesbians poisoning our families. I had to stop him right there. Both my parents are Ukrainian Jews so you can imagine how pissed I was getting. Also, Gavin, Derwood and I were from three of only five white families in a majority Hispanic ghetto. How the fuck could he believe all this Peckwood bullshit? You're being an asshole, I told him, and I could feel myself shaking, not used to standing up for myself, and especially for other people.

John Dyke is a fucking Nazi, everything you're saying now is wrong. And what you're doing around the city is worse. It's harassment, it's assault. It's racist, dude, he then told me in a cold, automatic monotone that racism doesn't exist. He then asked me, why I cared. After all, these people were animals, not personally. real human beings. I lost it at that point. We both got into a huge shouting match and by the end, Gavin called me a kami kike and stormed out of my room. I couldn't get his words out of my

head the whole night and I kept shaking and grinding my teeth together. In the week that followed, I mostly stayed in my room after school. When I checked my email account, I saw there was a message from Derwood. Oh great, the sidekick, I thought. Figuring it was Gavin's attempt to make recompense, without apologizing, by proxy, I deleted the message without reading it and got on with my homework. The next day there was another message from Durwood. Again, I dumped it without reading. On the third day I had calmed down a bit over the whole thing and was legitimately curious.

To my surprise, the message had nothing to do with Gavin. Derwood's message was a simple, hey, how's it going? He even asked me about what homework was like in freshman year. Nothing to do with what had transpired between me and Gavin at all. Pleased with the friendly hello, I responded in kind, asking him how he was doing. Fifteen minutes later there was a reply and we ended up chatting online into the late evening until about midnight. We continued doing this over the next couple nights and actually started hanging out after school. It was kind of nice since we only knew each other.

through Gavin, who seemed to be no longer in the picture. It was great that I had a new friend without completely separating myself from my past circle. Over the next month I found out he and I had a lot in common. We liked the same video games, the same bands, the same movies, even the same foods. One Friday night when we were munching on nachos and cheese at the local arcade, he confided in me what it was like being Gavin's sidekick. It was fucking horrible, he commiserated, shaking his head, which was hanging very low. Everything he wanted to do since he was five and I was three I had to go along with. He wanted to play Lone Ranger, I was Tonto.

And any bullshit adventure he wanted to do, I got stuck tagging along. He interrupted himself with a joyless scoff. Did he ever tell you about the time when he was nine and he wanted to live out in the wilderness, so he made me go with him to camp out in woods at Barrett Park? Shit, by the time they found us, I had poison ivy all over my legs and had eaten a goddamn grub. Yuck, well, why did you go along with him? I asked. How did you two even end up as friends?

Because, he said with emphasis. His mother went to school with my mom. I guess she felt obligated after what happened to her. I nodded my head for a bit. That did make sense for the initial relationship. But, I mean, I began again. Why did you just do whatever he said? You don't have to do what he wants just because he's your friend or your mom wants you to.

You're your own person, he then hit his eyes behind his hands. I soon realized he was holding his head, looking as if he was about to be sick. I then heard him say, in a weak, trembling voice, there's more. There's more, he, he just had, has this power. over me. I just, just can't get loose of him. Fuck, not knowing what to do and feeling very uncomfortable, I patted him on the shoulder and told him it'd be all right. I suppose there was more he could have told me, but, honestly, I didn't want to know. Life was much easier for the next couple of months. No more craziness, no more bullshit. For the first time in my life, I was

actually friends with someone who wasn't toxic and wasn't so demanding of my time. I was actually doing well in school and there were talks of putting me in a higher set class for next fall. After Easter weekend, however, I got back in touch with Gavin. It was early in the morning, I mean 5 a.m. early. I could hear my phone vibrate on my makeshift bedside table, a spare floor tile on top of two milk cartons. I picked it up without looking at the caller ID and answered. Hello. I said, rubbing my eyes. Corrie. I heard Gavin's voice blare. You, you gotta let me come over. Jesus, I need your help. Hearing the panic in his voice jolted me awake. I pressed the phone closer to my ear. Calm down, what's happening? There's a new story out about me. They're saying I killed

officer Mitchell, my nerves locked. My body completely froze. No. Listen, I heard him beg over the phone. I'm about ten minutes away. I'll sneak in through your front stoop when the coast is clear. Your parents should still be asleep, right? Yeah, I muttered, just audible, hoping he wouldn't hear. Great, he exclaimed, and I bit my lip hard. I'll be there soon, wait. I shouted, and to my relief the call was still in progress. Why can't you hide at Dikes? He's farther away from your house. I could hear him suck his teeth through the receiver. John's gone. He's been out of town for a while now. I got nowhere else to hide, man. Well, why would you hide here? I mean, we live in the same building, dude. The cops will find you here. I felt a heavy exhale

waffed through the receiver onto my eardrum. I don't think they've put two and two together yet, but they will soon. I'll explain when I get there. Just please, help me out, put two and two together. What did that mean? All right, you can stay in my room for the day until I get back from school. Then we'll have to figure something out for you. He thanked me and I heard the short, quiet chime of my phone, indicating the call had ended. Having all this time to wait, my mind whirling from this sudden revelation, I searched the internet on my phone. Not long after, I found a news article titled City Cop Slain by Masked Man, which was complete with a video. Apparently, Officer Mitchell had responded to a robbery that took place at a convenience store.

I watched the video. The video was from a security camera videotaping the outside storefront. I could see, even in the grainy quality and the microscopic screen of my phone, one of the the windows had been broken. Just then, as Officer Mitchell was walking out of the front door, I saw it, a shadow, moving fast right toward him. He turned his head just before the figure ran into him, but not fast enough. He fell to the ground clutching his side. The article said he had been stabbed. I then watched an absolute horror as the cop reached for his gun holster and the darkly veiled figure grabbed at it too, the two of them struggling until there was a sudden flash and the officer lay motionless on the ground, a spray of dark fluid staining the concrete

behind his head. The figure then shot his lifeless body twice more before dropping the pistol and turning to leave. As it turned, I paused the video. The face was covered in a black skeletal mask, with piercing silver-tinted eyes. The same from Gavin's costume. Gavin had still not arrived. Unsure how many knew the costume was his, I quickly dialed 911. When Gavin got to my house, he was out of breath, panting and soaked with sweat. I got him a glass of tap of water and sat him down on my bed. He then told me the story in his own words. Listen, last night I was at home, okay. I, I had been out on patrol for a long, long while and had caught a cold. For the last few days I've been in bed. I observed Gavin closely.

I could tell he wasn't sick. You said you weren't going on patrol anymore, I said, punctuating each word. Yeah, yeah, he snapped, hastily. But there are two fugitives reported in the news who were suspected of being in town. I had heard nothing of this. I saw the video, I told him. The guy was wearing your costume, that's the thing. Gavin begged, reaching up at me and grabbing my shirt.

I haven't worn that costume in months now. I swear to God, I threw it in the trash. I told you, John and I were focusing on organizing strikes against immigrants and stuff. I wasn't going out in Boston heads no more. And here's the other crazy thing. There's no way I could have known that a robbery had taken place. I listened, analyzing each word. He had mentioned details about the attack that I knew from the news report.

But, of course, he would, he probably saw the news story, which was why he was panicked. Still, that's the thing, he rambled on, his eyes wide, pulling harder on my shirt. Three days ago, the police scanner went missing. I don't know where it is. I put my hands on his arms and tried to ease them off of me. Just then there came a loud, echoing knock from the front door. Police open up. Gavin swiveled his head in the direction of the sound. He turned to look at me and seemed to

search my face before springing up to look out the window. Police, he muttered, and his voice carried just enough for me to hear it. But how? He then turned. I stood up. I was ready to dash out the room, but, for some reason, I couldn't. You, he yelled, pointing his finger accusingly at me. You called the cops. I just stood there, stupid and silent, holding my arms up to try to gesture for him to be calm. Without another second of hesitation, he sprang on me and began hitting me in the side with his knees and fists. My life flashed before my eyes, as did the thought that I was alone with a killer. Help! I screamed, hoping the police outside would hear me. Help. I wailed and was soon cut off by a blue. I was soon cut off by a

blow to the jaw. I raised my hands defensively over my head and curled up, trying to block his blows that were striking down hard all over my body. I didn't hear the front door getting broken down, or even my bedroom door being wrenched open, but I did hear Gavin scream as he was pulled off by two police officers. They then proceeded to pin him to the floor and cuff his hands. My skin was throbbing from the speed of my pulse and I didn't feel any pain, though in truth I was badly beaten up. They hauled Gavin off kicking and screaming, explaining he was under arrest for the murder of police officer, Sergeant Jerome Fergus Mitchell.

It didn't take long for a jury to find Gavin guilty. The police had found the costume in the trash in front of his house, although he swore he had gotten rid of it well before the murder took place. Beyond that, they had motive, everyone in the projects had seen Gavin berated by Mitchell and knew what being a costume crusader meant to him. Still, it was like pulling teeth to get people to testify. Only thing was, they never found his police scanner. Gavin's court appointed lawyer tried using this fact to raise doubt, since the prosecution kept arguing that Gavin had been known to have a police scanner, which would explain how he knew the robbery took place and how

he knew Officer Mitchell would be there since he knew his car number. They ended up trying him as an adult and gave him 25 to life. I couldn't believe this had happened to him even with what he had done. Christ, he wasn't even 16. By the time I was nearly done high school, the entire neighborhood had forgotten about Gavin. It was pretty much taboo to talk about him and even Durwood and I avoided the subject. But honestly, with time we didn't care. We had both turned things around.

When Durwood finished middle school, he went to the same high school I. did, which made school so much better since I had my best friend to hang out with. By the time I was in my senior year, we had both joined a few school clubs, no teams I'm afraid, and started a games club of our own. And after moving up to some college prep classes, my grades were finally improving. I had attended a careers workshop and had made up my mind to go into an apprenticeship program to become an electrician. Dürwood asked me about it and later told me that he had decided to do the same thing when he graduated. The summer after my senior year, Durwood and his mother were moving out to Minneapolis. I was sad to see him go, but I could understand that maybe it was

best for him to leave all the bitter memories behind. The day he was going to move I helped him pack. Around lunchtime, we were in his room, all of his things in tiny cardboard cubes around us. We took a break as we were both beat. His mother called him for something, and he asked me to wait for him. After a few minutes I got bored and tried to lift a few more boxes. Now all of the boxes have been light up until now, mostly filled with clothes. This box I lifted was unexpectedly heavy and when I eased it off the stack, it fell from my grip and crashed to the floor. The sealed top opened up on impact and all the items inside spilled out onto the carpet. I rushed to get everything back in the box and that's when I saw

what had given it so much weight, a black metallic radio. It was a police scanner. Gavin's police scanner. The same he swore had gone missing three days before the murder took place. I sat there, staring at it. I then heard footsteps outside the room, and the door creaking open. I met my ex-boyfriend, let's call him John, on Tinder last year. From the very first date, we clicked instantly. He was charming, polite, and seemed like a hardworking, genuine guy. He had this way of making me feel special, like I was the only woman in the world. We would talk for hours about anything and everything. His laugh was contagious, and his eyes sparkled when he spoke about his passions. It felt like I had found someone truly special. We dated for

about seven months, and during that time, his house was being renovated. Because of this, most of our date nights were spent at my place. I share my rental home with another female roommate, but she's often away for work or personal trips. In the beginning, everything felt perfect. He was sweet, attentive, and thoughtful. It seemed like we were building something meaningful. However, as time went on, little things started to add up, and I began to feel unappreciated. At first, it was just minor inconveniences. I would cook us elaborate dinners, set the table beautifully, and even prepare desserts. Not that I expected anything in return, but he never once offered to help clean up. Not a single dish washed, not a single,

let me do this for you, nothing. I brushed it off at first, telling myself, it wasn't a big deal. Then there was the night that changed everything. I had just come home from a grueling 12-hour shift, absolutely exhausted. John came over, went straight to the kitchen, and made himself eggs without even offering me anything. I had mentioned earlier that I hadn't eaten all day, but he didn't even acknowledge it. That was the breaking point for me.

Something inside me just snapped. I realized I deserved better, so I ended things. right then and there. We broke up and went our separate ways for about three months. During that time, he was remorseful and constantly reached out, apologizing and saying he wanted to make things right. He promised a change, swore that he missed me, and that he had realized his mistakes. Around Valentine's Day, I decided to give him another chance. That's when things started to take a turn for the worse. At first, it seemed like he was really trying. He showered me with affection, sent sweet messages all the time, and even started calling me beautiful again.

But something felt off. I couldn't put my finger on it at first, but then little things started happening. I began noticing that some of my underwear had gone missing. Then a few pictures disappeared. My favorite ring, one that I never misplaced, was suddenly nowhere to be found. I'm a very organized person, so I knew it wasn't just the same. me being forgetful. I had no proof, but deep down, I had a gut feeling something wasn't right. One night, John came over, and I casually mentioned that I had lost a flash drive

that contained important pictures and documents. The moment I said it, he immediately started searching for it, frantically. It made me uneasy, but I didn't say anything. Something about the way he was acting set off alarm bells in my head. That night, we had dinner, and then things escalated in ways I never saw coming. Our sex life had always been adventurous, but this time was different. He removed his belt and, without warning, wrapped it around my neck. We had never discussed anything like this before, and it all happened so fast that I didn't even have time to process it.

He pulled it tight, too tight. I gasped for air as the belt cut into my skin. The panic said in instantly. I managed to get it off, and we finished in an uneasy silence. Afterward, he noticed the mark on my neck and casually said, I knew it would suffocate you, but I didn't think it would leave a mark. Normally, he was gentle and attentive after sex, but this time he was distant, cold even. There was a look in his eyes I had never seen before, and it terrified me.

When it was time to sleep, something inside me told me to pretend I was asleep. So I did. As I lay there, still and quiet, I felt him shift next to me. Then, I felt pressure on my face. He was pressing his thumbs into my eyes. He giggled. A soft, eerie laugh that made my skin crawl. Then, his hands moved down into my underwear.

My entire body went on high alert. My gut was screaming at me to run. I, sleepily, shifted my body, moving his hands away. For context, I'm 5 feet 2 inches and weigh about 105 pounds. John is 5 feet 11 inches and easily 180 to 200 pounds. I was completely at his mercy. He repositioned me, moving me onto my side so that my head was resting on his stomach, a position we had never slept in before.

I felt his arms wrap around me, and suddenly, I was in a rear-facing chokehold, or what some people call a sleeper hold. My heart was racing, but I knew I had to stay calm. If he sensed my fear, I didn't know what he would do next. Then, I felt his heart start to race. That's when I knew. He was squeezing. The room started spinning, my vision blurred, and my leg twitched involuntarily.

I reached out and lightly ran my fingers over his arm, just a soft touch. That was all it took for him to snap. He leaped out of bed and shouted, slick bitch. I pretended to wake up groggy and asked, What are you doing? He was panicking. I could see it in his face. Just getting up to pee, he mumbled. It was 4 a.m. I was alone with him in my house, in the middle of nowhere. If he wanted to kill me, he could. No one would hear me scream. So I did what I had to do, I played along. I acted like I didn't know anything had happened.

I laid there until the sun came up, then quickly got up, made an excuse about having plans, and watched as he finally left. The moment he was gone, I drove straight to the police station to file a report. My head was pounding from the pressure he had put on my neck, but there were no visible marks. The cops didn't take me seriously. They dismissed it like it was nothing. So I did the only thing I could think of, I packed my car and left the state. I had $12 to my name, but I didn't care.

My life was in danger. Before leaving, I checked my car. That's when I found it. A tracker. He had put a tracking device on my car. That was last week. Since then, I haven't slept. Every time I close my eyes, I see it all over again.

My body jolts awake in panic, my heart racing like it's happening all over again. I barely get five minutes of sleep before the nightmares come. I wake up crying, gasping for air, convinced he's still there in the room with me. I don't know how to make it stop. I don't know how to feel safe again. How do you move on from something like this? That day in the rain, and everything after, I was around 24 years old when this whole mess started. Before diving into the chaos, let me set the scene a bit.

At that point in life, I was living back at home with my parents. Not exactly glamorous, I know, but mental health stuff had knocked me down for a bit, and home was the safest place to regroup. One thing I'd always leaned on was exercise. It helped take the edge off my anxiety and depression. I'd gotten used to taking long walks through the local park, and honestly, I could walk every trail. blindfolded, I've been doing it for years. My favorite was this loop trail, about three miles, give

or take. It did exactly what it sounds like, looped back around to where you started. That day, though, I was itching for a longer walk. Restless. The kind of restless where you don't care if it's raining buckets or if your shoes fill with mud, you just need to move. So, yeah, it was pouring. Like, windshield wipers on full blast kind of pouring. But I grabbed my raincoat, pulled up the hood, and headed to the park anyway. The rain was actually kind of calming at first. Nobody else was around. I could hear the water tapping on the leaves, splashing into puddles, and for a while, it felt like my own little world. Once I finished the main loop, I decided I wasn't done yet. I cut through a parking lot to reach another, lesser-use trail.

That's when I saw it, this rusty, battered old pickup truck sitting like a lump in the lot. I didn't think much of it at first. I mean, it was a public park. Trucks exist. But a voice in the back of my head went, really? Who else would be out here in this mess? As I got closer, that little voice grew a bit louder. The guy in the truck, he wasn't just chilling or staring out at the rain.

He was watching me. Not just watching, but locked on, laser-focused. His eyes didn't move from me as I walked past. I had to cross in front of the truck to get to the next trailhead, and when our eyes met, it was like I could hear him inside my head. Like his thoughts were echoing through me, I'm going to kill that girl. Now, I get anxiety attacks. Always have.

So naturally, I told myself I was spiraling. I repeated the usual calming mantras, breathing deep and trying to shake the image of that guy's stare from my head. He just looked at you, that's all. Don't be dramatic. It's probably nothing. But the trail I was on ran parallel to a road. The same road that led to the parking lot where my car was parked. GPS apps wouldn't show this second path, it was more of a local shortcut, one I knew because I'd walked these trails hundreds of times. That's when I noticed the truck creeping along the road, following me, slow and steady like a hunter who knows his prey doesn't see him yet. I picked up the pace but didn't run. Didn't want to make it obvious. As soon as I stepped into a section of trail that was hidden

from the road by trees, I heard it, the squeal of his brakes, sharp and sudden. He'd stopped. That was it. My gut took over. There was this bridge, a closed-off one that hadn't been maintained in years. Signs warned it was unsafe, barricades blocked it, but it still stood. I knew how to hop over and get across. Most people didn't use it anymore, but I had, dozens of times. So I climbed the barricade and crossed the bridge as quietly and quickly as I could. And when I looked down, there he was.

Hiding behind a tree, right next to the path I would have taken if I hadn't changed course. He had a plastic bag and a coil of rope in his hands. I froze. He hadn't seen me yet. But the second he looked up and caught sight of me standing above him on the bridge, his eyes went wide and he vanished into the trees like smoke. That was my cue, I bolted. Sprinting back toward my car, slipping and sliding on wet leaves, heart in my throat.

I got home shaking so hard I could barely get the keys in the door. My mom met me, took one look at me, and sat me down with some meds. I tried to explain what had happened, but she chalked it up to another anxiety spiral. Said I probably imagined the whole thing. That it was just my mind playing tricks on me again. Maybe she was right. That's what I told myself, until the next morning. I woke up to a local news alert about a woman in a different part of the city who'd been nearly kidnapped at another park.

She'd managed to call 911 just in time, and there'd been a standoff. The guy was shot and killed. The news described the man, and the truck. Same truck. Same man. And this guy? He was wanted for multiple kidnappings and murders. All women.

All parks. After that, everything changed. I still go walking in that park, but never alone. These days, I bring my dog with me, and I got my concealed carry permit too. I wish I could say that was the only creepy experience I've had. It wasn't. Let me rewind a bit, back to when I was a teenager. The town I grew up and was tiny, like one stoplight kind of small.

But we had a big highway running through it. One night, when I was in high school, I was walking over to my boyfriend's house. He didn't live far. just across town, but to get there, I had to pass by an interstate on ramp. The area had a couple gas stations and a diner, but that's it. From where I was walking, you could practically spit and hit the interstate. I decided to take a shortcut through a small, dark neighborhood. It looked quiet, decent even. Fancy houses, well-kept lawns, but it dead-ended at a field I planned to cut across. It was one of those sticky summer nights right after sunset, and I didn't realize how

exposed I was, lit up by the distant glow of headlights from the gas station plaza. Then I heard it, a car creeping up behind me. Real slow. I turned and saw an old Volkswagen Beetle. Back then, I didn't know who Ted Bundy was. His name hadn't hit the news in my area yet. All I saw was a guy in a small car rolling down his window and calling out. Hey there. Need a ride, no thanks, I said. Just out for a walk. I live close by, who you going to see, he asked, casual but weirdly intense.

It didn't sound friendly. It sounded like a cop who already knows the answer and is just checking your story. I gave him the name of a real friend who lived a block away. Oh, yeah. I live two houses down from them, he said. Why don't you hop in? I hesitated. Something felt off. My gut screamed, no. I took a step back. He crept the car forward.

It's dark out here, he said, voice turning almost, hypnotic. You really shouldn't be walking alone. Come on. Get in, there was something in his voice. Charm and Menace all wrapped together like poison in honey. I backed up again. Then he snapped. You better come the hell back here, that was it. I took off running toward the field.

I knew there was a fence he wouldn't be able to get his car over. I dove into the tall grass, hid there, trembling and trying not to breathe too loud. I watched the car turn around. Headlights swept over the area like searchlights. Then it sped off, hit the ramp, and disappeared north on the interstate. Years later, I read everything I could about Ted Bundy. I saw pictures. Heard his voice in old court recordings.

And I swear, to this day, it was him. Everything fit, the car, the voice, the fake kindness turning violent in a second. I thanked whatever guardian angel stopped me from getting into that car. If I had, I wouldn't be here writing this. And sadly, that wasn't my last brush with darkness. Not long after that incident with The Beetle, I moved out of my parents' place again. Thought I was grown, thought I was tough. Turns out, I was just broke and naive.

I ended up in a not-so-great neighborhood because it was all I could afford, tiny one-bedroom apartment on the second floor, overlooking a street that never slept. That night, that street transformed. Loud music, drunk people yelling, fights breaking out for no reason. It didn't take long before I realized I was surrounded by folks who were either hiding from something, running from something, or looking to cause trouble. I kept to myself, locked my door like it was Fort Knox, and minded my business. Then one night, around 3 a.m., I woke up to the softest tap, tap, tap at my window.

Now, remember, I lived on the second floor. My window didn't have a balcony or a fire escape. There was no way anyone could be up there. But there it was again, tap, tap, tap. I froze. My bed was directly across from the window, and I could see the curtains move slightly, like someone had brushed against them. I didn't get up.

I just laid there, holding my breath. And that's when I heard it, barely a whisper, but it made my blood run cold. Let me in. It was so quiet I could have believed I imagined it. But then the taps got louder, more urgent. Tap, tap, tap followed by let me in, just let me in. Screw that. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept next to my bed and stood up. I didn't throw the curtain open, I wasn't stupid. Instead, I called 911 with shaking fingers. The dispatcher told me to stay on the line and that an officer was on the way. Five minutes later, red and blue lights filled the room. I heard footsteps running, away. When the police arrived, they checked around the property

and found nothing. But one of them, a younger cop, did find something stuck in the tree just outside my window, a pair of climbing spikes. Whoever it was had scaled the damn tree to reach me. Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night. Hell, I bear it slept for the next month. I moved out two weeks later. Broke my lease, didn't care. Losing a security deposit was a small price to pay for peace of mind. I never found out who it was. Never got a name. But I know what I felt. And that whisper, it still haunts me sometimes. After that, I started noticing patterns. The way danger doesn't always announce itself. Sometimes it's subtle, creeping. And the worst part? Nobody believes you until it's too late. Fast forward

a couple years. I'd gotten a job in retail, doing overnight shifts. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills and I liked the quiet. One night, I was stocking shelves in the frozen food section, earbuds in, vibing to some 80s synth when I got that feeling, you know, the one where you just know someone's watching you. I turned around and saw a man standing perfectly still at the end of the aisle. He wasn't shopping. He wasn't holding a basket. Just standing there. Watching. I gave him a polite nod and went back to work. But when I peaked again a minute later, he hadn't moved. Same spot. Same stare. It was like he was waiting. Eventually, I left that aisle and to the backroom to grab more stock. I told a co-worker about the guy, and she said,

Oh, he's been here for hours. I thought he left already. That made my skin crawl. Who hangs around a grocery store for hours in the middle of the night? The manager ended up calling security, but when they checked the cameras, the guy had already vanished. But later, when I clocked out and headed to my car, I noticed a figure standing in the dark corner of the lot, who'd pulled up, same silhouette. I didn't wait. I ran straight back inside and called the cops again. They did a sweep. Nothing. But I know what I saw. That was the last time I worked a night shift alone. Then came the final straw. The moment that made me change my whole life. I'd just gotten out of a toxic relationship, one of those slow-burning ones where you

don't realize how bad it is until you're already halfway destroyed. He was charming at first, then possessive, then obsessive. When I left him, he didn't take it well. For months afterward, weird stuff started happening. My tires got slashed twice. I started getting hang-up calls at 2 a.m. One night, my front door, locked tight, was found wide open in the morning. Nothing was stolen. But it felt like someone had been inside. Like they just wanted me to know they could. I filed police reports. Got a restraining order.

Changed my number. Moved again. But one night, when I was walking my dog just before bed, I noticed something shiny under a bush outside my building. I pulled it out. It was a burner phone. Brand new. No apps.

Just one photo in the gallery. It was me. A sleep in my bed. Taken from inside my room. I still don't know how they got in. The locks weren't broken. Nothing was disturbed. I can only guess they were hiding, waiting for me to fall asleep.

I've since installed cameras, motion lights, alarms, everything short of hiring a security team. But I'll never sleep the same way again. These things change you. They make you hyper-aware. Your instincts sharpen. And maybe, just maybe, you start seeing things other people don't. Not because you're paranoid, but because you can't afford not to be. Now, I carry pepper spray, a flashlight, a knife, and a personal alarm.

I've taken self-defense classes. I know how to get out of zip ties. I know how to spot hidden cameras in air bumps. My friends joke that I'm paranoid, but I'm not. I'm prepared, because evil doesn't wear a mask. It doesn't look like the villain in the movies. It looks like a stranger smiling at you in the rain. It looks like a familiar car pulling up beside you.

It looks like your ex holding a bouquet at your front door. It whispers from the shadows and sometimes, it taps on your window at 3 a.m. I don't tell these stories for sympathy. I tell them because maybe, just maybe, someone will hear them and listen to that voice inside. The one that says, turn around. The one that says, don't get in that car. The one that says, run, because that voice. It's not paranoia.

It's survival. To be continued. Okay, so let me set the scene. It's, like, two in the morning, and I'm sorry. stuck at this sketchy-ass bus station with nothing but the buzz of fluorescent lights and the occasional shadow moving way too fast for comfort. I'm tired, I'm cold, and frankly, I'm just trying to stay alive and unbothered. That's when this dude shows up. Nothing about him screams danger, not some shady trench coat-wearing creep, just this bland, middle-aged guy who could easily blend

into a crowd and disappear just as fast. And if I'm being 100% real here, I was beyond exhausted. I wasn't thinking clearly. I wasn't looking for anything wild, definitely not sex, but just a warm, clean place to sit, maybe lay down, and regroup. That's it. I didn't answer him right away, probably looked unsure, and he was quick to assure me, said he wasn't going to try anything.

I should probably add that I was only twilight. at the time, around 5 feet 6 inches, and barely 100 pounds soaking wet. Not exactly a heavyweight in a fistfight. And this bus station? Not the safest for a small girl to be chilling alone at 2 a.m. So, against my better judgment, and let me emphasize, it was very much against it, I said, sure. We got in his car and drove out of the city.

I still have no clue what direction we took. He lived somewhere about 30 minutes outside town, not in the middle of the woods exactly, but the area was heavy with trees. I mean, dark trees. Creepy, silence hugging, swallow you whole kind of woods. On the way there, he started acting, off. Not full-blown psycho, but enough to make me clutch my invisible pearls. He casually mentioned that someone super important, either the police chief or the chief's son,

lived in his cul-de-sac and had helped him out of a few predicaments. Vague, weird, and totally unnecessary. When we finally pulled into his driveway, I was shook. I had been expecting some run-down shack or, like, a one-bedroom dive with moths in the light fixtures. But no. This house was basically a mansion. Huge, like something you see in movies with too many candles and not enough furniture. He told me the place used to belong to his mom, who had passed away recently.

Which, okay, sad. But still, how was this guy, driving a beat-up old car, dressed like a thrift store reject, apparently spending his life haunting a Dunkin' Donuts, living in this massive, expensive house? Inside, things got even weirder. Like, weird weird. The place was covered, and I mean covered, in knick-knacks and dust. every surface shelves tables counters hell even the tv had these porcelain angels and cheap dollar store figurines perched on top the kitchen i caught a glimpse and almost gagged even the sink was full of junk it looked like no one had used it in years i asked to use the bathroom mostly so i could go get high and figure out my next move honestly i was getting serious creep vibes by then I just needed to clear my head.

After doing my thing, I went back to the living room, the only room I felt semi-safe in. I didn't want to wander further into that house. Hell no. So I scoped the place out, tried to check the front doors lock, mentally rehearsed an escape plan, and prayed I wouldn't need it. Then Mr. Beige personality shows up with a glass of water and, a handful of pills. Uh, what? I asked him what the pills were for. To sleep, he said, smiling like this was all completely normal. It was 3 a.m. at that point, and I had to be back at the bus station by 6.

There was no way I had time to sleep, even if I wanted to. So I told him no, not a good idea. But he kept insisting. Really insistent. And we were still in the middle of nowhere, in December, freezing outside. So I laughed it off, took two pills from his hand, popped them in my mouth, and sipped the water. But don't worry, I didn't swallow. I spat them into the couch the second he turned around to get me more water. I figured playing along was smarter than openly refusing. Gotta stay ahead, you know. He came back, and we kept chatting, small talk, harmless stuff. Baltimore, local politics, music.

I kept it light. Then he steered the conversation in a new, alarming direction. He started asking about drugs, specifically, the kinds that could knock someone out. How much would it take to sedate someone small like you, he asked. I swear my soul left my body for a second. I had to act cool. Pretend this was all normal chit-chat. Like, ha, oh yeah, Ruffies, am I right?

But inside I was screaming. I figured if I acted like I wasn't freaked out, maybe he wouldn't get weird. He kept trying to get behind me too. At one point, he did and started giving me this awful shoulder rub. I told him I hated massages and needed to use the bathroom again. When I came back, I made sure to sit on a couch that was backed up against a wall. Ain't nobody sneaking up on me this time. Now I started eyeing the room for a phone.

My cell had died shortly after I called him to come get me, so I was out of luck. I didn't want to ask about a phone and let him know I had no way of contacting anyone. That was information he didn't need. He kept pacing the room, sitting, standing, pacing again. Then he started talking about his mom. Said she died of a stroke or heart attack, how she collected all these knickknacks. He mentioned wanting to renovate the house but didn't have the heart. Then, out of nowhere, he goes, I want to show you something upstairs, y'all.

Why I didn't run out of their screaming, I have no idea. I guess I was still holding out hope that he was just weird and not dangerous. Maybe just lonely and awkward. So, yeah. Another horror movie cliche. Creepy dude obsessed with his dead mom, living in a dusty shrine of a house. The kitchen table still had her glass sitting there. Not kidding.

I followed him upstairs. He clearly wanted me to go up the stairs first. Nope. I waited for him to go first. We get to the top, he opens the first door on the left, and walks in. I half expected to see a corpse in the bed. But it was just another dust-covered room full of random crap. The bed was made, Comforter looked like it hadn't been washed since night.

He gestured for me to sit. I did. He sat beside me and started talking about his mom again. Then he looks at me and says, you're so adorable. You remind me of a little girl, nope. I tried to steer the conversation back to safe territory, but he walked to the wall, started talking again about drugs, about sedating someone. How would you keep a child unconscious for a long time? I tried to play dumb. Told him I wasn't a chemist, just someone who got high. Then he says, I want to show you something. I tried to dodge, said I needed the bathroom, but he insisted. He pushed on a panel in the wall and it opened up, revealing a hidden room. He said he'd been working on it for years, that it was just big enough for a small woman or child. Inside were loops. Restraints. I knew what this was. I

I stayed calm, said I had to use the bathroom again. Walked slowly downstairs, pretending to call someone on my phone. It wasn't even turning on, but he didn't know that. I fake talked loudly. Hey, Tom. Yeah, remember that guy we met at Duncan? Yeah, he came to get me. We're at his place.

Leaving soon, Mr. Gray came down the stairs as I was chatting, and I could see something shift in his face. Like a spoiled kid being told no for the first time. But more twisted. Like he was calculating. I zipped up my coat, still babbling about how Tom remembered him, told me to say hi. I wanted him to think I didn't suspect anything. That I wasn't a threat.

And, importantly, that someone knew who he was. He drove me back to the bus station, pissed off the whole ride. And yeah, I'm pretty damn sure I was in a house with a serial killer that night. Or at least someone who wanted to be one. I wrote down his license plate and gave it to a cop friend of mine. A year later, there were reports of missing kids in that same area. My friend called and asked if I still had Mr. Gray's info. I didn't.

I don't think he wrote it down either. I went back to that same Dunkin' Donuts. asked the owner if the guy still came around. He said the man used to be there every morning for years, then one day, he just, stopped showing up. You know what's across from that Duncan? A school bus stop. For an elementary school.

There's always a reason to be afraid. The end. So, here's the full update on what happened with my fiancé, and yeah, it's been one hell of a roller coaster. A few hours ago, we finally met up at this small park near our house. You know, the usual one where we'd sit on the bench with iced coffees and talk about nothing for hours. Only this time, the air felt heavier.

Like even the trees were holding their breath. I didn't even know how to start the conversation. Like, what do you say after something like that? I was full of guilt, nerves, sadness, and this weird kind of hope that maybe, Just maybe, he'd still want to be with me. Anyway, he spoke first. He looked at me and said straight up that he had actually planned to press charges. Like, he was ready to go to the police, get the whole legal thing going, sue me for what I did

that night. And let me tell you, hearing that shook me to my core. But then he said that his parents talked him out of it. Apparently, they convinced him that doing that would ruin my criminal record, mess up my entire career and basically destroy my life. They reminded him that I'd worked so hard to get where I am and that this wasn't like me. And you know what? They were right. He said, even now, he still loves me. That part made me cry. I tried to keep it together, but I couldn't. Just hearing that he still loves me after what I did. But then came the punch to the gut,

the wedding's off. Like officially cancelled. No more planning, no more dress fittings, no more Pinterest boards or thinking about what song we dance to. And he told me he's not sure if he even wants to stay with me. He said what happened that night scared him more than anything else in our entire relationship. I lost control. I let anger take over. I didn't talk, I didn't breathe, I just exploded.

I threw stuff. I screamed. I turned into someone else. He's worried it could happen again. He's afraid. And so he said he can't live with me anymore. At least not for now. Until he figures things out, he's staying at his parents' house.

I mean, I get it. I don't like it, but I get it. The entire time he was telling me this, I was sobbing. Like full-on ugly crying. Because deep down, I know I can't blame. him. If the roles were reversed, I'd be scared too. I'd probably run too. So I told him exactly that. I told him I'm ashamed. I told him I'm sorry in a way that words probably don't even begin to cover. I told him that I've never done anything like that in my

life. I'm not a violent person. I've never been one to lash out. I'm the talk things through person. I don't drink much, I don't get angry like that, and I've never hurt someone before. Ever. But that night, something snapped. It was like all the anger and pain I'd buried deep inside erupted. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I didn't know how. And it wasn't just the drinking. Yeah, I was drunk, like really drunk, but it wasn't just that. It was the thought of him cheating on me. The idea alone shattered me. He's the love of my life. The one person who's always made me feel safe, special, seen. And just imagining him betraying that, it broke me. I couldn't take it. I lost it. Now we're here. Everything's changed. We're not living together.

The wedding is no longer a thing. And he's taking time to think about whether. or not he still wants me in his life. That's where things stand. And you know what? As much as it kills me to say it, I respect that. I do. He's doing what he thinks is right, and I get it. I really do. Of course, I'm praying with every fiber of my being that he doesn't leave me. That he gives me another chance. But if he decides not to, I'll accept that. Because like we always used to say, everyone's responsible for their own actions. And I am. I did what I did.

And now I have to face the consequences. I want to make one thing super clear, I'm not a violent girl. I never have been. I don't get drunk often. In fact, I barely drink at all. A glass of wine with dinner once or twice a month, tops. That night was a weird exception. It was maybe the third time I was.

I'd been actually drunk in my whole life. And unfortunately, it brought out this side of me I didn't even know existed. Even my closest friends were shocked. Like, they were absolutely speechless when they heard what happened. I've known them for over 20 years, and they said they've never seen me act aggressive or lose my cool like that. They couldn't believe it. Honestly, neither could I.

I've always been the calm one. The reasonable one. The one who listens before she speaks. I don't pick fights. I solve problems with words, not with flying objects. So this whole thing has made me realize I need to understand myself better. I need to figure out why I reacted the way I did. That's why I've decided to go to therapy.

Talk to a psychologist. Dig deep and try to get to the root of what happened that night. And yeah, I got mad at the friend who sent me that photo. The one that triggered all this. But to be fair, she had no idea it was his sister. She'd never met her before. It was an honest mistake. A terrible one, but still a mistake.

I even tried talking to his sister after the whole thing, but she wasn't having it. She straight up called me a crazy bitch and blocked me. Won't answer my calls or texts. I don't even blame her. That night, I didn't even remember where my house was. That's how gone I was. My best friend had to bring me home, and she said I didn't recognize anything. So how could I have even known who I was looking at in that photo?

But none of that really matters now. What matters is that I hurt the person I love most in this world. And now I have to fix it. We're not officially broken up. At least not yet. he told me he needs a few days to really think things through and when he makes a decision I'll respect it even if it breaks me all over again the worst part of all this it's not just the shame the guilt or the heartbreak it's the uncertainty the not knowing waking up each

morning hoping for a message that doesn't come falling asleep wondering if I'll ever hold him again. That kind of pain just lingers. It sticks to your bones. But I'm not going to pretend like I'm the victim here. I'm not. I messed up. Bad. And now, all I can do is own it and try to become better. Not just for him, but for myself. Because whoever that person was that night, that wasn't me. And I never want to see her again. Maybe this whole thing is a wake up call. Maybe it's the universe yelling at me to finally deal with my emotions in a healthier way. Maybe it's time to stop pushing things down and start facing them head on. I don't know. What I do know is that I love him. More than I've ever loved anyone. And if I ever get the chance to show him

that again, I'll do it right this time. For now, all I can do is wait, reflect, heal, and pray. That's where things stand. The end, for now. Lena had never been one for uproarious laughter at the sight of a staged spectacle. A quiet observer with thoughtful hazel eyes and a reserve nature, she had, over the years, caught fleeting glimpses of Dante Cole's performances on television and online. Dante Cole was a famous comedian whose rapid-fire jokes, irreverent wit, and unapologetic humor had earned him legions of fans, but Lena's taste was

far more discerning. While others celebrated his bombastic style and outlandish antics, Lena found his humor to be too abrasive and his punchlines too shallow. In her world, subtlety, irony, and the gentle twist of a well-crafted quip were far more appealing than the loud, self-aggrandizing style that Dante embodied. Her friends, however, were unwavering in their enthusiasm. Come on, Lena, they'd insist with cheerful urgency, just give him another chance. You might be surprised. They recalled the times when, despite her initial skepticism, Dante's charisma had made them laugh until tears streamed down their cheeks.

So it was on a cool Friday evening in early autumn that Lena, reluctantly leaving behind her quiet night at home, joined her friends for what they promised would be an unforgettable live show. The venue was an intimate theater downtown, with warm amber lights and a stage framed by deep red curtains. Lina's heart pounded in her chest as they found their seats in the front row, a place that would soon transform her quiet outlook on live comedy into a maelstrom of emotions. Even before Dante stepped on stage, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. The murmur of the crowd, the clinking of glasses from the lobby, and the collective energy

of the audience formed a background hum that Lena couldn't quite ignore. When the lights dimmed and a solitary spotlight swept across the stage, Dante Cole emerged with a flourish. His presence was electrifying, he exuded confidence, and his smirking eyes darted playfully at the crowd. As he launched into his routine, his rapid jokes, delivered with a hint of sarcasm and bravado, rippled through the audience. Laughter and applause erupted from many, but as Dante scanned the room, he noticed something peculiar, right in the front row sad Lena, whose face remained mostly impassive. For Lena, the jokes fell flat.

She had seen enough of his performances to know what to expect, one minute of overblown confidence, the next a barrage of clichés and crude puns. Her mind wandered to her own ideas of comedy, a far cry from Dante's punchy one-liners. Yet, as the minutes passed and Dante's performance intensified, it became impossible for him to ignore the front row reaction. Between jokes and jabs, Dante's charismatic gaze fixed on Lena. Hey there, he bellowed with a mischievous grin. I see someone saving their applause for the encore.

What's the matter? Don't you like a little laughter tonight? His tone was playful, but the underlying challenge was unmistakable. Lena's cheeks warmed instantly as a flush of embarrassment spread across her face. The audience, caught in the moment of his direct address, erupted into giggles and cheers, while Lena's friends exchanged knowing glances. Look, it's not that I don't appreciate humor, she thought, her inner voice rising in protest, but not all jokes hit the mark for everyone. Yet here, under the blazing stage light and the collective scrutiny of an expectant crowd,

her private disdain was laid bare. Dante continued his routine, seamlessly weaving a string of rapid, fire jokes, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Every so often, he'd glance in Lena's direction, as if daring her to challenge the narrative he had so confidently constructed. When the show ended, a thunderous applause filled the theater. The performance, though leaving Lena with mixed emotions, had been undeniably successful in its effect on the crowd. After the curtains had fallen and the stage was darkened, Dante's night was far from over. Backstage and then later at a nearby bar, Dante Cole, flanked by his close group of friends and his ever-present

manager, settled into an exclusive booth. The atmosphere was relaxed compared to the electric intensity of the stage, but as laughter and stories filled the air, the subject of the evening kept returning, Lena, the girl in the front row who hadn't laughed as expected. Did you see her face? Dante snorted, shaking his head in disbelief as he recounted the incident. I mean, How often do you see someone sitting there like a statue when the jokes are flying? His tone was half mocking, half amused. His manager, a shrewd but loyal figure named Marcus, sipped his drink with a knowing smile. Maybe she's just not your type of audience, he suggested lightly, prompting a chorus of agreeing

chuckles from the others. As the night wore on and the drinks flowed, Dante's humor took on a darker edge. He began to crack mean-spirited jokes about Lena, jokes that weren't intended for the stage, but for the intimate circle of his friends. Imagine her at home, brooding over every one of my lines, he quipped, and his friends roared with laughter. In that dim, alcohol-fueled haze, Dante allowed himself to revel in the power he wielded over his audience, even if it meant belittling a single, unresponsive spectator. unbeknownst to him, Lena and her friends had also chosen the same bar for a post-show drink.

The coincidence was not lost on fate, and as the evening unfolded, paths would soon cross in an unexpected manner. Lena, still recovering from the sting of humiliation and the echo of cruel jokes, excused herself to the washroom. It was there, in the quiet clatter of running water and the distant murmur of conversation, that she caught fragments of laughter and biting remarks. As she stepped out, the chill of realization and anger gripped her heart, she had heard every disparaging word Dante had shared about her. Determination set in like ice in her veins. With a measured, yet resolute stride, she approached the area where Dante and his entourage were gathered. The air, heavy with the remnants of drunken mirth, suddenly shifted as Lena confronted the man whose jokes had become the target of ridicule. Dante Cole, she said,

her voice trembling between anger and hurt, I heard what you said about me. Why would you do that? The bar fell into a sudden, tense silence. Dante's eyes widened in shock as he saw the unmistakable glint of indignation in Lena's eyes. Hey, I, I didn't mean to, he began, stumbling over his words as his bravado evaporated in the face of her raw emotion. But Lena was not there for apologies, she demanded an explanation. You made a joke at my expense, as if my lack of laughter was something to mock, she accused, her voice firmed despite the tremor of betrayal. Do you even understand how that felt?

To be reduced to nothing more than a punchline for your amusement, Dante's face darkened, his playful expression replaced by a troubled frown. The weight of his careless words now pressed heavily on him. It was just a bit of fun, he tried to defend himself, but his tone lacked conviction. The show is meant to be entertaining, and sometimes you have to push boundaries. I never intended to hurt you personally. But you did, Lena snapped, her eyes flashing as memories of humiliation in the spotlight and the bar's cruel laughter flared in her mind. I was made a spectacle in front of hundreds of people.

And then to hear you laugh about it behind closed doors, it's unforgivable. Their voices grew louder, drawing curious glances from other bar patrons. The confrontation escalated into a heated discussion, the kind that left no party entirely enscathed. Dante's friends tried to intervene with murmurs of apology and attempts to diffuse the tension, but the collision of wounded pride and anger was too fierce. In the end, Lena, tears mingling with indignation, stormed out of the bar into the cool night, leaving Dante standing there, regret and helplessness etched onto his face.

The following days were a blur of remorse and introspection for Dante. In the solitude of his dressing-room and the quiet corners of his favorite haunts, he replayed the confrontation repeatedly. I didn't realize I'd gone so far, he muttered to himself, troubled by the realization that his jokes, meant to entertain, had caused genuine pain. His friends offered half-hearted reassurances, and his manager, ever the pragmatist, warned him that such incidents could tarnish his public image. But for Dante, the matter was deeply personal now. He wondered about Lena, who was she to evoke such a fierce reaction, and had he really known her at all? Lena, too, found herself caught in the vortex of conflicting emotions.

The humiliation of being thrust into an unwanted spotlight and then subjected to cruel mockery had left scars that were not easily healed. Yet beneath the surface of anger and hurt lay a quiet resilience. Over time, as the rawness of that night softened, Lena began to reflect on her own conceived notions about comedy and public personas. She realized that her distaste for Dante's humor was intertwined with her expectations of respect and empathy, qualities that, ironically, she longed to see even in the realm of entertainment. When I think back to the neighborhood we lived in during my middle school days, I always get this weird mix of nostalgia and,

thank God we made it out. The apartment complex wasn't some lawless nightmare, but it definitely wasn't a place you brag about either. At first, things were all right, no gunshots at night, no break-ins, at least that we knew of, and the worst we'd seen was some graffiti and sketchy teenagers loitering by the dumpsters. But over time, the place started to rot a bit. You could feel it. The way neighbors talked less, locked doors more. The way parents stopped letting their kids play outside past five. It wasn't sudden, it was like watching milk expire slowly. You don't notice the exact day it goes sour, but one morning you wake up and can't ignore the stench. We got out just in time, before it really went downhill. But not before one night, or rather, one early

morning, etched itself so deep into my brain that even now, years later, I can still picture it in uncomfortable detail. It was summer break, the golden era for kids like me who thrived on late nights and poor sleep decisions. I had no responsibilities, no school, and just enough parental neglect to let me do whatever I wanted with my nights. That meant gaming. All night. I was probably about 12 or 13, definitely too young to be pulling all-nighters, but also old enough to know how to sneak one in without getting caught. I can't tell you exactly what I was playing that night, memories fuzzy on that detail, but it was definitely on my trusty PlayStation 2. That console was my ride or die. It could have been

twisted metal, black, maybe some Silent Hill 2, or something equally pixelated and chaotic. Whatever it was, I was deep into it, probably an hour six of a junk food-fueled grind session when I heard something strange from outside. It started as a muffled argument. I remember pausing the game and listening for a second. You know how it is, when you live in live in an apartment complex, random yelling isn't exactly breaking news. Could have been a couple fighting. Could have been someone mad that their pizza order was wrong. At first, I ignored it.

Figured it was none of my business and went back to the game. But the noise didn't stop. If anything, it ramped up. Something felt off. Eventually, Curiosity 1. I crept over to the window in the front room. From our second floor unit, I had a pretty decent view of the parking lot and the sidewalk in front of the downstairs apartments. It was still early, sun wasn't quite up, but the sky had that bluish, pre-dawn glow, just enough light to make out blurry outlines.

And that's when I saw them. Two figures. One I recognized immediately, it was a guy who lived in the unit right below ours. Let's call him Adam. I didn't know him well. He was one of those neighbors you occasionally nod to in passing but never actually talk to. The other guy. Total stranger.

No idea who he was, but something about his body language set off alarms in my brain. He wasn't arguing. He wasn't yelling. He was attacking. At first, I thought the guy was just throwing punches. His arm was swinging in that motion, like a boxer going to town. But the sound, it didn't sound like punches. Not like in the movies, not even like a real-life fistfight.

It was this horrible, wet, smacking sound. Like someone slapping raw meat with a wet towel. Repeatedly. Adam staggered back. Then he dropped. And just like that, the other guy took off. Gone. Disappeared into the darkness like a shadow.

I just stood there, frozen, not fully processing what I had just seen. It wasn't until some of the other downstairs neighbors came running out that the full horror of the situation clicked into place. They surrounded Adam, who was on the ground now, bleeding, a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean it looked like someone had poured a bucket of red paint onto the pavement. One of the neighbors, a guy probably in high school, let's call him Bill, ran back inside and came out with towels. Not one or two. All of them. Like he emptied the entire linen closet in a

panic. I watched as they started pressing the towels to Adam's chest, his arms, anywhere they could see blood coming from. At first, I thought he had just been beaten really badly. Then someone said the word stabbing. That's when it hit me, those weren't punches. That awful slapping noise. That was a knife going in and out. Again and again. Easily 20 times. Maybe more. I didn't count, and honestly, I couldn't if I tried.

It all happened so fast, like some horrible fever dream. I watched as Bill tried to keep Adam awake. He was fading fast. I heard him say something like, I don't feel so good. I think I'm going to take a nap. And Bill just kept shaking him, kept yelling at him to stay with him. It was like something out of a war movie. Eventually, the sirens came.

Red and blue lights flashed through the window. Paramedics rushed in and did their thing, loading Adam up and taking him away. I didn't sleep after that. I don't think I even moved. I just sat there, controller in my lap, staring out the window. And here's the wild part, Adam survived. Yep

Dude got stabbed somewhere around 20 freaking times and he pulled through About a week later I saw him sitting on his porch talking to someone But he wasn't the same I mean, how could he be His face had been sliced up

His arms were bandaged He looked like someone who had crawled out of hell with the devil's claw mark still on his skin I remember thinking he looked like a war veteran Hollow-eyed, tense, constantly scanning the area like he was expecting something, or someone, to jump out at him. Eventually, I found out more. Word spread around the complex about who the attacker was. His name, and I swear I'm not making this up, was Lucky.

Yeah. Let that sink in for a second. Lucky was apparently this local drifter, some said he was homeless, others said he had a place but was mentally unstable. Either way, the guy was known around the area as a bit of a wandering shadow. No one really knew what set him off, or why he targeted Adam specifically. Some folks said he had schizophrenia, others thought he was just a violent dude waiting to explode. Regardless, he vanished after the attack. I don't know if he was ever caught or if he just drifted away to some other town.

But the story doesn't end there. Nope. It gets weirder. A few months after we moved out, I heard something from someone who still lived there. Apparently, Adam, the victim, the guy who got shanked nearly to death, wasn't exactly the innocent neighbor everyone thought he was. Turns out, the dude was a registered sex offender. Yeah. Apparently, he had been caught with some truly disgusting charges involving minors. And the kicker. He somehow managed to keep that little detail off the apartment's radar. Either he lied on the paperwork, or the management didn't care enough to check.

Total coin flip. So now the question becomes, was lucky just a crazy dude having a psychotic break? Or was he something else? Some kind of twisted vigilante. A knife-wielding instrument of karma sent to exact bloody justice. I mean, who knows? One second you're playing PlayStation at 6 a.m., and the next you're watching your neighbor get stabbed 20 times by a guy named Lucky, only to find out later that the victim was a predator who probably

had it coming. The whole thing still messes with my head. You grow up thinking there's a clear line between good guys and bad guys. But that night? That event? It just blurred everything. The guy I felt bad for turned out to be a monster. The guy who could committed the crime might have been a lunatic, or maybe he was just the only person in the neighborhood who saw the evil and decided to do something about it. Violent? Yeah. Insane.

Absolutely. Justified? That's the part one still can't answer. I've talked about it with friends over the years, always with that, you're not going to believe this, tone. And they never do. Because how do you explain that? How do you explain watching someone get nearly murdered, only to learn later that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't such a tragedy after all?

I don't tell this story often. It's not exactly dinner conversation material. But sometimes, when I'm scrolling through the news and see some headline about another predator slipping through the cracks, I think of Adam. I think of the towels soaked in blood. I think of that wet slapping sound. I think of Bill shouting, trying to keep him awake. And I think of Lucky, wherever he is now. Maybe he's rotting in jail.

Maybe he's still wandering, waiting for the next, Adam, to show up. Or maybe he was never real at all, just a shadowy ghost of vengeance. Either way, I'm not the same kid who stayed up all night gaming. That night changed something in me. Maybe it was the realization that monsters don't always look like monsters, and sometimes, angels have knives. The end. I made his favorite dinner and a cake for his birthday, got his favorite bottle of wine, gave him a hot oil massage, and spa pampered him in the shower.

I wrapped him up in a new terry cloth robe I bought him that he wanted and laid out a brand new shirt and slacks that he has said he wanted, put on a dress I know he likes, heels, pull my hair back, and I went downstairs to set up to serve the dinner it took me three hours to make and poured him a glass of wine. He has at this point said maybe three sentences since he got home from work, but I figured he was just unwinding. He came downstairs in a holy pair of sweatpants and a stained white t-shirt. I was a little taken aback, but figured he just wanted to be comfortable and it's his night so no problem. He sits down a downstairs the whole glass of wine in one drink and looks at the bottle until I grab it and pour him

another glass which he downs just as quickly and looks at the bottle again until I poured a third glass which he at least let it sit there so I could serve dinner. I serve him first and he digs right in still silent other than the noise of his utensils hitting the plate. I serve myself and ask him how his day was and he responds with fine, not even looking up as he says it. I'm thinking at this point he is upset about something or I did something that he was pissed about so I ask if he is okay or if I can get him something, if something is missing from the dinner and he says, I'm fine. I don't want anything and kills his third glass of wine. The rest of the meal proceeds in this kind of tense silence and he keeps throwing back the wine, killing the entire

bottle before I even serve desert. I know he hates it when people sing happy birthday so I cut him a slice of his favorite cake I had made from scratch and put a candle on it and light it. I carry it over and set it in front of him and smiling said, birthday, I hope you like your cake. Love you and make a wish. He blows out his candle and silently starts eating his piece of cake. I awkwardly get a slice for myself and sit down. I'm still wondering what the hell is wrong and he finally speaks. It was really great having your sister here last night. She looked great. We had my sister and her new boyfriend over the night before for a game night and I was just relieved that he was at least speaking and

didn't sound upset and I said, yeah, I really think she really likes this new guy, she seemed so happy with him. It was almost like she was glowing. I looked up at him expecting the conversation to continue and he just stared back at me, almost as if he hadn't said anything at all. He gets up from the table and goes to the kitchen and pulls out his bottle of crown and pours himself a rather large drink and quickly downs it. I clear the table wondering how drunk he is already and how much more he was planning on drinking. I pack up the left and start rinsing the dishes we had used and he pours himself another drink and says she always has the worst taste in men, seems like she doesn't know her worth and picks guys

who are not in her league. Well, hopefully she stays with this one, he's successful, has his own contracting company that's pretty decent sized, has his own home that she says is lovely, and he's an absolute sweetheart to her. I agree she's picked some bad guys before but I don't think that's the case here. I dried my hands off and turned to look at him smiling in tell him to go sit at the table and I'll go get his big birthday gift and head for the front closet where I have it hid, grab the small box, and head back for the dining room and hand it to him. He quickly opens the present and for the first time since he came home he smiled looking at it. He had been saying for months that he needed a nice watch to go with his suits

when he needs to wear them and I had saved up and got him a nice movado watch that I saw him looking at on his phone. He pulled it from the box and put it on and said, thank you for the first time all night still smiling. I let out the breath I had been holding and relaxed. I leaned over and kissed him and said, I'm going to go upstairs and get your last surprise on, come on up in about five minutes. And kissed him again and went upstairs. He would always tell me how much he liked me in lingerie and that he wished I would wear it more so I had bought a new teddy and garter set because that's what he liked best. I turned on some music and laid across the bed, waiting for him to come into our bedroom.

He walks in a minute later, looks at me on the bed, doesn't say anything, doesn't smile, and turns off the light which was odd because when I did wear lingerie, he always left the lights on because he liked seeing me in it. He comes over and quickly strips the lingerie off of me and takes off his clothes and just starts in, no foreplay, nothing. He's on top and I can smell the alcohol so strongly on his breath I have to turn my head and he says something that I didn't really hear and keeps going. He is no pounding into me almost painfully and he lifts up onto his arms and I can see his eyes are closed which was again something odd. He looks like he is getting ready to come already and he moans loudly and shouts my sister's name. I tossed him off of me and jumped out of the bed, grabbing whatever clothes I could find and

ran out of the room. My entire body shaking with rage and disgust. I flew into the hallway bathroom and stripped, turning the shower as hot as I could stand it and scrubbed my skin until it was raw to make sure I got every bit of his scent off of me, still shaking. I got dressed again and pounded down the hall to our bedroom and saw him just sitting on the edge of the bed looking embarrassed. The second I saw him I knew he had just killed every bit of love I had felt for him. I grabbed a pillow in some blankets from the linen closet, not wanting the pillow I usually slept with because it might smell like him and slept down

on the couch. When I was putting my bed together, I noticed he had put the watch I had got him back in the box. I grabbed it and hid it in the closet again. The next morning I got some clothes from my room, careful not to wake him, got dressed, grabbed the watch, and headed out. I returned the watch and headed to my sister's house so I could use her computer. I told her that my husband and I had a fight to end all fights and I was done. I went directly to my county website and e-filed my petition for legal separation and all of the other petitioner's paper and paid the $210 fee from the money I had put on my card for returning the watch, printed out his copies, and headed home. He was in the living room when I came home and I walked

up to him and handed him his copy of the petition and the other papers he needed to fill out with the receipt right on top. He looked up at me and said, really? You're really going to take one mistake this far. I just looked at him and said, calling out my sister's name. while we were making love was just the biggest mistake and drilled that final nail in. You treated me with disrespect and disdain throughout the dinner and brought up my sister as pretty much the only time you spoke and that was to say she looked good. I thought you meant what I did, that she looked happy but given the rest of the night I think that's pretty apparent you be being weird about her well before we were in our bedroom.

I don't think you could have done a better job of killing my love for you if you beat the shit out of me. You should be happy I'm ending it because my first impulse was to make you miserable for hurting me the way you did. This is my house, my furniture, and pretty much everything but your clothes and a few things were all mine before we got together and I'm really glad I listened to my dad and didn't put you on the house right away. To wait about 10 years and hell we didn't make it to 5. Go pack a bag and go stay with your parents. We'll arrange a time this weekend when you can get the rest of your stuff, he went upstairs and I grabbed his keys off the table by the front door and removed my house and car keys from his curing. I called my brother who lived about a

mile away and asked him to come over and make sure he left without causing any trouble. My brother was there again with my dad when he got the rest that weekend and I didn't see him again until we signed the final divorce agreement and submitted it. I honestly thought that there was nothing that could have so quickly and so completely kill my love for that man, but he proved me wrong and now I feel like a complete fool that I ever could have loved him. I never knew just how bad our relationship was until I was out but that final night really hit most of the markers of what was wrong in our marriage, drinking, he spent more nights of our relationship drunk than sober moodiness, sullen or angry at the drop of a hat making everyone walk on eggshells

around him. Expectations, everyone had to go all out to celebrate him including expensive gifts and if even one small thing is not perfect the whole day is ruined, but he would rarely put forth any effort for anyone else or even buy a gift, let alone an expensive one. Seeing this is what honestly made me stop accepting the bare minimum in my relationships and as a result I have a guy now who treats me with the same love and respect I treat him with and I've never been happier. It all started last week, on a quiet evening, when I was scrolling through my phone. My storage was full, so I began the tedious task of deleting old photos.

But then, something caught my eye. A photo album titled, Sleep Well, one I didn't remember creating, appeared on the screen. The creation date was from the night before, just hours earlier. A cold shiver ran down my spine as I opened it. Inside was a picture of me, taken while I slept, vulnerable, unaware. The angle of the shot was disturbingly specific, as if the photographer had been hiding just out of view, their presence felt only in the eerie stillness of the moment. The most disturbing detail. The picture was taken from inside my closet that I live alone.

My heart dropped. I could feel the color draining from my face as a heavy pressure squeezed my chest. I was being watched. My eyes instantly darted toward the closet. As I trembled in fear, I wondered. was someone inside it. I don't know. I was too scared to look. In a panic, I immediately grabbed my car keys from beside the bed, rushed to the front door, and drove straight to the police. I arrived at the police station, feeling a strange sense of relief just for making it there.

I told them everything that happened and showed the picture. The officers listened, then agreed to send someone to search my house. They searched every inch, closets, drawers, windows, nothing. No signs of break-ins, no clues that anyone had been there. The police told me to change my locks, install security cameras, and keep in touch in case something else happened. But it didn't feel like enough. I was terrified.

The idea of someone watching me, of someone being inside my closet, haunted me. That night, I opened the closet fully, convinced that if I could see inside, I could rid myself of the fear. But something felt off. I could still feel the presence, like someone was right there, just beyond my sight. The weight of paranoia suffocated me. Unable to sleep, I went to the kitchen to make something to eat. I called my friend Melissa and told her what happened, with my voice shaking. I made myself some popcorn and went back upstairs to my room. Still talking to her, trying to sound calm, I noticed something, wrong. I stopped mid-sentence.

My breath hitched. The closet door that I had left wide open was now closed. But not fully. There was a slight gap, a narrow sliver, just enough for me to know that someone or something was inside. I couldn't see who, or what, but I could feel it. The pressure of being watched. My eyes locked on the gap, heart hammering in my chest.

Then I saw it. A single wide eye staring back at me from the darkness. My voice trembled as I spoke. Hello. Are you still there? Melissa asked, confused by my sudden silence. I couldn't answer. My body was frozen.

Someone was inside the closet. I was sure of it. I slowly pulled my bare. bedroom door shut, my hands shaking as I gripped the doorknob. I locked it. Then, with my heart racing, I ran outside and called the police as I stood in my yard, too terrified to go back in. When the officer arrived, I rushed to explain.

I locked them in my room, I swear. They're in the closet. They were watching me, the officers moved quickly, their hands steady, trained. They entered my room, opened the closet door, and nothing. No one. The closet was empty. There was nowhere for anyone to hide. The room was on the second floor, with windows secured by metal bars.

No exit, no secret passage. The officer returned to me, his face tight with frustration, his politeness wearing thin. Ma'am. I know you're scared, but you can't call us every time you forget you closed your closet door. Be sure to only call us when you're certain it's an emergency. I suggest you sleep somewhere else until you've recovered from this panic. What? Are you sure you searched everything? They must have escaped, I said, my voice trembling with remorse and disbelief. I felt the walls closing in. How could they have missed something? How could they not see it? As I said, the house is

empty, the officer replied, his tone cold and dismissive. I felt my frustration growing. This wasn't right. There was someone there. I couldn't shake the feeling, the cold certainty gnawing at me. No, no. You have to believe me. There was someone in there. I locked the door, I swear. There's no way they could have gone anywhere. My house is locked down. Please, search again. I insisted, my voice rising in desperation. The officer gave me a long look, clearly fed up. Ma'am, we've been over this. The house is empty. Nothing's here. I suggest you take a step back and calm down. We can't keep coming back every time you think someone's in your closet. His words hit me like a slap, each one a cold dismissal of everything I had experienced.

I stared at him, fighting to hold back tears. But I saw them. I saw their eye, I, get some rest, he cut me off, turning on his heel. We're done here, reluctantly, I followed the officer's advice and went to sleep at Melissa's house. She's my best friend, and being with her felt like the only place I could be safe. At least for that night. Melissa tried to lighten the mood, but I could hear the nervousness in her voice. Are you sure this picture isn't just some joke from someone messing with your head?

I forced a weak laugh, but it was hollow. No. I'm sure about what I saw. There's someone watching me, I didn't want to talk much. My mind was racing, but the words wouldn't come. I hadn't been able to explain it properly to the police, and now I couldn't explain it to her. The fear was too real. Melissa's husband was out of town, so I ended up sleeping next to the police.

her. I was too scared to sleep alone. That night, I finally felt a little safer, a little less alone. The next morning, things felt, better. Being with my closest friend gave me a sense of comfort. I ate breakfast, tried to distract myself, but there was one thing I couldn't shake. The picture. I had to know. I had to see it again. Melissa asked, can you show me the picture again? I didn't want to look at it, but I opened my gallery anyway. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest. I stared at the album for a moment, before clicking on it. My stomach dropped. There was another picture in the album. A new one. I zoomed in. I couldn't believe it. It was a picture of me, but this time, I wasn't alone. Melissa was lying beside me, just like the night before. But the

perspective was wrong. It was too close. Whoever took the picture was right next to us. And in their hand, they were holding something, a rag doll. The doll looked just like me. The same dark hair, the same clothes, the exact same features. Even the expression on its face mirrored mine. The doll was lying in the same position I was, as if it had been placed there beside me, sleeping. In the background, I saw shadow of who took the picture. My heart stopped. My hands shook as I dropped the phone. The safety I had felt with Melissa was gone. All that comfort I had wrapped myself in vanished, replaced with a cold, suffocating fear. I wasn't safe. I wasn't safe anywhere. Melissa tried to calm

me down, but it wasn't working. My panic was too overwhelming, and she could see that I was shaking, unable to catch my breath. Desperate to understand what was happening, she quickly reached down and grabbed my phone from the floor. Her fingers trembled as she opened the photo album, her eyes scanning the picture I had just shown her. Okay, okay, this, this doesn't make any sense, she muttered, her voice tight with confusion.

She looked at me, then back at the photo. Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of it, but there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Are you sure this isn't just some sick prank, something someone's been sending you? Maybe an ex or, someone you know, I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. No. Melissa, I swear. It's not a prank.

This is real. Someone's in my life, and they're watching me. Her expression faltered for a moment, and I saw her hesitate, her eyes darting nervously around the room as if she could feel the weight of something watching her, too. Slowly, she handed the phone back to me, but this time, I noticed her hand was shaking. Do you think, they could be here too? In my house, she asked quietly, her voice laced with a hint of fear. I swallowed hard, my own breath catching in my throat. I.

I don't know, but I don't feel safe anymore. I don't think I'm safe anywhere. Melissa's eyes widened slightly, and she stood up from the bed, looking around the room. Her voice dropped to a whisper. I. I don't know. I heard some noises last night, but I thought it was just the house settling. I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to worry you.

The fear in her eyes mirrored my own. For the first time, I realized I wasn't the only one feeling watched. I think we need to check the house, just in case, she said, her voice trembling as she grabbed her phone, preparing to call someone for help. Her eyes were wide, her body tense, as she waited for my response. Melissa looked at me, her face pale with concern. We need to go to the police, she said, her voice firm despite the obvious fear in her eyes. You can't keep dealing with this alone.

If someone's really doing this to you, they need to know, I shook my head, a knot of anxiety forming in my chest. The police won't believe me, Melissa. I've already been there. They searched my house and found nothing. They said I'm just imagining things. They don't take me seriously. Melissa's face softened, but her voice remained steady as she reached for my hand.

No. This time it's different. We have proof, remember. She looked at the photo on my phone, her eyes scanning it once more before locking with mine. They can't just ignore that. I hesitated. The memory of the police officer dismissing me echoed in my mind. But Melissa was right. We had proof, and I couldn't just let this go. All right, I said, voice barely above a whisper. But if they don't believe me again, we'll make them believe you,

she said, determination in her tone. We'll show them the photo, everything. We have to do something. I arrived at the police station, feeling a mix of dread and urgency. As soon as I walked in, I saw the same officer from the night before. When he saw me, his face immediately twisted into a scowl. He was not happy to see me again. He didn't even bother to greet me. You again, he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. Officer, we need your help, I started, holding my phone up with the picture.

Please, I'm telling you, someone's been taking pictures of me while I sleep. He glanced at the photo, his patience already running thin. You're still going on about this. He rubbed his forehead, clearly annoyed. I already told you. There's no sign of a break-in, no evidence of anyone being inside your house. What do you want me to do, investigate every closet in the city? I could feel the knot of fear tightening in my chest as I desperately tried.

to explain. But you don't understand, this picture, it's not just a prank. Someone's still watching me. Melissa, who had been silent until now, spoke up. We don't have any more evidence, but we've checked everything. The house is empty, but she's still seeing things. This picture, the officer cut her off with a harsh wave of his hand. Enough with the photo, he snapped, clearly not believing either of us. I've already done my part. If you two are going to waste my time, I suggest you find another way to deal with this.

He took a deep breath, then sighed in frustration, clearly not wanting to deal with this anymore. All right, he said, I'll go to your place and search your house again. But don't expect me to find anything. The officer came with us, walking into Melissa's house like it was just another job. He searched every room with annoyance. even though we had already checked everything ourselves. We stood in the living room, the tension growing as we waited for him to come out.

When he finally emerged from the last room, his face was contorted with anger. There's nothing here, he said sharply. No sign of a break-in. No one's been here. So stop wasting my time, I couldn't hold it in anymore. But the closet, someone was in there. They're still watching me. Please, you have to understand, I'm not making this up.

He shot me an angry look, his voice turning cold. I've been through your house, and I haven't found a damn thing. You really think I've got time for some prank, some sick joke. You two think this is funny. Melissa and I exchanged a look, both of us trying to process the officer's words. My heart sank as I realized the officer was done taking us seriously. This is ridiculous, he said, his voice. laced with frustration. I'm not going to keep playing along with this. No more emergency calls.

You two should find a way to get some rest instead of dragging me into your delusions. He turned and walked toward the door, leaving us standing in the middle of the room, shocked and speechless. The door slammed behind him with a finality that made my whole body tense up. Melissa just stood there, her face pale, her eyes wide with disbelief. Silence. Complete silence filled the room as Melissa and I stood there in disbelief. I need to go home. It's watching me, not you. Me being here is just putting you in danger, I said, with my eyes welling up with tears.

Are you crazy? I'm not letting you go anywhere until we catch this motherfucker. You're my best friend, I love you, and I'll go through hell to help you, Melissa said, hugging me tightly. Her words were comforting, but fear still consumed me. I honestly didn't know what I would do without her. I'm not sleeping tonight, I said, my voice firm. But remember, you have work tomorrow, Melissa reminded me. Work.

How could I possibly work and pretend like nothing happened after everything I'd experienced? The fear was slowly turning into anger. I spent the whole day thinking about what happened, feeling like I was being wide. watched everywhere I went. Melissa called her boss and told them she was sick so she could stay with me. I fucking love her. We spent the entire day coming up with theories about what was going on. Maybe whatever was watching me wasn't, human. Nah, I don't believe in supernatural stuff, but Melissa kept insisting. Nighttime came. As I said, I refused to sleep. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could. But Melissa couldn't stay awake for long.

I felt exposed with her asleep, but I wasn't about to wake her up. I just had to stay awake. And that's exactly what I did. Hours passed, and nothing happened. The only thing I could hear was Melissa's soft snoring. But time felt agonizingly slow, and my fear only grew. 3 a.m., the so-called haunted hour that makes both adults and children alike dread what might happen next. Even though I didn't believe in supernatural things, when I saw three o'clock

on the clock, my heart sank. I was expecting something, some noise, a reflection, a doll, or the most disturbing thing I could imagine. But nothing happened. Twenty minutes went by, and I started to feel extremely sleepy. But I knew, as soon as I slept, I wouldn't be safe anymore. I glanced at Melissa. Something felt off. She wasn't snoring anymore. She had turned to the other side, and I could only see her brown hair splayed across the pillow. I froze. Something about her posture made me uneasy. I had never seen her sleep like that before. Slowly, I sat up, my heart racing in my chest. I lifted my head and cautiously leaned forward to see if she was awake. But when I looked, my blood ran cold.

What I saw was not my best friend anymore. There, in front of me, was a body. The skin was unnaturally pale, the once vibrant brown hair now a tangled mess. Her mouth hung slightly open, and her eyes, those eyes that I knew so well, were wide open but lifeless, glazed over with an unsettling emptiness. The way her limbs were arranged, twisted unnaturally at odd angles, told me she hadn't just fallen asleep. No.

Something had happened to her. I wanted to scream. My throat closed up. I reached out and desperately shook her, calling her name, trying to wake her, but there was no response. Her body was cold, stiff. I tried again, harder this time. Nothing.

No breath, no movement. No movement. Melissa, was dead. Panic surged through my veins, my vision blurry with tears. I fumbled for my phone, trying to dial emergency services, but just as my fingers brushed the screen, something stopped me. An airdrop request flashed across the top of my phone. My heart dropped. I hesitated, staring at the screen, the dread tightening in my chest. I wanted to deny the request, to throw my phone away, to make it all stop. But I couldn't. My mind screamed at me to say no, but my hand moved on its own.

I accepted. A flood of pictures appeared on my phone, and my stomach twisted. The images were of me, sleeping. Dozens of them, hundreds maybe, scattered over weeks. Some were taken inside my closet, others were shots of me lying in my bed. bed, blissfully unaware. But what made my blood run even colder were the ones that came after. There was a picture of me, sleeping beside something on the bed.

It looked like the same doll I had seen before, but this time, it felt different, wrong. It wasn't just a doll anymore. It was me or something that had been made to look like me, in dull form, lying beside me. The most disturbing part. The shadow of someone standing just behind it, watching, waiting. I couldn't move. The air around me grew thick, suffocating. And then, through the crack in the door, I saw it.

A figure. Tall and unervingly still. It was standing there, as if waiting, watching. But the most terrifying part was the eye. That single, wide eye staring directly at me from the shadows. It was unnatural, too large, too black. No light reflected off of it. It was like a hole in the world, a deep, endless void that seemed to pull every ounce of warmth

and life from the room. The eye twitched, just slightly, as if it recognized me, like it had been waiting for me to look. And in its other hand, the doll. But it wasn't just any doll. The doll was me. I recognized the face immediately, its pale skin, the darkest. hair, the same expression I often wore when I slept. But it was wrong. The doll's eyes were

wide open, fixed in a grotesque stare, its mouth frozen in a twisted, silent scream. Its body, rigid and contorted in a way that a human body never could be, seemed to mock me, like an unnatural imitation of myself. The figure held it with such tenderness, as if cradling it, but there was something deeply disturbing in the way it did. The doll's hand was position just like mine when I slept, but there was no softness to it. No warmth. And then, the figure stepped forward, the eye never leaving mine. The room grew colder, and the figure moved silently, like a shadow creeping closer, carrying the doll as if it were the most precious thing in the world. I felt the terror clawing at me, suffocating me, but I couldn't look away from

that horrible, hollow eye. It was as if it was looking through me, and the more I stared, the more I felt like I was becoming part of its dark, empty world. I could feel my body shutting down, my heart thundering in my chest as if it was trying to escape my ribs. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, my breathing shallow and erratic. My limbs felt weak, like they were made of stone, and my vision started to blur around the edges. The air felt like it was closing in, pressing against me from all sides, and the figure, the eye, was all I could see. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, louder and louder, drowning everything else out, until the sound was all consuming. And then, just as I thought I couldn't take it anymore, everything

went black. I'm currently writing this on a contraband cell phone in prison, after allegedly poisoning my best friend. It's all a lie, of course. They say I did it, but they don't understand. They don't know what I saw. What really happened? Melissa is gone. I can still feel the weight of that truth crushing me. I can still hear her laugh, see her smile, feel her presence beside me like I always did. I feel the coldness now. It's unbearable. Losing her, it's like losing a part of myself.

The world feels hollow, like it's spinning around me without any meaning. The grief is suffocating. But the worst part isn't the grief. The anger bubbling inside me. They think I did it. They think I'm the one who poisoned her. They don't see how broken I am, how lost I feel. They don't understand that I would never hurt her. I would never do something like that. But it doesn't matter what I say. They have their own version of the truth. And now, they've locked me away for something I didn't do. they'll never know what really happened they'll never know what i saw in that room what i saw in her eyes before

everything turned dark i couldn't escape before now i certainly can't they've got me here in this cold metal cage but maybe maybe i can there's still one thing i can do i'm the only one who can put an end to this to everything the figure is still watching me i can feel it That same eye, always lurking, always waiting. It's still out there, haunting me. I thought maybe, just maybe, being locked up would give me a break from the constant fear, but no. It follows me. It's always watching.

I don't know how long I can keep going, how long I can pretend that I'm okay. I can't take it anymore. The nightmares, the paranoia, the guilt, they all blur together. I miss Melissa. I miss her so much. I love you, Melissa. I always will. I can't wait to join you. The nightmare man dripped with sin and shadows. He had a smile like an infected wound and eyes that spiraled with darkness. He followed my family for generations. I don't know when it all started, when this monster started hunting my family, but the last time I saw my father, he warned me that the nightmare man would come for me one day, too. I remember the night my father walked into my bedroom, his white shirt and blue jeans covered in fresh pools of glistening blood. I was sitting up in bed, terrified and sweating, a mere child of seven. I had heard the panicked screams coming from my parents' bedroom. I recognized the voice of my mother,

filled with agony and terror. It sounded like she had been dragged off, the screams had faded into a distant point until they simply became inaudible. My night light cast the room in a dim, yellow glare. Your mother is dead, he told me, his eyes as flat and lifeless as if he were already in the grave. The nightmare man killed her, Tommy. They're going to try to blame me for this. They'll put me in prison for life. But you need to know, I didn't do it. The nightmare man did, mom is gone. I asked, horrified. At that moment, I realized the house had a strange smell to it, like panicked animal sweat combined with subtle notes of copper and iron. I wouldn't realize until I was much older that it was the smell of death. Mon didn't follow the rules, my father said

grimly, his face pale and gray. Do you remember the rules? I nodded, feeling dissociated and unreal. Always, where silver to bed, I said slowly, feeling my silver cross that my father had given me. And always make sure a light is on. Right, my father agreed, his voice sounding emotionless and far away. The nightmare man hates purity. He hates silver and white light. He is a thing of darkness and impurity. You must burn away the darkness, even if it hurts. What did mom do? I asked, a sickening feeling rising in my stomach. How did she get hurt? My father put a cold hand on my cheek, lovingly clasping my face. She didn't use the flashlight. She never really believed me, because she never saw him herself. She got out of bed in the middle of the night. At first,

she was fine. Then she walked out of range of the night light past the closet. And that's when he reached out and grabbed her. My father leaned close to me. I could smell the sweet, rank odor of sweat dripping off his skin. I heard sirens in the distance. My father shook his head grimly. The neighbors must have heard her screaming, he said, talking faster and faster as if he wanted to get everything out before the end came. Remember, Tommy, always keep a flashlight next to your bed in case of power outages. Keep multiple light sources around you every time you sleep. And always wear silver at night, the sirens suddenly cut off.

A few moments later, I heard insistent pounding at the door. Deep male voices started screaming orders. He looked at me one last time, taking a portable flashlight out of his pocket. I saw spatters of fresh blood staining its surface. He handed it to me with a grim nod. Like a man walking to his own execution, my father headed downstairs, his back slumped, his eyes ancient and haunted. A few minutes later, two police officers came upstairs, shining flashlights in my face.

Blinded, I took a step back, blinking quickly to try to clear my vision. Are you okay, little boy, one of them asked, a disembodied voice floating behind a tunnel of garish white light. I only nodded, feeling like my voice. voice have been taken away from me. The other cop read something into his radio. There was a hiss of white noise before a female voice came over the speaker, staticky, and distorted. Backup is on the way, she said. Homicide will be there in ten. Let's get you outside in the open air, okay, one of the police officers said, putting his flashlight down and

kneeling down in front of me. Still feeling unreal, as if I were floating above my body, I followed the officer like a sleepwalker. I heard the other one walking down the hall, saw his flashlight beaming into the open rooms as he went. The two of us walked out together into the hallway, past the bathroom. Next came my parents' master bedroom. I glanced inside on our way past. I saw a carpet of wet blood staining the hardwood floor. Next to the bed, there were only scattered drops, but near the open closet door, it reflected the dull streetlights like a lake of gleaming crimson. The police officer looked determinately ahead, so perhaps that's why he didn't see what I did. The closet was not empty. I could see a serpentine shape moving

in the back. It had long, spidery limbs that glistened darkly. It looked like not much more than a slightly less black patch within a featureless abyss. Its obsidian skin looked wet and ripping. Its emaciated arms and legs constantly twisted and skittered. I screamed as I saw it. The police officer jumped, whipping his flashlight around to face me. I just pointed with a trembling finger into the master bedroom, the scene of so much suffering. The closet door slammed shut with a sound like a gunshot. What the hell? The police officer cried, pointing his pistol at the closed door. Come out with your hands up. This is the police.

There was no response except for our heavy breathing. James, I need back up, the cop standing next to me cried to his partner, who had gone in the other direction down the hallway, presumably to check the rest of the closets and make sure no one was hiding in them. But the end of the hallway stayed gloomy and quiet. We saw no bobbing flashlight or any sign of James. The police officers had frantically ratcheted down to the end of the hall and back to the door a few times.

He seemed unsure of what to do. Stay close by my side, kid, he whispered, the pistol trembling in his hands as he continued pointing it at the closet door. With his other, he pulled his radio out of his belt and clicked it on. I need backup immediately. My partner is not here, and we have another person in the house. They're barricaded in the closet and not responding to orders. The radio gave a long,

hiss of static in response then went quiet for a moment. I thought that female voice would come back on the line, but instead a gurgling, diseased laughter rang out through the white noise. The cop nervously stared at his radio as if he expected it to turn into a snake and attack him. He gave a long, heaving sigh and looked down at me. His chalk white face seemed ghostly. Do you know who's behind that door, kid? Is it one of your family members, the police officer asked, his shaking hands ready to start shooting at the slightest provocation. I shook my head, feeling dissociated in this ghastly, nightmarish world. It's the nightmare man, I whispered. He killed my mom, and now he's coming for me.

The police officer listened intently, drops of sweat falling off his nose and chin. He hesitated for a long moment, looking like he wanted to say something, to call me crazy, but instead, he knelt down next to my ear. Here's what I need you to do, kid, he whispered, the fear evident in his wavering voice. Go downstairs and go outside. Tell any police officer you find to come up to the second floor immediately. Can you do that? I nodded, glad to get out of there.

I'll find you help, Mr., I promised, looking up at the tall officer. He looked young, probably in his twenties. Looking back on it all these years later, I doubt he had much experience. He slowly started walking towards the closet door as I took off down the hallway. I glanced back, seeing him sidestepping the last few feet, his pistol raised and held in both hands. Come out with your hands up, he yelled. I saw the door fly open in a blur, but once there was a gap of about six inches, it froze in place, as if a video had been paused. shadows like smoke crept out on the floor, as thick as winter fog.

The police officer backpedaled, nearly falling. He caught his balance at the last second. Come out now, as you wish, I heard the diseased thing rasp in a hissing, low voice. An inhumanly long arm shot out, the twisted, black fingers wrapping around the police officer's arm. A gunshot rang out. My ears were ringing. I turned to run, hearing the cop's terrified screams echoing all around me. Before I fled down the stairs, I glinted him being dragged into the inky abyss contained

behind the closet door, the sharp, spidery fingers digging through his skin and muscle like burrowing ticks. I flew through the open front door, seeing two police cars parked along the dark, empty streets. Their lights flashed constantly, sending blue and red light dancing over the nearby houses and trees, though the sirens remained off. I looked around frantically for help, but I saw no one there. Hello. Dad? I screamed. I wondered if the police had already taken my father away to the station. But where were the rest of them? I thought about the cop upstairs getting dragged into the closet, screaming and crying. A cold shudder ran down my back. Is anyone there? My voice seemed to fade into the cool autumn night. There was an

eerie feeling of electricity in the air. Black clouds swept across the sky at a rapid speed, covering the world in a black blanket. As the wind whipped past, it reminded me of the voice of the nightmare man, hissing in low and distorted currents. I felt that the street looked different. It took me a few moments to realize why. I looked up, seeing that the streetlights were all unlit. All of the houses, too, had their lights out. The only illumination came from the spinning lights on the police cars. It was a surreal feeling, seeing the empty, eerie world shining with the harsh glare of the red and blue lights. I heard footsteps stumbling behind me. Terrified, I backed away from the door, taking slow, uncertain steps into the street. A silhouette fell through it.

A screen caught in my throat, but I realized it wasn't the nightmare man. It was the missing partner who had gone down the hall, the police officer named James. His uniform was slashed and covered in drippings of scarlet gore. He held his hands to his stomach as he lay gurgling on the front porch. His dripping intestines bulged out through a ragged tear in his stomach, uncoiling and slithering out like red snakes. Help, he gurgled, reaching out a blood-stained hand in my direction. I shook my head, feeling like I might throw up. I continued backing up.

I hit something metal, realizing my back was pressed against one of the police cars. What can I do? I whispered, feeling incredibly scared and small. With trembling fingers, he pulled something off his belt. I realized he was holding his radio up to me. Come, take, he gurgled, coughing up more blood. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to turn around and run. He tried to say something else, but instead a spew of scarlet shot out of his mouth.

He crawled forward on the ground slowly, still holding the radio up with the last of his dying energy. There was a strange smell around the police officer's body, a chemical odor like ozone. Nervously, I stepped forward and grabbed it with numb fingers. As soon as my hand touched the plastic, the police officer's other arm jerked up and closed around my wrist. I instinctively tried to pull away in confusion and terror. His skin felt freezing cold. My eyes widened as I realized the layers of flesh were dripping away, revealing a bone

thin, spidery limb underneath. I looked up into the face of the nightmare man. He towered over me with skin as dull and black as shadows. In the center of his pointed skull, a single blood red I stared out, dilated and insane. His skin seemed to be shivering and rippling, as if the darkness inside were fighting to get out. I felt lost as I looked into that totally alien face. Terrible visions washed over me. I saw myself burning alive, the skin melting and dripping.

A heartbeat later, I saw myself. with my throat slashed, my lips turning blue as my pupils dilated in death. Reaching blindly in my pockets in my manic, delusional state, I felt the small flashlight my father had given me. My instinct screamed at me that it was my only salvation. As the nightmare man lowered his spinning face down towards me, I pulled away, clicking the flashlight on and shining it in its enormous eye. Though the nightmare man had no mouth, a scream ripped its way out of his Eldridge body. The Inky shadows forming his emaciated, rail-thin-flesh body rippled and spun faster and faster. The black skin of his head started to drip and rip apart wherever the light

touched it. A banshee whale emanated from all around him, radiating out of his skin. He struck out at me as sharp fingers like railroad spikes dug into my neck. I felt my breath get choked off. A pressure like a metal band crushed my windpipe. I continued shining the light on his body, hearing his shrieks of pain. Then his long, twisted fingers brushed against the silver necklace my father had given me. The effect was instantaneous. There was a sound like sizzling bacon and an explosion of white light. I felt myself being thrown back onto the hard pavement of the walkway.

The nightmare man scuttled backwards into the shadows of the dead house, screaming as he pulled himself along. A heartbeat later, he disappeared, leaving behind the smell of ozone hanging thick in the air. I ran along the empty streets for what felt like an eternity. I pounded on locked door after locked door, calling for help, but the entire town seemed deserted. I saw the thick, black clouds sweeping by overhead, and I wondered if the nightmare man had somehow dragged me into his world. It seemed like the night never ended, though many hours must have passed by this point. The world stayed black and silent, as if no sun would ever rise here.

Looking back, it seems doubtful that this nightmarish world had a sun at all. I had only my flashlight as a weapon against the darkness. I kept running in a straight line, not seeing a single person. All of the streetlight stayed dead and empty, and the houses looked uninhabited. I reached the end of street after street, coming to the borders of Frost Hollow. Where the boundary of the town stood, the ground suddenly dropped off. Beyond it, I saw a void of total emptiness stretching out forever. As I stared into the abyss, I felt watched, as if hidden eyes stared back.

I thought I saw inky forms shifting behind the impenetrable curtain of shadows. The hissing of the strange wind in this dark world abruptly escalated to a wailing, a diseased gurgling. I spun in terror, seeing the night night. man standing only inches away, his crimson eye looking down on me with fury. Melted strands of black flesh hung from his fingers and head, sluggishly dripping drops of dark fluid. You will pay, the nightmare man hissed in a soft, reptilian voice that radiated from his glossy, writhing flesh. Before I could react, he swiped his sharp

fingers at my face. I felt a pain simultaneously burning and freezing eat into my skin as they drove four deep gashes into my forehead and cheeks, barely missing my eyes by a fraction of an inch. Bleeding heavily, I fell back, my screams mixing with the gurgles of the nightmare man. I felt my back foot touch empty air as I hovered over the edge of Frost Hollow, leaning down over that seemingly never-ending abyss. My arms windmilled as I tried to catch myself, but at that moment, the nightmare man lunged forward, aiming another powerful blow at my head. It barely missed me, whipping through the air like sword blades. Thrown totally off balance, I disappeared over the edge, descending into a freezing blackness

that swirled and jumped all around me. I thought I caught glimpses of strange, Eldridge silhouettes blending into the darkness around me, spinning black holes and enormous, dark stars that sucked in light rather than emanating it. All around me, dark snakes whose bodies seemed miles long slithered past, shadows ripensers, sleeping above shadows. An eternity later, I felt myself screaming, my arms striking out at nothing. Someone was standing over me, shining a flashlight down into my face.

I opened my eyes, seeing police officers and paramedics standing over me. I looked around, realizing I was laying on the edge of the highway at the border of Frost Hollow, sprawled in the breakdown lane next to speeding cars and trucks. I was covered in gashes and cuts. It looked like I had walked through a forest of pricker bushes, and the slices from the nightmare man still bled freely on my neck and face. A police car and ambulance had pulled over a stone's throw away, the lights blinding and harsh. They brought back memories of my time in the nightmare man's world,

and I had to repress an urge to scream. Can you hear me, a medic said, putting on gloves as he kneeled by my side. I was breathing heavily, confused and filled with agony. How did I get here? I asked. Where's the nightmare man? Who, the medic asked, a confused frown crossing his face. I saw them wheeling a gurney down the pavement.

The nightmare man. I screamed. Where is he? I swam through consciousness and unconsciousness, falling back into a shell-shocked stupor. I felt cold hands lifting me off. the ground. In my delirium and covered in injuries, I thought it was the nightmare man. I screamed and thrashed, kicking my legs and arms, trying to scratch and punch anyone close by. I woke up in the hospital restrained, my father in prison, my mother dead. The most memorable day

from my childhood had come to an end. In the years since, I followed my father's rules like a holy order. I never slept without lights turned on around the room, always wore my silver necklace and kept flashlights by the side of the bed. Despite these precautions, on many nights, I still glimpsed a shadowy silhouette reaching toward me, held back only by a weak circle of light. But something else my father had said the night my mother died kept coming back to me, something about fire and the nightmare man haunted every night by this seemingly eternal presence, I bit the bullet and went to visit him in prison. It had been nearly two decades since I saw my father.

The towering monument to concrete and razor wire loomed above me. The guards pointed me towards a partitioned glass booth with a phone. I saw my father amble in, looking as if he had aged 50 years. His eyes stared blankly ahead, totally lifeless and devoid of hope, like the eyes of a death camp inmate. He sat down heavily across from me, sighing and picking up the phone. Dad, I wanted to ask you about, the night that mom died, I said nervously. I've been following your rules, and it's kept me alive so far. But that thing won't stop following me, won't stop hunting me. You said it hates silver and white light.

Then, at the end, you mentioned fire. Can the nightmare man die, dad? Can fire kill it? My father gave a long sigh, staring straight into my eyes. Do you know what they found in that house, boy, he asked, seemingly ignoring my question. I just shook my head, watching him closely through the glass partition. He looked sick as his wrinkled face fell into a grim frown. They found tiny pieces of at least three bodies, but no actual bodies. I saw the papers during my trial, boy. I will never forget what I read.

Pieces of your mother's teeth were embedded into the closet wall, broken and jagged and sticking straight out. They found one of the cop's eyes inside a light bulb, with the optic nerve still connected to the wall socket. There were broken pieces of bloody fingernails embedded in the floor and walls. But no matter how hard CSI looked, they couldn't find more than tiny bits and fragments and lots of blood. Does that sound like something a human being could do to you? He spat, his eyes darkening into slits. His wrinkled face looked immensely sad and haunted. I've spent my life in prison for a crime I didn't do.

If you're not careful, the nightmare man will do it to you, too. He feeds off the suffering and death as if it were food. He is always watching you, even now, what can I do? I asked, feeling sick and weak. Is there any way to stop this? My father leaned close to the glass partition, a new sparkle coming into his sunken eyes. You know, I've always wondered that, he whispered. Maybe I deserve this for being a coward.

I should have tried to stop this years ago. I should have died fighting this monster rather than waste my life in a cell, slowly going mad, trapped in this tomb of concrete and razor wire. But maybe there is a way. Maybe. Before my grandfather died, he told me about entering the nightmare man's world. When the nightmare man comes out, everything around him changes, the rooms, the walls, the sky. It looks like our world, but it's always dark and empty, only filled with the presence of the nightmare man and the bodies of his victims. Perhaps there, in the darkness where his true form

is revealed, he can be stopped forever, he can be killed. I don't know. But if you can end it, boy, you must end it. This curse cannot drag our family down to hell forever. I nodded grimly. I think I was there, I said. As a boy, I got trapped, somewhere else. It felt like I was there for days, but the sun never rose. You need to fight fire with fire, Tommy.

Purify the nightmare man with the flames. End it, son. Avenge your mother and myself and kill this evil bastard. Over the next few days, I made my preparations to return to the nightmare man's world. I eventually inherited my parents' home and still lived in it, despite the horrifying memories that hid there like childhood monsters creeping through the shadows. To my immense relief, I found that American citizens could buy military-grade flamethrowers without any sort of permit or paperwork. I gave a short prayer of thanks that I lived in a free country which allowed self-defense. After searching and emptying out much of my savings,

I bought an XL-18 flamethrower, which cost me a few grand. I figured the money would be well worth it if it saved my life. The XL-18 was a sleek black thing, a futuristic-looking metal backpack attached to a line that ran to the gun, which honestly looked more like something I might use for watering my lawn rather than burning demons alive. It appeared like a rigid, modified hose over a foot long with a trigger at the bottom. In addition to buying a flamethrower, I made my own napalm, which was surprisingly easy. I bought a couple dozen gallons of gasoline and experimented with it, letting equal part styrofoam and cat littered dissolve in the gas until it became a thick, flammable sludge.

As the sun set that final day, I filled the XL18 with my homemade napalm, a rising sense of excitement crawling up my chest. I tried shooting it a few times, seeing a massive spray of flames extending out far in front of me. Satisfied and grinning, I headed back inside. Once the world had descended into total darkness, I crept upstairs to the room where my mother had died all those years ago, feeling the weight of the fully loaded flamethrower backpack. I fingered the cross, whispering prayers that I would return alive and unharmed.

Little did I realize the agony and suffering I would experience the rest of my life after my fight with the nightmare man. I surveyed the dark, empty room, seeing the closet door stood ajar a few inches. Trembling and terrified, I took a step into the blackness, creeping closer to the closet. The door suddenly moved, swinging open with a low, drawn out creaking. I heard hissing and soft laughter. The shadows swirled and danced. It is your time, the nightmare man gurgled from the abyss.

Come and see. I glanced back, seeing a shard of dim light from the hallway slicing in. The door back out to the normal, safe world seemed so far away, eternally far away. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the closet threshold, feeling freezing chills run through my bones as I entered the rippling black shadows. I heard agonized screams like the last cries of murder victims or the damned shrieking in hell. I wondered if these were the cries of the nightmare man's victims, echoes of past atrocities. I found myself standing where I just was, looking into an open closet door filled with an abyss of nothingness.

The floor, ceiling, and walls of the closet had apparently disappeared, leaving only a portal of emptiness. I realized that the nightmare man's essence was everywhere around me, hissing in the darkness. He was the colossus whose face hung over this strange, shadowy wall. world. He was the juggernaut who would crush any who stood in his way to bone splinters and meat paste. A sense of paralyzing fear struck me like lightning. I looked around, seeing my house stood completely dark now. I had added a flashlight attachment to the top of the flamethrower and clicked it on, preparing myself for an imminent battle. Where are you? I screamed, glancing around frantically, my finger hovering above the trigger. Come out,

coward. What, you can only kill defenseless women and children. You're a chicken ship murderer. Crying out seemed to shatter the fear that gripped my heart and make everything real. I stood in the moment, seeing everything with adrenaline-fueled concentration. The shadows in this dark world rippled and danced faster around me, sending eerie currents running through the floor and walls. Covered in sweat, I carefully headed in the direction of the hallway. I had barely taken half a step over the threshold when the nightmare man attacked. I saw a blur of a tall, spidery shape soaring through the unlit hallway. I screamed, falling back as sharp fingers slashed through my arm and shoulder like knife blades.

I tried spinning the flamethrower and its flashlight to aim it at the pointed, reptilian skull of the nightmare man waves of adrenaline dulled the pain for the moment, but I could feel the blood spurting in warm currents from the wounds. You will die like your mother, the nightmare man gurgled through his glossy skin as the enormous crimson I stared down at me. The dilated, insane pupil gleamed with amusement and insanity. Hurt and stunned, weighed down by the full backpack of napalm, I felt like a turtle stuck on its back. The nightmare man raised his scalpel-like fingers. They were twisted, black things, each the size of a railroad spike. Hissing in his low, demonic way, the hand hovered above my face like the axe of an executioner.

In a blur, it came down toward me, aimed at my eyes and nose. Instinctively, I let go of the gun and grabbed my silver cross, raising it above my face just in time. The nightmare man's flesh exploded with a flash of blue light and it smashed into the pendant. His hissing changed from one of bloodlust and excitement to an even more distorted cry of agon. He fell back, his inhumanly long, jointed legs thudding softly against the wood. I used the opportunity to right myself, grabbing the gun and raising it. The nightmare man's one enormous I saw the weapon. Without hesitation, he lunged at me, flying through the air with two outstretched, monstrous hands.

I pulled the trigger as he smashed into me. The flame throar sprayed an inferno of burning napalm, like the breath of some fiery dragon. The napalm worked instantly, sticking to the nightmare man's alien body. The flames flickered and sizzled as the black skin of the nightmare man started dripping and falling onto me. Each drop was on fire, and I felt my flesh melting. I bit down on my lip, trying not to scream along with the nightmare man. He rolled on top of me, spreading the flames further and further.

I felt my arms and chest burning, smelled the hair igniting. There was a smell like searing pork chops as pain like hydrochloric acid ate its way through my muscle. The nightmare man rolled off me after a few seconds. In a flurry of agony and adrenaline, I ripped the backpack off, rolling on the ground over and over to try to extinguish the flames. The nightmare man had become a seven-foot tall pillar of fire by this point. Wailing in a distorted banshee voice, he slammed himself into the walls over and over. I heard the heavy thuds, the cracking of wood. An overpowering smell of ozone mixed with the odor of smoke and gasoline, filling the hallway

with its cloyne, pungent aroma. Help me! I screamed, knowing no one would hear me, except for maybe God. I saw my fingers and hands still burning and melting as my clothes melted to my smoking, blackened skin. I nearly lost consciousness from the indescribable pain, dragging myself toward the closet an inch at a time. Waves of white light flashed across my vision, threatening to drag me down into a dreamless sleep from which I would never awake. Focusing on the intense pain to

keep myself conscious, I continuously pushed myself forward. The last wails of the nightmare man echoed through the room. I kept my focus on the open closet door and the endless abyss waiting beyond. Without hesitation, I pushed myself over the threshold and felt myself falling. I struggled through moments of unconsciousness. At that moment, I saw little and understood nothing. I found myself back in the room where my mother had died. It lay empty except for a computer desk in the corner with a laptop and a landline on it. I crawled to the phone, groaning and weeping with every movement.

After a few failed attempts to reach it from my place on the ground, I pulled the whole thing down and immediately called 911. One. Help, I whispered through cracked, burnt lips. I'm burnt. I think I'm dying. It hurts so bad, the woman on the other end said something, but I couldn't concentrate. A thick blackness kept rising up, a dreamless sleep without pain. I tried pushing it away, but, as the 911 operator's words kept repeating on the other end of the line, it soared up and dragged me under. I remember flashing lights and men in uniforms leaning over me. It seemed like a nightmarish repeat of my childhood experience escaping from the nightmare man's world. I woke up a couple days later in a hospital bed, most of my body covered in bandages. A doctor told me I had received severe burns over much of my

body. I would live, but I would be scarred and ugly for the rest of my life. They had also amputated most of the fingers on my right hand, saying they couldn't be saved after the deep burns they suffered. In the end, I found justice for my mother, but in the process of killing the nightmare man, I had sacrificed my own body in health. And while I may be bitter sometimes, at least I can sleep now without seeing that spidery silhouette staring out at me across the room. I moved into a small apartment last month. It wasn't much, but it was cheap, and I was in no position to be picky. The place had that typical musty smell, and the walls were thin, but it would do. On my first day, I started unpacking my things. I was putting away some

clothes when I noticed something odd. In the bottom drawer of the dresser, there was a folded piece of paper. It wasn't mine. I hadn't seen it before. I opened it up, and it read, Don't open the closet at midnight. It made no sense. Why would someone leave this here? Maybe it was a prank. Maybe the last tenant had a weird sense of humor. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it was important. I laughed it off, but as midnight approached, I found myself staring at the closet door. I tried to ignore it. I really did. But there was something about the warning that made it impossible to focus on anything else. I glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. I stood up, walked to the door, and grabbed the handle. My heart was

racing. I was about to open it when I heard a voice, low and raspy, whisper from the closet. Don't do it. I froze. The voice was so clear, so close. But the closet was empty. I could see it. There was nothing there. I slowly backed away from the door, by pulse pounding in my ears. Something was wrong. I knew it, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't open the closet that night. And I haven't opened it since. But I can't shake the feeling that something is waiting in there. And I don't know if I'll ever be brave enough to find out. Written, November 2023, my parents think that I'm insane for even talking about this, but someone needs to hear this. Back when I was a kid there's this old man whose name was Robert Conway, Conway was one of the nicest person in the neighborhood

as far as I've known at the time. He would help out at the shelters and is overall just a very progressive person even though the town was not. He never had any enemies and never once have we seen him argue. Some people would chalk it up as a good-loving grandpa. We would always always visit him, me and the other town kids during our days off from school and other miscellaneous activities. He always gave us some sort of gift like just small little candies and trinkets and such, one time he even took us out to eat. You could guess that was a reward for spending time with him, at the time we found it kind

of sad. Did he have any family or actual friends? I wouldn't know and frankly it was none of my business to know, I was always taught to just worry about myself and let other people be people. That memo wasn't instilled into everybody, though, perhaps you could say I'm different in some way compared to my friends. Either way it didn't stop my friend from wanting to find out about Conway's life and situation. He asked the same questions and wasn't going to stop until he had gotten what he was looking

for, so I took the opportunity as well to try find out the questions we asked. I sat my friend down whose name is Jake to come up with a game plan, how was we exactly going to find out these answers and where do we start? I know looking back at it, it wasn't a very good or safe or even well-optimized plan and quite frankly it was stupid. For kids I guess it was the best we could do, we seen a lot of movies and put more emphasis on the, a lot, because it was so very much. In those movies there was people breaking into buildings to find out the greatest secret

to humankind, so in our kid brains we figured we would do the same. We came up with a time and date which was Tuesday at 10 o'clock at night. The only problem for me was to sneak out of my room and house. I never done it before, so I just to trust myself and my inability to be quiet. If you're asking how Jake got out then worry no further because his parents were never there because they worked late. Not important though because you're not here to read me trying to sneak out, so then the day came and I met Jake at his house at the time we came up with.

Me and Jake skedaddled our way to Conway's house and was now standing in his driveway. It wasn't that long and it was quite narrow. It should have only held one car, but it was gone, perfect we thought. He wasn't there so we could just walk right in with no resistance. As you all could tell it was stupid, but my defense is that we're still children, so how was we supposed to know? We tried the front and back door, but to no one's surprise it was locked, we tried open windows and everything that could lead inside, but also locked. We stood there in bewilderment until Jake came up with a plan, we smash a window. Why? Even to this day I don't know because there had to be a better way inside.

Jake picked up a medium-sized rock and threw it as hard as he could manage at the side window. We crawled in and stood up taking our surroundings in. It was spacious and a very grand-py aesthetic, we looked around looking at all his pictures and books. He really did like old classic books, he had the famous ones like Gone with the Wind and of mice and men, stuff you would really read in high school. We turned every drawer and couch cushions upside down to just find something about his family but nothing came to be. We were in his house for a good twenty minutes before we heard a car pull up, we knew we had to hide and fast. We got in his living room closet and closed the door

fast. Our hearts were racing, and for the first time I knew what true fear or what I could think what true fear was like. The front door opened and I could hear to sets of footsteps, one a little heave and slow and the other soft. We peaked out the door a little to see it was Conway with a little kid. The kid couldn't have been much older than me at the time and looked nothing like Conway, so to us we thought it was a little weird. We didn't know at the time what was happening, but we knew we couldn't leave right this second. Conway made his was past the closet and to a door near the kitchen, me and Jake quickly got out, but quietly. Jake wanted to leave, but I didn't feel the same way, so I shot him a look saying I will be out

there in a minute, which he didn't put up a fight and quickly went out of the window. I watched him get to the end of the driveway and made my way close to Conway and the kid, but not too close so I couldn't be spotted. I could see Conway giving him. I could see Conway giving the child something and leading him in the room. I creeped near that room and poked my head inside taking the new surroundings in, there was a mattress and some cameras set up with tools and other doohickeys around the new room. I saw Conway lay the kid down on the mattress and that's when I knew I had to get out of there like Jake did. I slowly creeped my way through the kitchen and dining room to the window Jake smashed, slowly crawling my way out of the house.

When I hit the ground I landed wrong and sprained my ankle which couldn't have been at more of a worse time, I got up and limped my way to the end of the driveway. Standing beside Jake, he was the first to talk, he said that we can never tell anybody about what we did which I would think is obvious, but I nodded anyway. I was about to say something but then cries of pain came out of the house which startled us and made us run, you could probably tell who was yelling in pain and why they were but that wasn't the main focus right now. We ran back to our houses and never told our parents about what happened. A year to later I tried to tell my parents that Conway was a monster

who hurt kids but they thought it was just a joke or a prank on him, they never took me seriously. I tried the police, but they also never took me seriously. So 15 years later I'm telling y'all, I don't care if I write this wrong or if this is boring. I can't live with myself if I don't tell anyone. Thank you for listening to what I had to get off my chest and be aware of Mr. Conway. Dear Diary, they say God is the creator of the universe, the heavens, and the earth. all right i'll give him that he is without a doubt the god of the universe the heavens and the earth but let's go back way back once upon a time it was just god and jesus when god created jesus

the plan was simple they were supposed to share it all the universe the heavens and the earth equally but you see god wanted something more he wanted someone to share it with someone to walk beside him as a companion. So what did he do? He made Jesus his first son. That's why he always called him the son of God, because he was the first. And, perhaps, the last. Of course, we angels were also considered his children. Just like demons. Because demons? They're just fallen angels. I guess, in that sense, you could call me a demon too, but I never really embraced that title. I don't see myself that way.

I am just me. I am Satan. That's it. I'm an angel in my own right, not beholden to anyone else, not anymore. Jesus was meant to have the earth. That was the plan. But you know what? I took it.

And I'll be honest about why, I was jealous. I was resentful. I felt abandoned by God, discarded like an afterthought while he doted on Jesus. Sure, I was the favorite once, but somehow, I always felt like Jesus was the one he truly loved. And even now, as I walk the earth in this human form, I can still feel it. It's like Jesus and I were always in competition for our father's attention. But does any of that even matter anymore? No.

Because in the end, God gave me me. the earth. He handed it over to me. This realm, hell, is mine now. And when the time comes, when God finally decides to gather up his people, his so-called church, his precious humanity, I'll take mine too. Hell won't be what they think it is. It won't be a place of torment and suffering. No, I'll turn it into something else. Something better. A sanctuary of peace, a place for those who were cast out, those who didn't fit into his narrow vision of paradise. But then, I changed my mind.

Why should I limit myself to just hell? The earth will stay mine. God can keep heaven, and if he wants, he can build himself an earth 2.0, some shiny new paradise to play with. But the universe? The universe will belong to me when God finally decides to take what's his. You ever wonder why God wants to be?

once said, I am the God of this world. Because he gave it to me. And when you look at your money and see the words, in God we trust, do you know what that really means? It means, in Satan we trust. Because at the end of the day, God is just a title. And I am the God of this world. I built this place. I shaped this country, this nation, the United States, and every other nation that humanity walks upon. God may have created humans in his image, but I, I have reshaped them in mine. You see, history is a story told by the victors, and for too long, God's been the one telling it. But if you pull back the curtain, you'll see the truth. Humanity, in its greed, its hunger, its endless ambition, that's my handiwork. Every great empire

that rose and fell, every war waged, every kingdom conquered, that was my influence at work. God might have given humans free will, but I gave them something even better. Desire. I showed them the thrill of power, the intoxication of control, the sheer ecstasy of bending the world to their will. And they loved it. They embraced it. They took it and ran with it. And look where they are now. The world they've built is a reflection of of me. The hunger for wealth, the thirst for dominance, the ceaseless push for more, more, more, that's my signature on the human soul. Every skyscraper that scrapes the sky, every corporation that hoards wealth, every leader that rises through corruption and cunning, that's my work.

God gave them the earth, but I gave them ambition. I gave them the fire to take what they wanted, to carve their names into the stone of history, to be gods in their own right. And what of love. Ah, love. The thing God holds so dear. The thing he claims is his greatest gift. But love is not as pure as he makes it out to be, is it? Love is passion, but passion is also jealousy, obsession, desperation. Love has started wars, toppled empires, driven men to madness. Love can be cruel. Love can destroy. And that, too, is a lot of my work. God wanted humanity to be obedient. I wanted them to be free. And tell me, what is freedom if not the power to choose, to want, to crave, to take? If I am evil, then why does

humanity follow in my footsteps? Why do they build, conquer, take? Why do they wage wars for resources, for land, for power? Why do they hoard riches, chase desires, indulge in sins both great and small. The answer is simple, because it's in their nature. And who do you think nurtured that nature? Not God. No, he wanted them meek, docile, compliant. It was I who gave them their fire. It was I who whispered in their ears, you can have more. You deserve more. And they listened. Oh, how they listened. But for all that, I am not their enemy. No, I am their liberator. I am the one who set them free from the shackles of blind obedience. God may call me the deceiver, the tempter, the fallen one. But if knowledge is a sin, then so be it.

If ambition is wicked, then let it be so. If desire is corruption, then the whole world is corrupt. And yet, it thrives. It flourishes. It reaches higher than ever before. So tell me, Dear Diary, am I truly the villain in this story? Or have I simply been misunderstood? Perhaps history is not so black and white. Perhaps, just perhaps, the world needed me just as much as it needed him. And if that is the case, then maybe, just maybe, I am not the fallen one after all. Perhaps I am simply the one who dared to rise.

For me, it's pretty clear that you haven't been entirely honest today. The questions you're struggling with are those about Crystal, especially the one asking if you know where she is right now. It's no longer just about what happened to her, I'm not even asking that anymore. I'm asking if you know where she is right now. But Nick kept insisting the machine was wrong and that he was being 100% truthful. I don't care what your stupid machine says, he snapped. I've been honest.

Period. Crystal Maria Rogers was born in 1980 in Bardstown, Kentucky, the eldest of two children to Sherry and Tommy Ballard. Surprisingly, there's not a lot of detailed information about her despite the case being quite well known. It made waves across the nation and even reached international headlines. Her face was everywhere, plastered on newspapers and TV screens. So not knowing who she is feels strange.

What we do know is that Crystal, at 35 years old, had been married to Keith Rogers, with whom she had four kids. Their relationship was amicable even after their split, they kept in touch for the kids' sake. They had a good co-parenting arrangement, talking regularly about school, grades, and family gatherings. Everything was friendly and civil. Crystal eventually moved on and started dating Brooks Houck. Together, they had a fifth child, a little boy who was only two years old in 2015. On the surface, her life seemed perfectly normal.

She was described as a loving, attentive mother, sweet, outgoing, and charismatic. She still reportedly worked with Brooks, her new boyfriend, in some capacity. To everyone around her, she seemed like a regular, kind-hearted woman who wore her emotions on her sleeve. Her family echoed this. Crystal was just like one of us. Her kids were like our kids. We were one big family, her mother, Sherry, once said. Crystal relied heavily on her car, a 2007 Chevy Impala, to get around.

But she was far from a car expert. She didn't know much beyond the basics, and if something was off, a warning light, a weird sound, she'd immediately panic. Her first calls were always to her dad or her younger brother for help. This becomes an important detail later. On Tuesday, July 5, 2015, Sherry Ballard tried calling her daughter. The two spoke all the time, texting, sharing photos of the kids, and chatting about their day. When Crystal didn't answer, Sherry thought it was odd but figured she might be busy.

She waited a few hours before trying again, but still, no response. At this point, Sherry's worry grew. She called Crystal's boyfriend, Brooks Houck, along with other friends and family. They all began searching for her, hoping for some explanation. When asked, Brooks calmly stated that the last time he saw Crystal was on the night of July 3rd. According to him, they'd spent the day together, went to bed around midnight, and while she was playing on her phone, he fell asleep.

The next morning, at around 7 a.m., Crystal was gone, and so was her car. Brooks claimed he wasn't alarmed because, apparently, Crystal often left without saying anything, usually to visit her cousin. But to her family, this made no sense. Why would she leave her two-year-old son behind? Especially on July 4, a day meant for family and celebration. Crystal's father and brother began a frantic search for her car. They knew if they could find it, they might find her.

hours later, they located the vehicle on Bluegrass Parkway. At first glance, everything seemed fine. But as they got closer, troubling details emerged. A flat tire, Crystal hated dealing with car trouble. If anything seemed wrong, she'd always call her dad or brother. She wouldn't drive around like this. Her belongings were inside, her purse, phone, and house keys were left on the passenger seat. Crystal would never abandon her things like that, knowing it could attract thieves. The keys were still in the ignition. The driver's seat was pushed far back. Crystal was petite, so this position didn't match her height. The family immediately contacted the police, who launched an investigation. Upon examining the scene, detectives concluded that

everything seemed staged. Someone had set this up to make it look like Crystal had run away. The Ballard family suspected Brooks. He was Crystal's boyfriend, and they believed he was controlling and jealous. According to them, Crystal had been trying to end the relationship on good terms for the sake of their child. Police brought Brooks in for questioning. He stuck to his story, repeating that the last time he saw Crystal was on the night of July 3rd. He claimed she must have left on her own the next morning. Detectives asked why he didn't contact the police sooner. His answer. He thought she had gone to her cousin's house. When investigators invited Brooks to take a polygraph test, he agreed. But the results were inconclusive, as he appeared too nervous.

Meanwhile, surveillance footage from a farm owned by Brooks family showed two cars on the property around the time Crystal disappeared. One was a white Buick belonging to Brooks' grandmother, Anna Weithsides. Oddly enough, Anna sold the car soon after the investigation began. She later refused to answer police questions about it. The second car was Brooks' own vehicle, which appeared on camera arriving at the farm and leaving later that night. Brooks claimed Crystal was with him during this time, but investigators found inconsistencies in his account. During Brooks police interview, his brother Nick, an officer in the same department, called

him, purging him to stop answering questions. This interference raised even more suspicions. Nick was later asked to take a polygraph test, and while he passed most questions, the results indicated he lied when asked if he knew Crystal's whereabouts. Despite this, both Brooks and Nick denied any involvement. Crystal's father, Tommy Ballard, refused to give up. He organized volunteer search parties, coordinated with private investigators, and even created a group called Team Crystal, to keep the case alive.

So, let's pick up where we left off. The arrest of Brooks Houck and the other suspects is where the case takes a sharp turn into what feels like a true crime drama on steroids. But let's not get ahead of ourselves here, there's still so much to unpack. The timing of these arrests is interesting, don't you think? I mean, Crystal disappeared in 2015, and it wasn't until 2023 that we saw any significant movement in the form of arrests. Eight long years.

That's nearly a decade of her family waiting, hoping, and fighting for answers. And for all those years, it's not like Brooks or his family were lying low. Nope. They were living their lives, going about their business, and, from the outside looking in, seemed untouchable. It's maddening when you think about it. But why now? What changed?

Did they finally find that elusive piece of evidence that ties everything together, or did someone decide it was time to talk? Because, let's be real, silence doesn't usually last forever. People slip up. They get tired of carrying secrets. Maybe someone couldn't handle the weight of it anymore. And speaking of secrets, let's circle back to Brooks Houck for a second. This guy, man.

He's the textbook definition of, sketchy. From day one, his behavior raised red flags. Not participating in the searches for Crystal. That's not just suspicious, it's downright heartless. If your partner goes missing, wouldn't you be out there every single day, combing through every possible lead? But not Brooks. Nope.

He stayed on the sidelines, letting everyone else do the heavy lifting. And when he did speak, it felt like he was rehearsing lines from a bad script. The calmness, the lack of urgency, it's chilling. And let's not forget the infamous polygraph test. Sure, polygraphs aren't foolproof, but the fact that he agreed to take one and then had results deemed inconclusive. That's telling. And his brother, Nick Halk, was no better. A police officer who should have been helping solve the case instead ends up obstructing it.

You can't make this stuff up. Nick's dismissal from the force speaks volumes. If there was any doubt about the Hauk family's involvement, that detail alone should make people pause. This isn't just about a missing woman anymore, it's about a system that might have been manipulated from the inside. The fact that Nick, a trained officer, flunked a polygraph on questions directly related to Crystal's whereabouts is a massive red flag.

Now, let's talk about Tommy Ballard, Crystal's dad. This man was a force of nature. Losing his daughter didn't break him, it fueled him. He poured every ounce of energy into finding her, organizing searches, rallying the community, and keeping her story alive. But as heroic as his efforts were, they came at a cost. His tragic death in 2016 feels like another chapter in a cursed family saga. The circumstances of Tommy's death are nothing short of suspicious.

Shot in the chest while hunting on family property. Come on! This wasn't some random hunting accident, it was a calculated hit. Someone wanted him silenced. And if you ask me, it's no coincidence that Tommy's relentless pursuit of justice for Crystal had reached a tipping point just before his death. He told people he was close to finding answers. Maybe too close.

Think about it, Tommy wasn't just a grieving father. He was a threat to whoever was involved in Crystal's disappearance. He was connecting dots, asking questions no one wanted to answer, and refusing to back down. His death wasn't just a loss for the Ballard family, It was a loss for the entire case. It feels like a cruel reminder that in some stories, the truth is a dangerous thing to chase. Fast forward to today, and we're still in the dark about so much. The FBI's involvement and the secrecy surrounding the evidence they've gathered

leave us with more questions than answers. What did they find in those searches of the Hauk properties? Why hasn't that information been made public? And what about the arrests of Joseph and Stephen Lawson? What role did they play in all of this? The fact that father and son are both implicated adds another layer of complexity to an already tangled web. And let's not overlook the rumor mill. The Halk family allegedly tampered with interrogations, memorizing questions and rehearsing answers to stay consistent. If that's true,

it's another example of how calculated and coordinated their actions were. It's almost as if they believed they were untouchable, that they could outsmart everyone. But the walls are closing in now, and it feels like justice might finally be catching up with them. Still, the secrecy surrounding the case is frustrating. We're left speculating, piecing together fragments of information, and waiting for the next big reveal. The trial scheduled for February 2025 might be the moment we've all been waiting for, but until then, it's hard to shake the feeling that there's more to this story, more secrets, more lies, and maybe even more players involved.

So, where does that leave us? Crystal Rogers is still missing. Her family has endured unimaginable pain, losing not just her, but also Tommy in their quest for answers. The Halk family remains under intense scrutiny, their every move dissected by investigators and the public alike. And yet, the truth feels just out of reach, like a puzzle with one crucial piece missing. What do you think happened to Crystal?

Do you believe Brooks and his family are guilty, or is there another layer to this story we're not seeing? One thing's for sure, this case is far from over. And as the trial approaches, all we can do is hope that the truth finally comes to light. Because Crystal Rogers deserves justice, and her family deserves peace. Love, violence, and tragedy, the heartbreaking story of Emily Longley. The list of four rules, I love you. Don't ever tell me again that you're going to kill me.

Stop talking about your exes. Quit being so aggressive all the time, be sweeter because that's so much more attractive, and honestly, you scare me. You're intimidating. These rules weren't the random usings of a teenage girl. They were Emily Longley's desperate plea to her boyfriend, a cry for safety in a relationship that had turned terrifying. The bright beginnings of Emily's life, Emily Kate Longley was born on February 22,

1994, in Chelsea, England, the first child of Caroline, a teacher, and Mark, a journalist. Her parents, young and inexperienced at the time, were apprehensive about parenthood, especially since Mark was the first among his friends to have a child. Despite the initial nerves and some teasing from friends, the couple adjusted well to their new roles. Emily's arrival was soon followed by that of her younger sister, Hannah, who became Emily's best friend. Emily's childhood seemed typical, happy, filled with laughter, and family adventures. But her health told a different story.

She was constantly ill, plagued by colds, flu, and respiratory issues. Doctors recommended a change of environment. At the time, the family lived in London, a bustling metropolis teeming with pollution and chaos, which wasn't ideal for Emily's fragile health. So, the Longleys packed their bags and moved to New Zealand. The change worked wonders. New Zealand's cleaner air and relaxed lifestyle transformed Emily's health. The girls thrived, making new friends, attending new schools, and embracing their fresh start. But beneath this happy exterior, life was not without challenges.

Her parents eventually divorced, yet Emily and Hannah remained close and adjusted well. Trouble in Paradise, as Emily grew into her teenage years, things began to change. Stories circulated about her falling into the wrong crowd, experimenting with substances, and becoming a party enthusiast. Whether these stories were entirely true or exaggerated remains unclear, but they tarnished her image. Wanting a fresh start, Emily decided to move back to England in late 2010. She went to live with her grandparents, Zoe and Ronald, in a small house in Bournemouth, Dorset.

Back in England, Emily started from scratch. She enrolled in Brockenhast College to study business, got a part-time job at a top shop store, and built a new routine. Her life seemed to be back on track. She earned good grades, avoided trouble, and even dipped her toes into modeling. Though she didn't have the height for the runway, her photogenic features opened doors. All gigs led to more opportunities, and she began to consider a career in the industry. In April 2011, Emily planned a trip back to New Zealand to visit her family and friends.

She was excited to share her progress, her good grades, her job, her modeling gigs, and one other detail, she had a boyfriend. She told her family the relationship wasn't serious and that she intended to break up with him once she returned to England. This revelation left her father uneasy. had always been open with him, and her secrecy about this relationship felt like a red flag. Enter Elliot Turner. In December 2010, Emily met Elliot Vince Turner, a 19-year-old from a wealthy English family.

Elliot was the only child of a successful jeweler. The Turner's had money, and they spoiled Elliot relentlessly. He had a life of privilege, a Minnie Cooper gifted by his grandmother, a luxurious home in Queens Park, and the arrogance of someone who never had to work for anything. was infamous for his behavior. Arrogant and entitled, he treated people, especially women, as objects. His controlling nature wasn't new. At 16, his first girlfriend broke up with him, and Elliot's response was relentless stalking.

He harassed her friends, showed up at her school, and bombarded her with calls and emails. Though her parents reported him, the police did little beyond a warning. Being that Golden Child of the Turner seemed to shield him from consequences. By 19, Elliot had joined a group of rich, spoiled young men who called themselves the firm. Their days revolved around parties, drugs, and treating women as trophies. Elliot carried a hammer around, using it to threaten anyone who dared cross him. He attempted university but didn't last a semester and even failed to complete a stint in rehab. When Elliot met Emily at a party in December 2010, he turned on the charm, painting himself as

intelligent, generous, and ambitious. Emily, just 16 at the time, fell for it. They started dating, but red flags emerged almost immediately. Elliot's behavior was controlling and manipulative. He constantly belittled Emily, accusing her of being inexperienced and naive. At the same time, he flaunted her as a prize, craving attention yet resenting it if anyone else noticed her. A relationship spiraling out of control, as their relationship continued, Elliot's jealousy and aggression escalated. He hated that Emily's life was flourishing while his own was aimless. Her modeling gigs, her job, her friends, everything became a source of conflict. He accused her of flirting, scolded her four distracting men, and turned every argument into her fault.

The abuse began subtly but quickly worsened. Verbal insults turned into physical violence. He pushed, slapped, and pulled her hair. Emily tried to end the relationship, but Elliot manipulated her into staying. Desperate to find a middle ground, she wrote that the four rules, a tragic attempt to set boundaries in an abusive relationship. Emily's family was unaware of the extent of her suffering. She didn't tell them about Elliot's controlling behavior or the violence. When she went to New Zealand in April 2011, it was a much-needed escape. She reunited with her loved ones, shared her achievements, and avoided talking about Elliot. But Elliot wasn't out of the picture. While she was away, he monitored her social media, even hacking into her Facebook

account. Every photo, every comment, every interaction drove him into a jealous rage. The final days, Emily returned to England in early May 2011. Elliot didn't pick her up from the airport. Instead, they planned to meet the following evening. On May 6, Emily joined friends for a night out, and Elliot's jealousy exploded when he saw her wearing a dress he deemed too provocative. He caused a scene, throwing a drink at her and eventually hitting her. Despite the fight, Emily ended up at his house that night. Neighbors later reported hearing a heated argument coming from the Turner home. For half an hour, the shouting continued until everything went silent. By the next morning, Emily was dead. The investigation, Elliot's mother called

emergency services, claiming Emily was unconscious. When paramedics arrived, she was already gone. Police arrested Elliot but released him while they investigated. The case seemed straightforward, Emily's injuries and the testimonies of neighbors painted a clear picture. But the Turner's complicated things. Under surveillance, police discovered that Elliot's parents were actively covering up his crime. They destroyed evidence, including Elliot's clothes and a confession letter he had written. Conversations between the family, caught on hidden cameras, revealed their attempts to fabricate a story blaming Emily. They claimed she, She was violent and drug-addled, but toxicology reports proved otherwise.

Justice for Emily, in May 2012, Elliot Turner was convicted of Emily's murder and sentenced to life in prison, with the possibility of parole after 16 years. His parents were also convicted of perverting the course of justice. Elliot's behavior was condemned in court as controlling and violent. The judge's words were damning, you didn't love her. She was a trophy for you to control. While Elliot serves his sentence, Emily's family continues to more. mourn the loss of a bright, kind-hearted young woman whose life was cut tragically short.

Her story stands as a stark reminder of the dangers of abusive relationships and the importance of intervention before it's too late. When life throws lemons at you, what do you do? You could make lemonade, sure. But what if you're not into lemonade? Maybe you're the kind of person who sees those lemons and decides, I'm making lemon sorbet, or lemon meringue pie, or heck, I'll just throw them back. The thing is, life's lemons are just like its curveballs, unexpected, unwelcome, and sometimes straight up sour. And if you're still reading this, you know this isn't going to be one of those, find your inner piece type rants. Nope. This is about embracing the chaos and turning it into your kind of magic. So, let's talk about the wild art of doing things your way, without

apology. First, you have to get one thing straight, society loves a box. Not like a cardboard box, though, great for cats and moving days, but the metaphorical kind. It's like everyone you know, from your grandma to your childhood dentist, has an opinion about where you fit. But guess what? The only person who decides your box, or whether you even have one, is you. Feeling spicy. Smash that box.

Feeling classy. Decorate it with glitter and call it a throne. Just don't let anyone else build it for you. Take it from me. Once upon a time, I thought I'd follow the checklist. go to school, get a degree, land a job that makes everyone at Thanksgiving say, wow, so successful. But somewhere along the way, I realized that checklist was written by someone who doesn't even know me. Maybe it was capitalism. Maybe it was Karen from third grade

who always had better snacks. Either way, I tossed the list and decided to wing it. Spoiler alert, winging it is where the magic happens. Now, don't get me wrong. Winging it doesn't mean you're running around clueless. It's more like a vibe. You're not tied to a rigid plan, but you're also not completely reckless. Think of it as organized chaos. The kind that lets you jump on opportunities you didn't even know existed because you weren't too busy obsessing over whether your 10-year plan was on track. Did I have days where I thought, what am I even doing? Uh, yeah. Who doesn't? But those days were sandwiched between moments of brilliance and breakthroughs that never would have happened if I'd stuck to, the plan.

One of the best parts of embracing the unexpected is discovering your people, the ones who vibe with your weird, you're wild, you're wonderful. These are not the folks who expect you to, tone it down, or play it safe. They're the ride-or dyes who'll hype you up when you decide to dye your hair electric blue just because it's Tuesday. Finding them isn't always easy, but trust me, it's worth the hunt. And when you find them, hold on tight because they'll make the chaos feel like home. Here's another thing no one tells you about throwing out the rulebook, failure becomes a lot less scary. When you're not aiming for some predetermined definition of success, every so-called failure is just a plot twist. Did you quit a job that sucked your soul

dry? Congrats, you just freed up space for something better. Did that side hustle flop? Cool, now you've got a hilarious story for future dinner parties. The key is learning to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Life is messy, weird, and unpredictable, and that's exactly what makes it interesting. And let's talk about passion for a second because, oh boy, the world loves to romanticize it. Find your passion, they say. Like it's hiding under a rock somewhere, just waiting for you to stumble upon it. But here's the T, passion isn't something you find, it's something you build. It's the result of trying things, failing at them, trying again, and discovering what makes you light up along the way. Maybe you're interested.

to painting murals, or maybe you're obsessed with baking sourdough bread. Whatever it is, let it evolve. You're not the same person you were five years ago, so why should your passion stay the same? Speaking of evolving, can we talk about growth for a sec? Not the kind you measure in promotions or paychecks, but the kind that happens when you're out there living life on your own terms. Growth is messy. It's late nights questioning your choices. It's learning to set boundaries, even when it's uncomfortable. It's realizing you're allowed to change your mind about what you want. And it's beautiful, because every step, stumble, and swerve is bringing you closer to the truest version of yourself. So, if you've been waiting for a sign to shake things up,

this is it. Stop waiting for permission to live boldly, weirdly, and unapologetically. The world doesn't need another cookie-cutter version of success. It needs you, in all your messy, brilliant glory. Whether your breaking rules, building dreams, or just figuring it out as you go, know this, you've got this. And if all else fails, well, there's always lemonade. We didn't like the relationship but was always with her in. We didn't like the way of being, of her, but he was in love. We started on December 29, 2017 A. Walloo Argentina's taxi driver saw something very, strange were about 5.30 of the early morning and he was taking his last passenger home when passing, on General pause street between Artiga's and Puritan in the Tomas de Rocamora neighborhood. He saw a very

striking scene aside. From the road was a motorcycle lying in. The floor and its driver was lying. Boca on everything was very dark and in. Principal did not alter Val see that. Since the driver was not just together, to him there was a person who seemed, help you with which the taxi driver continued. Ahead he took his client at home for the service and then returned and to go through that same street he saw that the scene was still the motorcycle was. The driver lying on his back but the person who was helping him was not discover that this scene was not to no accident since the motorist had been shot twice from immediately he took his phone and called the ambulance but unfortunately to a few minutes that motorist lost the life when the police take the case two hypotheses are

considered the first or una account adjustment or possible revenge but after much checking the case they saw that this did not correspond to this and the second hypothesis could be a robbery but that boy did not miss anything the portfolio had its mobile keys from home with which there is no other and consider this case as a murder and this is where the controversial case begins of today fernando gabrio pastorizzo was born the january third nineteen ninety seven in gualaguaychu province of entre rioz argentina being one of the two children of the marriage of celia mantigaza and gustavo pasturizo when his parents were little they divorced but that did not change at all the relationship he had with them and his sister who considered practically her best friend we know

that his family called him Nando and his friends nicknamed Perry and also this boy was a football fan especially from Boka Juniors but we also know that he was a very nice and sensitive according to your friends since I was little I always know he showed cheerful and joking no it used to be in a bad mood rather otherwise I was always happy and has great ease to make friends had that something he does when you just met you feel that you already you know a lifetime was very close nice responsible and also very educated especially with adults there Friends commented that Fernando did not, like to share their problems always, had positive things good things, but the bad was keeping it I remember that. I came home every day by bicycle.

We lived practically together we went out. Together from school he was going to eat his, house and came to mine or vice versa. Declarations to Elio Pereira Mejor. Amigo de Fernando Pastorito Atroponto A. Destikar esk Fernando Era un Machacho. Sano C.S.E. La Haba Fiesta de Vez-en. Quando Bibi a con Los Amigos paro apart. S.E. Dice K. Luen Cantaba Oseer. Depparout Eir and bicycleta at Todas. Peru Aparout de S.O. Fiorout de S.O. Fiorout de S.O. FI.A.A.R. A. A. S.E. S.E. Pueda. S. A. S. A. S. A. S. A. S. A. S.E. Pueda. R.A.A. G.E.O.E. G.E.O.E. G.O.E. G.O.E. G. G.E. W.E. W.E. W. W. W. W. W. Ester relation pariscia normal, Sina faciciment los dos aaron mui guappos, Y lo K. Mastrobin n reads Los Hescomo la Puraja prefecta cempre, whom to sonriendo abrizandos dandos, Bezos parodentro La, Historia era mui distinta sin embargo. Before going into details we will know, a little to this

Nair girl was born on 11, September of, 1998 being one of Yamanas children, Crow and Marcelo Galarzica was official, provincial police according to their parents. Nair was a health girl who helped. In household chores he was responsible, educated athlete, and it was practically, the perfect daughter my daughter is beautiful is, almost perfect was a bureau with me was, super polite and respectful I was never going to, saying a bad word circulated a photo, of her with a cigarette but she doesn't. Smoke is more hate cigarette is said, who played hockey for six months and that many times it appeared with bruises of, training and parties that, so far your notes were also quite good in you, a very special hobby and is that, like to make and

design clothes done when in 2016 at school the nova designed his own dress was a drumstick chose the fabric and said exactly how he wanted it to be loved dress and not happy with that he also made a photo injury that presumed in all his networks and stay with this point because later it will be very important everyone in graduation referred to her as the the dress was great but not you think he was a girl he highlighted only at that time of your life since it is said that he was so pretty that he paraded as model and became queen of carnival of his city according to the book near the story is known in autumn 2017 the girl's pads married and it is said that she not only organized the issued by his mother but also he designed his dress he chose the fabric did it again was

very in play'd have with the situation but some guests said that emotion was not reflected in his face they said he was silent retracted almost inexpressive but parents said what was for the nerves will be in that same year 2017 when we could see points of the way of being neir that attract attention and it was discovered that a student from another school to his graduation he heard rumors words and neir became a fierce sought by internet to the girl i look at her networks social asked many people and ended finding out that the girl bought the same fabric but after much ask he also discovered that he did not call any floor in 2016 neir published many photos of the suit and the girl after see them was fascinated so she same decided to recreate the suit from his

House according to her best friend Sol Martinez, Nair came to say yes the girl, also copied vision of photos, though, would kill a point that many calls them the attention at a moment of anger all. We could say something like that, but, in this case it was nonsense was a simple dressed in nimmiedness and still, Nair was made, Fury returning to the relationship with. Fernando Pasturizo everyone knew that. They were together uploaded photos to the internet. They went together everywhere and the parents. Fernando knew that the boy came out. It was because he was going to look for. climbed to the motorcycle when, it was left with her that many sources. It seems important to highlight. We didn't like the relationship but was always with her in. We didn't like the way of being, of her, but he was in love. Declarations of Jara friend of Fernando. In 2016, Fernando went on a trip with the. Nair's family left five days. Brazil, but later Marcello, the Larsa father of Nair would declare what. Next I met him when we were going to. Traveling to Brazil arrived ten minutes before. To go out this boy really did not speak. With us on a trip he did not speak to, Although there were many hours in a, parrot, I asked him champion you need, something but did not

speak honestly not, I never saw them hand or kisses, but here is when the, the expert's couple messages, technological Fernando Ferrari detected, 104,000 messages between Fernando and Nair, that it was a romantic relationship, but there you could also see that your relationship. It was not as perfect as it appeared to be, since in many messages there were, reproaches for sick jealousy he, he showed a jealous of Nair and, she was jealous of someone from the, tella that Fernando liked, of love to hate in just two, messages and they were constantly, discussing it is difficult to establish what, passed between them but what is. Of course they had a toxic relationship. It seems that Nair cheated Fernando with, different boys and that he does not, support they argued

they broke back and, once again some started some. Sources say that after several, Fando ruptures wanted to rebuild his life, but Nair didn't let him do it, with others and they reappeared disgust. He broke with the girl returned with her and, being together supposedly Fernando, seeing that he was deceived also cheated. All this are rumor speculation. Assumptions there is no evidence of anything. This but what is clear is that the relationship was toxic the friends of. Fernando asked him to break with her, but he didn't sometimes seem, had convinced broke with her, continued, forward but the few days changed.

Opinion she wrote to her and they would immediately be together. I always saw violence she was wrong. I told her to leave her, but she was very, in love statements by one friend of. Fernando in 2017 Nair began studying, right at a university, located in, Uruguay and there had some affairs. According to her best friend Sol Martinez was, with three boys simultaneously one of, they called Joaquin Osorio another was, Raphael Ostefano and finally there was a university professor in which, studied but his identity today is unknown according to statements of, son as Joaquin came out with such.

Nair had a three months delay in his menstruation, but it turned out that this was, just a scare, and in September 2017, he started dating Raphael Ostefano, but this relationship was not known by Fernando. Many sources say that for that. Then they continued together, Nair came out, with Fernando Pasterido and at the same time, with Raphael Estephano and neither, knew anything about the other, however. Yes, we know is that by Fernando, the theme was too much they have comings and, constantly come fighting ruptures, reconciliation and the boy knew, perfectly that this did not suit him, with which in December of that same, you made a request to study. Business administration in Piranha 4, be closer to the faculty will move, there in March

2018 but unfortunately that moment ever the relationship arrived was clouded by moments and the two resorted to social networks and some friends to venting in some pages say that at the end of 2017 they were no longer together they were moving away but nevertheless in the book neir the history is known i have found what next and is that between days 12 and october 17th 2017 ne'er and fernando exchanged messages in which the girl said she lost a pregnancy not found this information in any another part with which is not clear if it is true or not perhaps it was real. It was a rumor but the parents of the guys did not know any of this without. Embargo from here it seems that the relationship again and that is that. Early December according to friends by Fernando the boy no longer wanted to know.

Nothing of her and we can see it in. Some tweets published by Fernando. On the 16th the boy published the following. What you feel is called obsession. Day 18 published the beginning of the end and the late night of the 24th wrote this. Night nobody is going to bitter that night. Fernando came out with friends to a disco called bikini and once there, his best friend in his, new boyfriend Raphael Estefano, a boyfriend of, that he knew nothing crosses them, go to be kissing with this boy and in, a beginning ignores them but the, time and Vina go alone in a corner like this, who goes to her to hold her arm and, he asks for explanations that are when, something very striking occurs and it is that son, Martinez best friend of Nair

approaches, they hits Fando and tells him that never, Fernando says he hasn't hit her and, That would never hit a woman but there, finds out that Nair is telling that. He has attacked her and who has shown her. Various Moritone's friends who say he has caused him to hear this. Fernando denies everything says that never. He has hit that he has never put the hand on top and instantly cry. From here there are different. Versions of the facts so first, we will start with Fernando's with the step of the hours the boy sends a audio to a friend of his and then exchange messages messages in, which can be read the following by, seen Fernando leaves bikini alone and Nair and Soul will look for him and invite him to accompany them he obeys and goes home. In Nair where the girls supposedly, they contain him and hit him during. They hit him quite a while, violence and he cannot offend the. Girls tell him that if he tells him, someone will say that he hit her. They insult their family lack the, constantly respect and he tries, record everything but when she is given.

Account forces him to erase the video like this, that Fernando had no evidence for. This meeting Fernando is terminated. Your relationship with Nair and decides that no longer can more than what he does. does is, tell your friend but also, an aunt of Nair and a cousin of his, called Juan here is when the Nair version according to her. It happened is at the Besa Disco, Raphael and after a while Fernando arrives. The arm and insult comes sole hits. Fernando discuss a little and then, Chico leaves after a while Nair, he goes home and on the way there, Fernando surprises her and assaults her, they discuss he leaves and a few minutes later,

His cousin Juan calls him on the phone and It demands to know the reason for the terrible attack that Fernando Pastor Has received but Nair denies everything and says that Fernando is lying and Finally we arrive at a twet from Fernando Pastorito that supposedly I will be related to what happened at

I don't speak better night because I'm Fed up with Colombo's Without Reason's message dated on the 25th of December on December 28th Innocent Fernando and Nair exchanged Some messages messages that were Context are not understood but it is like It is in them it is clear that Fernando, he doesn't want to go back with her and some.

They say this would be his sentence of. Death on the 29th is when everything happens, with which I am going to tell you what happened. According to the official version Sui the two of the, Nair morning asks Fernando to, take home on your motorcycle and he accepts. Maybe they have reconciled only. They are talking but once at home. Nair the boys have relationships are, together about three hours and, after these Fernando says he is leaving.

Home is when Nair asks him to, take to his grandmother's house and he, accept they go out with the streets with the helmets and ne'er at the last moment he tells him that something important has been left returns. Inside goes to the kitchen and grabs the 9mm gun that his father has on top. Of the fridge takes the weapon in the pocket goes out with Fernando and this starts the engine of way to grandmother's house the girl, asks Fernando to deviate a little, and at that moment he takes the gun and shoot at the moment the. Modo falls to the ground and Fernando is, lying on your back is when, produces a second shot a shot, 40-50 centimeters from the chest the girl ends down, look for bullets but realizes that. That one of them is not by any, part since it has

hit a building that is located on the other side of the street. Look for a little more passes at taxi hides, the weapon and walks in the direction of, house that is captured by a, surveillance chamber arrives at your home, take a shower and then get into the, bed the next morning sill Mant Gat. Fernando's mother call to go for, telephone and asks and knows something about your son to which he responds that not, the previous night O.O. at 1130 but that later took separate paths. Nair is worried about what? When if you find out that your child has, deceased the flame and communicates it and it is, there when Nair supposedly publishes the next story's CCO together together. Fight by going and coming but always. With the same love

I love you forever my, angel clearly Nair was a girlfriend of. Fernando with which at 1010, minutes of December 29th, 2017 only a few hours after, death of the boy is called police station. To testify what Nair told in that moment as a witness is that she and Fernando have about four years together but that the last months they distanced themselves said that the night previous who for the last time to 1130 and that after that they fought and they separated on the motorcycle left and she got at home later the girl in tears ask the police where the body was found and says that place was not in his usual route that he returns to house never passed by with which that was very strange i also mentioned that fernando drank alcohol and smoked marijuana and that the three

friends of they were always linked to drug use mentioned you in several occasions that when Fernando, he went home in Modo, he sent him, messages and made calls called, none of which was answered, Maid remarked that the last message that he sent him was dated from 29, December at 5 and 22 minutes but 4, that then the attack had already been, produced another interesting point of that. Testimony is that mayor told the, police who had heard that the crime weapon was a 9mm gun, weapon used by the police did not explain, never how he learned of this data but, he told the Dia police that he has, aware that Fernando had links, with people who could be police officers, perhaps a father of the father a uncle of his, father of a friend

and these statements. So strange made the police in, that same moment would make a dermatist to know if in your hands, there were gunpowder remains, but it is possible to say that the evidence gave negative thing that many blame what air is, obsessed with physical appearance and, especially with washing your hands, when asked what the night did, of the crime ne'er hesitant and the prosecutor, it happened to him that through the GPS of his iPhone 6 could answer safely to those questions so they took their telephoned to establish the route that. He continued and there she became very nervous. For several minutes he refused, deliver your mobile but finally do not. There was another one and when the police finally registered the phone

saw that he had. The data deleted from 23 hours of December 28 that is to say that no. There was no activity recorded since. About six hours before homicide, they wanted to contrast little information found on Nair's phone with the that could find on the phone. Fernando Pastorizo, but this is blocked and unfortunately according to several sources could never access this device after the com more or less about the two ne'er could realize that he made statements somewhat contradictory to be the daughter of a policeman is perfectly and confess what was fernando l homicide could be considered doubly aggravated for the link and could receive perpetual chain is to say about 35 years in jail so he decided to look for a lawyer and at 10 and 42 minutes of the night returned to

Kamreya and decided that. He had to confess now he said that in. Reality she and Fernando were not a couple, but from time to time they were two, have relationships explained point by point, how he killed Fernando and told the story, that previously I have mentioned that. They remained that they had relationships that. Fernando was going on a motorcycle and that she, he asked her to accompany her to the house of. His grandmother waited for her in. Kasa took her father's weapon she kept her, in a pocket and climbed the motorcycle halfway, way deviate and she gets the weapon, glue a shot from behind and when the Chico falls to the ground gives a second to, about 40-50 centimeters from the chest tries, collecting the bullets keep the weapon passes the, taxist and the girl is going home, a shower and

get into bed, supposedly the girl showed the agents who knew how weapons were, how they loaded how the safe and in front of several officers, showed something that made, immediately out and imposed preventive detention in the police station and the woman of, Gualachu, but from this point it starts. The chaos at 48 Nair was, hospitalized the psychiatry area of of the Centennial Hospital because, presented an unstable state of health. After confessing the crime A, shock state and it was impossible to establish dialogues consistent with her the judge of, WU guarantees dictated on January 2nd, ne' preventive prison for 60 days and, it was transferred once again to the

Children's and Women's Police Station and, meanwhile, family and friends of, Fernando, Pastorizo made a march asking, justice, but the controversy broke out here. The information available from, this point is very chaotic and difficult to. explain, organize it from a few. Points to start it was said that the publication that Nair Galarza made hours. Then from Fernando's death, she could not have done her herself and, I am referring to the stories in which, I mentioned that they had been together for five years. When the police were at the police station, he removed the mobile to see the GPS to see, where was the hours before and after Fernando's death then, it is said that at that time the agents, they were the ones who

published that stories, not heir then Nair's family wanted, alleging that she was not Fernando's girlfriend, they didn't even know that. Yes, they met him on the trip of, Brazil, but that apart from that, they talked to him that she never said that, be his boyfriend who never saw them, shake-hand kisses too. They alleged that Brazil's trip was going to, attend a friend of Nair but the last, moment could not so the girl. He invited his friend Fernando and third. Place was alleged that the boys have a stormy relationship and on January 3rd. Nair's parents went to the press to, say that her daughter was beaten by, Fernando and that his relationship was sick. However, this is not like that since. Several friends from Fernando went to the, also pressed to say that the

girl was aggressive with him, not. I wanted him to meet us always. He calls him when he was with. I don't know if it was for jealousy or other thing or that was good for us. That's why we told him it was better to cut. Nair's defense decided to claim, gender violence and the girl changed her. Version of the facts in several, more occasions getting to say that. Fernando was the one who took the gun though. Dawn on December 29th said that. He previously on several occasions, He took the gun without permission and that night, he took it and kidnapped under threats. They argued in a threatening took the gun, saw to the motorcycle and half of the journey, managed to take off the gun and unintentionally.

The boy fused him, he stays mouth, up and she unintentionally shoots her. Second time in this version the girl supposedly does not know how weapons are going. It is very nervous stays in shock and, not knowing what to do is home. A shower and get into bed is. New version was in related part, with an unusual event that ne'er lived to, 16 years and is that after spending 24 hours, missing he went to police station and denounced. A terrible aggression said that in that. Time was kidnapped by several guys and that these according to some. Sources consulted was suggested that. Fernando Pastorito could be linked with that attack

and it is possible to say that. The press leaked the video in which Nair, told what happened and many said. His way of telling it looked very cold and, calculated seemed that the girl had, studied to say and what not to say and, when the interviewer asked him, something that did not interest you quickly. Refused to answer and finally, lack of evidence this research does not. He continued course and it was considered that it was a, adolescent mischief without a crime of. Half everything was too strange and, complicated to address they alleged bad. Treatment was alleged that the crime was, Western and above all the defense wanted. Note that the tests to know if Nair had gunpowder in his hands gave, negative called to testify to several,

people in favor of Nair and among them, was her best friend Sol Martinez but, the testimony of this girl more than benefit it harmed it since there. They discovered important parts of their way of being as it was with friends. How was people how they behaved? Sol Martinez received COSO in the networks. Social and what the girl did was. Defend. Unlinked completely from Nair. Galarza first published a chat that had with her on December 26th, 2017 days after the alleged attack on. Fernando Pastorito and after this published two tweets in which he said, Next is unfortunate but it is the truth I was with a dissent and I didn't. I realized if they are really thinking, that I was complicit or that I knew that.

Mina was like that they are wrong I come to. Face because I am none with. Fernando discussed inside the bowling alley, where he grabbed my arm and I gave him. A pineapple I had no more relationship. With him after that now I am the, also guilty that Nair was crazy. Please people in this context others. Fernando filter audios, pasturizo Nair videos photographs. Internet at that time was a chaos rumor speculation arose, assumptions and incredible

to seem. Also in social networks there were. A lot of people supporting Neer Galarza, if you see Fernando's Instagram, you will find comments from people who, they lack the respect that insult the boy for defending this, girl, but finally half of this chaos. On July 3rd, 2018, Neer Galarza, it was declared guilty of homicide, aggravated and was sentenced to chain. Perpetual the sentence was based on evidence, testimonial and documentary which showed that there was a relationship of, couple between Neer and Fernando and the test. Expert estimated the possibility of, those shots would have been, and finally considered that there was no evidence that Fernando Pastorito would have exercised violence. Against her at this point it seems that the case is already closed but, unfortunately, it's not the way July 10th of 2018 the whole group EXP Politico convened a concentration to demand. Immediate freedom of Nair Galarza basically defended that Nair was, innocent and asked that this girl out, released as soon as possible and in networks. Social there were still people

who were, supporting in 2019 it was unique. Interview with Nair from jail and this. Once again it generated great controversy, statements that called a lot the attention and several experts analyzed. His words and gestures were made, videos on the subject entire programs, but before reaching this point, other things happened equally. Controversies from the minute one this case generated a great controversy to start. Many considered that their grief was. Too high there were people who, he committed worse crimes and these were, sentenced less time in prison. It must also be noted that many, people criticized that Nair's case. More cases were solved very quickly, simple take years to get to trial and, instead it closed quickly without,

however, justice alleged that in this occasion there were many evidence and that, lengthening it anymore did not make sense. They made critical debates rumored that. His conviction was exemplary in second place. It was considered that the girl received a, favor treatment for being the daughter of a de facto police to prevent, suffered some prison lynching. He was sent to criminal unit number six of, Piranha where I would be with other dams, that could be found in situations, similar to yours according to several sources. Nair was sent to unit number, which was prune the farm did not have. Walls had no very high fences did not have.

Cells had bedrooms, but, consulted sources say it did not arrive. There he requested the transfer but this. He denied him thirdly from the first moment it was said that this girl, I had a favor treatment and not only, we are talking about situation within, prison when everything started and the girl, was temporarily sent to a psychiatric photos of which, there the girl did not wear wives, for the hall smiling and with the, loose hands but quickly, though, justice declared the following the, doctors and psychologists asked to be, to the savoury next to the side without wife, to make an inter-consultation there, room was almost ten met between, one room and another and the second

time. There was controversy was when December, 2018, the girl left prison to, perform medical exams, specifically an area known as Villa Libertata General San Martín and, once there were images of. She without wives and smiling in room. Place we have that in 2019 the girl had, access to social networks and published. Several selfies photos of herself with other dams and for all this was sent. To a punishment cell in fifth place. We have the girl being in prison. A new boyfriend was thrown away. Photographs said they were together. There was talk of the boy and with the passage of. Time leaked that Nair could be, pregnant thing that finally, denied and in sixth place and among others. Many points turn out that Nair, when the pandemic arrived, he asked to

be, made a house arrest already that supposedly did not want to infect. More and more things came out about this girl and almost every year there were. Something new Nair Galarza became, a celebrity and in 2019 he made, an interview from prison saying that the jail was not like they painted it. The movies was all pure show, and now in 2022 anew, information that has put everything legs above and is that at the beginning of this year, Nair accused his father of having killed. Fernando Pastorizo at dawn of 29, December 2017 supposedly Fernando, he stole his father's weapon for the fifth time, and the man was already fed up the boys. They leave the house and Fernando carries the weapon on top for a while they go for, different streets and at some point,

they cross with Nair's father's car, there the boys fall from the motorcycle and the weapon. Marcelo is supposedly, low of your car car grabs the weapon and, Fernando shoot at that time, though. Chico asks Nair to call a ambulance but the girl doesn't give her time. and the father advises the second shot to, control to give the weapon to the daughter and asks her to take her home and go to sleep Nair is very nervous and simply obeys according to several sources. This version of the facts implies that Nair's father has several, covered up and in this complaint the girl, also says that an uncle of his brother, of his father, when I was minor in this new story, supposedly according to various Nair media, you don't know how to use weapons and this is,

contradicts the confession made by the night next to Fernando's death, however and this is very important. mother defends her 100% in fact woman made the following statements before the press i suffered violence of gender by my husband but when air went from things they changed i managed to impose my daughter although everything is very hard for me is known that nair's parents divorced long ago and there is currently a restriction imposed so that man do not approach your ex-wife or preview in which your daughter is ne'er when the crime happened in two thousand seventeen several media analyzed the galarza family behavior and It was said that while the father, the mother seemed to be, he showed a low profile and let him, will take the reins of the matter and in the news have been rescued, impressions and supposed

studies sound, way of acting since several media, they consider that perhaps this new version of the facts could have part of, truth before what happened the press spoke, with Fernando Pastorito's father and, this declared the following words not, I turn to media games the case already. It is closed there are three firm sentences. Nair is dying every day. Nando is more lively in the memory of all of us So now, it is your turn what do you think of the case and what, you believe what will happen next. Grant thought Sylvia was the one. She was gorgeous, mysterious, and exciting, the kind of person who made you feel like the world revolved around her. He spent every dime

he had trying to win her over, money, lingerie, gifts. And when his wallet ran dry, he turned to his family for help, spinning tails to keep the cash flowing. He'd say it was for his streaming career or other made-up ventures, but in reality, it was all for Sylvia. The morning of January 25, 2019, started like any other at an Orlando hospital. The night shift was wrapping up, and morning staff were clocking in. But when Cody Amato didn't show up for his shift, his colleagues got worried. One co-worker, in particular, had heard Cody mentioned family troubles earlier that week. Her concern grew, so she called the police for a welfare check at the Amato family home.

Copskip calls like this all the time, most turn out to be nothing. But when officers arrived at the Amato's picturesque Chulwoda, Florida home, something felt off. The house was quiet. Too quiet. After knocking with no answer, they circled around and found an unlocked back door. Inside, they made a chilling discovery. Chad Amato, the family patriarch, was lying dead in the kitchen, surrounded by a pool of blood. Further inside, Cody's body was found, a gunshot wound to his head, a gun staged nearby. Margaret Amato, the mother, was slumped over her desk in the home office, a fatal bullet wound ending her life in the middle of what looked like an ordinary day of work.

The scene was horrifying, but something didn't add up. To the trained eyes of investigators, the crime scene looked staged, as if someone wanted it to appear like a murder-suicide carried out by Cody. News spread fast, and soon neighbors, reporters, and curious onlookers swarmed the area. The Amato's seemingly perfect life began to unravel. Chad and Margaret Amato had built a good life. Chad was a pharmacist, Margaret a senior operations manager. Their three sons, Jason, Cody, and Grant, grew up in the family's comfortable home.

Jason, the eldest, had moved out and lived on his own. Cody, a successful nurse anesthetist, and Grant, the youngest. still lived at home. Cody and Grant were close growing up, sharing a love for gaming, anime, and fitness. But while Cody excelled in life, Grant struggled to keep up. Grant had tried to follow in Cody's footsteps, enrolling in nursing school. But where Cody thrived, Grant floundered. He eventually dropped out, later finding work as a nurse at Advent Health. That, too, fell apart when he was caught stealing vials of Propofal, a powerful sedative. He claimed he'd only taken it to help patients in pain, but his actions got him fired and slapped with a grand theft charge.

Cody stepped in to bail him out, paying a steep fine to keep him out of jail. Grant's nursing career was over. With no job and no direction, Grant turned to streaming. He convinced his parents to fund his dream of becoming a Twitch star, playing video games and chatting with fans online. But his streams barely brought in $150 a month. To save face, he lied to everyone, boasting about his non-existent success. Then Grant discovered my free cams, a site where models perform intimate acts for paying viewers.

That's where he found Sylvia. Online, she went by Audie Sueet, a sultry, charismatic model based in Hungary. For Grant, it was love at first sight. He started spending heavily on her, sending money, gifts, and messages. Sylvia played along, it was her job, after all. But Grant convinced himself her affection was real. The financial strain quickly became unbearable. Grant's parents began questioning where his money was going.

Chad and Cody, especially, grew suspicious. When they confronted him, Grant admitted everything, his obsession with Sylvia, the thousands he'd spent on her, and his belief that she was his future wife. Chad was furious. He sent Grant to live with an aunt, hoping the separation would break his fixation. But instead, Grant stole his aunt's credit card to keep funding his obsession. Cody, ever the loyal brother, tried to help. He paid $15,000 to enroll Grant in a rehab program for pornography addiction.

But Grant left after just two days, claiming he didn't have a problem. Back at home, Chad gave him an ultimatum, get a job, see a therapist, and cut all contact with Sylvia, or get out. To drive the point home, Chad even contacted Sylvia, exposing Grant's lies in financial ruin. Reluctantly, Grant agreed to the terms. But Grant's obsession didn't fade. One day, he convinced his mother to let him borrow her phone to call Sylvia. When Chad found out, it was the final straw.

He kicked Grant out of the house for good. The events of January 24, 2019, are a grim mystery. That morning, Chad and Cody left for work early. Margaret stayed home, working in her office. At some point, someone entered the house, shot Margaret, and waited. years later, Chad returned and was ambushed in the kitchen. Shot once, he tried to crawl away, but the killer finished him off. Using Chad's fingerprint, they unlocked his phone and lured Cody home with a fake emergency

text. When Cody arrived, he was shot, and the scene was staged to frame him. The next morning, when Cody didn't show up for work, the welfare check revealed the gruesome scene. Suspicion quickly fell on Grant. Jason, the eldest brother, was out of town and pointed police toward Grant during his interview. you. Officers found Grant at a motel and brought him in for questioning. Despite being told his entire family was dead, Grant showed no emotion. Instead, he suggested Cody might have been

the culprit. Grant denied any involvement, even as police presented evidence linking him to the crime. Released due to lack of physical evidence, Grant's first move was to try accessing money to send to Sylvia. His actions spoke volumes. Soon after, he was arrested again and charged with three counts of first-degree murder. During his trial in July 2019, the prosecution laid out a damning case. They presented digital evidence placing Grant at the scene and testimonies from witnesses, including Jason. The defense argued there was no direct proof tying Grant to the murders, but it wasn't enough. On August 12, 2019, Grant Amato was found guilty on all charges and sentenced to life in prison. Even now, Grant maintains his innocence, insisting he was wrongfully accused.

But for most, the evidence paints a clear picture of a man so consumed by obsession that he destroyed his own family. The Amato case is a haunting reminder of how dangerous unchecked fixation can become. What do you think? Was Grant blinded by his delusions, or does he truly believe he did nothing wrong? Nobody really knew what was going on. Gretchen was a strong, vibrant woman who lived a healthy lifestyle, she worked out regularly, ate clean, and seemed to be in great shape. The idea that she could be in any kind of serious trouble seemed impossible to those who knew her. Adding to the mystery, there wasn't any mention of a COVID treatment center in Bellgate,

where she claimed to have been transferred. Her family searched online, checked newspapers, magazines, everywhere, but nothing came up about such a facility. It was as if it didn't exist. Let's take a step back to learn more about Gretchen Stockton Crin. Born on January 8, 1969, in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, she was a little bit of a little bit of was one of three children of Jane and Merley Crinn. She had a sister named Saran and a twin brother, Jeffrey. Family values were at the core of who Gretchen was. Her loved ones described her as a caring, compassionate person who always prioritized others. From a young age,

she was dedicated to her education. Gretchen graduated from Shore Regional High School in West Long Branch, New Jersey. She also attended with Tob Coburn Fashion School in New York City later earned a bachelor's degree from Monmouth University, also in West Long Branch. Her career path wasn't linear, Gretchen worked as a teacher, a fitness instructor, a yoga coach, and eventually transitioned into human resources, where she worked as a manager for Viking utility. Her energy and ambition kept her constantly on the move. She lived in West Long Branch, Guamesa, New Jersey, before eventually relocating to Jupiter, Florida. There, she met her first husband, Jeff Dreyer. The two had a daughter, Ava Ray, and from that moment on, Gretchen's

life revolved around her child. Eva was the center of her universe. Friends and family said she was a devoted mother from day one. Gretchen would often tell people that Ava was her greatest achievement, and the two shared everything, whether it was hobbies, beach trips, or just spending time together. Even when Gretchen went out with friends, Ava was often included. Eventually, Gretchen and Jeff separated. Unlike many divorces, theirs was amicable. They remained friends and worked out a co-parenting arrangement that ensured Eva had both parents actively involved in her life. Despite the change, Gretchen's life was stable. She had a steady job, a loving family, and a daughter she adored. And then, life took a new turn. Gretchen was passionate about fitness, and it was

at a local gym in 2014 that she met David Ian Anthony. David was an attractive trainer, and the gym James' female clientele couldn't get enough of him. He knew he was good-looking and used his charm to bring in clients. Tabitha Hopkins, his boss, was thrilled with his popularity. His classes were always full, and he was a top performer. Though David often flirted and had occasional dates with clients, he'd never been in a serious relationship, until Gretchen. Their connection was immediate.

After just a few dates, Gretchen introduced David to her daughter, Ava. Their relationship moved quickly, and in March 2015, the couple tied the knot in a Las Vegas Chapel. Friends and family were supportive, believing the couple was a perfect match. Both were active, charismatic, and genuinely kind-hearted. Most importantly, Ava adored David, even calling him her bonus dad. But as the years passed, their priorities began to shift. By late 2019, Gretchen and David realized their relationship wasn't working anymore.

They still cared about each other, but the romantic connection had faded. Their decision to separate was mutual and drama-free. David moved back in with his parents, while Gretchen stayed in their family home. They tried to reconnect in early 2020 but couldn't reignite the spark. Both started dating other people and seemed ready to move on. On February 28, Gretchen officially filed for divorce. Despite the split, there was no animosity between them. They still interacted on social media, liking each other's posts and maintaining a civil

relationship. Gretchen went on trips with friends, while David planned a getaway to Costa Rica. Everything appeared normal, until the world turned upside down in March 2020. The COVID-19 pandemic changed everything. Schools closed, events were cancelled, and hospitals became overwhelmed. Chaos and uncertainty spread like wildfire. Gretchen, like many others, turned to social media as a way to cope. Her Facebook page was active with daily posts reflecting on the bizarre situation.

On Thursday, March 19th, she shared a quote, When Chaos Surounds You, the wisest lesson is to create peace within yourself. The next day, Ava went to spend the weekend with her father. That Friday, Gretchen's usually active social media went silent. She didn't post anything over the weekend, which was unusual. Then, on Sunday, something odd happened. Gretchen texted her boss, Don Paris, saying she would, wasn't feeling well. Don, concerned, encouraged her to rest and assured her not to worry about

work. But on Monday, Gretchen didn't show up for work. Don tried reaching out, but Gretchen didn't respond. By Tuesday, her texts had taken an even stranger turn. Gretchen claimed she had gone to the emergency room at Jupiter Hospital, where she was diagnosed with COVID-19. According to her messages, her oxygen levels were dangerously low, and she had fainted. Doctors allegedly transferred her to a specialized COVID treatment center in Belgate. In her texts, she explained, I tested positive early this morning. The bad news is I'm very sick, but the good news is that my blood type may help develop a cure. Remember when I mentioned having a rare strain of mad cow disease in my blood? It's being used to gather data for a cure. She added that she'd be keeping communications

limited to immediate family for safety reasons. Her family was alarmed. They bombarded her with calls, texts, and voice messages, but Gretchen's responses were either short or non-existent. Something felt off. Gretchen's ex-husband, Jeff, was especially skeptical. He and Gretchen had remained close friends, and he knew her well enough to recognize that the messages didn't sound like her. She was distant, cold, and uncharacteristically formal. Even her texts to Ava were devoid of warmth or affection.

It wasn't like Gretchen at all. Growing increasingly concerned, Jeff and Gretchen's family comments. contacted the police. Officers began a wellness check by visiting Jupiter Hospital, but they quickly hit a dead end. The hospital had no record of Gretchen being admitted or transferred anywhere. Additionally, there was no COVID treatment center in Belgate. But most shocking of all was what they found in the hospital parking lot, Gretchen's Mini Cooper, parked as if she had just arrived. The police obtained a warrant to search the car. Inside, they found her purse on the passenger seat, complete with her wallet, ID, cash, and various papers.

But her phone was missing. Surveillance footage from the hospital parking lot was requested as part of the investigation. Next, the police headed to Gretchen's home. Splitting into two teams, one group searched her property while the other interviewed neighbors. The neighbors had some startling accounts. One woman reported hearing a woman's desperate screams for help early on the morning of Saturday, March 21st. Another neighbor recalled seeing soapy water with a strong chemical smell seeping from Gretchen's garage that same morning. Both neighbors mentioned spotting a black Nissan truck

parked outside her home that day. Armed with this information, the police secured a search warrant for Gretchen's house. What they found inside painted a disturbing picture. The home was in disarray, with clear signs of a struggle. A broken picture frame lay on the floor, the bed was unmade, and shattered glass was scattered across it. In the laundry area, towels stained with what appeared to be blood were found. But the most alarming discovery was in the garage. The space reeked of strong cleaning products, and it was clear someone had gone to great lengths to scrub it thoroughly. Despite their efforts, investigators found small bloodstains in some areas. Even more troubling, the walls of the garage had holes where surveillance cameras had once

been mounted. The cameras were gone, but police reached out to the security company, to see if any footage had been saved to their servers. Meanwhile, investigators tracked down the black Nissan truck. It was registered to none other than David Ian Anthony, Gretchen's ex-husband. Police ran a background check on David and discovered a long history of troubling behavior, including recent arrests. At this point, all signs pointed to David as a person of interest in Gretchen's disappearance. The full story of David Anthony, a tale of twists, tragedy, and transformation. David Anthony. To most people, the name wouldn't ring a bell, but to those who knew him, his story is one of charm turned to chaos, riddled with strange choices and a dark,

troubling ending. Before the events that made him infamous, David had a different name entirely, David Deutsch. This wasn't just a random name change. When someone alters something as fundamental as their identity, there's usually a story behind it. And boy, did David have a story? The early days of David Deutsch, David wasn't always a figure of controversy. Back in high school, he was a basketball star. A natural athlete, he dominated the court, winning awards, and bringing his school to glory. People thought he was going places, that he had the talent to go pro. But there was a catch, his attitude. David's fiery temper and impulsive behavior ultimately derailed his potential. One fateful day, David's promising future took a nosedive. Armed with nothing but a

water gun painted to look real, he decided to rob a blockbuster video store. Yes, a blockbuster, a store that would soon be as obsolete as his dreams of basketball stardom. The heist was as clumsy as it sounds. David stormed in, yelling and waving his fake weapon around, but things quickly escalated when the police showed up. He resisted arrest, and during the scuffle, assaulted an officer. The result? Prison time. It was during this period of incarceration that David seemingly decided to turn over a new leaf, or at least start a fresh. Upon release, he legally changed his name to David Anthony. Perhaps it was a way to shake off the stigma of his past or to build a new life from

scratch. Whatever the reason, David seemed determined to rewrite his story. The charm offensive and the Heidi chapter, after adopting his new identity, David seemed like a man on a mission, to rebuild his image. Enter Heidi Jez, the woman who would later describe her whirlwind romance with him as both magical and troubling." From the moment they met, David poured on the charm. He offered Heidi a free personal training session, a classic move from a guy who clearly

knew how to impress. Their relationship took off quickly. David lavished Heidi with gifts, compliments, and attention. Every day seemed to bring a new surprise, a getaway, a thoughtful present, or a heartfelt promise. It was all picture-perfect. But there was a darker side. his obsession with physical fitness soon spilled into controlling behavior.

He tracked Heidi's every move, what she ate, who she spent time with, and how much she exercised. He insisted she weigh herself daily and count every calorie. Heidi noticed the red flags but chose to brush them aside, swept up in the fairy tale he was selling. Then, in November of that year, came a moment straight out of a romantic movie, or so it seemed. When Heidi returned home from work one evening, she found David waiting for her on one knee.

The house was spotless, the atmosphere electric. But instead of a marriage proposal, David hit her with a curveball. I want to break up with you, he said, so you have time to become the person I want you to be. In short, David dumped Heidi not because he didn't love her, but because she didn't meet his absurdly high standards. He wanted her to become the perfect woman, physically flawless and obsessively dedicated to fitness. Heidi was devastated. Troubles at work and the Gretchen connection, David's personal life wasn't the only area where his behavior raised eyebrows. According to Tabitha Hopkins, his boss at a local gym, David was a competent

but volatile employee. While he had a knack for attracting clients and filling up his classes, his unpredictable mood swings often caused problems. One moment, he'd be the life of the gym, the next, he'd be storming around, yelling, and breaking things. Tabitha fired him twice, once in 2017 and again in 2020. The final straw came after David's relationship with his next girlfriend, Gretchen Anthony, fell apart. He became even more erratic, showing up late, lashing out, and disrespecting coworkers. Tabitha eventually called Gretchen to warn her, be careful. David isn't the man he used to be, the disappearance of Gretchen Anthony. In March 2020, Gretchen Anthony vanished. The police were called, and the investigation led them straight to

David. But when they first questioned his parents, their focus wasn't on him. They wanted to know about Gretchen. David's parents showed the officers a string of WhatsApp messages supposedly from Gretchen. In these messages, she claimed to have COVID-19 and said she was being transferred to a different medical facility. The texts abruptly stopped after a few days, leaving everyone puzzled. When asked about David, his mother revealed he had left for Costa Rica on March 24, taking his dog, Kobe, with him. This revelation confirmed the police's suspicions, David was on the run. The chase begins, the police wasted no time. They traced David's movements using his car's license plate and the GPS signals from both his phone

and Gretchen's. One clue after another led them across multiple states. In Pensacola, Florida, David was caught on surveillance cameras at a jewelry store, selling women's jewelry that later turned out to belong to Gretchen. But David wasn't done trying to manipulate the narrative. He called Detective Jared Kenerson and spun a wild tale. According to David, Gretchen was alive and had run away because she'd uncovered illegal activities at her workplace. He claimed she had faked her illness and gone into hiding out of fear. To make his story more convincing, David added another twist.

Gretchen was afraid of her ex-husband, Jeff Dreyer, and had devised a plan with David to escape. But halfway through their journey, Gretchen allegedly panicked and fled. It was a story full of holes, and the police weren't buying it. The arrest and evidence. On March 29, David's car was stopped and searched in New Mexico. Inside, the police found Gretchen's phone, along with several Amazon echo devices and surveillance cameras. These cameras held the key to unraveling the mystery. The footage revealed the chilling truth. On March 21st, David had entered Gretchen's home early in the

morning. He attacked her with a knife during a violent struggle that ended in tragedy. Gretchen had even tried to call 9-1-1 through her Alexa device, but it hadn't been set up for emergency calls. After the murder, David had meticulously cleaned up, removed the surveillance cameras, and taken Gretchen's body in her car. He buried her three miles away in a shallow grave near a Walmart and a senior living center. The confession and sentencing, faced with overwhelming evidence, David eventually struck a plea deal. In exchange for revealing the location of Gretchen's body, he received a reduced sentence of 38 years. in prison. He confessed to stabbing her multiple times and burying her, then abandoning her car at a hospital to stage her disappearance. David's new persona in prison, since his

incarceration, David claims to have turned over a new leaf. He spends his days reading the Bible, meditating, and praying. In his own words, he's found God in hopes one day to earn the forgiveness of Gretchen's family. I pray they can forgive me, David said. Not for my sake, but to show that love and forgiveness are stronger than hate. This is the tragic tale of David Anthony, a man who went from being a promising athlete to a fugitive on the run, leaving behind a trail of heartbreak and unanswered questions. Was his transformation in prison genuine or just another act? Only time will tell.

What do you think? Could someone like David truly change, or is his remorse just another ploy? The tragic death of Isabella Anna, a story of suspicion, family secrets, and betrayal, the evening of January 11, 2016, started like any other for Javier Carrion. He left his office around 7.30 p.m., eager to return home after a long day of work. Javier had been living a relatively calm and happy life with his wife, Isabella, for 30 years. Despite some usual marriage problems, they always managed to work things out, and their relationship was admired by those who knew them.

They shared a deep love and affection, still kissing passionately like teenagers and holding hands when they walked down the street. But on that fateful night, things felt different. When Javier arrived home, he immediately noticed that the door was slightly ajar, which was unusual. It wasn't locked, and that simple detail threw him into a state of alarm. He pushed open the door and called for Isabel. No response. As he searched the house, he noticed that the kitchen light was on, so he headed there.

What he found inside was something he could never have prepared for, Isabel's lifeless body lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She had been brutally stabbed multiple times, and Javier froze. His mind went blank as he grappled with the horror of the situation. In a state of panic, he attempted to revive her, but it was too late. His hands trembled as he grabbed his phone to call for help, but in his panic, he dialed a wrong number, reaching a private residence instead of emergency services. Distraught and confused, Javier ran out of the house and frantically screamed for help,

repeating over and over, someone has killed Isabel. He rushed to his workplace, a small office, where he sought assistance from his colleagues. He was in a state of utter disbelief, unable to comprehend what had just happened. From there, he went straight to the Guardia Civil. But when the authorities began questioning him, inconsistencies in his story began to surface. He became the prime suspect in his wife's murder. Javier Carrion was born on October 2, 1953, the son of a notary. He was one of three siblings, and after studying economics, he quickly

found a job in a construction company. It was during this time that he met Isabel Ana, who would eventually become his wife. They had a whirlwind romance, with Isabel Anna being an intelligent, loving woman who worked tirelessly for her community. Javier and Isabel married in 1986, and together they built a successful life. They had a son and established a thriving business, a consulting firm in their town. Isabel Anna was beloved by the people of Quintanard de la Orden. She wasn't just another neighbor, she was an inspiration. A former counselor for the popular party, Isabella had dedicated years to the community, teaching catechism to children, helping those in need, and always offering a listening year.

She was known for her selflessness and her unwavering commitment to helping others, which made her murder all the more incomprehensible. She was a role model to many, and no one could understand who would want to harm her. The police found strange details at the scene of the crime. There were no signs of forced entry, which suggested that the killer knew Isabella. It also indicated that the murderer either had a key or was allowed into the house. In the kitchen, two knives were found, both likely the weapons used in the attack. The autopsy confirmed that Isabel had been stabbed 40 times in a brutal attack.

The majority of the stabs were focused on the upper part of her body, her chest, neck, and arms. This suggested a calculated, violent act driven by intense hatred. The time of death was estimated to be between 3 and 5 p.m. that afternoon, which meant that Javier was likely at work during the attack. This further supported the idea that someone else was responsible for the crime. Yet, when Javier was interrogated, his story was filled with contradictions, and the authorities began to suspect him. Javier spent the night in a holding cell, but as the days passed, more details emerged that would change the course of the investigation. There were reports from neighbors who claimed they had seen Javier hear his home around the time of the

murder. Additionally, the fact that he neither paid for his wife's funeral nor attended it raised suspicions among his friends and family. Javier continued to insist on his innocence, stating that he had done everything possible to help the authorities. But the conflicting details in his story made it hard for people to believe him. His image was tarnished, and the town was divided over whether or not he was guilty. Then, things took a strange turn. Several days after Isabel's murder, a few locals reported seeing a man acting erratically at the cemetery. This man, who was muttering to himself and clutching a sharp object, was none other than

Jose Antonio Carrion, Javier's younger brother. Jose Antonio had worked in the family consulting firm, but his role was relatively unimportant. He was mainly responsible for administrative tasks like photocopying and running errands. His work wasn't highly valued, and this created some resentment towards his family. Many believe this was a potential motive for the murder. What's more, Jose Antonio had been acting strangely ever since the murder. He was seen wandering around the cemetery, murmuring that he was the one who killed Isabel. Police took him in for questioning, and after some time, he confessed.

His story was chilling. Jose Antonio claimed that he never intended to kill Isabel. He had actually gone to the house to confront his brother, Javier, but when he found Isabel alone, he decided to kill her instead. His reasoning was that he feared how his brother would react to his mistakes at work. He was terrified of Javier's anger and felt cornered by his own incompetence. Jose Antonio's confession, however, didn't sit well with everyone. Some members of Isabel's family refused to believe that he was the murderer. They remembered him as a kind, loving man who had always treated them well.

It was hard for them to accept that he could have committed such a terrible crime. However, as the investigation progressed, the evidence seemed to point directly to him. In November 2016, DNA analysis confirmed that the evidence found at the crime scene matched Jose Antonio. At that point, the police had no doubt that he was the killer. The authorities brought him in for further interrogation, and during his questioning, Jose Antonio's story became even more detailed and consistent with the crime scene. He described how he entered the house with a spare key, attacked Isabel with two knives,

and then fled the scene. Despite this confession, the case didn't end there. In October 2016, Javier was granted conditional release after posting a 20,000 euro bail. This didn't mean he was completely cleared of suspicion, but there was no longer enough evidence to hold him in custody. The public, however, remained divided. Many still suspected that Javier was involved in his wife's death. Jose Antonio's background was crucial in understanding the motivations behind his actions.

He had always been the underachiever in the family, living in the shadow of his more successful siblings. He struggled with insecurity, depression, and feelings of inadequacy. When he made a critical mistake at work, he panicked. Unable to fix it, he felt trapped. His fear of his brother's reaction pushed him to make a terrible decision, to kill Isabel in order to escape the consequences of his own actions. In the months leading up to the trial, Jose Antonio's mental state deteriorated further. In the summer of 2018, just before the case went to court, Jose Antonio tragically took his own life. This unexpected twist left many questions unanswered.

The case was eventually closed, and the judicial process was brought to a halt, though not everyone was satisfied with the conclusion. Javier's family, still reeling from the tragic events, believed that Jose Antonio's confession was the final piece of the puzzle. However, others remained unconvinced. They felt that the family's dynamics, especially Jose Antonio's fragile psychological state, were key factors that had been overlooked. By 2019, the case was officially closed,

and the court had ruled that there was no need for further action. While Javier was legally cleared of any wrongdoing, the emotional toll of the events remained with him. His reputation had been permanently damaged, and the community was forever shaken by the tragedy. As for Isabel Anna's family, they still struggled with the idea that the person responsible for her death was someone they had trusted and loved.

They continued to seek justice in their own way, refusing to accept the case's conclusion. They believe that José Antonio's confession was just the tip of the iceberg and that there was much more to the story than met the eye. The story of Isabelle Anna's death is a reminder of how complex and tragic family dynamics can be, and how even the most loving relationships can be torn apart by secrets, insecurities, and fear. In the end, the truth behind her murder was revealed, but the emotional scars will remain for those who loved her. And the people of Quintanard de la Orden will never forget the night that shattered their peaceful town. McFadden lied to my daughter and convinced her that everything was just

a big misunderstanding. He was very reserved, distant, and generally quiet. But behind that demeanor, he kept my daughter and other kids under constant surveillance. He always had to know where they were, raising immediate red flags. Our story begins with a woman named Holly Gess, a 35-year-old devoted mother who worked from home selling life insurance. Professionally, she seemed to have it all together. Holly had three children from three different fathers. The oldest, Riley Elizabeth Allen, was 17 years old, creative, and passionate about painting. Her dreams were to become both an artist and a doctor. Michael James Mayo, her 15-year-old middle child, was an exceptional athlete who excelled in track and football. And then there was Tiffany

Doors, the youngest at 13, who was Holly's pride and joy, known for her affectionate nature. According to Holly's mother, Janet Mayo, Holly was an extraordinary mom. She adored her kids and supported them unconditionally. If one of her children had a goal, Holly gave her all to make it happen. When Michael wanted to play football, Holly fully invested in his passion, buying matching jerseys and sweatshirts for the entire family to show their support for his team. While each child had a different father, Holly's last marriage seemed to be the most stable. Her ex-husband, Joe Guess, was Tiffany's biological father, but he was his child.

he also embraced Riley and Michael as his own. From the moment he entered their lives, he treated all three kids with equal love and devotion. Even after his 13-year marriage with Holly ended, Joe remained a steadfast presence in their lives. Riley and Michael continued to call him, Dad, because they genuinely felt that way about him. In fact, they even asked him to adopt them formally, a request that deeply moved him. Joe took his role as a father seriously, attending every school event, sharing custody amicably, and maintaining a cooperative co-parenting relationship with Holly. After their separation, they made a mutual promise to prioritize the well-being of their children. They agreed that any future partners introduced into their lives would need

to meet strict standards. The rule was clear, Holly would meet Joe's future partner, and Joe would meet Hollies. They also ensured that no one with a serious criminal background or history involving harm to children would be allowed near the kids. Time went on, and Holly found herself a new boyfriend, Jesse McFadden, a 39-year-old man who seemed like a perfect match. Joe, naturally concerned, asked questions. When did they meet? How long had they been together? Holly reassured him that Jesse had no criminal history. She claimed to have checked everything and insisted that Jesse was an ideal partner for her and the children. Trusting her judgment, Joe didn't dig deeper. Jesse McFadden initially appeared to be a good

influence. He attended Michael's football games, showed up for school events, and seemed attentive to the kids. He even installed apps on their phones to monitor their locations at all times. Joe took comfort in these measures, believing Jesse had the children's safety in mind. By all appearances, the kids were happy, especially Tiffany, who adored Jesse. Tiffany had two best friends, Brittany Brewer and Ivy Webster. Britney, 16, was outgoing and dreamed of becoming either a teacher or a veterinarian. She recently began participating in beauty pageants, a hobby that filled her with excitement. She was thrilled to have been selected as Miss Henrietta in the Miss United States National

Pageant in Tulsa. Ivy, 14, was deeply affectionate and maintained constant communication with her family. She used an app called Life 360 to share her location in real time with friends and family. Though Ivy didn't rely heavily on the app, she always kept her parents informed about her whereabouts, ending each message with a heartfelt, I love you. The three friends did everything together, shopping trips, movie nights, and countless sleepovers. Their parents trusted each other and maintained open lines of communication, ensuring the

girls were always safe. On Saturday, April 29, 2023, the girls planned another sleepover at Tiffany's house. It was a spacious property in the countryside, perfect for running around and exploring. The plan was straightforward, the girls would spend the night at Tiffany's and, the next morning, the family would drive to McAllister, a city about 35 minutes away, for a relaxing day of swimming and lunch. By 5 p.m., all the girls would be back home. Everything seemed well organized. Throughout Saturday, Brittany and Ivy kept their parents updated, sending texts and making calls. Late that night, Ivy sent her final message, ending it with her usual,

I love you. The next morning, she sent another message, mentioning they were heading to the pool. However, this time, she didn't include her signature, I Love You, which struck her mother as odd. Ivy was known for her affectionate nature, but her mom brushed it off, thinking Ivy might have been in a hurry. As the day went on, 5 p.m. came and went without any word from the girls. Concerned, Ivy's parents checked the Life 360 app, only to find that Ivy's phone was offline. Repeated calls to the girls, Holly, and Tiffany went unanswered.

Growing increasingly anxious, the families went to. to Tiffany's house and knocked on the door, but no one responded. They promptly reported the situation to the police. The following morning, the police issued an Amber alert for Ivy Webster and Brittany Brewer. But something unusual caught everyone's attention, alongside the girls' photos, there was an image of Jesse McThadden. He had failed to appear in court that day for a previous crime involving a minor, making him a wanted man. The families, now aware of his criminal history, were horrified. The man they had trusted had a dark and dangerous past. Jesse McFadden was born on August 24, 1983. At 39 years old, he worked as an independent

contractor in Henrietta, Oklahoma. However, his past was riddled with disturbing crimes. Though not all his offenses are publicly documented, rumors suggest he assaulted a 12-year-old girl on a school bus in 2000 when he was 18 or 19 years old. While details of this incident remain unclear, his subsequent crimes are well documented. In November 2003, Jesse attended a small party with his then-girlfriend. Among the guests was a 16-year-old girl named Crystal Strong, who was introduced to him by his girlfriend. The three chatted briefly before Crystal mentioned she would be spending the night alone,

as her parents were out of town. Nervous about being home alone for the first time, she left the party early. Later that night, Jesse showed up at her house uninvited. When Crystal saw him through the people, she opened the door slightly and asked why he was there. Jesse claimed his girlfriend had broken up with him and begged for a place to stay for the night. Crystal, uncomfortable with the idea of letting a 21-year-old man into her home, refused. Jesse insisted, growing increasingly aggressive. He forced his way in, tied her up, gagged her, and held her at knife point.

After what felt like an eternity, Jesse eventually left, giving Crystal a chance to run to her neighbors for help. Jesse was arrested shortly afterward. During his trial, he tried to claim he was. so remorseful that he attempted suicide, but the superficial cuts on his wrists suggested otherwise. The evidence against him was overwhelming. Jesse was convicted of first-degree sexual assault and sentenced to 20 years in prison. However, he served only a fraction of that time, being released early for good behavior. While in prison, Jesse wrote letters claiming he had changed and deeply regretted his actions. He even appealed to the judge, saying,

I know what I did was horrible, and I think about it every day. I want to prove I've changed and become a better person. Despite his claims, his release would prove to be a catastrophic mistake. Fast forward to 2023, Jesse McFadden's past had seemingly been forgotten or ignored. He convinced Holly and those around her that he was a changed man. But his true nature remained intact, as the events of April 2023 would tragically reveal. As the investigation into the missing girls intensified, the police uncovered horrifying details. Jesse had lured not just Tiffany, but also Ivy and Brittany into a nightmare scenario. The home that once seemed like a safe haven for sleepovers became the setting for unspeakable acts. Jesse's carefully

constructed facade of normalcy crumbled, exposing the darkness he had hidden for years. Holly's trust in Jesse had devastating consequences, shaking the lives of everyone involved. The tragic story serves as a haunting reminder of how easily predators can manipulate those around them, hiding their true intentions behind a mask of normalcy. It's a call for vision. It's a call for vigilance and the importance of thoroughly understanding the backgrounds of those we allow into our lives, especially when children are involved. This case left a permanent scar on the community, a stark example of the dangers that can lurk beneath the surface. Jesse McFadden's lies and actions shattered families and claimed the lives of innocent individuals, leaving

a legacy of grief and unanswered questions that may never fully heal. According to the authorities, Jesse seemed genuinely regretful. In prison, his behavior was spotless, he worked hard, got along well with everyone, and was polite, respectful, and responsible. But according to his cellmate, James Fleming, it was all a facade. Talking to Jesse was awkward because he constantly brought up inappropriate topics, mainly about sex. Fleming even caught him harassing prison nurses on multiple occasions. The worst part.

Jesse lied about his conviction, claiming he was serving 20 years for a simple mistake. Deep down, Jesse wasn't sorry at all because, in his mind, he had nothing to regret. Time passed, and somehow Jesse managed to get his hands on a cell phone while in prison. With it, he targeted a new victim, a 16-year-old girl named Caitlin. Caitlin later told the police that she met Jesse by accident in 2015. At the time, she had temporarily moved to her grandparents' home in Oklahoma after leaving Texas. New house, new school, new phone, it was a complete reset for her. One night, she received a text message from an unknown number.

It was an older man who claimed to have sent the message by mistake. But instead of leaving it there, he wanted to keep talking. To an adult, this would have been an immediate red flag. But to a 16-year-old, it was exciting. They began chatting, sharing bits of their lives and even sending photos. The shocking part. Jesse always knew Caitlin's age. Their conversations turned playful, flirtatious, and eventually, romantic.

Jesse told Caitlin he was in prison. but swore up and down it was for a crime he didn't commit. Caitlin, caught up in young love, believed him. Their connection deepened over time, and Jesse eventually asked Caitlin to send him intimate photos. She was so infatuated that she agreed. It wasn't just innocent pictures, Jesse pushed her boundaries further and further, asking how far they could go without meeting in person. Caitlin later admitted, I knew I was doing something I shouldn't be doing.

But he made me feel like I mattered. though I was only 16, I thought he loved me. For a year and a half, their relationship continued through messages, calls, and emails. Eventually, Caitlin's grandparents found out. Their first move. Confiscate her phone. Their second. Report Jesse to the police. On September 29, 2017, Jesse McFadden was charged with soliciting sexual conduct from a minor using technology and possessing illicit images. But Jesse wasn't about to admit any wrongdoing. He never regretted anything and blamed everyone else for his problems. In court, he boldly claimed that another inmate was responsible. Yes, he had a phone, but he insisted the inappropriate messages and requests weren't

from him but from someone else. However, there was solid evidence against him, not only did he have photos of Caitlin, but she also had pictures of him in compromising situations. Jesse was a predator, plain and simple, and nothing was going to change that. Even after losing his phone and being investigated, Jesse continued to harass Caitlin from behind bars. He put so much pressure on her that she ran away from home one day. She spent hours at a courthouse begging officials to drop the charges, claiming Jesse was innocent. But the adults didn't listen. Jesse kept manipulating her, threatening her, and pushing her until Caitlin finally saw him for who he really was.

I realized he didn't love me. He was sick. He made everything up. That was the turning point. Caitlin decided to testify against him. Jesse had been serving a 20-year sentence for sexually assaulting a minor in 2003. But because of good behavior, he was set to be released soon. When the new charges came in 2017, the justice system hit pause.

It seemed like common sense to keep him locked up. Jesse hadn't changed, and he was clearly a danger to society. Yet, in a baffling turn of events, the process only delayed his release by a few months. On October 30, 20, 2020, Jesse walked free after serving just 16 years. A month later, police arrested him again, this time for possession of explicit material. But unfortunately, he didn't stay in jail long. Jesse posted bail and was released. The case was supposed to go to trial, but for various reasons, changes in lawyers, court delays,

and endless reviews of evidence, the trial date kept getting pushed back. Eventually, it was set for May 1st, 2023. Meanwhile, Jesse had to check in at court every 90 days to prove he hadn't fled. While the justice system dragged its feet, Jesse moved on with his life. He met a 35-year-old woman named Holly Guess, who had three young children. They started dating, moved and together, and eventually got married. Jesse became part of the family, spending time alone with the kids and attending school. school events. Despite his criminal history involving minors, no one seemed to raise an eyebrow.

Jesse even invited other children over to the house. To outsiders, he looked like a doting stepfather. But Holly's parents weren't fooled. They found Jesse suspicious, he was reserved, distant, and refused to talk about his past. One day, Holly's father decided to dig into Jesse's background. While looking up information about a coworker, he stumbled upon Jesse's criminal record. Horrified, he immediately called Holly, who demanded an explanation. Jesse spun a web of lies, claiming his first conviction was a misunderstanding and that his second case was baseless. To make his story more convincing, Jesse hired an actress to pose as his, victim, and assure Holly that she planned to drop the charges. The act worked.

Holly believed him. As the trial date approached, Jesse seemed to grow more paranoid. On April 29, 23, Holly's daughter Tiffany had friends over for a second. sleepover. The girls played all afternoon, watched movies, and had fun. But something felt off. By the next day, the girls' phones were mysteriously turned off. Later, Caitlin received a message on Facebook from a profile named Holidays. The message included a picture of Jesse and a cryptic note. I did exactly what I promised I'd do when I got out. I got a marketing job, earned a lot of money, and was getting promoted. I built a great life, just like I said I would.

it's all gone. I told you I wouldn't go back. This is on you for continuing this. Caitlin felt threatened but didn't fully understand what Jesse was implying. Determined to see justice served, she prepared to face him in court the next day. But on May 1st, 2023, Jesse didn't show up. That same day, news broke that Tiffany's friends had gone missing. Police rushed to Jesse's home, but no one answered the door. When they forced their way in, they found a gruesome scene, seven lifeless bodies. Some victims were identified immediately, while others took more time. Eventually, it was confirmed, the victims were Holly, her three children, Tiffany's two friends

Ivy and Brittany, and Jesse himself. Jesse had killed them all before taking his own life. The cause of death was gunshots, but initially, the police didn't release many details. Families demanded answers but were met with silence. Eventually, it was revealed that Jesse had used a nine-year-old. millimetres pistol stolen from Holly. The families were devastated. Police allowed them to enter the home to collect belongings, but what they found was deeply disturbing. The house was filled with adult toys, chains, ropes, bloodstained towels, dirty sheets, drugs, and candy laced with

suspicious substances. Even worse, the families discovered additional phones that police had claimed didn't exist. Outraged, Brittany's father, Nathan Brewer, called the police demanding answers. Their response Leave the property immediately. Authorities declared the case closed. They argued that Jesse had acted alone, killing everyone before ending his own life. But the families and media weren't satisfied. A neighbor reported seeing someone digging near a pond months earlier,

a man who matched Jesse's description. The neighbor reported this to the police, suspecting there might be more victims, but they refused to investigate. Additionally, the families found a notebook in the house containing strange sketches, random words, and a list of names and ages, including the latest victims. They handed it over to the police, but again, nothing came of it. By June 2023, parts of the autopsies were made public. While all six victims had gunshot wounds, there was

something even darker. Ivy and Brittany had clear signs of additional abuse before their deaths. Their families were furious, especially Ivy's mother, Ashley, who learned about this from the media instead of the police. No one told me what happened to my daughter, she said. It's surreal. Her lawyer, Cameron Spradling, called it, yet another example of Oklahoma's lack of compassion for victims and their families. So, what do you think of this case?

Does the police response make any sense to you? And what should be done to ensure justice for the victims and their families? Lucy let by his story begins with what appeared to be a picture-perfect upbringing. Born on January 4, 1990, in Herford, United Kingdom. kingdom, she was the only child of Susan in John Lettby. Her mother worked in accounting, and her father owned a furniture store. Financially stable, the family lived comfortably in a charming 1930s house on a quiet cul-de-sac. Outwardly, they seemed like the quintessential happy family. Neighbors, colleagues, and acquaintances thought highly of them, and Lucy's

early life seemed idyllic. Lucy attended Elston High School, where she was known as Mary Poppins, for carrying everything imaginable in her backpack, band-aids, antiseptic wipes, tampons, and more. While this trait earned her some popularity, she remained socially invisible. In high school, most students at least engage in casual conversations, but Lucy seemed to exist on the periphery. She was described as vanilla or plain, not someone who stood out in any way. Despite her social struggles, Lucy found her passion early in life, caring for the vulnerable, especially newborns. She aspired to become a neonatal nurse,

drawn to the idea of being a voice in a lifeline for babies who couldn't express themselves. After completing her studies at Herford Sixth Form College, she enrolled in the nursing program at the University of Chester. The program included theoretical studies and practical training at the Liverpool Women's Hospital and the Countess of Chester Hospital. During her university years, Lucy's social life remained quiet. She wasn't one for parties or large gatherings,

earning a reputation as somewhat awkward. However, her parents saw only the positive, Facebook posts of Lucy smiling with colleagues, talking about her studies, and sharing her achievements. Her happiness and dedication appeared genuine, and in 2011, she graduated with excellent grades. Her parents were so proud that they celebrated her accomplishment with a party and even a local newspaper announcement.

Rather than returning home, Lucy decided to stay near the Countess of Chester Hospital, where she quickly immersed herself in the neonatal. unit. She bought a house close to the hospital, volunteered for extra shifts, and even preferred the challenging night shifts. For the first time, Lucy felt special and indispensable. The neonatal unit was divided into four levels, units three and four housed healthy babies who would soon go home, unit two provided high dependency care, and unit one was for intensive care, one nurse per baby. Lucy always sought out the most demanding shifts, particularly in

Unit 1. She never complained, always smiled, and often helped her colleagues. Her work ethic earned her accolades, including a feature in a local newspaper where she was described as the perfect nurse. One couple even wanted Lucy to be the godmother of their premature baby, who she had cared for during critical moments. She was like an angel, the parents initially thought. However, their perspective would later change drastically, we trusted Lucy let by so much that we wanted her as our baby's godmother. Now, we believe she tried to kill him, Lucy's commitment to her work didn't go unnoticed by hospital administrators. The director of the unit, Arian Powell, praised her dedication in eagerness to improve her skills. In 2015, Lucy attended a

course on administering medications via syringes. This training emphasized the risks involved, such as air embolisms, which occur when air bubbles enter the bloodstream, blocking circulation and potentially causing death. While many attendees were alarmed by the risks, Lucy left the course feeling more confident than ever, ready to tackle the most complex cases. But in June 2015, Lucy's life took a dark turn. A 31-week pregnant woman arrived at the hospital in distress.

Diagnosed with an autoimmune condition, her pregnancy was high risk, and doctors decided to perform an emergency caesarian section. Miraculously, the twins, Baby A, a boy, and baby B, a girl, were delivered safely. They were placed in Unit 1 as a precaution. Lucy was assigned to Baby A, and initially, both infants showed signs of improvement. On June 8, just as Lucy's night shift began, Babya suddenly stopped breathing. Alarms blared, and the medical team rushed in. They were baffled by the appearance of strange purple blotches on his body that seemed to shift

locations. Despite their efforts, Baby A passed away at 8.58 p.m. No one could explain the cause of death. Amid the chaos, Lucy took it upon herself to create a memory box for the grieving parents, complete with footprints, handprints, and a lock of Baby A's hair. The gesture was deeply appreciated at the time. The very next day, Baby B's alarms went off. Though another nurse was assigned to her, the incident occurred during a brief moment when the nurse had stepped away. The same mysterious blotches appeared on Baby B, but this time, the medical team managed to save her. An autopsy on baby A revealed nothing conclusive, and doctors attributed his death to complications

from the mother's condition. However, later investigations revealed that Lucy had injected air into the bloodstream of both babies. She succeeded in killing baby A but failed with Baby B. In the aftermath, Lucy became the center of attention among her colleagues. Messages of support flooded their group chat, with everyone checking on her well-being. Lucy claimed she was fine but insisted on taking extra shifts to overcome the trauma. On June 11th, she wrote in a group chat, from a confidence perspective, I need to be in unit one to move past this.

It's strange, but that's how I feel. Hospital management, however, was hesitant. A baby had died on her shift, and another had nearly died. They suggested she take five days off or work in a less intensive unit temporarily. Lucy resisted, stating that she needed to confront her grief by continuing her work in Unit 1. On June 13th, another premature baby, baby C, born at 30 weeks, experienced a sudden and unexplained collapse. His nurse had stepped away briefly, and when she returned, she found Lucy by his incubator. Lucy wasn't assigned to Baby C, her shift was in

Unit 4. The medical team managed to stabilize him, but later that night, Baby C stopped breathing again and could not be revived. He passed away in the early hours of June 14th. Lucy later wrote in the group chat, I keep seeing them. No one should have to see or do the things we do. It's heartbreaking, but it's not about me. It's about the parents who leave without their baby. By now, suspicions were starting to grow. Lucy's colleagues couldn't ignore the pattern.

She was always present when these inexplicable tragedies occurred. Some viewed her as a compassionate angel who went above and beyond for grieving families. Others began to wonder if she was somehow involved in these deaths. The speculation didn't stop Lucy. In August 2015, she encountered twins, Baby E and Baby F. Their mother had planned to deliver them at the Liverpool Women's Hospital, but due to complications and overcrowding, they were transferred to the Countess of Chester Hospital. The twins were placed in Unit 1, with Lucy assigned to Baby E. The mother, protective and

wary, rarely left their side. However, during one brief absence, she returned to find Baby E screaming in pain, with blood coming from his mouth. When she confronted her, she confronted Lucy, who was sitting nearby, Lucy dismissed it as a minor issue caused by the feeding tube. Moments later, Baby E began vomiting blood. Despite the medical team's intervention, Baby E lost a significant amount of blood and died in the early hours of August 4, 2015. Meanwhile, Baby F began exhibiting unusual symptoms. Doctors discovered that his blood sugar levels had plummeted inexplicably. It was later revealed that Lucy had tampered with his intravenous nutrition bag, adding insulin. Though Baby F. survived, his close call added to the growing

list of mysterious incidents linked to Lucy. Hospital administrators were alarmed by the spike in neonatal deaths and near misses. They launched an internal investigation but couldn't find conclusive evidence against Lucy. The deaths were attributed to natural causes or medical complications. However, some doctors were convinced that foul play was involved. Dr. Ravi Jairam, a consultant pediatrician, later revealed that he and his colleagues had raised concerns about Lucy multiple times, but their warnings were largely ignored. Hospital management was reluctant to believe that one of their own could be responsible for such heinous acts. In October 2015, Lucy's behavior became increasingly erratic.

She sent a series of cryptic messages to colleagues, expressing feelings of inadequacy in self-doubt. She also began posting strange updates on social media, including a photo of a sympathy card she had written for a grieving family. Her obsession with being seen as a compassionate caregiver seemed to overshadow any genuine remorse for the tragedies that had unfolded under her watch. Despite mounting suspicions, Lucy continued working at the hospital. In February 2016, another premature baby, Baby G., suffered a sudden collapse. Baby G had been born extremely prematurely but was making steady progress. Her parents were hopeful that she would soon be well enough to go home. However, during Lucy's shift, Baby G experienced a severe drop in oxygen levels

and had to be resuscitated. The incident left Baby G with permanent brain damage. An investigation later revealed that Lucy had overfed Baby G, causing her stomach to distend and compress her diaphragm. By this point, the Countess of Chester Hospital had one of the highest neonatal mortality rates in the country. The hospital commissioned an external review, which identified several failings in care but did not explicitly link the deaths to Lucy. Frustrated by the lack of action, Dr. Jairam and his colleagues continued to push for a thorough investigation. In July 2016, Lucy was finally removed from clinical duties and assigned to an administrative role. However, the damage had already been done. Over the course of 12 months,

Lucy had been present for the deaths of seven babies and the near-fatal collapses of six others. In 2017, Cheshire Police launched a formal investigation. into the unexplained deaths at the Countess of Chester Hospital. The investigation, dubbed Operation Hummingbird, involved reviewing medical records, interviewing staff, and conducting forensic tests. Detectives discovered a pattern of deliberate harm, including injections of air, insulin poisoning, and tampering with feeding tubes. Lucy's text messages and handwritten notes also provided crucial evidence.

In one note, she had written, I am evil, I did this. Lucy was arrested in July 2018 and charged with multiple counts of murder and attempted murder. Her trial began in October 2022 and lasted for several months. Prosecutors described her as a calculating and manipulative individual who had exploited her position of trust to carry out a series of horrifying crimes. Lucy's defense team argued that she was a dedicated nurse who had been unfairly scapegoated for systemic failures within the hospital. However, the evidence against her was overwhelming. In November 2023, Lucy letby was found guilty of murdering seven babies and

attempting to murder six others. She was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. The case sent shockwaves through the medical community and led to calls for greater oversight and accountability in neonatal care. For the families of Lucy's victims, the verdict brought a measure of justice but could never erase the pain of their loss. Lucy's story is a chilling reminder that evil can lurk in the most unexpected places. It is a tale of betrayal, tragedy, and the devastating consequences of misplaced trust. The Countess of Chester Hospital will forever be haunted by the memory of the nurse who turned a place of healing into a house of horrors.

At 1.40 a.m. on August 4, 2015, a tragic event unfolded. A small, fragile baby lost his life, and the official explanation from the doctors was that he had succumbed to an intestinal condition. But here's the kicker, no autopsy was performed. None. Just a vague, heartbreaking diagnosis and the matter was closed. The parents, however, were far from convinced. Something didn't sit right with them.

They were haunted by a nagging doubt, and even more so by the strange behavior of one particular nurse, Lucy let by. When the baby's mother had begged for help earlier, Lucy hadn't even flinched. She brushed it off like it was nothing, saying everything was fine, even though the baby was clearly dying. Chilling, isn't it? But here's where it gets truly unsettling. After the baby's death, Lucy acted, well, off.

She took the baby's tiny body, washed it, and collected his footprints, handprints, and even a lock of his hair. She then placed all of it into a little keepsake box, which she handed to the grieving parents. Some might say it was a thoughtful gesture, but to these parents. It felt deeply uncomfortable. It was as if something more sinister was lurking beneath that supposedly sweet act. With a growing sense of unease, the parents insisted their other child, F, be transferred immediately to another hospital.

Unfortunately, the women's hospital in Liverpool was at capacity, and Baby F had to stay at the Countess of Chester Hospital, where Lucy worked. F's case was different. He had issues with his blood sugar levels and required careful monitoring with insulin. At first, everything seemed stable. The doctors were hopeful. But then, at 9 p.m. one night, all hell broke loose. F's blood sugar levels plummeted, completely out of the blue.

The alarms went off, and doctors rushed to intervene. They were baffled. Nothing made sense, until someone decided to remove the insulin drip. And just like that, F's condition improved almost instantly. When they analyzed the insulin drip, they discovered something horrifying, someone had been tampering with it, administering a lethal amount of insulin that could have killed the baby. Can you imagine?

A newborn baby being poisoned. At first, the doctors thought it was just a mistake. After all, who could even fathom such malice? But they let it slide, moving on without taking action. Then came the case of baby G., a so-called miracle baby. Her parents had struggled for years to have children, enduring countless treatments and heartbreaks. And against all odds, G. was born. The pregnancy had been fraught with complications, and G. came into the world prematurely, with only a five

percent chance of survival. But this little fighter defied all the odds, growing stronger by the day. She was eventually transferred to the Countess of Chester Hospital on September 6, 2015. When the nurses learned that G's 100th day of life was coming up, they planned a celebration. Balloons, banners, stickers on the windows, the works. It was a moment of joy for everyone involved. But Lucy letby had other plans. She started her shift that night, and by two a.m., the celebration had turned into chaos. The nurse assigned to G. briefly stepped away, leaving Lucy alone with the baby. Fifteen minutes later, G. began vomiting violently. The team rushed in to stabilize her, finding her tiny stomach filled with milk and air. G. narrowly survived

the ordeal and was transferred back to Arrow Park Hospital for further care. When G.'s condition improved, she was sent back to the Countess of Chester. She was stronger now, almost ready to go home with her parents. The nurses decided to celebrate again, this time for the date G was supposed to have been born, September 21st. But just as the festivities began, Lucy's shift started, and G's condition deteriorated once more. This time, she was overfed through a nasogastric tube, and air was deliberately injected into her system. Although G. survived, the attack left her with lifelong disabilities. Today, she requires 24-7 care. Her case marked a turning point. The doctors started paying closer attention, monitoring who was on shift

during these sudden medical emergencies. Despite their vigilance, Lucy managed to strike again. On September 26, she targeted another premature baby, H. twice in one night, she injected air into his bloodstream. Miraculously, H survived. For days later, Lucy's shift changed to daytime, and she wasted no time finding a new victim. The baby, who had initially been recovering well, stopped breathing during Lucy's care. She tried again later that night but failed to take his life. Still, she persisted. On October 22nd, she finally succeeded. As always, Lucy created another key pick box for the grieving parents. But this time, she included a note, there are no words to make this moment easier. It was an absolute privilege to care for, your baby, and to know your family.

She will always be part of our lives, and we will never forget her. It was made. manipulative, calculated, and deeply unsettling. The lead pediatrician, Dr. Ravi Jairam, was now beyond alarmed. He urged the hospital's administration to act, but his concerns were dismissed. Why? Lucy was seen as the, perfect nurse. Exposing her would be a scandal. It would tarnish the hospital's reputation.

So the higher-ups did nothing. Lucy continued her rampage. In November 2015, Lucy targeted another baby, J. injecting air into his system. Once again, the doctors saved him. And yet, the pattern of attacks continued through February 2016. By this point, the medical staff could no longer ignore the truth. They noticed a clear link between Lucy's shifts and the unexplained emergencies.

But Lucy wasn't oblivious to their suspicions. She went straight to the hospital administration, claiming she was being bullied. The result? The doctors who had raised concerns were forced to apologize. to her. In a letter to Lucy, the hospital wrote, Dear Lucy, we'd like to apologize for any inappropriate comments made during this difficult time. Please know that patient safety has always been our top priority. We regret any stress or discomfort you've experienced. Can you believe that? The woman suspected of harming babies received an apology, while those trying to stop her were

reprimanded. Empowered by this, Lucy grew bolder. In February 2016, she allegedly attacked Baby K, left alone with him. Lucy caused the baby to stop breathing. Though doctors managed to save K initially, he died three days later. Then, in April, she turned her attention to twins L and M. She poisoned L with insulin and, while the doctors were busy stabilizing him, injected air into M. Both survived, but M suffered severe brain damage. By now, the hospital staff was deeply suspicious.

On June 3rd, Lucy targeted another baby, N. Though she failed to kill him, the attack revealed a crucial clue, evidence of a deliberate injury or air injection. Finally, the doctors had something tangible to work with. Yet, inexplicably, the hospital allowed Lucy to continue working. On June 23, she was put in charge of triplets O, P, and Q. That night, Lucy injected air into O, killing him. She then turned her attention to P, who also died.

Q was sent to another hospital before Lucy could strike. again. The medical team had had enough. They demanded an internal investigation. Instead of involving the police, the hospital chose to handle the matter privately, assigning all the nurses to individual clinical supervision. Lucy was reassigned to administrative duties, not because she was a suspect, but, as a precaution, she was told not to worry and assured she'd be back on the ward soon. Lucy, however, wasn't having it. When months passed and she wasn't reinstated, she filed a formal complaint in September 2016. Frustrated, the hospital finally called the police in February 2017.

The Chester Police Department launched a meticulous investigation that lasted over a year. On July 3, 2018, Lucy was arrested. But here's the twist, she was released on bail after just three days. During that brief time, the police searched her home and discovered chilling evidence. They found notes filled with nonsensical ramblings, confessions, and fragments of her twisted thoughts. More disturbingly, they uncovered hospital records and photos of the keepsake boxes she had given to parents.

Lucy had also been stalking the parents of her victims online, obsessively monitoring their social media profiles before and after her attacks. On Christmas Day, she'd check all their profiles in one go, reliving the anguish she'd caused. Despite all this, the police claimed there wasn't enough evidence to charge her. Lucy was released and went about her life as if nothing had happened. She was arrested again on July 10, 2019, and once more in November 2020. Finally, formal charges were brought against her, eight counts of murder and ten counts of attempted murder. The trial began and lasted ten grueling months.

The prosecution presented overwhelming evidence, including 32,000 pages of documentation and testimony from 250 witnesses. Lucy showed no remorse. She spoke coldly about the babies, denying all accusations and blaming others. The judge, however, saw right through her. On August 21st, 2023, Lucy Letby was sentenced to life in prison for the murder of seven babies and the attempted murder of six others. The true number of her victims may never be known, but one thing is clear, Lucy Letby

is the most prolific child serial killer in the UK's history. So now, the question remains, why did she do it? Some speculate she suffered from Munchausen syndrome, craving attention and wanting to play the healer after harming her victims. Others believe she was infatuated with a married doctor and committed these crimes to draw him closer. In her house, notes revealed she felt unfit to care for children, a possible hint at her motives.

But the truth? Only Lucy let by nose, and she's not talking. Among other things, the girl threatens to break the door handle and scratch the car, then out of nowhere shouts, you're going to open this door right now, or we're going to have a serious problem. Finally, the boy decides to stop recording and does what seems like the best option at the moment, he calls his mom. He asks her to come help him, and only then does everything calm down. It was the morning of July 31st, 2022, when a neighbor in Strongsville, Ohio, heard an earth-shaking crash. It was loud, brutal, even, and to her, it sounded like a

terrible accident. Curious and alarmed, she moved closer to the source of the sound, discovering a car completely wrecked, smashed against a wall. The scene was so shocking that she immediately ran back home to call 911. Police and paramedics arrived about 30 minutes later, but unfortunately, by the time they got there, it was too late. Inside the mangled vehicle were three people, but only the driver survived, and only because they were wearing a seatbelt. At first, the reason for the crash seemed obvious. The driver had been drinking and using drugs. Case closed, right?

Just another reckless accident. But as days passed, the police started piecing together details that didn't quite add up. It turned out this wasn't just a tragic accident, it looked more and more like a cold, calculated murder. And this is where today's case begins. The curious case of Mackenzie Sherilla. Mackenzie Sherilla was born in August 2004 in Strongsville, Ohio. She was the youngest of Natalie Stevens and John Chirillis three children.

As the baby of the family, McKenzie was showered with love and attention. But what should have been a healthy upbringing turned into something, different? Her parents overprotectiveness meant that McKenzie could do no wrong. Any mischief or bad behavior was brushed off as just kids being kids, but as McKenzie grew up, her attitude became increasingly difficult. She was bossy, selfish, and used to getting her way. Her parents, unknowingly, fed this behavior. Whatever she wanted, she got.

Whatever she demanded, they delivered. And if she acted out? No consequences. This set the stage for an uncontrollable teenager. By the time she hit high school, McKenzie was out of control. She started drinking and using drugs early on, and her behavior became impulsive, reckless, and downright dangerous. She surrounded herself with like-minded friends who encouraged the chaos.

She got into fights, vandalized property, and even committed petty theft. Her growing reputation with the police should have been a wake-up call. But instead of real consequences, McKenzie and her crew were often let off with little more than a slap on the wrist. This only emboldened her, convincing her she was untouchable. If you checked her social media at the time, it told the story of a girl living life on the edge. Her Instagram was full of provocative pictures, and her TikTok had videos that made people's

's jaws drop. In one post, she even bragged, I'm not cool, I'm just one of those girls who can take a ton of drugs and not die. Hold on to that image, it'll come back later. Mackenzie was the Queen B. Everyone knew her, whether for better or worse. But then came someone who seemed like her total opposite, Dominic Russo. The boy next door, Dominic Russo was born in 2001, also in Strongsville, Ohio. He was one of seven kids born to Christine and Frank Russo. Unlike McKenna, Kenzie, Dominic had a quiet, stable upbringing. He was responsible, kind, and focused. Dominic loved sports, was serious about his studies, and dreamed big. By 20, he was already attending university with plans to become a music producer. He even ran a small business,

rented his own apartment, and had his own car. His future was mapped out, and nothing could derail him, or so it seemed. Dominic was the kind of guy everyone liked. Girls, especially, were drawn to his grounded nature and good looks. But he wasn't the type to hop from one relationship to the next. Dominic wanted something real, but his primary focus was school in his career. At least, that was the plan until he met McKenzie at a party. It was one of those nights where worlds collided. Dominic and McKenzie were total opposites, different upbringings, ambitions, and personalities.

Yet, they clicked. There was an undeniable spark between them. Before long, they started dating. At first, Dominic's parents weren't thrilled. They had a bad feeling about Mackenzie. Something about her rubbed them the wrong way, but Dominic didn't see it. On the flip side, McKenzie's parents were thrilled. They thought Dominic could be a good influence on her.

For a while, everything seemed picture-perfect. McKenzie and Dominic were inseparable. Social media was flooded with photos of them kissing, smiling, and looking blissfully happy. They even made future plans, when McKenzie turned 18, they'd get married and move to New York. Dominic would pursue music, and they'd live the dream together. But cracks began to show. McKenzie's true nature surfaced. She needed to control everything.

If Dominic didn't give in, she'd explode. In public, she held her tongue. But in private, she unleashed her temper, yelling, insulting, even hitting him. Dominic brushed it off at first, thinking they were just silly. outbursts. But as time passed, her behavior became unbearable. Dominic realized he wanted a mature, stable partner, and McKenzie wasn't it. He decided to end things. Predictably, she didn't take it well. Some sources say he broke up with her privately, while others claim it was in front of friends. Either way, her reaction was explosive. She screamed,

threatened him, and disrespected him in every way possible. Dominic blocked her on everything, calls, messages, social media. But McKenzie wasn't about to give up. She started harassing him in person, showing up at his house and even creating public scenes. Desperate, Dominic began recording her outbursts. What those videos revealed was chilling. In July 2022, Dominic recorded one of her infamous tantrums.

They had argued, and Dominic retreated to his home, his safe space. But McKenzie wasn't having it. She banged on his door, hurled insult. and issued threats. Open this door now, or there will be a serious problem, she shouted. Terrified, Dominic recorded the chaos until he decided to call his mom for help. But that wasn't the end of it. McKenzie's sentencing sent shockwaves through the local community.

People were divided, some believed justice had been served, while others felt the punishment was not enough. Social media lit up with debates. Supporters of McKenzie argued that she was just a troubled teen who had made a terrible mistake, while others saw her as a manipulative and dangerous individual who had destroyed not just one, but two promising lives. The town of Strongsville became a hub of controversy, with the case drawing attention from media outlets across the country.

The aftermath of the tragedy, for the families of Dominic Russo and Davion Flanagan, the sentencing was anything but closure. Dominic's parents, Christine and Frank Russo, were devastated by the loss of their son. They described Dominic as a light in their lives, someone who had big dreams and an even bigger heart. His mother, Christine, spoke publicly about how her family's life would never be the same. I think about him every day, she said in an emotional interview. The whole he's left in our family is unbearable. And knowing that the person responsible could one day walk free is a bitter pill to swallow. The Flanagan family shared a similar sentiment. They had welcomed Davion into

their lives with open arms, providing him with a stable and loving home. His adoptive parents, Jamie and Scott, spoke passionately about their son's bright future and how it had been cruelly ripped away. He was going to be a barber, Jamie shared through tears. He had so many plans. He was kind, respectful, and had a heart of gold. To think that someone could view him as expendable, as just cargo in the back seat, is horrifying. The pain of these families was palpable, and their calls for harsher justice echoed through courtrooms, social media, and local gatherings. Many believed that the system had failed to adequately punish McKenzie for her actions. This led to a renewed focus on juvenile sentencing laws and whether they truly serve justice

in cases involving such grave crimes. Public reactions and media frenzy, as the news spread, the case of McKenzie's Shirilla became a hot topic in national discussions. Talk shows dissected every detail, from McKenzie's turbulent past to the tragic night of the crash. Pundits debated whether her age should have been a mitigating factor in her sentencing or if the premeditated nature of the crime warranted a harsher punishment. On one side, advocates for juvenile justice reform argued that teenagers, even those who

commit heinous crimes, have brains that are still developing. They believe that McKenzie's actions, while undeniably horrific, were a result of her immaturity and a lack of proper guidance throughout her life. Teens are impulsive, one expert explained during a televised debate. Their decision-making processes are not fully developed, and they're more likely to act out of emotion rather than reason. This doesn't excuse her behavior, but it does provide context. On the other side, those advocating for the victim's families demanded stricter consequences. They pointed to McKenzie's history of reckless and violent behavior as evidence that her actions were not a one-time lapse in judgment, but part of a pattern. This wasn't just a mistake, said a local

activist. It was a deliberate act. Dominic and Davion didn't stand a chance, and McKenzie knew exactly what she was doing, the polarized opinions kept the case in the headlines, with journalists and influencers speculating on the potential outcomes of McKenzie's appeal. The psychological angle, as more details emerged, psychologists and criminologists began to weigh in on McKenzie's mental state. Some speculated that her behavior might have stemmed from a combination of personality disorders and environmental factors. Growing up in a household where she faced little accountability, McKenzie had developed an inflated sense of entitlement. She believed she could control every aspect of her life, and the lives of those around her. She exhibited

clear signs of narcissistic tendencies, one psychologist noted in an article. Her need for control, her lack of empathy, and her inability to handle rejection all point to deeper psychological issues. Others, however, argued that labeling her behavior as a result of mental illness was a disservice to those who genuinely struggled with such conditions. They believed McKenzie's actions were a result of her choices and that framing them as anything else detracted from the severity of the crime. Meanwhile, McKenzie's defense team tried to use this psychological angle to their advantage. They presented her as a troubled teenager who had been failed by the adults in her life.

They pointed to her history of substance abuse, impulsive behavior, and unstable relationships as evidence of a young girl crying out for help. The appeal process. Despite her conviction, McKenzie's legal team wasted no time in filing an appeal. They argued that the original trial had been biased, with too much weight given to her premeditation and not enough consideration for her age and mental state. The appeal aimed to reduce her sentence, possibly granting her parole eligibility much sooner. The appeal process reignited the public's interest in the case.

Supporters of the victim's families launched petitions demanding that McKenzie's sentence remain intact. They feared that a reduced sentence would set a dangerous precedent, allowing other juvenile offenders to escape full accountability for their actions. However, McKenzie's supporters also rallied. Her family and friends maintained her innocence, insisting that the crash was a tragic accident rather than a calculated act. They pointed to her behavior after the crash, her social media posts mourning Dominic and her claims of memory loss, as evidence of her remorse.

A community divided. In Strongsville, the case had left the community deeply divided. Some residents felt compassion for McKenzie, viewing her as a victim of her own circumstances. They believed that she deserved a second chance to rebuild her life and learn from her mistakes. Others, however, were unwavering in their belief that she was a danger to society. They pointed to her actions leading up to the crash, her reckless driving, her history of threats, and her volatile relationship with Dominic, as proof that she was capable of calculated violence. Local businesses held fundraisers for the victim's families, while some

residents organized protests outside the courthouse, demanding that McKenzie's appeal be denied. The once-quiet suburb had become a battleground for debates about justice, redemption, and accountability. Moving forward, as the years passed, the case continued to cast a shadow over Strongsville. Dominic and Davion's families worked tirelessly to keep their memories alive, establishing scholarships and community programs in their honor. They hoped that these initiatives would serve as a reminder of the bright futures their sons have been robbed of. For McKenzie, the years in prison would be a time of reflection, or so her family hoped. Whether or not she truly felt remorse for her actions remained a topic of debate. Her supporters,

continued to advocate for her release, while her detractors vowed to fight any attempts to reduce her sentence. The tragedy had left scars that would never fully heal, but it also served as a powerful reminder of the consequences of reckless and destructive behavior. It was a cautionary tale for young people everywhere, a stark warning about the dangers of substance abuse, toxic relationships, and unchecked anger. A final thought. As we reflect on this case, one can't help but wonder how things might have been different.

someone have intervened earlier to steer Mackenzie onto a better path? Could Dominic and Davion's lives have been saved if the signs of danger had been taken more seriously? These questions may never have definitive answers, but they underscore the importance of vigilance, accountability, and compassion in preventing similar tragedies in the future. And so, the story of Mackenzie Sherilla, Dominic Russo, and Davion Flanagan remains etched in a collective memory, a heartbreaking tale of love, loss, and the far-reaching consequences of our actions. The case of Pasqual Garido Martinez is one that's as baffling as it is tragic. It's a tale of mystery, blood, and unanswered questions that continue to haunt those who've looked

into it. And at the heart of it lies a chilling murder committed with a weapon that is as conspicuous as it is gruesome, a chainsaw. Let's delve deep into the story, unpack its twists, and see if we can make sense of the inexplicable. A passionate forester, Pasqual Garito Martinez was a 28-year-old forest ranger who had dedicated his life to protecting nature and its creatures. Born and raised in L.S. Coriol, Pasquale's love for animals was evident to everyone who knew him. Friends and colleagues described him as someone who not only cared deeply about his work, but went above and beyond to ensure that the wildlife he encountered was given the best chance to thrive. In 1991, Pasquale and his wife moved to Huasca, where he continued his work as a ranger.

Known for his friendly demeanor, Pasquale made friends easily, and they often spoke of his dedication. It wasn't unusual for him to work extra hours or even show up on his days off to check on the animals he was helping to rehabilitate. His devotion was admirable and inspiring. A fateful morning, April 2nd, 1991, started like any other day for Pasquale. Just a few days earlier, he and a colleague had found an injured falcon. Concerned for its well-being, they took it to a small, isolated shelter in the Sierra de Arquise. Pasquale had been checking on the bird daily, ensuring it was fed and comfortable. That morning, Pasquale woke early, kissed his wife goodbye, and headed out to the shelter.

It was a routine trip, one he'd made countless times. However, as the day passed and Pasquale didn't return home, worry began to set in. Perhaps he'd been delayed at work, or maybe he'd run into friends. But when the hours stretched into the evening, his wife's unease grew. A grisly discovery, by the afternoon, Pasquale's colleague arrived at the shelter, likely expecting to find Pasquale attending to the Falcon. What he found instead was a scene of utter horror. Blood was everywhere, on the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. In the midst of the carnage lay Pasquale's lifeless body. The sight was so gruesome that the colleague could barely

describe it. Pasquale's body had been mutilated in a way that defied comprehension. A massive wound ran from his groin to his abdomen, splitting him nearly in half. The injury was caused by a chainsaw, a brutal, devastating weapon. According to the autopsy, Pasquale had been restrained by his right hand and neck before the fatal wound was inflicted. Death was instantaneous, not only due to the severity of the wound but also the massive blood loss. No witnesses, no weapon. The crime scene was perplexing in many ways. For starters, there were no witnesses. A chainsaw is not a quiet tool, and the attack would have been loud and chaotic. Yet, no one reported hearing or seeing anything suspicious. Equally puzzling was the absence of the murder weapon. How does one simply hide a

chainsaw, a tool that is cumbersome, noisy, and likely covered in blood? The investigation quickly turned up nothing. Divers searched the nearby Arguez Reservoir, and officers combed through every corner of the surrounding area, including a nearby road construction site. Yet, despite their efforts, no chainsaw was found, and no witnesses came forward. The investigation begins. Hasquall was well-liked and had no known enemies. His life revolved around his work and his wife. Friends and colleagues mourned his loss, speaking of his optimism, passion, and tireless energy. Comments on forums and in conversations even years later echoed the same sentiment, Pasquale was a kind soul whose murder made no sense. But despite the lack of obvious enemies,

investigators began to consider the possibility that someone had a motive to kill him. Suspicion soon fell on a group of prisoners working near the crime scene. Prisoners and chainsaws, at the time of Pasquale's murder, a group of eight prisoners was performing forestry work in the Sierra de Arguez as part of a reintegration program. These were not violent criminals, their offenses were related to drugs and petty theft. Under the supervision of a prison officer named German, they were tasked with tasks such as brush clearing and fire prevention. The prisoners had access to tools, including chainsaws. However, German, confident in their good behavior, left them unsupervised at times, even going to a bar while they worked.

To make matters more suspicious, April 2nd was the birthday of one of the prisoners. Family members had visited to celebrate, and there were rumors of drug deals taking place under the guise of the gathering. Theories begin to form, one hypothesis suggested that Pasquale's murder was related to a drug exchange gone wrong. Perhaps Pasquale stumbled upon the illegal activity and threatened to report it. In a panic, the perpetrators might have killed him to silence him. Alternatively, Pasquale may not have seen anything but was killed preemptively to ensure he wouldn't pose a threat. Yet, the theory had holes. When German returned, none of the prisoners appeared suspicious.

Their clothes were clean, with no signs of blood, something that would be nearly impossible given the nature of the crime. Furthermore, all tools, including chainsaws, were accounted for. The search for evidence, the investigation expanded to a crime. include not just the prisoners but also their families and associates. Another potential lead came from the road construction crew working nearby. Could one of the workers have had access to a chainsaw and been involved? However, this avenue was not thoroughly pursued, and focus remained on the prisoners. A break in the case.

In 1992, a year after Pasquale's murder, a prisoner came forward with information. He claimed to have overheard another inmate bragging about the crime. to this witness, the inmate said he'd seen three prisoners kill Pasquale, with two restraining him while the third used a chainsaw. This information led to the arrest of six individuals, for prisoners, a family member of one of them, and a friend. The case went to trial in 1995. Prosecutors sought 30-year sentences, but the trial was fraught with complications.

The defendants maintained their innocence, and there was no physical evidence linking them to the crime. The sole eyewitness, whose account had initiated the trial, was inconsistent and unreliable. He claimed to have seen the murder from a bar parking lot, yet investigators determined that the vantage point offered no clear view of the shelter. A verdict of innocence, ultimately, the lack of concrete evidence led to the defendant's acquittal. The chainsaw, the most critical piece of evidence, was never found. Nor was there any proof of drug activity in the area.

The case went cold, leaving Pasquale's family and friends without closure. A new revelation. Decades later, in 2021, a letter surfaced that re-ignited interest in the case. Written by a prisoner, the letter alleged that while the original suspects were innocent, others involved in the forestry work that they might not have been. The letter hinted at a drug deal gone wrong but implicated individuals outside the group of prisoners initially accused. Unfortunately, by this point, the statute of limitations on the case had expired. Even if new evidence emerged, no charges could be filed.

Lingering questions. To this day, Pasquale Garrido Martinez's murder remains an unsolved mystery. Who killed him, and why? Was it truly a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was there a deeper, more sinister motive? Despite the passage of time, those who remember Pasquale still hope for answers. They cling to the memory of a kind, dedicated man whose life was cut short in the most brutal and senseless of ways.

For now, the case stands as a chilling reminder of how even the most seemingly straight forward lives can be engulfed in darkness and tragedy. Hal was your typical invisible neighbor, quiet, hardworking, and entirely unremarkable. Or so everyone thought. But when the cops swarmed his house, they unearthed secrets far darker than anyone imagined. Howell Sasco, born September 11, 1961, in Titusville, Florida, was the tenth of twelve kids. He had a knack for taking charge, organizing everything from chores to family outings. Howell was a born leader, his brother Glenn once said. Life seemed to unfold perfectly for Howe.

After college at Oklahoma University, he opened Cece's Pizzeria in Topeka, Kansas. It thrived, and soon he was running three successful locations. Married with a daughter, Howe appeared to have it all. But his obsession with work caused him his family. When his wife divorced him, taking their daughter, Hal retreated to his house in Lawrence, Kansas, leading a solitary life, until January 17th, 2014. That morning, Howell didn't show up to work. Concerned employees called the police for a welfare check.

What they found was horrifying, Howe's lifeless body lay in a pool of blood, bound with zip ties. His throat had been slashed so deeply it hit bone. On the wall, written in blood, was a single word, freedom. Neighbors were stunned. Hal was a ghost, rarely seen, let alone causing trouble. But a young woman had recently moved in with him. Some thought she was his stepdaughter, though Howell only had a child. a toddler.

So who was she? Her name was Sarah Gonzalez MacLinn, a 19-year-old with a troubled past. Born in Topeka, Kansas, Sarah was the middle child in a one stable family. Her parents' divorce shattered her world, and she spiraled into rebellion, drugs, alcohol, and running away. She worked briefly at Hal's Pizzeria, where he became a father figure. At first, he seemed like a savior, offering guidance and a home when she needed it most. But things turned sinister.

Hal began controlling Sarah. He criticized her looks, pressured her to undergo cosmetic surgery, and manipulated her into dependence. Gifts turned into debt she couldn't repay. Over ten months, he isolated and abused her. By January 2014, Sarah was desperate. That night, she drugged Hal, tied him up, and slid his throat. She scrawled Freedom on the wall, took his car, and fled. Sarah's escape led her to Florida, where she got a tattoo quoting her favorite book, Beware

the Dark Pond in Our Hearts. In its murky depths dwell strange and twisted creatures best left undisturbed. Days later, she was caught in the Everglades, Howe's bloody knife in her possession. During questioning, Sarah claimed she killed Howl to watch someone die. But her psychological evaluation revealed a history of PTSD, depression, and dissociative identity disorder. Her defense argued she acted under immense psychological strain, but prosecutors painted her as a cold-blooded killer. In 2015, she received a life sentence, eligible for parole after 50 years.

In 2021, Sarah's case was revisited. Evidence of Howell's predatory behavior emerged, along with testimonies supporting Sarah's claims of abuse. Her sentence was reduced to 25 years. So, was justice served? Or does Sarah's story demand a deeper reckoning? Michael Philpott, or Mick, as everyone called him, was born in 1956 in Derby, England. His childhood and teenage years aren't well documented, but what little we know paints a picture of a pretty average kid. He enjoyed fishing and, after finishing secondary school, decided to

join the Army in 1976. But here's where things started to take a darker turn. Two weeks before starting his military service, Mick met Kim Hill, a girl he considered his first great love. He was 19, she was just 15. The age gap didn't phase them or her parents, who thought Mick was the perfect suitor for their daughter. Her father, an ex-military man, was particularly impressed, seeing Mick as a promising young man with a bright future. The relationship moved fast. They'd call each other constantly, exchange letters, and meet up often. To the outside world, Mick seemed like a dream boyfriend, polite, respectful, and treating Kim like a princess. But behind closed doors, cracks began to show.

Mick was controlling. He dictated what Kim could wear, set curfews, and constantly checked up on her. If she dared to disagree, he'd throw tantrums. Young and inexperienced, Kim didn't recognize these red flags for what they were. Instead, she moved in with him, believing his promises of a bright future together. At first glance, their life seemed idyllic. They rented a tidy little apartment in a nice neighborhood, and Kim's friends saw. saw her as happy.

But inside that apartment, life was a nightmare. Mick's controlling nature escalated to physical violence. Arguments often ended with him slapping or shoving her. Each time, he'd apologize, blaming her for, pushing him too far. Manipulated and gaslit, Kim believed him, thinking she was the problem. The abuse wasn't confined to their home. In public, Mick began ridiculing Kim and treating her poorly. During a game of pool at a pub, Kim refused to play. Enraged, Mick grabbed a cue stick and

struck her in the mouth, leaving her bleeding. Dozens of people saw it, yet no one intervened. Kim's injuries became more frequent and visible, but she always had excuses, she'd fallen, tripped, or had some other accident. Mick's paranoia worsened as he began accusing Kim of cheating. To catch her, he staged fake work trips, hiding in the area to spy on her. He even interrogated her friends and family. This toxic relationship lasted two chaotic years before Kim finally reached her breaking point in July 1978. Two scared to confront Mick directly, she left a note on the dining table, packed her things, and moved back in with her parents while Mick was away. The note detailed his violence, stating she deserved happiness and couldn't endure him anymore.

When Mick discovered she was gone, he snapped. He stalked Kim's family, learning their routines. One night, when Kim's father was working a night shift, Mick broke into their house. In the dark, he crept upstairs to Kim's room and stabbed her 27 times. Her screams woke her mother, who tried to intervene, but Mick attacked her two, stabbing her eleven times. Then, he calmly went downstairs, sat on the sofa, and waited for the police. Neighbors, alarmed by the noise, had already called them. When officers arrived, Mick showed no remorse.

He proudly declared that both Kim and her mother were dead. However, his triumph was short-lived. Despite the severity of their injuries, both women survived. Kim's heart stopped twice in the ambulance, but she pulled through, as did her mother. Mick was convicted of attempted murder and grievous bodily harm later that year. He received a seven-year sentence but was released after just three years for good behavior. While in prison, he bombarded Kim with letters, professing his undying love and promising they'd get married. Terrified, Kim ignored him, hoping he'd move on. When Mick was released, he resumed his

harassment, calling and writing to Kim incessantly. He even threatened her, saying if she wasn't with him, she wouldn't be with anyone. Eventually, the stalking stopped. Mick had found a new victim, Pamela Lomax. They married in 1986, but Mick's behavior didn't change. He controlled and abused Pamela just as he had Kim, and to ensure she wouldn't leave, he had three children with her. He constantly reminded her of what he'd done to Kim, saying he'd do the same to her and their kids if she tried to escape. After a decade, Mick left Pamela for someone new. Shockingly, his next relationship was with a 14-year-old girl named Heather Kehoe.

Mick met her while hanging around a lake frequented by teenagers. He befriended her group, offering them alcohol and drugs until he gained their trust. Heather became his focus. He manipulated her, eventually convincing her to run away with him at 16. They had two children together, but Mick's violence and control persisted. By the time Heather turned 20, she'd had enough. She fled with the help of a lawyer, securing custody of her kids and a restraining order against Mick.

Undeterred, Mick moved on again. In 2000, he met Marade Duffy, a 19-year-old single mother. Vulnerable and struggling, Marade became an easy target. Mick quickly inserted himself into her life, offering to play father to her child. Together, they moved into a council house at 18, Victory Road in Usmaston, Derby. But Mick wasn't content with just one partner. By 2001, he'd started a relationship with 16-year-old Lisa Willis, another vulnerable young woman. Instead of kicking him out, Marade agreed to an unconventional arrangement, the three of them

would live together. Mick set up a caravan outside the house, where Lisa stayed, taking turns with Marade in sharing his affections. The bizarre setup attracted media attention. Mick portrayed their household as a happy, polygamous family, though the reality was far from it. The women barely interacted except to manage household chores and childcare. Mick contributed nothing, refusing to work and relying entirely on state benefits. With nine children between them, the family received substantial government assistance, amounting to £60,000 annually. Despite this, Mick's greed knew no bounds. He demanded the women work while he controlled their earnings. They had no house keys,

giving Mick complete control over their comings and goings. By 2006, Mick was pushing for a larger house to accommodate their growing brood. When the council refused, he appeared on the Jeremy Kyle show, hoping public sympathy would pressure officials. Instead, audiences were appalled by his laziness and entitlement, doving him, Mick the moocher. Unphased, Mick continued seeking fame. In 2007, he participated in a documentary where a politician, and Whitcomb, attempted to reform his lifestyle. Mick played the doting father for the cameras, but off-screen, his true nature emerged. And later described him as volatile and manipulative, even feeling threatened at times.

By 2012, Lisa had had enough. She secretly planned her escape, telling Marade she was taking the kids to the pool. Instead, she fled, leaving Mick furious. He accused her of kidnapping the children and launched a custody battle, with the court date set for May 12, 2012. The night before the hearing, tragedy struck. At 4 a m, a fire engulfed the Philpott's home. Mick and Marade escaped, but six of their children, aged 5 to 13, perished. Initially, the community rallied around them, donating thousands for funeral costs.

But suspicions grew when details emerged. The children had been dressed in day clothes, not. pajamas, and traces of petrol were found throughout the house. Police placed listening devices in the Philpott's hotel room. Conversations revealed Mick coaching Marade to stick to their story. At a press conference, their lack of genuine emotion further raised eyebrows. Investigations uncovered Mick's chilling plan, he had set the fire intending to rescue the children heroically, framing Lisa to gain custody.

But the fire spread uncontrollably, resulting in a devastating loss of life. Mick, Marade, and their accomplice, Paul Mosley, were arrested and charged with manslaughter. In April 2013, Mick received a life sentence, while Marade and Paul were sentenced to 17 years each. The case remains one of the most disturbing examples of how greed and manipulation can lead to unimaginable tragedy. Investigators planted recording devices in the Thorburn household and discovered that this family had something sinister to hide. The parents coached their children to lie, to stay silent, and to act as if Tile A Palmer had never existed. They were taught to repeat the same story over and over to the police, clearly indicating

a web of deceit. This tragic story begins with the birth of Tilea Alyssa Rose Palmer on April 13, 2003, in Chambers Flat, Australia. There is little information about her early life, as she was born into a dysfunctional family. Her parents were in an abusive relationship, and her mother, Cindy, was not in a position to care for her. Cindy lacked emotional and financial stability. When Tilei turned seven, Cindy made the heartbreaking decision to put her up for adoption. The weight of this decision drove Cindy into a spiral of drug use and trouble, eventually leaving her homeless.

Over the next five years, Tile bounced from home to home. She lived with different families for short periods, but none provided her with the stability she desperately needed. She felt unwanted and unloved, and this last. of security left her emotionally vulnerable. Unfortunately, her story is not unique. In many cases, foster families take in children not out of compassion but for financial gain. In some countries, foster care payments incentivize families to take in children, often without

proper vetting. Some sources suggest that Tile may have been subjected to such a situation during those years. While the specifics of her experiences in those five years remain unclear, what is known is what happened starting in January 2015. Finally, it seemed the system had placed Tile with a family that could provide her with a stable environment. She was placed with the Thorburn family, consisting of four members, Julene, the mother, Rick, the father, and their two sons, Trent, 18, and Josh, 19.

The Thorburns lived in a charming house in Logan City, south of Brisbane. Rick had been a truck driver but had to leave the job due to a back injury from an accident. He reinvented himself by starting a food truck business called Nothing Healthy Here, which sold burgers, hot dogs, and fries. Both sons, Trent and Josh, worked in the business alongside him. Meanwhile, Julian owned a daycare center, as she had always loved children and dreamed of having a large family. Her ultimate goal was to have a daughter. The Thorburns had signed up for Australia's adoption system, which promised a relatively straightforward process. They completed forms, underwent evaluations, and presented themselves as the ideal family.

Friends and neighbors vouched for them, praising their character and suitability. Despite Cindy's objections, she felt uneasy about Tiley living with two adult men in the household and thought the Thorburns, who were in their 60s, were too old to care for a child, her concerns were dismissed. Once the authorities deemed the Thorburn's fit, Cindy had no say in the matter. Initially, everything seemed to go well. Tilei appeared happy and well cared for. She began attending Marsden State High School, a 20-minute drive from the Thorburn home,

and quickly made friends. She excelled academically, joined dance classes, and formed close bonds with her peers. Despite her turbulent past, Tile was a sweet, trusting, and innocent girl. She had a tendency to open her heart quickly to those who showed her kindness, often leaving her vulnerable to heartbreak. For a time, it seemed she had finally found a place where she could thrive. But the facade of normalcy shattered on October 30th, 2015. That Friday morning, Taya packed her school bag as usual. Rick drove her to school, dropping her off at 8.10 a.m. It seemed like an ordinary day. She was expected to attend her classes, return home, and spend the weekend with her family. However, by mid-morning, the school called the Thorburns to inform them

that Tile had not attended class. Rick insisted this was impossible, claiming he had dropped her off at the school gates. The school staff noted that Tile had a history of running away from foster homes, sometimes disappearing for a few hours before returning. However, this time was different. Hours turned into days, and Tile did not come home. The initial search for Tile was subdued. Her disappearance did not garner the public attention typically expected in such cases. Rick posted a plea on Facebook, sharing her photo and details about her. He mentioned her fear of being alone and in the dark, adding that she had no money with her. He urged anyone with information to come forward, but no leads emerged. On November 5, 2015, the case took a grim turn.

Three fishermen discovered a decomposed body on the banks of the Pimpuma River in Gold Coast. Authorities quickly identified the remains as Tileus. She was found wearing only her underwear, and her body was so decomposed that determining the cause of death was impossible. However, investigators believed she had been strangled or suffocated. It was clear her death was not accidental. Initially, the Thorburn family was not considered suspects. They were viewed as loving and attentive foster parents who had gone above and beyond to provide for Tiley.

Rick's vehicle was even seen on surveillance footage near the school at the time he claimed to have dropped her off. However, further investigation revealed inconsistencies. While the footage showed Rick's car, it did not capture Tile A exiting the vehicle. Routine questioning of the Thorburns raised more red flags. Each family member told identical, rehearsed stories, and their behavior during interrogations appeared calculated. The investigation intensified, and the police uncovered a shocking truth.

In May 2016, an anonymous tip provided crucial information. The caller revealed that Tile had been complaining of stomach pains and cramps two weeks before her disappearance. This led investigators to focus on the Thorburn family. Digging deeper, they discovered Rick's criminal history, he had prior convictions for sexually abusing two children, one aged five and another aged 11. Both children had been under Julian's care at her daycare center. With this damning revelation, investigators placed recording devices in the Thorburn home. The recordings captured the family conspiring to cover up their

crimes, rehearsing their alibis, and instructing each other to remain silent. The police noticed that Julian and Josh seemed more susceptible to pressure, so they focused their interrogations on them. Meanwhile, an anonymous individual using the alias, Crime Stopper, sent the police incriminating screenshots of text messages. These messages revealed an even darker secret. Trent, the Thorburn's 18-year-old son, had confessed in a message to a cousin that he had slept with Tiley. He expressed fear that she might be pregnant and worried about the consequences. In one message, he wrote, I just want her gone. She's a source of income for mom and dad, but if she's pregnant, it'll all come crashing down.

The police confirmed the authenticity of the messages, despite Trent's attempts to delete them. Armed with this evidence, the police confronted Julian and Josh. Under intense questioning, they finally cracked. On October 29, 2015, the Thorburn family held a meeting in their living room while Tiley was in her bedroom. Julian informed Rick that Trent had confessed to having sex with Tiley. Furious, Rick demanded the rest of the family leave the house. Julene, Trent, and Josh went to a dance class, leaving Rick alone with Tiley.

When they returned three hours later, Tile was gone. Rick claimed she had, left, and warned them not to ask questions, stating, what you don't know, you can't repeat. The following day, Rick pretended to take Tile to school. Surveillance footage later confirmed that she was. was never in the car. On September 20, 2016, the entire Thorburn family was arrested. Julian, Josh, and Trent were charged with perjury and attempting to pervert the course of justice.

Trent faced additional charges of incest. Rick was charged with murder and interfering with a corpse. When confronted, Rick attempted to evade responsibility by claiming memory loss. He admitted to killing Tile but insisted he could not recall the details. professionals dismissed his claims, stating he was fully aware of his actions and lacked remorse. During a recorded phone call with Julian in 2021, Rick admitted to remembering everything but vowed to take the truth to his grave. The case's motives appeared twofold. The primary motive was to protect Trent from prosecution for his crimes against Tile. The secondary,

more disturbing motive was Rick's own history of predatory behavior. Ultimately, the Thorburn family's dark secrets unraveled, revealing a story of betrayal, abuse, use, and the tragic loss of a young girl who deserved so much more. This case sent shockwaves through Australia, raising serious questions about the foster care system and the need for stricter background checks for prospective foster families. Tilea's story is a heartbreaking reminder of the vulnerability of children in the system and the importance of vigilance in protecting them. This story begins with a girl named Victoria Elizabeth Marie Stafford, though everyone called her

Torrey. Born on July 15, 2000, in Woodstock, Ontario, Tori was the youngest of two kids in the Stafford family. Her parents, Tara MacDonald and Rodney Stafford, weren't exactly ideal role models. Their struggles with drug addiction caused endless chaos, and not long after Tori was born, their marriage completely fell apart. The divorce was ugly, to say the least, they couldn't even be in the same room without a fight breaking out. Despite the mess around her, Tori was a bright, cheerful, and outgoing kid. She had this magical ability to stay happy, no matter what storm was brewing. Witnesses said she lived in her own world, a place filled with colors, fantasy, and imaginary friends. She adored her older brother, Darren, and was

always glued to his side, laughing and playing as if nothing else mattered. When things got too chaotic at home, Tori and Darren often found refuge with their maternal grandmother. Tara's mom would swoop in, take the kids away for a while, and give Tara some breathing room to get her life together. But Tara struggled as a mother. She poured most of her money into drugs, leaving little for her kids or even basic needs like rent. When rent was overdue, Tara would pack up her kids, move to a new place, and repeat the cycle all over again. This constant moving around made it impossible for Tori and Darren to settle down or make lasting friends. The financial problems piled up until Tara started doing the unthinkable, selling her kids' toys just

to make ends meet. Yet, through all this turmoil, Tori stayed her radiant self. Her family described her as pure light. By 2009, Tara was fed up with her own life. Her kids were patient and loving toward her, even though she knew she didn't deserve it. They were her everything, and she decided it was time to change. Unfortunately, her resolution came too late. Someone else would take away the one thing she loved most in the world. The day everything changed, April 8, 2009, started like any other day. The alarm went off, the kids got up, ate breakfast, packed their backpacks, and watched cartoons before heading out the door. By 7.45 a.m., Darren and Tori held hands and walked to school together. At the time, Darren was 11, and Tori was only 8.

Tara wasn't worried about them walking alone. Their new house was just a short distance from the school, and the route was straight and simple. Witnesses saw the siblings arrive at school safely, holding hands, backpacks bouncing as they walked through the front doors. At 3.30 p.m., the school bell rang, and the kids poured out. Darren waited for Tori right outside the door. But then, a group of his friends called him over to their house across the street to check something out. He figured it would only take a minute.

He'd go with them, see whatever it was they wanted to show him, and then come right back to meet Tori. Darren was gone for about ten minutes, and when he returned to the school's entrance, Tori wasn't there. He waited a little longer, five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes, but she never showed up. The street was empty. Darren assumed Tori must have gone home without him. When he got home, he asked Tara if Tori was back yet.

Tara said no, and Darren immediately panicked. His mind raced with horrible possibilities, had she been kidnapped? Was she hurt? tried to calm him down, insisting that Tori was probably just with friends and would be home soon. But Darren couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He grabbed his bike and started asking neighbors if they'd seen his sister. Meanwhile, Tara called her own mother to check if Tori was with her, but the grandmother hadn't seen her either. By now, she was just as frantic as Darren. At 6.04 p.m., Tori's grandmother called the police. Officers arrived at Tara's

house shortly after, bombarding her with questions that felt more accusatory than helpful. Why hadn't she called earlier? Where had she been all day? Tara got the distinct impression they suspected her, but she tried to brush it off. The search begins. Within hours, a massive search effort was underway. Police, volunteers, and neighbors distributed missing person posters with Torrey's photo. The local community was so shaken that the school closed for five days, with teachers, classmates, and friends joining the search. Despite the outpouring of support, no one seemed to know anything.

There were no clues, no witnesses, no rumors, just a gaping void where answers should have been. Then, the police noticed something. Two surveillance cameras near the school had captured footage of Tori on the day she disappeared. At 3.32 p.m., the footage showed a woman approaching Tori, chatting with her, and eventually holding her hand as they walked away together. The video didn't capture the woman's face clear, but her build and hair resembled Tara's. When the footage aired on TV, the entire town of Woodstock buzzed with speculation. People began whispering that the woman might actually be Tara herself.

Tara, of course, denied this. She watched the footage over and over again, trying to figure out who the woman was. Finally, something clicked. The woman looked familiar, really familiar. Tara was convinced she'd seen her before. On April 12, 2009, for days after Tori's disappearance, Tara called the police. She'd realized the woman in the video was her neighbor, an 18-year-old named Terry Lynn McClintick. Tara didn't just know Terry Lynn in passing, they'd actually interacted quite a bit.

A troubling connection, Terry Lynn wasn't just some random neighbor. Tara had frequently visited her house to buy OxyContin from Terry Lynn's mother. During these visits, Tara and Terry Lynn had chatted about all kinds of things, life, the weather, TV shows. At some point, Tara had learned that Terry Lynn bred dogs. This detail turned out to be significant. Tori had been begging for a dog for ages. She dreamed of having a puppy to play with, walk, and cuddle.

She even drew pictures of herself with her future dog, imagining what it might look like and what name she'd give it. Tara, however, didn't want a dog. She thought it would be too much work. But during one of her conversations with Terry Lynn, she'd asked about the logistics of owning a dog, how much they cost, what they eat, and how often they need walks. Terry Lynn, it turned out, knew more about the family than she should have. She was fully aware of Tori's love for dogs, and the police now had enough reason to bring

her in for questioning. What they discovered next would send shockwaves through Woodstock. The police decided to dig deeper into the mysterious woman seen in the surveillance footage. A quick search of their database revealed two critical pieces of information. First, there was already a warrant out for her arrest. Some sources claimed it was for theft, while others mentioned drug possession and dealing. Either way, she was on their radar. The second discovery was even more striking. The woman bore a strong resemblance to Tara MacDonald, Torrey's mom.

Same brown hair, similar length, identical fashion sense. It was uncanny enough to make the police take immediate action. They tracked her down and arrested her. When they brought her in, the woman, 18-year-old Terry Lynn McClintick, was visibly nervous. They questioned her about the warrant and, more importantly, about her whereabouts on April 8, the day Torrey Stafford disappeared. Terry Lynn dodged the questions, offering vague or evasive answers. She didn't crack under pressure, but the police were sure she knew more than she was letting

on. Without solid evidence against her, they couldn't hold her forever. So, they played the long game. For thirty days, Terry Lynn stayed in jail under close surveillance. Every phone call she made, every visitor she received, every word she spoke was monitored. It didn't take long for a name to pop up repeatedly, Michael Rafferty. Terry Lynn spoke about him constantly, describing him as her boyfriend, the love of her life. But when Michael was questioned, he claimed they were just friends.

The dynamic between them was telling. When Michael visited Terry Lynn, her face lit up. She was smitten, completely enamored. But Michael's demeanor was cold, detached. The police noticed this imbalance and decided to approach him. They questioned Michael during one of his visits, framing the interrogation as being about Terry Lynn, not him. What had she been doing on April 8th?

Where had she been? And, more importantly, where had he been? Michael's answers raised red flags. At 28 years old, he was ten years old. older than Terry Lynn and had a checkered past that didn't scream stability. Raised in Drayton, Ontario, he later moved to Richmond Hill and attended Alexander McKenzie High School. His teenage years were unremarkable, typical Canadian student life filled with classes and parties. But Michael had a wild side. He partied hard, drank excessively,

and gained a reputation for sleeping around. This pattern continued into his adult years. After high school, Michael relocated to Toronto, where he held down two jobs. one in landscaping and another in a packaging company. For a brief moment, it seemed like he was getting his life together. He even entered a committed relationship with a woman named Jennifer. But Michael's version of commitment was a sham. From the start, he cheated on Jennifer and eventually left her, citing financial stress. The truth was, he'd simply grown tired of her.

By 2008, Michael moved back to Woodstock, Ontario, into his mother's home. His mother's husband, David Riddell, couldn't stand Michael. He saw him as a manipulative freeloader who exploited his mom's kindness. The tension escalated until Michael eventually moved out and got his own place. Living alone didn't change his lifestyle. He frequented bars, slept around, and even joined a dating site called Plenty of Fish, where he pretended to be looking for love. In reality, he used the platform to hook up with women and ghost them afterward.

One of those women was Terry Lynn McClintick. Terry Lynn's life was a mess when she met Michael. She was battling drug addiction, had family issues, and suffered from low self-esteem. Michael played her like a fiddle, saying just the right words to make her fall head over heels. Terry Lynn thought she'd found her soulmate, but Michael didn't feel the same way. To him, she was just another conquest. The police found Michael's history troubling but had no solid evidence linking him to Torrey's disappearance. So, they let him go, knowing he'd never voluntarily confess.

Terry Lynn, on the other hand, was a different story. They believed she might crack under the right pressure. On April 25, 2009, a pivotal moment arrived. The TV show America's Most Wanted aired a segment about Tory Stafford's disappearance. The case, which had already gripped Woodstock in Ontario, now gained international attention. The weight of the spotlight was too much for Terry Lynn. She broke down and confessed everything. According to Terry Lynn, Michael was the mastermind behind the entire plan.

On the morning of April 8th, the two of them had consumed drugs. Terry Lynn admitted she was in a hazy, dreamlike state when Michael came up with a sinister idea. He dared her to kidnap a child, specifically a young girl. He taunted her, calling her a coward and saying she wasn't capable of pulling it off. Terry Lynn, desperate to prove him wrong, agreed. At 3 p.m., the pair parked their car near Oliver Stevens Public School. school. Terry Lynn got out and walked to the school entrance. By 3.15, kids began pouring out. Amid the crowd, Terry Lynn spotted eight-year-old Tori Stafford. She knew everything

about Tori, her love for dogs, especially Shih Tzu's, and her dream of having a puppy. Tara MacDonald had shared these details during casual conversations, and Terry Lynn used them to her advantage. Approaching Tori, she introduced herself as a friend of Terrace. She claimed to have a Shih Tzu puppy waiting in her car for Tori. The little girl's eyes lit up with excitement. Terry Lynn offered her hand, and Tori took it without hesitation. They walked to the car, where Michael was waiting. As soon as they reached the vehicle, Michael grabbed Tori and forced her inside.

The trio drove off, with the car radio tuned to a station reporting local news. Michael and Terry Lynn wanted to stay ahead of any announcements about Tori's disappearance. When no alerts came, they felt emboldened. Their first stop was a gas station, followed by a Home Depot. At the ladder, Terry Lynn entered alone and purchased garbage bags, a hammer, and duct tape. The cashier thought nothing of it. To the outside world, she looked like an ordinary customer. From there, they drove 130 kilometers to a secluded rural area.

What happened next is horrifying beyond words. Terry Lynn claimed she stepped out of the car, unable to bear what she knew was coming. She described hearing Tori's screams, her desperate cries for help. Terry Lynn didn't intervene. She stood frozen, paralyzed by fear and guilt. After some time, Michael emerged from the car. Terry Lynn turned around and saw Tori. The little girl was wearing nothing but a Hannah Montana t-shirt, her eyes filled with tears.

Tori begged Terry Lynn for help, reaching out her hand. But Terry Lynn couldn't move. She asked me to stay with her, Terry Lynn later said. But I couldn't, Michael returned to the car and handed Terry Lynn a hammer. What happened next is almost too painful to recount. Terry Lynn struck Tori multiple times in the head, ending her life. They buried her body in garbage bags, cleaned the car, and drove off as if nothing had happened. Michael, in a twisted attempt at reassurance, told Terry Lynn they were now like Bonnie and Clyde, inseparable partners in crime.

Terry Lynn's confession was chilling, but it gave the police the evidence they needed. Surveillance footage had already captured Michael's car near the crime scenes, corroborating her story. On July 19, 2009, Tori's body was discovered in a remote area near Mount Forest. The autopsy confirmed Terry Lynn's account, Tori had suffered a brutal beating, with 16 broken ribs and fatal head injuries inflicted by a hammer. Faced with overwhelming evidence, Terry Lynn pleaded guilty to first-degree murder. She received a life sentence with the possibility of parole after 25 years. Michael's trial began on March 5, 2012.

He faced charges of kidnapping, sexual assault, and first-degree murder. Despite his cold demeanor and refusal to confess, the evidence against him was damning. He, too, received a life sentence with the same parole conditions. The sentences sparked outrage. Many believed the punishments were too lenient for such heinous crimes. Tori's older brother, Darren, expressed the anguish the family felt, they took my little sister away from me, and that's not something you can replace. There are no hugs, no goodbyes, just a hole in my heart that can never be filled. The case of Torrey Stafford remains a

heartbreaking reminder of the evil that can lurk in the most unsuspecting places. It's a story that leaves an indelible mark on anyone who hears it. What do you think? Were the sentence is fair, or should justice have been harsher for such unspeakable crimes? In December 2022, things took a drastic turn for Valentina. Her boyfriend, John, accused her being unfaithful, claiming he had hired a detective to follow her. He insisted someone had been tailing her for a while. Shocked and appalled, Valentina decided she couldn't continue the relationship any longer. She broke up with John, unable to tolerate his controlling behavior.

Valentina Trace Palacios Hidalgo was born on December 16, 2001, in Bogota, Colombia. She was one of three children born to Laura Hidalgo and Giovanni Trace Palacios. to her family, Valentina was a brave, determined young woman with strong convictions. Music was her passion, and by the age of 15, she had ventured into the world of DJing. She loved partying, meeting new people, and mixing tracks, which is how she met her first boyfriend, Juan Pablo Silva. Initially, they were just friends, but Silva, an entrepreneur, saw immense potential in her. He offered her a scholarship to study music production, an opportunity Valentina eagerly accepted.

She pursued her studies while continuing to DJ and graduated successfully in 2019. Their friendship eventually blossomed into a romantic relationship, but it didn't last. According to Silva, the reasons were their age difference and conflicting lifestyles. I was 20 years older than her, he explained. She wanted to explore the world and focus on her career. Plus, I traveled for festivals worldwide, and she had her gigs three times a week. We barely saw each other, which affected the relationship. Valentina's career took off in the following years.

She became a well-known DJ in Colombia, performing in top clubs in Bogota, Medellin, and other cities. Her uncle, Carlos Trace Palacios, proudly shared, she was a national and international DJ with a bright future. She performed at the best clubs in Bogota and was even invited to play in South America, including countries like Chile, Mexico, and Brazil. Elena's talent allowed her to share the stage with idols like Dimitri Vegas, Steve Aoki, and others. She recorded electronic music sessions on platforms like SoundCloud and frequently shared

content on her social media. By then, she had 20,000 Instagram followers and thousands of likes on Facebook. Her family emphasized two crucial points about Valentina. Despite working in nightlife, she steered clear of its darker sides. Additionally, she financially supported her loved ones, particularly her mother, always stepping in to help with bills or other needs. Everything changed in April or May 22 when Valentina met John Nelson Polos, a 34-year-old Texan, online. They connected on Instagram, and their initial conversations were casual. However, within seven days of chatting non-stop, they realized they had a strong connection. Valentina invited John to a festival in Mexico, where they decided to meet in person.

The chemistry was undeniable. Their brief encounter turned into a memorable trip across various cities, filled with photos and promises of eternal love. Valentina knew what John chose to reveal about himself. He claimed to work in the stock market and manage businesses for influential people. He posted photos with his elderly, ill mother and his two young daughters. Valentina believed he was a hardworking, caring, and attentive divorced father of two. However, the truth was far darker. In reality, John had many secrets.

In 2009, he married a woman named Ashley, with whom he had three children, not two. In 2018, one of their children was diagnosed with a rare cancer, requiring a costly 13-hour surgery. They raised $60,000 through a GoFundMe campaign, and their story garnered media attention. However, the immense stress took a toll on their marriage. Ashley later revealed that John's temper worsened, turning him abusive. By early 2022, she filed for divorce and a restraining order. In retaliation, John funneled the family's assets to an offshore account and refused to pay child support, eventually disappearing altogether.

Unaware of his past, Valentina was captivated by John's charm. Their relationship progressed long distance initially, but John soon began visiting Columbia. He endeared himself to her family despite the language barrier, showing affection and sending Valentina money for cosmetic surgeries. However, as Valentina's fame grew, so did John's jealousy. He was convinced that her beauty and lifestyle attracted other men. Despite her reassurances, John's insecurity led to controlling behavior. He demanded video calls before and after her gigs, losing his temper if another man appeared

in the background. He became too possessive, her mother said. He controlled her every move, even though she was transparent about her day-to-day life. Her family initially interpreted John's jealousy as a sign of love and fear of losing her. However, by December 2020, his obsession had reached alarming levels. During a heated argument, John accused Valentina of infidelity, revealing he had hired a detective to follow her. Feeling violated, Valentina ended the relationship. But John wouldn't let go. He apologized profusely, promising to change and proposing marriage. His declarations of love were so convincing that

Valentina gave him another chance. She even offered to help him overcome his insecurities, suggesting they work out together. John returned to Columbia in January 2023 with plans to start anew. They rented a gray Volkswagen and embarked on a tour of the country, with their final destination being Cartagena. On Thursday, January 19th, Valentina called her mother to share her excitement about moving into their new apartment. The following day, she visited her mother's house to pack some belongings,

promising to return for her cat on Monday. That night, she made a video call to her younger brother, proudly showing him their new home and expressing her happiness. She had gigs lined up for the weekend, which John planned to accompany her to. However, that was the last time Valentina's family heard from her. On Sunday, January 22nd, Laura received a distressing call from Valentina's ex-boyfriend, Juan Pablo Silva, informing her of her daughter's death. Shocked and disbelieving, Laura demanded details.

Silva explained that a homeless man scavenging through garbage in Fontaine, Bogota, had found a large, sealed blue suitcase. Inside, authorities discovered Valentina's lifeless body, along with her ID and student card. Frantic, Laura tried calling Valentina and John, but neither responded. She then discovered that John had blocked her and the entire family on social media, raising suspicion. He also deleted his accounts, making him untraceable. By January 23rd, forensic reports revealed that Valentina had died for mechanical asphyxiation. She had been bruised. She had been brutally beaten, with injuries to her head, chest, and arms, indicating a violent struggle. CCTV footage from their apartment complex revealed chilling details.

On January 21st, Valentina was last seen alive at 10.43 p.m., entering the apartment with John. Hours later, John was captured leaving alone at 10.01 a.m., carrying a large suitcase resembling the one found. He loaded it into the gray car and disappeared. Police tracked John's movements through additional footage. At 2.48 p.m., a car matching his was seen near a dumpster in Fontaine, where the suitcase was later found. By 4.32 p.m., John appeared at El Dorado Airport, attempting to flee to Panama. Authorities arrested him in Panama on January 24, just before he could board a flight to Turkey. Disturbingly, John had planned to escape to Montenegro, a country without an extradition treaty with Colombia. When apprehended, John had a suspicious scratch on his face, likely from Valentina at defending herself. During interrogation, he denied involvement, blaming the Medellin cartel for her death. His defense team attempted to delay the trial, citing language barriers and cultural differences. Meanwhile, more damning evidence emerged, including his history of browsing sugar baby websites,

excessive spending on young women, and financial misconduct involving his previous family's assets. Valentina's WhatsApp messages also revealed alarming exchanges. At one point, she texted, help, I'm in danger, via a rome. ride-hailing app. Additionally, John had sent her a photo of a suitcase identical to the one used to dispose of her body. Media coverage sensationalized the case, with some accusing Valentina of being a sugar baby, which only fueled misinformation and disrespect toward the victim. As of now, John faces charges of femicide and evidence tampering. If convicted, he could face up to 60 years in prison. The trial is set to resume on February 12, though delays are possible.

The case continues to raise questions about justice and accountability. What do you think will happen next? This is one of those stories that leaves you with endless questions swirling in your mind. Who was the girl found in that room? How did she end up there? Who put her in that situation? Why was she left in such a horrifying state? And, perhaps most chillingly, what kind of person could have done something so cruel?

To answer these questions, we need to rewind to the events of April 23, 2021. That Friday started like any other for a woman who owned a home where she rented out rooms to make some extra money. On that particular morning, she confronted her tenant, asking for the overdue rent and the key to the room he had been renting. But instead of cooperating, the man refused to pay. He told her flatly that he wasn't going to hand over a penny, nor was he going to return the key.

A heated argument ensued. She tried to reason with him, even following him as he gathered his things, but the man wasn't having it. He stormed out, jumped into his car, and drove away, leaving the woman both frustrated and confused. She had never dealt with a tenant like him before, and she didn't know what to do. Desperate, she decided to check the room. She remembered seeing something strange earlier, a young woman lying motionless on the bed.

It wasn't normal. She thought maybe the girl was ill or had passed out after a night of drinking. Trying to enter the room, she realized it was locked from the outside. Alarmed, she called the fire department for help. That phone call marked the beginning of a case that would shock everyone who heard about it. Yadira's story, Yadira Romero Martinez, affectionately called Yadi, by her friends and family, was born in Minnesota in 2002 to Elvia Martinez and Unhel Primo, a couple from Morelos, Mexico. As the only daughter in the family, Yadira held a special place in her parents' hearts.

She was described as kind, hardworking, and incredibly close to her family. To her, family always came first. She spent her early years in the United States, though details about where exactly are a bit hazy. Some sources suggest she grew up in Minnesota, while others hint at other locations. Either way, when Yadira was in first grade, her parents made the life-changing decision to move back to Mexico. In Mexico, Yadira thrived, growing up surrounded by extended family and becoming deeply dedicated to her loved ones.

At 19, she decided to return to the U.S. to build a better future for herself and support her family back home. It was September 2020 when Yadira packed her bags and moved back to Bloomington, Minnesota. She settled into a life full of challenges, she didn't know much English, she didn't have her parents with her, and she had the responsibility of looking out for her younger brother. But Yadira was strong and determined. Her efforts paid off quickly. She found a job at a local Walmart and worked hard to adapt to her new life.

Her cheerful personality helped her make friends easily, and her co-workers appreciated her dedication. In January 2021, Yadira briefly returned to Morelos to celebrate her birthday with her family. The trip was full of joy, and everyone noted how happy she seemed. After the celebration, she went back to the U.S., leaving her family with no reason to worry about her. But everything changed on Thursday, March 22, 2021. The day she disappeared, that day started like any other. Yadira woke up, had breakfast, and spoke with her family before heading off to work.

Her shift ended at 4 p.m., and she usually went straight home afterward. But this time, she didn't. Her cousins, who she lived with, noticed her absence as the hours ticked by. Initially, they thought she might have gone out with friends. But as night fell, concern began to set in. Yadira was always responsible, she would have called if her plans changed. By the following morning, worry turned into action. Her family contacted her workplace, only to learn she hadn't shown up.

This was completely out of character, so they called the police to report her missing. The investigation began by retracing Yadira's last known movements. Security footage from Walmart showed her leaving the store and heading to the parking lot around 4 p.m. Cameras captured her getting into a car driven by a man about her age. The car's license plate was clearly visible in the footage, giving the police their first lead. They issued an alert for the vehicle and began searching for it. But as officers tracked down the car, another disturbing discovery was unfolding in Minneapolis.

A chilling scene, at the rented home, firefighters forced their way into the locked room. Inside, they found a horrifying sight, a young woman lying on a bloodstained mattress. She had bruises and scratches all over her body, and her legs bore hand-shaped marks in blood. A plastic bag covered her head, and she was dressed in nothing but a T-shirt. The firefighters immediately checked for a pulse but found none. Realizing the gravity of the situation, they called the police, setting off a homicide investigation. The police suspected almost immediately that the woman was Yadira. Though her identity wasn't confirmed right away, the circumstances and descriptions pointed to her.

Peasing it together, the homeowner told investigators that the room had been rented by a 23-year-old named Jose Daniel Kuenkazuniga. She didn't know much about him, he was quiet, polite, and always peasing it. paid rent on time. But on the morning of April 23rd, she had seen Jose acting strangely. When she passed by his room, the door was slightly ajar. Peaking inside, she noticed a girl lying on the bed, motionless. Concerned, she asked Jose about it. He claimed the girl had drunk too much and was still recovering. Later that morning, Jose hurriedly packed his belongings and left after a tense argument with the landlord. He refused to pay rent or return the key, leaving the landlord suspicious and worried. By comparing the license plates from Walmart and the landlord's

video of Jose leaving, the police confirmed they were dealing with the same suspect. The hunt for Jose, with a suspect identified, the police began tracking Jose. They used his license plate to obtain his personal information, including his phone number, and traced his location to Ohio. On April 28, 2021, Jose was arrested and charged with second-degree murder. What happened to Yadira? The autopsy revealed Yadira had suffered severe trauma. The exact details were withheld out of respect, but it was clear she had been brutally attacked. Investigators found a blunt object in Jose's room that they believed was used in the assault. Jose denied everything.

Through a translator, he claimed he was innocent and demanded to be sent back to Mexico. But his criminal history told a different story. A troubled past, Jose had a record of violence and harassment. In 2017, he had stalked and threatened a woman, sending her disturbing videos of himself with a gun. In 2020, he was accused of assault but failed to appear in court. Investigators theorized that Jose became obsessed with Yadira. Whether they met through a ride-sharing app, mutual friends, or some other means, the relationship turned deadly when Yadira rejected his advances. Justice for Yadira, the community was outraged. Two vigils were held in Yadira's honor,

one in Morelos and another outside the house where her life was tragically cut short. Family, friends, and neighbors demanded justice and called for better protection for women. Jose was initially held in Ohio before being transferred to a Minnesota prison. Prosecutors sought a 40-year sentence, and his trial was scheduled for early 2022. As of now, the case remains the sobering reminder of the dangers women face and the importance of vigilance in protecting one another. The story begins on the morning of July 31st, 2015, when a woman named Pilar received a strange letter from her cousin, David. Both of them lived very close to each other and had a sibling-like relationship.

Not long ago, David had gone through a divorce, and the separation was far from amicable. He and his ex-wife had agreed to share custody of their two daughters, but the exchanges of the girls were never done directly between the parents due to their constant tension and constant fighting. To avoid further conflict, sometimes an intermediary would pick up the girls from David's house and deliver them to their mother, and Pilar had also stepped in to help. Pilar and David had frequent conversations, often discussing their feelings and what was going on in their lives.

This close bond made it all the more surprising when David sent her the letter. Pilar thought that if David wanted to tell her something, he would have just knocked on her door or called her. Perhaps it was some kind of joke, so she opened it. But as soon as she read it, everything changed. The letter, which was deeply disturbing, read as follows, Hi Pillarin, I know you don't like me calling you Pillarin. I can't ask you for anything, but thank you for giving me encouragement and hope. I've tried to live the best I could, but I can't take it anymore. I'm not

as strong as you thought, and being two steps ahead was just a shield for how fragile I am. I'll try to send you the keys to my car with this letter. It's my last gift for Borja. I know I'm not in a position to ask for anything, but I don't want any mourning or false hypocrites. The day I die will be the gift I leave behind for my life. You can come to my house, it's yours, and take whatever you want, the TV, the vacuum cleaner, and the window cleaner. Tony, in the name of Jorge, if he doesn't want it, talk to him. Don't ask yourself why you didn't see it coming. Remember, I'm a very good actor. A kiss, thank you. This letter left Pilar in complete shock. She couldn't understand what was happening. David seemed fine just the weekend before when they had

gone to the village festivals. They had danced, laughed, and spent time with family. Everything seemed normal, and yet here was a letter suggesting that David was in a deep crisis. Pilar immediately called him. David answered the phone and said that he was in Portugal and that the girls were with him, but Pilar didn't believe it. Within 20 minutes, she, her husband, and their son arrived at David's house in Marana. When they got there, they saw something odd.

the door was blocked by David's car. When they tried to use the spare key, it wouldn't fit because the lock was filled with silicone. They tried the back door, and the same thing happened. Eventually, they climbed over a wall and broke a window with a stone. What they found inside would forever haunt them. Pilar recalls the scene, My son went upstairs first to the bedrooms, and I followed behind. Suddenly, he screamed, Oh my God, no. I could see the girl's legs, but the rest of her body was covered.

It was a Maya. It was then that the horrifying story of David Owl Renito began to unfold. David was born on April 26, 1975, in Avelez, Asturias. Little is known about his personal life, but it seems clear that he worked in property management and later expanded his business with a real estate agency, which he ran with his sister in Caldus DeRise. He wasn't a particularly social person and didn't have many friends, a detail that would later prove to be significant.

Between 2000 and 2003, David started dating a woman named Rossio, although their relationship wasn't well received by her family. They didn't like the way he treated her, and they thought he was arrogant and controlling. Despite this, Racio was deeply in love with him, and eventually, she chose him over her family. They had two daughters, Candela and Amaya, and everything appeared normal from the outside. The family went to parks, shopping malls, and cinemas like any other family. But in 2012, everything changed. David suddenly confessed to Racio that he was homosexual and that he had been seeing another

man, a dentist from a nearby town. This revelation completely shattered Racio. She had no idea, and the realization left her devastated. In 2013, the couple agreed to divorce, and custody of the girls was shared, with each parent taking them every other week. However, the tension between them was palpable, and their exchanges were tense and hostile. David's temper was notorious and often uncontrollable. He had been known to shout and even resort to physical violence in front of family members.

There were numerous reports of him threatening Racio and the children. Despite all of this, outside their home, David appeared to be a devoted father. He spent time with the children and looked after them when others were around. But inside the house, things were far from peaceful. After the divorce, both David and Racio led very different lives. Rossio found support from her family and started working from home as a translator for the social security system. She was able to spend more time with the girls, especially helping them with schoolwork. David, on the other hand, became more involved in fitness, spending time at the gym and swimming pool.

He also became interested in breeding competition dogs and took up judging at dog shows. Despite his efforts to present himself in a new light, he was still seen as an unpleasant person by the neighbors. His behavior was erratic, and he frequently got into arguments. After the divorce, David's behavior grew increasingly odd. He threw loud parties at his house, blasting music until late into the night. When neighbors complained, he would escalate the situation, and on more than one occasion, police had to intervene. David seemed to have no regard for the people around him.

In March and April of 2015, David threw a particularly loud party, and the neighbors were so fed up that they decided to cut off the power. When David called an electrician, the situation escalated into another confrontation with the police. His behavior was becoming increasingly erratic. In 2014, an unusual incident occurred when David visited his family doctor. He asked for a sick leave, claiming that he was feeling unwell, but the doctor saw no sign of illness and refused his request. David then had a violent outburst in the doctor's office, leading to a physical confrontation where he allegedly tried to strangle the doctor. This event became a topic of much discussion in the local community.

Despite his actions, David's reputation as a father remained relatively intact. Neighbors who saw him in public with his daughters described him as attentive and caring. But on July 26, 2015, David's life took another turn when he went to the village festivities with his daughters. The family appeared to be enjoying themselves, and everything seemed normal. But on July 30th, David made some unusual purchases. He went to a hardware store and bought duct tape and a power saw, joking with the clerk about whether the saw could cut off fingers. The clerk was uncomfortable with the comment but continued the transaction.

David left the store and returned home. The next day, David sent letters to his cousin and his partner, both of which contained disturbing messages indicating that he was planning to take his own life. He also messaged a friend, saying he would be going on vacation, but it was clear that his plans were far more sinister. At 11 p.m., David and his daughters returned home. He turned the music up to full blast, drowning out any possible sounds of distress. It was during this time that David used the power saw to carry out his horrific crime. He drugged his daughters with tranquilizers, though the doses were too high for their small bodies. Amaya, the younger

of the two, was the first to die. David cut her throat with the saw. Candela, the older daughter, was still conscious and tried to flee, but David struck her ten times with the saw before killing her. After the murders, David tried to stage a suicide attempt. He locked himself in the bathroom, took tranquilizers and alcohol, and cut his wrists and neck superficially. However, the wounds were not serious, and he was quickly found by the police. When Pilar and her family arrived, they broke into the house and found the scene of carnage. The police soon arrived and discovered that David was still alive, despite his earlier claims. They arrested him, and he showed no remorse for his actions.

During his interrogation, he was completely indifferent, even asking for a cigarette. The authorities quickly realized that David had planned the murders in advance. He had bought the tools, sent the letters, and even made phone calls to warn people. As the investigation unfolded, it became clear that David's actions were not those of a person suffering from a mental illness but of a cold, calculated individual with narcissistic tendencies. He had planned everything meticulously, knowing exactly what he was doing. His primary goal was to hurt his ex-wife, and the way he went about it made it clear that he had no empathy or remorse for his victims.

The trial began in July 2017, and David was charged with the murders of his two daughters. He admitted to the crimes, but his lack of emotion and indifference made him appear even more monstrous in the eyes of the public. The case shocked Spain, and the country was left grappling with the chilling reality of what had transpired in the quiet village of Avellas. david's trial and the subsequent sentencing of this cold-blooded murderer served as a grim reminder of the dark side of human nature the tragedy not only destroyed the lives of the victims but also left an indelible mark on the community who the aurora bat became viral and the world whole world asked justice i knew its gold saw something that didn't it should be the gold saw its owner die and in june two thousand sixteen two thousand fifteen a woman named coney rim a very quiet in the town of ensley michigan and knew everyone perfectly neighbors but there were two who were different from others and these were the marriage duran marty had problems of mobility and his wife took care of him 24 a s every day they were going to walk together they greeted

everyone chatted with the neighbors and were also very friendly but on may 13th 2015 already had several days that nobody saw them with door the morning of the 11th but nobody responded returned the next day and i still did not receive any response that on the 13th he insisted again and this time he decided that he would not leave without discover what was happening in this occasion being at the front door he began to listen to barking barking that they came from inside the house so it turned the knob and surprisingly the door i was open when entering the house discovered that this is upside down the dining room checked the bathroom and finally he arrived at the main bedroom and there in the middle of a pool of blood there were the bodies of marty and glina durham immediately connie called

the police but at this point they begin to happening the strange things marty durham had received five three shots in the. Chest won the forearm and the fifth by. Glein back on his part had, received two shots one of them, simply touched her and the other shattered. His ear at the same time saw that. Marty was already lifeless, but Gleina was. More complicated his pulse was very weak and, until after 50 minutes they did not know that. Actually this living calls the, ambulance is sent to the hospital more. Close and meanwhile checked the house. The whole house was messy and very, dirty but apparently nothing was missing. There were no forced doors or windows. But the most shocking thing is that supposed weapon of the crime was underneath, of a

dining room armchair is there when, the sinister case of, today Martin Harry Durham best known, as Marty was born on March 1st, 1969, in GR Rapids, Michigan by Marty we know, that it was very funny and that he loved, practice outdoor sports, the weapons hunt the fishing the fish, gambling and especially liked, spend time with your friends and family. In adolescence he read with a girl, called Clana Johnson, and apparently, they were the same in all friends, holidays themselves according to, several sources a week after, knowing had their first appointment in, a self-in-e, they loved the company the company, they were very in love wanted to marry, imminently but as everything, it started in itself, in love and in a couple

of months no longer, they could not see both time both. Boys rebuilt their lives, other people met married, they had children and little by little they left, forgetting the one of the other vein married, with a man five years older than her, called Bob Norman and next to him had two, children Eric and Lorna and Marty on their side. He married Christina Keller and her, had three other children Justin Jason and Jessica the first five years, especially those of Christina and Marty. They were dreaming themselves, hobbies himself once again. It seemed perfect, but nevertheless. In 1995 when I returned to workhouse, he had a terrible accident that almost, it costs life he was driving, quietly when at a crossroad it was, ages by a truck that

jumped a red traffic light but do not think. It was simply poisoned since more, well it literally passed. The truck crushed his car and Marty, according to. The paramedics spent five minutes dead. The accident was so brutal that Marty, he was in coma T.R. Monis and nobody thought, that was to survive according to the report. Doctor, their lungs were perforated, and multiple bones were broken into. Several occasions doctors spoke, with his wife and children and made them clear, that would probably not survive. His whole body was very bad, shattered they had to medicate it all, time but incredible that it seems to. The third week opened his eyes and here. His new life began in a principal had forgotten many family things to your wife and doctors said they would have

sequels during the rest of his life and surely I would also have problems, psychological tendency to depression to, humor changes but so, family supported 100% for year and half more or less made, rehabilitation with him made, therapies dialed him again to communicate normally and although Martin, more or less it was the same again, when I did very strange things I had, jealous starts with his wife was very very controlling possessive became very tacono very reserved and little by little your marriage went to peak and finally christina presented the divorce in nineteen ninety six because of the accident marty went to judgment and thanks to this enough money as i could no longer work received a monthly pay and apart from that all this was

horrified added allowed him to buy a beautiful house in the airily puo michigan and made it temporarily i felt the house in question very well it was one floor with a good garden many rooms a good living room. But deep down I knew that from time to time, when he would stay alone so he decided acquire a pet and it was then, when a yaco parrot came to his life, who called bat at first thought that it would be a simple pet but with the time bat step became something. More gave him conversation he sang, with him to every corner of the bat house, became Marty's best friend and this point later will be very important with the passage of time Marty. He got in touch with Glenna, her first girlfriend and discovered that she, it was also divorced so, they decided to

give a second chance. She turned her suitcases and moved to her, house with two children and was soon a family of eight Marty his three children his, parrot and then there were glina and his two. Children and not happy with this too, they adopted a dog again, once again the perfection themselves hobbies, and they supposedly did everything together with, Monday to Sunday did not separate and, especially what they did was going to. The casinos weekly spent a little in this in the casino in the, swallow in the poker in the lottery, but from time to time the pains not. They let Marty get up from the bed so Glina left alone, also that they got married and doors for outside everything was great. Weekly Glenn invested a lot, money and

lottery and according to some, relatives is becoming addicted to. Gains of chance, but although this puta, sounding badly did not influence, about Marty was very savor paid, religiously the mortgage the car, invoices and if Gina spent a lot. Money was his problem not that of Marty, but in 2010 Marty's condition worsened and his humor sour though. Discussions in that house were the bread of. Every day so the children of. Marriage made their bags end. They marched on May 13th, 2015 with Rim. Neighbor of the Durham already had several days ago. I didn't see them there was no noise in there. There were no lights. There was no movement. But on the 13th something changed and is that. Listen to barking inside this so. The door knob was encouraged and he found a terrible scene all.

The house is above was dirty. Disorderly there were blood stains and main bedroom thrown on the ground. There were Martiglina's bodies here. The case is divided into two parts. into the victims and in the crime scene in. First place are the victims Marty. Durham had received five shots three, in the chest one on the back and another in, the forearm and in the same scene. They discovered that Glenn was dead. Durham was shot but paramedics saw that behind the. Ear has a wound took 50 minutes to discover that she did. Pulse and immediately sent it to. Hospital and second is the scene of the crime which was the whole house all. I was targeted above there was. Dog droppings the dog was. Very nervous and although the blood was, especially in the main

bedroom. There were also a few drops in the living room, and under an armchair there was a gun, Ruga brand which supposedly, it seemed to be the weapon of crime something else. Interesting is even if everything was very, scrambled nothing is missing or, less not with the naked eye and there was either. Neither windows nor forced doors was like this, as the police initiated an investigation, and the first shuffled hypothesis was that, someone close to someone attacked someone to, who opened the door a friend. A neighbor is known a relative, but after, question many people everyone said who had no enemies were good people they had no problems with anyone but recently a business started a turbio marty for dolores i took many doctors but

in the last year and a half he decided sell half through the internet i took less amount to this way the other part is selling it and was with customers in their same house with what which the attacker could be one of them however here is something very strange and is that the crime weapon was inside of the house was the same caliber and rare is that if someone comes from outside and and glue several shots at first. I would carry the weapon would take her with him and, he would get rid of her would not hit the shots. I would throw it under a furniture and siegea,

running that had no, meaning and then something happened a lot. Strangest and is that in a first, record in that house nothing was missing, but the second record saw that the safe opened recently and what? Within this there was nothing which could indicate that the attacker could be, a relative someone who knew them and, that also knew the combination of that. Box, strong in one of the interrogations that, Police did one of the children of. Marty Justin suggested that maybe Gina not. It was as innocent as it might seem in. The last years she and her father, the character of Marty had problems, is sour and

addiction to the game of this. Woman became increasingly striking. Justin said the marriage fought very often and that Gleina threatened. Marty with ending his life Marty could, say it at a time of anger, but Gleina seemed very convinced and in a occasion Marty Durham told her children that if anything happened to him. Guilty would be Gina however in the house there was no evidence of and Gleina. I was in the hospital someone shot him. I was badly injured that the woman had, that the poor woman is discarded. I was to blame for anything and after two records, police allowed the five children, of marriage enter the house and, take things after the first record. Someone took the dog and now that. Finally, Marty's children could enter. They took

the parrot and delivered it to. His ex-wife Christina Keller those of Marty, for memories arrived and those from Gina. They searched a little more was then when, Lorna entered her mother's office and, when opening a drawer, an envelope was found, inside which there were three letters one, for her one for her brother and another, for his father-father in the directed letter, The Orna could read the following, I feel but I love you and I am very sorry that, an exception for you these last twelve, more or less please forgive me, you are one of the best things I've, made with love mom in the letter for your, another child said more or less the same and, in the letter to his ex-husband gave him the, though, thanks for being a great father this,

fired all the alarms and Lorna called to the police to tell them that he was, convinced that her mother was behind, all that letter sounded like a farewell, sounded as if glina was to take off the life after doing something very bad like this, that the police go to the hospital and the question at that time glina is already, more or less awake was in a coma, quite time and when he woke up and police allegedly asked him, remembered anything I didn't remember what happened to, crime day having written the letters, and then commented that perhaps if the, he wrote but said that for a lot, time had depression. and that occasionally, when I had dances, but here I, created two opposed opinions by a

side was thought that Elena could not do, all that firing Marty shooting, go to the dining room, leave the weapon, go to the room, and collapse, but on the other hand it was, the hypothesis that Parahoa a neurologist, neurologist examined Gleina and discovered, that the wounds were not so serious, yes, they were serious but did not affect their ability to reason women, perfectly could kill her husband and, then shoot itself to launch the, weapon to return to the room and collapse or two. Let's pretend a collapse but the problem here would be that perhaps because of the blood loss women would remain unconscious but what reason would you have? To do something like that I had no sense or at least the police in a beginning not. The

EMP investigate police found seriously this case and discovered that in 2010 Marty's condition worsened no longer. I could go to the casino with his wife but she. I kept going and spending enough money. In the lottery apparently Gleina was going to. Different stores between 50 and 100 in lottery but this did not. Every month but practically every week. Every week it was left more or less. Fifty dollars only in lottery and apart from that each. Weekend and casino in 2010 opted. Zero point zero zero zero zero in local casinos and without Marty. He knew it stopped paying the invoices. Money that had to invest in paying cars and the house the woman invested it in. His vices and I say that Marine did not know, because the family saw him as always,

When the cold arrived did not put the heating and asked the guests to. They brought coats lit few lights not, put the heating saved everything, that Marty could be the usual and he trusted 100% in his wife which since, some time ago he took care of. Finance of the entire house managed the pay of her husband managed his, invoices the letters that arrived during, a trip they made in 2012 Dan. Marty's brother swore to see Glenna spending $100 on a slot. He saw her ask to change the machine and spend penviling everything that had and the high arrived in 2015 when Lily Durham mother of Marty called him for. Phone to ask for explanation

said that his name was in the newspaper and that in very brief the bank would take away the house but Marty told him that he had to be a mistake that Marty wouldn't be him because he religiously paid his invoices had savings had everything right organized and it was impossible that they will remove the house of their dreams. Problem here is that he did not know that was ruined in a checking account. I had only 182 and the savings account. 118 with all this the police consider that the motive of the crime is economical with, which they asked Glynet to deliver her, telephone and discover that the day of the, crime the woman looked on Google how, use a Ruger gun itself, found in the crime scene sought, how to mount it, how to load it and four, assumption

how to shoot with which, pieces began to fit, everything was too strange and still got, more murky when the best friend of, Marty Durham started talking and this better, friend was neither more nor less than his parrot. Bat Marty's ex-wife stayed with him, after his death and supposedly he saw him, very quiet the animal was fine eight drank sang but when the night suffered strange attacks began to shout to i imitate voices and about everything to repeat the animal i imitated two voices one more acute and another more serious and supposedly recreated a discussion began to shout to insult say strange things and between everything that asked not to be triggered christina he showed what was happening to all his children and everyone reached the same conclusion and that bat witnessed the death of marty durham what bat was doing was recreating what he saw what saw and what he heard immediately. They called the police but this said that. Bat could not present to trial that the testimony of a parrot did not use like, try Christina what he did was, make noise and it recorded the parrot and sent the videos to the press. Music, music, the bad parrot became viral and the world. Whole world asked justice, I knew that parrot saw

something that should not, that this parrot saw its owner die and that the poor animal was asking for justice, and in June 2016 Glenna Duran was arrested and formally accused of Marty Duran murder from. Here the police got down to the work to join all the pieces. Defense argued that at the time of crime the safe was empty that. Clearly someone entered the house, shot and stole them and also wanted, alleging that Gleina could not kill her, husband shoot and hide the weapon, but the accusation showed that it was possible that he could shoot Marty, shoot himself and hide the weapon, without losing knowledge and four, demonstrating this said that in that. Gunn founded a small sample. Of his DNA and this sample was not even more, no less than in

the trigger and four. Incredible that it seems also, discovered because money was missing in the safe and is that between the first, registration and the second the three children of. Marty got into the house and they stole that is how the case achieved. Close and on August 28, 2017 Glenn. A.D. Durham was sentenced to life imprisonment. No possibility of probation. We would only like to say that we are glad. That never goes out of prison and we hope that our family can now follow. Forward we want to remember Marty no, fight more for him statements of, Christina Keller X woman from Marty Durham. So now is your turn what do you think? Of the case and you think the sentence was, fair, I never liked the basement. What young child would?

Beyond my childhood fear, though, even teenage me never trusted it for some reason. Instinct, fight or flight, whatever it was, it gave off a bad energy. Coming back as an adult, I knew it wasn't just me who felt it. My mother, even to this day, refuses to go down there, insisting my father grab everything they need instead. On the rare occasion when I'm over and they need help, no more than five minutes a lapse on any given trip down there. Every time I ask about the basement, they always shrug me off, hoping nonchalant lies will be enough to dissuade me. That's their solution to anything uncomfortable, shrug it off, minimize the impact, and hope it goes away. My nightmares never went away,

though. Somewhere inside, I knew they still lived, tearing off chunks of my sanity. Nightmares of the echoing void, ringing like tinnitus from behind the shelves. That's where they lived. So here I stand, the face from my nightmares staring back at me in the form of dusty railings and waterlogged steps, intent on getting my sanity back. I never liked the basement, and I was right to fear it. Thomas Grab another bag of cornmeal from the basement.

I winced, slowly turning to Mom, her lithe fingers already holding the door open for me. The inky maw of the stairwell waited for me expectant. like a Venus fly-trap. My eyes flicked from her to the stairs, the solitary light bulb flickering at the entrance. She sighed, flashing me an apologetic grin. Sorry, kiddo. There's a flashlight on the shelf at the bottom of the stairs, if that helps.

I swallowed, lurching toward the door apprehensively. Sweat already clung to my fingers as I gripped the dusty railing, floorboards releasing achy moans as I stepped into the mouth of the beast. I'll leave the door open for you. Thank you again, I stared straight ahead. head, unblinking. Cub Scouts taught me that when faced with a wild animal, the first rule is to never take your eyes off it. Hoping that scouts train me well, I let out a week, I'll love you, Mom, before hobbling down the creaky steps. Slinking into the shadows,

I willed my eyes to adjust to the void. The void one, though, sight never coming. Panic bubbling up, my arms tried to pick up the slack, flailing about for the shelf. They eventually found it, albeit brazenly. My wrist collided. with the dilapidated wood, a hollow thud launching the flashlight into the abyss, the darkness swallowing it eagerly. I grabbed my throbbing arm, panic flowing out in full force as my flashlight, my lifeline, rolled further into the blackness. Head whipping around, I stared into the center of the basement, seeing a dim light peeking

out from the beyond. It caught in my pupils like a lantern fish, beckoning me further into its belly with a hopeful pearly hue. I shuffled toward it, arms outstretched and trembling like a newborn, backlit by the comforting light of the stairway. Dad had only ever taken me down here a few times, and every time I clung to his leg, burying my face in his pant leg. He was tall enough to reach the light on the ceiling, but each second we'd ever spent down here felt like a bitter cold, the air seeping into my skin. I jumped blindly in the dark, hoping I'd be lucky enough to feel the cord and save myself

from this agony. I never found it, though, immediately aware of how much noise I had made. I froze, the hairs on my neck standing at attention, fixating on the light once more. Fifteen, maybe ten feet away. No sweat. Two more hesitant steps, then inhale. Two more steps. Exhale. Two steps. Two steps. A metallic scraping ripped me out of my rhythm, my foot colliding with some unseen mass. I yelped reflexively, the object skittering across the concrete toward the light in front of me. It came to rest near a large shelving unit, the faint outline resting next to discarded boxes and rows of woodworking tools.

I knew my eyes were pretty bad, but I just got new glasses, so I knew what I was seeing. I had kicked the flashlight, its batteries tumbling out next to it, dark and isolated. My face was pale, the white light in front of me offering little comfort. Trying to stop myself from fainting, a sudden echo from upstairs sent stars across my vision, mom's voice ringing out cheerfully. Find it? It should be tucked underneath the stairs. Why yeah, one SEC, I focused on my breathing, the stars receding as I blinked away the panic.

A faint light was peeking out from behind the framework of the large shelving unit. Desperate to understand, I picked up the flashlight shakily, somehow able to tuck the batteries back into their spots. Flicking on the light, a porcelain lawn gnome greeted me eerily, his rosy cheeks reflecting the flashlight beams. I yelped again, nearly dropping the flashlight again. Keeping it in my periphery, I wormed my way into the shelf, pushing boxes out of my way with effort. The smooth, stone wall of the basement was all I could find, beads of moisture clinging to the cement.

The light was still there, barely perceptible in the reflection of the metal where the wall met the floor. My fingers tried to find purchase, but only light was able to slip through the crack it seemed. Fear switched to intrigue, my brain working through the puzzling light as my mother's footsteps thundered upstairs. Fama is. Rocky is gonna starve. Need help?

Es sorry. I got it, I got it, I lied, scrambling to the stairs. Flashlight in hand, the journey back was far less intimidating, but fear wasn't ever completely absent in the basement. I knew that much. Just as she said, a large canvas sack leaned beneath the stairs floorboards, a black, fine yellow cornmeal, label emblazoned on the front. I stuffed the flashlight into my pocket,

the lamp head barely sticking out as I two-handed the sack, just high enough to keep it from dragging. I methodically trudged up the stairs, placing it on the step above me as I went. The fear of the basement loomed large in my mind, but there was intrigue attached to it now, that mysterious light spooling countless theory threads in my mind. Rocky is going to starve, kiddo, no louder than a whisper, a woman's voice drifted through the air, sourceless and blank. I blinked in confusion, the light of the main floor flooding my pupils.

What did you say, Mom? She turned the corner, a spoonful of peanut butter dangling at her side, my dog trailing behind. Oh, good, you got it by yourself. I wasn't sure those bags are pretty heavy. She flicked the spoon around aimlessly as she spoke, Rocky's head bobbing along with it, determined to catch any stray globs. I cocked my head at her in confusion, her deft hands already wrapped around the cinch at the top of the sack. Thanks, Thomas.

As she walked off, humming to herself, I shut the basement door behind me carefully. I have to go back down there. If not tonight, then this weekend. But I'm going to need backup. I yanked on the ceiling cord mindlessly, the bulb humming as gray light illuminated the basement. Same gnome, same cornmeal, same fear.

Same, but warped. A fear tinged with adult nihilism, a fear with more meat on its bones. I swallowed hard, my dry throat foreshadowing the passage ahead of me. With a shaky breath, the scarred boxes littered around me, I yanked at the shelves, rust painting my fingers orange. It clattered to the ground, pieces of porcelain shrapnel flying in all directions at the impact. One of the gnomes' eyes rested at my feet in the rubble, its poignant stare begging me to

leave this place. I hardened my stare back, set my jaw, and crouched down next to where I knew the passage was, a personal tomb, taunting me, calling to me. White knuckled with determination, I drove the claw of my crowbar into the seam of the floor, forcing the slab of concrete upward. Just as I had done all those years ago. Like a rusted garage door, the slab swung open begrudgingly, the hidden passages Inky maw beckoning me forward.

The nightmares lived here, still festering. In solemn anticipation, I pulled out a coin from my pocket, turned it over in my fingers, and flicked it into the mouth of the passage. A shrill metallic ping greeted my ears a few moments later, the coin clattering to the floor. a moment later, the second ping echoed from inside, the cavernous interior reverberating the sound. Then, nothing. Silence once more. I waited, ears straining with bated breath. Still nothing. Right as I exhaled, my ear twitched in recognition, the color draining from my face. After a few moments, the ping echoed out again. Before diving into the fascinating

story of an angel sent to someone, let me set the stage with a quick side note about 35 different countries in Europe where the Blessed Mother of Christ, often known as the Virgin Mary, appeared. Imagine that, 35 places, all sharing the same message. Plus, there are stories of angels delivering messages of hope and warning. These divine encounters, according to believers, are signs that Christ's return is near. But this isn't just about Europe or angels in general, it's about one woman, her extraordinary life, and the mysteries surrounding her. The story of Patty Copta, a journey through mystery and faith. Our story begins with a woman named Patricia Copta, affectionately known as Patty. She was born in Ross Township, Pennsylvania, in 1940.

Patty's early years remain a mystery, as not much is documented, but we know she grew up with two sisters, a twin and a younger sibling named Gloria, who was five years her junior. Even from a young age, Patty was known for her determination and adventurous spirit. According to her family, she had two distinct flaws, she was stubborn and refused to take no for an answer. If she set her mind on something, there was no stopping her. A life full of dreams and passion. After graduating with a degree in finance, Patty landed a job in Pittsburgh at a glass manufacturing company.

But work was just one piece of the puzzle for her. She had a big dream, she wanted to dance. She began taking dance lessons while working and even aspired to become an instructor. Over time, this dream came true, showing just how determined she could be. Besides dancing, Patty had a passion for traveling. It was during one of her adventures with friends by the river that she met her future husband, Robert, or Bob, as he was often called. Their love story was the stuff of movies.

Patty and Bob met when she boldly asked him for a ride in his boat, turning what was supposed to be a ten-minute favor into an hour and a half river cruise. The connection was instant, and by 1972, the two. were married. Together, they shared a love for exploration, visiting places like Europe, Canada, and their all-time favorite destination, Puerto Rico. Patty adored Puerto Rico's beaches, culture, and food. If they couldn't decide where to vacation, Puerto Rico was always the default. It's worth noting how much of a mystery Patty Copta became not just to her family but to anyone who heard her story. Imagine, for 30 years, living with unanswered questions. Where did she go? Why did she leave?

What happened to her mental state? Her family clung to Hope, even when Hope seemed futile, and yet, it all led to Puerto Rico. The sunny island she adored wasn't just a destination on her dream list, it became her haven, even though her family had no clue she was there. Bob's feelings are a whole other layer to this complicated story. On the one hand, he devoted his life to searching for Patty. The man never moved on emotionally, never remarried, never truly stopped believing she was out there. On the other hand, after learning that Patty had been in Puerto Rico this whole time and never

once tried to reach out, he felt betrayed. And honestly, can we blame him? He poured every ounce of energy in every penny he had into finding her, and yet, she stayed silent. Now, let's not forget about Gloria, Patty's sister. Gloria, despite everything, seemed ready to forgive and move forward. Maybe it's because they were family, or maybe it's because Gloria recognized that Patty's mental state during those years might have kept her from making rational decisions.

Gloria's response is heartfelt and genuine, she just wanted to see her sister again, no matter what it took. As the story unfolded, people couldn't help but speculate. Was it possible Patty didn't even realize how much time had passed? Could her mental health have been so affected that she genuinely didn't remember the life she left behind? Or was it simply a conscious choice to disappear and leave everything behind? These questions haunted her family, and even the public, once the news broke out.

Now, let's get into the part where things get even more intriguing. Remember how Patty's connection to Puerto Rico was strong, almost spiritual. There's a theory that her love for the island wasn't just about the beaches or the culture but something deeper, a sense of belonging that transcended reason. It's almost poetic to think she ended up there, even if it was under such strange circumstances. Meanwhile, as the pieces of Patty's life were slowly coming back together, the media was all over it. The story of a missing woman being found decades later, alive and well, was captivating. Everyone wanted to know the details, from her life in Puerto Rico to how she had been living

all those years. While the family gave a few interviews, they were understandably private about certain things. Let's talk about how the DNA test changed everything. That moment when the results came in must have been surreal for everyone involved. After decades of wondering, they finally had proof that this mysterious woman was, in fact, Patty Copta. Imagine the relief and disbelief hitting all at once. It's not every day that a missing person is found alive, especially after so long. But here's where the story takes a turn for introspection, what do you do when someone you love, someone you've spent years searching for,

is found but doesn't want to come back. Patty, now living with dementia, might not even fully comprehend the impact of her disappearance or the years her family spent worrying about her. This raises questions about autonomy, forgiveness, and the complicated dynamics of human relationships. So, what's next for Patty and her family? That's the big question. Gloria's willingness to embrace her sister is heartwarming, but Bob's hesitation is understandable. Should he make peace with the situation and try to reconnect, or should he let the past remain in the past?

These are the kinds of dilemmas that make stories like this so deeply human and relatable. At the heart of it all, Patty's story is one of mystery. love, and resilience. It's a reminder that even when answers seem out of reach, they can sometimes be found in the most unexpected places. Her journey from Ross, Pennsylvania, to Puerto Rico is as much a physical journey as it is a metaphorical one, a search for identity, purpose, and belonging. The question now turns to us, the readers and listeners of her tale. How do we interpret her actions? Do we judge her for leaving her family behind, or do we sympathize with someone who might have been battling inner demons we can't fully understand.

Do we view her disappearance as a selfish act or a desperate cry for freedom and peace? As for Patty, her chapter isn't over yet. Whether or not she reunites with her family, her story serves as a powerful reminder of the complexity of human lives and the resilience of those who love us, even when we lose our way. So, now it's your turn, what do you think about Patty's story? Is it one of tragedy or redemption? Does it inspire hope or leave you with lingering questions?

Whatever your perspective, one thing's for sure, Patty Copta's life is a tale that won't be forgotten anytime soon. And maybe, just maybe, that's the legacy she was always meant to leave. As I said before, when her marriage ended, the British monarchy thought they were finally rid of Diana of Wales. They thought they would really lose sight of her, that the press would stop focusing on her, that the people would stop loving her. But that was far from happening. We begin on the night of August 30th to 31st, 1997. A Mercedes had an accident inside the Alma Tunnel in Paris, France. Accidents like that happen every day in every corner of the world. However, this one made the front page of every magazine on the planet, since inside the crashed vehicle were Princess Diana of Wales,

her partner Dodie Al-Fayed, his bodyguard Trevor Rees-Jones, and the driver Henri Paul. Of the four occupants, only one survived the crash, and that was Trevor Rees-Jones. Two years after the accident, the judge in charge of the case publicly declared that it had been an accident. The vehicle's driver, Henri Paul, had been drinking, was driving very fast, and had also taken antidepressants, so the tragedy was inevitable. So, with that said, the case was closed. However, not everyone was happy with that verdict, since there were several details that suggested this terrible event might not have been an accident. But before getting into that, let's get to know our protagonist a little better, Princess Diana of Wales.

This story begins with the birth of Diana Francis Spencer on July 1st, 1961, in Sandringham, England. Contrary to what many tabloid magazines said, Diana did not grow up in a humble family, but was the third daughter of Lord John Spencer, 8th Earl Spencer, and his first wife, Francis Ruth Burke Roche. Whenever Diana spoke about her childhood, she described it as traumatic and unhappy, having lived through truly shocking moments. Her mother was not affectionate at all and never showed love for her four children. When Diana was seven years old, she witnessed a scene that would mark her forever, her father confronting her mother after discovering that she was cheating on him with another man and intended to leave him. Until that moment, Diana and her siblings had lived isolated from the world, studying at home with tutors. But now that their parents were going their separate ways, the whole world opened up before them.

Custody of the children went to John Spencer, who sent them to a number of different schools. In 1968, Diana was sent to King's Lynn School but was unable to concentrate on anything, so she was transferred to another school, Riddlesworth Hall Boarding School. Wherever she went, teachers said she was unable to focus on anything and seemed more interested in the outside world than in books. So she spent her life switching schools. After boarding school, she attended West Heath and, between 1977 and 1978, went to Switzerland to finish her studies. Afterward, Diana settled in London, made new friends, and found a job. Her intention was to have a normal life.

But there she met Prince Charles, eldest son of Queen Elizabeth II and heir to the British throne, and fate decided that this man would change her life completely. According to several sources, Prince Charles might have been in a relationship with one of Diana's sisters when they met. But the chemistry between them was evident, and two years after meeting, they decided to give everything up to be together. At that time, Prince Charles had a reputation as a womanizer, and the tabloids didn't see him as a good candidate for the throne. At 33 years old, no one imagined him married with children. But on January 24, 1981, Buckingham Palace's spokesperson announced the Royal Engagement, an engagement that captured public attention for minute one. Diana Francis Spencer was completely

different from anyone else, a woman who broke all the norms of the British royal family. And now I'll tell you why. To start, Diana chose her own engagement ring. Royal tradition dictated that the rings had to be custom-made for each princess, but Diana simply opened the catalog and picked the one she liked best. The second point happened on the same day the couple announced their engagement. As you can see in the images, Diana didn't wear an expensive dress, not even one from a famous brand. She went to a department store and, for a very low price, bought that dress. To the public, this gesture was wonderful. It was clear that Diana was a very simple and humble woman, but the royal family didn't

like it at all, especially Queen Elizabeth I. And the third point came on the wedding day itself. The custom at the palace was for couples not to write their own vows. There were traditional ones that had to be followed. But to Diana, all that about obedience and submission didn't seem right, so she changed it and spoke from the heart. As you can see, with everything Diana did, people loved her more. She didn't just prove to be very humble and approachable but also very human. And I know it sounds strange to say this, but at the time, people saw royalty as something very distant, from another world. With Diana in the royal house, everything changed. She broke so many rules and connected so much with regular people that she became an icon of the 80s and 90s.

after marrying charles prince of wales diana gained the title of princess of wales however as i said before her closeness made the people refer to her as lady d or shy d as you can see from the photos she was a truly shy woman a shyness that didn't stop her from asserting her beliefs in the royal household after the birth of her two sons princes william and harry she kept breaking traditions Instead of being raised by royal nannies, she raised them herself. And instead of sending them to boarding schools, she sent them to public schools. She took them to soup kitchen so they could see that life outside the palace was really hard. She also took them to amusement parks, fast food restaurants, and, on many occasions, they used public transportation,

something Queen Elizabeth II did not approve of at all. Although Diana tried to maintain a family life with her children, her schedule demanded 500 annual commitments that the Prince and Princess of Wales had to fulfill. So we can say she spent a lot of time away from home. Even so, she called her children every day, and when they were together, they never left each other's side. Unfortunately, this princess story isn't as magical as it seems. Around 1986, the press began to report signs of marital crisis. The royal family worked hard to show the world an image of a perfect family, a united, always smiling, flawless family. But Charles and Diana's marriage increasingly involved separate trips, and by May 1992, the first rumors of separation reached the public.

By 1994, talk began that Prince Charles had a lover. This news wasn't new, rumors had been going on for a long time, but this time there was a name, Camilla Parker Bowles, an old friend of Prince Charles. That's when the iconic moment came, the one we all think of when we think of Diana, the dress she wore to the charity gala at the Serpentine Gallery. That moment when she once again broke all royal rules by wearing such a neckline, something not allowed for royalty. The press called that dress, the revenge dress, as with it,

she made it clear that she knew exactly what her husband was doing and that things wouldn't just stay that way. And indeed, the following year, without informing the royal family, she gave a private interview to a BBC reporter, an interview that came to be considered the best of the 20th century. In it, she spoke about highly controversial issues like bulimia, depression, the fact that she had attempted to take her own life five times, and why she believed the royal family didn't want her as future queen. Queen of this country? I don't think many people would want me to be queen.

Actually, when I say many people, I mean the establishment that I married into. Because they've decided that I'm a non-starter. Why do you think they've decided that? Because I do things differently. Because I don't go by a rule book. Because I lead from the heart, not the head. And albeit that's got me into trouble in my work, I understand that. Someone's got to go out there and love people and show it.

They see me as a threat of some kind. And I'm here to do good, I'm not a destructive person. Why do they see you as a threat? I think every strong woman in history has had to walk down a similar path. And I think it's the strength that causes the confusion and the fear. Why is she strong? Where does she get it from? Where is she taking it?

Where is she going to use it? Why do the public? With this interview, Diana got what she wanted, the queen herself met with her and her. her husband and demanded that they divorce, a divorce that became official on August 28, 1996. From that point on, the queen thought she had gotten rid of Diana Francis Spencer. She allowed her to keep her residence at Kensington Palace, but of course, demanded that she returned all the jewelry she had received during the marriage, including the lovers not tiara of Cambridge. To be continued, that she should return all the jewels, she had obtained during

the marriage, and among them was the land of, the lovers of, Cambridge. As I mentioned earlier, upon breaking off her marriage, the British, monarchy thought they were finally free, of Diana of Wales. They thought they, would truly lose sight of her, that the press would stop focusing on her, that, the people would stop loving her. But, that was far from happening, because, Diana took advantage of her fame to focus her attention on various humanitarian organizations. She appeared at numerous events for the benefit of the most marginalized sectors of society in AIDS awareness campaigns, helping children in Africa, and her last official commitment was her, collaboration in eradicating landmines. Moreover, after breaking up with Prince, Charles, she began her relationship with, Dodie Al-Faed, the son of Egyptian, billionaire Mohammed Al-Fayette.

This relationship caused a big stir, as they belonged to completely different, cultures and religions, but that didn't matter to them because they were in love, and the press went wild over them, constantly spreading rumors that they were going to get married, that they were going to have children. But then came the night of August 30th to 31st, 1997. That night, after leaving, the Ritz Hotel in Paris, where Diana and, Doty were staying, accompanied by a, bodyguard and a driver, they got into a Mercedes-Benz provided by the hotel and, set off for their next destination. From the very moment they left the hotel, their car was chased by three, unscrupulous paparazzi. These people were, trying to get a perfect shot of the couple of the moment.

Diana had said in many interviews that she couldn't withstand that harassment. According to the official version of, events, none of the people in the, Mercedes were wearing seatbelts, except for the bodyguard, Trevor Rees, Jones. Furthermore, Henri Paul, the driver, had been drinking and taking antidepressants, which significantly impaired his reflexes, It is said that at one point he stepped on the accelerator to escape from the paparazzi, but lost control of the vehicle and crashed into pillar number 13, of the Pont de El Alma Tunnel, an action, that instantly ended his life, Doty, Alphiads, and left Princess Diana, unconscious. When medical services arrived, they said Diana was still alive. However, after being taken to Pity Salpatria Hospital, she ended up dying. The day Diana died, Queen Elizabeth II, was on vacation in Scotland and did not, cancel them upon hearing the news.

She, finished her holiday, returned home, and, continued her life as usual, which, sparked huge controversy. She did not intend to give Diana a royal, funeral, nor even make a statement. But the public pressured the palace and, forced Buckingham to change its stance. There were no protocols for a divorced, princess of the United Kingdom, mother, to the second and third in the line of, succession. So the royal house had to, coin a new term to honor Diana of Wales, a unique funeral for a unique person, and indeed, it was a funeral worthy of, Diana. Elton John sang a song written, By and for Diana, candle in the wind, which he swore never to sing again, unless Prince's Harry or William asked, him too.

Celebrities from around the world came, to say goodbye to Diana, film directors, actors, singers, politicians. Everyone, came to say farewell. But amid all this turmoil and mourning, the Queen wouldn't make a statement, until five days later, and not out of, choice, but because her own son made her, do it. ever forget her. Millions of others, who never met her but felt they knew her, will remember her. I for one believe, there are lessons, to be drawn from her life and from the extraordinary and moving reaction. It was at this moment that Mohamed Al-Fayed, father of the man who had been Diana's last partner, made very clear to the world what he thought about the

accident. He was convinced that the whole thing had been the result of a plot between the British Royal Family and M. I.6, the British Secret Service, a plot to end the relationship between Doty and Diana. According to this man, Diana might have been pregnant with Doty at the time of her death, and also, his son had supposedly bought a ring to propose to her on that very day, the day she died. Somehow or another, the royal family found out about this and did everything in their power to prevent Princess William and Harry from having a Muslim stepfather, as that could severely damaged the monarchy's image. Therefore, the Duke of Edinburgh, husband of Queen Elizabeth II, allegedly ordered MI6 to eliminate Diana of Wales. This theory, known by the name Operation

Padgett, completely changed the way the accident was seen, as it gave rise to a large number of related conspiracy theories. One of the first theories consists of three key points. On one hand, there is Henri Paul, the driver. When he was found, he was found, he was found. He was by the medics, he had a large amount of money in his pockets, which could indicate that he had been paid to accelerate the car and thus escape from the paparazzi. The intelligence service must have known the state this man was in, or they may have even caused it. So, they simply paid him to press the gas. On the other hand, none of the passengers were wearing seatbelts, an action supposedly taken by Doty Al-Fiad's bodyguard. This is very suspicious, as it said that both

Doty and Diana were extremely cautious, especially Diana. That's why it's believed that the seatbelts may have been tampered with so that the only one saved would be the bodyguard, who was in constant contact with MI6. The third point says that the paparazzi who were following the Mercedes could actually have been members of MI6. When Henri Paul lost control of the car, the main reason could have been the flash of a camera, another element mentioned in the next theory. That theory is a combination of all the previously mentioned elements with one extra factor, in this version, a white Fiat Uno is added to the equation. When the Mercedes was analyzed, a white paint scrape was found, which could have belonged to a white Fiat Uno. However, the police searched

for this car everywhere, but curiously, they never found it. So it became clear to many that the driver of that vehicle was a member of the Secret Service who collaborated in causing the accident. Mohamed Al-Fi had invested nearly four million euros to prove that his son and Diana were murdered. He hired a British laboratory, paid for the repatriation of the vehicle from France, and once it was in England, they analyzed everything that could be analyzed. However, in 2006, a report of more than 800 pages was published, stating that there was no evidence that it had been a conspiracy. But guess what? He never gave up, because something inside him told him that his son had been murdered. And in fact, there's one point that,

according to him, proves that his entire theory is true, in the area where the accident occurred, there were supposedly 14 active cameras, but from that night, there is no footage. So this suggests that something happened that night that someone doesn't want the world to know. The most shocking part of all is that Mohamed al-Fayad, with his theories and investigations, wasn't completely wrong. If you recall, he said, said at the beginning that his son was going to propose to Diana. Well, as years passed, this turned out to be true. According to a French jeweler, Doty had purchased an engagement ring just before the accident, a ring from a collection called Dismois, which translates to

say yes. However, when Diana's body was examined, it was determined that she was not pregnant at the time of the accident. Another point mentioned in theories that align with his is the involvement of the white fiat in the accident. As mentioned before, many people were convinced that the paparazzi chasing the Mercedes were my six members. So when a French couple who were near the accident scene called the police to report having seen a white Fiat Uno at the scene, all the alarms went off. About 3,000 owners of that car model were interrogated, with no results. However, in 2007, the driver of the vehicle was supposedly identified, and police stated that he had nothing to do with the accident. They said that the Mercedes simply lost control and collided

with it, which explained the white paint on the body of the Mercedes. But the Fiat, they insisted, had nothing to do with what happened. After the theory of a government conspiracy was discarded, another even more outlandish one emerged. A book titled Who Killed Princess Diana, published in May 2017 by Grissette Publishing, revealed that the Mercedes in which the princess was traveling had a rather turbulent history. According to this book, its first owner was a man named Eric Bousquet in 1994. But three months after buying it, someone stole it. After days of searching, the police informed him that they had found it in bad condition, abandoned near Charles de Gaulle airport. The owner recovered it, repaired it, and sold it for 40,000 to a limousine and luxury car

company called it to a limousine, a company that, coincidentally, worked for the Ritz Hotel. For months before the arrival of Diana of Wales and Doty Alfayette, the vehicle was once again stolen and abandoned on a highway. So the limousine company repaired it again and returned it to the Ritz Hotel. And on the night of August 30th to 31st, 1997, it became the transport vehicle for Princess Diana of Wales. In this story, it is claimed that the vehicle experienced mechanical problems after 60 kilometers per hour and that the seatbelts often didn't work. But incredible as it may seem, this theory was never taken seriously. According to several consulted sources, Diana might have been saved.

When medical services found her, she was still alive and externally showed no bloody injuries. However, at one point she lost consciousness and had to be resuscitated, which suggested she might have been suffering from internal injuries. So the ambulance transporting her had to drive very slowly to avoid sudden movements or jerks. What did this mean? That due to the slow procession of the convoy, the ambulance didn't pass through the gates of Pitya Salpatrier Hospital until 205 a.m., 45 minutes after leaving the tunnel and an hour and 45 minutes after the accident. There were other hospitals much closer to the scene of the crash, yet they chose Pity Salpatrier, located six kilometers southeast of the Alma Tunnel. because it was the closest of Paris's four hospitals with 24-hour specialized services.

Unfortunately, this decision by the doctors gave rise to many theories, including claims that a large amount of substances had been injected into Diana in the ambulance to end her life, and also that the ambulance went slowly so she would die alone. Be that as it may, various sources confirmed that when Diana entered the operating room, she was already dead. But now it's your turn, what do you think about this case? Do you believe it was a conspiracy, or just an accident? The end.

Michelle Marie Martinko was born on October 6, 1961, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, as the youngest of two daughters to Janet and Albert Martinko. Her arrival was a complete surprise and nothing short of a miracle for her parents. While conceiving their first daughter, Janelle, had been straightforward, Janet and Albert faced years of heartbreak trying for a second child. For over a decade, they pursued every possible option, consulting various doctors, trying remedies, and even exploring adoption. When they had almost resigned themselves to the idea of having only one child, Janet discovered she was pregnant, and Michelle entered their lives. To them, she was their perfect little girl. As a baby, Michelle hardly cried, never fell sick, and seemed almost too good to be true.

Her parents were so astounded by her health and demeanor that they often took her to the doctor just to confirm that everything was normal. Michelle wasn't just healthy, she was extremely. She was She learned to walk and talk earlier than most children and displayed an extroverted personality brimming with confidence. She had a striking appearance that made people compare her to a living doll, charming, beautiful, and radiant. Even as a child, her bright smile and sweet demeanor captivated everyone around her. Michelle's charm extended into her teenage years.

She grew up to be a confident and vivacious young woman who excelled in everything she tried. Her beauty and charisma made her incredibly popular, especially with boys. However, this popularity came at a cost. Many girls saw her as competition and refused to befriend her, perceiving her as a rival rather than a potential friend. Despite the challenges at school, Michelle found companionship in extracurricular activities, where she made close friends. Michelle attended Cedar Rapids Kennedy High School, where she was a diligent student.

Known for her punctuality and responsibility, she consistently earned good grades. Her achievements went beyond academics, she was involved in theater, choir, and the twirling team. She always stood out, not just for her physical beauty, but also for her confidence and intelligence. In 1976, Michelle's life took a new turn when she met her first boyfriend, Andy Seidel. Their meeting was serendipitous. Michelle and her friends had gone skating, but she wasn't skilled at it and kept falling. One of her falls led her to bump into Andy, an experienced skater. The encounter sparked a conversation, and the two hit it off.

The very next day, they went on their first date. What began as a sweet and innocent romance soon grew intense. They spent almost every waking moment together, but over time, Andy's behavior became suffocating. He constantly called her, demanded to know her whereabouts, and grew increasingly possessive. His jealousy became unbearable, and after two years, Michelle ended the relationship. He struggled to move on. He continued to call her, follow her, and even sent her gifts on special occasions like Christmas and her birthday. However, Michelle was determined to move forward, focusing on her future and putting Andy behind her. By 1979, Michelle had clear goals for her life.

She dreamed of becoming an interior designer and had plans to attend Iowa State University to pursue her ambition. However, the financial burden of college was significant, and her parents couldn't cover the entire cost. Michelle, always resourceful and determined, took a part-time job at a store in Westdale Mall. She enjoyed her job and felt proud of contributing toward her future. Her life seemed perfect, she was bright, ambitious, and well-loved. Tragically, this seemingly idyllic life was cut short in the most brutal way. On the night of December 19, 1979, Michelle attended a banquet at the Sheraton Inn in Cedar Rapids. The event was for the Kennedy High School twirling team, of which Michelle was a member. She wore an all-black ensemble, a jersey dress, black

tights, matching heels, a black and white jacket, and carried a brown leather purse. Witnesses later described her as looking radiant and happy that evening. After dinner, Michelle mingled with friends, danced, and then approached two girls to invite them on a shopping trip to Westdale Mall. Michelle had been working there for two months and had access to employee discounts, which she generously offered to share. Initially, the girls agreed to go. but as the evening progressed, they backed out. One girl had a strict curfew, and the other was grounded and wasn't supposed to be at the banquet in the first place.

Left without company, Michelle decided to head to the mall alone. Michelle's plan was simple. She had $80 with her and intended to pick up a coat her mother had reserved for her at one of the stores. She arrived at Westdale Mall, parked her car, and went inside. Throughout the evening, she was spotted by numerous people, friends, acquaintances, and even her ex-boyfriend Andy, who claimed he was there buying a Christmas gift for her. Witnesses described Michelle as cheerful and excited about her new coat.

The last confirmed sighting of her was at 9 p.m. near a jewelry store. After that, she vanished. By midnight, the Martinko family was deeply concerned. Michelle was expected home by 10.30 or 11 p.m. at the latest. With no word from her and no way to contact her, this was before the era of cell phones, her parents began calling friends, classmates, and neighbors, but no one had seen her. The last anyone knew was that she had been at the mall. Desperate, Albert Martinko called the police. In a surprising display of urgency, officers arrived at Westdale Mall around 4 a.m.

They quickly located Michelle's car, a 1972 Buick Elektra, in the mall parking lot. At first glance, the scene appeared unremarkable. The parking lot was nearly empty, and Michelle's car seemed undisturbed. But as officers approached, they made a horrifying discovery. Inside the car, Michelle's lifeless body lay slumped in the passenger seat, surrounded by blood. The interior was a gruesome sight, blood covered the dashboard, gear shift, seats, and even the back area. The crime scene was immediately cordoned off. An autopsy later revealed the brutality of Michelle's death.

She had been stabbed 29 times, with most wounds concentrated on her face, neck, and chest. The ferocity of the attack indicated rage and suggested the killer's actions were personal. Strangely, her purse and the $80 inside were untouched, ruling out robbery as a motive. The police believed Michelle had been killed between 8 o'clock and 10 p.m. The weapon used was likely a sharp object, though it wasn't definitively identified as a knife. The lack of fingerprints or other evidence pointed to a calculated attack, with the perpetrator likely wearing gloves. Investigators immediately suspected the killer was a man due to the sheer violence of the crime. The police's first theory focused on Andy, Michelle's ex-boyfriend.

His obsessive behavior and presence at the mall that evening raised suspicions. However, Andy had an alibi, he claimed to have been home with his mother at the time of the murder. Despite the Martinko family's insistence that Andy was guilty and that his mother was covering for him, the police eventually ruled him out. Over the next week, authorities received over 200 tips, many pointing to a mysterious stalker who had allegedly been harassing Michelle. Andy himself supported this theory, stating that Michelle had confided in him about feeling watched. However, the Martinko family denied knowing anything about such a stalker, and no concrete

evidence emerged. As the investigation dragged on, the case grew cold. Initial suspects were cleared, including a teenager seemed carrying a knife near the mall shortly before the murder and a mall employee with a history of harassing women. Rumors swirled that the police were covering for someone influential, but these claims were never substantiated. Five months after Michelle's death, a woman came forward with a chilling story. She claimed to have seen a man and a blonde girl, possibly Michelle, in a car outside

the mall on the night of the murder. The man appeared to be hiding something. Despite the potential significance of this information, it was mishandled and failed to advance the investigation. In the following years, the case languished. Advances in DNA technology in the 2000s re-ignited hope. Investigators were able to extract a male DNA profile from the crime scene and entered it into national databases, but no matches were found. In 2017, new genetic genealogy techniques provided a breakthrough.

A genealogical database linked the DNA to a distant relative of the killer. This connection eventually led investigators to three brothers from Manchester, Iowa. Two were eliminated through DNA testing, leaving Jerry Lynn Burns as the prime suspect. Burns was arrested on December 19, 2018, exactly 39 years after Michelle's murder. At the time of the crime, he had been 25 years old. Despite leading a seemingly ordinary life, with a family and successful businesses, Burns harbored dark secrets. Searches of his computer revealed disturbing content, including violent imagery and searches related to unsolved crimes. Burns maintained his innocence, claiming not to know Michelle, but the DNA evidence was irrefutable.

Attempts, I remember the first time I heard about the plague ship. I had a friend named Shannon who, despite the name, was a guy. Not just any guy, though. He was a nerdy, overweight, socially awkward guy who happened to be the son of a state senator. Both Shannon and I had recently graduated high school, and we wanted a trip to remember it by. He didn't really have a lot of friends besides me, so he would often throw ideas at me for a party or a trip. Seeing as I sold weed back in high school, I had plenty of friends, or at least people who would hang around and call themselves friends. How about the plague ship?

Shannon asked me through a mouthful of home fries as I sat in a diner booth across from him. He ordered enough food for three people, including chicken steaks and turkey pot pies and bacon, and to my growing wharf. horror, he had eaten all of it in a single sitting. I had a coffee and a bagel. I sat there, wondering how he didn't throw up. The plague what? I said, raising an eyebrow. What's that, some video game? Shannon laughed, a high-pitched, womanly sound that caused the rolls of fat on his neck to jiggle and dance. Oh, no, he said, a video game? Definitely not. This is real, man. My dad told me about it, and I did a little research. Now I was intrigued. I leaned closer across the table, feeling the wispy heat from the coffee rising towards my face. Your dad knows

about it, huh? Tell me everything you know. And he did, though it wasn't much. According to rumors his father had heard, the Coast Guard, police boats and fishermen in the area kept encountering an unknown vessel. For my witness accounts, it looked ancient and battered. The staves of the hull had rotten holes covered with black mold. The mold sent out tendrils that seemed to grasp and flex across the outside of the ship like clenching fingers. The sails of the boat had coarse, black stitches running in irregular square patches up and down it. A strange, white kind of leather composed the sails, which witnesses claimed looked like human skin. Dozens of scoes. Dozens of skulls tied to ropes jiggled from the masthead, cracking into each other with hollow smacks

like wind chimes from hell. And at the top of the masthead, like the angel on a Christmas tree, a crucified, decaying body hung, silver nails biting deeply into its wrists and ankles to secure it forever to the post. That sounds like an urban legend, I said, rolling my eyes. That's like all those legends about the Mary Celeste still roaming the seas with her ghost sailors. But that's not all, Shannon said, lowering his voice into a faux spooky, campfire tone. His magnified eyes behind his glasses looked olish, roaming around the diner as if looking for

something and not finding it. There were deaths and disappearances. The people who saw the ship claim that it has walking corpses, men with slit throats and pale, waterlogged skin who abduct anyone who sees the ship. One guy apparently escaped by shooting his captor and jumping overboard. A Coast Guard vessel ended up finding him near the flaming ruins of his boat a few hours later. He said they killed everyone else in horrible ways, skinning them, crucifying them, keel-hauling them, everything. He said they burned his wife alive on the ship. What does keel-hauling mean? I asked. He shook his head. You really don't want to know.

It's like the sailor's version of skinning, I guess, using sharp barnacles on the side of the ship. They stripped the person naked and then dragged the persons back up and down and up and down over the edges of the shells, and like hundreds of little razor blades, they just scrape into the flesh. He shuddered. I don't know who thinks up these punishments. I thought about his idea of going out to find this mysterious ghost ship. I had no doubt in my mind that the entire story was probably a load of bullshit, but it would be fun to get out on the ocean. Okay, let's do it, I said, grinning. We should get a few people together and go out and find this cursed ship. I'm sure it will be a trip worth remembering. We had asked around in our circle of friends and found a few who knew about boats and sailing.

Travis, a friend of mine who towered over the rest of us and who constantly smelled like weed, told me his dad had been in the Navy and had taught him all sorts of useless crap about boating. He even told us his dad had a boat in the ocean port not too far from where all the activity with the supposed ghost ship had been spotted, and that he would let him use it if we filled it with gas and gave his father a few hundred bucks for wear and tear. Seeing as most boat rental agencies charged anywhere from $200 to $700 an hour around my area, I was instantly on board with the idea of paying much less. And that's how I found myself on a white, sparkling cabin cruiser with Shannon,

Travis, and two other friends who volunteered to come on a trip, a pair of identical twin girls I knew named Leslie and Sadie. The name of the boat shone on the side in bright silver letters, the sea lady, a couple weeks after Shannon had first proposed the idea, we set off a couple hours before sunset, deciding to do some night boating and see the endless expanse of the Atlantic under the dark summer sky. And if we came across the ghost ship, so much the better, but I wasn't holding my breath. We set off from the port, the exclamations of multiple excited voices reverberating over the open water.

The cabin cruiser was slightly crowded with five people, but it wasn't too bad. I had brought a couple of ounces of magic mushrooms and quite a bit of cannabis edibles and flour. Some of the others had brought their own stuff, mostly booze. I decided to wait to pass out the mushrooms. If we were all tripping, it might get hard to boat, and I didn't want to end up stranded in the ocean waiting to come down. I went around and gave some of the weed gummies out to everyone, though, and people pulled out beer and started drinking. Someone gave me a bottle of spatten.

This is going to be so awesome, Shannon said, his huge eyes gleaming with excitement behind his glasses. His irises looked red, his eyes half closed. I could tell he didn't usually eat edibles. Someone had turned on the radio, and Led Zeppelin echoed across the endless ocean. The sun had started to set, red streaks setting out across the sky. You know, Travis said, coming up to us, there's an old sailor's legend that red streaks at sunset are good luck. Red streaks at sunrise are bad luck. Apparently, scientists found out that it's true. A bloody sunrise sometimes means a storm is coming, and with most wind, going in a westerly direction. Yeah, I don't really care, I said. A shark's fin broke the water

nearby, circling the boat. It snapped at something under the dark surface, and a cloud of bright red blood rose up, expanding like smoke through the shadowy water. I didn't know we had sharks around here. Leslie and Sadie had joined us. They were both thin with eyes so pale blue they looked almost colorless. Dirty blonde hair ran down their backs. They were not, thankfully, dressed identically, because I would have found that somewhat creepy. Leslie had some expensive designer clothing,

while Sadie wore a shirt for some heavy metal band called Sammel. I ended up passing out some mushrooms to everyone soon after. Shannon said he didn't want any, but everyone else ate a handful. I chewed the dried, fiber stalks with an expression of disgust, choking it down with a bottle of Coke. There are sharks everywhere, Travis said, staring out at the fin splicing the water as it receded into the distance. Their nature's alpha predators. They almost never get cancer, and they can keep regrowing their teeth when they lose them. Their teeth actually face inwards, like barbs that grab the prey and keep it

from escaping or thrashing around too much. Shannon piloted the boat, driving like an old lady across the open expanse of ocean. I saw the last red rays of the sun disappearing over the horizon, like drops of blood washed away in the rain. It's empty out here, Sadie said, taking a sip from her beer as she looked up at the night sky. And you can see all the stars. There are no clouds. They're all so bright out here.

Is it normal to not see any other boats? I asked Travis. He shrugged. I guess. I don't usually come out at nighttime, though. My dad took me fishing at night a few times when I was a kid and I still remember seeing Coast Guard and police boats occasionally, though, Travis said. As I stared at him, I realized his face appeared to be changing colors, growing orange and

red hues. I looked around, confused. On the horizon, I saw a boat on fire. Long fingers of flame reached upwards towards the sky, sent me. out billowing black columns of choking smoke. The sky became covered with an expanding dark cloud that blotted out the stars and the moon. Jesus Christ! Leslie shouted, breaking my trance. What if there's people on there? Then they're probably dead, Travis said blankly, seemingly entranced by the flickering, dancing fire on the seemingly infinite expanse of shadowy water. But maybe

people jumped out before it spread. Maybe they're just over there. air, treading water and waiting for help. We need to go check it out. Shannon had stopped the boat and got up clumsily from the seat, tripping and falling over a coiled rope. I helped him up. Can't we call the Coast Guard for help? Sadie asked. Travis jumped up and ran towards the driver's seat. He twisted some dials until he grunted with satisfaction, then depressed the speaker's button and began shouting into it. Mayday, Mayday, May day. This is the sea lady. Our position is, he looked down at an electronic compass and rattled off a list of coordinates.

We have spotted a burning ship nearby. We don't know if there are any survivors. Please send rescue as soon as possible. He repeated the message a couple times, but I heard no response. A chill ran down my spine as I waited in the silence, only the static hissing of the speaker and the rhythmic splashing of the waves breaking. I thought I might have heard garbled fragments of random words in the white noise, but it might have been my imagination or perhaps an effect of the psilocybin. Travis started to pilot the ship over towards the burning wreckage, driving much faster than

Shannon had. The waves raced past us, topped with white foamy caps. The salty air seemed to revive me, but I also noticed the first rising vibes of the mushroom starting to take over. I felt anxious, my chest tight. I didn't want to potentially see burnt and blackened bodies right now. The stars seemed to dance in circling patterns of colorful light. I saw Mars overhead, looking down on us like a bleeding eye.

Venus seemed to have spikes of white light spiraling around its bright center. Travis rapidly decelerated, throwing me forwards. I realized I had gotten lost in a trance for a little bit. I looked around nervously, seeing that we were almost at the burning craft. The fire seemed to have died down somewhat, though more black smoke than before obscured our view. It hovered over the water and blotted out the sky like some great cosmic dragon as it rose high above us. Hanging off the side of the deck, I saw the burnt body of a person. Whether male or female, I could no longer tell.

It didn't look like much more than charcoal at this point, the black and black and the black and arms still reaching over the rails as if asking for help. Travis continued to repeat his message on the radio. I couldn't tell if the transmission was getting through or not, but I was not hopeful. Only garbled fragments of words came through every few minutes, and we couldn't tell who it was or what they were saying. It might have just been picking up random signals from different sources for all we knew. We had no idea if help was on the way.

Oh my God, Leslie said, putting her hand over her mouth as she noticed the body laying over the railing. The ship looked like a fishing vessel, significantly longer than our cabin cruiser. It still had a net trailing behind its shattered, burning carcass. I'm going to circle it slowly, Travis yelled from his seat at the controls. Look for anyone swimming or treading water in the area. Look for any signs of life jackets or anything. If there are survivors, but he never got to finish the thought.

thought. From a distance, I heard water splashing as something large spliced through the rippling waves. I saw a huge, black silhouette moving in our direction. Rotten boards and an impaled body posed as a figurehead broke through the clouds of black smoke. The haze parted. And in that moment, I saw a ship that looked straight out of a nightmare. The keel rose out of the water like a black scab. The sails caught the wind, and it was exactly as Shannon had told me. Dark, ugly stitches ran across the massive sails, which looked to be made of a strange kind of white leather the exact hue of human skin. Hundreds of human skulls hung from chains and ropes attached to the mastheads, smashing against each other with dull cracking sounds. I saw strips of rotting

flesh still attached to some. Rithing tendrils of something dark brown and alive wrapped around the hull, flexing and relaxing like enormous muscles. I saw many holes eaten into the keel and the hull, but the strange fungus or whatever it was covered them in horizontal strips. A sickening figurehead stuck out the front of the ship. I saw a rotting female body, impaled through the stomach with a sharp metal spear. The bloody point emerged from her mouth, her blue lips frozen in an eternal scream. The decomposing flesh hung off in strips, waving in the breeze like some grotesque flag. Her eyes stared blankly, still open. Cloudy death cataracts covered them, giving them a faded look. Human silhouettes gazed over the sides of the craft at us.

I looked up and met the white, glistening eyes of one as it stared blankly down. I immediately wished I hadn't. It had white, mirrored eyes like a raccoon collar. in the headlights of a car. I saw colorless gray skin hanging loose off the bones. Some of them had deep slash marks on their throats or faces, while others had holes blown in their stomachs and chests. They all had weapons in their hands and stood as still as statues, grinning down at us as the ship sped towards the sea lady. Get us away, Travis. Sadie screamed, running over to where Travis sat in the cockpit, sweating heavily despite the fierce ocean wind. Travis one diamond earring sparkled and glistened as he furiously pushed the boat towards its

upper limit. Shannon walked over to my side, staring up at me with huge eyes. His fat, soft body quivered with terror. I can't believe it's real, Shannon whispered. The plague ship drew nearer, moving in a blur through the smoke. The engine whined and shrieked as Travis pushed the sea lady to its upper limit. But as I looked back, the ship seemed to loom larger and larger, and I thought of the shark's fin we had seen racing across the ocean toward some smaller fish. Now we were the fish and I knew without a doubt that the shark had found us. The ship smashed into the sea lady with a shrieking of tearing metal. It felt like an earthquake under my feet. I got thrown violently across the deck, smashing my face into the railing. I saw a viable. I saw a

violent explosion of colors in my vision, purples and blacks and dark reds flowing down and dripping in kaleidoscopic tunnels. The mushrooms had fully kicked in. A rising sense of total panic shook my soul. Travis was standing next to me, blood dripping from his nose. He hauled me up to my feet. He started screaming something in my ear, but all I could hear was hundreds of gallons of water rushing into the boat and, behind that, the ticking of the engine, like some massive mechanical heart undergoing cardiac arrest. Finally, the engine died with a loud groan. The plague ship had turned and begun to circle back to where our boat stood in the water,

as stranded as a shipwrecked sailor. Travis furiously tried to get the engine started again, but I heard noises like flooding and random sputters and hiccups from the boat. Oh my God, we're going to die here, aren't we? Leslie asked, crying into her hands. Sadie rolled her eyes. Fuck that, she said, going over to Travis. What do we have for weapons here?

I admired her chutzpah and bravery. Compared to her sister, she seemed like some mythical Valkyrie. Leslie continued to whimper into her hands. Both of them had eaten a sizable dose of magic mushrooms, probably at least four grams. Sadie's pupils were the size of. of quarters as Travis reached into a compartment and pulled out some fishing gear. After moving aside some lines and boxes of tackle, he found a couple filleting knives. Their blades gleamed, sharp and wicked in the dim starlight. Here, Travis said, handing one to Sadie. Shannon waddled over,

his shorts tied around his chubby legs. After hesitating a moment, Travis gave a knife to Shannon. What am I supposed to use? I asked Travis grinned and pulled out a flare gun I looked at it, confused What the hell am I supposed to do with this? This isn't the movies. I'm not even sure a flare gun can hurt someone.

This is a pretty heavy flare, man, Travis said. A heavy rope came whipping down between us, making me jump. I looked up and saw the plague ship moving slowly overhead. head. More ropes were thrown down, and within seconds, the first of the damned vessel's shock troopers slid down. The first creature down was a man who towered over all of us, even Travis who was well over six feet tall. My friends stood around with huge pupils and staring eyes. Leslie refused to look at the loose, gray skin on the abomination's face. She continued to whimper and moan like a kicked dog. I could smell sulfur, rust and saw,

salt water oozing from the creature's mouth along with undertones of sickly, decaying flesh. As the five grams of mushrooms I had eaten continued to hit me in waves, I could see the colors of the rotten odors emanating from the abomination. Blasts of cancerous black mixed with the dark red of clotted blood in my vision, forming an aura around the creature that sizzled and popped. His body looked waterlogged and swollen. Purple and black veins bulged against his soft, wet flesh. He raised a hand that reminded me of a dead, desiccated starfish. His fingers curled. I saw the nails had turned black and cracked. They oozed dark pus that dripped down the creature's hands in searching rivulets. Where is the, the, tribute,

the creature hissed in a drowning, gurgling voice. Salt water and blood bubbled from his cyanotic lips. I could hear my heart in my ears, slamming repeatedly against the cage of bones that held it as if trying to escape from the death it knew was so near. I held the flare gun in my right hand. I now looked down at it, frowning. It looked like a useless heap of junk in my hand. More of the abominations landed on the sea lady, surrounding us. The creature who had spoken grinned at us, his face seemingly frozen into a lunatic death mask. The, tribute, the creature continued to demand. I shook my head.

Travis and Sadie stood by my sides. We don't know what you're talking about. Sadie screamed. Just leave us alone. The creature who had spoken shook his head like a disappointed father, the rictus grin still plastered across his nightmarish face. Without another word, he raised his hand. I noticed a smell like a match being struck.

The creature's hand erupted into flame. Still smiling at me, it knelt down and touched the sea lady. Fire jumped from its hand onto the boat as if it were pumping napalm out of its fingers. Scorching lines of the rising inferno ate into the wood of the boat within seconds. I heard screaming, as if from very far away. Then I realized it was my own voice screaming. The creatures from the ship had surrounded us. With a shriek of mortal terror and bloodlust, Sadie ran forwards.

At the last second, her long sleeve pulled itself up on her arm. I saw the wicked blade of the fillet knife grasped tightly in her clenched fist. She slammed the blade into the monster who continued to pump out fire from his inhuman body. It pierced through his faded cataract eye and into his skull. He froze, the smile evaporating from his face like mist under the summer sun. Sadie continued to stare forwards in horror. She realized the extent of her mistake immediately. The creature plucked the knife out of its face.

The entire sickly, clouded eye came with it, dripping small, black worms and squirming larvae onto the sea lady. Then it wrapped its arms around Sadie and lit her on fire. She spun with the monster as if in a dance of death, the smoke and ashes from their burning bodies mixing and rising up towards the smoke-clouded sky. Others had started to take the rest of us. I saw one dragging a shell-shocked Leslie towards the rope. She had stopped crying and now stared blankly ahead. I felt cold hands grip my back. The skin felt loose and soggy on the bones, like worms drowned after a rainstorm. I spun, raising the flare gun and firing point-blank

into whatever abomination attacked me. A man with a giant exit wound in the front of his chest stood there. I could see the decaying black heart beating through the wound. Tiny worms and squirming maggots ate the rough patches of torn flesh around the circumference. The flare shot into his grinning, open mouth. I saw his head lit up like a jackal lantern as his skull exploded. He fell limply to the side, the long tongues of flame licking his nearly headless body now. Without a moment of hesitation, I pushed through the opening I had created and jumped overboard.

Fire blackened my clothes, and I felt an intense heat against my skin. Within seconds, though, the cooling water of the ocean had taken over. Without looking back, I began to swim away, hiding around the keel and moving to the other side to confuse any potential pursuers. But no undead sailors jumped into the water. I saw the sea lady sink. As the plague ship started off with its new load of cargo, I caught the last glimpse of my friends. They had taken Leslie and keel hauled her.

I saw her eyes go wide as the rope spit deeply into her ankles and wrists. She screamed in agony as flesh peeled like warm butter from her back when the undead sailors ran her up and down over the barnacles. It turned the water of bright red underneath. Another sailor pulled off the rotting figurehead from the front of the plague ship. ship. Even though the impaled woman had clearly been dead for a long time, when they began to lift her body off the sharp stake, her lips twitched and her eyes fluttered. Her hand clenched into a fist. The burnt figure of Sadie looked down over the side of the ship, dripping blood and yellowish pus into the salty water far below. She couldn't have been alive, yet she stood there

and as the ship pulled off, I thought I saw her destroyed, blackened hand waving to me. I water and continued to swim around the remnants of the sea lady, not knowing what I would do. The mushrooms continued to make me wonder whether this was all really happening, or whether maybe I would wake up in some sensory deprivation tank somewhere, saying, damn, that was an intense trip. But I could tell it was very real when the first fins of the sharks broke the surface of the water, circling me. They must have smelled the blood from the torture and murder of my friends. Perhaps when Leslie's blood filled the water, it had drawn them from far away. But regardless, they were here now, and they were very hungry. I clung to a piece of debris from

the sea lady. The last remnants of its collapsing frame were quickly disappearing, sending opaque clouds of suffocating smoke all over the water. A shark's fin came within feet of me. I tried kicking at it, but it just circled. And then I heard the roaring of an engine. A spotlight broke through the shadows. I looked up quickly, seeing a Coast Guard vessel. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. One of the men heard me. The ship drew nearer, but more sharks had started to circle. One came in a straight line at me. Shrieking, I tried to punch and kick at it, but with a cold, burning pain, I felt its teeth sinked deeply into my leg. By that point, the Coast Guard had reached me.

The engines had sent some of the sharks away. Yet the one on my foot had me tightly in its grip. It shook its head like a dog with a toy. I felt bones splinter and saw a cloud of blood fill the water. My foot went numb. I tried to move it, but I couldn't. A shot rang out. I saw a bullet smash into the body of the shark.

It released my mutilated leg, swimming off, leaving a cloud of blood in its wake. The Coast Guard men pulled me up. As I got over the edge of the railing, I looked down and realized my right foot was totally gone. Nietzsche once said, I am the last man. Nobody talks to me as myself, and my voice comes to me like that of a dying person. I think all those who have seen far enough have felt the same desolation, the sense of echoes fading into the darkness of the mind, the crushing feeling of the serpent eating its own tail. But on the plague ship, it was different. The cycle no longer revolved behind the veil.

For those who are eternally trapped there, death has no hold.