Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - 9 Hours of Horror That Will Freeze Your Soul

Episode Date: December 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #soulfreezinghorror #hauntingtales #darkhorrorstories #terrifyingexperiences 9 Hours of Horror That Will Freeze Your Soul is a terrifying compilation of stories guaranteed to send chills down your spine. From ghostly encounters and haunted locations to sinister legends and paranormal mysteries, each tale is crafted to instill fear and suspense. This 9-hour marathon will grip your imagination, leaving your soul frozen long after the final story ends. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, soulfreezinghorror, hauntedplaces, ghoststories, paranormalactivity, spinechilling, terrifyingexperiences, nightmarish, eerieencounters, darkmysteries, sleeplessnights, frightnights, supernaturalhorror, chillingtales, hauntinglegends

And it must be said that what this woman declared left the entire jury in shock. Laura and Michelle were friends for two years, from 1994 to 1996, and during that time, almost every week, they would meet to watch movies at John Carlin 3's house. But there was one in particular that Laura could never forget, and that was the last seduction. Let's begin. This story begins on May 2, 1996, when a utility vehicle starts driving through the forest of Hope, Alaska. The driver had taken that route thousands of times, driven on the same roads over and over, but had never seen anything like this. On one side of the road, between the leaves and the

trees, was the body of a man lying down. The driver, seeing this, stopped the vehicle and approached. And when he was just a few steps away, he realized the man was dead. When the police arrived on the scene, they encountered three clues that would become very important throughout the investigation. The first piece of evidence was that around the body there were two sets of footprints, one belonging to the victim, and the other to the attacker. Secondly, there was the cause of death, around the body were three bullet casings, three casings from a point four four desert eagle. And on the victim's body were three bullet wounds, one in the back, one in the stomach, and one in the head. Therefore, someone had executed this man. Third, the police had no trouble

identifying the victim, since he was carrying all of his identification, his driver's license, wallet, money, and in addition to all that, he also had a receipt for a life insurance policy. Apparently, days before his death, this person had taken out a policy and changed the name of the beneficiary. Hope is a very small town, a town that in 2010 had just 192 residents. So the police thought it would be easy to find someone who knew something about the crime. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case, and the investigation slowly began to go cold. When police dug deeper into the case, they uncovered one of the most twisted stories imaginable,

a story of jealousy, alleged revenge, and conspiracies. Something absolutely unbelievable. So to fully understand it, let's go back two years, specific. to 1994. In 1994, a 22-year-old woman named Michelle Hughes moved to Anchorage, Alaska, to start working at a strip club, specifically, the Great Alaskan Bush Company. This was a club unlike the others. According to some witnesses, it had a certain level of class. The clientele were usually wealthy, and the girls had to meet certain criteria, they were beautiful, blonde, slim, and most of them were great dancers. According to Laura Pettis, Michelle's

co-worker, Michelle wasn't a great dancer, but she was very pretty and very charming. So at some point, Laura advised her that instead of dancing, she could just sit with the customers, talk, and flirt. Michelle decided to give it a try, and the truth is, it went pretty well. Her tips, which had already been decent, started to rise. And in just a few months, she was able to afford the down payment on a house. Time went by, and Michelle was earning more and more money. Clients gave her generous tips, bought her gifts, and the club paid her quite well. But at some point, she decided she wanted more. Soon after starting at the Great Alaskan, Michelle realized she was earning more from tips than from her salary. So she

started thinking about extending her working hours, not to dance more or spend more time at the club, to take the job home. While working at the club, Michelle met a businessman named Scott Hilk. Scott was captivated by Michelle's beauty, she was pretty, blonde, affectionate, a sweet girl. So every time he traveled to Alaska for business, he stayed at Michelle's house. He bought her jewelry, dresses, coats, everything she asked for. And at some point, he even gave her an engagement ring. This story might seem straight out of the movie Pretty Woman, but this wasn't the end, it was just the beginning. Michelle Hughes was very ambitious. As mentioned, Scott was a businessman who traveled a lot. And when he wasn't at home with Michelle, she seduced other men. In October of 1994, Michelle met a man

named Kent Leppink. Kent, 36, had recently moved there. He came from Michigan and had moved to Alaska because he'd heard the fishing was better. A month after meeting, Kent, madly in love, moved in with her and bought her a ring to propose marriage. Scott didn't know about any of this. Michelle told him that Kent was gay. And she told Kent exactly the same thing about Scott. For many months, Michelle maintained this story.

She dated two men at the same time, and lied to both. Kent bought her clothes, jewelry, took her on trips. So did Scott. And Michelle was so happy with the situation that she kept the lie going as long as she could. In June of 1995, a new client arrived at the Great Alaskan, and that man was John Carlin 3. John Carlin had a sad story. In 1991, his wife died of cancer.

He and his son, devastated, moved to Alaska to start over. The man couldn't recover, no matter how much time passed. So one night, some friends took him to the Great Alaskan, and once there, he fell head over heels for one of the young dancers, Michelle Hughes. In August of 1995, John and Michelle traveled to Europe. And when they returned, Michelle decided to renovate her house. So John used this as an excuse to invite Michelle to move in with him. This is when things really got dark, because Michelle not only accepted the offer, but so did Kent and Scott. Kent moved impermanently, and Scott visited from time to time.

So a new, much more twisted story began. Scott traveled often and stayed at the house temporarily, and believed that John and Kent had nothing going on with Michelle. Then there was Kent, who was a bit distant and believed absolutely everything Michelle said. And finally, there was John. While all three men had their own ideas in mind, Michelle was getting everything from them, jewelry, money, clothes, dinners, trips. Her life seemed perfect. But Christmas of 1995 changed everything. Scott supposedly got tired of it all and broke up with Michelle. John didn't know this,

but when he noticed Scott no longer came to the house, he pulled out a ring and proposed to Michelle. Christmas 1995 was total chaos. Michelle lost Scott, John proposed, and Kent seemed a little, concerned. Kent began to act uncomfortable. He started demanding more and more attention from Michelle Hughes. This last part couldn't be proven, there are no records confirming Kent was uncomfortable. But what is clear is that in February, he began insisting to Michelle that they get married as soon as possible. He wanted an immediate wedding, to live with her alone, to start a family, he wanted it all, and he wanted it now. To prove he only loved her, he suggested did they take out two life insurance policies, one in his name, and one in hers.

In Michelle's policy, Kent would be the sole beneficiary. In Kent's, Michelle would be the beneficiary. At first, Michelle didn't like the idea. But when she saw that Kent's life insurance was valued at $1 million, her expression changed. If Kent died, she would receive a million That showed he trusted her 100%. So maybe she let herself be swept away a little more. Unfortunately, what she didn't expect was for Kent to start making serious wedding plans, looking at dates, venues, dresses, budgets. And in April, without consulting her, he called his parents and told them they were getting married.

The LeBink family didn't know anything about this girl. They didn't even know Kent had a girlfriend, let alone that he had a girlfriend, let alone that he was getting married immediately. So they told him that on the 26th of that same month, they would fly to Alaska to meet Michelle. That's when the real case begins. 24 hours before the Lepinks arrive in Alaska, Michelle disappears. Kent looks for her everywhere, he asks John, the neighbors, John's son, everyone, but Michelle is nowhere to be found. So when his parents arrive on the 26th, he doesn't know what to tell them. He tells them about Michelle, where he met her, about Scott, about John and his son, and he casually mentions the life

insurance policy worth $1 million. That's when Kent's parents panic. A policy like that could cost their son his life. So after discussing it with him, they force him to change the beneficiary. They go to the insurance company, remove Michelle's name, and replace it with their own names, the fathers and the mothers. After that, they keep searching for Michelle, but sadly, they can't find her anywhere. So finally, on April 30th, the family says goodbye. Kent takes them to the airport. And once there, he hands them a letter detailing his entire story with Michelle,

how they met, where, who they lived with. His entire story is in that letter. At first, the Leppinks didn't understand why Kent would write all this, why he'd want to document his entire history. But two days later, specifically, on May 2nd, 1996, everything in that letter started to make sense. Because that's when police found Kent Lepping's lifeless body in the forest of Hope, Alaska. To be continued. On May 2nd, 1996, the entire letter seemed to make sense, because that was when the police

found the lifeless body of Kent Lepping in the forest of Hope, Alaska. As I mentioned earlier, Kent's death led the police to believe it was an execution. Kent did not take his own life, and it was definitely not an accident. First, he was shot in the back, then in the stomach, and finally finished off with a shot to the head. The motive for the crime was not robbery, because he still had his wallet, identification, money, and the life insurance document on him.

And if we consider the three bullet casings found at the scene, we know the murder weapon was a .44 caliber desert eagle. If the police could find that weapon, they would immediately find the killer. Everything seemed to point to the killer being his girlfriend, Michelle Hughes, a girl who didn't know that the life insurance beneficiary had been changed. If Kent died, Michelle was supposedly going to receive $1 million. So on Friday, May 3rd, the police went to her residence to find her. Once there, Michelle told a very different story about her relationship with Kent, one that was not at all what Kent's family had in mind.

According to Michelle, Kent was homosexual and they pretended to be together and engaged so his family wouldn't reject him. Additionally, she repeatedly stated that her real partner, her real fiancé, was Scott Hilk. The police, upon hearing this, were shocked, but they had no evidence against her. No murder weapon, no exact fingerprints at the crime scene, nothing. Plus, the life insurance policy had already changed beneficiaries. So they simply gathered all the information and left. But the next day, the Leppink family received a second-handwritten letter from Kent, a letter that, on the outside, said, open in case something happens to me.

This letter was sent by Kent on April 30th, the same day he took his parents to the airport and gave them the first letter. It's important to say that both letters were very different. The first one told the full story of his relationship with Michelle Hughes. The second one said that if anything happened to him, the blame would lie with John, Michelle, or Scott. Upon reading this, the Lepink family called the police and informed them. The officers once again went to Michelle's house to question her. That's when Michelle presented her alibi.

Let's remember that between April 25th and April 30th, Kent could not find Michelle anywhere. He asked John, his son, the neighbors, nobody had seen her. And the reason for this is that during those days, Michelle was not in Alaska, she was in California. Apparently, Scott wanted to get back together with Michelle and invited her to go with him to Lake Tahoe, a lake located between Nevada and California. Of course, Michelle couldn't say no to such a trip, so she packed her bags and left with him. From April 25th to approximately May 2nd, neither Scott nor Michelle could have killed Kent, because they simply weren't in Alaska. So the only person who could have committed the crime was none other than John Carlin 3. John was a hunter, so he likely had many weapons at home, and among them could have been a .44 caliber desert eagle.

Additionally, police discovered that at the time of the murder, John was indeed in Alaska. So on June 29, they decided to interrogate him. This man said a thousand things, he admitted being with Michelle, being a hunter, owning many weapons, but he flatly denied having a .44 desert eagle. So on July 19th, police searched his home to be sure. They confiscated computers, firearms, and some of Kent's belongings. In that search, they didn't find a desert eagle. But they did find a couple of really strange things. To begin with, Kent Lepping's car was parked right outside John's house. Now, the strange thing isn't that Kent's car was parked there. After all, they live together. The strange part is that inside the glove compartment was an

email that John had supposedly sent to Michelle, and that she responded to, printing it and writing on top of it. In that email, the couple talked about a getaway, a trip they wanted to take to the Seychelles Islands. Most importantly, it highlighted that if you went there and paid for a residence, you didn't need a criminal background check. You simply paid and had a house there. And having house there made it very difficult to extradite you. The second very important piece of evidence found that John's house was a gun case, one that seemed to match a desert eagle. It was the perfect size for that type of weapon, and it even had an eagle drawn on it. But the weapon itself was nowhere to be found. And a gun case alone didn't prove anything. Years passed, and the three alleged

suspects went their separate ways. John moved to Novi with his son. Scott stayed in California. And Michelle moved to Louisiana, where she earned a degree and a master's. In 1998, Michelle married a reputable doctor, Colin Linnehan, and together they brought a daughter into the world. Years continued to pass, and the Linnehan family moved to Olympia, Washington. Once there, they became one of the most respected families around. Michelle was considered an exceptional person, the perfect wife, the perfect homemaker,

the perfect mother. She was perfect at absolutely everything. But in 2004, someone decided to reopen a cold case, the case of Kent Lepping. It seemed like an obvious case, but without the murder weapon or witnesses, police couldn't do anything. That's when a homicide inspector realized a piece of the puzzle was missing. And that piece was John Carlin III's son. At the time of the crime, he was a minor, so he couldn't testify without his father's permission. And obviously, John wouldn't allow him to speak to the police. But by 2004, John Carlin 4 was an adult. So the police called him to testify.

And what he had to say left everyone in shock. According to him, after Kent Lepping's death, his father and Michelle had a strange meeting at the family home. John remembers coming down the stairs and seeing his father and Michelle with a dark gun, arguing about what to do with it. He also remembers that the house reeked of bleach. Now, this might seem like a small thing to some, but the fact that John saw a dark gun and the house smelled like bleach gave the police several clues. Because the Desert Eagle is black, and if bleach was used, it was likely that his father and Michelle had cleaned the gun

thoroughly. So, with this in mind, police got to work searching through newspapers from 1995 and 1996, looking for ads selling Desert Eagles. They searched for anyone who had sold a .44 caliber Desert Eagle between those years, and sure enough, in 1995, a man in Alaska had placed an ad to sell his Desert Eagle. The seller couldn't identify John Carlin III as the buyer, too many years had passed, and he no longer remembered the face. But he could identify the house, as he had personally delivered the weapon there. With this knowledge, in May 2005, the Alaska police traveled to Washington to interrogate Michelle. But once again, she didn't provide much information. So on September 28, 2006, after gathering

all the evidence, the Alaska grand jury issued two murder indictments, one against John Carlin three and another against Michelle Linehan. John turned himself in on October 2nd, and Michelle on the 4th. From there, both were held in custody until the spring of 2007, when the trial began. The first trial was against John. After presenting the alleged gun case, his son's testimony, the seller's testimony, and the email found in Kent's car, on April 3rd of that year, he was found guilty of first-degree murder. However, convicting Michelle would be more complicated. Unlike John, Michelle had an alibi, at the time of the murder, she wasn't in Alaska but at Lake Tahoe. A simple email about an island getaway didn't prove anything,

after all, she hadn't pulled the trigger. And the fact that Kent changed the beneficiary of his life insurance policy eliminated the financial motive. Given all this, the defense focused on presenting Michelle's current image. They wanted the jury to see that Michelle was now a housewife, had a degree, had a master's, was married to a doctor, and was raising a daughter. They wanted to show the jury that Michelle had changed, that she was a good person, and had nothing to do with the stripper she once was. The defense worked hard to uphold that image. So the prosecution, seeing their strategy, used it to their advantage.

They reminded the jury that the Michelle of today was not the Michelle of 1996. Back then, she seemed only interested in getting more and more money. To prove this, the prosecution called Laura Pettus, Michelle. Michelle's former coworker at the Great Alaskan. And it must be said, what this woman revealed left the jury in shock. Laura and Michelle had been friends for two years, from 1994 to 1996, and during that time they would watch movies weekly at John Carlin 3's house. But there was one movie Laura could never forget, The Last Seduction.

It was about a woman who married a doctor and convinced him to make an almost illegal drug deal, selling pharmaceutical cocaine. He earned $700,000 from the deal. Later, while he was in the shower, she stole the money and fled to a small town, where she met a young man in a bar. She could immediately tell he was naive, and ultimately convinced him to try to kill her husband for the insurance money. How did the movie end? The naive young man ended up in prison, and the woman walked away with all the money. And what was Michelle Linnehan's reaction to the film?

Laura said, she told me that woman was her hero, and that she wanted to be like her. As you can see, the prosecution worked hard to remind the jury that the old Michelle was manipulative and money hungry, and that being that way had shaped the person she had become. In 2008, John Carlin 3 was sentenced to 99 years in prison, and on April 2nd of that same year, Michelle was also sentenced to 99 years. According to the judge, she didn't pull the trigger, but she got John to do it. Still, don't think the case ended there. Michelle's lawyers fought to get her out of prison. And on February 5, 2010, the Alaska Court of Appeals overturned her conviction. Basically, two of the key pieces of evidence didn't hold up.

The first was Michelle's comment about the movie The Last Seduction, it didn't prove she planned a murder. The second was Kent's second letter, in which he accused Michelle of possibly hurting him, also insufficient. So, on December 13, 2011, a judge dismissed the charges against Michelle Linahan, and she was released. So now it's your turn, what do you think of the case? Do you believe Michelle is just as guilty as John? The end. Chris Perez, Salina's husband, made it abundantly clear what would come next. He revealed how Salina's father, Abraham Quintania, had strictly forbidden Yolanda Saldivar from getting anywhere near his daughter, even cry

while doing so. The situation had reached a boiling point, and the Keentania family knew they couldn't trust Yolanda anymore. They made the decision to transfer all the funds from the accounts Yolanda had access to, closing those accounts and consolidating the money into one. This was an attempt to safeguard themselves from any further issues with her. Unfortunately, by the time they acted, much of the money had already disappeared, and when they confronted Yolanda, she denied any involvement. On March 11, 1995, Selena, exhausted by the situation, picked up the phone and tearfully called Yolanda. She told her that she no longer wanted anything to do with her.

She demanded that Yolanda returned the bank paperwork, insurance documents, and everything that belonged to her. Selina was determined to take control of her finances and cut ties with Yolanda once and for all. This, however, was a tipping point for Yolanda. She became obsessed, feeling that without Selena in her life, everything would fall apart. Yolanda believed that if she lost Selina, her life had no meaning. In a moment of desperation, Yolanda went to a gun store and purchased a .38 caliber revolver. Her initial explanation was that she bought the gun for self-defense, and the store clerk seemed to think the same.

However, Yolanda later stated that she had purchased the weapon with the intent to end her own life. Regardless of her reasoning, this marked the beginning of Yolanda's dangerous fixation on Selena. Over the course of the next few weeks, Yolanda attempted to kill Selena multiple times. The first attempt occurred shortly after Selena returned to Texas from a concert in Miami. Yolanda contacted her and, pretending to apologize, asked if they could meet in a public parking lot so she could return the missing documents. Selena, trusting Yolanda once again, agreed to the meeting. However, when she arrived, Yolanda was not only holding the documents but also the revolver. Yolanda showed the gun to Salina as if it were a trophy, claiming she needed it for protection.

Selina was frightened and told Yolanda that if she ever needed help, she could call her instead of carrying a weapon. Yolanda appeared relieved by this reassurance, and Selena trusted her once again, believing that their relationship might return to normal. The next day, Yolanda returned the gun to the store. The second attempt took place shortly after this. Yolanda called Selena again, claiming that there were still some missing documents. She requested another meeting, and Selena, thinking everything was finally resolved, agreed. Yolanda, angered by the situation, went back to the store and bought the same revolver again. She hid it in the glove compartment of her car and arranged to meet Selena at a motel.

According to sources, Yolanda's plan was simple, she would shoot Selena, drive off, and escape. However, someone leaked information, and Selena, realizing the danger, arrived prepared, making sure she didn't fall into Yolanda's trap. The third attempt occurred on the morning of March 30, 1995. Yolanda told Selena that she had been raped by an unknown man in Monterey. Claiming to be seriously injured, she asked Selena for help. Selena, though skeptical of Yolanda's truthfulness, agreed to go with her husband, Chris, to check on Yolanda. However, once they arrived at the hotel, Selena noticed that Yolanda seemed perfectly fine, no injuries, no signs of distress. The meeting ended without incident, but Yolanda's fixation.

on Selena only deepened. Hours later, Yolanda called again, saying that she was still bleeding in needed help. Selina, exhausted from the lies and manipulations, told Yolanda that she could not go back and that she would take her to the hospital the next day if she was still in pain. This decision would be Selena's last. On March 31st, 1995, Selena got up, dressed, and headed out with Chris to meet Yolanda. They arrived at the days in hotel in Corpus Christi, Texas, where Yolanda was waiting. She was taken to the hospital, but no doctor could find any signs of the supposed rape

she had claimed. This was a tipping point for Selena. She had had enough of the lies and manipulations. She demanded the return of her documents and said she wanted to be rid of Yolanda for good. Once they were back in the hotel, a heated argument ensued. The altercation grew so intense that guests nearby called the front desk to complain about the noise. Then, everything changed.

A gunshot rang out, and there are two conflicting versions of what happened next. Yolanda's account is that she and Selena were arguing when she pulled out the revolver, intending to show it to Selena. She claimed that the gun went off by accident when Selena tried to run away. According to Yolanda, she rushed to help Selena but was unable to find her after leaving the hotel. However, a witness, a housekeeper, gave a different version of events. She described hearing loud arguments and a gunshot before seeing two women running outside the hotel. One, a young woman, was clearly injured, while the other, Yolanda, was following her with a gun. The housekeeper saw Yolanda briefly lower the weapon before going back inside with a towel, likely to cover the gun.

The witness account painted a much darker picture, suggesting that Yolanda had no intention of helping Selena, but rather was intent on harming her. The authorities found Selena, who had run 118 meters in search of help before collapsing in front of the hotel reception. She managed to repeatedly tell the manager, Ruben de Leon, that Yolanda was the one who shot her. Despite her critical condition, Salina was rushed to the hospital, but the damage to her artery was too severe. Selina Kintania was declared dead at 105 p.m. from blood loss and cardiac arrest. Yolanda Saldivar was eventually arrested, and her trial began on October 23, 1995. She argued that the shooting was accidental.

However, the prosecution pointed out that a point-through. 38 caliber revolver requires considerable pressure on the trigger to fire, making Yolanda's claim of an accidental discharge highly implausible. Moreover, as a nurse, Yolanda should have been aware of the severity of the injury she inflicted, yet she never called 911. Instead, she fled the scene in her vehicle, allegedly looking for Selena. After two hours of deliberation, the jury found Yolanda guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced her to life in prison with the possibility of parole after 30 years. This sentence was the maximum penalty. under Texas law, though Yolanda would spend those 30 years in solitary confinement due to threats from

Salinas fans. Many have vowed to seek vengeance on Yolanda, even if it means taking matters into their own hands. As of 2025, Yolanda Saldivar will be eligible for parole, but the question remains, will she ever be safe? Many believe she will never be free from the wrath of Salinas fans. The haunting question also lingers, could Selena's tragic death have been avoided? Would things have turned out differently if Yolanda had been stopped sooner? When she called me that day, her voice was barely a whisper. Mom, what would you say if I told you someone was trying to kill me? I was stunned, frozen.

I took a deep breath and asked her, Tammy, do you really think someone's trying to kill you? She answered with a simple, yes, and it chilled me to my bones. Tammy Lynn Leppert was the kind of girl who lit up a room. She was a magical person, as her family and friends would tell you. Always dressed to the nines, Tammy was lively and happy, ready for any adventure or party that came her way. But overnight, she changed completely, she became someone else, someone guarded, haunted by something terrifying.

After making a few strange phone calls, she disappeared without a trace. Born on February 25, 1965, in Rockledge, Florida, Tammy Lynn was one of two daughters to Linda Curtis, a former model who ran her own talent agency. From birth, Tammy's mother poured her unfulfilled dreams and ambitions into her daughter, hoping Tammy would achieve the stardom she herself had missed out on. Modeling, singing, acting, Tammy's mom envisioned her daughter as a future Hollywood icon. From the age of four, Tammy was already involved in casting calls and professional photo shoots. Beauty pageants were her playground, and by the time she was 16, she'd participated in

300 of them, taking home around 280 crowns. who knew Tammy said she was close to perfect, a blonde with bright eyes, charismatic, sweet, and always smiling. Even when she was feeling down, she'd never let anyone see it, if you were sad, she'd go out of her way to cheer you up. Every time we looked at her, we saw a star, a girl destined for greatness. If fate had been kind, she might have been a Hollywood sensation. She had her whole life ahead of her, a promising future. When Tammy turned 15, she decided to move away from commercials and pursue acting more seriously. She began auditioning for movie roles, and her big break came with a small part in the 1980 film Little Darling's.

Her next role, however, was more substantial. She was cast in Spring Break in 1983, a party film where Tammy bonded with her co-stars and had a great time off set, partying and living life to the fullest. But everything changed at a weekend party after filming rapped. Something happened there, something awful. Tammy saw something, something she should never have seen. She was so shaken by it that she bolted straight home, visibly rattled. Tammy's mother and her best friend, Wing Flanagan, were baffled, desperate to understand what was happening to her, but Tammy refused to open up.

She only told them that if she revealed what she knew, their lives could be in danger too. No report was filed, and Tammy was left to fend for herself. It seemed no one wanted to help her. Over the next two weeks, Tammy stayed hold up in her room, paranoid. and fearful. She wouldn't drink from an already open bottle or eat food anyone else had prepared. When the phone rang, she'd make others lie and say she wasn't home. If someone knocked, she would hide and refuse to answer. Then one day, she got a call that pulled her out of her isolation. It was from the team behind Scarface, offering her a role. Although she would

be playing a small part, this was her big chance to be in a high-profile film and to speak on camera. This opportunity could open so many doors, and it seemed too good to pass up. At first, Tammy wanted to decline, fearing that leaving her home might put her life in danger. But her mother encouraged her, saying this role could be her ticket to fame and that she couldn't let it slip by. The movie was being shot in Miami, which was about two hours from Rockledge. Tammy saw this distance as an insurmountable obstacle. She couldn't imagine being so far from her family and friends, her safety net. But her mom was her mom. was determined and arranged for Tammy to stay with a family friend, Walter Leibovitz, while

filming in Miami. Reluctantly, Tammy agreed to go. But the experience on the Scarface set only worsened her fragile state of mind. During filming, there was a shootout scene with simulated gunfire, blood, and staged deaths. Watching the scene playout sent Tammy into a spiral of terror, she started screaming uncontrollably, gripped by an intense anxiety attack. Medics had to intervene, but Tammy's reaction was so severe that she was sent home immediately. Back home, Tammy tried to regain control over her life. She went out with friends, took walks, and for a brief period, it seemed like she was returning to her old self.

But this was short-lived. One afternoon, while walking alone, Tammy felt someone following her. She ran all the way home, pounding on the door and calling out for her mother. When no one answered, she panicked, grabbing a baseball bat and breaking a window to get inside. She hid in her room, convinced a killer was on her trail. When her mother and her friend Keith Roberts arrived, they found Tammy in a hysterical state. She even lashed out, scratching, biting, and hitting Keith, unable to calm herself. At this point, Linda Curtis was desperate and out of options.

She took Tammy to a psychiatric hospital, where she stayed for a brief 72 hours. her strange behavior, the doctors didn't find any signs of alcohol or drug abuse, and mentally, she appeared stable. So, after the 72-hour observation period, Tammy was released on July 5, 1983. The following day, July 6, 1983, Keith Roberts invited Tammy for a drive to the beach, hoping the outing might lighten her mood. Tammy wasn't thrilled about it, but she eventually agreed, without her usual meticulous preparations.

She threw on whatever clothes she found, grabbed her purse, slipped into a pair of sandals, and headed out. There are two accounts of what happened that day, Keith's and her Aunt Ginger's. Keith claimed they were headed to Cocoa Beach, just 20 minutes away. But on the way, Tammy suddenly asked him to take her to Fort Lauderdale, over two hours away. Keith refused, and the two got into an argument. Tammy became increasingly agitated and demanded to be let out of the car, right in front

of the glass bank in Cocoa Beach. She left her shoes and purse in the car, stepping out barefoot, and Keith drove off, leaving her there alone. That was the last anyone saw of Tammy Lynn Leppert. Witnesses reported seeing Tammy walking barefoot in the July heat, making her way to a nearby gas station. Supposedly, she called her Aunt Ginger, leaving three increasingly frantic voicemails. She sounded terrified, almost as if she were running from something.

But Ginger wasn't home, and Tammy's messages were lost over time. A friend, Rick Adams, recalls Tammy saying she wanted to disappear to California the night before she vanished. Another witness, an anonymous woman, called the police twice, insisting Tammy had changed her name, studied nursing, and was building a new life, free from the pressures of her mother's ambitions. A second theory points fingers at Keith Roberts. Some people suspect that Tammy might have been pregnant with Keith's child and that he

wanted to silence her before anyone else found out. They think he took advantage of her fragile state and left her stranded or worse. But the evidence here is thin. Tammy did call her aunt after parting ways with Keith, and the police didn't find any real reason to suspect foul play on his part. Another disturbing theory suggests that Tammy fell victim to the infamous serial killer Christopher Wilder, known as the Beauty Queen Killer. Wilder's crimes reportedly began the year after Tammy disappeared, but his victims fit Tammy's profile. Wilder lured young women with promises of photo shoots, burning their trust before tragically ending their lives. Tammy's mother, Linda, mentioned once that Wilder looked familiar, though there's no proof he

and Tammy ever crossed paths. Another potential suspect was John Brennan Crutchley, another serial killer, in Florida who terrorized Brevard County, where Tammy vanished. He kidnapped, tortured, and killed women, earning a chilling reputation. But, just like with Wilder, there was no solid evidence linking him to Tammy's disappearance. Tammy Lynn Leopard's disappearance is a mystery that refuses to let go, a painful reminder of a young life cut short, a star whose light was extinguished far too soon. Once upon a time, in the late 1700s, something strange began to stir in the city of Guadalajara, Halisco, Mexico.

This was a time when famine and disease gripped the land. It was around 1785 or 1786, during what many would later call the year of hunger. The lack of rain meant the crops failed, leaving the people with nothing to eat. With no work in the fields, unemployment soared, and epidemics followed, claiming the lives of many. It said that over 2,300 people died in a short period, and the cemeteries became so overcrowded that there was no space left to bury the dead. This caused great concern, and it was then that a priest, Fré Antonio Alcalde I. Bariga, decided to act. In a bid to ease the crisis, he ordered the construction of a new cemetery adjacent to the San Miguel de Bullen Hospital. At first, this land had been used to bury the

poorest patients in a small cemetery known as the Campos Santo de la Convalescentia, but it was clear that more space was needed. The epidemics were relentless, and the number of bodies grew. In 1797, during a smallpox outbreak, the first common grave was created there. By 1833, a cholera epidemic had hit the city, prompting the creation of a second mass grave. The death toll continued to rise, and in 1850, another cholera outbreak led to the third mass grave. By 1843, 3rd, construction resumed under the direction of architect Manuel Gomez-Ibarra. Prices for burial plots were established, and the cemetery, now known as the Panteaanda Santa Paula, was divided between the wealthy and the poor.

The wealthy spared no expense, commissioning elaborate tombs from the finest sculptors and architects. They even hired, plenitoris, professional mourners, to weep at their funerals. The Pantyanda Santa Paula operated for 50 years, from 1846 to 1896, until it was closed due to the overwhelming number of graves and the risk of disease from the old, contaminated ground. On November 1st, 1896, the last burial took place, and the cemetery was shut down. Though the cemetery's official name was Santa Paula, it came to be more commonly known as the Panteon de Boulin, for several reasons. Some say it was because the hospital it was connected to was originally named San Miguel de Boulin. Others suggest it was due to its location on Boulin

Street, and some claim it was because the grounds had once been tended by the Belamite monks. Whatever the reason, what mattered most was the eerie atmosphere that surrounded the place and the mysterious stories that began to emerge. The 19th century saw the rise of Romanticism, a literary movement that was particularly drawn to dark and macab tales. As the movement gained popularity, it began to influence the legends that took root in the cemetery. One such tale was that of an enigmatic figure who arrived in Guadalajara during this time. Some say he came from England, others from Hungary, but most agreed that he went by the name of either

Don Pedro or Condé Balder. He was a strange man, antisocial, never attending parties, and always dressed in black. He only ventured out after nightfall, which made people whisper about his true nature. Some believed him to be a wizard or a demon, but it wasn't until the mysterious deaths of animals and young women that the rumors grew darker. Dozens of animals were found drained of blood, and soon after, young women, some poor, some noble, began to turn up dead, also drained of blood. The locals began to believe that Balder was a vampire, a creature from European folklore that fed on the blood of young women under the cover of night. In a panic, a group of townsmen set out to find the mysterious count. They searched high and low, his house,

the bars, even the homes of his neighbors, but he was nowhere to be found. Eventually, they tracked him down to the Panteon de Boulin, but it wasn't an ordinary discovery. The scene they stumbled upon was far from what they expected. Balder was found standing over the body of a woman, his back turned. When he turned around, the crowd saw something horrifying, his lips were covered in blood, and two long fangs were visible between them. Before Balder could flee, the crowd grabbed him and, in a frenzy, one of them grabbed a stick, sharpened it, and drove it through his heart, killing him instantly.

They buried him in a deep grave, to ensure he could never rise again. the story didn't end there. Over time, a strange tree began to grow from his grave, its roots reaching deep into the earth, as if trying to consume the vampire's tomb. The tree grew bigger and bigger, and soon rumors spread that faces could be seen in its branches, faces that resembled the women balder had killed. People also claimed that if you stabbed the tree, blood would pour from it. Though this was later debunked, the legend lived on. People feared that if the tree ever fell or died, the vampire would rise again, seeking vengeance on those who had condemned him. But this tale was just one of many that surrounded the Panteon de Boulin. Among these stories

was the one of Santiago, a young man who lived a hard life, working the fields to support his sickly mother after his father's death. Despite his struggles, Santiago dreamed of becoming a priest, dedicating his life to God. But when he fell ill and was diagnosed with cancer, there was no hope. With no cure available, his mother tried to comfort him, giving him a picture of his favorite saint. But Santiago became enraged, cursing God for abandoning him. The next day, Santiago was found dead, hanging from the tree next to his window, in the Panteon de Boulin. The story went that his soul was condemned to forever cast a shadow on the wall of the hospital where he had once stayed. To this day, it is said that even though the tree has been cut down, his shadow still appears on the old

hospital wall. As time passed, more strange occurrences and unexplained phenomena were tied to the cemetery. One of the most famous graves is that of Jose Castro, a doctor who died at 29. Known for his selflessness, Castro had helped the poor, offering free medical care. People say that even after his death, his spirit continues to aid the sick, and people still bring offerings to his grave, hoping for his help. Similarly, there are stories about the graves of a Scottish couple, Joseph Johnston and Jean Jong, who used their wealth to help the poor. People still visit their graves to ask for good fortune and work opportunities. But perhaps the most visited grave in the Panteon de Boulin is that of little Niceto, a boy born in 1881.

His parents were devastated when he died at the age of one. The boy was terrified of the dark, and his mother would leave a candle burning by his bedside each night to calm him. One stormy night, the wind blew out the candles and Nacito died of fright. After his burial, the grave began to experience strange occurrences. The boy's coffin would mysteriously be dug up and placed above ground, only to be buried again, time and time again. Eventually, his parents placed a special stone coffin with a crack in it so that sunlight would always shine on his grave.

To this day, people bring toys and offerings to Nichito's grave in hopes that he will grant them good luck. However, it is said that if anyone takes something from his grave, Nichito's spirit will chase them until they return it. There are many other stories of mysterious happenings, strange apparitions, and restless spirits that haunt the Panteon de Boulin. One such tale involves Victoriana Ertato, a woman who was forced to marry a much older man for the sake of her family's wealth. After her parents passed away, her husband and children grew greedy, squandering her fortune on vices. Victoriana, who suffered from a rare condition called catalepsy,

would often appear dead, only to revive moments later. Her family, tired of her condition, decided to bury her in a hurry. That night, the cemetery watchman heard loud knocks coming from her grave, followed by the sound of a bloodied hand holding a scroll with the words, everything for the poor, nothing for my children. The curse that followed would cause her greedy children to live out their days in poverty. The Panteon de Boulin is a place of deep mystery, filled with stories of the supernatural, where legends, rumors, and the past all intertwine. The spirits that rest there continue to inspire awe, fear, and fascination among those who dare to visit. Whether it's the restless souls of the departed or the eerie atmosphere that hangs over the grounds,

the cemetery remains one of the most haunted and legendary places in Guadalajara. Around 8 a.m., the phone started ringing, and when he picked it up, there was terrible news on the other end. Brenda was in the hospital. So without thinking, he grabbed the keys, got in the car, and tried to start the end. but when he did, Rob realized something very strange was happening to the car. Let's begin. Thanksgiving Day, 2001, was supposed to be very different. It was the first year, after a lifetime together, that Rob and Brenda weren't going to spend it as a couple.

Just a few weeks earlier, they had finalized their divorce, and as agreed, Rob would pick up the kids and leave. But then Brenda told him that the oven wasn't working and asked him to please take a look at it before leaving. with the children. However, when Rob stepped out of the car and entered the house, two men dressed in black with their faces covered open fire on them. One shot struck Brenda in the arm, and two hit Rob in the body, killing him instantly. Who could do such a thing? Did Rob have problems with anyone? Let's find out. This story begins with a very special girl, Brenda Evers, who was born on December 16, 1963, in Enid, Oklahoma. She was the second daughter of a Lutheran couple.

As she grew up, Brenda and her sister Kimberly participated in all kinds of activities, mostly related to church. Coming from a very religious family, faith was a crucial part of their lives. They dressed modestly, didn't drink or smoke, and always returned home punctually. Brenda, in particular, never did anything against her. her beliefs. She wasn't rebellious as a teenager, her grades were never poor, and, as one would expect, whenever the church doors were open, she was inside. But while Brenda appeared almost perfect in public, behind closed doors she was a completely different person. Like most people,

she enjoyed male attention. But unwilling to do certain things that would make her feel immoral, she limited herself to subtly flirting with boys, giving them hope, manipulating them, playing with their feelings, and practically had all of them wrapped around her finger. All the boys were crazy about her, she was beautiful, inaccessible, devoted to God, a real challenge. And Brenda loved it. But she wasn't going to pick just anyone. Her man had to share her convictions. Eventually, she found him.

Kim Bowling, Brenda's sister, introduced her to a guy who immediately caught her attention. His name was Rob Andrew, and his record was nearly as clean as hers. Both had been born and raised in Enid, Oklahoma. They went to the same school, the same church. Rob was everything Brenda was looking for. Almost instantly, the young couple began dating, and publicly their relationship was picture-perfect. Rob would bring her home before dark, he was chivalrous and respectful, and their relationship didn't affect Brenda's grades. For both sets of parents, it was an ideal match. After high school,

Rob decided to attend Oklahoma State University, and Brenda followed his lead. Once there, they continued thriving. He had excellent grades, and so did she. But that's when Brenda's family began to notice something, she was more concerned about Rob's success than her own. Sure, she still had good grades, still participated, still had drive, but she was more focused on Rob than on her future. Still, since it didn't seem to be negatively affecting her, the family overlooked it. Then came the shocking news, their younger daughter, Brenda, was not only about to graduate in a few months, but she was also going to marry Rob Andrew. With such a big decision on the table, Brenda promised she wouldn't abandon her career, that she would keep

looking forward, and that she was determined to become a successful woman. Everyone supported her decision, and the wedding took place. After graduating and getting married, the couple began to thrive. Rob landed a job at a successful advertising agency and started earning a lot of money. Brenda started working at a bank. The promises she had made to her family seemed to becoming true. However, in 1991, that successful woman radically changed the course of her life when she announced that she was pregnant. And although she loved her job, she had decided to leave it behind to dedicate herself entirely to raising her first child. Nine months later, Brenda Andrew gave birth to her first daughter, Tricity. For years later, she welcomed their second child, Parker.

Thanks to Rob's salary, the family went from living in a small house. house to a much larger one in one of Oklahoma's best suburbs, Landsbrook. That area was considered idyllic, paired homes, clean streets, polite and successful neighbors, parks, pools, a lake. That's when Brenda became the stereotypical American housewife, the perfect friend and neighbor, the understanding mother who never missed her son's games, who always had her kids looking impeccable. She also became a Sunday school teacher at North Point Baptist Church. But when When Brenda turned 30, her attitude began to change. She was still young and beautiful, but she no longer felt that way.

She thought her clothes were more suited for a 60-year-old than a woman in her 30s. So, she decided to update her wardrobe and adopt a more daring style. Anonymous sources, presumably friends of Brenda, say she began wearing shorter skirts, patterns, and brighter colors. She didn't wear revealing necklines or extremely short skirts, but for her, the change was radical. Some of her fellow churchgoers began to see her style as too provocative. Slowly, people started talking behind her back.

How could someone so proper wear short skirts? How could a mother dress like that? Those questions started to float around, questions that Brenda perceived as indirect attacks. And so, the community split into two groups. First, those who supported Brenda. She was understanding, devout, a great teacher. The children loved her, and she never missed a religious event. So no matter what she wore, they didn't care.

Then there was the more conservative group, the one that said Brenda was playing with fire, that she dressed provocatively, that she distracted the children, that she tempted the men. Until then, what people held against her was mostly baseless. They judged the morality of someone who had always been modest, reserved, and practically perfect. But then came a rumor, one that made half the congregation turn their backs on Brenda Andrew. People began to notice that she was getting along too well with another Sunday school teacher, 49-year-old James Pavott. People claimed to see them constantly together, too affectionate, exchanging glances.

The rumors eventually reached Rob Andrew. Naturally, Rob confronted Brenda, and she told him a story that made him feel sorry for the man. Apparently, James Pavett had just gone through a difficult divorce. His wife, Sukhwi, filed for divorce without giving him any explanation, and he didn't know how to cope with it. Brenda, wanting to help, offered him emotional support. She invited Rob to do the same, to call James, hang out with him, do things together. Rob agreed. He got James' phone number, and they began spending time together. They went fishing, hunting, attended church, they became inseparable. Weeks passed, and James, who also worked for an

insurance company, offered Rob a policy. As previously mentioned, Rob worked at an advertising agency and had steadily climbed the ranks to a very important position, one that brought immense stress. He often worried that he might die of a heart attack or in a car accident. So, he decided to take out a life insurance policy worth $1 million. If he died, all that money would go directly to his beloved wife, Brenda Andrew. And from here, things began to get complicated. To be continued. So, he decided to take out a life insurance policy worth $1 million.

If he died, all that money would go directly to his beloved wife, Brenda Andrew. And from here, things started to get complicated. Brenda was slowly approaching 40, and as happens to many people, she began experiencing a personal crisis. She questioned who she was, what she was doing with her life, and it all began to take a toll on the once happy marriage. Arguments started to arise, and by the end of September or early October 2001, the couple separated temporarily. Brenda wanted space, and Rob gave it to her. But then came October 26, 2001, and something extremely strange happened to Rob. Around 8 a.m., the phone started ringing, and when he picked it up, there was very

bad news on the other end. Brenda was in the hospital. Without hesitation, he grabbed his keys, got into the car, and tried to start the engine. But when he did, he realized something was wrong with the car. He turned off the engine, got out, and started pushing the car to a friend's house, a friend who was a mechanic. While there, between 915 and 9.30 a.m., Rob called the hospital asking for his wife. But the woman who answered told him there was no one admitted under the name Brenda Andrew. Rob insisted and asked using her maiden name, Brenda Evers, and again, the response was the same, his wife was not there. After the call, Rob asked him. asked his friend how the car was doing, and the friend told him he was convinced that someone had

tampered with the vehicle, the brakes had been cut. Had Rob started the car and driven to the hospital, he would have most likely been in a deadly accident. Terrified, Rob called the police and informed them of what had just happened. Then, almost immediately after, he called James and asked him to remove Brenda as the sole beneficiary of his life insurance policy. But James told him he couldn't, the paperwork had been filled out incorrectly, and now Brenda was the sole owner of the policy. Weeks passed, and Rob assumed the marriage was beyond saving. The more he tried to please Brenda, the more dissatisfied she seemed. Eventually, he gave up and signed the divorce papers. Brenda gained custody of the children, and Rob would see them on weekends and holidays.

At this point, many would think their lives were finally settling down. But under the Unfortunately, according to several sources, Brenda continued playing with Rob's emotions. Anytime something broke in the house, whenever she had a problem, the antenna wasn't working, a minor issue came up, Brenda would call Rob, and he would drop everything to go help her. The night of November 20, 2001, was one of those nights. Rob went to Brenda's house to pick up the children and spend Thanksgiving with them. Upon arrival, Brenda asked him to come inside. Apparently, the oven light wasn't working, and she asked him to take a look.

That's when chaos broke out. Rob entered the kitchen through the garage. While he was checking the oven, two men dressed in black entered and pointed guns at them. They demanded all the jewelry and money in the house. But Brenda and Rob moved too slowly, and the men opened fire. A bullet struck Brenda in the arm, and two hit Rob in the head and torso, killing him instantly. Seeing what they had done, the two men fled. Brenda ran to the bedroom and called 911.

When the police arrived, they couldn't believe what they were seeing. It was one of the safest neighborhoods in all of Oklahoma, and nothing like this had ever been reported. They immediately suspected a crime of passion, the attackers didn't steal anything and directly targeted Rob Andrew. But Brenda was visibly shaken. She was crying, and she was also injured, she had been shot in the arm.

Although the wound was superficial, it was still a gunshot. This is when the interrogations began. Neighbors only had good things to say about Brenda, that she was kind, pleasant, generous, a great mother. Her family said the same. But then came the rumors, rumors that Brenda was having an affair with James Pavett. That's when Pandora's box flew wide open. Investigators looked into this story and asked Rob,

friends whether he'd had any issues with James. Some said yes. They recounted how James had sold Rob a life insurance policy that named Brenda as the sole beneficiary. They also mentioned that not long after, someone had cut the brakes on Rob Andrew's car. To the police, the case was now clear, James pulled the trigger, and Brenda orchestrated the whole thing. So they decided to arrest both of them, on the day of Rob Andrew's funeral. But what happened? Neither Brenda, James, nor the children showed up to the funeral. That's when the police realized they have made a terrible mistake. Local and federal agents began searching for the pair across the United States, but there was no trace of them.

Unfortunately for them, on February 28, 2002, they made a mistake, and were arrested at the Mexican border. The charges filed against James Pavett and Brenda Andrew were first-degree murder, but each had very different motives. so two separate trials were conducted, one for James and another for Brenda. The trial against James Pavett began on August 25, 2003. Prosecutors brought his pass to light. First, it was revealed that James Pavett hadn't always been a Sunday school teacher, he was previously a sniper for the United States Army. He was highly trained with weapons and an excellent marksman. Second, his ex-wife, Suquy, testified at the trial. She said, we were married for nine years. We divorced on September 6, 2001. I know that if he loved someone, he would do anything for that person.

She also said that combat had completely changed James' personality and that, fearing for her safety, she had decided to divorce him. He wasn't the same gym I knew for nine years. He had been the kindest man while we were married. Something wasn't right with him. The third point came from a former army comrade, who said James had always seemed mentally unstable. He said, he was always talking about shooting dogs. Every time he saw a dog, he talked about shooting it. While revisiting his past, prosecutors also looked at the present.

First, there was Rob Andrews' police report claiming someone had tampered with the brakes on this car. that someone could very well have been James, the same person who had sold him a $1 million life insurance policy and wouldn't let him remove Brenda as the sole beneficiary. Then, there was the crime scene, it clearly involved a skilled shooter, and James fit the profile. The only issue. The murder weapon had not been found. That's when the defense argued that the idea of James killing Robb made no sense. The two were good friends, and only Brenda stood there.

to benefit. Moreover, if James really wanted to be with Brenda, he only had to wait a few more weeks for the divorce to be finalized. Despite these arguments, James Pavett was found guilty of first-degree murder and sentence to death. Then, on June 17, 2004, the second trial began, the state versus Brenda Andrew. This trial turned out to be very controversial because of the shocking revelations it uncovered. The defense claimed that up until that moment, moment, Brenda had been the perfect woman, a good mother, good housewife, good wife. But when she met James Pavett, everything changed. They suggested he was the one who changed her, that he made her into a different person. But then the prosecution presented witnesses and

showed that Brenda had always been just a facade. At the beginning of this story, it was mentioned that Brenda loved attention, that she flirted with boys and enjoyed being chased. Well, during her entire marriage to Rob Andrew, she had multiple lovers. The only one made public was James Pavett, because Brenda failed to hide it. The prosecution also presented the phone call Rob Andrew made, the one where he was told Brenda was in the hospital. According to them, this proved she already had a clear plan, to get rid of Rob and collect the life insurance money. She wanted to end the relationship but maintain the lifestyle. So she cut the breaks and fate the hospital emergency.

When that didn't work, she called James Pavett and they orchestrated the perfect plan, a fake robbery that ended in murder. If Rob died, she would inherit $1 million. But not only that, if James died, she would also receive $800,000, because apparently, he too had taken out a life insurance policy with Brenda as the sole beneficiary. The defense argued that this was all speculation. They insisted Brenda was a good mother and would never hurt Rob for the sake of her children. They said James had written a letter taking full responsibility for the crime, a letter addressed to Tricity, Brenda's daughter, in which he told the girl that he had killed Rob and that her mother was innocent. The third argument was that it made no sense for Brenda

to have planned the murder, since she too was injured. Unfortunately for Brenda, the prosecution had evidence that destroyed those arguments. First, they proved that James's letter was fake. Second, they said Brenda's injuries were self-inflicted. The first shot was fired from a specific location, and the second was from the spot Brenda had supposedly been standing. The wound in her arm could have resulted from recoil or a misfire she caused herself. Experts concluded that James shot Rob, but Brenda, not satisfied,

grabbed the gun and shot again, and afterward, hurt herself to complete the deception. On July 13th, 2004, after six hours of deliberation, the jury found Brenda Andrew guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced her to death. Now it's your turn. What do you think of the case? Do you believe Brenda Andrew really killed Rob? The end. Wherever Selena went, Yolanda was never far behind. It didn't matter where the trip was or how long she'd have to wait, Yolanda was always there.

She was like Selena's shadow, the husband. a friend who stood by her through thick and thin. Selina valued the support so much so that she came to see Yolanda as one of her best friends. In fact, she trusted her so deeply that in early 1994, she made Yolanda the director of her boutiques, and even her personal agent. This meant Yolanda had access to Selena's accounts, all of them. Selina Kintania Perez, widely known as the Queen of Tejano music, was one of the most influential Latin artists of the 1990s.

She sold over 35 million records, which made her the fourth best-selling Latina artist ever, just behind Gloria Estefan, Jennifer Lopez, and Shakira. Tragically, though, as her career was peaking, one bullet changed everything. That shot didn't just destroy her dreams and devastate her family, it also broke the hearts of millions of fans around the world. Selina was beloved, she had no enemies, so her death left everyone with questions. But Yolanda didn't flee the crime scene. When she was caught, the fury was immediate in global, she was the one who had pulled the trigger, the very person Selena had trusted most in recent years.

Selina was born on April 16, 1971, in Lake Jackson, Texas, as one of the daughters of Abraham Quintania and Marcella Paris. Even as a child, her parents recognized her incredible talent, she loved music and dancing. Abraham, who owned a restaurant, would take every opportunity to let Selena sing on stage, often with her siblings as backup. This was how the group Selina Y. Los Dinos was born. To some, it might have seemed like a fun family gig. But these kids had serious talent and quickly rose to popularity. In 1984, they released their debut album, Miss Primera's Grabations, My First Recordings, and their success only grew.

In 1989, EMI took notice and signed her. By the end of that year, Selena released her first single under her own name. She quickly became a superstar, dominating charts worldwide and earning many awards. In 1987, she won female vocalist of the year and performer of the year at the Tejano Music Awards, and in 1993, she won a Grammy for her album Live. Her career skyrocketed, and her personal life followed. In 1992, she secretly married Chris Perez, her band's lead guitarist. Despite her fame and fortune, Selena was humble, always keeping her feet on the ground.

She genuinely loved her fans and constantly looked for ways to give back. But with so many fans, she couldn't keep up with them all. In 1991, a woman named Yolanda Saldivar stepped forward, volunteering to run Selena's official fan club. Selena and her family, grateful for the gesture, readily agreed and welcomed Yolanda into their lives. Yolanda was born on September 19, 1960, in San Antonio, Texas, as the youngest of Frank and Juanita Saldivar's eight children. Her life couldn't have been more different from Salinas.

While Selena thrived in music, Yolanda struggled to find her place. Teased in school for her weight, Yolanda didn't have friends and was neither a good student nor particularly talented at anything. Finally, she found her calling in nursing. After studying at several institutions, she earned her degree in 1990 and found work at a hospital. For the first time, things seemed to go well for Yolanda. She even earned enough money to adopt three kids, including her niece. who was a huge Selena fan. According to Yolanda, Tejano music wasn't really her thing, but Selena was different.

Yolanda admired her so much that she wanted to start Selena's first fan club and become its president. But there are two sides to this story, the Quintanillas and Yolanda's. Abraham Keentania claims Yolanda was pushy, calling him repeatedly, up to a dozen times in one week, and even sending three letters, practically begging to lead the fan club. However, Yolanda asserts she only called three times and sent just one letter. Regardless, Yolanda's persistence paid off. Finally, on July 4, 1992, she officially took on the role of fan club president. Meeting Selena in person for the first time that December, Yolanda was thrilled.

From that moment on, she stuck close to Selena. She was loyal and supportive, always ready to help with anything Selena needed. So much so, in fact, that by early 1994, Salina trusted her enough to make her not only the director of her boutiques but also her personal agent. This arrangement granted Yolanda access to Selena's finances. Unfortunately, later that year, trouble began brewing at Selena's boutiques. Abraham, Selena's father and manager, started receiving complaints from boutique staff. Employees said they were overworked, with many having been let go without warning.

As Abraham looked into the matter, he discovered Yolanda had been firing employees without permission from either him or Selene. Despite Abraham's warnings, Selina dismissed his concerns. She believed Yolanda was merely a devoted fan who was doing what she thought best for the business. But by January 1995, the complaints had escalated. Staff, customers, and even Martin Gomez, Selena's costume designer, expressed concerns about Yolanda's erratic behavior. She was becoming increasingly difficult to work with, quick-tempered, and unable to separate her personal and professional life. Then came the final straw, fans were calling in droves to complain. They'd paid $22 each to join Selena's fan club, but many had received nothing in return,

not a signed poster, not even a newsletter. Their money had seemingly vanished, with nothing to show for it. Abraham investigated and discovered something shocking, Yolanda had not only fired employees without permission and disrespected customers and designers, but she'd also embezzled thousands of dollars from Selena's accounts. She had forged and cashed checks from the fan club and boutique funds, totaling around $30,000. Determined to put a stop to it, on March 9, 1994, Abraham, Selena, and Yolanda sat down to confront the issue. Yolanda denied everything. She claimed she hadn't signed any checks, hadn't

fired anyone, and insisted that the fans who complained were just seeking attention. But Abraham had heard enough. He wanted to fire her on the spot, but there was a problem, Yolanda had access to all the family's accounts and confidential documents. One wrong move could endanger Salinas' career. The Quintanillas were stuck in a delicate situation. They needed to cut Yolanda off from the finances, but they didn't want to risk her retaliating with sensitive information. They made the difficult decision to keep her at arm's length while they figured out how to regain control of their accounts. They all went to his house and did whatever they wanted.

Everything was allowed. You could do drugs in any corner. sleep with anyone you wanted, break the walls, break the chairs, the furniture, spit on the floor, touch anywhere, you could do whatever you could imagine because Pizzuzu allowed it. In that house, there was only one rule, and it was even written on the door, no gang members allowed. Anyone who dresses the same and wears the same insignia, those who claim to be the authority of a land they did not create and that they took over through terrorism, are not allowed to enter this land unless they are native. For this is their land.

This is the First Amendment of your false laws. Because of this, we see that you are guilty until proven innocent. If you can make laws, we can too. So be it. Everything that happened in the house was authorized by Pizzuzza's mother. She saw the drug use, the fights, the chaos, but this woman never said anything about it, supposedly because she was afraid of her son, something that, to some extent, few people believe. With a temple of debauchery and a terrifying appearance, Pizzuzu wanted to become a religious leader.

His greatest idol was Charles Manson, and just like him, he wanted to have his own cult, a cult inspired not only by the family but also by the ideas of Alistair Crowley and Anton Levy. He believed that by merging these ideas, he would become a great leader, a leader who would attract many people, both men and women. In fact, a large group of women gathered in that house, but among them, two stood out above the rest, Amber Burke, aka Babbles, and Crystal Madlock, whom he considered his fiancés. He wanted to be a trendsetter, to attract people, manipulate minds, and believed that, underscore, had made him invincible. Even so, he was very clear that if he was ever caught or anything happened, he would take

his own life, just like Kurt Cobain. From this point on, the proven crimes of Pizzur begin. The first crime involved a person who had always had a good life, Josh Wexler. According to loved ones, Josh was an incredible person who loved animals, nature. At 22, Josh met Stacey, and they quickly hit it off, started dating, got married, and in 2006, they bought a farm to raise horses for equine therapy. For several months, things went well. They paid the bills, had clients, but unfortunately, in 2008, the Great Recession hit.

This economic crisis caused the couple to stop paying bills. By 2007, they started having more and more problems, they couldn't make ends meet, weren't receiving payments, and in 2008, the bank took their farm. Just when this happened, Stacey discovered she was pregnant. But the tensions between them were so unbearable that they divorced. Stacey found a job at a nearby farm, but Josh wasn't so lucky and ended up living in a trailer. From there, he searched for work, at restaurants, warehouses, and farms, but no one, absolutely no one, would hire him. Desperate, he resorted to selling drugs, specifically hallucinogenic

mushrooms. This was a serious crime punishable by law, but Josh was so desperate that he didn't even think twice. In 2009, the police knocked on his door and took him to prison. From then on, with a criminal record, Josh couldn't get a job anywhere. No matter where he went, or who he asked, no one wanted him with that stain. So, in July 2009, he decided to turn to Pizzou-Algarat, a person closely connected to the drug world. Unfortunately, from there, no one ever saw Josh again. The last time Stacey spoke to Josh was on July 1st, 2009, and from then on, he never called or returned home. We don't know exactly what happened, but what is clear is that Pizzuzzi shot Josh inside the house, and after this, Pizzuzzo stored Josh's body and placed it in the basement

of the house, where he shot him several more times. The autopsy showed that Josh had three shots to the head and five to the torso. Days passed, and Pizzu told everyone that the there was a cadaver in his basement, a corpse that was slowly decomposing. He would always say things like that, about murders, kidnappings, but no one ever took him seriously. As much as he had probably stolen a couple of times, he had never killed anyone before, so everyone thought Pizzou was just joking. While everyone thought it was a lie, he, Amber Burke, Crystal Madlock, and several others dismembered Josh and buried him in the backyard. The night this supposedly happened, a girl named Tarina Billings called the police, saying her father had told her that he had buried

a man in Pizzouzu's backyard. The girl gave many details, but the officers ignored her, as well as the anonymous calls that came in over the following days. Among these calls was one for Matt Flowers, a guy who had been Pizzuzzi's best friend up until that point. He called Pizzou, brother, and Pizzou had a way of getting into your head, almost like manipulating you into doing dark things. Matt said on one occasion, Pezzuzu drugged him without warning and injected him with large doses of all kinds of hallucinogens. Terrified, Matt almost went to a hospital. For about a month, I thought I had gone crazy. I tried to check myself into a psychiatric center, but I didn't know at the time, but I knew I had to get out of there. This experience led Matt to join the army and fight in Iraq.

While he was away, he rebuilt himself, detoxed, moved on, and exchanged letters with his girlfriend at the time, Daisy, who was Amber Burke's best friend. When things got a little darker, Matt returned to the United States. Daisy told him that there were two bodies buried in Pizzuzzi's backyard. She said Amber had told her everything, and that Pizzou had lost his mind. So, Matt grabbed the phone and anonymously informed the police. But once he said, Once again, the officers ignored him. This is when many of you will feel a chill down your spine because, as I mentioned before, Pizzouzzi didn't just kill one person but two.

There were two bodies buried in his backyard. In October 2009, he and Amber Burke crossed paths with Tommy Wells. Tommy was apparently going to his brother's house, but the couple invited him to come with them to Pizzouz's house. Once there, Amber grabbed a rifle and shot him in the head. After this, Crystal helped Amber bury the body in the backyard. And once again, they spread the rumor that there were bodies in that house, telling everyone that there were dead people, that they had shot people,

and that they were going to kill more people. Once again, no one believed them. They thought it was a lie, a joke, especially when they started saying they had eaten human flesh from the bodies of their victims. Amid all this chaos, Menefius, a friend of Pizzers, completely drugged and drunk, told a girl everything that had happened, the murders, the names of the victims, and the exact locations where they were buried. The girl, without hesitation, grabbed her phone and recorded everything. There were several people that spoke up on the voice recording, but the main voice was

Nate. I started laughing and said, Is it true that Pizzou actually killed people? Nate looked at me and said, well yeah, like it was common knowledge. He said, yeah, he killed people, I I went to the sheriff's office with a voice recording and my personal knowledge of who was involved in the murders and told them what I knew. So, the girls showed the audio to Stacy, Josh's widow, and in February 2010, she went to the police station and reported that her husband was dead and buried in Pizzouza's backyard. It was then that the officers considered they had enough evidence to search Pazzo's house. They went in with dogs, gloves, flashlights, and all the equipment.

They saw the trash, syringes, feces, bloodstains, but they went to the backyard. There, supposedly, they didn't find anything. Maybe the strong smell prevented the dogs from detecting the bodies, but what didn't make sense was that they didn't see the disturbed piles of dirt in the backyard, two piles that clearly indicated there were two graves. It was evident that there were two bodies, but the officers completely ignored it. On June 7, 2010, a third crime took place. One of Pazuzu's favorite places to make sacrifices was the Yetkin River.

He would go there with his friends and sacrifice animals, decapitating rabbits, cats, and dogs. Afterward, he would drink their blood. However, one October morning in 2010, he decided the sacrifice had to be a different one. While heading to the river with Nicholas Paskerri, they crossed. paths with Joseph E.M.R. Chandler, a 35-year-old black man who had recently been declared legally blind. It's unclear whether the guys knew this man before or if they were friends, but what does seem important is that the three men, at one point, walked by the river until they stopped. Once they stopped, Nicholas took out a shotgun and shot Joseph in the head.

The gun didn't fire, so he left it on the ground, went to the car, grabbed a pistol, and returned to shoot Joseph again. This time, it was fatal. After an investigation, Nicholas and Pizzuzzi were arrested, but Forsyth County has a long history of racial crimes, and the population still considered black people a problem. So, the two men were not judged harshly. Nicholas claimed he killed Joseph in self-defense,

and he was convicted of involuntary manslaughter. Pizzou, supposedly not having shot, but being an accomplice, underwent a psychological evaluation. The evaluation determined that he suffered from agoraphobia, alcoholism, schizophrenia, had poor hygiene, high cholesterol, and thyroid problems. After this, he was prescribed treatment, and the police kept a close watch on him. Over the years, more and more reports piled up at the police station. There were more calls, complaints, rumors, legends, but the officers ignored it all.

No one went to his house, no one searched anything, no one checked anything. It wasn't until 2014 that they finally decided to search his house, and this only happened because Matt Flowers had to personally go to the police station and threaten the officers with taking justice into his own hands. After returning home, Matt approached Pizzou to find out what was going on, if he had killed someone, if he had gone crazy, and saw with his own eyes that someone who had been. who had once been his best friend had gone completely Matt. During a party at Pizzuzu's house, he asked Matt to kill a man. Matt obviously refused, and after arguing for a while,

Matt left the house. A few days later, he found out that Pizzou had been saying that at one of his parties, he had killed a military man, as a military man. This affected Matt deeply because exaggerating things, lying, fantasizing, was one thing, but doing it with those kinds of topics was a different matter. So, Matt decided to go to the police station personally and report it. He knew he had to go to the police, and he had to be arrested. I went there and told them everything I knew. I drew a diagram of where I thought the bodies were buried, and I told them, I'll give you a week, and if you don't do something, I'll handle it myself. This time, they finally found the two bodies. On October 5, 2014, Amber Burke, Crystal Madlock, and Pizzouzou Algarad were arrested and charged with murder and concealment.

Amber Burke pleaded guilty to shooting Tommy Wells, but she claimed she did it because of Stockholm syndrome, saying she did it to please Pizzou. However, she couldn't avoid a sentence of 30 to 40 years in prison. Madlock didn't kill anyone, but she did help bury the bodies, so in 2017, she was sent to to between 38 and 58 months in prison. Pizzou didn't have the same luck, as everything pointed to him receiving a life sentence. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to let the days end like that, not in an epic way, not in a memorable way, not in an impactful way. So, he made it clear to everyone that he would end his life like Kurt Cobain. The night before the trial, he took his life inside his cell.

The press said that he took his life by cutting his wrists with his teeth, which he had filed years earlier with a Dremel. However, according to the autopsy, this was not true. There were bite marks on his wrists, but these marks were from days before. What really killed him was a cut made with a sharp object on his artery, an object that was never found in his cell and wasn't recorded during the autopsy. So, two things point to this. The first is that there was someone in prison who agreed with his philosophy. someone who may have passed him a sharp object, an object that accidentally disappeared when the body was taken to the morgue. The second version says that Pizzuzu didn't take his life,

he was killed. The police were afraid of him, but not of his person, not of his magical powers or his evil. They feared what he might confess in court, because he had probably killed more people than the ones found in his backyard. They probably saw something in the police that they didn't want him to know. So, someone got into his cell and killed him to prevent him from speaking. Got a letter from you and one from Amber. I despise the human race. People are ugly and pointless creatures. I sit back and watch them, and they anger me.

I should get a medal for murdering these stupid. Maybe when I'm dead, the gods of chaos shall grant me the power. I mean, he just, he was so hurt and angry, you know. And so, how's your way when? But of course, now it's your turn. What do you think of the case, and what do you believe really happened in Pizzouz's cell? The end. On the morning of July 18, 1989, a man knocked on the door of Rebecca Schiffa, a young actress whose career was just beginning to take off.

She had spoken to this man before, he had knocked on her door previously, and they had a conversation. However, this time was different. The man came back, and when Rebecca opened the door, the conversation turned uncomfortable. Sensing something was off, she tried to politely ask him to leave. But the man wasn't just any stranger, he had something far more sinister in mind. He pulled out a gun and shot Rebecca twice in the chest, ending her life right there on the spot. But who was this man, and why did he commit such an atrocious act?

Let's take a closer look at the tragic story that led to Rebecca's untimely death and the events that spiraled into this horrifying crime. Rebecca Shifa was born on November 6, 1967, in Eugene, Oregon. She was the only child of Dana, a writer and instructor in Portland, and Benson Shifa, a child psychologist. Rebecca had what seemed like a perfect childhood, she was happy, studious, and deeply committed to her family and religion. At one point, she dreamed of becoming a rabbi, and she worked hard to achieve that goal.

She attended Lincoln High School, where her motivation to pursue religious studies was evident. However, during her sophomore year, she caught the attention of a talent scout. Rebecca was strikingly beautiful, with curly hair and tall stature for her age. It was clear that her path might not lead her to a religious life, but to something much more glamorous. She began modeling for major department stores and appearing in TV commercials. Soon, Rebecca found herself moving away from her initial dream of becoming a rabbi in towards the allure of the spotlight, enjoying photo shoots and fashion shows. Her parents, though initially hesitant, saw her passion and maturity. They supported her decision to follow

this new dream. So, in August 1984, when Rebecca suggested moving to New York to pursue modeling, her parents agreed. They believed she was responsible enough to take care of herself, and after all, it was only a temporary move. Once in New York, Rebecca worked with elite models management and found success. She was doing well and making many friends. It was clear she had a promising future, but her heart wasn't set solely on modeling. As her career progressed, Rebecca began to explore acting. At first, she attended professional children's school in New York, a place for young aspiring actors and models. It wasn't long before Rebecca started landing roles. Her first big break came in 1984 and she was cast in a minor role in the soap opera One Life to

live on ABC. Her performance was well received, and her role was expanded from a short guest appearance to a six-month run. After this success, her manager encouraged her to go to Japan to explore modeling opportunities. However, her time in Japan didn't go as planned. They told her she was too tall, her hair was too curly, and her eyes too large. Frustrated, Rebecca returned to New York to focus more on acting. Despite the setbacks, Rebecca didn't give up. She kept working hard, and in 1986, she appeared in radio days, a film by Woody Allen. Unfortunately, her screen time in the final cut was minimal, but it was a start. Her career seemed to stall for a while.

She couldn't find steady acting work, and the bills began to pile up. She was forced to take on jobs as a waitress while doing occasional photo shoots to make ends meet. It was during this time that her breakthrough came. A photo shoot for 17 magazine caught the attention of the producers of a TV series called My Sister Sam. Rebecca was cast in the role of Patty Russell, the younger sister in the series, and her character quickly became beloved by audiences. The first season of My Sister Sam was a hit, and Rebecca's popularity skyrocketed. She was flooded with fan mail, flowers, and gifts. Her manager had to step in to handle the overwhelming correspondence, and it wasn't long before she received some letters that were eerily obsessive.

Among her fans was John Bardo. John Bardot was born on January 2nd, 1970, in Taos, Arizona, the seventh child of a mixed heritage family. His father was a sub-officer in the U.S. Air Force, which meant the family moved frequently. By 1983, they had settled in Tucson, Arizona. John's early life was troubled, marked by violence and instability at home. His older brother physically abused him, and this led to severe emotional trauma. John was eventually placed in foster care, where he was diagnosed with bipolar, disorder, a condition that contributed to his increasingly obsessive and erratic behavior. At 13,

John became fixated on a young girl named Samantha Smith, a peace activist who gained international fame for her letter to Soviet leader Yuri Andropov. Although Samantha never responded to John's letters, his obsession grew. He even ran away from home, attempting to meet Samantha in person. He was intercepted before he could do anything harmful, but this marked the beginning of his dangerous obsession with celebrities. By the time John was 15, his behavior had escalated to the point where he was institutionalized. However, he later appeared to recover and began working at a jack-in-the-box restaurant. It was during this time that he became obsessed with Rebecca Shifa after watching my sister Sam. In his mind, Rebecca wasn't just a TV character,

she was someone he needed to be with. John started writing her letters, many of them every week. Eventually, he received a signed photo from Rebecca, one she had signed to show gratitude for her fans, though it was her manager who had actually handled the responses. To John, this signed photo was proof that Rebecca was in love with him. He believed it was a sign that she wanted to be with him, and this delusion only deepened his obsession. John then went to extreme lengths to obtain her personal information. At the time, it was easier than ever to find a celebrity's address, and John managed to track

down where Rebecca lived in New York City. On the morning of July 18, 1989, John showed up at Rebecca's apartment, dressed in yellow, and knocked on her door. He knew everything about her, her birthday, her family, her career, and her preferences. When she opened the door, he showed her the letter he had received, believing that it was a sign of a deep, mutual connection. But Rebecca wasn't having it. She kindly told him that she didn't know who he was and that he should leave. John's delusions were shattered, and he retreated to a nearby restaurant to collect his thoughts. He couldn't understand why Rebecca didn't feel the same way.

He had already convinced himself that she was his, and her polite dismissal angered him. He returned to his apartment, grabbed the gun he had illegally obtained, and set out for Rebecca's building once more. This time, when he knocked on her door, his actions were far from polite. Rebecca, perhaps realizing the seriousness of the situation, refused to engage with him any further. But John wasn't going to let her go so easily. In a fit of rage, he pulled out his gun and shot Rebecca twice in the chest. He fled the scene immediately, leaving her to die alone in her apartment.

Rebecca's death was tragic, and the police soon began investigating the case. Meanwhile, John's bizarre behavior continued. The next day, in a highly erratic state, he was found wandering the streets of Tucson, carrying a copy of The Catcher in the Rye, a book that has been linked to several famous crimes. He was arrested for disturbing the peace, but authorities soon discovered that he had known to disturbing details about Rebecca's murder, details that only the killer could have known. His obsession with her had driven him to commit the unimaginable. John was arrested and, after a trial, was convicted of first-degree murder.

He was sentenced to life in prison. In the years following Rebecca's death, laws were passed to protect the privacy of public figures, including a law in California that prohibited the release of personal addresses. The tragedy also led to the creation of the first law enforcement unit dedicated to managing threats against celebrities. The case remains one of the most chilling examples of obsession taken to an extreme. John Bardo's delusions and violent actions ended the life of a promising actress who had only just begun to shine in her career. The question remains, could anything have been done to prevent this tragedy? Would better protection for celebrities have saved

Rebecca, or was it a case of a disturbed individual whose obsession could never be stopped? What do you think? Could this tragedy have been avoided, or was it simply the result of a man whose mind was too far gone. James and William were two men whose fates became entangled in one of the most bizarre and unsolvable cases anyone had ever heard of. At first glance, they seemed like any ordinary people, but the story that unfolded between them was far from ordinary. Now, you might be wondering, what exactly were these two up to? Where was James heading that fateful day? And why was William acting so erratically? Let's start with James. That day, James was on his way to the police station. His mission? To report William for murder. Yes, you read that

right, murder. But, plot twist, William had the exact same plan. He was heading to the station to accuse James of the same crime. Imagine the scene, James, calm as a monk, walks into the station, his face a picture of serenity. He tells the police that William is nothing short of a monster. He calls him cruel, heartless, and, of course, a murderer. William, on the the other hand, is the polar opposite. He's frantic, sweating bullets, pacing around like a madman. His first stop isn't even the police station, it's the doctor's house. But when he gets there, the doctor's wife informs him that her husband is in Edinburgh

and will be back shortly. She kindly invites William in to wait, but patience isn't exactly his strong suit. Instead, he bolts to the train station to pick up the doctor himself. On the way, he swings by the police station to file his report. He's quick to point fingers at James, insisting he's the culprit. He explains that his sister, Janet, isn't responding, and something terrible must have happened. A police officer accompanies William to the station, and together with the doctor, they head back to the farmhouse.

By now, the drama is in full swing. At the farmhouse, the investigation begins, with two distinct groups forming. One group comprises James and the officer who came with him, while the other consists of William, the doctor, and a second officer. They combed through the house, meticulously examining every corner. The scene they find is beyond gruesome. In the middle of the room lies Janet's body, sprawled on her back. Blood is everywhere.

The place is a mess, and yet, within the chaos, clues abound. Under the mattress, they find a broken pipe engraved with the initials, G.A. Canaan. In the fireplace, there's a small pot containing a boiled egg, and next to it, propped against the wall, is a bloodied axe with strands of hair that appear to belong to Janet. The evidence paints a horrifying picture, Janet was beaten with fists, struck with the axe, and her skull was completely shattered. As if that wasn't enough, the killer removed her boots and left them neatly by the fireplace. To the police, this suggested that the murderer had taken their time, almost savoring the act. They'd broken in, killed Janet, removed her boots, smoked a pipe, and cooked an egg, completely unbothered.

The police then searched the entire house to see if anything else was amiss. Williams' room was in shambles. The bed was unmade, drawers were overturned, and it was clear someone had been rifling through his belongings. Oddly, what was taken didn't make much sense. A small box containing a single pound, some clothing, and a silver watch of little value were missing. To the police, this robbery felt staged, a poor attempt to divert attention. By 9 a.m., Sheriff Barkley arrived at the property with another prosecutor and an order for the doctor to examine Janet's body. Her corpse was already stiff by the time they moved it to a table for inspection.

The doctor confirmed what everyone feared, Janet had been brutally assaulted. Her arms, chest, and face were covered in injuries, and her skull was completely destroyed. Based on the state of her body, the doctor estimated her time of death to be between 2 o'clock and 3 p.m. on Friday. This timeline immediately ruled William out as a suspect, as he had multiple witnesses placing him in town at that time. Another curious detail. The kitchen key was missing, suggesting the killer had taken it with them. The police began questioning neighbors and locals. One name kept coming up, Betsy Riley, a traveling saleswoman.

Betsy was quickly tracked down and interrogated. She admitted to being near the farmhouse that morning but said she didn't go inside because she saw William and assumed the place was empty. However, she claimed to have seen Janet standing at the kitchen door, talking to a man. From a distance, she described the man as short, about five feet tall, wearing a dark coat, dirty trousers, and a leather-brimmed cap. For someone who claimed to be far away, her description was impressively detailed. Naturally, the police took her story seriously.

As days passed, the case only grew stranger. On Sunday, April 1st, William experienced something that sent shivers down his spine. He and his brother-in-law were cleaning the house when they decided to take a break and head to town. Upon their return, they heard noises coming from the servant's quarters. Quietly, William approached the room, flung the door open, and found none other than Christina Miller rummaging through the mattress. Startled, he demanded to know what she was doing. Without saying a word, Christina bolted, leaving the house in a hurry.

William reported the incident to the police, but they seemed uninterested. It was as if Christina didn't matter, as if her presence there held no significance. Meanwhile, the newspapers had a field day with the case. Every day, new headlines screamed about that mysterious farmhouse murder. Speculation ran wild, and public interest soared when the police offered a reward of 100 pounds for any useful information. The reward sent the public into a frenzy. People flooded the police with tips, gossip, and accusations.

Yet, none of the leads proved solid. The investigation seemed to hit a dead end until Monday, April 16th, when the police arrested a man they were convinced was the killer. His name was John Henderson, a recently released convict with a history of violent robbery. He fit Betsy's description, and when the police searched him, they found a pawn ticket for one pound, the same amount stolen from the farmhouse. When questioned, John claimed the ticket was for old clothes he'd pawned, insisting the money was legitimately earned. However, since clothing was also missing from the farmhouse, his story seemed suspicious. Betsy was brought in to identify him, but by then,

it was nighttime, and visibility was poor. The police lit candles to help her see, but she claimed she couldn't be certain. She promised to return the next morning for a clearer look. The following day, Betsy examined John Henderson again. This time, she confidently declared, congratulations, you've found the murderer. But things weren't that simple. John had an airtight alibi. He was in Edinburgh on the day of the murder, surrounded by witnesses who confirmed his whereabouts.

Additionally, the police discovered that Betsy was struggling financially, and the reward money would have been a huge incentive for her to point fingers. Back to square one, the police revisited every piece of evidence and every testimony. Suspicion began to circle James. William had insisted that the pipe found that the scene wasn't his. He didn't smoke, and this was corroborated by everyone who knew him. James, on the other hand, claimed he didn't smoke either, but neighbors contradicted this, saying James often smoked a pipe.

Furthermore, on the day of the murder, several people noticed James changing his clothes twice, once in the morning and again in the evening. The broken pipe became a key piece of evidence. The police took it to a local craftsman who confirmed he'd made it. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember who he'd sold it to, but he noted that the pipe had been used only a few times before being broken with significant force. The more the police learned about James, the more questions arose. Adding fuel to the fire, Christina Miller re-entered the picture.

When questioned, she revealed shocking details about James. According to her, James had a habit of smoking pipes, and just days before the murder, his pipe had broken, forcing him to buy a new one. Christina also claimed that William had been harassing her, making unwanted advances, and that James had defended her. In fact, she and James had become close friends, much to William's dismay. She also alleged that James had confided in his wife. wife, admitting to the murder. This revelation seemed to be the breakthrough the police needed.

On December 15, James was arrested and formally charged with Janet's murder. If convicted, he faced the gallows. The trial was set for April, and in the meantime, Christina, the star witness, was placed under police protection after they discovered she was planning to flee to America with her new boyfriend. When the trial began, it was a spectacle. Witness after witness testified against James, painting him as a guilty man. Then, Christina took the stand. The defense wasted no time discrediting her, pointing out her questionable character. They argued that she was a woman of low morals, reminding the jury of her flirtations with both William and James. They even brought up an incident where she allegedly spent the night in a barn with a stranger. The defense suggested

that this unknown man could very well be the killer. After all, Betsy had seen Janet speaking with a strange man at the kitchen door on the day of the murder. The jury deliberated, and in the end, they found James not guilty. He was set free, but the case remained unsolved. No one ever truly determined the motive behind Janet's murder. Why her? Why that farmhouse? And why such a staged, meaningless robbery? To this day, theories abound. Some believe James was the killer, manipulated by Christina. Others think Christina herself was the mastermind, driven by Gellie possibly believing Janet was William's lover rather than his sister. The truth, however, remains a mystery. Now it's your turn. What do you think happened? Who do you believe killed Janet

Rogers? It was coming. I didn't know when it was coming, but I knew. I always said that one day, the house would be wrapped in yellow tape. Let's begin this story. It's really complicated and very confusing to understand the events, but we must go to the past, specifically to Forsythe County, North Carolina. After the American Civil War, black slaves in the South were emancipated and granted citizenship. However, although this sounded good, it was not welcomed by many people. The rate of lynchings of black people by white people, especially in the South, reached very high levels in the 19th century, and reports of lynchings began to be regularly published in newspapers. The news always defended the whites, implying that they were merely defending themselves from the crimes of the black people, accusing them of theft, causing disturbances, being aggressive, problematic, and especially of overstepping with white women.

In the early 20th century, things didn't improve, and as we saw in the case of Rosa Parks, the situation became unbearable. In the 1910 census of Forsyth County, it was estimated that there were approximately 10,000 white people compared to 858 black people and 440 mulattoes. I'm saying it like this, though it sounds harsh, because that's how it appeared in the documents, and these numbers made many white people uncomfortable. It is in this context that the so-called Forsyth County racial conflict of 1912 occurred. In September of that year, two attacks on white women were reportedly purported. perpetrated by black men. The first event took place on September 5, 1912, when a woman named Aaron Rice, who was married, reported that a black man had assaulted her. No evidence was sought, no witnesses were gathered, they simply arrested the man and judged him. The entire county turned

against him, demanding his death and threatening to lynch him. Due to the pressure, the man confessed to everything while in jail. In fact, there were rumors that Aaron Rice was having an affair with the man, and to avoid the scandal, she reported him for assault. A black preacher named G. R. Smith, during a barbecue, mentioned this and said what everyone was thinking. For simply speaking out, a group of white people beat him. So, as you can imagine, the story didn't end well. The second event occurred on September 9, 1912. On that day, an 18-year-old white girl named Slay May Crow was dragged into the woods, allegedly by Ernest Knox, a 16-year-old black boy.

Ernest dragged May into the woods, and once there, he struck her in the head three times with a rock. He then went to meet some friends and told them what had happened. Unfortunately, the next morning, a search party found May's body, along with a small mirror that belonged to Ernest. They no longer wanted more evidence or witnesses, just the mirror. and that was enough. They arrested not only Ernest but also several of his friends, Oscar Daniel, Jane Daniel, and Rope Edward. All of them were accused of being accomplices. The most shocking part is that Ernest Knox and Oscar Daniel were accused of assaulting May

Crow, and both were sentenced to death by hanging. There was no evidence against them, no reliable witnesses, absolutely nothing, but for the whites, the mere fact of being black made you guilty. The execution was supposed to be private, with only the parents, the judges, and the jury present. However, an angry mob tore down the fences and took over the area of the hanging. It was never truly verified if these crimes and the ones involving L&GRY were committed by black people, but none of that seemed to matter. As a result of all this, the so-called night riders were created, groups of white people who went to black people's homes and told them that if they didn't leave Forsyth County within 24 hours, they would be killed.

They shot into the air, beat people, and as a result, 98% of the black population in Forsythe County disappeared. The whites quickly occupied the houses that the black people had left behind, not only their homes but also their jobs, their streets, everything that had once belonged to the black people now belonged to the whites. Over time, the entire county became very conservative, a group of conservative Catholics who followed biblical precepts to the letter and did everything possible to maintain a perfect image. They believed in God, in the devil, in good and evil, and anyone who didn't follow their rules was not worthy of being among them. Now, knowing the context, it's time to meet the true Pizzou. John Alexander Lawson was born on August 12,

in San Francisco, California, the only child of Cynthia and Timothy Lawson. From here, things get a little confusing. When John turned two years old, his parents moved to the town of Clemens, located in Forsyth County. As I mentioned earlier, Forsyth was a very conservative county, where people were all about appearances, and if someone stood out or was even a little different, they were automatically condemned to ostracism. That's exactly what happened to John. According to Carmen, the nanny he had between the ages of six and nine, John was a very good child but very sad. He liked vampires, weirwolves, horror movies, and he was such a special child that others began to mock him.

They laughed at his appearance, his way of being, and especially his smell, claiming that John smelled like human feces. However, his main problem wasn't outside the house but inside it. At the age of five, his father left them, and his mother, completely desperate, fell into alcoholism. She became uncontrollable and barely paid attention to her son. She would leave him alone for long periods while she went drinking and meeting men. In 1990, when John was 12 years old, his parents finally divorced. From then on, life became more and more unbearable for John. He began drinking, hanging out with bad company, using drugs.

and coming into contact with the darker side of society, misfits, social outcasts, older people, people with problems, and homeless people. Bullying went from bad to worse, and in 1998, Cynthia married a man named John Larry James, a man whom she forced her son to call dad. Obviously, John hated this idea, and things got worse when Cynthia decided to move to 2749, he'll drive in Winston-Salem. John hated his stepfather, the new house, the new surroundings, he hated everything, and slowly, he became uncontrollable and irritable. So, Cynthia sent him to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and once there, he was diagnosed with various disorders, agoraphobia and schizophrenia.

For a while, John calmed down, took pills, went to therapy, and had a routine. But at some point, Cynthia couldn't afford the treatment anymore. So, John returned to being the person he once was, without medication or medical follow-up. John Alexander Lawson, now Pizzou Algarad, started to think that if people didn't want him or accept him as he was, the best thing he could do was to make them fear him. So, little by little, he began to change. This is when the terrible September 11th, 2001 attacks occurred, and the Twin Towers were hit by a devastating attack.

As a result, 2,996 people lost their lives. The racial tensions resurfaced, and John decided that he had to capitalize on it. He decided to take the fears of the people of Winston-Salem and merge them into himself. People were afraid of the Islamic State, and they were also afraid of Satan. So, in 2002, at the age of 24, he went to the civil registry and legally changed his name to Pizzou-Algarat. I will now explain why he chose this name. First, we have Pizzou. Pizzuzziu is the name of a Sumerian god considered a demon by the Catholic Church.

For Catholics, he is the king of the demons of the wind, and his power is terrible. John had always been a fan of horror movies, and one of his favorites was The Exorcist, and coincidentally, the demon in that movie was Pizzu. So, he likely chose this name to invoke that demon. Additionally, by taking the name of a demon, he believed he was gaining its strength, and therefore, he himself would become one of them. Next, we have the name Algarab. The media is unclear on the exact meaning, the origin, or why he chose it.

Some say it was to allude to his supposed Arabic and Greek heritage, while others say it is a purely Arabic surname. A few suggest that it is a combination of demon names, specifically Agars and Asero. Agars causes earthquakes, teaches languages, and delights in immoral and impure actions. Acero, among many other things, has the ability to alter and manipulate the fate of people. With a different name, Pizzuzu had to be someone physically different from who he once was, so he got dreadlocks, filed his teeth with a Dremel tool, tattooed his body and face, and had surgery to make his tongue bifit.

From this point on, his life changed completely. He began showering only once a year, brushing his teeth once a month, and turned his house into a temple of debauchery. Pizzuzzi started spreading rumors and lies about himself. He said that he sacrificed animals in his honor, drank their blood, organized rituals, sold drugs, and began claiming he was sacrificing humans, killing people, homeless people, prostitutes. While he would later commit some crimes, it was never proven that the previous ones, those

involving legends and rumors, were true. Pizzuzu was the king of his house. He could do whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, and however he wanted. So, he decided to turn his home into a temple for all those people who didn't fit in Winston-Salem, social outcasts, unemployed people, drug addicts, homeless people, rebellious boys and girls. All of them went to his house, and they did whatever they wanted. Everything was allowed. You could use drugs in any corner, sleep with anyone you wanted, break the walls, break the chairs, spit on the floor, mess up anything, you could do whatever you could imagine because Pizzuzu allowed it.

To be continued. You know, maybe it's me taking the lazy way out, but I want to put religion aside and just want to think that it's more important about how you are as a person while you're here, which is going to matter more as to where you end up when you go on the other side. Don't panic, okay. Don't panic, please, breathe deeply, and let's start. We begin on September 22, 2015. The Nevada police received a chilling call. A woman called 911 saying that a terrible crime had happened at her house. She shared the house with two people, a man and a woman.

Upon entering, she found a dead man on the floor and a woman gone. The whole house was turned upside down, with furniture moved. pictures on the floor, broken objects. Seeing this, she called her missing roommate again and again, but her phone was off. The police quickly assumed that the woman who was not in the house had killed the man, that they had fought, and she had killed him and fled. So they quickly tracked her phone and realized it was at her daughter's house, a daughter who had been reported by her weeks before for attempting to kidnap her. Sounds twisted, right? Well, next, you'll hear the full story. Deborah Angelo, better known as Day, was born on October 17, 1962, in New Jersey, United States, specifically in a broken family.

Her father was an alcoholic and very violent, and her mother was so scared that she couldn't escape. So, little Deborah grew up in a very unhealthy environment. Fights, screams, and beatings were constant in her life. But the most interesting part of all this is that at some point, her parents, who had very little money, ended up living in a small house next to a cemetery. For many people, this idea made their hair stand on end. Waking up every morning, opening the windows, and seeing all the graves is not everyone's idea of a pleasant start to the day. But the Angeli family had two options, live on the street

or in that house, and they obviously chose the latter. When Deborah was five or six years old, she began experiencing paranormal events. Every night, when she would get into bed, her room would change completely. The temperature would drop drastically, and strange whispers would make their presence known. She would see shadows, strange misty shapes, and out of nowhere, she would start hearing voices. For a long time, she tried to tell her parents, but neither of them believed her. They thought she was trying to get attention, that she was crazy, that she was delusional. But as time passed, they started to realize that the girl wasn't lying.

Objects started falling, disappearing, and breaking on their own. Doors slammed shut, and strange shadows appeared in the hallways. Inevitably, they began to believe the little girl. At first, this gift terrified her, but at some point, she felt more comfortable with the dead than with the living. She inevitably began to deeply love the paranormal world. As she grew older, she enjoyed it more and more. She visited haunted cemeteries and abandoned buildings, doing everything she could to feel

presences, to sense them, to see them, to hear them. She truly began to believe that there was something more after life. Unfortunately, parapsychology wasn't a job, so she had to look for work in various places. She worked in stores, warehouses, and at the age of 22, she started working at a bar called Churchill's. One night, while working there, she met a man named Mark Anthony Constantino, and she instantly fell in love with him. Mark was born on January 30, 1962, and was one of eight children in a Catholic marriage. Unlike Debbie, he had a very happy childhood. He went to church on Sundays, prayed every day, got good grades, and according to his loved ones, he was very

generous and a very good person. He didn't drink or smoke. He was practically a perfect man. So Debbie couldn't avoid falling in love with him, but being very religious, he didn't believe in ghosts, witches, apparitions, or EVP, electronic voice phenomena. He didn't believe in any of that. But Debbie opened the doors to a whole new world for him. She told him about monologny, raps, poltergeist levels, and Mark was fascinated. But what really caught his attention was the fact that his new girlfriend was sensitive to these phenomena. So, together, they decided to investigate paranormal phenomena. When you entered their door, you could feel the love in the living room, and everything in that room said it all because two people met and fell in love, according to statements

from Jan in 1989. Debbie and Mark got married and immediately moved to Northern Nevada. After that, in 1992, they brought their first daughter into the world, Raquel Constantino, better known as Rocky. For many years, parapsychology was their great hobby. They investigated haunted places and poltergeist phenomena, but unfortunately, it wasn't a paid job, so they had to keep their old jobs. However, they combined their regular work with their investigations and giving conferences, conferences about ghosts, manifestations, demons, and especially their EVP phenomenon,

popularly known as psychophony. For those who don't know, psychophony is a phenomenon of voice recordings that can be captured on recorders in the midst of silence, in the middle of a conversation, or even while trying to tune a radio. In fact, there's a device that constantly changes radio frequencies to capture electronic voice phenomena, and this is the spirit box. The Spirit Box was created in 2002 by Frank Samson, and it should be noted that it was not originally created to capture ghosts, but rather the voices of aliens. Supposedly, Frank wanted to contact extraterrestrials, speak to them, send messages, and receive them. But the Spirit Box didn't work as he expected.

It contacted people who knew things about him that no one else knew, his past, present, and best-kept secrets. So, he immediately assumed he had created a device to speak with the dead. Returning to the topic of EVP, like poltergeists, there are several levels, and depending on the source consulted, there are three or four levels. The first level is Class A voice phenomena. Class A phenomena are the most complicated to obtain. These are clear voices that speak directly, interact with each other, and in many cases, respond to

you. The second level is Class B phenomena. This phenomenon is somewhat more common, where there are voices, but you don't know what they are saying. You can't understand who they are speaking to, how many they are, or what their communication means. The third level is Class C, and this is one of the most common. Here, you capture sounds, but you don't know what they are. You know the sound is not normal, that it shouldn't be there, but you don't know if it's a message, if it has intent. or if there's any awareness behind it.

And finally, we have the fourth phenomenon, the Class D or Garbage Sound. This is so confusing that it is considered useless noise. These sounds are so irrelevant that they can't be included in serious investigations, and many authors grouped them with Class C phenomena. Mark and Debbie were experts in this field. They were experts in the EVP phenomenon, capturing all types of psychophonies. They interacted with spirits, did truly impactful things, and fans of the paranormal world slowly fell in love with their work. To be continued. Many authors combine it with Class C phenomenon.

Mark and Debbie were experts in this, experts in the EVP phenomenon, capturing all types of psychophonies. They interacted with spirits and did truly impactful things, and fans of the paranormal world slowly fell in love with their work. Having a gift, Debbie had an advantage. Mark and she would enter a haunted place, and immediately, she could determine which areas were the most active. She would feel the temperature change, since the presences, see shadows, and when she pointed them out, Mark would turn on the equipment. The couple investigated everything you could imagine, haunted places,

music boxes, mirrors, possessed dolls. At one point, they decided to show the world the truth about their work. In 2007, they decided to create their own blog, SpiritSpeb.com. But don't think this blog was just for telling what they did with the Spirit Box, Melms, and all of that. It was for doing live streams while they investigated. They wanted to prove to the world that parapsychology was real and that there were people who truly had a gift. Thanks to this, they became very, very well known. Their blog brought them fame and profits, and they soon left their job.

to dedicate themselves fully to their great passion. They appeared on programs like Dead Famous, Paranormal State, and eventually became recurring characters on the show Ghost Adventures, or Ghost Seekers. In this last show, the couple appeared in many seasons. In fact, while working on this show, they became great friends with the entire team, especially with Zach Bagan's and Nick Groff. They usually spend a couple of hours in a haunted place at night, connecting the equipment, and waiting for something to happen. But as ghost seekers, the challenge was to spend an entire

night locked in a supposedly active place. This was exhausting and pushed you to your limit if that place was really haunted. They were the ones who worked with them. The Constantinos were the perfect couple. Debbie was charismatic, extroverted, and Mark was the complete opposite, shy and withdrawn. But together, they had a lot of chemistry. Sure, they clashed sometimes, but that happens in every marriage, and they were so special that it was impossible not to like them. In 2012, Nick Groff released a single called What's Next, and the Constantino couple wanted to show their full support by sending the following message. Upcoming album, and when you listen to it, it's really thought-provoking because we're all in this

together. Yeah, we all have separate thoughts of what's next, and nobody knows exactly what's coming up. And I think I'm at the point where when I listen to it, when you hear different people's thoughts on what's next, you know, maybe it's me taking the lazy way out, but I want to put. Many of you may think that this video is nonsense and that they are just supporting him. But, months later, Mark's words would be remembered by thousands of fans. In 2015, something would happen between them that would make the entire world shudder. On Tuesday, September 22, 2015, at 8 a.m., a woman called 911 to report a dead body. James Anderson, 55 years old, was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

Apparently, someone broke into his house, shot him in the head, and left everything turned upside down. This woman claimed that it was impossible to get in touch with her other roommate, a woman named Debbie Constantino. The first calls she made went through, but by the last one, the voicemail was on. The officers quickly put two and two together, three people share the house, one is dead, one is missing, and the whole house shows clear signs of a struggle. So, they assumed Debbie killed James and fled. With her phone traced, they went directly to the location where she was believed to be, the garden apartments, between 13th Street and OD Boulevard in Sparks. The apartment was rented under the name of her daughter, Raquel Constantino.

The police immediately knocked on the door and asked Debbie to come out, but just before they were about to break the door down, they heard several gunshots. Then, they heard a man's voice saying the following, either you give me 15 minutes to collect my thoughts, or I will kill her. That's when the police realized the case was much more complicated. The man's shouting was Mark Constantino, and now he was firing at the police through the windows. Debbie didn't kill James and flee, Mark Constantino had come to her house, killed James, and kidnapped her. The police had to act quickly to save Debbie Constantino's life. For several hours, the police did everything possible to talk with Mark, negotiate with him, but at 1.30, there were more gunshots. When the SWAT team entered the apartment, they found two dead bodies inside, Debbie and Mark

Constantino. Mark had killed Debbie and then took his own life. The case was shrouded in secrecy for a long time. They didn't say what happened, how Debbie died, how Mark died, nothing. So, the entire world began to speculate. People said Mark was possessed and led by the devil. Others said they killed Debbie because she was possessed, and Mark just wanted to liberate her. But these theories lost credibility when the couple's daughter published the following post on Facebook. I am the daughter of Mark and Debbie. None of you know my family or what we've been through. My father is in heaven watching over me and my sister. My mother is burning in hell where she belongs. I'm not going to respond to anyone on this post. This is when everyone started asking the basic questions.

Why didn't Debbie live with Mark anymore? Why was she kidnapped? And why did Mark want to kill her. That's when the press began to leak a lot of information, information nobody expected to receive. The New York Post reported that in July 2012, Debbie was arrested for hitting Mark Constantino. They said that at one point, Debbie argued with her daughter Raquel and tried to throw her out of the house. Rakel was uncontrollable, rebellious, and didn't follow the rules. So, Debbie decided to pack her things and kick her out of the house, but Mark intervened. lost his temper and hit her. In March 2015, Mark and Debbie fought again, this time over financial problems. Debbie was completely drunk, out of control, and in a fit of rage, grabbed a knife

and attacked Mark. The couple screamed, through objects, hit each other, and the neighbors heard everything. One of them grabbed the phone and called 911. When the police arrived, they asked Mark why he hadn't called, and he replied with the following words. I didn't call earlier because this is my wife's usual behavior. In August 2015, Debbie filed for divorce. They always fought, always screamed at each other. It wasn't healthy, so the best thing was to go separate ways. She packed up and moved to a shared house.

However, on August 8th, she had to return to the family house to pick up some things. She didn't want to go alone, fearing something would happen, that they would fight again. So, she asked her friend Die Sumer Myers to accompany her. They got in the car, drove for a while, parked in front of the house, and just before getting out, Mark and Raquel attacked them. Rakel opened the car door and started hitting Sumer, and Mark, as if he had been waiting, went straight for Debbie. He opened the door, pulled her out of the car, and dragged her inside the house.

For an hour, absolute chaos reigned in the street, and at one point, Sumer grabbed her the phone and dialed 911. The legal document state the following, Mark and Raquel broke Debbie Constantino's nose, and inside the house, Mark strangled Debbie until she lost consciousness. As a result, both of them faced the following charges. Raquel was accused of kidnapping, domestic battery, battery, and car theft, while Mark was accused of kidnapping, domestic battery, and domestic battery with strangulation. After this, Debbie Constantino lived in terror. so she asked the judge for a restraining order against Mark and Raquel, which was granted. The judge also jailed Mark, and Raquel was released on bail of $40,000 and $30,000,

which, by the way, they both paid a few days later. When this information came to light, Debbie's friends couldn't believe it, because just weeks later, Mark Konstantino would end her life in a terrible way. Who is that lady? Listen. In March 2016, Raquel Constantino's trial ended. Her sentence was five and a half months in jail, but since it was such a short time, it was suspended. So, she was sent for five months of anger management treatment.

But now it's your turn. What do you think of the case? Do you think this crime could have been prevented? The end. The case we're diving into today takes us back to the city of Perth, in central Scotland. Specifically, we need to rewind all the way to 1866. At that time, in a secluded area south of Perth, stood Stewart Hill Farm. The farm's location was off the beaten path, disconnected from the main roads, a feature that

suited its owner, William Henderson, just fine. William Henderson was the second son of Janet and Andrew Henderson. After his mother passed away in 1843, it was just him and his father managing the farm. They raised cows, pigs, and horses and worked the fields. They weren't wealthy, but they also weren't destitute, they got by. Despite the hardships, the family was content. But as the years passed, tragedy struck again. Six years after his mother's death, William's father also passed away, leaving William alone

to manage the farm. To help him through this difficult period, his sister, Janet Rogers, temporarily moved in with her five children. they helped keep the farm running, and when things stabilized, Janet and her kids returned to their own lives. Fast forward to 1865, and life threw another curveball at William. That year, Scotland was hit by an outbreak of cattle plague. The disease devastated livestock across the country, and Stewart Hill Farm wasn't spared. The cows got sick, sales plummeted, and things seemed to grind to a halt. But William wasn't the type to back down. He fought to keep things afloat and, by October,

realized he couldn't do it all alone. That's when he hired a man named James Keegan, a 44-year-old laborer with decent references. William offered James a six-month contract that included a weekly wage, as well as a cabin on the property for James, his wife, and their children to live in rent-free. On paper, it was a win-win situation for both men. James eagerly accepted, and the arrangement began. However, it didn't take long for the partnership to sour. William and James had strong, clashing personalities, and their working relationship quickly turned into a nightmare. They argued constantly, bickered over small details, and their disdain for each other grew with each passing day. Things took a turn for the worse in January 1867, when the farm was

robbed in broad daylight. William had gone into town to buy supplies, wood and other materials. When he returned, he was greeted by chaos. One of the windows was shattered, glass was everywhere, and the entire house was in disarray. The most shocking discovery, however, was in his bedroom. A small box where he kept some money had been smashed open. Inside had been three pounds, all of which were now gone. Strangely, the thief had also taken a pair of trousers and a shirt but left everything else untouched. The robbery was bizarre and didn't make much sense.

But in William's mind, there was one clear suspect, James. The two men accused each other, shouting and arguing, but William, had no proof. While tensions ran high after the incident, the animosity between them didn't end there, it only escalated. Adding fuel to the fire was Christina Miller, the housekeeper at the farm. According to William, Christina was opinionated, blunt, and loved to gossip. She also seemed to have a peculiar fascination with William's personal life. In 1860s, Scotland, it was unusual for a man William's age to remain unmarried and childless. People whispered about it, but Christina took it a step further.

She constantly pressed William with uncomfortable questions, why aren't you married? Why don't you have children? Why are you always alone? Eventually, Christina's behavior crossed a line. She began to flirt with William, making advances that he found deeply uncomfortable. One day, he had to firmly tell her to stop. Christina didn't take the rejection well. From that moment on, she seemed determined to make his life miserable.

She restricted his access to his own kitchen and, in a move that scandalized William openly flirted with James, who, it's worth noting, was a married man with children. Over time, James seemed to reciprocate Christina's attention. Their budding relationship created even more tension on the farm, as James now accused William of harassing Christina whenever the two clashed. William wanted to fire both of them, but his hands were tied. He couldn't run the farm on his own, and hiring new workers from scratch seemed like an impossible task. Reluctively, he decided to endure the situation, hoping things would

improve. But in March of 1867, the situation reached a breaking point. One night, William went to bed early after locking all the doors. In the middle of the night, he was jolted awake by loud banging on the kitchen door. The noise was deafening, as if someone was trying to break it down. Terrified, William stayed in bed, frozen with fear, thinking it might be another robbery. By morning, he discovered the truth, it wasn't a thief but Christina. The previous evening, Christina had gone into town, stopped by a tavern, and on her way back to the farm, met a young man she fancied. She invited him to the farm, intending for him to spend the night with her. However, when they arrived, they found the doors locked. After failing to

break in, Christina and her companion ended up sleeping in the barn. The incident was the last straw for William. In the morning, he fired Christina. But rather than leaving the property entirely, Christina moved into James's cabin. Although she no longer lived in the main house, her continued presence on the farm infuriated William. His authority had been blatantly disregarded, and he felt his privacy was being violated. Tensions on the farm were at an all-time high. Recognizing the strain her brother was under, Janet decided to step in. She assured William that she would handle the situation and help get the farm back on track. On Wednesday, March 28, 1867, Janet arrived at Stewart Hill Farm.

What she found shocked her. Christina hadn't done any housework in a week, and the place was in complete disarray. The house was filthy and chaotic, as if it hadn't been maintained in years. Despite being exhausted from her journey, Janet immediately got to work. She cleaned, organized, and cooked while William and James worked in the fields. For two days, things seemed to settle into a routine. But then came Friday, March 30th, a day that would change everything. That morning, Janet and William had breakfast together and discussed their plans for the day.

Janet said she would continue doing chores in the morning and then visit an uncle in town in the afternoon. William, on the other hand, had a busy day ahead. He needed to go into town to buy a pig, pick up some supplies, and meet a friend. He told Janet he wouldn't be back until 7 p.m. Before leaving, William also spoke to James, instructing him to complete a few. few tasks, remove some posts and plow a field. After that, James would be free for the day. With their plan set, the two men shook hands and went their separate ways. William spent the day running errands, visiting the market, purchasing fertilizer, and stopping by a bar.

Around 5 p.m., he passed through Bridge of Earn to buy some wood for roof repairs. He finally returned home around 7 p.m. and asked James to help unload the cart while he tended to the horse. Once their tasks were done, the two men parted ways. When William approached the house, he noticed something strange, all the doors were locked. Peering through the windows, he saw that the interior was completely dark. Confused, he went back to James's cabin to ask if he had seen Janet. James's response left William stunned. James claimed that the last time he saw Janet was around 11 a.m., when she was standing by the kitchen door speaking with a man. William didn't think much of it at first and decided to investigate.

Grabbing a ladder, he climbed up to Janet's bedroom window and entered the house. The room was tidy, and Janet's bed was untouched. From there, he made his way downstairs, checking each room. When he reached the kitchen, he noticed the door was locked, and the key was missing. He searched nearby drawers for the key but found nothing. Growing increasingly uneasy, William entered the servant's quarters next to the kitchen. The room was in complete disarray, with the mattress moved and clothes strewn everywhere. In the middle of the room, he spotted something strange, a large, misshapen lump on the floor.

As he got closer, the horrifying reality hit him, the lifeless body of his sister lay on the floor, surrounded by blood. The room was soaked with it, every corner stained. In shock and despair, William ran out of the house, across the fields, and straight to his neighbor Jamie Ballas's house. Breathless and frantic, he begged for help. Jamie and his wife grabbed lanterns and followed him back to the house. What they found was even worse than William had described.

Janet's body was mutilated, and next to the fireplace lay a bloodied axe. They immediately informed James of the tragedy. While William ran to notify the police, James left the farm and headed to the nearby town of Forgandini. The question on everyone's mind was the same, where was James going, and why? This division, as expected, only pleased Maria del Pilar, but although this was positive for her, the misfortunes had only just begun. At one point, her children turned their backs on her, and no one knows the reason why, one day, they simply stopped speaking to her. And when her son got married, he didn't even invite her. That's when the woman couldn't take it

anymore. We begin around 8 in the morning on November 4, 2008. Diego Smith Hevel, a 25-year-old engineer, headed as usual to his girlfriend Bolin Molina's house, located at number 97, on Seminario Street in Providencia. Every morning, he made the same trip, he would go to Boland's house, take her to work, and then go to his own job. That day was supposed to be exactly like every other. Bolin said goodbye to her father and went outside, so Diego went inside to take a shower. But just then, he started hearing a lot of screaming, and then two gunshots. Apparently, a man had just attacked Diego at the front door of the house. So Diego rushed out into the street and wrote down the license plate number of the attacker's car.

They initially thought it had been a simple robbery gone wrong, a robbery with serious injuries, but it ended up being a murder. Hours later, Diego died from blood loss in a hospital. We could say the case was an isolated incident, but this family had already suffered two other losses in recent months, two losses supposedly from other failed robberies. Were the three deaths connected? We'll find out shortly. This story begins with the birth of a woman named Maria del Pilar Perez-Lopez on December 21st, 1952, in Chile. She was the oldest of three daughters born to Jose Perez Perez and

Aurelia Lopez, who were the owners of a very successful bakery chain and a real estate agency. These businesses generated large profits and allowed the three daughters, Maria del Pilar, Magdalena, and Gloria, to pursue higher education. Maria del Pilar studied architecture and practiced her profession. According to several witnesses, she was very different from her sisters. She was someone who always had to get her way, methodical, calculating, and with a strong character that made living with her difficult. But her father found this fascinating, if she set her mind to something, she had to see it

through no matter what. This made her the perfect candidate to take over the business. She had the kind of character that could take the company to another level. According to the family, she always defended her father fiercely. Her mother and grandmother were very authoritarian and often discredited Jose in front of the employees, and Maria del Pilar couldn't stand it. She would confront them, look for arguments, and always tried to outshine them. She was the only one of the three daughters who dared to do that.

In 1978, Maria del Pilar married architect Francisco Zamorano, and they had two children, Juan Jose and Rossio. That marked a new stage in her life, as her main obsession became her children. She always had problems with her mother and sisters. They claimed she didn't really want to help the family business, she only wanted the profits. She would take money for the children, for their clothes, candy, and school, which led to family arguments. They said if she wanted money, she had to earn it. Things escalated when in the early 1980s,

Gloria married Augusta Molina, a man who quickly became very involved in the family business and even helped improve it. From then on, Gloria and her husband were considered better than Maria del Pilar and became the leaders in arguments against her. In 1985, Maria del Pilar and her father created a real estate agency and began spending more time together, time that, according to the family, she used to ask the poor man for money. That's when the real problems began. In 1995, Maria del Pilar and her husband divorced. Francisco Zamorano, who had been her husband for 21 years, confessed he was homosexual, and not only that, he was in love with a man named Ector Aravallo. That completely shattered Maria del Pilar's plans. She didn't accept her

grandmother's treatment and confronted her, something Jose never dared to do. She acted like his voice, helping him express disagreement. He once commented that he favored Pilar because she was like the son he never had, and he had also placed hopes in her husband Francisco, thinking he would take over the bakery business along with Pilar. He was frustrated when he found out Francisco was gay and that his daughter left him. Her whole life was in chaos. Her sister and brother-in-law were better regarded than her, and her father no longer looked at her the same way after learning about Francisco. For the first time in her life, Maria del Pilar didn't know what to do. Things worsened when her father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. The family made sure he received treatment,

and then he was brought home with a nurse. That's when, supposedly, Maria del Pilar was banned from seeing her father, as the family was convinced she would take advantage of the old man. She accused them of practically kidnapping him, said they had him committed to a psychiatric clinic without consulting her, and later moved him to an apartment in Gloria's house. She claimed he was kept in poor conditions, isolated, and had to eat alone in his room while the rest of the family ate in the dining room. Psychiatrist Dr. Dresner handled the case. Things got more complicated until, in 1999, her beloved father, Jose Perez Perez, passed away at the age of 85. At this point, everyone thought his inheritance would go to his widow, but when

the will was read, they found a surprise no one liked, he had left as much as legally possible to his eldest daughter, Maria del Pilar, and reduced the shares for his other daughters and wife to the legal minimum, 60% to Maria del Pilar, 20% to his wife Orrelia Lopez, 10% to Magdalena, and 10% to Gloria. This division, as expected, only pleased Maria del Pilar, but although this was positive for her, the misfortunes had only just begun. At one point, her children turned their backs on her, and no one knows why, they just stopped talking to her. When her son got married, he didn't even invite her. That's when she couldn't take it anymore. On April 23rd, 2008, the bodies of Francisco Zamorano and his partner, Ector Aravallo, were found

inside their home. According to the autopsy, they had died three days earlier, both with a gunshot to the back of the head. The door showed no signs of forced entry, and there was a The doors showed no signs of forced entry, and there was no evidence of a robbery, so for the police, it was clearly an execution. But who could have done it? The first suspect was the couple's landlord. Apparently, Ector Aravallo and Francisco Zamorano were renting an apartment owned by Francisco's second cousin. While they lived on the second floor, the landlord lived on the first.

So, the police asked him if he had heard the gunshots on the day of the murders, but he said know, that he hadn't heard anything at all. But how could someone living wall-to-wall not hear two gunshots? How could he not notice anything? From this point on, the police established several points. First, as the landlord, he had spare keys to the apartment and could have entered and exited without forcing the lock. Additionally, as a relative, the couple would have opened the door without suspecting anything. Second, this man was a member of an official shooting club, so he had knowledge of firearms, he had training in good aim. Third, in his home, they found a weapon with a caliber very similar to the one used to kill Francisco Zamorano and Hector

Aravalo. Lastly, among Francisco Zamorano's belongings, there was a note complaining that their landlord was pressuring them to pay the rent. There was motive and a supposed weapon. So, This man was pressured to confess, and he eventually did. But later, he retracted everything. He said the couple had been living in his apartment because they didn't have money to rent elsewhere, and since they were family, he charged them very little. They had gone two months without paying,

but he never pressured them, he understood their situation. To top it off, ballistic tests showed that the weapon in his possession did not match the one used in the murders. Furthermore, he had no gunpowder residue linking him to the deaths of Francisco Zamorano and Ektaur Aravalo. Time passed, and the case remained unsolved, until the family was hit by another tragedy, the death of Diego Smith Hevel, boyfriend of the daughter of Augusta Molina and Gloria Perez. The young man was attacked in the building entrance of the family's home.

Fortunately, Augustine managed to write down the attacker's license plate number, and thanks to that, one of the most atrocious and twisted crimes in history was uncovered. When they traced the plate, the police discovered that the car belonged to a man who had been in prison for six months. So, they asked him who had access to the car while he was incarcerated. The man responded that he had given the car to his dear brother. The police went to the brother and asked him what he had done with the vehicle. He said he had sold it to a nightclub owner named Jose Ruz. Jose Ruz was quickly arrested and charged with murder.

But when they searched his house, they found something very strange, floor plans. Very detailed blueprints of Augustin Molina and Gloria Perez's home. Each room was labeled with the name of the person who slept there, and every place where valuables were kept was marked. The handwriting was so neat and the lines so precise that it was impossible to believe they had been drawn by Jose Ruz, who had only finished secondary education. Furthermore, he had never entered that house, so how could he know it in such detail? The plans had clearly been drawn by someone who knew the family and had basic knowledge of

architecture. That someone could easily have been Maria del Pilar, who, let's not forget, was an architect. The police asked Jose Ruz if he knew the woman. He said no, that the plans were his, the handwriting was his, and that the murder of Diego Smith Hevel had been a robbery gone wrong, an attack he had planned and executed alone. But then the police found two phones among his belongings. One phone had contacts for his wife, friends, and family. The other, a prepaid phone, had only one contact, saved under the name Pili.

The police had no doubt. Then, security camera footage on Francisco Zamorano and Ector Aravalo Street showed Jose Ruzza's car parked their three days before their bodies were discovered. Some time ago, he had hired Maria del Pilar to renovate his nightclub. From there, they started talking. He had financial problems, and she had unfinished business. She offered him 10 million pesos for each family member he killed. Maria del Pilar couldn't bear it. And the last victim was actually a mistake. Diego Smith Hevel wasn't supposed to die. The intended victims were her sisters, brothers-in-law, mother, and niece.

If the mother died, the inheritance would go to the daughters, if the daughters died, it would go to the brothers-in-law, if they died, to the niece, and if she died, everything would go to Maria del Pilar. So, to her, everyone had to die. On November 7, 2008, Maria del Pilar was arrested at her home after attempting to take her own life by consuming a large number of barbiturates. After her stomach was pumped, the police objected her to a handwriting test and noticed she was forcing her writing, faking a handwriting that wasn't hers.

So, they searched her house, found documents written by her, and confirmed that her handwriting matched the one found on the blueprint in Jose Ruz's home. That's when the trial began. Nearly 100 people testified against Maria del Pilar. Her sister Magdalena described her as confrontational, irrational, irrational, spoiled, and stubborn. She also said that from a young age, Maria del Pilar was very violent, and that when Gloria was pregnant, she tried to strangle her.

Her daughter Rossio referred to her throughout the trial as, the lady, never calling her mom or mother. She wanted nothing to do with her. Her son and daughter-in-law explained why they didn't invite her to their wedding, one day, after an argument, Maria del Pilar pushed her son's fiancé down the stairs and then hit her. On January 19, 2011, after four months of trial, the court declared Maria del Pilar Perez guilty of hiring Jose Ruz to kill Francisco's Amarano and his partner Ector Aarvalo. She was also found to have masterminded the robbery and murder of Diego Smith Hevel,

and the attempted robbery and planned murder of her entire family. Both she and Jose Ruz were sentenced to life imprisonment. But it's important to note that while he confessed and asked for forgiveness, she never did. She insisted she had nothing to do with the terrible acts, that she wasn't a troublemaker, didn't seek conflict, and would never hurt anyone, especially not her family. Yet it's worth highlighting one final detail, since being in prison, five inmates have requested to be transferred out of her cell, citing serious problems living with the woman the press. has nicknamed La Quintralla, in reference to a historical figure who was just as, if not

more, cruel than Maria del Pilar Perez Lopez. But now it's your turn, what do you think about the case? Do you believe this woman really planned it all? The end. But now the question was the following, if that body was Jesse's, where the hell was Wendy? Days went by and there was no way to find Wendy Vaughan. They handed out posters with her picture in every state and simply waited for someone to decide to call. They asked for clues, sightings, they asked for any kind of information. And finally, the calls started coming in, but they came with false leads. There were girls who claimed to be Wendy. There were people who said they had seen her at the movies, at a Marilyn Manson concert, walking along the beach. Many people said they had

seen her, but every time the police showed up, it turned out to be lies. However, there were two sightings that brought this case to the front pages. The first sighting came from two homeless men. These men said they saw Jess and Wendy near Jacksonville, accompanied by someone named Bob. Bob was a train conductor and was also missing a leg. So the police got to work and searched for this person everywhere. They went to Jacksonville, questioned neighbors and more homeless people, and finally found him. But after seven hours of interrogation, they couldn't get anything out of him. So in the end, they released him without charges. The second sighting occurred on June 4, 1997. This sighting was perhaps the most impactful of all, since when

these parents were involved. At one point during the day, the phone started to ring, and when they picked it up, there was no one on the other end. Hours went by, and the The phone rang again. But this time, there was no silence, there was a voice that said, it's me, Wendy. After that, the person hung up. At 8 p.m., the phone rang again, and this time the alleged Wendy spoke for a little longer. She told her parents that she was at a service station located in Kankakee and that she was calling from a payphone, one without a number written on it.

She said she missed them, loved them very much, and in a moment of confusion, she hung up quickly. The police sprang into action and assigned two units to the case. One unit went to Kankakee to search for all the phone booths that didn't have their number displayed. The second unit decided to trace the signal from the call. The first group, once in Kankakee, searched for the payphone without the number written on the front, and it must be said that they found it. It was at a Phillips 66 station located on Indiana Street. They also reviewed the footage from the security cameras and saw that, right after the call, a girl who looked a lot like Wendy walked in. Wendy's parents said it was either her or someone who looked exactly like her.

Unfortunately, just as they were about to go public with this information, the second group ruined everything, because it turned out that the traced signal showed the call came from a mile away. Therefore, the girl in the footage and on the call wasn't Wendy, but someone who was eager to play a cruel prank. The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months. and the months into years, and no one ever called again with clues about Wendy Vaughan's whereabouts. The police were about to close the case. However, on December 17, 1998, a terrible

event shocked the entire United States, pediatric neurologist Claudia Benton, 39 years old, was found dead inside her home, a home located very close to the Union Pacific Railroad tracks in Texas. The way this woman died was horrifying, she had been stabbed, and beaten multiple times with a blunt object until she died. Her car was found in San Antonio, and inside were fingerprints of a man who months earlier had been convicted of robbery, unheld Machirino Resendis. Upon discovering this, the authorities decided to search for him privately, not to publish his photo or say he was being pursued, because the last thing they wanted was for him to flee the country. Unfortunately, despite everything they tried,

they were unable to find him. Then, On May 2nd of the following year, the man struck again, this time killing a married couple, Karen and Norman J. Sernick. This case had a lot in common with Claudia Bentons because not only were Rescindus fingerprints found in the house, but the couple also lived very close to the train tracks, specifically in Wymer, Texas. Once again, the police carried out the investigation privately, no photos, no names were published. And on June 4th, the subject struck again, this time.

killing two more people, Noemi Dominguez, 26 years old, and Josephine Convica, 73. Then on June 15th, he killed George Morber with a shotgun and beat Caroline Frederick to death with the same shotgun. All of these deaths were connected by one thing, the train tracks. The train passed through every location where he had been killing. Resendez didn't have a specific victim type. He didn't target based on age or gender. He didn't follow any such pattern. He simply seemed to follow the train lines. And if the police had given him more time, he likely would have kept killing. So finally, to stop this, they published his full name on the FBI's 10 most wanted list. His face appeared in every newspaper and on every TV station, and his name was mentioned on every radio. So in the end,

his own sister made a deal with the police and turned him in. In 1999, the former attorney general of Texas, Jim Maddox, made a very important statement, one that might seem trivial but wasn't. I hope they don't start blaming him for every crime committed near railroad tracks. Rescendiz, traveling illegally by train, passed through Canada, the U.S., and Mexico. In fact, some of his trips were recorded. This man had been deported to Mexico at least four times. He claimed to have killed up to 15 people using sticks, picks, rocks, and all sorts of blunt objects. And in cases where his victims were women, he sometimes assaulted them before killing them. After murdering them, Resendez would stay in their homes, eat their food, rummage through their fridge, sleep in their beds, and if he got bored, he would go through their documents, read their papers, look at their photos, calendars, and agendas.

If he found something valuable, he either sold it or gave it as a gift to his wife or his mother. With all the charges against him, he was sentenced to death, and in the state of Texas, such sentences are carried out almost immediately. You're sentenced, and within months, you die. That's when the police from Marion County got to work. The MO of this man was very similar to what was found in the case of Jesse Owl. So they linked him to the crime, suspecting he might know where Wendy was. The police decided to interrogate him, but unfortunately hit a wall,

as Resendis lawyers forbade him from speaking to the police. So they had to get creative to extract the information. He's on Texas Death Row, and he'll probably never leave Death Row or file any appeals. We couldn't find Wendy or bring peace to the family any other way, said Agent L. King to the Chicago Tribune. Since they couldn't speak to him directly, the agent sent him a letter, and in that letter, asked if he had anything to do with Jesse's

case. Resendez replied, yes. In a second letter, the agent asked how he killed him, and Resendez provided details that had never been published in newspapers, details that only the killer could know. He said that on the night of March 23, 1997, he met Jesse and Wendy in person. The couple talked to him while riding a train. They asked him if he knew of any kind of work they could do, work that didn't require identification, where they didn't have to state their age or where they were from, not even use their real names. That's when Resendez got the idea that they would make perfect victims. If he killed them, no one would look for them, they had no names, no home, no money. So he told them he was headed to an orange grove, a place where no one

ever asked for ID. The couple, upon hearing this, agreed to travel with him. And on the 23rd, when the train made a brief stop in Okala, Rescendas asked Jesse to step off for a smoke. And when the boy did, the killer took a metal bar and hit him in the head. Then he grabbed him by the feet and dragged him away from the track so the train wouldn't run him over. After that, Resendez got back in the carriage and told Wendy that Jesse would be right back. But an hour later, the train stopped in Oxford, Florida, and Jesse still hadn't returned. At this point, Wendy would have been very upset, and to stop her from escaping, Resendez tied her hands and dragged her to a remote location. Once well hidden, he strangled her to

death. Before leaving, he covered her body with a military jacket. In his letter, he told the agents that near the body there was a book that Wendy had with her, a book she apparently liked very much. He also said that in that area, there was a small White House. And sure and enough, when the agents went to the place, everything was exactly as Resendez had described. Unhell Machirino Resendez was executed by lethal injection on June 27, 2006. His final words were, I want to ask if it's in your heart to forgive me. You don't have to. I know I allowed the, to rule my life. I just ask your forgiveness and ask God to forgive me for letting that confuse me.

I thank God for having patience with me. I had no right to cause you pain. You didn't deserve that. I deserve what I'm getting. But now it's your turn, what do you think of the case? Do you believe Resendez was truly remorseful? The end. From that moment on, the last thing Jesse knew about her was through a Facebook post.

A post in which Leah told everyone that she urgently needed a place to live because she was now homeless. Mack saw the post late at night and immediately called her. called Leah, but she didn't answer. So he kept trying again and again. He sent her messages on her phone, on Facebook, everywhere, but she still wouldn't reply. We begin. When Leah disappeared, her family and friends were deeply worried. They did everything possible to move heaven and earth. She wasn't the kind of girl who would just vanish overnight without saying anything. She would have called someone, left a message, said something. But the police checked her profile and said everything pointed to the fact that she had packed up and left voluntarily.

So, temporarily, they suspended the search efforts. They did the right thing by stopping the search. Let's continue. Leah Charles Porter was born on December 28, 1994, in Cotapaxi, Colorado, one of two children raised by a woman named Renee Jackson. Very little is known about Leah's childhood due to a lack of reliable sources. However, we can imagine the context. Cota Paxi, the town where she was born, is a tiny speck on the map. It has just 47 inhabitants, one restaurant, and one gas station.

So you can already imagine how eager Lya was to get out of there. She was restless, adventurous, passionate, and had a great relationship with her older brother. In fact, they were so close that they considered each other best friends. They had the same group of friends, went out together, told each other everything, a nearly perfect sibling relationship. However, while Max was a very good student, Leah was the opposite. She studied just enough to pass and preferred to spend her time with friends. Her main interest was her social life.

Leah had a personality that drew attention. She was charismatic, affectionate, and very friendly. She was also extremely trusting. She'd grow fond of you in minutes and consider you a close friend almost instantly. And while this might sound positive, it brought her a lot of problems. Because, in reality, you can't trust just anyone. If a stranger offered her a ride, she'd accept. If someone asked her for money and she had it, she'd give it.

So we could say Lya was far too innocent. Everything mentioned above can be seen in her Facebook page, where she captured every moment of her life and shared it. If you wanted to know something about Leah, Facebook told you. She uploaded new selfies daily, checked into every location she visited, posted about the movies she watched, the food she ate, absolutely everything. However, this apparent happiness began to fade in 2013. As mentioned earlier, Cotapaxi was a very small town. So the family moved to Florence for better opportunities. In 2013, At age 18, Leah graduated from high school and decided it was time for a fresh start.

She wanted to leave home, start over, make new friends. So she chose to study massage therapy at Trinidad State Junior College. The college was two hours away from her mother's home, but Leah said she was ready. Her mother not only paid for her studies but also for housing. Unfortunately, what Renee Jackson didn't know was that her daughter would soon change her mind. Not long after starting classes, Leah met the man she thought would be the love of her life. When she spoke about him, it was unbelievable. He was a 38-year-old tattoo artist named Jesse Morel.

At first glance, he didn't give a good impression, he was everything a parent would fear for their daughter. And worse, right after meeting Leah, he lied about his age and last name. Mara Dixon, Leah Porter's best friend, said Jesse Morel first told Leah he was 25 and that his last name was mine. When Leah later found out the truth, she didn't care about the little lies. And in December 2013, just two weeks into their relationship, she called her mother and told her to stop paying for housing. She was moving in with Jesse. Naturally, Renee opposed it. She didn't know the man, but from what little she did know, she didn't like him one.

bit. But Leah was convinced, and nothing and no one could change her mind. So she packed her bags and moved into Jessie's house. In the middle of the move, she received heartbreaking news. Her brother Max was moving to California to start a business. That's when everything fell apart for her. Max was her rock. Even though they still spoke on the phone, they wouldn't see each other as often. That shattered her. Little by little, she fell. into depression. In early 2014, she stopped going to classes. First she skipped a few hours, then a few days, and eventually dropped out completely. Her relationship with Jesse kept getting worse. They argued constantly, yelled, insulted, disrespected each other. Her friends begged her

to leave him, to pack her things and go back to her mother's house. But instead of feeling supported, Liyah felt misunderstood. She believed no one got her. She felt lonely, anxious, and in the middle of that chaos, Jesse introduced her to heroin. He had been using for many years and claimed it made him feel better when he was down. Lya initially said no. But eventually, she gave in. She tried it once, then again, and again. Slowly, she became addicted. Lia had never used drugs before. She had never even been interested. Jesse introduced her to that dark world. He was not a good person, and certainly not a good influence on Liao. Mara Nixon, Leah's best friend, remembers the night Lya confided in her. They were in the car on their way to a concert when

Leah confessed her biggest problem, the drugs. She said she couldn't stop and wanted to quit, but couldn't do it alone. So Mara offered her help. She went with her to narcotics anonymous meetings, supported her, took walks with her. And after a while, she felt Liyah was ready to go on her own. But unfortunately, on June 3, 2014, after staying clean for two weeks, Liyah received devastating news. Jesse was leaving her. Apparently, he had packed his bags to go stay with family in Maryland for rehab. And in that plan, there was no room for Lya.

He asked her to move out and get her life together. But he promised that once they were both clean, they'd get back together, and maybe even get married. Of course, this crushed Liyah. She felt insulted, betrayed, abandoned. Jesse didn't even offer to let her stay until she found a place. He was just going to leave her behind. After a heated argument, Liyah grabbed her things and left. From that moment on, the last thing Jesse was.

knew about her was that Facebook post, the one saying she was homeless and urgently needed a place to stay. Max saw the post late that night and immediately called Liao. But she didn't answer. He kept calling, messaging her on her phone, on Facebook, everywhere. But she never responded. So the next day, Max called Jesse Morel directly. Jesse told him he hadn't seen Liyah since the previous day. And that's where the real case begins. From that moment on, the last thing Jesse knew about her was through a Facebook post. A post in which Leah told everyone that she urgently needed a place to live because she was now homeless. Mac saw the post late at night and immediately called Leah, but she didn't answer. So he kept trying again and again. He sent

her messages on her phone, on Facebook, everywhere, but she still wouldn't reply. We begin. When Liyah disappeared, her family and friends were deeply worried. They did everything possible to move heaven and earth. She wasn't the kind of girl who would just vanish overnight without saying anything. She would have called someone, left a message, said something. But the police checked her profile and said everything pointed to the fact that she had packed up and left voluntarily. So, temporarily, they suspended the search efforts.

They did the right thing by stopping the search. Let's continue. Leah Charles Porter was born on December 28, 1994, in Cota Paxi, Colorado, one of two children raised by a woman named Renee Jackson. Very little is known about Leah's childhood due to a lack of reliable sources. However, we can imagine the context. Cota Paxi, the town where she was born, is a tiny speck on the map. It has just 47 inhabitants, one restaurant, and one gas station.

So you can already imagine how eager Liyah was to get out of there. She was restless, adventurous, passionate, and had a great relationship with her older brother. In fact, they were so close that they considered each other best friends. They had the same group of friends, went out together, told each other everything, a nearly perfect sibling relationship. However, while Max was a very good student, Lya was the opposite. She studied just enough to pass and preferred to spend her time with friends. Her main interest was her social life. Lia had a personality that drew attention.

She was charismatic, affectionate, and very friendly. She was also extremely trusting. She'd grow fond of you in minutes and consider you a close friend almost instantly. And while this might sound positive, it brought her a lot of problems. Because, in reality, you can't trust just anyone. If a stranger offered her a ride, she'd accept. If someone asked her for money and she had it, she'd give it.

So we could say Leah was far too innocent. Everything mentioned above can be seen in her Facebook page, where she captured every moment of her life and shared it. If you wanted to know something about Leah, Facebook told you. you. She uploaded new selfies daily, checked into every location she visited, posted about the movies she watched, the food she ate, absolutely everything. However, this apparent happiness began to fade in 2013. As mentioned earlier, Cotapaxi was a very small town. So the family moved to Florence for better opportunities. In 2013, at age 18, Liyah graduated from high school

and decided it was time for a fresh start. She wanted to leave home, start over, make new friends. So she chose to study massage therapy at Trinidad State Junior College. The college was two hours away from her mother's home, but Leah said she was ready. Her mother not only paid for her studies but also for housing. Unfortunately, what Renee Jackson didn't know was that her daughter would soon change her mind. Not long after starting classes, Leah met them. man she thought would be the love of her life. When she spoke about him, it was unbelievable.

He was a 38-year-old tattoo artist named Jesse Morel. At first glance, he didn't give a good impression, he was everything a parent would fear for their daughter. And worse, right after meeting Leah, he lied about his age and last name. Mara Dixon, Leah Porter's best friend, said Jesse Morel first told Leah he was 25 and that his last name was mine. When Leah later found out the truth, she didn't care about the little lies. And in December 2013, just two weeks into their relationship, she called her mother and told her to stop paying for housing. She was moving in with Jessie. Naturally, Renee opposed it.

She didn't know the man, but from what little she did know, she didn't like him one bit. But Leah was convinced, and nothing and no one could change her mind. So she packed her bags and moved into Jesse's house. In the middle of the move, she received heartbreaking news. Her brother Max was moving to California to start a business. That's when everything fell apart for her. Max was her rock. Even though they still spoke on the phone, they wouldn't see each other as often.

That shattered her. Little by little, she fell into depression. In early 2014, she stopped going to classes. First she skipped a few hours, then a few days, and eventually dropped out completely. Her relationship with Jessie kept getting worse. They argued constantly, yelled, insulted, disrespected each other. Her friends begged her to leave him, to pack her things and go back to her mother's house. But instead of feeling supported, Leah felt misunderstood.

She believed no one got her. She felt lonely, anxious, and in the middle. middle of that chaos, Jesse introduced her to heroin. He had been using for many years and claimed it made him feel better when he was down. Liyah initially said no. But eventually, she gave in. She tried it once, then again, and again. Slowly, she became addicted. Lia had never used drugs before. She had never even been interested. Jesse introduced her to that dark world. He was not a good person, and certainly not a good influence on Lia. Mara Nixon, Leah's best friend, remembers the night Leah confided in her. They were in the car on their way to a concert when Leah confessed

her biggest problem, the drugs. She said she couldn't stop and wanted to quit, but couldn't do it alone. So Mara offered her help. She went with her to narcotics anonymous meetings, supported her, took walks with her. And after a while, she felt Leah was ready to go on. on her own. But unfortunately, on June 3, 2014, after staying clean for two weeks, Liyah received devastating news, Jesse was leaving her. Apparently, he had packed his bags to go stay with family in Maryland for rehab. And in that plan, there was no room for Lya. He asked her to move out and get her life together. But he promised that once they were both clean, they'd get back together, and maybe even get married.

Of course, this crushed Liyah. She felt insulted, betrayed, abandoned. Jesse didn't even offer to let her stay until she found a place. He was just going to leave her behind. After a heated argument, Liyah grabbed her things and left. From that moment on, the last thing Jesse knew about her was that Facebook post, the one saying she was homeless and urgently needed a place to stay. Max saw the post late that night and immediately called Liyah.

But she didn't answer. He kept calling, messaging her on her phone, on Facebook, everywhere. But she never responded. So the next day, Max called Jesse Morel directly. Jesse told him he hadn't seen Liyah since the previous day. And that's where the real case begins. Obviously, the main suspect was Jesse Morel. However, after a 90-minute interrogation, the police ruled him out.

From the start, he was very cooperative, didn't appear to be hiding anything, and was completely honest. First, he admitted that on June 3rd, he and Liyah had an argument. After she left, they exchanged messages, and in one of them, Lia told Jesse that she would be staying at a friend's house that night. Jesse wanted to know which friend, but he knew she wouldn't answer, so he didn't push it. After that, they stopped talking. Jesse admitted he wanted to text her again, but he understood if she didn't want to talk. So he gave her space. The next morning, he texted her again, but she still didn't reply.

So he assumed she was still angry. That's when Max called to ask if he knew anything about Lya. And that's when all the alarm bells went off. Lia and Max talked every single day. If he hadn't heard from her, something was seriously wrong. Having told them everything, the police let Jesse go. They didn't consider him a suspect anymore. But Leah's family didn't accept this.

That man had lied about his name, his age, his last name. He had been a terrible influence. So how could he not have something to do with her disappearance? But the police did nothing. They claimed Leah was at a friend's house, and would eventually return. Leah's family couldn't believe what was happening. So they began their own investigation.

Leah's family couldn't believe what was happening. So they began their own investigation. Max Porter questioned friends, family, and anyone who had ever known Leah. Meanwhile, Renee Jackson, Leah's mother, contacted the phone company to request her daughter's call records. Their reasoning was simple, if Leah had gone to a friend's house, that friend's number would appear in the records. And it did. Among all the numbers Leah had contacted in the past month, one in particular showed up multiple times, especially on June 3rd. René dialed the number and spoke directly with the owner, his name was Christopher W. Apparently, in the last month,

lia and christopher had grown very close this was strange considering they had known each other since high school but had never really spoken before leah had been the popular girl and christopher the outcast yet according to him in the past month they became friends because leah had asked him for help quitting drugs christopher told rene that on june third he responded to lea's facebook post and she came to his house to spend the night. But later that night, she supposedly received a phone call and ran out the door. Renee was speechless. She had no idea her daughter was addicted to heroin. Max didn't know either. But at that point, the only thing that mattered was finding her alive. So they informed the police. Several officers went to question Christopher Wade. But instead of

helping, the situation only got worse. Christopher's story was airtight. He said he was a former military member, practiced Jiu-Jitsu, and came across as a totally normal guy. So the police dropped the case. To them, Lea was no longer the innocent girl her family had described. She used drugs, had dropped out of school, dated a problematic man, and now was spending the night at another guy's house.

To them, she was just another runaway. So they suspended the search again, for seven whole days. During that time, while the police did nothing, Leah's friends and family gave it their all. They spread her image online, put up posters, and spoke to the media. One of the most visible people on TV was none other than Christopher Wade. He appeared on camera looking distraught. But something about his behavior raised red flags with the police. So they asked for permission to search his.

home. They expected to find a military-like environment, neatly made beds, everything spotless, in alphabetical order. But what they actually found was a mess. Rotten food sat on a kitchen counter, dirty clothes were piled in every corner, and empty bottles littered the floor. This didn't look like a former soldier's home at all. But the most shocking details were two things. First, Christopher's bed, a bare mattress on the floor with no sheets or pillowcases. Second, a knife in the corner of the room. Its handle was wrapped in electrical tape, and the blade was stained with bleach. When asked why it was there, Christopher said he had cut himself with it days earlier and simply forgot to put it away.

From that moment on, Christopher Wade became a person of interest. Homicide investigator Mike Lynch brought him in for a second interrogation. And this time, they found many contradictions. When asked if he and Leah had a romantic relationship, Wade initially denied it. But after some pressure, he confessed they had sex that night. He claimed Leah made the first move, and afterward, she received a call and left. But now, things weren't adding up. The police asked why he had removed the bed sheets.

At first, he said he didn't know. Then he claimed he washed them. Finally, he admitted he had thrown them in the trash after Renee Jackson called asking about her daughter. He said he panicked. If Liyah had disappeared, investigators might find her DNA on the sheets and assume he had done something wrong. And if that sounds suspicious, wait until you hear what he said next, I maintain my innocence. But I would like to request an attorney, to verify his alibi, the police spoke to his roommate, Jesse Williams. The two had met in the military and had been good friends ever since.

But their friendship was about to end. Jesse had information that would make Christopher look very bad. He told the police that on the night of June 3rd, he came home and noticed Christopher's bedroom door was closed. He heard two voices inside, Christophers and a woman's. Not wanting to disturb them, he went to his room. But around 3 a.m., Christopher left the apartment and returned. turned a short while later. When Jesse asked where he had gone, Christopher said he had taken out

the trash. And after that night, there was no sign of Liao. Based on that testimony, the police searched Christopher's home again, this time using specialized equipment to detect blood. And they found it. A lot of it. Particularly in the bathroom. The sink and bathtub were covered in blood. In one corner of the floor, they found a bloodstained t-shirt, so obvious that they didn't even need a blacklight to see it. Next to the shirt was a receipt from a 7-Eleven dated June 4th. It showed a purchase made by Christopher Wade, latex gloves. The evidence was clear. Wade had done something till ya.

But without a body, there was no crime. So the police let him go, and kept him under surveillance. Max Porter couldn't believe it. There was blood, a bloody knife, a suspicious t-shirt, and Christopher was still walking free. So Max decided to catch him himself. And the way he did it was brilliant. And the way he did it was brilliant. By pretending to be Christopher's friend, Max began messaging him through social media.

He told Christopher that he believed in him, that he knew he was innocent, and that he supported him no matter what. Christopher Wade was into tarot reading. So Max used that to his advantage. One day, he told him he needed a reading and set up a meeting in the park with him and a friend named Eric. Once there, Max turned on a voice recorder and started asking questions. What do you know about Leah? Where is she? What happened that night? He pushed hard. Eventually, Christopher Wade confessed everything. He said that night, he and Leah had sex. Then, she asked him for money. He refused. She got angry and allegedly grabbed a knife and tried to stab him. In response, he wrestled her to the ground and tried to choke her unconscious, but he squeezed too tightly and accidentally

killed her. After realizing what had happened, he panicked. He wrapped her body in the bedsheets and threw it in the trash, along with all of her belongings. From there, the entire case blew wide open. Max tackled Christopher to the ground and hit him. Then he called 911 and told them everything. When the police arrived, Max called his mother and told her what had happened. Renee, completely hysterical, also called 911 and repeated the same story. The police searched the landfill, and after several weeks, they found Leop Porter's belongings,

her wallet, her clothes, her shoes. And among those items, they also found men's underwear that did not belong to Christopher Wade. The police didn't give this detail much weight, they were focused on finding Leah's body. But sadly, to this day, her body has never been found. And Christopher Wade still refuses to say where it is. Still, he says he confessed to killing her because the tarot cards told him to do it. He claimed that after the reading, he planned to take his own life, but the spirit of Leah stopped him. His lawyers were expected to argue an insanity defense. But if that was the plan, it didn't work. Because even without a body, Christopher Wade was

sentenced to 48 years in prison. He won't be eligible for parole until he serves at least three quarters of his sentence. But now it's your turn. What do you think about the case? Do you believe Wade acted alone. The end. A sinister mystery, the tragic case of Fermin Villegas. You know, sometimes life throws you stories that are so bizarre, so utterly baffling, they sound like they're straight out of a horror novel. This is one of those stories. It starts on what seemed like a perfectly ordinary day in the city of Blains, Gerona. It was Monday, May 12, 1980, and for a 10-year-old boy named Fermin Villegas Cordoba, this day would change everything, for him, for his family, entire community. Little did anyone know, it was about to become one of Spain's most haunting

unsolved cases. The day it all began. Fermin Villegas was your typical kid, full of life and curious about the world. His family was an Andalusian working class household, his dad, Fermin Villegis Martinez, worked as a cook in a local restaurant, while his mom was a homemaker. Fermin had a younger sibling, and on that Monday morning, he was all set to go to school at Santa Maria. He was carrying a secret excitement, though, he'd recently gotten some silkworms, and the plan for the day was to gather leaves to feed them. Simple joys, right? Ferman even brought his bike to school, eager to zip off and collect those leaves after class. He had arranged to go with a friend, but at the last minute, the friend bailed. We don't know why. Maybe he was

grounded, maybe he had other plans, but Ferman wasn't deterred. He decided to head out on his own. At 5 p.m., as school let out, Furmin hopped on his bike and peddled toward his cousin's house. It was just a 15-minute walk away, and Furmin knew the route like the back of his hand. The area was safe, dotted with fields, irrigation huts, and a scattering of houses. It seemed like the perfect place for a kid to wander. At around 6 p.m., Furmin's family saw him near their home, still riding his bike. Everything seemed fine. But by 8 p.m., his parents started to worry.

Ferman hadn't come home. Initially, they figured he might have lost track of time. But when 9 p.m. rolled around with no sign of him, his father took action. He first went to the cousin's house, where Ferman had said he'd be. The news was unsettling, Ferman had stopped by, but his cousins hadn't been able to hang out because they were grounded. That left one grim possibility, Ferman had been alone. The search begins, the worried father next visited the home of Ferman's school friend. Maybe Fermin had changed his plans and gone there. Nope.

The friend's parents confirmed Fermin wasn't there either. Desperation setting in, Furmin's dad headed to the school itself. It was a religious institution, and the teachers lived on site, so he figured someone might know something. At around 11 p.m., Fermin's dad arrived at the school and met with a teacher named Father Antonio Estrada. And here's where things got downright weird. Father Estrada acted nervous and evasive. He didn't have contact information for Furmin's friends, and when asked for a phone to make calls, he claimed the school's phone was broken. The man's reluctance to help was suspicious, to say the least.

With no leads from the school, Furmin's family contacted the Civil Guard. The search began immediately, even though it was pouring rain that night. Friends, neighbors, Red Cross volunteers, and the authorities all joined in. Despite the chaos and disorganization of the search efforts, a group of sniffer dogs picked up a scent that led an old farmhouse, or Femasia, not far from where Ferman was last seen. A chilling discovery, the civil guard knocked on the farmhouse door that night, but no one answered. Instead of forcing entry or getting a warrant right away, the officers left and returned the next morning. This delay would prove costly. When they finally searched the property, they found three residents,

a married couple in their 30s and their 30-year-old son, who had developmental disabilities. The father, Nicholas Ruiz La Fuente, was an illiterate farmer from Aragon. His wife, known for selling produce at the local market, had been institutionalized several times due to mental health issues. Their son, Vicente Ruiz Vidal, helped his dad with farm work. By all accounts, the family was reclusive and deeply religious, often talking about visions of God and handing out religious pamphlets. Initially, the family didn't raise many red flags.

Sure, they were eccentric, but the neighbors discered. described them as harmless. That changed on Thursday, May 15th. Just 100 meters from the farmhouse, searchers found Furmin's belongings, his bike, his school bag, and a belt from his uniform. Hours later, in the same area, they made the grimmest discovery of all, Furmin's body. The boy had been partially covered with fresh nettle leaves. His shirt was pulled up, his pants were down, and his body bore stab wounds. Defensive cuts on his hands suggested he'd fought back. The autopsy revealed he'd been brutally violated, strangled, and stabbed three times, once in the back and twice in the chest. It was an unimaginably cruel end for such a young life. The arrests, all eyes turned

to the farmhouse. After all, the sniffer dogs had led the search team there, and the family living just 100 meters away seemed, off. Nicholas Ruiz and his son Vicente were arrested. During his initial interrogation, Nicholas pointed the finger at Vicente, claiming he'd seen his son kill for men, assault him, and hide the body. Vicente denied everything, but Nicholas' confession seemed damning. The two were held in custody and brought back to their farmhouse to reenact the crime. But as they walked through the supposed events, Nicholas began acting erratically. He rambled about being forced to confess by the king or a politician. At one point, he completely lost control and tried to slit his own throat with a kitchen knife.

It became clear that Nicholas wasn't mentally stable. When investigators searched the farmhouse for evidence, they found nothing to link the family to Fermin. No blood, no murder weapon, nothing. It was as if Fermin had never been inside. With no concrete evidence, Nicholas and Vicente were released after 15 days. And just like that, the case was back to square one. Suspicion falls on Father Estrada.

As investigators scoured for leads, Ferman's family couldn't shake their unease about Father Antonio Estrada. His strange behavior on the night Ferman disappeared stuck out like a sore thumb. What was he hiding? When police looked into his background, they discovered even more troubling details. Father Estrada had a history of inappropriate behavior with students, especially teenage girls. He'd been warned multiple times by the school's director to keep his distance. Ferman's sister, 15-year-old Maria Angelus, revealed that Estrada often invited female

students to his quarters under the guise of listening to music. He never did this with the boys, but the pattern was still alarming. Despite these red flags, the investigation into Estrada hit a dead end. Just two months after Fermin's murder, his religious order transferred him to Mexico. The timing couldn't have been more suspicious, but without evidence tying him to the crime, there was little authorities could do. A darker theory, as weeks turned into months, whispers of a sinister conspiracy began to circulate in blames. Some believed Fermin, Min had been abducted by powerful people. One theory suggested he'd been kidnapped in broad daylight by someone in a car.

This idea gained traction because of key details, for Min's belongings had been dumped in one spot, and his body appeared there later, implying he'd been killed elsewhere and moved. The autopsy also suggested he'd been assaulted multiple times, raising the possibility of multiple perpetrators. Adding fuel to the fire, a peculiar poem surfaced. A prisoner named Elias Revert Zuckarach sent the poem, titled to an angel who has left, to a local newspaper. In it, he hinted that important people were involved in Furmin's death.

But when police questioned him, Revert claimed he knew nothing about the case and that the poem was purely fictional. The cycling coach, just when the case seemed like it couldn't get stranger, another suspect emerged, won Jose Alvarez Blanco. A cycling coach who had been accused of abusing minors in nearby towns, Alvarez was a textbook predator. He posed as the head of a youth cycling team, showering kids and their parents with gifts to gain their trust. Once he'd earned their confidence, he'd abuse his victims. Alvarez operated near schools in Blains, so it wasn't a stretch to think he might have targeted

Ferman. However, when police interrogated him, he denied any connection to the boy. His known victims also said they'd never seen Ferman before. With no evidence linking Alvarez to the crime, he was ruled out. An unresolved tragedy, by the following year, the case had hit a wall. In 1981, Furmin's family received a chilling letter from the courts. The investigation was being closed due to lack of suspects. The family was devastated. Fermin's father penned a heartbreaking letter to the Ministry of Justice, demanding accountability and decrying the system's failure to deliver justice for his son. Tragically, Ferman's father wouldn't live to see any resolution. Just a month after writing the letter, he was found dead in a field. Officially,

he'd suffered a heart attack while walking his dog, but the lack of an autopsy left lingering doubts. Had grief and stress claimed his life, or was there something more sinister at play? Theories and unanswered questions. So, who killed Fermin Villegas? Was it Nicholas and Vicente from the farmhouse? Father Estrada? One Jose Alvarez Blanco. Or was it someone more powerful, as the conspiracy theories suggest. The truth remains elusive, locked away with whoever committed this heinous crime. Forty years later, Furmin's case is a chilling reminder of how justice can sometimes slip through the cracks. The unanswered questions linger, haunting the town of Blains and everyone who hears this tragic tale.

What do you think? Was it a tragic failure of law enforcement, or something darker and more calculated? They get tired of the shouting, the insults, the lack of respect. That's why at a certain point they decide to abandon them. They stopped the car at a service area in Breakdown, Florida, and when Jess and Wendy get out to buy food, the guys start the engine and drive away. It is at this point when the couple realizes that their dream trip is not as idyllic as they had imagined. They had no jobs, very little money, and were carrying no identification, so they were forced to sleep under a bridge in Dade City. Let's begin.

The story starts with a 16-year-old girl named Wendy Vaughan, who was born and raised in Kankakee, Illinois. Her life there was ideal. She liked reading, writing, and had real friends. However, in 1995 she and her parents moved to Woodstock, which was located about an hour and a half from Kankakee. The area was very nice, there were good schools, nice houses, and the crime rate was very low. So life there also seemed perfect. Unfortunately, Wendy never really settled in. She missed her home, her friends, her old neighborhood.

And although she made new friends in Woodstock, she didn't feel like she could put down roots there. However, in December of 1996, something changed, Wendy met a 19-year-old boy named Jesse Owl. Jesse was a guy with a somewhat troubled past, he had gotten into trouble and hung around with the wrong people. But with Wendy, he completely changed his attitude. He stopped drinking, stopped smoking, and Wendy became his whole world. The two of them started spending a lot of time together. They met every day, at all hours. Their love grew to the point where they considered themselves soulmates. So they told their parents that they intended to get married. At first, the parents didn't take it too seriously.

It was their first love, teenage hormones. But at a certain point, things got very serious, and Jesse was convinced he wanted to marry Wendy right away. That's when the adults had to intervene. They said it was too soon to make that kind of decision, that they were still young, had a whole life ahead of them, needed to study, needed to work. But apparently, the kids were sure about what they wanted.

And since their parents wouldn't let them take the step, they decided to do it behind their backs. For months, they saved all the money they could. With that money, Jesse bought a ring for Wendy and then bought a second-hand car, a car they intended to use to travel all across the United States in search of jobs, a home, and a decent wedding. Unfortunately, there was a small problem, Jesse didn't know how to drive. So he invited a couple of friends who did have a license to go on the trip with him and Wendy. Then came February 22nd, 1997. That day, Wendy told her parents she was going to sleep over at a friend's house,

and Jesse told his the same thing. All of the couple's friends knew what they were planning. They knew they were going to travel across the United States, and every one of them saw them get into the car and waved goodbye. They also knew it could be dangerous, but they gave their word they wouldn't tell anyone. Days passed, and the families of the couple reported them missing. Relatives, acquaintances, neighbors, all were questioned. And when it was the friend's turn, they said they knew where they were but, unfortunately,

couldn't say anything. So the officers were left with their hands tied. The trip, at first, went fairly well. The four young people made stops, slept in the car, did some sightseeing, bought food and clothes, and kept sleeping in the car. But at a certain point, Jesse and Wendy began to argue. They couldn't agree on their next destinations, and little by little the money began to run out. As time went on, their relationship became more and more tense. The friends who had joined them started getting fed up with their attitude, tired of the shouting, the insults, the disrespect.

So at a certain point, they decided to leave them. They stopped the car at a certain car at a certain a station in Breakdown, Florida, and when Jesse and Wendy got out to buy food, the friend started the engine and drove away. It was then when the couple realized that their dream trip wasn't as perfect as they had imagined. They had no job, very little money, and no ID, so they were forced to sleep under a bridge in Dade City. Days passed, and they had less and less money. So on March 19, Wendy, very desperate, went to a homeless shelter and from their called home. She said she was very sorry that she missed her bed, her home, her loved ones, and told her parents that they had no money left. She asked them to please send some so they could

afford transport back home. Upon hearing these words, her parents acted immediately. They went straight to Western Union and sent them $200. With that money, the couple would have more than enough to buy food and bus or train tickets. They didn't need to talk to strangers. hitchhike, or anything like that, it was more than enough to return home safely. But the days passed, and the couple still didn't come back. On March 21st, Jesse called his parents and said that, in fact, they were already on their way. But after he hung up, days went by and the couple never returned. No one rang the doorbell, no one called.

So everyone began to think that they had sent money so the couple could keep traveling. On March 23rd, 1997, the Marion County Police received a very grim alert. It seemed a young man's lifeless body had been found next to the railroad tracks. The body belonged to a boy around 20 years old. He was wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans and had apparently died from a blunt force trauma to the head. At first glance, it looked like an accident. His body was lying right next to the train tracks, so he had probably gotten too close.

and been hit by the train. But there was evidence at the scene pointing to something entirely different. First, the body had been dragged across the grass. There was a trail of flattened plants in front of him, and on that trail were a pair of broken glasses and a blood-stained baseball cap. Second, the angle of the blow. The blow came from behind, and had it been caused by a train, the entire head would have been destroyed.

But that wasn't the case here. and third, next to the body was the presumed murder weapon, a metal bar used to connect train cars. And lastly, this wasn't a robbery. The boy still had a watch, a gold chain, and in his wallet there was some money and a receipt in the name of Wendy Vaughan, a receipt showing that this girl had gone to Western Union to collect $200. Upon seeing this last detail, police quickly linked the death to the disappearance of the couple. Thanks to that, they discovered the victim was Jesse. But now the question was, if that body was Jesse's, where on earth was Wendy? To be continued, we begin. Procurus, Harlot, Corruptor of Miners, witch and baby killer, Enrique

Marti. She was accused of all kinds of evildoings, and, because of that, over the years her figure, came to be compared to the terrifying, Jack the Ripper. But why was this woman so, feared? Why has she, been demonized to stratospheric levels. This story begins on February 10th, 1912, that day started like any other for Anna, Gittard. She woke her daughter Terracita and, together they went to the market. They spent the, entire morning out, and just as they arrived at, the doorstep, they found some, neighbors there. After several minutes, terribly bored and waiting for her, mother to finish talking, Terracita, decided to let go of her, mother's hand and go off to play with other children from, the neighborhood. Up until now, this story might, seem quite normal, a simple, anecdote any

family could tell, if not for one small detail. When Mrs. Gittard, finished speaking, she realized her little girl had disappeared. None of, Terracita's friends could say where she had gone, and, none of the neighbors had, seen her leave. The girl had simply, vanished. The entire city lived through two weeks of deep anguish, since this could have happened to anyone. Unfortunately, in the months, leading up to this terrible case, there had been a wave of disappearances, of boys and girls in the city of Barcelona. It was something everyone knew, but, civil governor Portela Viadaris was trying, through, press conferences and written statements, to, convince the people that it was nothing, but rumors.

Hundreds of, mothers had found themselves in the same situation as Mrs. Gittard, and to top it off, they had to endure how the, higher-up swept the problem under, the rug simply because, their children came from humble backgrounds. So, as you can imagine, the case of Terracita was the last straw. The population demanded answers, demanded, results. So the media and police response, was enormous. The police focused all their efforts on finding Terracita. They interrogated the girl's acquaintances, the neighbors, and searched homes aimlessly,

but all their efforts were, in vain. So just a few days later, hope of finding her alive, started to fade along with the frustration. On the afternoon of February 16th, Mrs. Claudina Elias gave, a horrifying testimony to an acquaintance, the mattress maker from the neighborhood. She lived on Poniente Street, now, Joaquin Costa, and told him that just, a couple of hours earlier she had seen the face of, a girl peeking out from a filthy window, and it seemed to her that the girl's expression, was very sad. That was the house of the, downstairs neighbor, who lived, with a boy and a girl. But the, pitiful face of that shaved-headed girl, didn't seem

familiar to Claudina Elias. She didn't think she was, the daughter of that woman. This could have remained a simple, neighborhood rumor. However, that man convinced her to go together to, the police station and report the story, to the municipal officer Jose Enz, who in turn informed, his superior, Brigade Chief Reboe. Grasping the testimony like a burning nail, the police arrived there, as quickly as they could. The tenant of the apartment in question, was Enricetta Marti Rapal, a woman well-known to the police, as in the year, 1909 she was arrested in her apartment on Minerva Street for running a brothel in which boys and girls were, forced into prostitution. And now you may be wondering how, someone like that could be free.

The answer is that at the time, she couldn't be tried, for that crime because a strange, black hand had made the entire case file disappear. However, this time, they weren't going to let her get away. The simple fact that a neighbor had, seen an unfamiliar little girl, at her window pushed the police to, think that perhaps Enriquella, had something to do with, the disappearance of boys and girls in recent months, and especially with that, of little Terracita Gittard, who had gone missing days earlier and whose case, had sparked major media coverage. But they couldn't just show up and accuse her, as they didn't have enough evidence. They needed to find a way to enter her home, without alarming her in the slightest.

So, on the morning of February 17th, Brigade Chief Rebo knocked on the door, of the first floor flat at No. 29, Poniente Street. A just-awakened woman opened the door. To avoid alarming her, the man said the following, good morning, madam. I've come to inspect your residence as we've received a complaint, from the neighbors. They say you have changed. chickens, faced with such absurd accusations, the woman didn't think twice and let him in. She wanted to prove the neighbors were mistaken. However, the truth that woman was hiding, was far more horrifying. There was little Terracita, along with the supposed, daughter of Enriquez Marti. But who really was Enriquez marty, and what was her story? Let's find out.

Enriquez Marti Rapal was born in 1868, in the city of St. Feltre Marquis. de Lobregat. Very little is known about this woman's childhood. In fact, the only known fact is that, at some point she moved from Sant Felio, to Barcelona City, where she would spend the rest of her life. She lived through the turbulent Barcelona, of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a Barcelona that had nothing to do, with today's version. At that time, it was simply a city in the making, where there was a burning inequality, between social classes. If the problems affected the bourgeoisie, they were everyone's problems. If they affected the workers, they were nobodies. When Enriqueeta was a teenager, she began to work in many trades, including maid, seller of herbal remedies, nanny, and prostitute. Various sources indicate she practiced, this last profession both in brothels and, in places like the Port of Barcelona, or the Portal de Santa Madrona. In 1895, she married painter Joan Pugelo, but that marriage failed, because, according to him, Enricetta had strange behavior.

She was incapable of leaving behind her bad habits. The couple broke up and reunited a total of six times, and during one of their reconciliations, Enricetta became pregnant. Faced with this blessing of life, she swore to leave everything behind for good. In fact, during her pregnancy she didn't set foot. in any brothel. Unfortunately, ten months, after her son's birth, he died for malnutrition, and Enriquella, filled with grief, returned to her old ways. For most of her existence, Enriquella led a double life. During the day, she was a poor beggar. She asked for alms at

charity houses, parishes, and convents. She wore rags and, occasionally held children by the hand, pretending they were her own. At night, Enrique had dressed in her finest clothes, and appeared at the Liseu Theatre, and other places frequented by Barcelona's upper class, such as, the Casino de la Rabasada, a place we visited in one of the first paranormal tours, of this channel. But why this transformation? Why beg by day and become someone else by night? Because she didn't want the neighbors to know that she was the owner of a, well-known brothel. That job gave her enough income to live comfortably. And it was precisely in that role, as a madam, that her, horrific criminal story began.

Remember the children who begged with her. Their fate was atrocious. In 1909, the woman was arrested, in her apartment on Minerva Street in Barcelona. She was accused of running a brothel that offered sexual services from boys and girls, between three and 14 years old. with her was also arrested, a young man of high social status. But it all ended in a scare, because thanks to her connections with the Catalan bourgeoisie, who hired her services as a child trafficker, Enriquella was never tried. Her first contact with blood, was precisely in the brothel she ran.

A client, in the middle of a sexual act with a minor, killed the child. Enriqueeda, who wanted to continue her double life, as she had, didn't want the authorities, to find out what had happened, nor what went on inside her brothel. So she looked for a way to hide the child's body. She came up with the brilliant idea, of dismembering it. Once the body was dismembered, she placed the pieces in bags. That's when she realized she had a, unique opportunity to expand her business, organ trafficking. Although later on, her intention wouldn't be that, but rather to create products from human remains. It is unknown who Enriquez-Marty's first, murder victim was,

as back then there were countless reports, of missing boys and girls. Hunger ravaged Barcelona, and many parents sold or abandoned, their children to rid themselves of that burden. And in that context was she, kidnapping an undetermined number of children, from zero to nine years old. Lost, abandoned, or forgotten children, from the poorest neighborhoods. She would force them to beg alongside her, prostitute them, and later kill them, using absolutely everything from their bodies, the fat, the blood, the bones, the

hair. She didn't particularly enjoy, watching children suffer, nor did she do it out of addiction to death. She did it for the love of the good life. She saw their sacrifice as a fair exchange, she ended their miserable lives, and they gave her the wealth she had always dreamed of. Her modus operandi was very simple. As we mentioned before, she captured children that supposedly no one would claim, and after using them at will, she dismembered them and, extracted the maximum value. She extracted fat from their bodies, and sold it to companies, in the railroad industry, to Greece, different train parts. She also made use of bones. She also made use of bones, which she sold, to glue manufacturers. However, the most in-demand product was,

the blood of children. Tuberculosis at that time was a deadly disease, and it was believed that drinking children's blood, could prevent or even cure it. Some say Enriquez marty didn't just sell children's blood, she drank it herself. To be continued. They say that Enriqueza marty not only sold children's blood but also drank it, a fact that earned her the nickname, The Vampire of El Ravol. At the beginning of 1912, Barcelona's society began to panic due to the large number of child disappearances. But the authorities did nothing but deny this fact, even though they knew something truly dark was happening. They didn't want the panic to keep spreading throughout the city, which was already terrified ever since that tragic week occurred three years

earlier. However, as could be expected, Enricetta's crimes had an expiration date, and on February 17th of that same year, everything ended for her. She had kidnapped the wrong girl, one who didn't match her usual victim profile. Terracita Gouetart wasn't an abandoned or lost child. She was very well known on the streets of Barcelona, as her mother always took her along. She belonged to the middle class, was well-educated, respectful, loving, and being. Because of that, everyone held her in great affection. When Brigadier Reboe entered Enriquez Martí's house, he saw two girls at the end of the hallway. Although the woman tried to block his way, it was too late, Rebo managed to approach the little

girl with the shaved head and asked her name. The little girl answered, Felicidad. The man had seen a flicker of doubt in her eyes and asked another question, aren't you Terracita? The girl hesitated for a moment before responding, here they call me Felicidad. asked Enriqueira who the girl was, and she replied that she had no idea, that she had found her the day before, lost and starving, on Rhonda San Pablo. When he asked about the other girl, Enriqueetta got defensive and claimed she was her daughter, Angelita. But of the boy Claudina Elias said she had seen, there was no trace. In fact, Enriquella declared she had no more children.

Immediately, they recalled her arrest in 1909 and interrogated her ex-husband about her. the girl she claimed was her daughter. And what did he say? That girl Angelita is not my daughter, who was Angelita? And where was the other boy? After several weeks of interrogation, Enricetta eventually admitted that Angelita was indeed not her daughter. She said that as soon as Angelita was born, a sister-in-law took her away and made her believe she had miscarried. As for the boy, after repeatedly denying his existence, she told the police that his name was Pepito, that he was five years old, and that acquaintances had left him in her care. But one day, he got very sick, and she had to take him to the outskirts of Barcelona to recover.

Little by little, as witnesses came forward to the police spontaneously, they were able to piece together the kidnapper's psychological profile. However, the most important testimonies came from the little girls who had been held in her flat on Cayet Poniente. Teresita told the judge that as soon as she arrived at that house, the woman's said, don't you feel itchy on your head? Come now, my child, let me cut your hair and you'll get better. The girl agreed, while the woman told her that from now on, she would be her mother and that she should call her, Mama, in the street. But she never let her go outside,

not even look out the balcony or windows. Although when Mama wasn't home, she would sneak a peek in secret. Enriqueetta fed the girls on potatoes and stale bread, but strangely enough, despite the circumstances, she didn't hit the children. She punished them by pinching them very hard. The police asked Terracita if she ever met Pepito, but she said no, that her only companion was Angelita. However, after that came an extremely chilling statement. Sometimes we were alone, just the two of us, and that's when we were most afraid, because every noise scared us. But one day, Angelita said that since Mama wasn't home, we should sneak into the rooms we weren't allowed in. Hand in hand, we entered the forbidden rooms in the dark. I tripped over a sack,

we opened it and started screaming. Inside, there was a very large knife and children's clothes stained with blood. Angelita's statements were even more shocking. She had met Pepito and described him as a blonde boy her same age with whom she used to play a lot, until one day. Mama didn't realize I saw her pick up Pepito, place him on the dining table, and kill him with a knife. I went back to bed and pretended to be asleep. Her words shocked the city so deeply that a popular savings account was opened where people donated money for the girls. Plays were written about the case, and the girls were invited to attend.

In fact, posters read, Terracita and Angelida will attend the performance from a box seat, but the most shocking part was yet to come. Because during the search of the flat on Cayet Pontiente, they discovered, amid bare, unfurnished rooms, one exquisitely decorated room. It was a salon with luxurious furniture, curtains, sofas, and chairs. There was a wardrobe containing two boys' suits and two girls' dresses, silk stockings, and matching shoes for each outfit. Also found there were the clothes Enriquez Marti wore at night. During the house search, they also found, a packet of letters, most written in coded language, a list of names that would provoke public uproar. The sack the girls had mentioned,

which contained exactly what they described, a canvas sack full of dirty clothing, and more than one dozen children's bones. Enriquelli justified this by saying she had collected them for anatomy studies. However, doctors noted that the bones had been exposed to fire, suggesting the children had been sacrificed to extract fat from their bodies. But it didn't end there. In a completely sealed room, they found old potion books and about 50 jars filled with fat, coagulated blood, and other substances. They also searched other residences where Enrique Mardi had lived in the last 10 years, and in all of them, they found something. In Cayet de Picalx, they found a false wall that hit a cavity containing more bones. In Caius, they found more bones

and two blonde scalps of very young girls. In a tower in Sanfellio Diabrogat, they found recipe books and new jars filled with unknown substances. Finally, in the yard of a house on Kaya Ages' Rurles de Sance, they discovered the skull of a child about three years old, still with hair and pieces of skin, and a number of bones that experts said came from three children aged three, six, and eight. From then on, Barcelona talked about nothing else.

Everyone knew of the existence of the name list found at the Cailliponiente flat, but no one, absolutely no one, knew what was on it. Outrage swept over Barcelona, and the conservative press tried to calm the public to avoid further unrest, claiming that the names belonged to charity workers who helped Enricetta when she begged on the streets. But no one believed it. When news broke that Enriquez Marti had tried to slit her wrists with a wooden spoon in her cell at Raina Amalia Prison, irritation turned to fury. Authorities feared that if she died, a riot would erupt. To prevent Enriqueetta from taking her own life, they took all precautions, even involving fellow inmates to keep her from succeeding. However, public interest in the case began to fade, as no more

macabre discoveries were made in her multiple residences. And finally, the loss of interest was sealed when the news of the Titanic sinking broke during the early morning hours of April 14th to 15th 1912. Ultimately, on May 12, 1912, Enriquez Marti died. Some say she was lynched by her fellow inmates in the prison courtyard. Others say she was already dead, poisoned by someone who wanted her gone. Nothing could be proven. The only certain thing is that there was never a trial, and those whose names were on that secret list slept much more peacefully that night. While many experts defend the story I've just told you as real, others have worked hard to prove none of it is true. Art historian and writer Elsa Plaza, in her book,

dismantling the case of the vampire of Barcelona, argues that a simple kidnapping triggered rumors and suspicions the police used to feed a press eager for scandal, exaggerating and distorting the facts. According to her, they went from signs of criminal behavior to a list of bloody crimes whose truth has never been proven. In her book, Elsa Plaza documents numerous reports of labor, commercial, and sexual exploitation of both children and women at the time. And in that context, Enrique Catamarty appeared as a scapegoat to blame for child disappearances and trafficking, while concealing, for example, the abduction of children sent to France to be exploited in glass factories.

Late 19th century Barcelona, a city with 50% illiteracy and 12,000 prostitutes, was the perfect setting for a sinister tale. But that woman wasn't even lynched by her fellow inmates. In fact, it said that her cause of death was a terrible uterine cancer, which could also explain the bloody clothes found in her home, since her illness caused severe vaginal hemorrhaging. Writer Jordi Karamana suggests that Terracita's kidnapping might be linked to Enriquez Marti's trauma from losing a child. But now it's your turn. What do you think of all this? Do you believe Enriquezsche Marquis was a terrible killer or just a scapegoat? The end. So the girl couldn't have run away.

On her desk were several letters with foreign postmarks and several sketches of ocean miners. And in the fireplace, there were several burned papers, papers that, according to experts, were rejection letters from McClure's magazine. At no point did the Arnold family tell Keith that Dorothy had previously run away with Jr., but seeing the letters and the ship drawings, he quickly put two and two together. So on December 16th, they sent a telegram to Jr. asking about Dorothy. But he replied that he didn't know anything about her. For several weeks, Keith visited jails, morgues, hospitals, and in none of these places did he

find a single clue about the girl's whereabouts. No one knew anything, no one had seen anything. So he recommended that the family take things a step further. He couldn't handle the case alone, so he suggested hiring the prestigious, Pinkerton Detective Agency. This agency did exactly what Keith had done, visiting morgues, hospitals, jails, asking everyone. They went to the chocolate shop, to the bookstore, but once again, the Arnold family clung to the theory of the romance with Junior. That's how the agency, repeating parts of the story, offered the following theory. They believed that Dorothy

could have fled to Europe with a supposed lover. They thought the letters with foreign stamps and the ship sketches meant that the young woman had boarded a transatlantic liner and gone to Europe. But they inquired with several shipping lines, and no one knew anything about her. No young woman matching her description had been seen, and no woman like her had disembarked in Europe. Upon hearing the theory, the Arnold's were very clear. So in January 1911, Mary and her son John boarded a ship and went directly to Florence. Once there, they personally interrogated Junior. But he, cornered and under pressure, continued saying he knew nothing about her, that he hadn't seen Dorothy, that she didn't write to him, and to prove it, he offered all the

correspondence the girl had sent him over the months. But after reviewing everything, John decided there was no clue in the letters. So he grabbed them all and threw them into the fireplace. After several weeks of searching, the Pinkerton Agency found itself at a dead end. No more witnesses, no suspects, no motive for a supposed crime, a crime that didn't even seem to have been committed. So they suggested to the Arnold's that they finally report their daughter's disappearance officially. Francis Arnold initially refused. He didn't want the scandal to tarnish his family. But finally, on January 25, 1911, he was forced to hold a press conference. That day, Mr. Arnold not only announced that his daughter was missing, but he also offered a $1,000 reward to

anyone who could provide even the slightest clue about her whereabouts. If someone had seen her, if someone was with her, if anyone believed they had spoken to her, just by saying so, they could earn $1,000. During the press conference, all the reporters asked the same questions, what was the girl wearing, what did she carry, did she have money, didn't she have money, where was she headed? But the most repeated question came from one specific reporter, do you believe your daughter may have run away with a man you didn't approve of? To which Francis Arnold responded, I would have loved to see her associate with men younger than herself, especially with men of intellect and position, men whose professions or businesses kept them

occupied. I do not approve of idle young men. That's when what the Arnold's had feared happened. The journalists began digging into the life of Dorothy Arnold and inevitably discover of her relationship with Junior. All the newspapers revealed the affair, talked about their great love, their passion, how they had run off together. The romance became known throughout the United States. And when Junior returned home in February 1911, his name once again filled the headlines. He paid large sums to have Dorothy's face appear in newspapers in Canada, Mexico, and the United States. He even sent public messages to the young woman saying that if she returned, he would marry her. But the love story had weak legs. The San Francisco Chronicle

published an article that made Junior the main suspect. Supposedly, several employees of the hotel where he stayed in Florence claimed that a veiled woman entered the lobby and spoke with him for a long time. They said the woman was much younger than him, very nervous, agitated, trembling, so she could very well have been young Dorothy. After a while, the young woman stood up and left, and no one ever saw her again. That's when all the theories emerged. The first theory said that Dorothy ran away to marry Jr. In her mind, everything would be perfect. She spent money on her sister's dress, on clothes for herself, and on a boat ticket from the U.S. to Florence. But once she arrived, Jr. told her he didn't want to marry her, that they had a good time,

but he wasn't looking for commitment. So Dorothy, heartbroken, left the husband. He said, hotel and took her own life. The next theory was one junior himself hinted at, that Dorothy was so frustrated about not becoming the writer she aspired to be, that she slowly fell into depression. McClure's kept rejecting her stories again and again. She was hurt so deeply that the last letter she sent Jr. read the following. Well, McClure has rejected me again. Failure stares me in the face. All I can see ahead is a long road with no turning. My mother will always think an accident has happened. Her family and friends never believed this theory.

Dorothy wasn't that kind of person. She was strong, determined, adored, and a few rejections would never have stopped her. But many investigators eventually believed this story. Another theory said the young woman might have suffered amnesia. The streets were icy, so she could have slipped, hit her head, and lost her memory. But no hospital ever reported seeing her, so this story fell apart. Another theory came from Francis Arnold, the girl's father. He claimed Dorothy was murdered in Central Park, that some thugs took her money, killed

her, and dumped her in the lake. But police said the lake water was frozen at the time, and that if she'd been attacked, there would have been many witnesses, since Central Park has always been a busy place. Another theory claimed the family themselves got rid of her. Dorothy was uncontrollable. At 25 years old, instead of being married with children, she wanted to be a writer and had a lover with no future. Again and again, they asked her to find someone else, to stop writing, to settle down, to

grow up. But she wouldn't listen. So finally, to preserve their status, the family got rid of her. Many people believed this version, especially since the Arnold's waited six weeks before formally reporting Dorothy Arnold missing. But it must be said, there is not enough evidence to convict them. The final theory, and the one currently considered the most plausible, is that Dorothy died due to a botched abortion.

At the time, a young woman getting pregnant out of wedlock was considered a disgrace, a shame great enough to make an entire family lose their social standing. So many speculated that perhaps Dorothy had become pregnant by junior. That rumor gained credibility when, in early 1916, police shut up. down an abortion clinic in Bellevue, Pennsylvania. The clinic was run by Dr. C.C. Meredith and, at the time, was known as, the House of Mystery, as multiple women had entered but never exited. Dr. Lutz, who worked there and was later questioned by police, confessed that Dorothy had been at the clinic on December 12th. He also said the procedure didn't go well and that the girl's

body was cremated. When this news broke, the family quickly denied everything. Francis Arnold said Dorothy had never been pregnant and that if she had been, abortion wouldn't have been an option. For months, Dorothy's photo continued circulating across Canada, Mexico, and the U.S. The New York Times covered the story almost daily. But because of the massive attention, opportunists soon began appearing. Dozens of people called claiming to be Dorothy, to know her, or even to have her kidnapped. In February 1911, the Arnold Reynolds received a strange postcard. It was signed in the name of Dorothy Arnold and simply said, I am safe. The handwriting looked very similar to hers, but according to Francis Arnold,

it wasn't exactly the same. So once again, it was dismissed as evidence. Time passed, and out of nowhere, a jeweler in San Francisco claimed that Dorothy had asked him to engrave a ring on January 7, a one-year engagement ring with several diamonds, inscribed. A.A.J.R.P. DeSense 10, 1910. Unfortunately, after 35 days of searching, police closed the case, categorizing it as an unsolved disappearance. In April 1916, convicted criminal Edward Glenorris, already behind bars, confessed that he had been paid $250 to bury Dorothy Arnold's body in December 1910. He and an associate nicknamed Little Lewis were paid to pick the girl up from a house in New Rochelle, New York, and take her to another house in West Point.

In New Rochelle, they were greeted by two well-dressed men, one nicknamed Doc and another who looked very much like Jr. The woman, apparently, was unconscious, just minutes earlier, she had undergone surgery. Little Lewis and Edward carefully lifted her and placed her in the car. Then, Doc said the destination had changed, they were no longer going to West Point but to Wehawken, New Jersey. Obeying orders, they drove to New Jersey and discussed who the the girl was during the trip. Little Lewis said she was none other than Francis Arnold's daughter, and he knew because of a ring she always wore, a ring people later said she had on when she vanished. The story could have ended there. Ed and Little Lewis left the girl in New Jersey

and washed their hands of it. But the next day, they received a phone call, Doc told them the girl had died. So they had to go back to New Jersey, pick her up, and return her to the original house in New Rochelle. Obeying again, they brought the girl's body back. Once at the house, the new orders were different. They wrapped her body in a sheet, dug a hole in the basement, and buried her there, hoping she'd never be found. When police heard this story, they went to Edward Glenorris and asked him to repeat it,

but he refused. He said he didn't remember anything, didn't know anything, had never seen Dorothy. Still, the police didn't believe him and began doing. digging at various houses in New Rochelle. But in none of them did they find Dorothy Arnold's body. Over the years, the Arnold family invested $50,000 to find Dorothy. But, of course, all efforts were in vain. There were women claiming to be her. Police officers swore Dorothy had changed her name and gotten married. So many crazy things were said that the Arnold's finally grew tired of it all. Francis Arnold died on April 6, 19,

and he died so convinced that Dorothy was dead that he removed her from his will. But his wife never believed that. She was convinced that Dorothy was still out there, and searched for her until her last breath, which she exhaled on December 29, 1928. But now it's your turn. What do you think happened to Dorothy Arnold? The end. Every morning, as Dorothy woke up, she felt an ache deep in her chest.

It wasn't the kind of ache you get from physically. pain but something far more profound, an emptiness that reminded her of a longing for a place she could only reach in dreams. That place, with its endless gardens, towering columns, and serene waters, felt like her true home. She'd plead with her parents, asking them to take her back there. Please, she'd beg, tears in her eyes, I want to go back home, to the gardens, to my family. Her parents, bewildered, would always respond, Dorothy, you are home. This is your home. But to Dorothy, It wasn't. Her story begins with an ending of sorts, an old documentary aired by National Geographic in 1982 titled Egypt, In Search of Eternity. The documentary opened with the grandeur of Egypt's

iconic monuments and its ancient deities like Osiris and Horace. The narrator spoke of the Nile's unmatched significance, but the spotlight quickly shifted to one remarkable individual, O.M. SETI, a woman devoted to unraveling the mysteries of the Abidus Temple. The film celebrated her birthday, capturing her joy with colleagues and her deep love for Egypt. O. M. SETI. SETI. and Rameses III. Even as an Englishwoman, she practiced the ancient Egyptian religion, considering Abidus her true home. Just three days after filming, O. M. SETI passed away, her body buried close to Abidus. Her remarkable life sparked curiosity in many who watched the documentary. Who was this woman, and why did she claim to be the reincarnation?

of a priestess. Thus, the mysterious case of Dorothy Edie began. Dorothy Louise Edie was born on January 16, 1904, in Blackheath, England. Information about her early life and family is sparse, all we know is that her parents were Irish. But Dorothy's extraordinary journey began at the age of three, following a near-fatal accident. One day, while her parents were distracted, Dorothy tumbled down the stairs. The fall was so severe that she lay unconscious, unresponsive, and seemingly lifeless. Her parents, in panic, called a doctor who lived nearby. The physician arrived quickly, examining Dorothy only to conclude that the little girl

had no pulse and was no longer breathing. To everyone's devastation, she appeared to be dead. Dorothy's body was placed gently on her bed while her parents and the doctor discussed next steps in the living room. An hour later, the doctor returned to check on the child and found her sitting up in bed, playing with her bedsheets as if nothing had happened. It was a miraculous turn of events. Her parents didn't ask too many questions, overwhelmed with relief.

Over time, two theories emerged, one, that Dorothy truly died and somehow came back to life, and two, that she had only been unconscious but suffered a brain injury during the fall. The latter could explain the strange experiences that followed. A year after the accident, Dorothy began having vivid dreams. In these dreams, she roamed through a majestic place filled with endless corridors, towering pillars, vibrant murals, and lush gardens teeming with fruit trees and animals. Every morning, she'd awakened feeling like a part of her was missing. That dream world was home to her, and she desperately wanted to return.

She'd cry to her parents, take me back, please. I want to go back to the gardens. But they were baffled. Years passed, and Dorothy's obsession with this dreamlike world only grew stronger. Her family took her on a trip to the British Museum, a simple outing to explore ancient history. But when they entered the Egyptian exhibit, Dorothy's behavior changed drastically. She darted from one statue to another, kissing the feat of every depiction of an Egyptian god she encountered. I'm home, she exclaimed, this is my family.

Her parents dismissed her enthusiasm as a child's fascination. Egypt was, after all, an exciting topic for many children. Yet, for Dorothy, it was more than that. Later, Dorothy came across photographs of Egypt in a book or magazine, sources differ. Among these images was the Temple of Abidus. This is my home, she cried, recognizing it immediately as the place from her dreams. She also claimed to know Sedi I, the long-dead Pharaoh whose mummy had been discovered. I knew him, she insisted to her parents, who continued to dismiss her claims as fanciful.

As Dorothy grew older, her fascination with Egypt deepened. But it also caused trouble. Teachers grew frustrated with her as she challenged religious teachings. At Sunday school, Dorothy compared Christianity to ancient Egyptian beliefs, which upset her instructors. At another school, she refused to sing a hymn that cursed the Egyptians, going so far as to throw a hymnal at her teacher. Her behavior led to multiple expulsions.

By the time she was a teenager, her passion for Egypt had grown into an all-consuming obsession. At 14, Dorothy began having intensely vivid dreams, some of which involved Sedi I. These dreams became intimate, with Dorothy describing encounters that were startlingly detailed. She wasn't frightened, instead, these dreams seemed to fuel her conviction that she was connected to this ancient world. Her parents, unable to cope, sent her to various sanatoriums, hoping treatment might cure her of these delusions. Each time she returned home, the dreams and behaviors resumed. Eventually, her parents gave up trying to change her. At 16, Dorothy left school but continued studying on her own. She took art classes and worked part-time,

saving up to purchase small Egyptian artifacts, trinkets that were of little monetary value but held them meant significance for her. At some point, Dorothy began to recall detailed memories of a past life. She claimed to have been Bentreshit, a priestess of Isis abandoned as a child and raised in a temple. Bentreshit was deeply devoted to her faith, choosing a monastic life over a secular one. Her role required purity, but she fell in love with Sediye, breaking her vows. The affair ended tragically when Bentreshit discovered she was pregnant. Facing judgment and dishonor, she took her own life. In her early 20s, Dorothy found work at an Egyptian magazine in London, where she wrote articles criticizing British colonial rule in Egypt. It was during this time

she met an Egyptian man named Imam Abdul Megwit. Despite her parents' disapproval, Dorothy married him in 1933, and the couple moved to Cairo. The moment Dorothy stepped off the boat, she kissed the ground, overwhelmed with emotion. For the first time in her life, she felt she was truly home. Dorothy embraced her new life with enthusiasm. She adopted traditional Egyptian customs and quickly became fluent in Arabic. Her husband's family gave her the nickname Bulbul, Nightingale, and she gave birth to a son whom she named Setti. Her husband tolerated her obsession with ancient Egypt at first, but tensions arose when Dorothy's focus on her past life and her beliefs overshadowed their relationship. Eventually, the couple divorced, and Dorothy moved to a small

village near the Giza Pyramids. Living near the pyramids allowed Dorothy to immerse herself in her passion. She frequently visited the Great Pyramid, performing rituals and leaving offerings. Her knowledge and dedication caught the attention of Salim Hassan, a prominent archaeologist, who hired her as a secretary and artist. Dorothy became the first woman to work for the Department of Egyptian Antiquities, a groundbreaking achievement at the time. For two decades, she contributed to archaeological projects, translating inscriptions, and cataloging artifacts. In 1951, Dorothy joined a project at the Dasher Pyramids, where she restored tombs and compiled detailed catalogs. But her heart was always drawn to abidus. Finally, in 1956, she secured

a position there. At 52 years old, Dorothy fulfilled her lifelong dream of living in working at the Temple of Sedi I. She cataloged and translated inscriptions, advocated for the excavation of ancient gardens, and even accurately predicted the locations of hidden tunnels and structures. Dorothy's dedication to Abidus was unwavering. She became its unofficial caretaker, guiding tourists and sharing its history. Despite suffering a heart attack in 1972, she continued her work at a slower pace. In her later years, she co-authored a book on Abidus and appeared in documentaries, including the National Geographic feature. that introduced her to a global audience.

Dorothy passed away in 1981, just days after filming the documentary. She had prepared for her death, selecting a burial site near the temple. Bureaucratic issues prevented this, and she was instead buried in an unmarked grave in a Coptic cemetery nearby. Dorothy Edie, or OM Setti, left behind a legacy that continues to captivate and inspire. Was she truly a reincarnated priestess, or was her story the result of a vivid imagination fueled by trauma? The mystery endures, inviting each of us to decide what we believe. They say her friend disappeared, that they couldn't find her,

and they asked for a couple of maps to look for her themselves. Fortunately, at this point, the park staff reacted quickly. A missing girl wasn't a joke, it wasn't a game. They immediately called the police. We're talking about a very safe park, but at the same time, it had challenging zones. Christina Mary Calleica was born on December 19, 1986, to Elizabeth. Roodle and Mario Kaleika. The following year, her parents divorced, and her upbringing was solely in her mother's hands. Elizabeth, of Filipino descent, raised her daughter alone in

Ontario until Christina turned six. At that point, Elizabeth met another man, married him, and had a son, Michael Roodle. From the moment Michael was born, Christina became his protector. She was deeply attached to her mother and brother, and her dream was to help them one day. She wanted to become someone important, get a good job, and support them financially. Christina was the kind of person who thought about others before herself, always offering help and being affectionate. Yet, she was introverted, loved to listen, and was great at giving advice. But when it came to talking about her own issues, she stayed silent, a trait that would

later become crucial. Another important aspect of her life was her faith. Elizabeth was a devout Catholic, and Christina followed in her footsteps. It said that even at one-year-old, she prayed with her mom. As she grew, her devotion strengthened. She joined a youth group at her church called Youth for Christ, volunteered to teach religion to children, and participated in an annual conference organized by the same group. After high school, Christina attended George Brown College and graduated in 2006 with a certificate in early childhood education. By the following summer, she landed a job at St. Bernadette's

summer camp, where she gave half her paycheck to her mother. Back then, Elizabeth was juggling multiple jobs and had little time for herself, so Christina's generosity was a big help. As mentioned earlier, Christina was very selfless, always putting others first. But she also had big dreams. She wanted to volunteer in the Philippines and study at York University. She was determined to work hard, save money, and achieve her goals. And the first step in her plan was to attend a Catholic youth conference in Montreal on Monday,

August 6, 2007. Christina was set on attending, but when she discussed it with her friends, they realized the trip was too expensive. Between transportation, food, and lodging, the costs were way out of reach. That's when her friends proposed a cheaper alternative. The group included three people, her cousin Fit Castillo, 20, and two friends from church, Edward Maii, 20, and Joe Benedict, 19. Their plan was simple, during the conference days, they'd go camping.

It was a more affordable and fun option. However, Christina wasn't thrilled. She had gone camping before, specifically on the Sighton Trail, and got lost that time. The idea of camping again didn't excite her. Yet, surprisingly, she agreed. They planned a trip to Rainbow Falls Provincial Park in Ontario. This camping trip was meant to be completely safe. Each campsite was equipped with all kinds of amenities, showers, wooden cabins, fire pits with grills,

and clearly marked trails. The routes were only three kilometers long. There was a more challenging 53-kilometer trail, but they weren't planning to take that one. It was supposed to be a peaceful weekend filled with nature, streams, waterfalls, and breathtaking landscapes. However, leaving the marked trails

was strictly forbidden due to the dangers of 240-meter cliffs. None of the group had any prior camping experience and had never traveled this far north. Just in case, they informed everyone where they'd be, with whom, and what they'd be doing. Each friend told their parents, but Christina only partially informed her mother. She mentioned she'd be camping in the mountains but didn't provide any details because, in truth, she didn't have them. The trip was organized last minute. They found the park by Googling Waterfalls. The drive from Toronto to Rainbow Falls was about 14 to 15 hours.

On Saturday, August 4th, at 10 a.m., they set off. They used Christina's mother's car and made multiple stops along the way at tourist spots to rest and refuel. They were in no rush, and the journey ended up taking longer than expected. Once they got there, they decided to rest. They unpacked, organized their things, and planned to take a short nap around 6.30 p.m. The plan was to sleep for 30 minutes, but no one set an alarm, so they ended up waking up at 10.30 p.m. They quickly got up, started a fire, and cooked dinner. At 12.08 a.m., they snapped the last photo of Christina. She looked happy, immersed in the moment. But after this, things slowly took a dark turn.

The fire went out at 3.30 a.m., and while the rest of the group wanted to sleep, Christina had other plans. She wanted to swim under the stars and the moon. Her friends, however, weren't interested. They were tired and urged her to wait until the next day. She gave into the group's pressure, and they all went to bed. At 6.30 a.m., Christina woke up and asked Edward to accompany her to the comfort station, where the bathrooms and showers were located.

She felt uneasy going alone. Edward agreed, and the walk there was peaceful. It was early morning, the sun was rising, and everything felt calm. But the walk back was a different story. Apparently, they decided to race back to the campsite. This is where things get complicated, as there are two different versions of what happened next. The first version is that they raced on the same path, but Christina got tired and fell behind. The second version is that they took separate routes, Edward the longer one and Christina

the shorter one. Regardless of the details, they eventually got separated. A witness named Paul Gutierrez saw a girl running past his RV that morning. He lived in the camping area and stepped outside to enjoy his coffee when an Asian girl dashed by. He couldn't confirm if it was Christina, but he said she looked very similar. Edward made it back to the campsite, but Christina wasn't there. He waited for a bit, checked both paths.

and when she didn't return, he assumed she'd gotten distracted or taken her time. Later, he grabbed an axe to chop some wood and carried on with his morning. At 9.30 a.m., the rest of the group woke up. They noticed Christina was still missing but weren't initially alarmed. Her cousin suggested she might be wandering around, needing some alone time as an introvert. They thought she'd come back soon. As time passed, Joe went to the bathroom and kept an eye out for Christina. On his way back, he even checked nearby beaches but didn't see or hear her.

By the time he returned, the group began to worry. They decided to search more seriously, walking along various paths. They encountered many people but never asked anyone if they'd seen Christina. Those early hours, crucial for finding her, were essentially wasted. At 1.45 p.m., the group left a note at their campsite in case Christina returned and went to the park's entrance to talk to the staff. However, instead of asking for immediate help or contacting the police, they only requested maps to search for her themselves.

Thankfully, the park staff recognized the gravity of the situation and called the police immediately. While Rainbow Falls Provincial Park was considered safe, it had its dangers. Leaving the marked trails was rare but risky. There were cliffs, bears, and other hazards. It had already been hours since anyone had seen Christina, and finding her became a top priority. Before the police arrived, park employees began searching trails and water areas. Their main concerns were that she had fallen off a path or encountered a bear.

When the police arrived, they were given a detailed description of Christina. She was wearing a striped purple and maroon shirt, a blue hoodie, black pants, and running shoes. The authorities immediately flagged several red flags. Christina lacked camping experience, got disoriented easily, and wasn't physically resilient. Yet, they didn't believe she could have gotten lost so easily. The trails were straightforward and well-marked. In the last few years, only one person, an older woman, had gotten lost in the area. She was missing for nine hours before being found safe.

Christina's mother also spoke with the police, providing insights about her daughter. She mentioned that Christina had experienced fasting and could go hours without food, so she wasn't worried about that. What did worry her, though, was her daughter's inability to run. According to Edward, he and Christina had raced back to the campsite, but her mother insisted this wasn't possible. Christina had previously stepped on a needle that got embedded in her foot. It took a long time to remove, and even after healing, she struggled to walk long distances

without pain. Running was out of the question. The search, the ghost of justice, the peculiar tale of Jose Maria Grimaldos, this story dives headfirst into the murkiest corners of an unsolved mystery, blending tragedy, cruelty, and an unbelievable twist. It begins in 1910 in the small Spanish town of OSA de la Vega, where a shepherd named Jose Maria Grimaldos Lopez worked at a local estate. Known by the nickname El SEPA, Jose Maria was a short, unassuming man, often mocked for his absent-mindedness. At just four feet ten inches tall, he didn't exactly strike an imposing

figure, and his tendency to drift off into daydreams made him an easy target for teasing. His work at El Palomar, an estate owned by the town mayor, was stable. While life at the estate wasn't idyllic, it was predictable, until August 20, 1910, when Jose Maria sold some sheep for 25 duros, a tidy sum at the time, and disappeared without a trace. Supposedly, he intended to visit curative baths in La Celadilla, a few kilometers away. But after seven days passed, and then weeks, he didn't return. He didn't send letters. He didn't leave a single clue.

Whispers of foul play, at first, his family assumed he'd gotten lost or run into trouble. But as the days stretched into months, darker theories emerged. Jose Maria had been carrying money, and some speculated he might have been robbed and murdered. Suspicion quickly fell on two men he worked with, Gregorio Valero Contreras, nicknamed El Varella, and Leon Sanchez Gaskin, known as El Pastor. These two were notorious for ridiculing Jose Maria relentlessly, their teasing bordering on cruelty. The family filed a formal complaint, and authorities interrogated Gregorio and Leon. Both denied involvement, claiming their teasing had always been in good fun. The local judge, Don Antonio Rodriguez, found no evidence linking them to the disappearance

and eventually dismissed the case in September 1911. And so began the ghost stories. A town haunted by rumors, as time passed and Jose Maria, remained missing, villagers began reporting strange occurrences. Some swore they heard his ghost wailing in the wind, while others claimed to see his apparition wandering the roads of OSA de la Vega and Tristjuncos. These tales took root, growing wilder with every retelling. Desperate for closure, Jose Maria's family pressed for the case to be reopened,

and in 1913, they got their wish. A new judge, a terrifying approach. A new judge, Don Emilio Issa Echenique, had replaced the lenient Rodriguez. Emilio was notorious for his unyielding approach to justice. He ordered Gregorio and Leon's immediate arrest, instructing the Civil Guard to extract confessions, by any means necessary. What followed was a descent into unimaginable brutality. The two men were imprisoned in separate cells in Belmontie, subjected to a systematic campaign

of torture. They were given only salted cod to eat, left parched and starving for days. Then came the beatings. Civil guards dragged them through relentless interrogations. hanging them by their wrists, pulling out their teeth and nails, and splintering wood under their fingernails. Their injuries became infected, their bodies withered, and their minds broke under the unrelenting agony.

Broken souls, false confessions, after enduring this hell, Gregorio and Leon confessed to anything their captors wanted to hear. At first, they accused each other, each man desperate to shift blame. Then, under pressure, they invented stories to satisfy their interrogators' ever-changing questions. One day, they claimed Jose Maria's body was buried on a road. When this yielded nothing, they said he was in a cemetery. Another time, they suggested his flesh had been fed to pigs while his bones were ground into dust and thrown into a river.

Their confessions were contradictory and clearly fabricated, yet they were taken as gospel. Even Gregorio's wife, Dolores, was coerced into, remembering a conversation in which her husband mentioned hiding the body in a cemetery. This led to a grotesque reenactment, where Gregorio and Leon were forced to dig with their bare hands in a fruitless search for Jose Maria's remains. In one heartbreaking moment, Gregorio, delirious and dehydrated, escaped briefly and threw himself into a river to drink, desperate for water denied to him for days. A trial without a body, on November 11, 1913, Judge Issa Echinique issued an official declaration

of Jose Maria's death, stating he was murdered on August 21st, 1910, between 830. and 9 p.m. There was no body, no witnesses, no physical evidence, but Gregorio and Leon were declared guilty. Their trial, delayed until 1918, was a farce. With a jury of 12 already convinced of their guilt, their lawyer's only aim was to spare them from execution. Miraculously, the men avoided the Garote, receiving 18-year prison sentences instead. Freedom comes at a price. Gregorio served his time in San Miguel de Los Reyes in Valencia, and Leon in Cartaghan. By the time they were released on July 4, 1925, they were broken men. Worse, they returned to a society that saw them as monsters.

They couldn't find work, and their families bore the stigma of being associated with murderers. Meanwhile, ghost stories about Jose Maria continued to swirl. His specter was reportedly seen in dreams and along lonely paths, fueling local superstitions. His mother insisted she dreamed of him, claiming he told her he was lost, not dead. The shocking truth, everything changed on February 8, 1926, when a priest in Trunkos received a letter from a priest in Mira, a nearby village. The letter requested Jose Maria Grimaldos's birth certificate, because he wanted to get married.

The priest in Trus Junkos was dumbfounded. Jose Maria was supposed to be dead. Torn between duty and disbelief, he sent the documents and kept quiet. But news leaked, and soon the entire region was in uproar. A stunned Jose Maria was arrested, confused as to why he was being questioned about his own existence. Jose Maria explained that in 1910, after visiting the baths in La Celadilla, he had an ominous feeling about returning home. Deciding to leave his past behind, he moved to Camperobles, Valencia, where he found work and eventually settled in Mira. He'd sent a letter to his sister years earlier to explain his decision, but it seemed she'd never received, or ignored, it.

Justice reclaimed, the revelation rocked Spain. The Minister of Justice ordered the case reviewed, and on July 10, 1926, the convictions of Gregorio and Leon were overturned. The supposed victim himself testified that he'd never been mistreated by either man, calling into question the motives of his family, who had once accused them so adamantly. Many believed Jose Maria's family knew he was alive all along, but stayed silent to save face. After all, if they admitted he'd left voluntarily, it would mean enduring the shame of abandoning their claims of foul play. Aftermath, Gregorio and Leon were declared innocent, but their

tormentors faced little consequence. The judge who orchestrated their suffering and the priest who tried to cover it up both committed suicide. Others, including civil guards and court officials, escaped conviction. The two forensic examiners involved also walked free. Despite their exoneration, Gregorio and Leon lived the rest of their lives under the shadow of their ordeal. They found work as guards in Madrid and were granted a pension of 3,000 pucetas annually, retroactive for five years. Reflecting on the ordeal, Gregorio expressed gratitude for the small measure of justice, saying, these piscetas ease my household's burdens, though no amount can undo the harm. A legacy of tragedy, the story of Jose Maria Grimaldos

has since inspired films and books, many focusing on the horrors Gregorio and Leon endured. One particularly graphic film adaptation was censored for its brutal portrayal of the torture. And yet, as we revisit this tale over a century later, the question lingers, was justice truly served? Or is it simply another ghost haunting the annals of history? Upon hearing the theory, the Arnolds were very clear about it. So in January 1911, Mary and her son John boarded a ship and went directly to Florence, and once there, they personally questioned the convicted junior. But he, cornered and under pressure, kept insisting that he knew nothing about her, that he hadn't seen Dorothy, that he knew nothing, that she wasn't sending him letters,

and to clear up any doubts, he offered them all the correspondence that the girl had sent him. Let's begin. Dorothy Harriet Camille Arnold was born on July 1st, 1885, in New York, United States, the second of four children of Francis Rose Arnold, a prestigious perfume importer, and his wife Mary Martha Parks Arnold. The social and economic status of this family was sky high, they descended from one of the first English families to arrive in the United States, the kind who emigrated aboard the famous Mayflower. Francis Rose Arnold studied at Harvard, and his sister Harriet

Marie was married to a Supreme Court judge. As you might expect, in a family like the Arnold's, all the children received a higher education. In fact, Dorothy studied at the exclusive Velton School for girls and later studied literature and language at Bryn Maw College, where she graduated in 1905. It is said that Dorothy was a very cultured woman and fluent in several languages. Her greatest dream was to become a writer, so she spent her time writing stories and sending them to magazines and hopes of getting published. But unfortunately, no matter how many stories, essays, or articles she submitted, no one ever wanted to publish her work. In early 1910, she sent her first story to McClure's magazine. She was convinced her piece was brilliant,

that her characters were well developed, and that the plot was nearly perfect. But the following week, McClure's replied that it wasn't good enough. They said her story was missing something, and that they would not publish it. When the Arnold family heard about the rejection, they mocked Dorothy. They said maybe writing wasn't her thing and that the most sensible thing was to give it up. Those comments hurt Dorothy so much that she rented a P.O. box so that all her correspondence would go there instead. She preferred to read rejection letters alone rather than have her whole family find out. She didn't want her parents or brothers to see another letter from McClure's and instantly know she'd been rejected again.

So she received them at the P.O. box, and if they were bad news, she wouldn't tell anyone. But if they were good, she would share the news with everyone. Still, most of what she received were rejections. In September 1910, Dorothy asked her dear parents for some money. She said she was supposedly traveling to Boston to see an old friend, someone she hadn't seen or spoken to in a long time, and she was excited to reunite with her. Given this explanation, her parents didn't oppose the trip. They gave her the money and let her go. But days passed with no news from her, so they started to investigate, and that's when they discovered a truly scandalous story.

Dorothy had been secretly seeing George Griscombe, Jr., a 42-year-old engineer whom he was. she had met at university. Junior, as he was known, was a member of one of the most respectable families in New York. He had class, money, but his reputation wasn't the best for someone Dorothy should be involved with. He was 42, unemployed, and lived with his parents. He might have had money and a good name, but without ambition, the Arnold's weren't interested. Dorothy stayed away from home for an entire week, and during that time, she lied to her parents while secretly staying at a hotel. If anyone found out that Dorothy was at a hotel with Junior,

she probably would never find a decent husband, and the Arnold family's reputation would plummet. So when she returned home, her parents gave her a peace of their mind. They strictly forbade her from ever seeing Junior again, and they made it clear that her relationship with him had no future. But Dorothy was certain, she was in love. So no matter what her parents said,

she kept writing him letters, kept talking to him, kept meeting him in secret, and they continued to swear eternal love to each other. It's unclear whether he truly intended to marry her, but according to various articles, Dorothy was serious about the relationship. In October 1910, she asked her father for permission to live on her own. She claimed that she couldn't concentrate on writing at home, that she couldn't feel inspired, and that living alone would help. But Francis Arnold flatly refused. He told his daughter that real writers find inspiration anywhere, and there was no way he would allow his daughter to live alone. Many sources say he said no to preserve her honor. If he allowed Dorothy to live alone, he'd have no control over who

came in and out of the apartment, and if neighbors saw Jr. arriving in the afternoon and leaving the next morning, it would be a scandal. In early November, the couple reunited happily, but this time, it was to say goodbye. Junior was soon leaving for Florence with his parents. The news deeply saddened Dorothy, but it gave her the motivation to write to McClure's again and submit a new story. The story was titled Christmas Eve in a flame, and this time Dorothy was convinced they would accept it.

Good characters, good plot, everything was perfect. But once again, just a few days later, she received another rejection letter. This time, she couldn't take it. For several days, Dorothy appeared devastated. She started to believe she would never become a writer. From here, two versions emerge. The first version is the one given by the family, and according to them, Dorothy was indeed sad, but at the same time, she knew how to carry on.

She was a strong, determined girl with clear ideas. She knew that a few failures didn't mean anything. She didn't take no for an answer, so it was clear she would keep fighting. But the second version comes from Junior. According to him, after receiving the rejection letter, Dorothy sent him another one, saying she wanted to end her life, that she couldn't go on, that she had no talent and that there was no point in continuing. According to Junior, Dorothy wanted to die, no matter how.

This leads us to December 12, 1910, at exactly 10 a.m. Dorothy got up, did her head. hair, dressed in her best clothes, and grabbed her muff handbag. She then went downstairs to the main sitting room. Once there, she asked her mother for some money to buy a dress for her sister. On December 17th, a debutante ball was to be held, a ball where all the young people of high society were introduced to one another. So 19-year-old Marjorie had to look perfect. At first, Dorothy asked for a small amount of money. But later, she asked for a small amount of money. But later, a bit more, between $25 and $30, which would be equivalent to about $700 or $800 today. Mrs. Arnold opened her purse and gave her the money, then offered to accompany her.

But Dorothy declined the offer. Her mother was very ill, so if she wanted to attend the ball, she needed to rest. Around 11 a.m., Dorothy grabbed the money, placed it in her handbag, and left. The streets were icy, so she walked very careful. Along the way, Dorothy ran into friends and acquaintances, all of whom said she seemed very happy, smiling, greeting everyone, and in great spirits. With so many witnesses, we can reconstruct her entire route. The Arnold family lived on 79th Street, and Dorothy walked from there to Park and Tilford, where she charged a box of chocolates to her account.

The shop assistant said she looked very cheerful and didn't add much else. Next, Dorothy went directly to Brentano's bookstore, where she bought the book-engaged girl sketches. After that, she exited the shop and, right at the door, ran into her friend Gladys King. The two girls talked about many things, the ball, what they were going to wear, who they would go with. At some point, Gladys invited her to join her and her mother for lunch at the Waldorf Astoria. But Dorothy said she couldn't, she was heading straight home through Central Park. And from that moment on, the two girls went their separate ways. Gladys went to have breakfast.

Dorothy disappeared forever. As night fell, Dorothy never came home. Her parents called all her friends, neighbors, acquaintances, everyone, and no one knew anything about her. That's when her parents remembered Junior. They knew he was in Italy, far away, and that Dorothy couldn't have gone alone. But what if Jr. had come back? What if Dorothy had gone with him? What if he had taken her away? If anyone found out that Dorothy had run off with a man, her reputation would be ruined.

And if she came back married to him, it would be even worse. So the Arnold's decided not to file a police report. Dorothy's brother John had a friend who was, by chance, a private detective. So the Arnold's hired him. His name was John Keith, and he did everything possible to find even the slightest clue about the girl's whereabouts. First, he followed the route Dorothy took that day. He asked at the candy shop, the bookstore, Gladys King, and of course, everyone who had seen Dorothy. But no one, absolutely no one, had any relevant information. They all said she looked very happy, cheerful, talkative. So Keith decided to search Dorothy. his room, and once there, he found a couple of things that did seem important.

First, nothing was missing. All of her clothes were in the closet, so she couldn't have run away. On her desk, there were several letters with foreign postmarks and several sketches of ocean miners. To be continued. The mysterious case of Kaylee Marie Anthony. The Anthony family was perfect, a very well-matched marriage made up of Cynthia and George Anthony, two perfect children, a huge house with a swimming pool. But that perfection was pure facade. On the other side of the door of their beautiful house, everything was disagreements. The oldest son of the marriage left home when he was very young and since then barely called his parents, and the youngest daughter, Casey, was simply uncontrollable. She didn't want to study, she only wanted to party, drink, smoke, go out with

boys, and lying was her favorite pastime. She lied about absolutely everything, about things as insignificant as what time it was. That's why when at the beginning of 2005 she started gaining weight, her parents were sure, she was pregnant. But she, obviously, denied it. First, she said she had just gotten fat, but when she realized that excuse no longer worked, she told her parents she had gotten some tests done and was diagnosed with hypothyroidism, a condition that, among other symptoms, makes it difficult to burn fat. However, there came a point of when her lies, no matter how elaborate, couldn't hold up. So, she ended up admitting the obvious, she was pregnant.

But she didn't intend to keep the baby. A thousand options had crossed her mind, but none of them was keeping the child. Abortion wasn't possible, she had been pregnant too long. Besides, her mother Cynthia was extremely religious, and even if it had been possible, that option couldn't be considered. So her only alternative was to give the baby up for adoption. But Cynthia opposed it, she was convinced that baby was a divine gift. So she offered to raise the baby as her own.

But Casey, yes, would have to take responsibility for her actions, for the Lord had willed it that way. Now, the question is, who was the father of that child? And the answer, not even Casey knew it. During the months when that child was conceived, Casey Anthony had had sexual relations with two different men, her ex-boyfriend, who had died in a traffic accident at the beginning of 2005, and Jesse Grant, a guy she had a strange relationship with until they managed to formalize it at the beginning of that same year. Unfortunately, after six weeks of dating, things didn't work out. Even so, Casey knew Jesse was a good guy. So in early June, she called him on the phone and told him she was expecting his child. And indeed, just as she had planned, Jesse wanted to do things right.

He bought things for the baby, a crib, toys, clothes, he even proposed to Casey so the relationship would be more formal. It seemed that finally, things were going to work out. But the truth is, nothing changed with the birth of Kaylee Marie Anthony on August 9, 2005. Casey continued living with her parents, going out to party whenever she could, drinking, smoking, and that situation was clearly incompatible with her new role as a mother. Jesse quickly realized that the little girl didn't look anything like him. Also, whenever Casey got drunk, she would say nonsensical things, things like she didn't even

know who the father of her daughter was. So he decided to take a DNA test to know if Kaylee was really his child. The results, obviously negative, Jesse Grant was not the biological father of Kaylee Marie Anthony. This caused the young man to break off his engagement with Casey Anthony. George and Cynthia Anthony acted as full-time parents to their own granddaughter, while her biological mother behaved like an older sister, she only approached her to play or to complain because the baby's crying wouldn't let her sleep. So in June 2008, the Anthony couple decided to set things straight with Casey.

They questioned her role as a mother, her way of raising Kaylee, they questioned absolutely everything she did for the girl, which was practically nothing. Their arguments deeply hurt Casey. She defended herself, saying none of that was true, that she was a great mother, and that she didn't have to keep putting up with that kind of nonsense, especially because at that moment she had just gotten a job at the offices of Universal Studios in Orlando, and therefore now no longer needed them to raise her daughter. Without thinking twice, she packed her things, put the child in the car, started the engine, and drove to Tampa, Florida. At this point, George and

Cynthia didn't really know what to do. Casey had a long history of lies on her shoulders, so they didn't know if the job was real or just another lie. Therefore, they feared Casey might not have money to feed her, they feared something might happen because of Casey's tremendous irresponsibility. And it was natural that they were so worried, during her three years of life, they had cared for and raised Kaylee as if she were their own daughter. So it shouldn't surprise us that Cynthia, from that moment on, called Casey practically every day. Unfortunately, since her departure, contacting Casey would be impossible. The child would never answer their calls, she was always playing with someone, napping,

or with the babysitter, Zenaenaenaed Gonzalez, better known as Zani the Nanny. This babysitter wasn't someone the Anthony's knew directly, but if Casey had entrusted her child to her, it was because she really trusted her, so they didn't give it much importance. At least, not until the following month. On July 13, 2008, George and Cynthia Anthony received a notification informing them that Casey's car, a white Pontiac firebird, had been towed for improperly occupying a public road and was now at the municipal impound lot. George called Casey several times, but she didn't answer, so on July 15th, he and his wife went to retrieve the vehicle without her knowing. What they found there made them fear the

worst. The car contained much of Kaylee's toys, her clothes, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. But the strangest thing was that when they opened the car door, a terrible stench emerged, a terrible, nauseating stench of putrefaction. In George Anthony's words, It was the most nauseating smell he had ever smelled. Cynthia didn't want any more excuses. So while her husband paid the car's bail, she desperately called Casey. But, as expected, her daughter didn't answer.

So Cynthia contacted a friend who gave her an address, the address of her new boyfriend's house, where she had been living since she left. Without thinking twice, Cynthia and George went there immediately, demanding explanations, and, of course, demanding to see Kaylee. But the little girl wasn't there.

According to Casey, she was with the babysitter. Unfortunately for her, Cynthia didn't want any more excuses, she wanted to see her granddaughter, and she wanted to see her at that precise moment. So she demanded that Casey get in a car, that car she had abandoned, and take them directly to see that babysitter. And so it was.

Casey drove for 45 minutes with her parents, parents sitting in the back seats, until she finally realized she couldn't keep lying. She stopped the car, took off her seatbelt, and said, word for word, the truth is, I don't know where Kaylee is. She's been missing for 31 days, 31 days in which she hadn't informed the police. 31 days in which she hadn't said anything, neither to her parents nor her friends. And the most shocking thing is that her boyfriend, with whom she had been living since the first day she left home, had never met Kaylee, because Casey had assured him the little girl was with Zani the nanny. All of this was too unreal, too incoherent. So, ignoring Casey's refusal to call the

police, Cynthia grabbed the mobile phone and quickly called 911. Here's a brief excerpt. My daughter's been taken, she's been missing for a month, her mother finally admitted that. She's been, my daughter finally admitted that the baby, I need her, my daughter admitted, the babies, we've been looking for, I told you my daughter was missing for a month, I just found her today, but I can't find my granddaughter, she just. A report was filed. Casey's version of the events was that little Kaylee hadn't disappeared but had been kidnapped by Zanida Gonzalez, her babysitter, a babysitter she had trusted without knowing that she really intended to steal her daughter. At this point is when the voice recorder became a very

useful tool for the police, because if they wanted to piece everything together, they had to record every word and every sentence uttered by the victim's mother, Casey Anthony, who at this point had become a victim of something much bigger. She claimed to be afraid. What she didn't know was that from this point forward, she would be under a magnifying glass by the authorities. The police began interrogating everyone, friends, family, neighbors, examining her correspondence, her email, and of course, her social media. And the attitude she had shown in the 31 days her daughter Kaylee had been missing didn't denote worry, rather, the complete opposite.

She had attended parties, drank uncontrollably, and participated in competitions like Miss Hot Body organized by several nightclubs in Tampa. But the most shocking thing wasn't the photos being shown on screen, but the fact that while Kaylee Marie Anthony, her three-year-old daughter, was missing, this woman got the words La Bella Vita tattooed on herself, which translates to the good life. The police couldn't make sense of this. Her worry during interrogations didn't match up when, during the 31 days her daughter was missing, she was out partying, drinking, and having a great time. Her brave mother role didn't match up with the statements of all the people who claimed to know her and

considered her a compulsive liar. However, each person is unique, and we all react differently to pain. So the investigations continued. Let's go back in time, exactly to June 15th, 2008. That day, after arguing with her parents, Casey made it very clear to them that she didn't need anyone to raise her daughter because she had gotten a job at the offices of Universal Studios, and thanks to that, she could now easily support little Cayley. As expected, this was one of the police's main points of investigation, if they wanted to find clues about Cayley's disappearance. If they wanted to find clues about Kaylee's disappearance, they had to search Casey's house, her car, and, of course, her office. And guess what, the same scene repeated itself as on July 15th, that fateful day

when Casey's parents discovered that their granddaughter had been missing for 31 days. Because Casey didn't work at Universal Studios. She had just lied. She led the police officers around the hallways of Universal Studios for half an hour, and finally, this is what happened. the lie couldn't continue. To be continued. They were taken for half an hour, wandering through the hallways of the Universal Studios offices and, finally this is what, happened the lie could not continue, but, she couldn't stop she simply couldn't. Tell the truth the only thing she had left, was the nanny that woman nobody knew on July 17th, 2008. The police obtained a search warrant to examine Casey's car with a

cadaver dog, a specially trained animal, for locating bodies in extreme, conditions and just as many of you may have, guessed at the beginning of this story. Jeroos, the German Shepherd, assigned to this task, upon merely, approaching the vehicle, went wild,

clearly that nauseating smell, emerging from inside the car was, decomposition and the source of the stench was, the trunk, as if a corpse had, been there for a month, automatically an air quality test was done inside that car and the results were made public on August 27th there was no doubt that in the trunk of that car for a long time there had been a corpse slowly decomposing the response from Casey to this evidence was I put garbage in

the trunk for several days I forgot to take it to the dumpster and when I finally tried it was too late I had to clean everything up but the smell wouldn't go away by this point though investigations focused on finding a missing girl in the Florida area a girl who had been kidnapped and who might still be alive but little by little no one believed the version of a mother who was in jail for neglect and who couldn't give a single coherent fact even casey's parents had doubts about what she said and used every visit with her to get her to emphasize to the camera that she was innocent want me to tell that she needs to return key i forgive her my only concern is that key comes back to us and she's smiling and she's happy and that she's that she's. Okay, okay, what do you want me to tell? Key that Mommy loves her very much and she's the most important thing. In this entire world to me, when you blame an innocent person for something, terrible, it

ends up backfiring on you and that's exactly what happened to Casey Anthony on, September 24th, 2008 because that day, the police leaked to the media that they had found a woman registered in, Kissimmee, Florida named. Zinida Gonzalez but, coincidentally this woman had never, worked as a nanny she was a nurse had, no record and everyone who knew her, considered her a very good person so, her image was everywhere this woman, without thinking twice, sued. Casey Anthony it was then that this sad mother became the main suspect on the morning of December 11th, 2008 a man named Roy Crone who, worked as a meter reader, found something that would change the investigation completely,

while working he felt the call of nature and entered a wooded area located half a kilometer from George and Cindy Anthony's house while urinating there hidden he looked around and noticed that beside him was a large black trash bag that object caught his attention so much that he began hitting it with a stick wanting to see what was inside he started tearing that bag and realized there was a skull and a pile of bones at first he thought they were Halloween decorations but then he noticed there were things there that weren't normal a Winnie the Pooh, blanket wrapped those bones and ducked, tape covered the mouth of that skull. Trunk gave very contradictory statements to the police who, collected the bag and opened

it the same, one he had opened with a stick and the skull, fell out either way on December 19th it, was made public that those remains, evidently belonged to, Kaylee Marie Anthony, but almost completely decomposed into, bones it was impossible to determine the cause. Of her death it was impossible to know. if, she had been physically abused if, she had been sexually assaulted if she had, been suffocated it was impossible to, know how she died and of course it was, impossible to find the killer's fingerprints. Casey Anthony pointed her, accusing finger at several people first at, Roy Crone for magically finding, her daughter and giving contradictory, statements to the

police and then at her own father, George Anthony, who weeks after it, became public that those human remains belong to his granddaughter, tried to take his own life the man was, convinced that the person who had killed her was his own daughter but he felt he could not testify against her he had lost his granddaughter the little girl he had raised as his own, and now he was about to lose his biological daughter a daughter who was, probably a killer so because of that he didn't want to go on living he, wanted to die to finally reunite with. His granddaughter the one he believed, he hadn't protected enough and that weakness. That pain was used against him, but we'll talk more about that later the year.

2009 was total madness on January 22nd. They made public the 311 pages. That detailed how the body of Kaylee Marie Anthony was found. On February 19th the prosecution released, many more documents in the case and on. October 9th the madness exploded when photographs of the body and photos of Casey Anthony partying were made public images taken directly from her social media. images that showed that while her daughter was missing, she was having a great time and this fact automatically turned her into the most hated woman in the United States during all of 2010 the

prosecution and the defense argued about what evidence could or could not be presented in court and this only fueled what would be the most media covered trial in the United States the whole country wanted to buy tickets to attend the trial lines formed it was broadcast on TV and radio every minute as if it were a football match people, camped outside Casey Anthony's, parents' house with signs, saying their daughter was a killer and, accusing them of covering it up. It was total madness and, finally on March 2nd, 2011, the trial, began in an Orlando court and the prosecutor, before starting, announced that Casey Anthony faced seven, charges three of them related to her, daughter's death and the other four, for giving false information to the police.

but the ones that matter to us are those related to the child's death. The first was first-degree murder, that is, premeditated and with malice the, second involuntary manslaughter and the third aggravated child abuse. At this point the names of the attorneys were announced Jeff Ashton would be the prosecutor, representing the state of Florida and Jose Baez Casey Anthony's defense. Attorney something important in this case is that new evidence kept emerging, scandalously surreal elements that shocked the United States again and again but if I start dumping facts you'll probably get lost so I'll only point out a few the first is that on Casey's computer which was at her

parents house investigators found terrifying internet searches including how to make chloroform broken neck household weapons internal bleeding self-defense chest trauma at this point many will say it was clear Casey. Anthony had done it. Casey Anthony had, killed her daughter but someone, took the stand and defended her and that someone was, her mother Anthony, your home, correct which one the desktop computer. Yes, the computer everyone in the house, has access to this computer yes and who, used the computer at the house, um, everybody, um, anybody that was at the house that needed to or even friends of cases us. The computer you testified in the past that, You looked up. I looked up chloroform you suggested that the Google search engine asked you

if you wanted to change the spelling of chlorophyll when you made this search. Correct core because you spelled. Chlorophyll wrong correct did you input. The words into the Google search engine. How to make. Chloriform I don't recall putting in how. To make chloroform but I did Google. Search chloroform and we talked about it. In my deposition do you recall denying that you searched for? Self-defense. Yes, I did not search for self-defense household weapons I did not. Search for household weapons neck. Breaking I did not search for neck. Breaking but I do recall. R.A. and DAC. At this point the prosecution put forth the most consistent theory of the case, a theory that automatically made. Casey the direct killer of Kaylee, Marie Anthony in the duct tape found on the child's skull, traces of chloroform

were found and this led to a very solid theory considering her bad habits end. Irresponding responsibility Jeff Ashton believed Casey might have been accustomed to drugging her daughter at night so she could go out partying. When Kaylee fell asleep Casey would put, duck tape over her mouth and give her. Chloriform sadly one night, she placed the tape wrong and while, drugged, the girl suffocated so, realizing her mistake she wrapped her. In a Winnie the poo blanket put her, in a trash bag and stored her in the trunk until she figured out what to do with her if Casey Anthony then, 25 years old was already guilty, of this atrocity she could be sentenced, to life in prison or even worse, though, electric chair so the defense couldn't sit still what did they do?

Turn the table Jose Baez, after, requesting a recess, brought in a truly, made the jury see Casey, as a victim of something much deeper, because according to Casey's own testimony, her father George Anthony had, abused her since she was eight years old, because of those abuses Casey, began impulsively lying, lying as a defense mechanism. That's why she was unable to tell the truth. To police that's why she kept giving. False leads because she was afraid to tell. The truth, the truth that made. Her father the one who planned a macabre cover up for the accidental death, of her daughter according to Casey, grandparents' pool and fearing legal. Consequences George Anthony, who had been a cop, told his daughter to, cover the girl's mouth with duct tape,

wrap her in a blanket and put her in a trash bag to make it, look like a homicide and a void. Charges Jose Baez also argued that. Casey was very afraid of her father and, that's why she acted normal while. Cayley was missing, however, they didn't bring any witnesses to, confirm that Casey had indeed been abused by her father on May 9th. 2011, jury selection began a jury made up of 12 people 5, men and 7 women at this point. everything seemed clear what the United States wanted to know was if Casey would be sentenced to life or directly to the electric chair and, after 22 days of trial and more, then 100 witnesses

the final. Verdict came Casey Anthony was, found not guilty, not guilty of, first degree murder not guilty of, involuntary manslaughter and not, guilty of aggravated child abuse, and the most scandalous part was that she was guilty of lying and giving, false information to the police, for that she had to serve four years in, prison of which she only served three, the same time she had already, spent in custody, why didn't she serve her fourth year? Because a bounty hunter named, Leonard Padilla paid her bail which, was over half a million dollars on July 17th, 2011 Casey. Anthony was released from prison and, boarded a private jet to an unknown. Destination from here her life was, a disaster in the United States she, couldn't get a job no publisher, wanted to

buy the book she wrote about her life and when in October of that same year she tried her luck on YouTube by creating a video blog. Truth is that Casey doesn't give up. She always needs to be the center of attention and at the beginning of. 2017 she gave an interview in, which she acted as if her daughters. Death meant nothing to her she also admitted that even today she doesn't know what, could have happened to Kaylee Marie, Anthony which again contradicted what, she said during the trial but now it's your turn what do you think happened to this little girl the end a friend from parma called her and he found her somewhat tense she didn't want to talk she seemed uncomfortable but he thought maybe she was just tired

and around 5.30 in the afternoon a student of hers called apparently for a consultation he spoke with her everything was calm normal without issues but what he didn't know is that he would be the last person to his hear her voice, because after that, silence fell. At 7.55 in the evening, a friend called her and Francesca no longer answered. This friend called several times. At 8.05, or a quarter passed, or at 8 in the evening, Francesca had an appointment, and she never showed up. With this, the police had an approximate time of death. According to the forensic expert, the woman died between 5.30 and 11, but with these calls, the timeline could be narrowed down from 5.30 to 8. The investigators had to move forward. There had to be something more at the scene, something to indicate an exact time, something

more concrete. And then they remembered the watch she had on her wrist, which had stopped. Specifically, it stopped at 512 in the afternoon on June 14th, and it was confirmed that that particular model had a maximum charge of 35 hours. So they took it, wound back the hands 35 hours, which resulted in 612 in the afternoon on June 12th. The key then was in that time because Francesca at that time wound the watch, at least according to the police. What was she doing then? She met someone, someone came to see her.

The key was in that moment, in that hour. And the story that follows will leave you speechless. Francesca Kalanobi had a diary that could be considered a word. of art in itself, with sketches, drawings, and in it she talked about everything, her work, pieces, contacts, and also emotions, especially about one of her students, Francesco Chancellor, 24 years old. Francesco was, according to her, a promising artist. He was a painter from Pascara, and in her diary, she wrote about him as her male self.

She felt great passion for him, an uncontrollable love, but she also talked about something complicated, that their love was toxic. He was cold, distant, and was also addicted to drugs. She wrote that they both used, but he overdid it. He was a great artist with a bright future, a great talent, but this problem dragged him down a dark path and the fights between them were constant. Knowing this, the police went to look for Francesco, discovering that at that moment he wasn't in Bologna, but rather in Pascara with his parents. He arrived in Pascara the night of the crime and, interestingly, he immediately admitted that he had been with her, that they were together that afternoon, and that he left her at 7.30 and went to the station. His story was the following.

He goes to Francesca's house, they are together, they have a good time, they use drugs. And at 6.30 or 6.45, Francesco calls a friend from this woman's house and asks him to please get him more drugs, to bring them in an hour. He continues with Francesca, time passes, and at 7.30, he leaves through the door. He meets this friend at the station and there he gets the drugs, talks with him, and boards a train. But what happens? He was the last person to see this woman alive, and the watch had stopped at 612, the time when the two were together. The forensic team said she died between 5.30 and 11, but by 7.55 she wasn't answering the phone. So the time of death narrows between 5.30 and 8, hours during which Francesco was supposedly with her.

There was no physical evidence against him. But still, on June 21st of that same year, he was arrested and formally charged with the murder of Francesca Kalanobi. The trial began on January 3, 1985, and I must tell you it was incredibly high profile, and the reason was threefold. First, the evidence against him was circumstantial. Second, Francesca was incredibly well known. And third, this man appeared very cold. He seemed calm, cold, distant, as if it had nothing to do with him. The prosecution argued everything I've told you, that the times didn't match, that he was

the last person to see her alive, that maybe the relationship was toxic, and that by 7.30 she was probably already dead. Moreover, she had an appointment at 8. So maybe Francesco got jealous. Maybe he got aggressive or violent due to the drugs. Maybe they argued, fought, said something, or maybe he snapped for no reason. But either way, for the prosecution, he was guilty and had to pay. Nevertheless, the defense had strong arguments.

There was no physical evidence proving Francesco killed her. For one, that watch couldn't be used as evidence. The charging time meant nothing, and the chain of custody had been broken. The police arrived at the scene, found everything, took the body, and a few hours later, the watch was given to the family. But afterward, it was reclaimed and investigated. That watch could have been tampered with, so the evidence was invalid. On the other hand, the exact time of death couldn't be known. The forensic changed it several times and the body's decomposition made it all difficult.

Francesca could have died after he left. Third, handwriting tests were done on a note found in the bathroom. And the handwriting didn't match either Francesca or Francesco. It wasn't either of theirs. It was later discovered that the note was written days earlier by a friend of hers, Umberto Postal, as a joke. He had gone to her house one day, they were joking around, and in a careless moment, he wrote that. He wasn't at the crime scene, had an alibi.

He wrote it just for fun. The fourth strong point was Francesco Chancellor's own body. At 7.30 he left through the door and arrived at the station without bloodstains, and he had no injuries. We're talking about a brutal attack, of extreme violence, of great rage. The knife had to slip. It would slip from the handle, he'd get cut. There was a struggle, a fight, chaos, but his body had no wounds, not on the hands, face, or neck. The friend he met saw him completely clean, and his behavior was normal.

The trial ended in an acquittal, and the courtroom was left in shock, shocked and divided. On one side were those who supported the decision and believed Chancellor was innocent. But on the other side were those convinced he was guilty. In fact, that group was the majority, no one could believe it, and in the end, there was an appeal. The trial was held the following year, specifically on December 3rd. 1986, and once again was based on circumstantial evidence. There was no confession, no witness. Did they want to convict Francesco no matter what to close the case quickly?

On the day the final verdict was to be announced, this man didn't show up anywhere, and therefore couldn't hear the sentence. And this time, he was sentenced to 15 years in prison. The sentence was confirmed in 1988, although reduced to 10 years. But Francesco had disappeared. What really happened is that he fled to Brazil. He knew this would happen, that he would go to jail. And in Brazil, he wanted to start over, first as an artist, as a painter, as a photographer.

But in Sao Paulo, he held an exhibition, and a group of Italians immediately recognized his work. They said it out loud in front of him. They said that work looked like chancellas, and nervous, he fled the scene. He left the exhibition, went into hiding, and from Brazil he traveled to Spain, where he got a fake passport under the name Jean Pietro Contintini. In Spain, specifically in Madrid, he became an Italian teacher. But in 1997, his life ended because the police finally found him. They arrested him, sent him back to Italy, and there he was sentenced to 10 years in prison.

He was released in 2006 and has since always claimed that he is innocent, that he never killed Francesca, never harmed her, and that the real killer still walks free. Many people today believe he is indeed innocent, that he did nothing, and that there are two hypotheses the police never considered. The first is found in Francesca Lenobi's own diary. She didn't only write about Francesco but also about many people. She talked about artists, critics, acquaintances, friends. She wrote about her experiences, people she met. And she also mentioned an alleged drug lord she met on a trip abroad. This woman wrote passionately, poetically, artistically. Many times, according to some, she exaggerated in her writing,

she created true works of art. So perhaps the drug lord wasn't really one, but to her, there was something about him that gave her that impression. People point to this detail and also to the circles she moved in, artistic, rebellious circles with all kinds of ideas, opposite ideas, circles where people use drugs. And maybe there, Francesca saw something she shouldn't have. Maybe she upset someone powerful, and that person ended her life. And the second hypothesis is that of the so-called Dam's monster. At that time, many more people died in the dam's context.

We have Angelo Fabri, who died before her, and after her, two more girls died. The deaths of the girls had nothing to do with Angelo and Francesca. One girl was strangled, the other shot. One of these cases was solved, the other remains unsolved. However, the modus operandi, the case of Angelo and Francesca, could be nearly identical. Angelo was stabbed 12 times, Francesca 47. And both cases may be unsolved. Angelo's case remains unsolved, and Francesca's, according to many, was closed improperly.

So maybe both crimes were the work of the same. same person. What do you think of this case? Do you think Chancellor was really guilty? The end. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the quiet countryside. Evelyn had always loved this time of day, the fleeting moments between light and dark, where everything seemed to hold its breath. Today, however, she couldn't enjoy the serene beauty. Her hands gripped the steering will tightly, her knuckles white with tension as she navigated the winding road leading to her childhood home. She hadn't been back in years.

Not since her mother's funeral. But the letter, that damned letter, had arrived two weeks ago, pulling her back into a world she thought she'd left behind. Come home. Urgent, it had read in her father's shaky handwriting. No other explanation, just those two words. Her father wasn't one for dramatic gestures, which made the brevity of the note even more alarming.

As the house came into view, its familiar silhouette framed against the twilight, Evelyn felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with unease. The old Victorian structure stood as stoic as ever, its peeling paint and overgrown garden a testament to years of neglect. Yet, it still felt like home, a place full of memories, both good and haunting. Her father was waiting on the porch, his figure hunched and frail. He looked up as her car approached, his expression a mixture of relief and apprehension. Evelyn parked and stepped out, the cool evening air biting at her exposed skin.

Dad, she called, forcing a smile as she approached. He didn't respond immediately, just stared at her with a weariness that made her heart ache. Finally, he nodded, as if confirming to himself that she was real. You came, he said hoarsely. His voice had always been deep and commanding, but now it wavered, a shadow of its former self. Of course I did. What's going on? Why the urgency, she asked, climbing the steps to stand in front of him.

He hesitated. his eyes darting to the door behind him as though afraid of being overheard. Let's go inside. It's not safe out here, not safe. Evelyn's stomach tightened. This wasn't the father she remembered, the strong, stoic man who had faced every challenge head on. She followed him inside, the door creaking ominously as he shut it behind her. The interior was just as she remembered, though dustier and more cluttered.

Books and papers were strewn across the living room, and the air was thick with the scent of old wood and faint her father motioned for her to sit on the warm couch, but he remained standing, pacing nervously. Dad, you're scaring me. What's going on? she pressed. He stopped and looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. There's something you need to know. Something I should have told you a long time ago, Evelyn's heart pounded in her chest.

Secrets were not uncommon in their family, but the gravity in his tone was new. You've always known this house is, special, he began, choose. using his words carefully. But what you don't know is why, she frowned, her mind racing. As a child, she'd often felt there was something odd about the house. The strange noises at night, the way certain rooms seemed colder than others, even in the summer. But she'd chalked it up to the quirks of an old building. What are you saying? she asked cautiously.

He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. This house is a gateway. A threshold between our world and another. Evelyn blinked, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. A gateway? To where, I don't know what to call it, he admitted. But it's not a place we belong. Over the years, I've tried to keep it sealed, to protect you and your mother.

But lately, it's been, active. She stared at him, struggling to process his words. Dad, are you feeling okay? Maybe you should see a doctor. I'm not crazy, he snapped, his voice rising with frustration. I've seen things, Evelyn. things I can't explain. And now, they're getting stronger.

That's why I needed you here. I can't do this alone anymore. Okay, she said slowly. Let's say I believe you. What do you want me to do? He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. There's a ritual. A way to reinforce the seal.

But it requires two people. Evelyn sighed, running a hand through her hair. This was absurd. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to walk away. Not when he was so clearly desperate. Fine. Tell me what I need to do, she said, her voice tinged with resignation. Her father's face softened with relief.

Thank you. We'll start tomorrow. For now, get some rest. You'll need your strength. As she climbed the stairs to her old bedroom, Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that she just stepped into a nightmare. The creaking floorboards and the faint whispers of the wind outside did little to ease her nerves. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with questions.

What had she gotten herself into? The next morning, Evelyn woke to the sound of her father rummaging through the living room. She dressed quickly and joined him, finding him surrounded by books and papers. Morning, she said, her voice groggy. He looked up, his expression grim. Morning. I found the instructions for the ritual.

We need to prepare. Evelyn glanced at the papers, her stomach sinking as she saw the intricate diagrams and strange symbols. This looks like something out of a horror movie, she muttered. Her father didn't respond, instead handing her a list of items they'd need. Most of it was mundane, candles, salt, matches, but a few items were more unusual, like a specific type of crystal and a jar of what he called, purifying herbs. By the time they'd gathered everything, the sun was setting again, casting long shadows

across the house. Her father led her to the basement, a place she'd always avoided as a child. The air grew colder as they descended, the dim light from their candles casting flickering shapes on the walls. The basement was bare except for a large, circular pattern etched into the floor. Evelyn's father began arranging the items around the circle, his hand steadied despite the tension in the air. Stand here, he instructed, pointing to a spot opposite him.

Evelyn obeyed, clutching her candle tightly. He began to chant, his voice low and rhythmic. The words were foreign, their meanings lost to time, but they carried away to the way to that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. As he continued, the air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on her chest. Then, the ground beneath them began to vibrate. Evelyn's eyes widened as the symbols on the floor started to glow, their light pulsing in time with her father's chance.

A low hum filled the room, growing louder with each passing second. Dad, what's happening? She shouted over the noise. Stay focused, he yelled back. Whatever happens, don't step out of the circle, before she could respond, a blinding light erupted from the center of the pattern, and a deafening roar filled the air. Evelyn shielded her eyes, her heart pounding as an otherworldly presence seemed to fill the room. When the light finally faded, she lowered her hands, her breath catching in her throat.

Standing in the center of the circle was a figure, tall, shadowy, and pulsating with an eerie energy. What is that? She whispered, her voice trembling. Her father didn't answer. He was staring at the figure, his face pale. The creature tilted its head, as if studying them, and then it spoke. Its voice was deep and resonant, echoing in the confined space. You cannot contain me, it said, a hint of amusement in its tone. This seal is weak, Evelyn's father stepped forward, his voice steadied despite the fear in his eyes. You will not pass.

This is our world, not yours. The creature laughed, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Evelyn's spine. Foolish mortal. Your time is running out. Evelyn watched in horror as the creature reached out, its shadowy form pressing against the invisible barrier of the circle. Her father began chanting again, his voice rising with urgency. Evelyn, join in, he shouted.

She hesitated, her mind racing. But as the creature's form started to distort, she knew she had no choice. Clutching her candle, she began to repeat the words her father chanted, their voices merging into a desperate plea. The room shook violently, the pressure in the air almost unbearable. The creature roared, its form flickering as the barrier tightened around it. Finally, with one last, piercing scream, it vanished, leaving the room in silence. Evelyn collapsed to her knees, her body trembling.

Her father knelt beside her, his face etched with exhaustion. Is it over? she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He shook his head. For now. But the seal will weaken again. And next time, it may not hold. stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. This was only the beginning. Let's begin. The month of June 1983 was quite hot. Summer wasn't yet in full swing, but everything pointed

to it being suffocating. In fact, June 15th was a particularly hot day, and it said that there weren't many people out on the streets. However, soon one building entrance would be completely packed, number seven on Vidal Richo. And that's because in an apartment on the second floor, the lifeless body of a 35-year-old woman had been found. The scene was anything but normal. The victim's body was lying on the floor in the middle of the living room, fully clothed. On the upper half, she wore a shirt that looked exactly like this one. Some sources say it had black and white stripes, others say red and white.

And on the lower half, she wore long white jeans and red shoes. She was very covered up with long pants. and the kicker was the shoes. They weren't comfortable, not meant for wearing around the house, which indicated that at the moment of her death, she was about to go out. The body was lying on its left side, arms stretched out, and her face was covered with two cushions. She had no jewelry on her body, except for a Rolex that had stopped at a specific time and date.

It had run out of battery. It was literally frozen in time. But the scene could still get more intriguing. The woman had received a total of 47 stab wounds all over her body, especially in the chest. This indicated enormous rage. No doors or windows had been forced, and nothing in the house was missing. Everything pointed to the idea that this woman had opened her door and was attacked. The murder weapon was never recovered, but according to experts, it seemed to be a Parmesan knife.

The knife didn't seem very sharp, and the wounds were shallow, except for the murder. five of them, which were three or four centimeters deep. There was a struggle, a fight, and this woman fell to the ground. That's when the attacker grabbed the cushions and covered her face. And during that, kept stabbing her. And after that, the woman died slowly and agonizingly. The state of decomposition of the body indicated that the woman had been dead for at least three days.

And while searching the apartment, the police found more strange things. In the bathroom, there were two details that gave chills. On the sink there were a pair of riven glasses missing one lens. And on the glass panel of the bathroom window, the following words were written, You are not alone any. Which could be translated as, anyway, you're not alone. Based on this scene, the police were very clear. The attack happened one afternoon or evening.

She gets dressed, puts on makeup, is about to go out, but then the doorbell rings, she opens the door, and on the other side is someone familiar, a friend, a family member, a boyfriend. She lets them in, there's trust, but once inside, that person attacks her. This crime must have been noisy, a fight, a struggle. She defended herself, so surely someone heard something. The officers went door to door to question the neighbors. But surprisingly, no one had heard anything, seen anything strange.

heard a discussion, not a single scream. The officers couldn't understand it, so they tried to investigate and find out who this woman was, discovering something incredible, she was a celebrity. Francesca Linobi was born on January 28, 1948, in Parma, Italy. At the time of her death, she was 35 years old, but despite that, she had achieved more than someone much older. Francesca was internationally famous in the world of art. She was an art critic, a researcher at the University of Bologna, and also an art curator. Francesca's interests focused on the history of the avant-garde and the interaction between different arts, painting, theatre, sculpture, music, and comics. But we're not just talking about art in Italy, she traveled the world and absorbed art from everywhere.

During her trips to New York, she joined New Wave and Lowy sight artists, hung out with Anna Magnuson, Kenny Sharf, Keith Hunting, and in 81 she discovered the fashion and graffiti of the South Bronx. She had such passion that she quickly became a talent scout in the U.S. and Italy. But not only that, as I mentioned, at the University of Bologna she was a researcher and also a professor, specifically at Dams, the degree in disciplines of art, music, and entertainment. Her classes were always packed. Her way of teaching was completely different. She was passionate, innovative, open.

She invited interaction, encouraged opinions, and made students think for themselves. And according to contemporaries, Francesca was exceptional, her personality, her charisma, her passion, her love for art, all of that made people know her as the muse of dams. But dams at that time had two sides. It was said to be an electrifying place, but also very chaotic, where creativity and destruction often went hand in hand. Italy in the 70s and early 80s was marked by the so-called N.E.D. Pianbo, years of lead, far right, far left, and constant clashes between different groups, student, anarchist, feminist collectives, and also the police. Dams was a kind of oasis,

a space for experimental art, performance, conceptual art, happening, but also a space where debate was constant. They debated politics and ideologies, alternative lifestyles. It could seem like a bohemian and creative place, very open and calm, but there were also ego clashes, rivalries, and all kinds of confrontations. But that wasn't all. The police discovered that there had previously been another crime in this place, a crime that remains unsolved to this day. Angelo Fabri was a very promising young man. In 1982, he was 26 years old and was said to not be just any student. He was about to graduate in communication, specifically under Iberto Eko, and in fact, he was Eko's favorite and most promising student.

However, overnight he disappeared without a trace, and on December 30, 1982, his lifeless body was found near a ravine with no less than 12 stab wounds. That wasn't the crime scene, there was barely any blood. The boy had been killed elsewhere and later moved. moved there. He was transported, left there, and then they left. The case was investigated, there were suspects, but unfortunately it was never solved. Angelou Fabry was a great student, promising, brilliant, and was well known as Iberto Eco's student. Francesca Lenoby, on her part, was the muse of dams, an international star, but apparently they didn't know each other, so the crimes weren't linked, and the police focused on getting to know

Francesca, how she thought, how she moved, who she associated with. And the key to this was in the writing in the bathroom, you're not alone anyway. Anyway, you're not alone. This phrase, in the artistic context of that time, was not a threat. In the New York slang of the era, it meant, screwed you. So maybe the writing was from the killer. Francesca, apparently, was a very busy person, always had work, meetings, exhibitions, knew lots of people, and on the outside she was charismatic, very confident. She was a woman with presence and character, someone who imposed, but behind closed doors she was none of that. She felt insecure, very small. And she constantly asked everyone, people she trusted, if she was doing things right, if they liked a certain project, a certain

idea, what they thought of this or that. And something very interesting that everyone repeated was that she would never open the door to a stranger. When someone rang the bell, she went to the window, opened it, and looked to see who it was. She had to be sure, she wouldn't open for just anyone, and only if she trusted you would she let you in. So the killer was someone she trusted, a friend, a family member, or perhaps a lover. She died three days before the body was found. And with this, the police built a timeline of events. On Saturday, June 11, 1983, Francesca inaugurated two exhibitions, and both were a complete success. They were packed, full of people, and to celebrate, she went out to party that night. She was seen happy,

radiant, dancing, enjoying herself with friends. She came home in the morning as the sun came up, and supposedly went to bed. But around midday on Sunday, June 12, her phone started ringing. The first call was from her sister. She picked up, answered, and sounded happy, upbeat, tired, but very cheerful. At 3.30, a friend from Parma called, and he found her somewhat tense. She didn't want to talk, seemed uncomfortable, but he thought maybe she was just tired. To be continued.

Meanwhile, every day, she continued to harass Dave Krupa. She sent him 50 messages and 100 emails daily, each one more disturbing than the last. I'll do whatever I can to make you suffer, Dave. We are meant to be together. Day by day, things escalated, and little by little, the harassment spread to others. Liz was also being harassed. After Carrie disappeared, Liz and Dave got back together. They started seeing each other again, worked through their issues, and because of that, Carrie began harassing Liz too.

She called her constantly, sent her emails, threatened her, and even sent photos of Liz's own house. She would show up outside and take pictures, and then send them to Liz. One time I was sitting with my feet up, watching TV, trying to relax, and I got a message that said, I see you. You're sitting in your chair with your feet up. wearing a blue shirt, and those things were true. On another occasion, Dave and Liz had a casual date, they met at a bar, went for a walk, and returned to Liz's home. But when they arrived, they saw that someone had spray painted the words, Dave's whore. Some sources say the spray paint was on the outside door or wall, while others say it was inside the house, that someone had

broken in and written the graffiti inside. Either way, they immediately called the police, and the case was investigated. Time passed, and one day Liz arrived at Dave's house before he did, he was still at work and would meet her there afterward. But as soon as she got to the door, she realized someone had broken in. A window had been smashed, and inside, she found the place trashed. The master bedroom was completely vandalized. Clothes she had left at Dave's place were ripped apart and thrown on the bed, and on the headboard, someone had written, get out of here, all this happened within just a few weeks. Dave and Liz filed a report against Kerry.

A warrant was issued for her arrest, and an investigation began, but Carrie was still missing. She hadn't contacted her mother or her son. No one had seen her. There was a supposed sighting, but when police arrived, there was no sign of her. Then, on January 8, 2013, Carrie's car was found, by none other than Dave himself. It was abandoned in the middle of a street. He called the police. Officers arrived and confirmed it was her vehicle.

At first glance, there were no signs of a struggle or forced entry. But inside, they found a mint candy container with a single fingerprint, one that wasn't in any database. Months after Carrie's disappearance, her son Max couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to know if the person messaging them was really his mom. he sent her a message on Facebook. She replied, hey little man. How are you? Max asked her to answer three questions to prove her identity, her middle name, the name of her first dog, the name of her best friend, she never responded. Meanwhile, the harassment of Dave and Liz intensified. The threats

became more aggressive. One day, Carrie told Dave she would kill Liz, and then sent him a photo of a woman tied up in the trunk of a car. The woman looked eerily like Liz. Dave immediately called her, and thankfully, she was fine. The photo had been fake, just meant to scare him. Days later, Carrie sent a fake obituary with Liz's name on it. Again, Dave was horrified. The tension and threats continued, and on August 17, 2013, a fire broke out at Liz's house.

The night before, Liz and her two sons had gone on a trip. They were in the process of moving, had found a new house, and took a small getaway before settling in. That night, their former home went up in flames. Four of their pets died. Liz arrived at the scene, saw the fire, and called 911. After an investigation, firefighters concluded that the fire had been intentionally set. The worst part. Before and after the fire, Carrie had been sending messages.

While Dave was asleep that night, she emailed him, I'm going to burn Liz. I'll burn her house down, with her and her kids inside. The morning after the fire, she messaged Liz directly. I burned your house down. At that point, Liz had had enough. Her children were everything to her, and this stalker could have killed them. They could have been home. They could have died.

So, she made a decision. She moved away from Dave. She took her children and disappeared from his life. She didn't give him her new address. She distanced herself from his circle. And from that moment on, their paths diverged. Following Liz's example, Dave also moved, specifically to Council Bluffs, Iowa. Not only that, he changed his phone number and bought a gun, a 9mm Smith and Wesson.

He changed jobs temporarily, isolated himself, tried to move on, made new friends. Eventually, he created a new plenty of fish profile, and met a woman who seemed interesting. They messaged back and forth and arranged to meet at a bar. But she never showed up. Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then he got a message, I'm so sorry. I'm late. I'll be there in a few minutes.

Please wait. Another hour passed. Fed up, he got up and paid his bill. That's when another message came in, actually. I'm Carrie. From that moment, the harassment started again, and this time, it was worse than ever. Now Carrie turned her attention not just to Liz, but to Dave's ex-wife, Amy Flora. She got access to her phone and email, began threatening her, harassing her, sending her photos of herself, her house, and her kids. She threatened to kill them. Amy, of course, didn't let it slide. She went straight to the Pottawatomie County Sheriff's Office in Iowa. She told them everything, the full story from the beginning, which she knew thanks to Dave. She added the recent threats she was receiving. And, finally, the police listened.

The case landed on the desks of two detectives, Ryan Avis and Jim Doty. When they heard the full story, they immediately knew, this woman pretending to be Carrie, isn't her? To solve the case, they decided to work from two perspectives. Jim would investigate as if Carrie was dead. Ryan would investigate as if she were alive. The original theory, that she was bipolar, heartbroken, stopped her meds, ran away, and lost control, made no sense. to them. Carrie had always been responsible, a good mother, a great worker. She wouldn't just disappear like that. They followed her steps, and discovered her credit cards hadn't been used

since November 19, 2012, shortly after she vanished. This suggested Carrie Farber had been murdered, and someone had been impersonating her. To get to the bottom of it, they brought in a digital forensic analyst, Anthony Kava. They already suspected the messages weren't coming from the real carry. The imposter sent Dave over 15,000 messages in a three-year span. In total, it could have been 25,000 to 50,000 texts and emails. Whoever it was had become very skilled at hiding their IP address and identity. They were covering their tracks, but after much work, the team traced everything back to a single IP address. And when they found the truth, it shocked everyone. The IP address was connected to a home.

in Council Bluffs, Iowa. The owner of the house was Todd Butterba, who worked, believe it or not, in Anthony Kava's own department. They got a warrant, searched the home, flipped everything upside down, and brought Todd in for questioning. He was stunned. He had no idea what was going on. When asked about Carrie Farver, he didn't know who she was. When asked about Dave, he said the name sounded familiar, but he didn't know him personally. When asked whether anyone else had access to his Wi-Fi or computer, he said, My girlfriend, he explained they met on plenty of fish in September 2010. They dated, had several outings, liked each other.

He didn't mind that she had two kids. Eventually, her house burned down, so he let her and her children move in with him, at least until she found a new place. Her name Shauna, Liz, Gawyer. Liz was never the victim. She had always been the villain. For three years, she pretended to be Carrie Farver.

She hijacked her Facebook account, phone, email, and spent those years harassing Dave, and herself. What she did made no sense. But now the police had to prove it. They knew she was behind it all. But the biggest question remained, what did she do to Carrie? On January 8, 2013, Carrie's car was found with no visible signs. of struggle. So now the police decided to examine it again, thoroughly. Inside, they found a

mint candy container, and on it, the same fingerprint from before. This time, they compared it to Liz's prints, and it was a match. Liz had been inside Carrie's car. They put her under surveillance and discovered that she circled Amy Flora's house daily. Then, on December 5, 2015, Liz called the police, claiming she had been shot near Amy's home. She was taken to the hospital and treated, and when questioned, she claimed Amy had shot her. She said Amy was dangerous, had threatened her, sent her emails. Interestingly, just days earlier, Liz had reported that her gun had gone missing. She suspected Carrie was behind it.

The bullet caliber matched her missing weapon. To police, it was obvious, Liz. Liz stole her own gun, staged the shooting, and tried to frame Amy. Jealousy was eating her alive. So the officers devised a brilliant plan. They asked Dave to move in with Amy temporarily, so Liz would see it and lose control. And that's exactly what happened. Liz found out, called police, and complained non-stop, insisting Amy was guilty,

that she knew what happened to Carrie, that she was dangerous, that she was attacking her and Dave. Then, Liz sent police an email, supposedly from Amy, confessing to killing Carrie in 2012. The email described everything in detail, the stabbing, the disposal of the body, the burning, the bags, the car's location. It was all too accurate. And the IP address? It belonged to Liz. They researched Carrie's car, this time using luminal, and in the passenger seat, they found blood from Carrie Farver. Liz was immediately arrested.

Still, police needed more evidence. They had no body. They needed more proof. In an SD card belonging to Liz, they found a photo that changed everything. It showed a foot, with the same tattoo Carrie had. The skin appeared lifeless. But it didn't end there.

In Liz's house, police found Carrie Farver's belongings, her shower curtain, her camera, a surveillance camera, not just her digital identity, but her physical possessions. And apparently, Liz had even tried to take over her job at one point. In 2017, Judge Timothy Burns found Shauna, Liz, Gawyer guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced her to life in prison without parole. Since then, she's repeatedly insisted, I'm innocent. They arrested the wrong person.

I won't stop fighting until I'm freed and they find the real killer, but now it's your turn. What do you think about the case? Do you believe justice was finally served? The end. Hey everyone, I wrote a horror story last year in grade eight, and I want to see what your opinions are. It's a little long, but trust me, it's worth it.

I think. Thanks to those who put their time in to read and give feedback. Murphy Street, Bye, I was walking home from another exhausting day at Willow Secondary School, which is basically where all the weirdos and meanies from all across idyllans just happen to go to. You can only find a couple of decent people there, and Jillian Scott and Winnie Peterson are the only ones that I've managed to find so far. I pass trees dancing in the breeze, leaves fluttering around. I turn the corner and see my neighborhood. It's the same as usual, people watering their plants, grandparents on their decks chatting with friends,

cheerful kids riding scooters and blowing bubbles on the cul-de-sack. I see Winnie's house, where a couple doors apart. It's made entirely of grey stone, and has black windows with flower pots on the window-sills. She's got those cool petunias that cascade down the sides of the house. I know every corner of that house, all the pictures on all the walls, every detail. I know that house like the back of my hand. I trudge on the sidewalk, looking down. My hands are in my pockets, and I twirl the lint between my thumb and index finger.

I have nothing else to keep me busy, so I study the sidewalk. There are cracks and gaps in the concrete, and ants are carrying a breadcrumb toward the grass. I get to my deck, and fumble with the keys to my house, finally finding the right one. I always get home before my mom because she has to work until seven. I keep asking her to let me work. I'm 15 years old, I can lighten her load. Seeing her come home so late and so tired, I feel like a burden. My dad passed away two years ago, so she has to work later and harder to take care of me.

She misses him so much. She even considered moving back to Italy to be with her parents at some point. Then she thought about my education and how it's better for me to study here. In an instant, in the peaceful and serene environment, with the birds tweeting and light breezes blowing, a lady starts screaming at the top of her lungs. She's screaming like she'll never have a voice again. She falls out her door, and down the stairs, still shrieking and pointing at something in her house. I put my keys back inside my pocket and run towards the troubled woman's driveway. Multiple others do the same.

Someone helps the lady up. She's sobbing now. I v. foddering Z.E. plants, and I see come in, A-a after 15 minutes. He v. Vas-vatching T-TV, I walk up the stairs and push open the door. People behind me start screaming. I am rooted to the spot, my heart pounding through my chest, threatening to jump out. A little boy's up against the wall, like a rag doll, facing us, his face so bloody it's almost impossible to make out. But I know who it is.

It's Boris. The six-year-old who arrived with his parents an adorable border collie two months ago. He's missing an eye. Boris is wearing what used to be a green t-shirt and a knife is right through his chest, a large red stain all around. His arms are deeply wounded, and some of his fingers are missing. Boris's shorts are ripped up and his legs are gashed and raw. All of him is dripping with blood, mostly for.

from his chest, a little puddle beneath him. I back away, out the door, and stagger down the stairs as fast as I can. I try to put as much space between me and the horror I just saw, but it's difficult because of the crowd of people behind me, terrified. I tell someone to call the police, nearly choking. We then stand still, processing what we just saw. A gruesomely dead six-year-old. The cops finally pull up, the siren screeching making my ears ring, instantly giving me a headache that pounds in my skull. But that's the least of my worries right now. I want your essays on World War L.L. by the end of next week, and don't you dare ask for an extension, I've given you two weeks to work on this. Work on it over the weekend. We finally get to

breathe after Ms. Beckett's tormenting history class. Want to go out for lunch, grab Subway. I ask Winnie and Jillian. Sure, why not? We need a break from all this. Gillian says, waving her hands around at the mess of people in the corridor who will never stop talking, even if their lives depended on it. Yeah. Good idea, Nevea. Winnie adds, grabbing her wallet and standing up.

We head out the doors of the school and smell the freshness of Petricor. We walk down the road, and crossed the suburb. pavement to the entrance. I wrench open the doors to the mouth-watering aroma of one of the world's most favorite foods, subway. I swear the food is screaming my name. We place our order and they make it in front of our faces. We take the meal from heaven and find seats. We start to dig into the delicious meal. Okay, so what happened on Monday was so messed up. Poor parents. Winnie burst out, her mouth full of subway guts. Winnie's parents are Japanese, but she was born here, in Idlands.

She has vivid, emerald green eyes. She's not too short and not too tall. She has sleek, straight hair and glowing skin. She's insanely smart, too. Winnie is basically perfect, with a heart made of gold. I go to her house every Saturday night. We end up singing karaoke for Taylor Swift songs. We sing so loud that Winnie's mom, Charlie, tells us to keep it down and we start cracking up whenever she says that.

Then we collapse onto our beds, mine a sleeping bag, and process the fact that our voice boxes are aching and our throats are sore and scratchy. Yeah, it's the best, I don't know what I'd do without her. Yup. And near the place you both live, too. Horrifying. Jillian says, with wide eyes peeled like an onion. You mean in the same place as us, right? Boris was my neighbor.

Winnie corrected her. Jillian is super nice, but she is a little forgetful. Okay, not a little. She'd leave her head on the bus if it wasn't screwed on. She is really kind, but can be a rotten egg if you get on the wrong side of her. Jillian has a small hint of a British accent, because all her ancestors were from England. She has wavy blonde hair and brown eyes. Yeah.

Brown. She's tall, like 5.7. She's on the basketball team and can play like a pro. Winnie and I go to every one of her games, cheering her on. We never play because, well, we stick to volleyball. And, I have to admit, I'm kind of scared of basketballs. Winnie and I are closer than we are with Gillian. But we're just as friendly.

It's just that Jillian's parents are very strict, and she can hardly come over. But we spend as much time as we can together, the three of us, at school. We're kind of like Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Can't live without each other. Then I realize I should say something. Yeah. It was traumatizing. Imagine how much pain he went through. I muttered. I was still so shocked and stunned, about what had happened. It still fills me with sorrow and grief every single time someone brings it up. His funeral was a couple of days ago. I stand up. I don't

want to think about this anymore. The others must have understood, read my face, because they get up too. We leave the place and make our way back to school, where everyone's buzzing with the news I was too disturbed to share with my friends. There are two gossip girls, Astrid and Kennedy who won't stop blabbering about it. Did you hear about what happened with that kid on Murphy Street? That place was always creepy, oh, M.G. It, like, literally almost made me cry when I saw that disturbing image. He was like, what? six years old, let's hope the criminal got caught.

Who knows, they could have more victims. What are you saying? Astrid, calm down. Stop giving them ideas. They could be listening for all we know, and you say I'm paranoid. Kennedy opens her mouth to spit something back, but the two of them become interrupted and we become dismissed from their irksome conversation when the bell screams its horrible scream. We sigh and leave for our next classes. We force our way through the difficult and confusing maze, which involves a lot of pushing in getting pushed.

We arrive at English class. Mr. Brown's at his desk, his head in his hands. We ask him if he was all right, and he looks around like he didn't even see us. Then he says, there's been another attack, I turn on the TV. On a woman near Willow's secondary school. She lived on Murphy Street. The woman was found in her bed, lifeless. These images may be disturbing.

I see images, all right, scary, dreadful stuff. What my eyes see makes chills crawled down my spine like spiders. There are two bloody wounds on the side of her head, made with bullets, I think. There's a note staple to her, written with what looks like her own blood. It says, this is a note to all families who live on Murphy Street. I will get each and every one of you. You saw what happened to that little boy. Now, I have killed one of your mothers, wives, or daughters.

Methusla out, I grope for the remote and spam the power button. My chest heaves up and down. What is going on? What if they go for me? Suddenly, my phone starts shrieking like a siren. It's an amber alert. I read what it says and my head, hair stands up on the back of my neck. Emergency alert. Missing teenager, Winnie Peterson, age,

15. Brown hair, Japanese, green eyes, around 5.4 feet, thin. If seen, call 911 and share location. Suspect unknown, assumably Methusla. Who on earth is this Methusla? And where is Winnie? I quickly open messages, and text Winnie. No response. I can't stop shaking. I call Winnie's mom. She picks up, sobbing. Nevea. Where is Winnie?

Is she with you? I called 911, but they say they're looking for her. Where is she? Where's my baby girl? She couldn't stop crying. Charlie, I don't know where she is. But, the police will find her. Stay calm.

I try cheering us up. And who is this Methusla? Why is he doing this to these poor people? Charlie demanded. I don't know. But if I find something out, I'll fill you in. They've got to have found Winnie by now. I said,

They've got to have found Winnie by now. I just hope it isn't too late. I hang up, and almost instantly, my phone starts ringing. It's Jillian. I pick up, praying some of them. Something good is about to come out of it." Nevea, turn on the news. She lamented.

It was as if she couldn't say anything more, she even said this with difficulty. My heart sinks. I turn on the TV, petrified at what I am about to see. My eyes filled with horror. On the screen, Winnie is pinned to a stop sign, with a million holes in her, blood oozing from each one. Her eyes are open wide, she's staring into space. I can't help but say out loud, please, somebody shut her eyes.

I stifle a sob, tears filling my eyes. My everything goes away. I sit, frozen in shock. Methusla, you tore my life apart. Instantaneously, as I think this, all my fear and sadness turns into anger, my fury making my blood boil. I open and close my fists. I feel my fingernails cutting into my palm.

How could he do this to my Winnie? Just because she lives on Murphy Street. I will get him. I will rip him apart, limb from limb. I will torture him just like he tortured all of us, Murphy Street individuals. I get up, pacing the room. Where could this cruel, wicked, inhuman thug be? My doorknob clicks and turns.

I become panic-stricken, blood thundering in my ears. He's here. The door opens with a sickening creak. Who peeks around the door makes my whole body relax. Mom! Oh my god, honey, I heard what happened. I'm so sorry, I rush over to her and plant my head on her shoulder. She pulls me into a hug.

getting tears and ugliness all over her baby blue nurse scrubs. Shoo! You're okay. She whispers, tears clogging her voice, but was I? My best friend since kindergarten is dead. I will never be able to see her again. Then suddenly my mind goes blank, because the door just got smashed down with a thud. There's a figure in black standing in the doorway.

He looks like he's in his twenties. He shoots my mom, who falls in slow motion, onto the wooden floor. My heart drops into my stomach. M-O-M. I shriek at the top of my lungs, my throat threatening to rip. My legs almost give out. I want to go over to her, but I can't. Methusla paces toward me, and I back away. I take another step, but I hit the wall.

He comes closer. I have nowhere to go. He looks at me, his wicked eyes gleaming in the moonlight. You know why I'm doing this, don't you? Because you're a psycho. Who just killed my mom? My beautiful, loving, caring mom. I want to say that, but my mouth can't form the words. I'm not a monster. I have a crazy desire to laugh.

Let me tell you my story. You must have heard the tale of the man called Amos Murphy. He was a terrible man. who killed my father for no reason. Folk said he saved the lives of many. But he didn't. He took my innocent father's life. They named this place after that freak.

No justice. By doing this, I will get it. Lawyers, judges, the government, will take this stuff more seriously. They killed him for no reason, with his back turned. I did hear the story, actually. It's pretty famous. There was a case almost ten years ago, when a man, I guess Methusla's father, was accused of killing several people. Amos Murphy was sent to hunt him down, and shot him.

How do you know he was innocent? What if he was an evil creep like you? I managed to ask. Methusla licks his lips. He plunges a finger into my shoulder. Because my father would never do such a thing. He was framed, do you hear me? He yells in my face, spit flying from his mouth like fireworks.

He grabs his pistol and aims it right at my heart. Fear roots me to the spot like devil's snare. But I have to do something to save my life, and many others. In a flash, I grab his arm with the gun in it and point it down, away from myself. I then punch his stomach with my free hand with all the strength I can muster. He falls, cursing in rage. I run as fast as I can into my room, close the door, reach under my mattress, and grab my gun. Mom placed it there for emergencies.

I cock it and approach the door. I should call the police, but I'm taking revenge first. For Winnie, for my mom, for that poor lady, and for Boris. I opened the door, my hands trembling, cold sweat running down my temple. I'm going to try to take him by surprise. But Methusla is one step ahead of me. He's standing in front of me, trying to take me by surprise. Job done.

He tries to grab my gun, but I shoot. The bullet hits his hand, and he yells in agony. But that doesn't stop him. He aims his pistol at my face, his hands quivering. He's lost a lot of blood. He drops the gun, that's how violently he was shaking. He bends down to pick it up, unaware of the fact that I have a gun too. I make him aware.

I spasm the trigger as many times as I can and the bullet spear him five to six times. He collapses, a pool of blood around his upper body. That's what you get. I step over him, my sock splashing in the blood. I swallow back the feeling of nausea. I sprint to my mom, praying she isn't what I think she is. But God can't help me this time. I fall to her side, tears cascading down my face like a waterfall.

I look at her eyes, daggers piercing my heart. I drag my hand over her scared face, closing them. Why? Why her? I shake, my every inhale a gasp, every exhale a shudder. I will myself to stand and I call the police. I lean against the wall, everything that just happened starting to sink in. My face just got dry and yet more tears silently rolled down my cheeks.

I guess I'm an orphan now. I look in the hallway mirror. My hair's a mess, my face bloody from when I shot Methusla. My eyes are swollen and my face is blotchy and red. I look disgusting. But nothing compares to the feeling I'm going through right now. Nothing could ever describe the pain I'm going through right now. Nothing ever will.

Sirens Blair in my years. The police have arrived. On July 31st, 1807, the first coffin was placed inside. The name of the deceased was Thomasina Goddard, who, according to documents, was buried there in a simple wooden coffin, placed very close to the entrance, as if the owners of the crypt knew she wouldn't remain there for long. And indeed, a few months later, the crypt was about to be empty once more. Due to serious financial problems, the Eliot's were forced to sell the crypt to the Chase family.

And this is when the story takes a very dark turn. The chases were not exactly known for their kindness. It was said that the family members were cruel and ruthless and had probably taken advantage of the Elliot's by buying the crypt for much less than it was worth. In 1808, the crypt was open to receive a heavy lead coffin for a child. Its occupant was none other than a two-year-old girl named Marian Chase. Rumors at the time suggested that the blonde-haired beauty had been strangled by her own father. However, those were only rumors, and no investigation was ever carried out. On July 6, 1812, a new lead coffin arrived at the crypt.

This time, the occupant was Dorcas Chase, older brother of little Marianne. His death also sparked speculation, as it was said in town that his father had harshly punished him, locking him in his room and denying him food and water, leading to a slow and painful death. The boy's body was carried slowly by several slaves who, with great care, descended each of the stairs, entering the depths of the cold and humid crypt. But just as they were about to reach the end of their journey, they were forced to drop the coffin and flee as fast as they could. Mary Ann's coffin was no longer in the place where they themselves had left it years before. Something or someone had moved it and placed it.

it on the other side of the chamber, and not only that, it was upside down. According to the slaves, this could only be the work of evil spirits, of mocking spirits trying to contact the chases to deliver a message. Colonel Chase couldn't allow his slaves to be so cowardly, so, threatening and in pain, he forced them to reposition the coffins and placed the new one in its proper place. He didn't believe in folk tales, let alone ghosts. So, assuming it was the work of grave robbers, he sealed the entrance again, swearing such a story would never happen again. A month later, Colonel Chase took his own life with a gunshot to the head and was buried alongside his children in another heavy lead coffin. Fortunately for the gravediggers, the inexplicable

event that had terrified everyone 30 days earlier had not happened again. So they simply closed the door, replaced the heavy marble slab, and carried on with their lives as usual. On September 25th, In 1816, the heavy marble slab was moved aside to welcome the coffin of Samuel Brewster Ames, who had died at 11 months old. However, horror would soon embrace those who entered the Chase crypt again. The coffins, each weighing over 200 kilograms, were scattered disorderly across the chamber in almost impossible positions. The coffins of Mary Ann, Dorcas, and Colonel Chase were upside down, leaning against the opposite wall of the crypt. That's when panic broke out in Barbados. Colonel Chase's coffin was extremely heavy, it had an inner wooden frame and was lined with lead.

Additionally, Mr. Chase was a gigantic man who weighed 118 kilograms. Moving that coffin alone would have required eight people. And that, according to many, clearly indicated that the movement of the coffins was the work of ghosts. Everyone began talking about the crypt, and stories of tormented souls began. began to emerge. Some said it was the work of evil spirits, and others that the soul of Tomasina Goddard was expressing her discontent with the Chase family by disturbing their rest. As expected, these stories did not go unnoticed by the island's governor, Lord Commermear, who personally visited the crypt to verify whether the rumors were true.

Upon seeing that eerie scene, he couldn't believe it. Countless questions raised through his mind, how could such heavy coffins have been moved and arranged like that? Was it really the work of ghosts, as everyone said, or Tomb Raiders? In 1819, the chase crypt was opened again to receive Samuel Brewster, father of little Samuel Brewster Ames. The cause of his death was unknown to all, but frankly, and though it sounds harsh to say, no one really cared. The only thing that mattered to the people was that when the crypt was opened, everything was in order. But, as expected, upon removing the marble slab, descending the stairs, and opening the door,

no coffin was in its place. So they repositioned them and closed the chamber once more. However, the governor refused to do it the usual way. He desperately needed to make sense of what was happening to show the people that this was not the work of ghosts but of humans who did not respect the rest of the dead. So he ordered the crypt's floor to be covered with the finest sand so that any footprint would be marked there. Then he placed several valuable objects on the sand. Don't think the trap ends there, this was just the beginning. The governor ordered the lock on the old door to be changed and required that the marble slab

be sealed with plaster and stones. On the wet plaster, he pressed his ring as a seal of security. The crypt was now impenetrable. So, when it was reopened later, the coffin should be exactly where they were placed, or so he believed. The story of the moving coffin spread by word of mouth until it was known both inside and outside the island. Inevitably, everyone was talking about the curse of the chase crypt, and the bravest decided to visit Christ Church Cemetery to see that sinister funerary monument with their own eyes. This led to new stories about the terrible events that

occurred there, including the one that unleashed absolute horror. A woman, whose identity is unknown, entered the cemetery to leave a floral offering. She believed that a simple bouquet might appease the anger of the restless souls. But as she began to tie her flowers to one of the bars outside the crypt, she felt the ground collapse beneath her feet. She shuddered. She could feel the force of a thousand demons churning from the bowels of that place and heard voices from beyond moaning in pain through the solid marble.

The woman, panicked, dropped the flowers and ran. It is said that on that day in 1820, many horses tied nearby went mad and ran toward the sea, where they inevitably drowned. No birds sang in the area. No stray cat or dog sought refuge in the mausoleums or pantheons. Christchurch Cemetery became the quietest and eeriest place on the island. The story soon reached the years of the governor once again. That same year, he decided to reopen the crypt, but this time, not just with some,

slaves but also with his secretary Nathan Lucas and Reverend Thomas Orderson. The exterior of the crypt was exactly as they had left it. The seal of his ring rested undisturbed at the entrance. However, the people demanded the tomb be opened again. And although everything appeared to be in order, the governor had to play his role and continue with his goal, to prove to the people that ghosts were nothing more than old wives' tales. Unfortunately, this would be an impossible task. Upon entering the crypt, they discovered a broken coffin and an arm sticking out through the crack, it belonged to Dorcas Chase. Mary Ann's coffin was upright, upside down, leaning against the opposite wall of the crypt. The three remaining coffins were scattered across the chamber.

On the other hand, the sand was intact. The valuable objects previously placed were still exactly where they had been. There was no sign the crypt had been flooded or shaken by an earthquake, much less than. less that a group of people had entered and moved all the coffins. There were not even the marks the coffins would have left when moved. It was as if, when the tomb was last sealed, they had already been left that way. The governor's secretary took notes of everything, recording the exact position of the coffins. At the same time, Reverend Thomas Ordersen of Christchurch, along with a magistrate and two other men, thoroughly inspected the crypt,

examining its walls and vaulted ceiling. There was a very time. There was a man. There was a magistrate, no trace of moisture or signs of flooding. They searched the floor for cracks to see if an earthquake had moved the coffins, but found nothing. Finally, they looked for secret doors, passages through which several men might have entered to arrange the coffins so eerily, but again, they found nothing. So they simply supervised the slaves as they repositioned the coffins in the established order. Within weeks, there was no person who didn't know the story. All the inhabitants of Barbados and the British Antilles knew about the curse. Many people gathered at the cemetery to perform all kinds of rituals.

Some prayed. Others brought flowers. And finally, a group of people even sacrificed all kinds of animals. Reverend Thomas Ordersen couldn't handle all this. He couldn't face the intruders alone, let alone deal with the flood of requests to reopen the haunted crypt. However, three years after the last burial, what the people had been demanding was granted. On July 17, 1823, the wooden coffin of Thomacina Clark was prepared to rest in the crypt of unrest.

There was no doubt about the importance of the occasion. People from the most remote corners of the world gathered around the crypt to see with their own eyes what was inside. Although Mrs. Clark was not well known in life, great personalities of the time attended her funeral, the governor of Barbados, his aides, his secretary, the garrison commander, and of course, much of the island's clergy. After removing the large marble slab from the entrance, they proceeded to descend the stairs and open the old iron door. But opening it was no longer easy.

After more than half an hour of struggling, they finally managed to enter, and discovered that what had blocked entry was Colonel Chase's coffin, tightly jammed against the entrance, two meters away from where it had previously been placed. The other coffins were scattered. Those of the children, previously placed on the adults, were now lying on the floor. The scene was so sinister that the governor ordered everyone to evacuate. Only Reverend Thomas Orderson, the governor, and a few trusted men remained. They discussed for a long time what to do, agreed to reposition the coffins, and sealed the crypt until further notice.

Shortly afterward, the governor and his confidence returned to the crypt intending to end the matter once and for all. And once again, they found the same scene as always. You're now seeing the setting they witnessed that day. They could no longer fuel the ghost stories. So they removed all the coffins and buried them separately in simple niches. From then on, to avoid further problems, they decided to keep the crypt open to the public, allowing people to come and go as they pleased. According to Reverend Thomas Orderson, this way the story would become a legend, a legend that people would eventually tire of and forget. However, this legend was passed on for years by those who once witnessed the sinister events, such as James Edward Alexander,

who in 1833 published his account in transatlantic sketches. Every time the vault was opened, the coffins were placed back in their proper positions, three on the floor side by side, and the others resting on top. The vault was regularly sealed. The door, a solid stone slab requiring six or seven men to move, was cemented by masons. And although the floor was made of sand, there were no signs of footsteps or water. The last time the vault was opened was in 1823. Lord Comamir was present, and the coffins were found scattered around the vault, some upside down, others upright. But now it's your turn, what do you think of this story? Do you believe it really happened, or is it just a legend? The end. Let's begin. Today's story starts with a 35-year-old

man named David Krupa, better known as Dave. Dave was a mechanic by trade, and his life had always been fairly normal. He married his long-time girlfriend, Amy Flora, and over 12 years of marriage, they had two beautiful children. However, in early 2012, their relationship ended, and now he had to face a major change. He had been in a long relationship, married, with two kids, and suddenly, overnight, he was alone. He shared custody of the children, but everything else had changed. He hadn't been alone in a very long time, and now he had to learn a new routine, new habits, a new life. He had to start from scratch. So, he moved into a one-bedroom apartment located in Omaha, Nebraska, and changed jobs. He started working at a different garage, met new people,

made new friends, and after a few months, he decided he wanted to meet someone new. He wasn't looking for anything serious, just to have a good time, meet new people. To be honest, he was pretty rusty when it came to dating. He didn't even remember how to do it. So, he turned to the internet, specifically, plenty of fish. I didn't know how to get back into dating. I felt very out of practice, so online dating seemed like the way to go. He created a profile, listed his age, what he was looking for, mentioned he had two kids and that he wasn't after anything serious. Within a few days, he matched with two women, one of them was Shauna Elizabeth Gallier. Shana, better known as Liz, was a single mother of two children,

the same age as Dave's kids. She also wasn't looking for anything serious, just to have fun. According to her profile, she had her life together. She owned her own business, a cleaning company called Elle's housekeeping, and physically, she was just Dave's type. I thought Liz was really pretty. I was immediately attracted to her. So, they arranged a date. They met at a coffee shop, liked each other, laughed a lot, had chemistry, and in the following months, they kept seeing each other. It was casual. Nothing serious. Friends with benefits. They had fun and occasionally spent the night at each other's place. Liz and Dave were on the same page. They didn't want to involve their kids, didn't want to get serious, didn't want to get married

or blend families. They just wanted to enjoy themselves, and theoretically, they were both seeing other people too. However, in October 2012, Dave met another woman. Here's how it happened. He was working at the garage when a customer came in with a broken car. Her name was Carrie Farver, and the moment she walked in, a spark flew between them. When we looked at each other, there was a spark. She was showing me something inside the vehicle and we were standing very close, there was a certain tension. Just a spark.

They liked each other. It was mutual. But at the time, Dave was working, so he didn't ask for her number, didn't flirt, didn't say anything. It remained professional. A few days later, while browsing profile, on plenty of fish, Dave came across Carrie Farber's profile, the same woman from the garage. They matched, started messaging, admitted they were attracted to each other, and on October 29th,

they had their first date. But before we get there, let's get to know this woman, Carrie Leah Farver. Carrie was born on November 30, 1974, to Nancy Rainey and Dennis Farver. She grew up in a town in Iowa called Macedonia, a rural community where everyone knew each other. She was described as magnetic, extroverted, energetic, charismatic, and warm. She lived life with intensity and passion, and everyone around her felt it. At 37, she was divorced and had a 14-year-old son named Max, her entire world. Everything she did, she did for him. He was her greatest pride. In 2012, Carey landed a big job as a programmer at a major company. It required long hours, but she was thrilled, it was her dream job, and it paid very well.

With that money, she could provide anything Max needed. He wouldn't lack a thing. And Carrie was happy. However, life hadn't been easy for her. She had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and aside from therapy, she was prescribed medication. But she told her parents that the meds made her feel numb. Occasionally, under control and supervision, she would stop taking them, not for long, and always with awareness.

There were a couple of times she stopped taking her meds because she said, Mom, I feel numb. But again, Carrie was doing fine. It was controlled. She felt good. On October 29, 2012, she had her first date with Dave, at an hour. Applebee's restaurant. They met there, sat down, started talking, ordered food and drinks, and the time flew. They had such a great time that minutes felt like seconds.

They laughed, shared stories, connected deeply, and had amazing chemistry. Throughout the whole date, Carrie made it very clear she wasn't looking for anything serious. She wanted to have fun, enjoy herself, not a husband, not a father for her son. Maybe a friend, maybe a romance, but she already had her life, her family, her job, her son. Dave was thrilled to hear that, he wanted exactly the same. There was an instant connection. They were into each other. But one small issue arose during the date, Dave's phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Message after message, call after call. Eventually, Dave picked it up and saw all the notifications were from one person, Liz. She said she had left something at his place, that she needed it back urgently.

He replied that they could meet later, maybe in a few hours, or the next day. But Liz insisted. Again, he told her not to worry, whatever it was would still be there. He put his phone away and continued the date with Carrie. They were having a fantastic time. and decided to finish the evening at Dave's apartment. They paid the bill, went to his place, and everything was going great, until the door buzzer rang. Dave answered the intercom, Liz was downstairs. She said she needed to come up and get something. Dave hung up the intercom and explained everything to Carrie, that he had been seeing Liz

casually, they weren't serious, she was now calling, and she wanted something from his place. Carrie understood. She felt awkward, because it was a strange situation, but she understood. So, she grabbed her purse and left. A few minutes later, Dave went down and greeted Liz. He explained that he had just been on a date. Liz seemed very upset, betrayed, hurt. Dave didn't understand why, they were never exclusive, and they had both agreed it was just casual.

Eventually, Liz seemed to accept it. She went upstairs, thought what she needed, and left. Then Dave called Carrie. She was already almost home and didn't feel like turning back, but they talked a bit more, said they would keep seeing each other, and Carrie invited Dave to her place that same evening. He agreed. They clicked so well that they became inseparable. Carrie worked near Dave's house, and often after her shift, she'd stay over.

They had dinner, spent the night together, and at some point, She even left things at his apartment, a spare toothbrush, slippers. They weren't officially a couple, but in some ways, they were acting like one. But on November 13th, something very strange happened. They woke up early, around 6 a.m., and by 6.30, Dave went to work. Carrie stayed at his apartment to work on her laptop. The plan was simple, they'd go to work, then meet up later that evening. However, at 10 a.m., Dave received a strange message from Carrie, she suggested they move in together.

Dave replied no. They weren't serious. It was casual. Neither of them wanted that, so to him, the proposal didn't make sense. To which Carrie responded, fine. I hate you. I'm seeing someone else. I don't want to see you again. Get lost. Reading this, Dave was shocked. It didn't sound like Carrie. He didn't understand. But then again, they had only known each other for a few weeks. After work, he went home, and Carrie was gone. All her things, including the toothbrush, were gone. Carrie Farber had disappeared, and two days later, Dave started getting more messages from her. I hate you. You ruined my life. You're a horrible person.

After reading that, Dave assumed she had gone crazy, and that, luckily, she was out of his life. But while Dave kept receiving bizarre messages, Carrie's family hadn't heard from her in days. On November 13, Carrie woke up at Dave's house. They said goodbye in the morning, and she vanished. Her mother and son kept calling her, messaging her, but she didn't answer. Her son, Max, kept trying to reach her, but she never replied. So, on November 16, Nancy Rainey went to the Omaha Police Department and filed a missing-person report. Police went to Carrie's home to perform a welfare check, and confirmed she wasn't there.

They searched the home, everything was in order. Nothing had been packed. Her medication was still there. Carrie hadn't gone far. They spoke with her mother, asked if she had recently. met someone, and she mentioned Dave. So, the suspicion turned to him. Police brought Dave in. He told them everything, that on November 13th, she lost it and sent strange messages. That she continued sending odd messages afterward. The police believed it was a mental health issue.

Carrie Farber is unwell, unmedicated, and heartbroken. She's an adult. She probably just need space. They thought it was a case of a bipolar person having a breakdown after stopping medication. But Carrie's family insisted, something was wrong. So police reached out to Carrie, via texts and written messages. She replied, saying she was heartbroken, needed space, and on November 13th, she told her boss she quit and had taken a new job in Kansas. She'd be back for her son later. She asked people not to worry and said she'd reach out again soon.

With that, police stopped investigating. But her family didn't believe it. They kept calling, messaging, reaching out through Facebook. Her mother begged her to answer the phone, to say where she was and how she was doing, but Carrie never called. She only sent occasional texts. Over time, her messages no longer sounded like her. Her son had a birthday, she didn't show up. Her father died, she didn't attend the funeral.

Carrie Farver would never have done that. And meanwhile, every single day, she was harassing Dave Krupa, sending him 50 messages and 100 emails daily. Each one more disturbing than the last, I'll do whatever it takes to make you suffer, Dave, to be continued. The strange events that took place in a small house in Bridport during the 1970s remain a subject of intrigue and speculation. This story, which has been passed down through the years, centers around the Gooden family, who lived at 9.6,000. 66, Lynn Street in a modest bungalow. The events that transpired there were so unusual and intense that they drew the attention of law enforcement, paranormal investigators, and thousands of curious onlookers.

It all started with Gerald Gooden, a maintenance worker, and his wife, Laura, who were living a relatively quiet life in their small home. Their family had once been larger, but the death of their son, Jerry Jr., due to multiple sclerosis, left them heartbroken. Their son's illness and subsequent passing in 1967 had caused the Gooden's much grief, and they had hoped for a larger family, but they were concerned that their son's illness could have been hereditary. To overcome their sorrow and fulfill their desire for a larger family, they decided to adopt

a young girl from Canada named Marcia. Marcia, who was only four years old when she joined the Gooden family, was a shy, introverted child with distinctive Native American features. Despite the love and care the Goodens provided her, Marcia struggled at school, where she was relentlessly bullied for her appearance. The children at school mocked her for her dark skin, her voice, her hair, and her mannerisms. The constant teasing took a toll on Marsha,

leading to an incident in October 1974 when a boy kicked her in the back, causing her to end up in the hospital. This attack left her with lasting physical injuries, and in an effort to protect her, Laura pulled Marcia out of school and decided to homeschool her. Though the intention was to keep Marcia safe, this action led to a further sense of isolation. Marcia had no friends, and her life became confined to the small house.

What started as a seemingly innocent decision soon spiraled into something far darker. After being confined to the house for weeks, strange occurrences began to unfold. Gerald Gooden, frustrated by the noises he was hearing in his home, initially believed that children in the neighborhood were throwing rocks at the house. However, the sounds persisted, coming from all directions, both during the day and night. No matter how much he searched, he couldn't find any love. logical explanation. He soon began to suspect that a large construction company might have hired someone to make these noises in an attempt to force the family out of the house. The Goodens

tried to ignore the disturbances, but the incidents only escalated. Eventually, they started hearing loud knocks on the walls and even on the ceiling, as if something, or someone, was inside the walls of the house. The situation became even more perplexing when, in November of that year, the family came home to find that a window had been mysteriously broken from the inside. At this point, the strange noises and disturbances became too much for them to handle. One evening, as the family was watching TV, they heard another loud noise coming from the same bedroom. When they went to investigate, they found that the curtains in the room had mysteriously fallen. They thought maybe they had been poorly hung, but as soon as they reattached the curtains, they fell again.

The window was closed, and there were no drafts or other logical explanations for this strange phenomenon. This marked the beginning of an intense series of paranormal events. Not long after, during a family dinner, a series of inexplicable events unfolded in rapid succession. Plates and glasses began flying off the table, and the refrigerator started to levitate, rising several inches from the floor. The family was in a state of shock, unsure how to react. This terrifying experience culminated with a television set falling on Laura's foot, breaking her toes. This bizarre sequence of events was over just as quickly as it had begun, leaving the family in a state of confusion.

The following morning, when Gerald went to prepare breakfast, he was confronted with an even more surreal scene. The kitchen table had been overturned, and the refrigerator was blocking the door to the outside. Despite hearing nothing during the night, the family found their house in complete disarray. As they tried to make sense of this, another attack occurred. Crucifixes and religious images were torn off the walls by an invisible force and thrown to the ground.

The situation was becoming increasingly dangerous and inexplicable. In their panic, the Goodens ran out of the house and sought help from the police. Officer John Osworn responded to their call and was initially baffled by the scene he encountered. The TV in the living room had rotated 35 degrees, and the refrigerator had slid across the floor without leaving any marks. Despite his best efforts to find a rational explanation, Osworn couldn't make sense of what was happening. He called for backup, and soon, for more officers arrived, along with a team of firefighters. The situation escalated further when a large crowd of onlookers gathered outside

the Gooden home. They watched in awe as objects inside the house continued to levitate and fly around. The bizarre nature of the events attracted attention from all over the area, and reporters from nearby cities rushed to cover the story. As word spread, over 2,000 people flocked to the house, hoping to witness the strange phenomena for themselves. The chaos continued, and it wasn't long before paranormal investigators, Ed and Lorraine Warren, were called in to examine the case. The Warrens were well known for their work investigating haunted houses and poltergeist activity, and they quickly made their way to the gooden home. Ed Warren, in particular, was shocked by the intensity of the events. Objects were flying off shelves, and the house

seemed to be alive with paranormal activity. He immediately suspected that the disturbances were connected to Marcia and the emotional pain she was experiencing. According to the warrants, the poltergeist activity seemed to be centered around Marcia, who had been dealing with intense feelings of loneliness, fear, and resentment. They believed that these negative emotions had attracted malevolent spirits to the house, which began manipulating her environment. As the investigation continued, the Warrens encountered even more strange occurrences. Ed recalled one incident where Marcia's hand was mysteriously burned, though no one could explain how it happened. The most frightening experience occurred when a priest was invited to bless the house. As the

family gathered to pray, a dark force struck one of the family members, causing him to be violently thrown from his seat. The entity appeared to be a demonic presence, which followed Marsha even when she tried to escape the house. Despite all the efforts to rid the house of these dark forces, the Goodens were left in turmoil. In an effort to make the story go away, the local authorities eventually issued a statement claiming that everything had been fabricated by the family, especially Marsha. However, this theory was quickly debunked. It made no sense to suggest that a young girl could cause objects to levitate or break in such an intense manner, and many of the paranormal events occurred when Marcia was not even present in the house.

Despite the authorities' claims, the events at 966, Lynn Street remained a mystery. The Goodens eventually moved out of the house, but their reputation was forever tarnished. The neighborhood turned against them, and the house was never sold, even after extensive efforts to repaint it and renovate the garden. Some even tried to burn the house down in an attempt to rid it of the supposed evil spirits. The family eventually settled in the house, but the strange events continued to haunt their memories for the rest of their lives. So, what do you think? Do you believe the house was truly haunted, or was there something else at play? The Gooden family's terrifying experience remains one of the most talked about paranormal events

in history, leaving behind a trail of questions that still remain unanswered. The eerie events that unfolded in the small village of Ryan are the stuff of legend. Sounds of chains dragging, whales in the night, mysterious knocks, and a crib that rocked all by itself were just a few of the frightening occurrences that plagued the Bayon-Gonzalez family when they moved into what became known as the House of Fear in Ryan. Asturius, Spain. To understand this chilling tale, we need to travel back in time to the early 20th century. Specifically, we're going to the second decade of the 1900s, when life in rural Spain was centered around hard work, especially in mining communities. Ryan, a small, remote village near Morita, had only about 50 inhabitants, all living

simple lives in traditional stone houses. The families there were humble and hardworking, bound together by a close-knit community where everyone knew one another. It was a peaceful, trusting place with no room for suspicion or unease. However, in 1915, a new family arrived, the Bayon-Gonzalez family. They consisted of Eusebio Bayon, his wife Concepcion González, and their 12 children. Soon, Concepcion was pregnant with another child, so their household was growing. They settled into a charming little house, got to know their neighbors, and quickly started to work. Usabio worked in the minds during the day, while Concepcion stayed home, taking care of the children, the household chores, and the small plot of land they had. Life, as it

often is for mothers, was exhausting. Concepcion was constantly busy. If she wasn't tending to the older children, she was caring for the baby, cleaning the house. house, or working the fields. Once the baby was born, she didn't get a break. The routine was relentless. And when night came, Concepcion would finally collapse into bed, only to be awakened by the crying of her infant. Every night was the same, she'd rock the baby to sleep, clean up, go to bed, and drift off,

only to be woken by the baby's cries. But one night, something strange happened. It started out like any other evening. finished her chores, set the candlestick, and began washing the dishes. She went through her usual routine, nothing unusual about it. Once the dishes were done, she extinguished the candle, went to her room, and laid down to sleep. But as she was just about to doze off, she heard her baby crying again.

She got up, lit the candle, and went to check on the baby. But when she reached the door of the baby's room, she was surprised to hear silence instead of crying. The baby, who had been wailing moments before, was now quiet. She opened the door and found something that shocked her to the core. The crib was rocking by itself. There was no wind, no draft, no one else in the room. It was as if some invisible force was gently rocking the crib back and forth in the dark.

At first, the family tried to brush it off. Maybe it was just a strange coincidence. But the phenomenon repeated itself night after night, and over time, the rocking became more violent. The crib began to shake so violently that it seemed to move of its own accord, spinning in circles. The baby, however, remained perfectly still, not even reacting to the movement. It was as though the child was completely oblivious to the terrifying phenomenon happening around him. As the days passed, the situation worsened. The rocking of the crib became so intense that it seemed impossible to ignore. Eventually, the family reached out to a neighbor,

one Alonso, who was known for his strength and bravery. He was confident that he could stop whatever was causing this disturbance. When night fell, and the crib began to move again, One went into the room and tried to stop it. But the force was far too powerful. Even a man of his strength couldn't stop the crib from rocking. It moved with such force that it seemed to be almost alive. One was thrown around the room, powerless against the invisible force. The other men in the village tried to help, but none of them could stop it.

The strange force threw them against the walls, and the crib continued its relentless movement. The family was at their wits' end. What had started as a strange occurrence in a crib had escalated into something far more terrifying. The house was filled with unexplained noises, banging on the walls, footsteps on the stairs, the sound of chains dragging across the floor. It wasn't long before the entire village knew about the strange happenings. People would come from nearby towns to see the mysterious events with their own eyes. The house became known as the House of Fear and quickly gained a reputation throughout

the region. Night after night, strange sounds continued to echo through the house. The family was terrified. Sometimes, neighbors would stay the night to keep watch, and they quickly learned that the most active time for the disturbances was between 1 a.m. and 5 a.m. The sounds of knocking, dragging chains, and crying filled the air, and the activity didn't stop. It was constant, a never-ending nightmare.

the day, life seemed normal, but as soon as night fell, the house became a place of terror. Concepcion and her family were at their wits' end. They didn't know what to do. No one could explain the noises, the strange movements of objects, or the invisible force that seemed to haunt their home. As the story spread, people from other towns came to visit. Some claimed they could communicate with the dead, while others said they could perform exorcisms to rid the house of whatever spirit was tormenting the family.

But despite the efforts of many, nothing seemed to work. The strange events only continued to escalate. Eventually, the family turned to the local authorities. Some say they reported the happenings to the Civil Guard, while others claimed the police learned about it through the rumors that were circulating in the region. Regardless, the police did investigate, and a formal case was opened. The officers and volunteers who stayed in the house during the night witnessed the strange events firsthand, but they were just as powerless to stop it as everyone else.

They could only document the events and watch as the family continued to suffer. The situation was so bad that the family reached out to the church for help. Priests came, promising to perform exorcisms and blessings, but none of them were successful in stopping the hauntings. The family remained in fear, unable to escape the terror that filled their home. One night, Concepcion was visited by a mysterious figure. According to her account, the figure appeared in a nearby room and spoke to her in a calm, almost reassuring tone. It told her that if she followed a certain order, the disturbances

would stop. The figure told her that the family needed to go to Camp Longo, a nearby town, to arrange for a series of masses and to light two candles for her recently deceased sister. Concepcion followed the instructions, and after performing the ritual, the strange events ceased. The house fell silent, and the family was finally able to live in peace. Concepcion lived to be 103 years old, and until her death, she never spoke of what happened that night in detail. She took the secret of that conversation with her to the grave, leaving the mystery unsolved. Despite many attempts to investigate the events, no one ever uncovered the truth behind the terrifying occurrences in the House of Fear. Today, Ryan is a village with only four

inhabitants, all descendants of Concepcion and Eusebio. Among them is their great-grandson, Juan Manuel Gonzalez, who still lives in the same house. In a 2017 interview, he recalled how his grandmother would tell him stories of the haunted house when he was a child. However, he said that he and his cousins were never afraid. They grew up in the house, and nothing strange ever happened to them. The story of the house of fear remains well known in the area, and no one doubts the accounts of those who lived through it. The villagers may no longer speak of the events openly, but whenever the subject arises, it is clear that the fear of those terrifying night still lingers in the hearts of those who witnessed the strange happenings. Even now, many people from the region

still remember the terrifying events that occurred in that house, and the mystery of the Bayan Gonzalez family's haunting remains unsolved. So, what do you think? Could this story be true? Was the House of Fear really haunted, or was there some other explanation for the strange events that occurred in Ryan? When it comes to declassified documents that are outright chilling, a few of them stick out like a sore thumb. From the Kremlin's Cold War secrets to bizarre experiments by government agencies, these stories make for some of the most jaw-dropping revelations. Let's dive deep into the spine-tingling accounts and their unnerving implications. The Dietlov Pass incident, back during the height of the Cold War, the Kremlin tightly

concealed one of Russia's creepiest mysteries. The Dietlov Pass incident involves nine experienced hikers who set off on a multi-day trek into Siberia and never returned. What investigators found still sends shivers down the spines of many. Their campsite told a harrowing tale. The hikers had cut their tent open from the inside in a frantic bid to escape something. They fled into the bitter Siberian cold, abandoning their food, proper clothing, and shoes. Some wore only light layers, a bizarre choice given their experience.

Several of their bodies were found discolored, their hair turned gray, and two emitted traces of radiation. Even stranger, some corpses were missing eyes and tongues, and four were discovered at the bottom of a ravine with bizarre injuries. Theories abound, ranging from alien encounters to military experiments, to natural causes like avalanches or wild animals. Despite recent investigations attempting to explain the tragedy, no single conclusion has put all doubts to rest. The Cincinnati radiation experiments, during the Cold War,

the U.S. conducted numerous classified experiments, one of the most egregious being the Cincinnati radiation experiments. Funded by the government, this horrific program involved exposing predominantly African-American patients to lethal levels of radiation, without their consent. Participants were subjected to doses ranging from three. 300 to 600 rats, leading to excruciating deaths for many. Within one week, a quarter of the subject succumbed to the radiation. A year later, three-quarters had died. It wasn't until the 1990s that the truth came to light, when the most well-known victim's family successfully

sued, forcing the University of Cincinnati Hospital to acknowledge its role. A memorial was erected but swiftly dismantled, replaced by a parking lot. The monument itself now lies obscured behind bushes, tucked away behind the hospital, as though history prefers it forgotten. Remote viewing, the CIA's experiment with the paranormal, enter Joseph McMunigal, a man who claimed to possess remote viewing abilities, a supposed psychic power allowing him to observe places and events from afar. The CIA decided to put his skills to the test in 1984. They handed him coordinates and asked him to describe what he saw. The catch? The coordinates pointed to Mars, a million years ago. To their astonishment, McMunigal provided detailed descriptions

of an alien landscape, complete with towering structures, advanced infrastructure, and mysterious, shadowy figures. He claimed to witness the remnants of a dying civilization. The experiment was part of the Stargate Project, a now-de-classified effort to explore psychic phenomena. While skeptics abound, the CIA's release of the full report makes for fascinating reading. Sweden's forced sterilization program. Between 1935 and 1979, Sweden operated a state-sanctioned program of forced sterilizations. Targeting individuals deemed unfit for parenthood, the government sterilized thousands without their consent. Victims included those with mental or physical disabilities, antisocial behaviors, and even chronic alcoholics. Routed in eugenics,

the program aimed to prevent undesirable traits from passing to future generations. While Sweden has since apologized, this dark chapter remains a haunting reminder of how pseudoscience can lead to systematic abuse. The CIA and LSD, from hippie movements to small-town chaos. The CIA's fascination with LSD during the 1960s and 70s took many forms, none more disturbing than its experiments on unsuspecting subjects. The agency manufactured vast quantities of LSD in Seoul and San Diego, distributing it through young operatives with high-ranking parents. One of their most infamous trials involved dosing an entire French village with the drug. The town descended into chaos, with mass hallucinations and psychosis. This bizarre experiment, shrouded in secrecy,

involved Albert Hoffman, the father of LSD, and other prominent scientists. The devastation left behind paints a grim picture of the lengths governments will go in the name of research. Vault 7, Wikileaks shocking CIA revelations. In 2017, Wikileaks began releasing a series of documents dubbed Vault 7, which exposed the CIA's capabilities in electronic surveillance and cyber warfare. The leaks revealed that the agency could hack modern cars, disable their braking systems, and even frame individuals by planting incriminating files on their computers, all without leaving a trace. Perhaps most terrifyingly, the CIA lost control of these tools, meaning they could now be in the hands of anyone, anywhere. The implications are staggering,

anyone could be blackmailed or silenced with fabricated evidence. It's a reminder that the tools of espionage are as dangerous as the secrets they aim to uncover. Project M.K. Ultra, Mind Control Nightmares, MK. Ultra remains one of the most infamous programs in CIA history. Officially launched in 1953, it sought to manipulate human behavior using drugs, hypnosis, and psychological torture. The program's methods were often inhumane and illegal. LSD was administered to unwitting subjects, including prisoners, mental patients, and even random civilians. Some endured prolonged doses

lasting up to 174 days. One chilling operation, dubbed midnight climax, involved setting up CIA-run brothels in San Francisco. Men visiting these establishments were secretly dosed with LSD and observed through one-way mirrors.

The goal? To study their behavior under the influence. Other experiments subjected individuals to sensory deprivation, verbal abuse, and physical torture. Many suffered long-term psychological damage, and some did not survive. Though M.K. Ultra was officially terminated in 1973, its horrifying legacy endures. Operation Starfish Prime, nuking the atmosphere. In 1962, the U.S. military decided to flex its

nuclear muscles in a bizarre experiment known as Operation Starfish Prime. The plan? detonate a hydrogen bomb in the upper atmosphere and observed the results. despite warnings from physicist James Van Allen, who feared the repercussions on Earth's natural radiation belts, the military pressed forward. The explosion sent a massive electromagnetic pulse, EMP, rippling across the Pacific, disabling power grids and satellites. It also altered the Van Allen belts, making it impossible to study their natural state. Critics argue that the operation's long-term effects on cancer rates and atmospheric chemistry remain unclear. The government's

dismissal of these concerns and silencing of dissenters like Van Allen underscores the recklessness of Cold War era experiments. UFO encounters, from Roswell to the Nimitz incident, declassified UFO files have fueled countless debates and conspiracy theories. Among the most compelling is the Nimitz encounter, where U.S. Navy pilots observed unidentified aerial phenomena, UAPs, off the coast of California, in 2004. Described as Tick-Tac-shaped objects, these UAPs displayed flight capabilities far beyond current technology, including rapid acceleration and instantaneous directional changes. Similarly, the infamous Roswell incident continues to capture imaginations.

Declassified memos described the recovery of a mysterious craft and three alien bodies in the 1940s. Though the government maintains it was a weather balloon, many believe the true story remains hidden. Add to this the testimony of Bob Lazar, who claimed to work on reverse engineering alien technology, and it's easy to see why UFOs are a favorite topic in discussions of classified secrets. The heart attack gun, one of the more unsettling revelations about CIA projects involves a weapon designed to induce heart attacks. Developed in the 1960s and 70s, this prototype gun could fire a tiny dark laced with chemicals that would trigger cardiac arrest. The wound at left was nearly undetectable, smaller than a needle prick. Though the project was officially abandoned,

many speculate that advancements in similar technology continue in secret. Project 1794, as supersonic flying saucer. During the Cold War, the U.S. Air Force partnered with a Canadian company to develop a supersonic flying saucer, Project 1794. The craft was intended to be both a bomber and a psychological weapon. However, the design proved too costly and unstable, leading to the project's cancellation. Despite its failure, the existence of such an ambitious program highlights the lengths nations would go to gain an edge during the Cold War. Operation Paperclip, recruiting war criminals. After World War II, the U.S. launched Operation Paperclip to recruit German scientists, including some with ties to war crimes. While many focused on rocketry and

nuclear physics, others had darker specialties. Former members of Japan's Unit 731, responsible for horrific biological warfare experiments, were also given safe passage to America in exchange for their expertise. These scientists continued controversial research, often targeting prisoners or marginalized groups. The full extent of their activities remains classified, leaving a dark shadow over post-war scientific advancements. Have you ever had an experience that left you feeling unsettled, like something was out of place, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were in danger? Maybe it was something you saw on the road, a strange interaction with a fellow driver, or a weird, unexplainable event. It's these types of experiences that can truly stick with you, and even years later, they'll pop into your mind unexpectedly.

I remember one morning, I was driving to work on a Saturday, it was early, and the highway was still mostly empty. The weather was clear, and the roads were quiet. I was on the interstate, just going about my usual route. I had the radio on, and everything seemed fine. But then, as I glanced at my side mirror, I noticed a car rapidly approaching me. At first, I thought it was just another vehicle speeding by, but then something caught my attention, in the rear window of the car, there was a woman.

She was pounding on the glass and screaming for help. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Without thinking, I sped up to catch up to them. As soon as the woman saw me, she started screaming even louder, looking directly at me as if she could sense I was trying to help. I quickly moved behind the car and followed it for several miles. I could see the man inside, and he was turning around, yelling at her, clearly attacking her.

My heart was racing. I immediately called 911 and tried to explain the situation to the dispatcher as best as I could. The man, realizing I was following him, sped up, trying to shake me off. But I kept my distance, keeping my foot on the gas, trying to maintain a steady pace while keeping my eyes on the road. The tension in the car was unbearable. I managed to stay on his tail for about 20 kilometers, weaving through traffic and accelerating when needed, hoping I could keep the 911 operator updated.

The police were on their way, and they assured me they had units close by. But then, the man did something that left me frozen. He swerved in front of me and slammed on his brakes, bringing the car to a complete stop. My heart skipped a beat, I had no idea if he was armed or if this was some kind of trap. I decided not to take any chances. I swerved around him and took an exit off the highway. Once I was off the main road, I got back on, hoping to keep track of him, but eventually, I lost sight of the car.

I couldn't keep up the pace, and the fear of losing him made my hands shake as I held the wheel. The good news is that the police had been tracking us the whole time, and not long after, they managed to stop the vehicle. When I passed by the scene, the man was being cuffed on the ground, and the woman, though shaken, was sitting on the curb. It turned out that she was his ex, and he had kidnapped her. She had been trying to escape, and I had unknowingly followed them for miles, helping her get the attention she desperately needed.

I don't know what he had planned for her, but the thought still sends chills down my spine. I've also had some eerie encounters with other drivers, one of which happened when I was heading home late one night. I was driving up a mountain road with a friend, and it was one of those moments where the highway seemed completely empty. The fog was thick, and visibility was poor. I remember thinking how peaceful it felt, how the world seemed quieter, even though it was an eerie kind of silence.

We were casually talking, with no cars in sight, and I almost started to feel like we had the whole road to ourselves. But then, out of nowhere, a car appeared behind us. It was speeding, and I could tell the driver wasn't in full control. I told my friend to be careful, that the car behind us was coming up too fast. But before we could react, the driver swerved. It all happened so quickly, he went off the road, diving into the ditch. My heart was in my throat.

For a split second, I thought we had witnessed a fatal crash. But then, the car came flying out of the ditch, jumping almost 1.5 meters into the air, and it landed back onto the highway, as if nothing had happened. The driver was still speeding, and before we could comprehend what had just happened, the car was far ahead of us. It was like nothing had slowed him down. We couldn't believe our eyes, and for several minutes after that, we didn't speak. We were in shock, trying to process what we had just seen.

There was no one else around. It was just the two of us, on that desolate mountain road, and that driver who had somehow survived something that should have been a deadly crash. He guessed that maybe the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and only woke up in time to swerve and avoid colliding with us. But the fact that he had survived without any major injuries, and the car was almost fine, left us both in disbelief. We had no explanation for it.

Another experience that stands out happened a couple of months after I got my driver's license. I was driving through the mountains in New England when something truly strange happened. New England is known for its massive bugs, and I had heard stories of huge moths, but I had never seen one myself. That was until one evening when I was driving and I heard something flying in the back seat. I thought it was a bird at first. But when I looked, I was faced with a moth that was easily bigger than my hand. This thing landed on my dashboard, and I froze in horror. Its legs were long and spindly, like fingers. I was trying not to panic because I was

driving on the highway, and I couldn't afford to lose control of the car. But the moth flew again, this time straight toward my face. I screamed, flinging my arms up, trying to push it away while I swerved a little on the highway. I was going 60 miles per hour, and this giant moth was literally attacking me. Eventually, it flew out of the window, and I was able to breathe again. My heart was racing, and I had never been so relieved. After that, I had to remind myself to keep calm and collected, especially while driving in

areas where I knew strange encounters like that could happen. It was a terrifying experience that left me with a sense of unease, but it made me more aware of the environment around me and the unexpected surprises that nature can throw at you. But some of the scariest experiences on the road don't come from wildlife. They come from the unexpected moments when you realize that something or someone is in your path, and there's nothing you can do to avoid it. I had one such moment in East Texas. It was a foggy morning, and I was driving through a particularly remote part of the state.

The fog was so thick that I could barely see more than a few feet in front of me. I was driving an old truck, so I was already on edge, knowing that the truck might not handle well in these conditions. After driving for what seemed like an eternity, I thought I saw something ahead on the road. At first, it looked like a large shape, but I couldn't make out what it was. I slowed down, still unsure of what I was seeing. As I got closer, I realized it was a huge pig, lying in the middle of the road. It was easily the largest pig I had ever seen, probably over 400 pounds. But before I could stop completely, the pig started moving.

It was shifting from one side of the road to the other, as though something or someone was dragging it. I thought, wow, that's one strong person, and I figured I should help move the animal off the road. But as I pulled up closer, what I saw was something I never expected. The massive pig was being moved by something far more terrifying. It was a dog, but not just any dog, it was the largest dog I had ever seen in my life. It looked like something straight out of a nightmare. This dog was towering over the pig, its fur matted and wild. It was as big as a small bear.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The dog looked directly at me, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. I couldn't tell if it was a wild animal or something even more sinister. There was a part of me that thought it might be a man in a costume, but the sheer size and strength of this creature told me it was something else entirely. After what felt like an eternity, I did what any same person would do, I got out of there as fast as I could. I don't know what I saw that day, but to this day, I am convinced it was something out of

folklore. Another incident I will never forget happened one winter's morning, just before Christmas. I had just finished university and was on my way home for the holidays. It was around 6 a.m., and my stepfather had driven to pick me up from the train station. The roads were mostly empty, and the day was still dark. As we drove along, I noticed something odd by the side of the road. There was a bag of garbage, but it seemed, out of place. As we passed, I noticed something even stranger sticking out of the bag.

It looked like a human limb. My heart dropped. My stepfather noticed it too, and we both looked at each other, unsure of what we had just seen. My stepfather stopped the car, and we backed up to take a closer look. It wasn't a limb at all. It was a mannequin, lying in the trash, its arms bent in a way that made it look too real. We both got out of the car, feeling a mix of confusion and fear.

The oddest part was that the mannequin looked like it had been placed there intentionally. We left soon after, too unsettled to investigate any further. To this day, we don't know whether someone was playing a prank, or if there was a darker meaning behind it. But the memory of that mannequin, left in the garbage along that lonely winter road, will never leave me. We begin. Dolls are mostly adorable objects, just looking at them automatically transports us back to our childhood, to moments when everything seemed easier. However, some people may not feel comfortable in their presence. In fact, the irrational fear of dolls,

or pedophobia, is one of the most widespread fears in the world. Many of you might think this is one of the most irrational fears. Even so, the people who suffer from its sea beyond the glass eyes of a doll, as their main fear is that the toy has a life of its own and pretends to be an object. A clear example of this can be found in the 1988 movie Chucky, in which the soul of a serial killer, thanks to voodoo, takes over the body of a doll that ends up in the hands of an innocent child. But of course, what's terrifying isn't just a movie, but the fact that behind it lies a great number of real stories about supposedly possessed dolls that have turned their owner's lives into a living hell.

And that is exactly what we'll talk about next, the stories hidden behind the most cursed dolls on the planet. So, get comfortable and prepare to welcome your new nightmares. It was the year 1972 when Carrie Walton, a young man about 20 years old, received terrible news, his grandmother, his beloved grandmother, had passed away. So he had to travel immediately to his homeland, Australia, to attend her funeral. In his childhood, he wasn't very close to her, not because he didn't try, but because the woman always had very fragile health and spent long periods in bed. Many might think what he should have done was stay by her side, at least to keep her company.

But for Walton, it was impossible, as he was always convinced that something evil lived in that house. So he thought now that he was a grown man, it was the perfect time to face his fear of that place. The house had been abandoned for several years. It had suffered two floods, and the roofs of some rooms had collapsed due to strong winds. As you can imagine, the scene couldn't have been more sinister. Even so, he needed to do it. He needed to visit that old and dusty house to prove to himself that his fears were just childhood nonsense.

When he entered, he found a sea of old bottles scattered across the floor. At first, he thought they were just the remains of an old squatter camp. However, as he looked and tried to avoid stepping on them, he noticed their placement wasn't random, together they formed strange shapes that, when illuminated by his flashlight, gave the rooms an even more eerie atmosphere. Walton collected old bottles, so he thought it would be a good idea to find the oldest-looking one and take it to add to his small collection. But something caught his attention even more than the gleaming bottles, and that was a doll.

A doll in perfect condition, well-dressed, with long, neatly combed hair. This doll didn't have a normal face, its color resembled wet paper, and its features were deeply marked. He couldn't explain how this object had survived the multiple floods, the passage of time, and the collapse of several roofs. It was so striking that he decided to take it in his arms and bring it with him to clean and keep as a keepsake. What he didn't know was that just two days later, that house, which had stood for over a hundred years, would collapse completely. Nothing would remain but rubble.

It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the floods. It wasn't demolition machines. Not even Carrie knew what had caused it. He said in his own words, it seemed very strange to me that the house had stood for more than 100 years and that, after I took that doll, it collapsed. It was as if the doll itself had lured me into the house so I could rescue it. Since finding the doll, Walton felt strangely attached to it, as if its fate was tied to him,

like a member of the family. But the more attention he gave it, the more strange things happened around him. It all began when, one day while traveling by car with his brother, both began to notice that strange sounds were emerging from the bag where the doll was kept. They were faint, muffled sounds that at first didn't seem concerning. But as the hours passed, they became something more, as if they were. the doll were constantly whispering the words, let me out. But every time they opened the bag, the sound stopped, and the doll was exactly as they had left it. As a reminder, Carrie Walton

decided to name the doll letter. The next phenomenon occurred one night when Walton's young daughter woke up screaming, saying, Daddy, the doll moves. I don't like it. Please throw it in the trash. As you'd expect, Walton thought his daughter had dreamed it. But as days passed, the entire family feared the doll. None of his children wanted to play with it, claiming it moved and whispered evil things at night. His wife also claimed the doll would change its facial expressions and shape. She said that if you stared at it for too long, it could move an arm, or even a lid. Over time, no one wanted to be near the doll.

Walton was the only one who tolerated its presence. Everyone begged him to get rid of it. But he refused. He was aware that something sinister surrounded it, but he felt obligated to care for it. After five years of intense strange phenomena, Walton's family gave him an ultimatum, either forget the doll and get rid of it, or forget them forever. So, Carrie Walton finally chose to donate the doll to the Sydney Museum. Once there, antique experts on the museum's team examined it thoroughly and confirmed to Walton that in their hands was a doll between 250,000. and 370 years old, of Romanian gypsy origin. According to them, gypsies believed they could

trap evil spirits inside objects. That's why it was common to create grotesque, sinister dolls like this one. After hearing this, Walton's eyes lit up. He thought someone might pay a lot of money for such an ancient and special doll. And the truth is, he wasn't wrong. A few days after putting it up for sale, he found a buyer. But unfortunately, he never managed to part with it. When he arrived at the destination, he couldn't get out of the van. An invisible force prevented him from doing so. He couldn't leave the vehicle. Because Leta, Leta's curse, didn't want to be separated from him. Carrie Walton began traveling the world and appearing on multiple television shows looking for someone to help him break the curse, the spell that kept him bound to Letta. However, he

He's only managed to learn more about its history, to discover the origins of this sinister doll. And in his own words, in the middle of the night, he always hears, because somebody's died. A lot of tears have gone into this, but a lot of anger. Persecution Someone has persecuted this person who did this doll. Hence, somebody's, somebody's persecuted this, the person who made this doll. People are screaming. are shouting at him. Calling him names. Ah, calling him, of, assent, and, made. Against, the people, killed. No one knew it until now, a solution to be able to get rid of it. Could you give her one? Before your eyes stands

True Monica, Charla, Cal, Isaac, Lily, Ashley, and Cameron. According to a five-member family from Orinda, Pennsylvania, United States, each of these dolls is haunted. In fact, they bought them knowing they were all cursed, but they didn't care. They acquired them as part of an experiment, intending to study them and share their research results with the rest of the world. As paranormal investigators, the owners of the dolls decided to connect a camera that would film them 24 hours a day, seven days a week. But they wouldn't just record the footage for themselves, the images would be broadcast live over the internet. The show, which would be called the Haunted Dollhouse Cam, began in early 2009 and ended on August 15, 2015. The truth is

this was a very controversial project. While some believed it was a mockery of genuine paranormal events, others took it seriously, seeing it as something that could push many skeptics to believe in the mysterious. And indeed, the show changed the perspective of hundreds of people, From the very moment that camera turned on, it didn't stop capturing evidence of activity surrounding the dolls, allowing the world to know the truth. Far from what many might have believed, the dolls weren't possessed by eight different child spirits, but by the lost soul of a single child, the legitimate owner of these toys, who still, from the other side, kept playing with them, moving them, making them talk, dance, and calling them by the names he himself had given them. In 2015, as I mentioned before, the show was interrupted, but not permanently. The owners simply changed the format of the project. They went from live streaming to Spirit Box sessions and EVP recordings, which they later

shared on social media so the rest of the world could continue learning about the doll's story. And now, would you spend a night with these dolls? Before your eyes stands a doll whose story might remind you of Annabelle, not the movie version, but the original, which, as I mentioned at the beginning of this video, you'll find linked in the description box. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's go point by point through what happened with this sinister figure, the voodoo zombie doll. As you might expect, it was created in New Orleans, the cradle of voodoo.

There, it was subjected to several rituals over the years and later sold in a small antique shop located at the port. From here, the next trace of it came in 2004. when an anonymous seller posted a photo of the doll on eBay. He sold it as a simple Halloween decoration. However, he provided a series of instructions for living with it properly. Never take it out of the metal box that kept it isolated from the outside world. Never touch it directly.

Never subjected to any ritual, not even an exorcism. And above all, never challenge or question its power. Many people were interested in acquiring it, and the bids, just like with the infamous Harold, skyrocketed. But again, only one person would have the pleasure of owning it, a woman from Garston, Texas. This woman, whose name I won't mention, truly believed the doll was just a Halloween decoration, and that the instructions were nothing more than a sinister prank to scare children. So the moment the package arrived in her mailbox, she opened it, took the doll out of its metal box,

and played with it for a while before finally displaying it in the small entryway of her house. house. Over the next few weeks, the woman was immersed in a series of inexplicable events. Every night she had the same nightmare, a nightmare where a large, wounded creature would pounce on her in the dark and try to strangle her with all its might. Every night was the same. Every night she was attacked in her dreams by this terrifying figure, until, little by little, this being began emerging into her waking life. She could see it out of the corner of her eye. She could feel its presence. She could smell its perfume blended in her mind.

These events, she thought, had to be connected to the doll she had bought on eBay. So she decided to destroy it. She put it back into its metal box and threw it into the blazing flames of a bonfire. But guess what? The doll didn't burn. She tried to cut it in half with a sharp knife, but the blade snapped. So one night she decided to bury it. outside a cemetery. But the next morning, someone rang her doorbell. And when she opened the door,

at her feet was the damned metal box, with the doll inside. Fearing for her life, she decided to sell it again on eBay. The terms of the sale were strict. The doll had a non-negotiable fixed price. Payment methods were very limited. And of course, no returns were accepted. Because of this, no one was interested in the voodoo zombie doll. Several months passed before the woman changed the sale conditions. And several more months passed until someone finally bought it. But getting rid of this terrifying item would not be so easy. After shipping it to the buyer, she received an email with the following words.

You've sent me an empty metal box. Where's the doll? Is it arriving in a separate package? When the woman searched her house for the sinister figure, can you guess where? she found it? On the entryway table, as if she had never tried to get rid of it. This happened several more times. Every time she tried to get rid of the doll, it came back to her, with no explanation. So finally, she contacted several paranormal investigation teams, and also decided to share her story on the internet, giving interviews on the coast-to-coast AM radio show,

which I've talked about in a previous video. After being interviewed by Art Bell on Halloween 2006, multiple listeners advised her to seek a priest. So she burned her last option. But again, it didn't work. The doll was blessed, but its evil was unremovable. To this day, the doll remains locked away in the attic of the woman's home, who plans to sell her house soon, and let the next owner find the metal box and decide what to do with it. But now it's your turn. Do you think the doll will follow the woman again? Or will it stay with the next owner of the house? House. The End. There are plenty of ghost stories that surround the famous Lanham Hotel in London. Some people swear that the strange, eerie happenings there are the result of a simple

mist, while others argue that what's been seen walking around the hotel is a man, alive and solid, but walking through the halls just like any other guest. Witnesses even claim to have seen him open a window and throw himself out, only to vanish into thin air. This hotel, which opened its doors between 1863 and 1865, has been at the center of numerous strange stories, many of which are still passed around to this day. When the Lanham Hotel first opened, it was nothing short of a marvel. Built at a cost of 300,000 pounds, an incredible sum for the time, it quickly became one of the most lavish, modern hotels in London. The building itself was a feat of engineering, with the addition of hydraulic elevators, the very first of their

kind in all of England. The opening ceremony was a grand affair, overseen by none other than the Prince of Wales. From the start, it was an exclusive destination, a hotel that only the most elite could afford to stay at. It attracted all kinds of notable figures, including the likes of Oscar Wilde, Arturo Tuscany, and even Napoleon III. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, famous for creating Sherlock Holmes, is said to have drawn inspiration from the Lanham for some of his works. Rumors about the Lanham Hotel circulated widely. One of the most famous stories was about how any guests request, no matter how bizarre or extravagant, would always be fulfilled. It was said that staying at the Lanham felt like staying in a magical world where every wish could come true, like a genie's lamp, only there was no limit to the desires you could ask for.

The hotel was not only a place of luxury, but also a place of boundless possibility. But, as often happens in history, things changed. When World War II broke out, the Lanham's fate took a dramatic turn. During the war, the British Army temporarily occupied the hotel. The bombings that rocked London forced the hotel to close its doors for a while. The hotel's prime location, right across from Broadcasting House, the headquarters of the BBC, meant that the hotel's more intact sections were repurposed to house BBC employees. The BBC eventually bought the building outright in 1965, but the cost of maintaining such a grand

structure was high, and the hotel was sold again to Hilton in 1991. Hilton spent a staggering 100 million pounds to refurbish the building. By the end of the 1990s and the year 2000, the Lanham had been transformed into a five-star hotel with nearly 500 rooms, luxury dining, satellite television, and a spa. Staying there doesn't come cheap either. A single night in the hotel can cost around 300 pounds, and sweet start at 500 pounds a night. But what really stands out about this grand hotel isn't its luxury or its history, it's the ghosts that are said to haunt its halls. The paranormal activity in the hotel is rumored to date back to the time when the BBC owned it. Employees during that era reported sightings of up to five different

ghosts. The most notorious of these is said to be a German nobleman or prince, believed to have committed suicide by jumping out of a window during World War II. Witnesses have described seeing a strange, mislike figure float through the hotel, passing through walls, doors, and curtains, always heading for the same window. Some thought it was nothing more than a fog or a trick of the light, but others were convinced that they were seeing a real man, walking the halls before leaping to his death again and again. It wasn't just the ghost of the German prince that haunted the hotel. Another chilling apparition was that of a Victorian couple, an ominous pair that left a deep impression on anyone who encountered them. According to the story,

a newlywed doctor decided to spend his honeymoon at the Lanham with his wife. The couple reserved one of the best rooms, spending nearly all of their savings for the luxurious stay. However, when the time came for them to check out, neither of them appeared. Hotel staff went up to check on the room and discovered that both the doctor and his wife had died. The doctor had murdered his wife and then taken his own life. From then on, employees reported seeing the couple's ghostly figures in the hotel, both with unsettling features, an empty-eyed man and a woman whose face was horribly disfigured. But it didn't stop there. Many hotel staff members all also claimed to have encountered people in old-fashioned uniforms who seemed out of place, even

for a hotel so steeped in history. The guests they saw were dressed in clothes from another time, and often, the staff had never seen them before. While these stories could be dismissed as simply ghosts trapped in time, a more disturbing incident occurred in 1973 that brought even more attention to the hotel's strange happenings. James Alexander Gordon, a BBC announcer, was staying at the hotel and was assigned to room 333. After settling in for the night, he was suddenly woken up by an intense light filling the room. At the foot of his bed, he saw a glowing orb that slowly transformed into

the shape of a human. This human figure, dressed in Victorian clothes, had no legs and appeared to be floating just above the ground. Instead of fleeing, Gordon asked the apparition who it was and what it wanted. The ghost extended its arms and moved closer to him, but before it could reach him, Gordon fled the room, running into a colleague's room next door. Together, they returned to Gordon's room, only to find that the ghost was still there, floating at the foot of the bed. As soon as they walked in, the apparition vanished. A month later, another guest in Room 33 reported seeing the exact same ghost.

But after that, no one else encountered the floating figure in that room. In May 2003, a woman staying at the Lanham checked into Room 33. Later that night, she came rushing down to the lobby, looking dishevelled and frantic. She demanded to check out immediately, her face pale and wide-eyed. No one understood why she was so upset, and she refused to explain herself. Days later, the hotel manager received a letter from the woman, explaining her decision to leave. In the letter, she recounted how, in the middle of the night, her bed began to shake violently.

She thought it was a nightmare, but when she opened her eyes, she realized the entire room was trembling. Only when she turned on the lights did the shaking stop. It was then that she decided she couldn't stay in that room any longer. At first, people dismissed her story, but as time passed, more strange occurrences were reported. Some guests began experiencing similar unsettling events, but none quite as terrifying as the incident with the trembling bed. A few weeks later, a wealthy guest checked into the hotel.

She was one of those VIPs who expected the highest level of service. When she arrived, she gave specific instructions about her luggage, which was taken to her room by a bellboy. But when she got to her room, her luggage was nowhere to be found. Furious, she went to the front desk and described the bellboy who had carried her bags, only to be met with shock. The bellboy she described was wearing a uniform that hadn't been in use for over a century. After a thorough search, the hotel staff found her luggage in a completely different part of the building. The upper floors of the hotel are believed to be haunted by the spirit of a butler, who is often seen wearing a tuxedo and carrying a tray. But the

most disturbing of all the hotel's ghosts is said to be Napoleon III, who is said to haunt the basement. His spirit reportedly moves objects, causes loud banging noises, and sends cold chills through the air. Of course, these stories could easily sound like something straight out of a horror movie, an attempt to draw in tourists. But what makes these accounts intriguing is that many well-known, credible individuals have shared their own ghostly encounters at the Lanham Hotel. In 2014, during a cricket tournament, members of the English cricket team stayed at the Lanham Hotel. Initially, they were in high spirits, full of confidence before their upcoming matches. However, their performance on the field was

lackluster, and they were heavily criticized by the media. Some journalists discovered that several of the players had requested room changes during their stay, moving from one room to another in the middle of the night. While many dismissed this as mere Caprice, two players, Stuart Broad and Matt Pryor, later revealed that the experience was far more unsettling than it seemed. Both players admitted to feeling a strange presence in their rooms, and neither could sleep. They even ended up sharing a room to try and calm their nerves. With all these ghostly reports, one might think that the Lanham would have trouble attracting guests. After all, who would want to stay in a hotel rumored to be haunted by historical figures,

floating ghosts, and moving furniture? Yet, despite its haunted reputation, the hotel is always fully booked, and guests still inquire about the infamous room 333, which is now regarded as one of the most haunted hotel rooms in the world. There are plenty of videos on YouTube showing guests who have stayed in room 333, with some even claiming to have recorded strange noises, ghostly voices, and electromagnetic field anomalies. Many people have felt chills, seen apparitions,

or heard unexplained sounds during their stays. Yet, there are also stories that dismiss these paranormal reports. A ghostly tale from Zaragoza, the voice that shook a city, imagine waking up to a blood-curdling laugh echoing through your home, a laugh so sinister it feels like it's coming from another world. This is precisely what happened in the upscale neighborhood of Kaye Gaskin de Gauter, Zaragoza, in the fall of 1934. The event began innocently enough, but quickly spiraled into a phenomenon that captured the imagination of an entire nation. What follows is a story of mystery, fear, and the unexplainable, a tale that went beyond mere

urban legend. The laugh that started it all, it all began on September 23rd, 1934, at around 6.30 in the morning. The residents of a high-end apartment block, home to wealthy families, their maids, and housekeepers, were rudely awakened by an eerie, hellish laugh. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, reverberating through the walls and filling every corner of the building. It wasn't the kind of laugh you'd hear from a harmless prankster, it was darker, more menacing. For minutes, the sound continued, leaving everyone on edge. Eventually, the laughter ceased, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Confused and frightened, the neighbors gathered on the stairwell to discuss

what had just happened. No one could pinpoint its origin. Some speculated it was a practical joke, others suspected something far more sinister. But with no answers in sight, they chose to return to their routines, brushing it off as a one-time incident. The kitchen whispers, weeks passed, and the laughter became a distant memory, until November 20th, when things took an even darker turn. That morning, Pasquala Alcocer, a 16-year-old maid working for the Grigalba family, was going about her usual chores in their second-floor apartment. As she prepared breakfast, she approached the kitchen stove to stoke the fire.

It was then she heard something faint but unmistakable, a soft, agonized voice whispering, You're hurting me, startled, Pascuala froze. Her first thought was that her mind was playing true. tricks on her. But before she could dismiss it entirely, the voice laughed, a deep, guttural sound that sent chills down her spine. Terrified, she abandoned her chores and ran to a neighbor, Dona Isabelle, begging her to come and witness the strange phenomenon. Reluctantly, Isabelle agreed, hoping to reassure the young maid that it was all in her head. Together, they returned to the kitchen, which was now cloaked in an uneasy silence.

Then, as they stood there in the dim light, the voice spoke again, turn on the light, I can't see. Both women screamed, their cries waking the entire household. The voice gains an audience, news of the incident spread like wildfire among the building's residents. Don Antonio Palazan, the building's owner, was among those who initially dismissed the story as nonsense. Determined to put an end to the hysteria, he personally investigated the stove. Using a hook, he prodded the chimney, hoping to uncover some logical explanation.

Instead, the voice responded again, this time crying out, You're hurting me. What started as a peculiar incident in one family's kitchen soon turned into a full-blown spectacle. Over the next few days, the voice grew Boulder. It began addressing specific individuals by name, mimicking conversations, and even predicting events. By now, the mystery had caught the attention of the authorities, who arrived to investigate. Police, architects, and skepticism, the first police officer to respond mocked the residents, accusing them of mass hysteria. Confident he would debunk the claims, He too investigated the stove.

The moment he touched it, the voice cried out, You're hurting me. Stunned, the officer called for reinforcements. Soon, the building was swarming with police, guards, and even an architect tasked with inspecting the property for structural anomalies. The architect's investigation took an unexpected turn when the voice interrupted him mid-measurement, saying, it's 15 centimeters. To everyone's amazement, the measurement was indeed accurate.

Despite exhaustive inspections, including dismantling floors, ceilings, and walls, no physical explanation could be found. Electricians, plumbers, and even psychics were called in, but their efforts were in vain. The voice persisted, defying all logic. The Blaine game, as the mystery deepened, suspicion fell on Pasquala, the young maid. Authorities accused her of being a ventriloquist, claiming she was somehow orchestrating the entire phenomenon. This theory gained traction in the media, and Pascuala's name and photo were splashed across newspapers. Branded a fraud, she lost her job and was forced to return to her village. However, the voice continued to speak even after her departure, disproving the ventriloquism theory.

Experts noted that the voice was distinctly different from Pascualas, deep, masculine, and otherworldly. Interaction with Arturito, one of the most unsettling aspects of the case was the voice's interaction with Arturito, the young son of the Grigalba family. The voice seemed to have a particular fondness for the boy, often addressing him directly. In one instance, when Arturito referred to the voice as a, crazy man, it replied, crazy. No, little one. Crazy, no, authorities began using Arturito as a means to communicate with the voice, forcing the child to spend hours in the kitchen trying to provoke a response. The boy, understandably frightened, eventually refused to participate.

A city in chaos. By now, the story had gone far. beyond the confines of the building. Crowds gathered outside, desperate to catch a glimpse of the haunted apartment. The street became so congested that police struggled to control the masses. Some reports even claimed that officers fired shots into the air to disperse the crowds. The voice, undeterred by the commotion, continued its antics. It mocked the police, declaring, so many officers, such cowards. Even with the building completely evacuated, the voice persisted, seemingly thriving on the chaos it had created.

Media frenzy and international attention. The media frenzy reached its peak in late November. Local newspapers published daily updates, while international outlets like the Times in London reported on the phenomenon. Headlines described the voice as a talking goblin that had Zaragoza in an uproar. The coverage attracted opportunists eager to profit from the spectacle. Businesses released products branded with the Thuende, Goblin,

image, from radios to baked goods. Meanwhile, letters flooded City Hall, with many claiming to be the voice itself. Spiritualism and tragedy, as desperation grew, spiritualists and mediums were invited to investigate. One such medium, Asuncione Jimenez-Alvarez, conducted a seance in a nearby neighborhood. Tragically, she died during the session, reportedly from a sudden collapse. Her death only added to the hysteria, fueling speculation that the voice was more than just a prank. The end of the mystery. In December 1934, the civil governor of Zaragoza issued a statement urging the media to cease coverage of the story, labeling it a distraction for more pressing matters.

Gradually, the hype died down. The final reported words of the voice, uttered on December 3rd, were a chilling threat, I will kill everyone in this, expletive, house, cowards. No harm came to the residence, but the building was soon demolished. In its place, a new structure was erected, nicknamed the Dwenday building. Though the voice was never heard again, its legend lived on. A case without closure, the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936 overshadowed the events in Zaragoza, relegating the story to the annals of forgotten mysteries. Over time, records of the case, including photographs, audio recordings, and official reports, were lost or destroyed. Yet whispers of the Dwenday of Zaragoza persist to this day, leaving us to wonder,

was it all a hoax, or did something truly supernatural haunt that building? Now it's your turn to decide. What do you make of this eerie tale? Could the voice have been real, or was it simply an elaborate prank? I'm going to tell you about some of the creepiest things that have happened in my life, things I still think about, even when I'm trying to fall asleep. It all started with my girlfriend back in high school, and it's one of those experiences that I can't explain away, no matter how hard I try.

So, my girlfriend had this weird experience at her house. It wasn't just any house, it was one of those newer homes, no more than 20 years old. She told me that she saw this old man in the study. Naturally, I laughed it off. I mean, her house wasn't even close to being old enough to be haunted, right? I joked with her that maybe what she'd actually seen was one of those wooden carvings her parents had, one that kind of looked like Jesus. She described the man as having a big white beard, so I made that connection.

It seemed harmless enough. A couple of weeks later, I was over at her place, walking from the stairs down to the kitchen where she was sitting. As I looked out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw an older man sitting at the head of the dining table. I quickly looked over, but when I turned to face it, the guy was gone. I didn't think much of it, just figured I was seeing things, maybe influenced by the conversation we had about her story.

Months later, her friend from Brazil came to visit. We were upstairs, and out of nowhere, her friend bursts in, crying, speaking, Portuguese. My girlfriend asked her what was wrong, and her friend told her that while listening to music with her headphones and walking through the house, she had seen an old man with a white beard in the study. There was no way for my girlfriend to have told her this, she didn't believe in ghosts and hadn't mentioned it to anyone, especially not her friend. We were both stunned when she shared that with us. To this day, I can't shake the feeling that something real happened in that house. As a kid, I used to live in a mobile home park. It wasn't anything special,

just a long, narrow hall with rooms on one side. My bed was against the opposite wall from the hall, so I could always see it, but not much else. I remember when I was about six or seven, if I stayed up after my dad went to sleep, I'd often see something strange. If I stared at the door long enough, I could see a hand slowly stretching through the crack. It would creep across from the right side of the door to the left. The more I stared, the more it would stretch, until eventually, I'd see a full sleeve, like a striped red and white sweater.

And if I kept staring, a child's body would slowly materialize, standing at the door. I remember being terrified, pulling the covers over my head, hoping that whatever it was would go away. This happened almost every night, but the strange part was that it wasn't aggressive, just, odd. The figure would move slowly across the door from right to left, and if I kept watching, it would disappear out of sight. We moved out of that trailer when I turned nine, and I didn't think about it much after that.

Years later, when I was talking to my dad, we got into a conversation about his best friend who had lived next door to us. That friend had passed away some time ago, but it led us to talk about the old woman who moved in after us. My dad casually mentioned that his friend had told him something odd years ago, the old lady had seen a child in a red and white striped shirt in the house. It immediately hit me like a ton of bricks, I had seen the same thing. I didn't tell my dad about it back then, but now we were both in shock.

What could it mean that we had both seen something similar in that old trailer? That wasn't the only weird thing to happen. I was home alone one night with my old roommate's Pitbull, Hamburger. She was a sweet dog, but she'd always bark or growl at weird sounds, especially if something was moving around outside. It was a quiet night, around 11.30 p.m., when she started barking. At first, I thought nothing of it, but then she just kept going, her body stiff with the intense focus of a hunting dog. I went out into the hallway and saw her staring into the living room.

But beyond her, there was nothing there. The hallway was mostly dark, lit only by the light from my bedroom halfway down the hall. She growled low, then started barking like crazy, and ran toward me. I wasn't scared of her, but this was different, she wasn't acting like herself. Her gaze was locked in the direction of something, but when I looked, I saw nothing. I ended up turning on all the lights, feeling a little safer with the light pouring in. I called her to sit next to me on the couch, but she refused. She kept growling under her breath for a good five minutes. I calmed down, but by the time I went back to my bedroom, I was way too spooked to sleep.

That's when something even stranger happened. I woke up in the middle of the night to see what looked like a teenage girl in a white dress standing at the foot of my bed. It was the strangest thing, my room was so dark that I shouldn't have been able to see anything clearly, but there she was, standing perfectly still. Now, I've had sleep paralysis before, and it usually results in seeing creepy things, like spiders or snakes, creeping up on me. But this was different.

I wasn't terrified like I usually am during a sleep paralysis episode. I wasn't frozen, and I wasn't sweating in fear. I was awake, and when I turned on the light, the figure was gone. I never spoke about it to any of my roommates at the time, but the memory of that night still haunts me. Was it real? I still don't know, but something was definitely there that night. Years later, during Christmas, we were at my in-law's house.

We were all sitting in the living room, catching up, and there was a Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Nobody was anywhere near it, and the dogs were all resting near us on the couch. Suddenly, the Christmas tree began shaking violently, like someone had grabbed the trunk and was shaking it hard enough for the ornaments to fall. But no one was near it. We all stared in disbelief as the tree shook for several seconds. There was no noise, no crash from the glass ornaments, just the tree shaking like crazy.

I checked the news for any reports of an earthquake, but nothing came up. We lived in an area where earthquakes weren't common, and there was no logical explanation for what had just happened. The dogs didn't even react, they kept sleeping through the entire thing. Later, when I was about 20 years old, I was driving my girlfriend home late one night. We were on some small rural roads when suddenly, bright headlights appeared in the passenger side window. She screamed, and I slammed on the brakes, but the car didn't hit us. The headlights just disappeared.

We were both freaked out, and we sat there for a few minutes, unsure of what had just happened. Then, we started driving again, and the headlights reappeared, but this time they were behind us, zooming up at an insane speed, much faster than we were going. For a while, we drove through small rural roads, curving around turns, but no matter what, we couldn't shake those lights. It felt like we were being followed. Then, suddenly, my girlfriend screamed, what happened to the stars? I looked up, and the sky was pitch black.

Not like a normal night, it was the kind of black that's almost unnatural. I was terrified, speeding through the roads, but it didn't matter. The lights were still behind us. Then, just as suddenly as they had come, the lights disappeared. The stars returned to the sky, and we were left sitting in the quiet, unsure of what had just happened. We didn't talk about it much after that. She refused to talk about it, and I couldn't bring myself to revisit the memory.

It's one of those things you can't explain. I haven't seen those lights again, but I know what we saw that night. I don't care how crazy it sounds, something was with us that night. A few years later, I had another terrifying experience while dog sitting at my parents' house. It was a quiet night, and the dogs wouldn't stop whining. I had to move into my dad's room because the dogs were used to sleeping with him. I'd never slept in that room before, even though I had the option. There was something off about that room, but I didn't think about it much.

That night, around 2 or 3 a.m., I woke up to the dogs growling in the dark. It was cold, really cold, and even though it was the middle of summer in the tropics, the air was frigid. As I lay there, trying to fall back asleep, I saw two small figures at the foot of the bed. They looked like children, dressed in old-fashioned baseball uniforms, something from the Victorian era. was the creepiest thing. They weren't acting threatening, but I knew something was wrong. Their smiles were cold, malicious, and the feeling of dread I had in my gut was enough to make me close my eyes and pray. I'm not a religious person, but in that moment, I prayed like I never

had before. Teresa did not stain her hands and in. Change made their children do it. For her they lived so much that, guys could not refuse and it is one of the times when William was that. Teresa focused on another of her children. For years several people reported, that the children of a single mother. They could be a hell not. They left home and when they did. They seemed terrified did not talk to anyone. They didn't have friends. They didn't laugh at all. Very strange and when one of the daughters of. This woman reported from the police that the neighbors were being mistreated. They were clear what they saw was not his. Imagination but what happened then that. Police determined that these children, they were fine and that girl was a liar when listening

to this the neighborhood. Entrero relaxed for fact. Time it was his imagination that did not happen. nothing but years later a terrible news that made half world feel guilty is there where the sinister case of music today teresa jimmy franson nor was born on fourteen march of nineteen forty six in sacramento california being the minor of swan gray's children and james cross better known as jim war jimmy who was an assistant in the cheese production of a dairy local the cross family was completely normal were middle class and with the step of the years now enough to buy a beautiful house in rio Linda, the sources indicate that they were, Catholic devotees especially your mother, to which I was very close in fact. Although marriage had several children, the woman did not stop repeating that her, favorite was Teresa what obviously, he undermined the self-esteem of the other children. Swanee had two children as a result of a previous marriage and these were Bill and, Clara and with James had Rosam and Teresa. But as I have pointed out, Teresa was his, right, I did everything together and, when the woman died in, 1961 the girl collapsed was always, the star the right OJIT the Mamada and without his mother he felt that it was nothing for that reason

entered depression and sought affection in older boys the attention that he received from them he made him recover the self-confidence and so he started dating a boy five years older she called Cly for Cly Sanders after leave a few months Teresa told him that he wanted to marry but then she he was minor he continued to insist Casar wanted to do it immediately so that they went to another state and when I was 16 years old they were married at this time the girl is very clear to leave the studies get pregnant with. He and on July 16th, 1963 has the one who, it would be his first child Howard Clyde. Sanders but his married life would not be, as perfect as Teresa had imagined. The attention center should always be. The star had to be the

protagonist the center of the looks go. To the hairdresser the house is perfect. He must be unpolluted and Sanders had, be 100% for it with which very, soon became obsessed with very, insignificant if it arrived a little late. If he said he was tired and stayed, asleep all that for her were signs that she was cheating her i worked then i was at home all the day in sanders worked from sun to sun and those hours i was out for her they meant that he was with another was not working was cheating and when i entered through the door i rode scenes shouted he was pushing respect and occasionally when according to several witnesses he took a rifle and shot the air to the walls to the roof through the window was your way of telling her if she cheated her see was dead that passed the situation became more violent and finally there july twenty second 1964 Teresa is going to police and asks for the divorce but does not do so in a way. Anyone and the divorce is requested. In the court not at the police station and she goes, police station to denounce Sanders for, bad treatment accuses her husband of, have given him a punch during a discussion and after

that he asks that. Grant immediate divorce. Police before this information will, look for Anders and arrest him and Teresa. From here it acts as the victim is, a sad battered woman who has a small son and of course all the world turns to it but with the. Time make peace and the woman withdraws. The complaint is altogether. It goes well and Teresa stays again. Pregnant, however, on this occasion, things would not be as beautiful as principle and is that Sanders doubts her. Sanders realizes that this woman, occult many things does not manage there.

Family money spends a lot is, very capricious always has scenes of, jealousy and it is possible that while he, work is deceiving him and therefore, that creature may not be yours end. Finally we arrive at July 6th, 1964 day they had their last. Sanders' discussion could no longer with the history with the screams the fights threats the shooting in the air no longer I could more like suitcases and tried to leave but as

he opened the Teresa door appeared by behind with the rifle in the hands and the trigger pressed the bullet was direct to his heart and this man died in the act the woman was obviously arrested and accused of murder and in the meantime son passed by hand first with his sister later with some neighbors but

it seems that Teresa cared little alone I thought about herself and at that time The victim had to be done was a woman, sad young pregnant and defense, argued that this attack was in defense, owned that humiliated her that there was, hit many times that I was already afraid, but the accusation had several witnesses. Against this woman the family of, Sanders said she was Laura who, insulted that he humiliated him that he shot, on the air to the roof to the walls and there. Owned sister Rosemary testified in her, against said it was a jealous possessive and that if he tried to leave her would kill him. Luckily the woman was convicted but, unfortunately

the defense made a appeal and the woman was acquitted the September 22nd. Music, 1964 since all the whole, world put an eye on her immediately. They all noticed that their behavior was unacceptable, but it seems that no one could. Doing anything about it worried him more. Your well, being that your eldest sons, and they also noticed that I preferred one times, go out at night to look for your new, husband before being at home and caring. Of his son what he was doing not, It made no sense, and on March 16th, 1965 gave birth to little Sheila Gay, Sanders, and from there its form of, being fierce even more began to see. More and his attitude with this girl was still, worse than with Howard they said it was cold,

with her distant and that many times, put faces of rejection really no, they were nothing attached to their children did not have, maternal instinct did not want him, effort returning to your lifestyle, it seems that Teresa is obsessed with, a new husband is already achieved as well as no in a local legion hall, American to Stell L. Thornberry this. Man was a war veteran. Disabled begin to stay, like and immediately Teresa moves with. He and his A.I. when he shows his authentic, face jealousy, possessivity scenes, constant but to this cocktail adds something. More and is that every night he asks, Thornsberry who stays at home, taking care of their children every night this, man stayed there and in the meantime, she went to party with the passage

of the months this man suspects that Teresa, take advantage of him who has it as a, Slave who does not really want it and what. Surely he is deceiving him and that's there. CU realizes that suspicions are, 100% real and is how much Teresa leaves. Put Robert Knorr in the house. Of the body of Marines of the States, United who was also much younger, that she soon start leaving. Teresa gets pregnant and decides, Mary on July 9th, 1966 a couple of months before the

woman in light to her third daughter Susan, Marlon nor this relationship according to. Sources consulted was terrible jealousy. Teresa Divity Discussions repeated. all patterns and at night, I was still going to see Robert nor seemed. In love and together they had three children. Plus September 15th, 1967 William Robert was born on. December, 1968 had Robert Wallace and, finally on August 5th, 1970 had Teresa Mari better known. Like Terry with the passage of time, Teresa, he had to control what was happening inside

and out-of-home controls the education of, children in a very severe way and, imparting punishments that were inhuman. But at this point we will return more. forward and another striking point is that administered family finances the money that came out and for suppose she always won to the whims was always money but for the basics there was always missing but that yes if it contradicted it it exploded for it in december 1970 robert decided leave it asked for divorce and the year next one became official but what happens that after separating robert wanted seeing the children did not love her but yes children

nevertheless teresa he did not accept it in his mind if he did not want her children did not want and therefore did not have. No right that Robert never again. He heard them again the woman married. On two more times soon after, divorce married Ronald Pulliam. But the following year they divorced already, that the subject could not change with her. Humor discussions paranoia she. He had a lot left Poulom was a intelligent man and fled before. Things were worse and their last. Marriage was with Chester Harris with him, which married in August 76 this. Relationship once again was terrible and, it ended because according to Teresa two occurred. Things the first is that your daughter Sousa. I was very close to Chester, according to Teresa. This union was very sinister, rosing them

officers what was. Passing is that I was jealous not, endured that another person took the affection of his children and this killed her by. Inside and the second point is that according to, She Harris had photos of women. Naked was his love, nude photography but for Teresa. It was inadmissible, music. From here everything takes a turn. Complete and information is a bit. Strange we have the sources of. Information as always, but also the testimony of one of his six children, William who told his story in 2019, for the program living with a murderer, it turns out that since he was single, once again Teresa decided she was. Tired of men did want to have. Couple wanted a man in his life, but he didn't want to marry and focused all his hatred.

In his six children he moved to a house, quite large located in Orangevale, California, but the expenses were very, elevated so they ended up moving to, a two-bedroom apartment, located in Sacramento, but by then, Howard left home no longer supported him. More being with Teresa was hell and he didn't want to know anything about it without however the remaining five children they had to live a nightmare to from here the woman becomes obsessed with each and every one of them if two small were silent in a fourth teresa thought they criticized her who made fun of her and whispered that laughed and therefore broke the room and punished their punishment favorite was the so called table of the education a wooden table used for cut food which she used to hit

them they grabbed the table and hit but realized that sometimes he went out of hand so It lined the handle with insulating tape and blows were more accurate mode of. Punishment was to tie the children by hand and feet, tables to your beds and, stairs hit them with his hands with, the table with any type of object and, he got tired asked the other children to. They continue their job and if they did not meet. With this they were also punished if, I was smoking the butts in, the skin of children who did not obey.

They quickly, quickly punished the. I left for hours and this leads to the way this woman. Children raised household chores. They made them cleaned. They cooked and the latter did not do it, because she didn't know how to cook but, because rather it lazy, though, fed with junk food and the food she bought which no, it was very healthy to say what I would do, that later this woman will win, very much point weight that will be very important soon the woman realized that the children went to school would be, a problem could tell what they were, living at home talk to friends, with neighbors with teachers with, the police so prohibited their five, young children who talked to anyone, friends forbidden comments, on it the interactions greetings, and of course, he disconnected the phone from. House however soon people started, to speak according to the Sacramento apartment was dirty and smelled urine and also children never. They left home and when they did, they seemed fearful and very nervous and four. On the other hand the teachers

noticed that the children were thin who were, quiet distant that seemed to have, fear and for that reason constantly, they summoned meetings with Teresa and nor but she never attended was always, occupied always forgot, I had things to do and for that reason. Some teachers went directly to the house but when the children did they were never and the woman was always occupied did not let them pass was occupied and automatically closed the door access to this family was impossible and the worst is that if teresa i noticed that a child had commented something away from home punished him minimum comment the minimum gesture anything made the woman everyone broke out that in that house was spending something bad but nobody it occurred to him to do anything to prevent no one investigated no one denounced they simply saw it and crouched the head and that's when a scene comes that William nor told the program living with a murderer said that by the nights his mother went to the bars men were going to drink to drink get drunk and when i returned home made in very bad conditions one night teresa returned and told the children that has a trick to teach them told that a man in a bar taught him to launch knives and wanted to show them the aim that had the

demonstration was very simple she went to the kitchen a sharp knife and quickly asked the children who rode to launch knives against each of them first victim was william put it against the wall made still. Grab the knife and threw it but four. Luck did not give him the child departs arrives. Sheila and the woman repeats the operation. But this time he gives him the knife that is nailed to the skin of. Sheila and the woman blames the little girl. It is his fault for being drunk and launch knives the fault is, girl and worst of all, women. It does not go to the hospital with the girl the cure. How can and send them all to bed? And it is at this point where I must make you a little parenthesis and that is that Teresa had nursing knowledge since. For years he took care of

his father which he had Parkinson for his illness arrived, a point where this man could not, to use by himself and and Teresa took care of him, day and night knowing this it is possible to point out that whenever Teresa hurts, children never took them to any, hospital knew that someone, I would discover what was happening and for, so much did not suit her, I managed fast and then did as if nothing when his older daughters came to, Teresa puberty began to, hate them everything she no longer was, now he had gained weight and was, aged and felt that it did not attract the men instead their daughters had all a life ahead and many hearts to break so he began to rule out his frustration in them but first went to by susan if we look back

we will remember that teresa suspected that his last husband had something with susan i saw them very close together always with a lot of confidence and in his mind there were something dark so he began to accuse his last husband of being a sorcerer and to have taught him everything he knew Susan said that therefore Susan was a, which who was cursing her and with, spells had made her fat that. Susan was beautiful because he stole her beauty, so he began to force her to eat pots, pasta and butter pasta. But what happens that Susan was thin by, nature was his metabolism and for more. He ate did not fat it forced the, eat a whole dish an entire pot, and if he vomited he had to eat his own, vomiting but Susan still did not fat, so he forced him to sit and continue, eating pasta with the boiling pot,

Above his leg some pages, they mentioned that Teresa forced their older daughters to prostitute itself but, living with a murderer William No, mentions this as well as, mentions that among the children they passed, of each other according to some sources. It seems that children arrived at the puberty began to be curious and, some improperly touched on, smaller but this point in said, documentary is not mentioned as, outside the point here is that Teresa no, I could stop hitting them, humiliated them, mistreated them in incredible ways, and a certain moment Susan decided to put an end. To this he grabbed four things he went out for the door and no longer returned for several days the family knew anything about her. They didn't know where he was

with. It was fine if I was dead and Teresa, I feared the worst did not care about his. Daughter didn't care if something happened. What she cared about is that Susan were to denounce and indeed it is what. Did it went to police station and once there, told what was happening at home that. Teresa hit them tied them the, forced to eat that this woman was a complete monster but the system in. This point failed two people from. Social services were presented at the house to study this case and not only. They questioned Teresa and nor but everyone and each of his children but this. They did in front of her did not think about. No time that this woman could, threatening them just wanted to do a couple of. Questions enter the room they are placed.

Teresa arrives at the table and from. They're the children entering one by one. They had to answer questions about their mother and of course she was, listening if he hit them if, humiliated if he mistreated them if wife the children knew that if they counted the truth were teresa nor told the authorities that susan was crazy that had problems compulsive liar and they believed her without knowing that when the girl returned to house his worst nightmare was going to start in how much in the door susan receives a beating and his mother does the following it forces her to leave the studies hits her during the day and at night he leaves it tied in bed does not want me to escape again and therefore you have handcuff however he is not happy with that end forces other children to monitor her

every night forces children not sleep and turn shifts so that susan does not leaves and from here implements a new custom and is that before sleep teresa reads books read the bible vampire fear stories ghosts and of course witches but what children know how dangerous it susan puts them in the head that is girl is the worst and that is haunted to become ugly and fattening but time passes and teresa keep fat there is no way to stop this and therefore continues to accuse your daughter and desperate the wife for two years to the kitchen table ninety by time Susan was gagged and his mother was that she fed her but yes if the account replied more than the account hit terrible forms and if not he had strength asked other children to they did it for her but what you story worsened in 1982 when a situation occurred that everything changed forever there are two versions of the facts the most widespread and the one that is counted in living with a killer the most widespread version is that teresa at a start of anger takes out her say are 22 and shoot susan without any reason and the second is the one that counted. William Nora seeing a murderer A. Teresa Day without any explanation, he got up

from male humor he started shouting to, hit the children and decided to do the. Breakfast, however, at that time he saw, that Susan was not tied so he took out. The gun and gave it to Terry and said, that if the girl moved a single, centimeter squeezed the Terry trigger four, that then was very small and with the weapon in his hands began to tremble no, I wanted to grab her, she didn't want to touch her butt. If he did not obey he could suffer the. Consequences so simply. The rest of the children obeyed the. Tasks began to order to order, help Teresa, but William had a accident and unfortunately, something fell to the ground and the sound of. Impact scared Terry making the, little without wanting to press the trigger. The issue here is

not that who shot. Susan, but Teresa decides not to take her. To the hospital he gets angry because the blood. His daughter is about to stain the carpet and not to keep staining. As soon as he puts it in the bathtub and tries, disinfect the wound for several, weeks the girl remains in the bathtub. up. And when the mother believes that the, get out of there and the wife again to the kitchen table Susan Torture, continues for months it is still, be forced to eat gagged end. In July of, 1984 the girl can no longer beg, to his mother to let her flee say that, Alaska will go far that he will not report that, will never see her again and Teresa, agrees but access to leave it, free in exchange for a deal and is that, wants to run away

before the bullet from, body because S seems that the bullet, I was still inside the body when the girl, the mother was wounded. and the cartridge but the bullet was still inside of his daughter and according to teresa was a test that would make the police put it in the jail after much arguing susan he ends up yielding and teresa prepares the operating room gives it several liquor medications and susan is unconscious that is when two of the children of teresa nor robert and terry teresa gives robert acuter and the boy extracts the bullet has no idea of anatomy medicine but knows that it does not obey will be the following so after much effort extract the bullet during the following days susan is unconscious but when it comes back in itself they seem to delirize medications antibiotics but the girl has this hallucinations is agonizing retrued but at no time nobody takes a hospital and on july 16th 1984 supposedly susan dies mother of the year forces her children to load the body in the car and also all your belongings how little it has susan is involved in garbage bags and upload to the car and from their teresa robert and william are going to go around together to sow valley and once there

to William, women forced them. Do dirty work William thought, that Susan was already dead but some, sources say this is not true and that surely when the following happened, I was still alive down the body of, car lower the bags and place everything, next to a river and there supposedly, Teresa draws a weapon and threatens, guys to laugh with gasoline and, the body still burns on fire, was found the next day but, unfortunately the police could not know what she was due to. The remains could not know who it was, the victim but they did know that it was a Homicide searched everywhere. They sought link with other cases and, years later they linked to him with an Asino. In series, however, to this point, we will return more. Forward Robert and William tried, run away several times but Teresa. I made it very difficult with them in. A few days I was going to work, parked at the door of their houses. Teresa was always there and when, Susan died supposedly William no. I was at home was when I arrived that I, he found what had happened and Teresa forced everything to be uploaded to. Car to pour fire on fire. stain her hands and in. Change made their children do it. For her they lived so much that

guys could not refuse and it is in one of. The times in which William was that, Teresa focused on another of her children, specifically in Sheila who for that. Then he was 20 years old before his eyes. Sheila was too hard, was beautiful, thin with good genetics was everything, that Teresa at that time could no longer, to be so that at the beginning he decided, take advantage of it and this lady, it happened to prostitute his daughter as it is. Logical at first this girl refused. In resounding but realized that yes, he sold his body could be more or less, free enter the house when I wanted, and the more money his mother earned, better treated her did not hit her so much not. I humiliated her so much and therefore they were looking for. More and more

customers, however such. Independence for his mother began to be. A problem was still beautiful thin. He spoke with many people was very late, home so he started accusing him of two, really sinister things the first. It was to be pregnant and the second is, to have a venereal disease, illness which supposedly had hit his own mother and had hit by sharing the same. Sheila Toilet denied everything but Teresa. I was convinced of it accused her of, be pregnant with being sick and, both punished her in a terrible way, undressed left her in underwear and act, followed open a very small closet and the, locked in summer this, punishment was going to last several days and in that

shah time I would not eat or drink anything if. Some of the children tried, feeding it would suffer the same punishment, with which nor did anyone do anything to. Sheila Principal protested a little. Murmuraba hit, but soon, was left without strength and finally, heard a dry blow when the house, Teresa began to smell open the closet and, to everyone surprised there was, dead and his body was, decomposing as always did Teresa. He called Robert and William and forced them to do the dirty work both.

Boys had to take out their body and, put it in a cardboard box, and memories they had of that were. Terrible William remembers that the skin, his sister was attached to the, carpet and that the whole body was. Rigid they grab it in the box. They go up to the car and then Robert William, and Teresa are looking for a place where, get rid of all tests. First stop is on the side of a, road is night and supposedly not. Nobody happens so Teresa forces, children to go down and look for a point of, burial the boys grab shovels go down. They get into the weeds, but then, a second car arrives at the sheriff, stops behind Teresa's vehicle, Lowe approaches her and asks what, does what the woman is looking for a, excuse that your children are there, urinating that they are

not well. A couple of excuses have been lost, and the sheriff leaves without more is there when. The woman calls the boys and leave. There because they leave the box surely, will suspect them after driving A. More time they end up leaving her near the. Trachit Tejo Airport were hours. Then someone was going to find her, becoming this in another case without. Solve over the years the children fled Robert stayed with Teresa. One more time but in November 1995, he was arrested and sentenced to 15 years of. Jail since participating, in a robbery with William murder for his. Part found a job married and had, a daughter but Terry couldn't continue. Forward being minor stole the, Sheila documents and escaped from home.

Sheila when he died was of legal age, but Terry was minor with which, making a, new life went to another state had. Several couples tried to form a, family did not get it, and in several, occasions tried to denounce what had, lived, but unfortunately nobody believed her. Neither the police nor their friends nor their couples nor the psychologist what she counted was so shocking that nobody. I swallowed and tired of all that on 28. October, 1993 called the direct line of the program the most wanted from America to. Through the line he told the story of, his mother, but the operator told him that they couldn't issue that so he invited him to. PLR County Police. In California she called the history and once again they wouldn't believe it, but then gave

details that son, police could know details of the Susan and Sheila bodies what could see, in the bags what jewels could have. Susan the age of the victims were, found and with this information. Starts arrests Robert is already in. Prison serving a sentence for what? He did long ago but William has a normal life was married had a job, a family, and while working, November 4th, 1993 the police appeared there and arrested in days later though. Day 10 his mother was also arrested, specifically in Sal Lake City where I worked taking care of old people and using the single name cross. This woman was accused of the following. Two murder positions, two positions of conspiracy to commit murder and two positions of special circumstances multiple murder and murder through

initial teresa torture said s innocent but what happens that your children robert and william declared since they were home the boys did not have contact did not want to know anything about their past and therefore there were no among them but so after so long boys repeated the same story as teresa killed her two sisters and what they were threatened seeing that the woman was trapped mental alienation but the accusation he pressed a little more and told him that guilty decade would surely be condemned to death penalty so woman ended up yielding and received two perpetual chains and as for its two children they received the following condemnations killian was sentenced to probation and forced to go to therapy that he accepted one hundred percent and in as for robert he was sentenced to three years prison years which

met together to the conviction that already it was said that teresa nor was never visited by any of their children since nobody wants to know anything about her and still thus this person tries to receive. Probation the first. Audience was in July 2019 but there. He was denied and the next date is four, July 2024 and a very spooky fact. Is that during the trial he did not show, no emotion was impassive and, meanwhile William was, breaking was very affected and, in the middle of the session they had to, get it out of there so now is you. What do you think of the case and you think? This woman regrets something. A mysterious case, revisiting the tragedy of Alfonso Trigero. The story of Alfonso Tregero is one that continues to intrigue, confuse, and divide people.

What seemed like a typical life, a well-liked businessman with a family, turned into a puzzle filled with contradictions, hidden motives, and unanswered questions. Let's take a deep dive into this case, breaking it down to explore what really happened and whether justice was served. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the perfect picture, or so it seemed. By all appearances, Alfonso and his family lived a picture perfect life. Alfonso was a man with a good reputation in his community. He had many friends, his employees were happy, and his neighbors admired him.

People spoke highly of him and his wife, Rosa Duran, painting a picture of contentment and success. But beneath this surface of perfection, cracks began to show. Alfonso's businesses were struggling financially despite outward appearances. The family paid their employees on time, but they were secretly drowning in debt, juggling multiple loans. These financial troubles sparked the first wave of speculation, could Alfonso have been the target of a hired hitman?

The idea of a hired killer, however, didn't sit well with investigators. A professional assassin wouldn't have gone about the crime the way it was executed. Why would a hitman enter through the front door, rummage through drawers, feed the family dog a piece of Charizo, and then shoot Alfonso with a shotgun that was already in the house? The method was too chaotic and unprofessional for a trained killer. This theory was dismissed, but the questions remained. Hashtag hashtag family finances, secrets and lies. As investigators dug deeper, they found inconsistencies in the family's financial story.

Rosa had borrowed 60,000 euros from a friend without telling her husband. This opened up another possibility, what if Alfonso had taken his own life out of desperation, and his family staged the scene to look like a robbery to preserve his reputation and secure the insurance payout? Yet again, this theory crumbled under scrutiny. If Alfonso had committed suicide, he likely would have used a smaller, more precise weapon, not a shotgun fired into his side, a complicated and messy act. Furthermore, the positioning of the gun and the crime scene didn't align with a self-inflicted

wound. Hashtag hashtag, hashtag cracks in the family dynamic. Alfonso may have been well loved by his friends, but his family life was less idyllic. He was known for having affairs, even during his marriage. Investigators found explicit photos of other women on his phone, raising questions about whether Rosa knew and, if so, how it impacted their relationship. On top of this, Alfonso and his eldest son, Jose Carlos, had a strained relationship. The two were said to clash often, both being headstrong and argumentative.

But more troublingly, Jose Carlos had a history of violent outbursts. This revelation shifted the focus toward the family as potential suspects. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the night in question. On February 13, 2011, the night of Alfonso's death, Rosa claimed she had been asleep on a mattress on the floor due to circulation issues, a habit she said her doctor had recommended. However, investigators found no evidence of this mattress, either in crime-seen photos or in testimonies from the family's housekeeper, who had never seen such an arrangement. Furthermore, Rosa's doctor denied ever advising her to sleep on the floor. This blatant inconsistency cast doubt on Rosa's version of events. Investigators also noted that Rosa didn't behave like a grieving widow.

She appeared defensive and even confrontational with reporters, which many found unusual for someone in mourning. Hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag the evidence mounts. As the investigation continued, the evidence pointed increasingly toward Rosa and Jose Carlos. Forensic analysis revealed the following. One, the shotgun used in the crime bore Jose Carlos' DNA. Two, the cartridge had Rosa's fingerprints. Three, Jose Carlos' pajamas contained gunpowder residue, particularly on the chest and arms,

indicating he had fired the weapon. Four, gunpowder traces were also found on Rosa's side of the bed, suggesting she wasn't lying down as she claimed when the shooting occurred. These findings shattered their alibi. Rosa had lied about her movements that night, and Jose Carlos had clearly been involved in the shooting. hashtag hashtag hashtag the trial and sentencing. In 2012, the trial began, drawing immense public and media attention. Over 30 witnesses testified, and nearly 40 investigators presented evidence, including a digital reconstruction of the crime scene. Rosa maintained her innocence, insisting she had slept through

the incident, while Jose Carlos was combative and defiant throughout the trial. The jury found both guilty. Jose Carlos was identified as the shooter, while Rosa was accused of orchestrating the crime. Both were sentenced to 17 and a half years in prison. However, their sentences were not immediately enforced. They were allowed to remain free under strict conditions, surrendering their passports and reporting to authorities weekly. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the escape. Months later, Jose Carlos vanished. In October 2014, he packed clothes and cash and disappeared, evading authorities for months. He was eventually captured in January 2015. during a routine police check on a bus.

His belongings included drugs in 7,600 euros in cash, further tarnishing his image. Hashtag, hashtag, hashtag Rosa's fate. Rosa appealed her conviction, and in a surprising turn, the Supreme Court overturned it. The court ruled there was insufficient evidence to prove she had conspired with her son or actively participated in the crime. While her fingerprints on the cartridge were suspicious, they didn't definitively prove guilt. Spanish law also exempts family members from being punished for covering up for one another. Rosa was released and returned to her hometown, but her life was never the same.

Many neighbors shunned her, viewing her with suspicion despite her acquittal. Others accepted the court's decision but couldn't shake their doubts. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the aftermath. The case left the town divided. Some believe justice had been served, others felt the truth was still buried. Was Rosa truly innocent, or was. was she a master manipulator who escaped justice? And what motivated Jose Carlos to commit such a heinous act? These questions linger, casting a shadow over the community and the Trigero family's

legacy. What do you think? Was Rosa innocent, or did she play a role in Alfonso's death? Was the punishment Jose Carlos received fair? The craziest case of someone completely disconnected from reality that I've ever encountered. Oh, there are some wild ones. Buckle up, because this is a ride through a mix of bizarre, unsettling, and downright ridiculous situations. Let me start with this friend of my husbands from college. Recently, he went through an ugly divorce. To be fair, the marriage itself was already kind of a disaster waiting to happen. His ex-wife only wanted to marry him because her ultra-religious parents wouldn't let them

live together otherwise. But, surprise, she was madly in love with someone else the whole time. So much so that she even invited this other person into the marriage as a third partner. Now, that's all fine and dandy if everyone is on board, but let's just say our friend wasn't exactly thrilled about the whole situation. Fast forward to the inevitable divorce. She's now living happily with the third wheel, and he's, well, he's not handling things great. To say he's spiraled would be an understatement.

The guy spends his entire day on Facebook posting insane conspiracy theories. I mean, it's like a full-time job for him at this point. He's out here spilling every personal detail about his relationship in public posts, going so far as to accuse his ex-wife of emotional rape, which, according to him, is way worse than regular rape. Yeah, you read that right. But wait, it gets weirder. He's been known to post the same fake conspiracy article over 30 times in a row within 10 minutes. When Bernie Sanders dropped out of the presidential race, he completely lost it, threatening

to puna-live anyone who dared vote for Biden. He made so many threats online that someone actually called the cops on him. And then, there's the garden incident. His ex posted a picture of her backyard, where she'd used a couple of wire panels to support her green bean plants. Apparently, these were the same panels from a failed business venture they'd started together. This man went on a public rant in the comments of his own post, accusing her of betrayal and intentional provocation.

The dude was having an entire conversation with himself. It's like he's locked in a reality TV drama in his head, except no one else signed up to be on the show. Then there was my time working at a software company in downtown Boston. At first, it was great. One of the best perks was the flexible schedule, people could work remotely or adjust their hours for things like childcare. Parents, myself included, could drop kids off at school, stroll into work at 9.30, and it was no

big deal. Enter the new CEO. She spent a month observing how things worked and then dropped. a bombshell at an all-hands meeting. She declared that the most productive office environment was one where everyone was physically present from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. Effective the following month, remote work was cancelled, and everyone had to stick to those hours. The backlash was instant. People argued about the lack of notice, begged for flexibility, and raised concerns about arranging childcare, especially since school hours didn't align with the new schedule.

The CEO's response. A long-winded speech about teamwork and sacrifice. for the greater good. She even said, I totally understand where you're coming from. When my kids were little, my husband and I hired three nannies to cover all our schedules. Three nannies. Three. As if that was a relatable solution for middle-class employees. That was the moment I realized I needed to start job hunting. Speaking of bizarre people, let me tell you about my stepbrother. He joined this strange Gnostic religious group and got it into his head that he could convert people by Socratic debate. Except, unlike Socrates, he had no actual talent for philosophy. He decided his workplace was the perfect setting for his Enlightenment crusade. Unsurprisingly, he got fired

repeatedly and chopped it up to a conspiracy against his higher purpose. But wait, it gets better. One of this group's activities involved hand-copying their sacred book. It wasn't a small book either. He spent months painstakingly rewriting it, only to find out he'd used the wrong color ink, which somehow invalidated the entire effort. You'd think that might have made in question things, but nope. At one point, he got a job as a waiter. For some inexplicable reason, he decided it was proper etiquette to bow deeply after taking customers' orders.

When his boss told him to stop, he launched into a lecture about the dignity of service workers. Another time, he wanted to propose to a woman thirty years his senior, who had shown zero interest in him. Luckily, he believed in asking the father's permission first. Her dad, who was understandably baffled, talked him out of it. Oh, and there was also that phase where he thought he could live off sunlight. Thankfully, he never actually tried it. Now, let's switch gears to the restaurant industry.

I worked in food service for a while, and let me tell you, some customers are completely unhinged. One woman screamed at me over the phone because her medium rare steak was bleeding. I had to put her on hold to laugh. Another lady called me an idiot because she thought I hung up on her, I didn't. I was just busy. When I apologized, her response was, that's not enough. One guy tried to order a drink we didn't serve. When I told him it wasn't available, he threatened to break into our liquor storage and make it himself.

And then he actually tried it. The police had to get involved. Honestly, this was just a regular Tuesday. Then there was this guy I knew whose brain was just, gone, probably from years of heavy meth use. The stories vary, some say he took one especially bad dose. Others say he just did too much for too long, but the result is the same. He's not your typical hyperactive meth head. Most of the time, he's pretty calm, but his behavior is completely erratic.

He'll stare at you for minutes without blinking, mutter to himself in the mirror, or have sudden mood swings triggered by hallucinations. Before he got arrested, he was living in a tent in the woods near his family's house because they wouldn't let him stay with them. Not that they're much better, they're all addicts too. It's sad because he's actually a nice guy when he's lucid, but he's stuck in this cycle, and the people around him aren't exactly helpful. Now for one of the saddest cases I've encountered. I'm a mental health therapist, so I've met plenty of people disconnected from reality.

But this one's about a family in denial. There was a 35-year-old woman who had been in a vegetative state for 20 years after a severe anoxic brain injury. Her parents refused to move her to a long-term care facility, insisting she'd recover completely, finish school. get married, and live a normal life. For two decades, they kept her in the same hospital room, ignoring every doctor's recommendation. It's heartbreaking and infuriating at the same time. And then there's the story of my cousin. She's a sweet but very shy woman who recently got married.

Her family is wealthy, and her older brother had just thrown an extravagant wedding with 200 guests. My cousin wanted something small and intimate, but her parents insisted on inviting everyone they knew. The result? They rented a massive venue, hired caterers, booked entertainment, and set up an open bar, even though neither the bride nor groomed drinks. On the wedding day, only about fifteen people showed up. It was awkward, quiet, and incredibly embarrassing for them.

Her parents' complete detachment from reality ruined what should have been a special day. Luckily, years later, they had a beautiful vow renewal ceremony on their own terms. Finally, let's talk about one of the most delusional streamers I've ever come across. I used to watch this guy's gaming streams until his behavior became unbearable. At one point, he started talking about his girlfriend, who was also a streamer. Except, she had no idea they were dating. She lived in Europe, he was in the U.S., and they'd never met or even spoken. When she found out through mutual followers, she publicly denied it, which sent him into a rage.

He began harassing her online to the point where she quit streaming and deleted all her social media accounts. After getting banned from Twitch for this, he somehow convinced the platform to reinstate his account, only to pull the same stunt with another streamer. Now he's permanently banned and still rants about it on Twitter. Oh, and I can't forget my old boss. She was a 26-year-old CEO whose mom gave her $4 million a year to play businesswoman. One day, she announced a team-building trip to an outlet mall four hours away. When we arrived, she ditched us to shop by herself and periodically texted us to, at the van to unload our bags. None of us made more than $50,000 a year, so we didn't have

much to unload. By lunchtime, she'd spent $30,000 and filled the van with her purchases. When I told her I hadn't bought anything, she handed me a credit card and said, that's not how we do things in America. Go shopping. It was so out of touch it was almost comical. To this day, I'm convinced she thought she was doing something nice for us. People like this make you wonder how they function in the real world. Or maybe they just don't. Embarking on a journey is not just about the places you visit, it's about the stories you collect along the way. Let me take you through a vivid narrative, an intricate tapestry of experiences, that weaves through some of the world's most extraordinary destinations. It all began on a crisp autumn morning. The leaves

were just starting to turn, painting the landscape in shades of amber, crimson, and gold. I packed my rucksack with the essentials, a worn map, a sturdy camera, and a heart full of wanderlust, and headed to the train station. There's something magical about trains, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails feels like a heartbeat of adventure. First stop, Kyoto, Japan. The city welcomed me with its timeless charm, a harmonious blend of the past and present. I wandered through the Arashima bamboo grove, where towering green stalks whispered secrets to the wind. Later, I stumbled upon a hidden tea house, its entrance marked by a simple curtain fluttering in the breeze. An elderly woman in a kimono served me Matt Cha with a smile that carried decades of wisdom.

Every sip, she said, is a moment to cherish. And so, I did. From Kyoto, my journey took a sharp turn to the wild landscapes of Patagonia, South America. Imagine jagged peaks piercing the sky, glaciers that seem to glow with an otherworldly blue, and winds that roared like untamed beasts. Trekking through Torres Del Paine National Park was both grueling and exhilarating. One evening, As the sun dipped below the horizon, I found myself at the edge of a turquoise lake, its surface like a mirror reflecting the fiery hues of the sky. A lone condor soared overhead, a reminder of the untamed spirit of this land. Next came Marrakesh, Morocco, a city that assaults the senses in the best possible way.

The Medina was a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, filled with the aroma of spices, the chatter of merchants, and the kaleidoscope of colorful textiles. At Jima Elfna Square, I sipped on freshly squeezed orange juice while watching snake charmers and storytellers captivate their audience. That night, I stayed in a Riyadh, its courtyard illuminated by a constellation of lanterns. The distant call to prayer blended with the murmur of a fountain, lulling me into a deep sleep. No journey is complete without a brush with the unexpected.

Mine came in the form of an impromptu road trip along Iceland's Ring Road. With a rental car and an eclectic playlist, I set out to explore this land of fire nice. Along the way, I encountered geysers erupting in steamy bursts, waterfalls cascading with thunderous applause, and black sand beaches that seemed to stretch into infinity. One night, the northern lights danced across the sky, their ethereal glow leaving me spellbound. I stood there, breathless, as if the universe had paused to put on a show just for me. In stark contrast to Iceland's wild beauty was the serene charm of Tuscany, Italy. Rolling vineyards, rustic farmhouses, and sunflowers swaying in the breeze.

created a postcard perfect setting. I joined a local family for a cooking class in their centuries-old villa. Together, we rolled out pasta, chopped fragrant herbs, and shared stories over glasses of Kianti. As the sunset, we dined alfresco, the golden light casting a warm glow on our laughter-filled table. Then came the adrenaline rush of South Africa's Kruger National Park. The safari was a dream come true. I watched elephants trumpet their way through the bush, lions lazing under acacia trees, and a cheetah sprinting with breathtaking speed. But the most unforgettable moment came when a curious giraffe approached our Jeep, its soulful eyes locking with mine. In that moment, the boundary between human-animal seemed to dissolve,

replaced by a profound connection to the wild. As my journey drew to a close, I found myself on the sun-drenched beaches of Bali, Indonesia. Here, life moved to the rhythm of the waves. I spent my days exploring lush rice terraces, snorkeling in coral reefs teeming with life, and meditating in ancient temples. One evening, I attended a traditional Kikak dance performance. The hypnotic chants and graceful movements of the dancers told stories of gods and demons, love and betrayal. It was a fitting finale to a journey that had been nothing short of transformative.

Looking back, these experiences were more than just destinations on a map, they were lessons in life, love, and the incredible diversity of our world. Every person I met, every flavor I tasted, and every breathtaking view I witnessed added a new thread to the rich tapestry of my adventure. And as I sit here, penning down these memories, I realized that the true essence of travel lies not in the places you go, but in the stories you carry home. He couldn't help but feel guilty for what he had done with that boy. He couldn't understand how he had been capable of doing it, so from that moment on, he decided to repress his sexual and homicidal desires. He began attending church regularly, gave up alcohol, and remained in a permanent state of celibacy. Many of you might think that a person with the mentality of Jeffrey Dahmer couldn't

go long without committing another murder, but fortunately, or unfortunately, he remained inactive for the next ten years. He became the exemplary son his parents had always wanted him to be, and to complete the picture, he moved in with his grandmother. But behind that facade of kindness and perfection, the same disturbed mind remained. Coincidentally, his grandmother had a mannequin, a mannequin with which Jeffrey Dahmer had sexual relations at night, imagining it was a dead body. Over time, Jeffrey began to think he could satisfy some of his desires without hurting anyone. So he started drinking again and began frequenting gay bars. However, given his history with alcohol, we can imagine it didn't go well. In 1986,

He was arrested for indecent exposure. Perhaps if the police had found him just a few hours earlier, they would have discovered that Jeffrey Dahmer had tried to exhume the body of a recently deceased boy in order to, of course, enjoy the corpse. But the ground was frozen due to the snow and had made it impossible. One night in September 1987, Jeffrey Dahmer met Stephen Twami at a gay bar. They drank heavily and, completely drunk, rented a hotel room. From there, his memory went completely black.

The last thing Jeffrey remembered was that the next morning, his friend was dead. His first thought was to leave the body there and flee as quickly as possible. But unfortunately, the room had been rented in his name, so the best option he had was to dispose of the body. He bought a suitcase, put the corpse inside it, and took a taxi to his grandmother's house. This time, his intention was not to get rid of the body but to hide. hide it in the basement for his own use. He had sexual relations with the corpse until he got bored. When that happened, he dismembered the body and threw it away, but as any self-respecting serial killer would, he kept a trophy, the head. He boiled and bleached it and then displayed it in

his room. Obviously, everyone who entered his room would ask about that sinister decorative object, and he would always respond that it had been a gift from a friend who studied medicine. months later, he met his next victim, Jamie Dockstader, a 14-year-old boy who often hung around gay bars looking for someone to sleep with. One night, while driving, Jeffrey saw him sitting at a bus stop and offered him $50 to have sex. The trick worked, and the boy's name instantly joined the long list of victims of the Milwaukee butcher, just like Richard Guerrero's did in 1958. Jeffrey's tactics were always the same. If offering money for sex didn't work, he would offer his victims a photo session, just like with Anthony Sears, whom he met at a bar.

Sadly, this young man suffered the same faith as the others. He was taken to Jeffrey's grandmother's house, strangled, raped, and dismembered, in that order. The most shocking part of all is that Jeffrey claimed his victims die because they didn't want to stay with him, they always wanted to leave. So he felt he had no choice but to kill them and force their dead bodies to do what he wanted. Jeffrey Dahmer killed 12 more people until 1991. As I mentioned earlier, his tactics were always the same, with minor variations. Sometimes, he didn't feel like struggling with his victims, so while they watched a movie at his grandmother's house, he would drug their drinks, strangle them, have sex with their corpses, and finally masturbate over them. He would then

take photos of the body at all stages of dismemberment. He disposed of the evidence by dissolving the flesh and bones with powerful acids, although as noted earlier, he always kept some trophies, usually the head and genitals. Another one of his obsessions was eating parts of his victims. This gave him the feeling that their souls would always be with him, that his soul and theirs would merge into one, a strong, immortal soul. became, therefore, an obligation for him. He began keeping several pieces of human flesh wrapped in plastic bags in his refrigerator. Then came July 8, 1990, and with it, his second

slip-up. That day, one of his potential victims started screaming, screaming so loudly that Dahmer had no choice but to let him go. As expected, the incident was reported to the authorities. Now, the police had his name, description, and address. But guess what? No investigation was carried out. By the end of 1991, Jeffrey Dahmer was back at it. This time, he had no excuse ready. He was simply looking for any victim.

So he began walking through the many stores of a large shopping mall. There, he met Conorak Sint the Sumphone, a Laotian boy who happened to be the younger brother, of the one who had escaped earlier. After taking him home, he drugged him and decided to experiment. He was used to strangling his victims right away, but this time he wanted to try something different. While the boy was unconscious, he drilled holes in his skull and injected acid into his brain. His goal, to create a zombie, a perfect sex slave without speech, will, or strength to escape. He had tried something similar before with other victims and thought he had nothing to lose, by trying again. After the procedure, Jeffrey raped the boy's body and then went out to a bar

to have a beer. That's when Conorak escaped, he ran out completely naked into the street, where a crowd gathered to help him until the police arrived. Because of the acid injected into his brain, the boy couldn't speak. But I'm sure many of you are thinking that even if he couldn't speak, justice was finally served. The truth is, it wasn't. Incredibly, the police and firefighters who responded believed Jeffrey Dahmer's story. He told them the boy was his lover and too drunk to talk. In fact, to justify his claim, he showed them photos he had taken of the boy when he was still semi-conscious. The police didn't search the apartment. They didn't even notice the intense smell of decomposition coming from inside. Had they searched the place,

they would have discovered a corpse in one of the rooms and dozens of pieces of evidence from other murders. Most importantly, they could have saved that innocent young man, who died minutes later, strangled. Jeffrey Dahmer had a deep interest in the occult sciences. He wanted to build what he often called a power center, or sometimes a temple. He wanted to create an entire set using human bones, place six skulls in a row on a long table and flank it with two human skeletons suspended in the air. His purpose was to connect to another level of perception to achieve success in love and finances, something he claimed was inspired by the Star Wars saga. Unfortunately for him, that dream never came true.

On July 22, 1991, his last victim, Tracy Edwards, managed to escape in handcuffs. The police witnessed the scene, and this time, they acted. They stormed into his apartment and, for the first time in this story, ignored his ridiculous excuses. They discovered the photos of corpses, mutilated bodies, seven skulls, and a head in the freezer. The trial began on January 27, 1992, and from the beginning, the media filled it with sensationalism, calling Jeffrey Dahmer, the Milwaukee butcher. From the start, it was clear he was driven by a mental disorder, even though he tried hard to hide it. The psychiatrists who treated him in prison claimed he was ill. He pleaded guilty with a pleaded guilty with a plea.

of insanity so he could be sentenced to a special prison for the mentally ill. But the plea was rejected. The jury concluded that for someone to be considered mentally ill, they must behave that way most of the time. Therefore, it was considered that Jeffrey Dahmer was sane when he committed the crimes and was sentenced to 15 life sentences, which equaled 936 years in prison. After the verdict, he spoke directly to the court and said the following, Your Honor, it's all over. I feel very bad for what I did to those poor families, and I understand their rightful hatred. I've hurt my father, my mother, and my stepmother, but I love them very much.

Jeffrey Dahmer was sent to the Columbia Correctional Institute in Portage, where on November 28, 1994, while performing cleaning duties, he was beaten to death. He had been accused of having racial motives in some of his murders, so Christopher Scarver, a schizophrenic African-American inmate, felt compelled to end his life, as well as that of Jesse Anderson, who had killed his wife and blamed a black man. Now it's your turn, what do you think about all this? Do you believe a killer is born, or made over time? The end.

I found the mirror at a yard sale. It was old, but the frame looked sturdy. It wasn't anything special, but something about it caught my eye. I don't know what made me by it. I wasn't even looking for a mirror. The cellar didn't seem to care much about it. It's been in the family for years, she said. I think it's just a little, odd.

But you can have it for cheap, I paid her and took it home. At first, nothing happened. It just hung on my wall, like any other mirror. But then, things started to feel different. At night, I would catch myself staring into it, not sure for how long. Sometimes I saw things in the reflection that didn't match what was around. me. Shadows moving when I wasn't.

I didn't tell anyone about it. They would think I was crazy. But the mirror kept calling to me. Each time I looked, it felt harder to look away. One evening, I stood in front of it, trying to avoid the strange feeling creeping up on me. But then I saw something new. A figure, standing just behind me in the reflection. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but it wasn't.

I could see the figure clearly, like it was real. I turned around quickly, but no one was there. I went back to the mirror. The figure was still there. It stood still, just staring at me. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling wouldn't go away. I started having nightmares. I would wake up in the middle of the night and see that figure standing by my bed, staring at me.

It felt so real, like it was waiting for something. One night, I couldn't take it anymore. I went to the mirror and tried to touch the figure. My fingers brushed the glass, but it didn't feel like glass. It felt, wrong, cold, empty. Suddenly, I felt something grab my wrist. I yanked my hand away, but it didn't let go. I looked into the mirror.

The figure was closer now, its face inches from mine. It was smiling, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was wide and stretched too far. I couldn't pull away. I tried, but my hand stayed stuck, pressing against the glass. The figure leaned in closer, and I could hear a voice, faint but clear. You can't leave now. The voice was soft, but it felt like it was inside my head.

I finally managed to tear my hand away, but I couldn't stop looking into the mirror. The figure grinned wider, as if it had one. I didn't sleep that night. The next day, I took the mirror down. I wrapped it in a blanket and put it in the back of my closet. But when I checked, I saw it. The mirror was back on the wall. And the figure was waiting for me again.

It all started at 3 a.m. on February 14, 2011, in a small town in the province of Kosserese, Spain, called Logresen. With a population of only about 10,000, this was a peaceful place where everyone knew each other. Nothing extraordinary ever happened here, no big parties, no serious conflicts, just a quiet rural life. people worked in farming, animal husbandry, or engaged in hunting as a hobby. It wasn't unusual for families to own legal firearms and go hunting together. But that night, everything changed. The calm of the town was shattered by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Everyone knew exactly

what it was. It wasn't a car crash or a scream, it was clearly the sound of a shotgun being fired. One of the neighbors, upon hearing the shot, thought it was just some kids firing at a stork, but little did they know, the reality was far more sinister. At 309 a.m., the following call was made to emergency services. 112, what's your emergency? Hello, good evening. My husband is in bed, and he's been shot. Who shot him?

I don't know, the door's wide open. The door's wide open. Ma'am, where are you calling from? Please, come inside, come inside. Dad, don't move, don't move. The emergency operator remained calm, but the urgency in the woman's voice was unmistakable. A team from the Guardia Civil and an ambulance rushed immediately to the house. The family lived in a three-story house on Hernandez-Sarano Avenue, a well-known and beloved family

in town. Alfonso Tregero, the father, and his wife Rosa Duran, along with their two children, Jose Carlos, 28, and Ana, 20, were respected members of the community. When the police received the call, they were shocked. To them, the family seemed perfect, they had money, property, and several businesses. But when they arrived at the house, what they discovered was chilling, a scene straight out of a crime movie. Before delving into the crime scene, we need to rewind to the day before, February 13, 2011. That afternoon, Anna, the younger daughter, said goodbye to her family as she was leaving

for Bada Haas, where she attended university during the week. So, the house was left with just Alfonso, Rosa, and Jose Carlos. Later that evening, the couple went together to work at their restaurant, El Acador El Cortijo del Jamon, located at the town's entrance. It was a quiet night at the restaurant with familiar customers and a good atmosphere. They returned home between 1120 and 11.30 p.m. Alfonso went to bed first, followed by Rosa, who turned in around 1 a.m. They had just settled into bed when at around 3 a.m., they heard a loud noise.

At first, they thought something had fallen, perhaps a car had collided with something, or maybe an object had broken. Rosa got out of bed and headed for the hallway, where she came face to face with her eldest son. At his feet was a shotgun, and Jose Carlos grabbed another weapon from his room, loaded it, and went into the hallway with his mother. They both believed someone had broken into the house. They went down to the lower floor and found a few things that immediately stood out. The drawers and a dresser had all been opened, and the envelope that had been sitting on top, containing the previous night's earnings, was missing.

That envelope had over 4,000 euros in it. But the most disturbing detail was that the front door was slightly ajar, indicating that someone had entered the house. A burglar had clearly broken in. Jose Carlos went outside, and the first thing he saw was a red car with an old license plate. He quickly memorized the plate number and paid close attention to the two people inside. The driver was a blonde woman, and next to her sat a middle-aged man. Neither of them asked for help or called out to anyone, they simply drove off. Meanwhile, Rosa woke up Alfonso, only to find her husband lying in bed with a gunshot

wound to his right side. She tried to stop the bleeding and called for Jose Carlos. They were in shock and didn't know what to do. At 3.09 a.m., they made the emergency call. Unfortunately, the injury was severe, and Alfonso passed away on his way to the hospital. The police forensic team combed through the crime scene for 16 hours straight, collecting every possible piece of evidence. They took DNA samples, fingerprints, gunpowder residue, and gathered a total of 126 pieces of evidence. They even took Rosa's pajamas, Jose Carlos's, the bedsheets, and the shotgun

they had found in the hallway, which appeared to be the weapon used in the crime. The investigation quickly revealed that none of the doors or windows at the house had been forced open. In fact, although the front door was left open, there were no signs of forced entry, which suggested that the intruder had keys. The drawers, while opened, weren't in a chaotic state. There was dust on top of them, and they didn't appear to have been rifled through. Another strange thing was that there were no external fingerprints in the house, except for the families. The detectives also noticed that in the hallway, there was Rosa's purse, containing her wallet, identification, and some money. A thief had apparently taken these items. Another significant detail,

was the shotgun. It wasn't a weapon the family owned, it was a gun that had been inside the house for a while. It belonged to the boyfriend of Anna, the daughter who wasn't at home that night. As they delved deeper into the family's background, they discovered that Alfonso and Jose Carlos were hunters and that, legally, the family had two shotguns at home. Two days before the murder, Jose Carlos had gone hunting but had run into issues with his own weapon. It wasn't functioning properly, and he didn't have the right ammunition. So, his brother Brother-in-law Alberto lent him a shotgun. It was exactly the same gun that was found in the hallway that night.

Alberto had lent Jose Carlos the gun, but Jose Carlos hadn't returned it. He had left it at home, hoping Anna would return it to him later. Jose Carlos had taken the ammunition out of the gun and had separated it. This led the police to consider Alberto a potential suspect. They learned that Alfonso didn't approve of Alberto as a partner for his daughter, as he thought Alberto wasn't rich or handsome enough. It seemed that Alberto had never been inside the house and didn't know the layout, nor did he have keys. He had no way of entering the house unnoticed. The investigation took another

twist when the police started looking into the family's business dealings. The Trigero-Duran family wasn't just known for their reputation as a good family, but also because they owned several businesses in town. They ran a restaurant, a small supermarket, and a sausage factory. In 2010, they received an award from the government of Extra Madura for being the best rural business. Their faces were everywhere in the local press, newspapers, magazines, even television. Rosa had given interviews praising the work ethic of the family. Despite being well-liked, their success made them the target of jealousy and resentment. As the investigation continued, the police uncovered a web of secrets and potential motives.

Who could want to kill Alfonso? Could it have been a personal vendetta, or was it all about the money? Was the weapon found at the scene truly the key to solving the case? As the pieces of the puzzle slowly began to fit together, the investigation took the officers deeper into the complex relationships, hidden motives, and untold stories of a family that seemed perfect on the outside but was anything but. The story was far from over, and the detectives were just beginning to unravel the mysteries of that fateful night in Lagereson. It was supposed to be a romantic midnight hike under the stars,

but what David and Lisa stumbled upon in the darkness of Provo Canyon would haunt them forever. Little did they know, they were walking straight into the clutches of a serial killer. Halloween was coming, and the night felt eerily perfect for ghost stories. My friends and I sat around a campfire, its glow-flickering shadows onto our faces. Sarah, usually quiet during our story sessions, seemed hesitant, but finally said, I have a story. It's about my parents' first date. It's true, her voice had a seriousness that silenced us all.

Sarah's parents, Lisa and David, had me. met at a mutual friends party. She was charming but reserved, and he was a bit of an adventurer. After a fun first date, David suggested they take a midnight hike in Provo Canyon. Though unusual, Lisa went along, figuring it would be a memorable experience. They each drove to the canyon, parked their cars, and met at the trailhead. The night was pitch black, with no moonlight, only a stretch of stars overhead. They began the hike, David pointing out constellations to keep things light. Lisa laughed, but she was uneasy in the darkness, relying on his knowledge to guide her along the trail. After a while, David suddenly stopped. A prickling sensation crawled

up his spine, like eyes watching from the shadows. He brushed it off, not wanting to seem paranoid. It's nothing, he murmured, continuing forward. But the feeling wouldn't leave him. It clung to him, a persistent dread gnawing at his gut. Are you okay, Lisa asked, sensing his discomfort. Yeah, just thought I heard something, he replied, keeping his tone casual. They passed under a thick cluster of trees, where the starlight was swallowed by branches that intertwined like skeletal fingers. David hesitated, feeling something like a magnetic pull to keep moving forward, even as his instincts screamed at him to turn back.

Lisa felt it too, the thick, choking sensation of being watched. She glanced at David, hoping he'd suggest they turn around. But curiosity overrode caution, and they pressed to. on, following the dark path ahead. Then, David's foot struck something soft. He froze, his heart thundering. Whatever he'd stepped on wasn't a branch or a rock. A faint, metallic smell lingered in the air, one he couldn't quite place.

Did you, smell that? he whispered. Lisa felt her stomach drop as she looked down, squinting into the darkness. She didn't answer, but her face was pale, her breathing shallow. While shaking, David fumbled for the tiny flashlight on his keychain. He switched it on and directed the weak beam toward the ground. His breath caught in his throat as the light fell on a sprawled figure, a human body, twisted unnaturally, limbs splayed at impossible angles. Lisa gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth.

They stood there, paralyzed, their mind struggling to process the horrific scene before them. David wanted to move, to pull her back, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the body. A sudden rustle in the trees shattered the silence. David's flashlight jerked up, illuminating a dark figure standing just beyond the reach of the light. The man's face was hidden, but his posture was predatory, his gaze cold and unfeeling. David's heart raced. He felt a chill run through him as he realized they weren't alone, and that whoever this was had likely been watching them for some time. Without a word, he grabbed Lisa's hand and ran, their feet pounding against the trail as they sprinted back toward their cars.

David didn't dare look back, too terrified of what he might see. The only thought in his mind was escape. They reached the trailhead, breathless and panicked. Neither of them spoke as they scrambled into their cars, peeling out of the parking lot and speeding down the canyon road. The silence was thick, both of them too shaken to say anything, each lost in their own terror. Years passed, and David and Lisa married. They tried to forget about that night, to leave the memory buried in the dark recesses of the

canyon. But sometimes, when David closed his eyes at night, he could still feel that presence watching him, waiting in the shadows. One evening, they were watching the news when a story came on that froze them in place. The news anchor was interviewing a serial killer who had confessed to multiple murders across the country. In the interview, he spoke with chilling calmness about his victims and his methods, describing the places he had left their bodies. Then, the interviewer asked if he'd ever come close to being caught. A smile played on the killer's lips as he replied, there was one time. I just finished with a girl in Provo Canyon. I was dragging her off the trail when I heard footsteps. I hid in the trees and watched as a couple

walked right up to her. The guy even stepped on her, and then they just left. David and Lisa sat frozen, the weight of that night crashing over them. They'd been within inches of the killer, inches from death. For a long time, they didn't speak. The memory of that night had resurfaced with terrifying clarity. And as they sat there, they realized just how close they'd come to a fate far darker than they'd ever imagined. David often found himself thinking about that night, about the body on the trail, the figure in the shadows. And every time he did, he felt that same chilling fear, the fear that had saved them, burging them away from the darkness lurking in Provo Canyon. We begin. The Milwaukee butcher was never known for being the man who caused the most

victims, but for being one of the most cruel and ruthless psychopaths in history. Moreover, according to his own testimony, not even he knew he was capable of causing so much pain. Jeffrey Lionel Dahmer was born into a middle-class family on May 21st, 1960, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. His parents were Joyce Flint and Lionel Dahmer, a very busy chemist, but who nevertheless made time where there wasn't any to spend it with his son. Jeffrey never lacked anything. Unlike other serial killers, in his childhood he did not suffer physical or psychological abuse. He was a very loved child by his parents, who always gave him everything he asked for,

which discredits the theory that considers a killer is formed in a toxic environment. What was clear was that the little boy was very different from other children. He was very shy, reserved, and enjoyed solitude very much, in addition to having very peculiar. your hobbies. On weekends, he used to go fishing with his father, and he loved that. But not because he enjoyed spending time with his father or liked casting and reeling the bait, but because he was fascinated by watching how the fish suffocated in his hands while he gutted them with a knife. Death always seemed tremendously fascinating to him. Due to his father's job, the Dahmer family traveled a lot. However, after repeated moves, in 1967 they decided to settle in Bavis.

Ohio, a town of 9,000 inhabitants surrounded by harmonious nature. In that idyllic setting, Jeffrey spent the rest of his childhood and adolescence receiving a good education and surrounded by people who loved him more than anything. However, his passion for death did not diminish. At 10 years old, he began collecting dead animals. He liked to pick up the carcasses of small vermin that had been run over to later take them to his yard and open them up to see what was inside. He extracted their internal organs one by one and later stuffed the little bodies or put them in formalin. Although what he liked most to collect were their tiny skeletons. As the years went by, Jeffrey began closing himself off. He preferred to spend time locked up inspecting

hundreds of animal corpses he kept in his garage rather than spend time with his family. So, concerned about his behavior, his parents decided to push him to go outside and take part in extracurricular activities. But that didn't seem to help. He no longer spoke, did not express his thoughts, and showed no emotions. So, they were forced to take the boy to therapy, which also didn't seem to produce many results. When adolescents knocked on the door, Jeffrey Dahmer no longer seemed to be the same boy his parents remembered. Now he always wanted to be the center of attention, and like most reckless young people,

he began to care very little about his studies. So, his parents, eager for him to have a future in society, pushed him to continue doing extracurricular activities such as working for the school newspaper or playing tennis. Although again, that didn't do much. By age 14, Jeffrey was already a frequent consumer of alcoholic drinks and marijuana. His raging hormones began to make him experience his first sexual desires, and it was at this point that he realized that unlike his friends, he didn't feel sexual attraction to women, but to men. However, that attraction wasn't something conventional. In his own words, around age 14, he began to experience obsessive ideas about violence intertwined with sex. They grew stronger and stronger, and he didn't know

what to do about it, so he decided to hide it all. His sexual desires caused him an internal conflict. Why did he have such twisted thoughts? Why in his mind was sex something something so violent. Because of this, he began to drink almost compulsively and in large amounts. He needed to get drunk constantly because that was the only way to drown his thoughts, to drown the reality that was hidden deep inside his mind. And in the midst of the chaos came disaster. Just before turning 18 years old, his parents divorced, and just a few months later, his father remarried. From this point on, the versions of his life differ. Some say he decided to live with his mother, but she abandoned him to go far away with his younger brother

David. Others say he went to live with his father and new stepmother. But the truth is that from the beginning, he was very clear that he wanted to live independently, to live his life far from everyone, but at the same time to maintain contact with his loved ones. And at this point, as could be expected, Jeffrey felt very lost. He didn't know what to do with his life. Then came June 178, One night that month, while driving around, he encountered hitchhiker Stephen Hicks, and Desire invaded his whole being. He needed to spend the night with him no matter what. So, he invited him to his house to watch a movie with the excuse that afterward he would take

him to his destination. The young Stephen agreed, big mistake. Because upon arriving, he realized that the intentions of his new friend were not what was promised. So, making it clear that he did not feel attraction for people of the same sex, he decided to go home on his own. But Jeffrey wasn't going to accept a no for an answer. So he hit him on the head and then strangled him with a dumbbell. After that, he dismembered him and put the pieces into plastic bags, which he loaded into

his car to throw them into a ravine. He drove for several minutes until halfway, a police car forced him to stop, he was driving too far to the left. So, they made him get out of the vehicle, and while one officer performed a sobriety test, another briefly inspected his car. That's when a question pierced directly into his ears, what's in those bags? To which Jeffrey quickly replied, trash. They're just trash. The most shocking thing about all this is that, based solely on the fact that the breathalyzer test was negative, the officers believed him and let him continue on his way, allowing the killer, instead of getting rid of the body, to return home and hide the remains in a pipe where they would

remain hidden for years. In the fall of that same year, 1978, Jeffrey Dahmer entered Ohio State University, believing that this time things would go well and he would finally find his place in the world. However, his deeply disturbed mind had reached a point of no return. And on September 26, he once again committed an atrocious act. That day, Jeffrey decided to take a step further in his life and offered $50 to a 13-year-old Laotian boy he had just met. Why offer money to a minor? Because, according to him, the boy had a beautiful profile and he wanted to take some photos in a place as intimate as his house. The boy, in his innocence, accepted the deal without hesitation, never imagining that the photo session had a very dark hidden motive, Jeffrey

wanted to sexually abuse him. Luckily, this time the victim managed to escape, although it would not be until later that he gathered enough courage to tell his loved ones about the traumatic experience. The year 1979 began with very bad news for the Dahmer family. First, due to his problems with alcohol, the young man was expelled from the university just before starting the next semester. And just a few days later, on January 30th, the parents of the minor who had previously been abused by him formally filed a complaint. As a result, Jeffrey was found guilty and imprisoned. Even so, after serving ten months in prison and receiving treatment for his problem, he decided to request parole.

At this point, even his father, one of his fiercest defenders, wrote to the court opposing his release, as he had not yet finished the program he was following. He was not yet cured. But his words were in vain. Lionel Dahmer felt disappointed in his son for making that decision. His whole family did, so they decided to take the reins of his life and convinced him to join the army. They thought that what he needed was real discipline.

So, when he was assigned to Germany, everyone believed the problem was solved. Unfortunately, a few years later, Jeffrey was discharged due to his alcoholism. After his time in the army, Jeffrey did not want to return directly home. He needed to seriously think about things to avoid falling again into the disturbing temptations that haunted his mind. So, he spent some time in Florida, far from everything. There, he reflected on the lifestyle he intended to lead from that moment on. And when he had decided, he returned home to his family.

Once there, he decided to retrieve the remains of his first victim, Stephen Hicks. And what did he do with them? He destroyed them and scattered them in the underbrush of a dense forest. He couldn't help but feel guilty for what he had done to that point. boy. He couldn't understand how he had been capable of doing it. To be continued. An enclosure of putrefaction, a miasma of the foulest kind, this was the very essence that encompassed all that surrounded me as the hour approached when I must needs venture forth into the thoroughfares. It would have been a wonderment to find oneself surprised by such a commonplace

inhabitant, a denizen, moreover, of that Great Britain of the time, and of London in particular, a city that then did wreak with a most unwholesome stench on every hand, and the very Thames herself did exhale no less a pestilential breath. For it was the year of our Lord, 1856, and there was not to banish such maladies, nor the concentrated murk, nor that lurid gloom, that did cast its pall upon all that one could behold. All was vastly altered in certain thoroughfares, where not a single inch of those wretched tenements might be discerned, which were won't T. O. B. found on the very out

outskirts of this city. Yet still, it was impossible to elude the darkness, which did descend from above, as if possessed by a haughty sentience, perhaps, there was some meaning within that gloom, which was not difficult to apprehend, and yet, there was something more besides, an emotion, at once, both melancholy and cruelly sinister. Those throngs who did then crowd one street after another, could not leave their homes without the aid of handkerchiefs, which they did press to their noses, for so powerful was that myasma that, upon occasion, it would instantly deprive those who ventured into its embrace of their very senses, the ladies, in particular, who were, as they say, most impressionable,

for it was a rare thing indeed to find one of their number who was truly both stalwart and courageous. I dare affirm, with most grievous certainty, that there was, at that time, a presence that did serve as a most dreadful portent. My own trifling difficulty, with a mere handkerchief, did pale in the face of such a horror, and I, with a sickening disgust, did grasp it tightly to my mouth, with my left hand, whilst with my right, I kept hold of the reins, so that I might restrain my steed. For I must needs travel to the manner of the Earl of Memesbury, the emphasis upon the final syllable, to attend to a matter of some importance, and for his well-being, I was greatly perturbed, for within that wretched atmosphere that did then pervade all of

England, he had fallen gravely ill, and did now cough forth blood, and it was not only cholera that had erupted, with the most fearsome velocity, but also the dreaded consumption that did, all too often, make its ghastly presence felt. And it was this latter that had already claimed him, some time since, I can assure you. Memsbury was always a soul that was physically frail, yet was he possessed of a great and noble spirit, for though that vile sickness did turn all of his intentions to dust, and did confine him to the very confines of his manner, still, his spirit did never fall, for as yet he was not chained fast to his bed, but this, I fear, will not long remain.

His very visage had suffered under the torment of that disease, for of his hale complexion, nothing now remained, and upon his brow, as pallid as that of a corpse, there did now course veins of blue, visible to all. I can declare that he did bear the appearance of one already passed from this world, when set against the other gentleman, for his eyes, which did shine with a ghastly grayness, like the very clouds of a storm that does portend some tempest to come, and those dark locks. The color of coal itself, these did combine most dreadfully with the dark hollows that had formed beneath his eyes, and that ghastly cast that did so disfigure him. He did grow so thin, that he had become not but a skeleton, clothed in but flesh and skin.

I ask now, might one so ravaged by that fell consumption, and at such a stage of that vile sickness, possessed the very means to care for himself? I doubt it most gravely, for such a malady will, without fail, chain him to his bed, as if bound by the very hand of death. He lingers, I am told, growing weaker by the hour, perishing at once with both agonizing slowness and dreadful torment. Well, such is his nature, strong, I mused, a slight smile playing upon my lips, though beneath it lay a deep sorrow, and not a true joy in the thought of seeing him again after so long an absence. But will he live to see the coming

of, at last, that universal peace? M.S. I uttered abruptly, after a prolonged silence, which startled my steed, Angus, he shuddered an alarm, and I was a blubbered. obliged to soothe him, assuring him that I was not yet fallen victim to this plague and that all was well, yet I hissed the words, as if I were indeed afflicted. I fell silent then, looking about me, I could behold ladies upon the embankment of the Thames, their faces shrouded in scarves and their long trains, like monstrous tentacles, dragging upon the cobblestones, and they swept the dust, a dust which barely brushed the hooves of Angus, shot with iron. What must it be like to follow behind these creatures?

best they should leap aside. Feeling an emptiness within my soul, and a sadness that seemed to consume my very being, I seized the reins and spurred Angus forward, so that we did thunder past the carriages at a most unholy speed. I would not have my own gown brush that foul dust, and yet its hem did barely clear the side of Angus. And through all of this, I could not shake the thought, that I must reach the manner of the Earl of Memesbury as soon as humanly possible, for I feared that he might utter his last and then die, without ever seeing me, and by God I shall not permit such a thing. I pondered these thoughts, and listened to the voice within me, silently, yet with a disquiet that was fast becoming a terror. For, for a time, I had quite

forgotten the foul stench that did cling to me on every hand, but, as I shook myself from those lugubrious musings, that most terrible odor of rot and burning did assail my senses, and it was, without a doubt, suspicious. It was then that Angus did prance and snort, turning in the direction of a street whence that vile stench did seem to emanate, or was it a combination of foul odors? Angus did shy, refusing to advance, when there did come the sound of laughter and curses,

which, as I soon discovered, was none other than those debased wretches who gathered in a nearby public house, who had, in their drunken folly, decided to play with both fire and spirits. i fear not to play with the flames one shrieked in a voice that was both garbled and hoarse then he grew silent and groaned as the others began to beat him until he was unrecognizable his face a mass of bruises some large and some small and he sought to defend himself against these assailants whilst the mistress of the establishment did try in vain to separate them and the air did resound with noise and shouting dreadful oaths that one might only hear from the lips of those poor souls who have been consumed by bitterness. They were most nauseating to behold. The air was heavy, and stifling, and I longed to cough,

but I did not remove the scarf from my mouth, nor did I seek to incite some ghastly consequence. I nodded, and watched all that did unfold, and at that moment the hostess did turn, and it did seem to me, that she was of a most unkempt manner, for her hair did bristle in every direction, and it was tied in a thin tail, and her face was marked with wrinkles,

so that she did bear the aspect of a woman of threescore years and ten, or perhaps, older. And I pondered on her fate, and that she was, surely, one of those old maids, who could not abide the company of men, and that she was, most likely, unmarried, because she had not found a partner of suitable rank. She did beckon to me, in a manner most crude and abrupt, to dismount and come to her, and with this, I did grow uneasy, and Angus, having recovered his breath, did snort, and eyed the scene in all its dreadfulness. Is it you, Miss, who are rushing to see his grace, she inquired, with a voice that was both shrill and raspy, addressing me, I, saw you gallop across the embankment, towards that

manner. Pardon, madam, I replied, my voice catching in my throat, as I held the rag to my face, indeed, I am travelling to see his grace, but how did you know? Tis so, those vile drunkards did let loose their wretched tales within the third. throes of a stuporous sleep, and thereafter, all grew silent, for the Earl has been gripped by that fell consumption these many years. It is most unnatural that he should summon any to his side, after such a long solitude. He hath become oversaturated with the tedium of his days. Oversaturated with what? Oh, that is it, replied that ancient crone, then did grow silent,

as if some invisible horror had taken hold of her, causing her to shrink within herself. answer me this as it is in truth i exclaimed my very soul aflame with a growing anxiety for i knew all this pertained to the earl and with my words the very wind did howl like a ravening wolf wild with hunger for god's sake then the hostess did separate the drunkards whom the foul liquor had brought to the very brink of unconsciousness and approached me with a gate that was broken and uneven as if she did lean upon her right leg as if it were a staff she did seize me by the ribbon upon the neckline of my neckline of my gown, and pulling at that, she forced my ear close to her lips. They do say that the earl, she whispered, her gaze failing to meet my own, yet her body a picture of fearful agitation, hath turned his mind to the dark arts. He hath called forth some spectral entity, which has shown itself to be a very devilish creature, and it hath begun, quietly, and yet with unwavering purpose, to corrupt his very life force. he was frail, and yet, like some powerful mare, strong and tall, but then he did quickly

become emaciated and fell ill, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. And all transpired with such swiftness and with such a violent abruptness, that his household did believe in the very existence of demons. Oh, well, she did giggle softly here, how is that for you? That single mention of the supernatural did send a chill of dread through me, which was far stronger than any fear which had gone before. And I did wish to cry out in indignation, that this hostess should so freely utter such speculations concerning the earl. Moreover, it seemed to me that I had little faith in such things, and for me, specters, and all that lay beyond

the natural, was but an absurdity, a senseless and baseless lie, and I did believe that the Earl himself would never entertain such notions, and that the people had been too quick to spread such dreadful rumors concerning his good name, and yet, that one dark whisper did set free within my heart of fear of a most terrifying kind, the like of which I had never before known. My very body did become like stone, but the hostess did rouse me from that trance, by patting me upon the shoulder. Fie, miss, she said, as if attempting to offer me some comfort, do not judge the rumors with too great a fervor. Better you did seek to ascertain the truth from his grace, the Earl of Mensbury. I wager, he will protest that such thoughts had never crossed his

mind. You know well, the nature of that most noble soul. A passionate creature, who doth guard his reputation most fiercely, and will not give ear to any tales of ill repute. But as for any trifling matter, he is ever too sensitive, quick to anger and most easily provoked. And yet, though sickness now doth ravage his form, those traits have not vanished, nor will they ever depart from him. She did then make to thrust the drunks upon the bench, though I do not believe that they knew out of what had transpired, when she did pause, and she turned her gaze upon me, and made a parting bow, which was much akin to a curtsy, intimating that I must make my way to the earl, as it had ever been my intention. And yet, that curtsy did set free a terror within my

heart, which did ignite a most terrifying dread, so that my head did spin, but I did grasp the saddle horn, and with one hand upon the rear of the seat, I did set foot into the stirrup, and did then settle back into the saddle, whilst trembling in the face of the tempest that now swirled within my mind, and I did stare at that grey head, but she then turned, and with a hand that did shake with a most violent rage, she did begin to scream at those wretched souls. Ah! You wretched knaves! Her voice did fade and grow faint, as I urged Angus onward, so that he did pace with measured steps, as I sought to escape that place.

When I was, but a moment later, between those buildings, where I had first ventured forth towards that public house, I did once more urge Angus forward, and as that noble beast did leap into a gallop, he did nay with alarm, and that did set a tremor of fear through my very being. My countenance, due to a most unsettling awareness and a morbid fixation, did grow as pallid as that of the departed, and this caused a most unwelcome suspicion to rush upon me, that I myself had become a victim of the cursed consumption, but no. My brows did immediately contract with the most vexed fury, and those who did now gaze upon me did, methinks, take me for one who was already stricken by that ghastly disease, though I was yet in the early stages of its vile embrace. The gaze did betray a measure of pitiful sympathy, and a degree of most disquieting pensiveness, and it did appear to me that I had, for some time, become the object of a most unwelcome surveillance, and a scrutiny of the most thorough kind, as if some hidden

watcher did stand at my back with a small notebook, recording all that I did, and all that I endured, both in body and soul. To hell, to hell with such thoughts. I cried, internally, shaking my head to banish the torturous desire. to utter these words aloud, utter nonsense. They merely feigned not to notice, it is mockery and torment they offer, those imbeciles, a mounting terror, and a most vile rage, did now boil within my mind, and I felt myself on the verge of violence, I was prepared to strike out at all, in a most unholy fury that threatened to bring about some sort of apocalyptic end.

Yet, with the greatest restraint, I did manage to abstain from seizing the knife which did, at all times, lay within a pouch that was secured upon my waist. And then, a man of business, a fellow of the most suspicious aspect, did cross my path, and this did serve to confirm all my darkest suspicions. With this dark thought, I did spur my horse on, riding with a most frantic urgency, whilst my face remained quite pale with a growing unease. And the thoughts of the earl did continue to haunt me, and they did follow each beat of my horse's hooves, as he did gallop with a most fearful rhythm.

All the while it did seem that there were black shadows that paced alongside those who walked about most peacefully, and it did appear that they did seek to draw out some dark secret from these creatures of flesh, and to whisper their horrid knowledge to others of their kind, who walked on silently close behind. This did present a sight most grotesque and terrifying, for those shadows did assume some most unnatural shapes,

that did resemble small clouds, yet they were so like to men, it was as if they had been cast in the same mold, save that they were, all too clearly, translucent, and dark, like wisps of smoke, or a figure that is hewn of glass. And at last, on a most dismal hour, I did reach the manner of the Earl of Memesbury, though, the entire way was an ordeal, wherein I did pass through countless unnatural eyes, and a fog that had seized not just my sight, but my very thoughts. I had, at first, known it as a most beautiful estate, bedecked with the finest statues and adornments, and a great courtyard with the most magnificent fountain, yet in but a single moment it was, as though all of this was now

gone. The manor did yet present a form of beauty, but the paint did peel and crack from every surface, and revealed the naked walls, that I had known to be a most brilliant yellow. The very base of the building was all but devoured by the monstrous tendrils of ivy, of branches and of moss, and these, as I gazed upon them, had already reached the very balcony, and had begun to twist about the rails. The columns and the pilasters, which did stand proudly at the heart of the manor, had lost all of their great majesty, and had taken on forms that were most grotesque and haunting, and did now strike at one's eyes as if with a mighty thunder. And when, with much unease, my gaze did then turn towards the fountain, I was, then, seized with

such a deep shock that A. M. Emory from long ago came surging through my mind, for the manner did take on the appearance of some ramshackle-hovel, crafted of rotten wood and damp, which seemed to breathe out a most wretched odor of decay. I had, alas, grown accustomed to seeing such places, but such an aspect for this manner was indeed a most unwelcome transformation, for the Earl did always abhor the slightest sign of any disarray, and especially any sort of chaos, and yet this now stretched before my eyes, an uncut lawn, which had grown everywhere, an ancient and derelict vista. And, as if that was not enough, the sky itself seemed to mirror his demise, and did now appear as a most ominous, gray expanse which did portend some dreadful

storm. In that sky, no gleam of blue could be found, only the occasional flash of a spectral radiance, which came and went, and did resemble a most ghastly glimpse of lightning. This is most suspicious, I thought. I knew, in my very soul, that he was gravely ill, and had been so for some terrible time, yet, I had not ever imagined that this disease would have the means to do this to him. A most grievous error, a most grave mistake. And yet he was held captive here, whilst, I suspect, all is much more terrible than I could have conceived. Memsbury, I did then mutter, a most disquieting indifference, and yet a sudden tremor of foreboding shot through me, like a whip across my bare flesh, Memesbury, my speech had now become a feverish

and uncontrolled babble. As I spoke the name of the earl for the second time, and when I did approach the great column upon the right of that ill-omen manner, seeking to find a way to the stables, where I mig H.T. safely leave my steed, I did at last, dismount, yet I did cling to the saddle-horn, and the back of the seat, for fear that I might fall. And as I did unfasten the lead from the bridle of that beast, intending to lead him behind me, there came a most terrible noise, and a cry, which did seem to issue from the lips of the earl. Enter, the voice did bellow, a voice that did sound like a man consumed by some terrible ailment, his words were strained and broken with coughing, and, leave your Angus to be bound to yonder column, good lady. Enter, and upon the heels of that ghastly cry,

did come a most infernal roar, which sent a chill through every fibre of my being, and with a heavy sigh, my head did turn with its own volition towards the windows of the manor, but the earl was gone, and there was no sign of him at any of the darken pains. Folly, it is mere folly, Carmen, I spoke to my own soul, to reason itself, no doubt, it was merely an illusion, a spectral echo of some mad dream. A hallucination, a phantom, a cursed and lying vision that did seek to beguile my senses, and as if in answer to those thoughts, silence did take hold of all, a silence so terrible, that it did hang like the corpse of a wretched soul, or as the breath of a broken man, upon the gallows. It hath consumed, I whispered, as if possessed, my eyes cast

down to the grass that lay beneath my feet, and my fingers gripped the reins as if they were the very threads of life. My body felt broken, my very limbs were unwilling to stir, but my strength was yet enough to allow me to circle the entirety of the manor, and having done so, the stables came into view to the left of the fountain, and these were, even at a distance, so ruined and dilapidated, that, as I drew closer, as if I were some thieving wretch. And as I did draw open one of the stalls, I did freeze with horror, for what dark spirit did possess the earl, that the horses had been reduced to naught but a collection of bones, which lay scattered across the floor, and beneath my very feet a skull did grin upwards at me with its ghastly

and empty sockets. Lord have mercy, I whispered, barely gathering my scattered wits, and drawing back my skirts from the awful bones, which seemed to glow with a terrible pallor, as if this fate had long befallen the poor creatures. Angus did again snort with alarm, but when I had, at last, made him to understand the true nature of the place, he did, as if surrendering to fate, step into that ghastly. stall, and I, all trembling as if I was stricken by some dread ague, did fasten the lead to the rack, and I did close the door as quietly as I was able. But the wood did groan as if in agony,

as the wind took hold, and did slam it shut with a force that did chill my blood, and it was then that a most terrible desire came upon me to burst forth into a most unholy laughter, so loud that it might put to flight all of the manor servants, and I had, in that same moment. a most powerful urge to give way to the tears that did threaten to spill from my eyes. Nay, I would not permit such a thing, nor give way to such weaknesses. It is said that a guilty conscience will destroy a soul, as a wolf devours its prey. As I returned to the front of the manor, I could not have foreseen the terror that did await me, for I did grow pale, as I became rooted to the spot, and as I did behold, who now stood before me.

The Earl Eck, he did cry, in a voice that was both shrill and hollow, and as he struggled for breath, with a great fit of coughing, he did finally utter, Carmen. Why then, did I succumb to such a terrible fear, he had so changed, that at first, I did struggle to recognize him, I did note, with a most dreadful certainty, that his hair had turned almost entirely gray, which was most unnatural for one so young, for he was barely beyond the third decade of his life. And as he did draw closer, other changes became apparent, which did fill me with the most dreadful apprehension. He was, it seemed, bent over,

as if he were a wizened old man, and his face was that of some decrepit nonagenarian, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. How could such a transformation have come about in so brief a time, and why did he age with such unnatural swiftness? All that I beheld did seem monstrous, impossible. It could not be but something otherworldly. And the questions came, not as a gentle rain, but as a torrent of hail, or a blow to the very heart, and I knew that ordinary consumption could not inflict such a horrid blight. Merciful God, I whispered, my eyes wide with a horror, that did threaten to displace them from their very sockets, and at that same moment, the wind did howl once more, not as an angry blast, but as a keening of tormented souls,

a mournful dirge that did echo the wretched agony in my own heart, for with that sound the very blood turned to ice within my veins and I grew cold, and without life. For the love of God, the earl did cry, raising his eyes that were stained with the crimson of his blood, and did then seize me within an embrace that was, somehow, suffocating, from which I grew paler than ever before, and as I did struggle to draw breath, I felt that the very air had grown thin and faint. Do not shrink in such terror, and when, at last, he did release me, a wave of relief did wash over me, for I could at last draw breath without such difficulty, but the horror did not, for a single moment, depart from my mind, for as I began to reflect upon the moment, his voice seemed to me quite mad, as if it was that of some lunatic, who had, in the throes of his affliction, disembowled all those within the walls of his own manner. The questions did, again, seek to take hold of me, like a tidal wave, and I did stare with the most terrible fascination at his

gray hair, and at the network of veins that had become his countenance. Mensbury, I did utter, and no sooner were the word spoken, than he did, with a fierce urgency, interrupt me. Why do you stare with such bewilderment? Mensbury, and Mensbury, he cried, casting at me a gaze that did, in truth, chill me to the very marrow. And, I must declare that I had every cause to suspect him. Come, now, let us go, and with those words, he did step back, and did then, with a most unholy haste, seize hold of my wrist, and to my great astonishment, he did then pull me

toward the entrance, walking with such speed that he did not so much as glance at me. Then, with a fury, he did begin to beat upon the door, with his left hand clenched into a fist, and with such force that my ears did resonate with the most terrible pressure. Lord have mercy, did echo within the confines of my own mind, I ask of you, great gods, will this never end? Or has he now lost all that remained of his poor reason? I felt myself, as if I were petrified to the very spot, and a great and terrible horror did set upon my heart, a trepidation that did torment and torture, and did threaten to plunge me

into an unending agony. And it was then that I did cower, not daring to breathe, as he did tighten his grip upon my wrist, until I had barely any feeling left in my hand, and with a dull and wretched fear in my heart and in my mind, I did await the emergence of some vile creature, but instead, the door was opened by a venerable servant. With hair as white as the driven snow, a fellow that was, by a good measure, taller than his master, and whom I had known to be a most faithful companion to the Earl, for a countless number of years. Your grace, oh, did utter the wretched footman, his countenance most contorted by ill-concealed vexation, I had not believed to find a guest upon our lands.

Truly, it is you, Carmen, my dear, it does gladden my heart to see you. All this is in vain, mere nerves, I did murmur, whilst I struggled to conceal the rising tide of my unease, as he did stretch forth his thin and clammy hand, and clasp my with an unpleasant warmth, before drawing back from the door, and bidding me to enter. Enough of such cordialities, Liam, the earl did cry, turning his gaze towards the footman, then, with a sudden return to himself, he did cough and splutter, which did cause me to cover my face with my handkerchief, lest I should inhale some poison through the air, burn that board, as I commanded you.

You know well the location of the fireplace, the footman, trembling and pale, did bow, and then he did retreat as quickly as he was able, fearing, I suspected, a new outburst of his master's most erratic behavior, and the earl, with a gaze that was quite insane, did again lay claim to my wrist, and did then pull me onward, until we did reach the entrance of some chamber. How long had passed I could no longer recall, for time was now a fevered dream, and with a gasp and broken sigh, he did open the door, and did utter with a trembling breath, make yourself at home. This is to be your room.

You are weary, no doubt, and you should, by all means, rest. And as I stepped within, I did notice, with a strange unease, that a window loomed close to the bed, with the curtains drawn wide, and beyond I could see the sky, which was, by now, a dark and abyssal black, for the sun had long since, passed from the horizon. And I could not fathom how time had passed so swiftly, and so I did begin to search about the room, with a growing dread, only to discover that the earl had vanished as if into thin air. And my entire body did tremble with the cold, which did set my skin into a myriad of goose-flesh, and as I sat upon the ottoman close to the window, I did seek, with a desperate effort,

to order my thoughts. It has all, collapsed, a thought did whisper to me once more, such nonsense must not cling so fast. I have truly gone mad, into what terrible delusion have I fallen. What has become of the earl? How did he age so greatly, in so little time? Who, or what, has stolen his youthful beauty? I am convinced that, even that single thought concerning that sudden and unnatural transformation, did torment my very soul, for my reason had grown weak, and I did speak, barely above a murmur, nonsense, and still more nonsense. There is some horror about me, I did mutter to my own self, as if I had become a lost creature.

and I did, without meaning, begin to circle the room, and, as I did so, I did cry, nay, it were surely better that I did believe this to be the work of some unholy power, rather than that fell consumption. A specter, surely, one that has come to steal the earl's very soul, it was then that Liam did rush into the room, and did fix a most unwholesome stare upon me. He then did look upon the room, with a most fevered gaze, and did grow quite pallid, as if stricken by a deadly malady, and he did stammer, in a voice barely above a whisper, Carmen, his grace, B.A., what has befallen him. I did creep towards that footman,

and my eyes were wide with the most ungodly fear, as I did bid him tell me what had transpired, and with a shuddering breath, he replied that death was drawing close to the earl, which did cause a great tumult in my heart, and my very hands did become as ice. And I did ask again, and as he gave the same reply, I did ask, it once become quite firm, and I did command him to bring me to his master. And the footman did obey, as best he could, and did make gestures for me to follow, which I, as if I were one who was lost within a dream, did do, and as we did approach the chambers of the earl, there came that most unholy cry once more, a cry that was strained and broken, and as always it was as if he

were struggling for breath. And there were sounds of something being choked and strangled, which were most sickening to my ears. The footman, with a hand that did tremble, threw open the doors, and as I looked within, a great terror did seize my very soul, for it seemed that but in that brief span, nothing had remained of the earl, but a body which was tinged with a ghastly hue, and appeared to be quite devoid of consciousness. And with slow and uncertain steps, I began to make my way to the side of Memesbury, who did lie quite still upon the floor, close to his bed, I could know,

longer think, for my very mind had become overwhelmed by terror, and as my gaze did settle upon the face of the earl, I recoiled, with such force that I did stumble backward, and with such a dreadful shock. The features of the earl were set in a mask of the most hideous agony, his eyes were wide, as if in some terrible torment, and a great stream of blood did pour from his mouth, so that he lay in a pool that did stain both the floor, and a few strands of hair which had not yet turned to gray. The footman did now appear as if he were himself about to expire from shock, for he was unable to speak, and I did push him aside, lest he should be forced to witness more of this dreadful sight. And as he did depart, I felt as if some monstrous entity

did greedily devour my very mind, for my vision was clouded and distorted, and at that moment, a most terrible vision did reveal itself to me, for, beside the body of the earl, now lifeless and cold, I did behold some foul and unclean abomination, a phantom, that did bear the same expression upon its brow as that which remained frozen upon the face of the departed Earl. All of its being did speak of some most unholy and terrifying evil, which did send a shiver through every fiber of my soul, and through all of this, the very elements had descended into chaos, and a raging storm did lash against the windows of that cursed place. The phantom, with a dreadful suddenness, did lunge at me, and my

my very balance did leave me, so that I did grow pale, as pale as a corpse, and I could not remove my gaze from his terrible countenance. He could not stand still, not even after his foul and tormented killing of a man. And then, as he did gaze upon me, that I might be consumed by a terror most great, he did open his vile mouth, and that black abyss did stretch downwards to his very neck, and at that moment I felt my own soul escaping from my body, pulled by the terrible and insatiable hunger of that devilish being. And as my ears did fail me, I did, at last, hear his words, spoken with the voice of a man afflicted by some dreadful ailment, I warned him, I, I did warn him, I why a-arned. Once more, the heavens rent asunder,

unleashing a torrent of celestial fire and an unholy peal of thunder, the likes of which did shatter the very foundations of my soul. Again, a tempest of monstrous proportions descended upon the accursed edifice, and a pestilential stench, redolent of the charnel house and the tomb, did permeate the air, poisoning the very breath of life. A hurricane, possessed of a demonic fury, did seize hold of the world, and with its return came the cacophony, the spectral whales, and the violent tremors, which seemed to mock all that is sacred, and did threaten to consume my very being. And in this dance macabre of madness and despair, it was as if there was no power, either celestial, or terrestrial, that might quell the unholy symphony, for all had descended

into a chaos, the likes of which no mortal man had ever witnessed, a realm of abyssal terror, and cosmic dread. We begin. Many theories and superstitions surround the famous Madame Delphine Lalori, a wealthy matron and society lady who sowed terror in the city of New Orleans when something sinister occurred at her residence in 1834. The population was shocked to discover that the corpses of multiple slaves who had been tortured by Madame Lalori were found there. Forced to flee the city, there was no doubt about her guilt, and those incidents that people claimed were committed by Madame Lalori quickly turned into increasingly grotesque and surreal legends, bloodier and bloodier. Even to this day, the legend has survived that the

Lalori mansion is one of the most haunted places in the world. In 1832, Dr. Louis Laulori and his wife Delphine moved to 1140, Royal Street in New Orleans. The couple quickly became respected and well known in the area for the grand and magnificent parties held in their mansion, for their generosity, the great treatment they gave to their guests, how helpful they were, how attentive, how charismatic and intelligent they were. They were truly brilliant people. Everyone admired the beauty and intelligence of Madame Lalori, but they were unaware of her dark side. Delphine McCarty was born in the year 1775, the daughter of a distinguished marriage from the high-southouse. Society of European Immigrants. In the 1800s, Delphine married Don Ramon López W. Angulo, a high-ranking officer of the Royal Spanish Order of Carlos of Spain. The ceremony took place

at the St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans in 1804. Don Ramon was promoted that same year to a prominent position, becoming the Spanish consul in Louisiana. During that year, Delphine and Don Ramon traveled to Spain. In some versions, it is said the trip was a form of punishment for Don Ramon for mishandling duties, and in others, it said it was to pay respects to the Spanish royalty. Whatever the case, Delphine made a great impression on the queen due to her beauty and intelligence. Soon after arriving, the royal family allowed them to return to the United States. During the journey, Don Ramon contracted a terrible illness and died of it in Havana. Delphine, who had also caught the illness, decided to stay

in Cuba to recover, and there she gave birth to her first daughter, whose name I will not pronounce because it is very long. We will simply say her nickname was Borkita. Later, Delphine returned to New Orleans and accepted the inheritance her husband had left her, becoming the administrator of the household economy and the mistress of a property that produced sugar cane. It was a vast estate with hundreds of slaves working on it. Delphine became a master of finance and quickly prospered in the sugarcane trade. Three years after the death of her first husband, Delphine married Jean Blank, a prominent French businessman. With him, she had four more daughters, and to the public eye, it was a happy marriage, until 1816, when Jean died under mysterious circumstances.

According to some, he was poisoned, although this was never proven. In 1825, Delphine married for the third and last time, to Leonard Lewis Nicholas Lawlory. In 1831, the Happy Family acquired 1140, Royal Street in New Orleans. Some sources say that the mansion was obtained through coercion by Madame Lawlory. It said that she fell in love with the mansion to the point that she manipulated Nicholas Gerard, the original owner, who was nearly bankrupt. Being an expert in finance, Madame LaLoree arranged what seemed like a fair deal, she got the house of her dreams, and he could cover his debts. But apparently, the deal was not as fair as it

seemed, because Nicholas Girard ended up committing suicide after selling the mansion, perhaps because of his overwhelming debts, or maybe he regretted selling it. There's no solid explanation. What is known is that in the following years, the mansion was remodeled lavishly. Precious woods and wrought iron gates were brought directly from France. Curtains of English fabric, the purest silks, Italian furniture, Persian rugs, and many other antiques decorated the house. In 1832, a third floor was added to the mansion, dedicated exclusively to the slaves. It was their living quarters, those who filled the mansion with joy and luxury. The parties thrown by Madame Lalori were social events for New Orleans Society.

They were the best parties of the time. Endless dinners and banquets were held in the halls, rooms, and gardens, meals with the most exquisite dishes from India, Spain, France, and every corner of the world. The engagement party of one of her daughters in 1832 was said to be the most magnificent of the entire century. That party was attended by politicians, artists, and many influential people of the time. But let's return to the matter of the slaves. As you know, during those times it was very common to own black slaves in full service to families. At that time, they owned several black slaves.

Reports on how Madame Lalori treated her slaves between 1831 and 1832 very greatly. Historian Harriet Martinell collected several contemporary testimonies about how Madam LaLory referred to them and treated them. Publicly, many people said the slaves were unusually thin and tired. However, in her public appearances, Delphine acted very attentive to them, very kind, very concerned about their health, very, very generous, pleasant, and affectionate. She seemed genuinely empathetic and humble. Judicial records even show that the Lawlorys had emancipated two of their slaves,

one named Jean Lewis in 1819, and another named DeVince in 1832. But rumors spread that Delphine treated her slaves very differently when no one was watching. Authorities frequently visited the Lawlory Mansion to return slaves who had fainted while running errands or visiting neighbors, or, more often, slaves who had tried to escape. Once returned to the mansion, they were never seen again. People at the time were not necessarily alarmed by the punishment of escaped or disobedient slaves. But the Lalori slaves often did or said deeply disturbing things. One close friend of Delphines claimed that a slave girl once cried and begged her to save her because she was afraid Madame Lawlory would kill her in

her sleep. A lawyer friend of the family said he once saw a 12-year-old slave girl named Liyah running across the mansion's roof, crying out to the townspeople to help her because her mistress was going to flay her alive. While the girls screamed in terror, Delphine waited below with a whip, warning that if she didn't shut her mouth, her punishment would be even worse. When the girl refused, Delphine threw stones at her until she lost her balance and fell from the roof, breaking her neck and dying instantly. furious, Delphine ordered the child's corpse tied to a tree and whipped it over and over until she calmed down and returned inside as if nothing had happened. The child's crime had been

pulling her mistress's hair too hard while brushing it. In another incident, Delphine was angry with her slaves because she was displeased with the food they had prepared for a major dinner with important guests, politicians and artists. So, as punishment, she denied them food for three days. But she made them stand and watch while others ate from morning to night. Some fainted, others, somehow, remained standing. This led Delphine to become paranoid. She began to suspect her slaves were stealing food behind her back. So, she enforced a strict control, no one could eat or drink without her explicit permission. As a result, many died of starvation. Delphine was accused of mistreating the slaves who worked for her on sugar plantations. In response, she

tried to sell them to neighbors. But these transactions were never completed. On their way to new homes, the slaves died or disappeared without a trace. Some Lalori Mansion slaves were missing fingers or limbs, or bore burned scars on their faces, arms, or hidden parts of their bodies. But suspicions turned into horrifying reality on April 10, 1835. when a fire broke out in the kitchen of 1140, Royal Street. The owners were away, and authorities were called to extinguish the blaze. There, they found a 70-year-old black woman tied hand and foot. The elderly woman later said she had set the fire to commit suicide

because she feared being sent to the third floor, where no slave ever returned. The townspeople tried to enter the mansion to rescue any living slaves. But they couldn't find keys or break down the door. until someone finally smashed the locks open. Once inside the third floor, they discovered seven mutilated slaves in deplorable conditions, bodies hanging by their necks, limbs suspended by chains, torture instruments scattered everywhere.

One of the discoverers, Jean-François Canangay, said he saw a woman chained to the wall with an iron collar lined with spikes. Her back was covered in cuts. She said Madame Lalori was the one who made them, every day, she came upstairs, cut her, and drank her blood, believing it made her younger. Kananjay also described a castrated man and a woman with such a deep head wound that she could barely speak or move, likely unaware of what was happening. One of Madame Lalori's trusted men admitted that the torture room was what made her happiest

in the world, that nothing pleased her more than spending an hour or two a day torturing her servants. The horrifying and chilling testimonies enraged the public. The mansion was stoned multiple times. The family's clothes and jewelry were looted, their luxury furniture destroyed, and the house was burned down by the angry mob. One of Delphine's daughters was inside the mansion during the chaos and was nearly lynched. She would have been killed if not for the intervention of authorities. The surviving slaves were taken to the New Orleans prison, where they testified and guided

the authorities to begin exhuming bodies from the mansion's gardens. Over 30 corpses were found buried beneath the rose bushes. But what happened to Madame Delphine Lawlory when all this came to light? Was she truly punished? The family's life after 1834 is poorly documented. Most likely, after the incident, they fled to Mobile, Alabama, where relatives protected them. There, her husband abandoned her out of fear of retaliation. By mid-June of that same year, Delphine sent her daughter.

to live with distant relatives, and she fled to Paris. Her properties in Louisiana were nearly worthless, so she gathered all her capital and fled to France to start a new empire. Her daughters refused to follow her to France, swearing they had nothing to do with the Witch of Royal Street. Her daughters repudiated her, her husband had abandoned her, so Madame Delphine Lalori was completely alone in this new venture. From this point, the story becomes blurry. Some say she died soon after. Historian George C. claimed she died in a hunting accident, falling from a horse and being gored by a wild boar. Others believe she returned to the U.S. and died in San Francisco in obscurity. Whatever the truth, in 1930, Undertaker Eugene Bakes discovered a copper

plaque at the St. Louis Cemetery that read that the remains of Madame Lalori rested there. Some say her ghost still wanders the streets of New Orleans, that her cries can still be heard, and that her spirit may even attack people and lure them toward the mansion. End