Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - 9 Hours of Stories That Will Freeze You

Episode Date: November 22, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #haunted #ghoststories #chillingtales #supernatural “9 Hours of Stories That Will Freeze You” is a non-stop marathon of chilling tales guaranteed to make your skin crawl. From haunted places to restless spirits and terrifying encounters, each story escalates the fear, keeping you on edge for nine straight hours. Perfect for fans of supernatural horror, ghost stories, and sleepless nights filled with suspense. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, haunted, ghoststories, nightmares, paranormal, supernatural, creepystory, spookystories, thriller, darkfiction, chillingtales, suspense, horrorcommunity, scaryreads, midnightreads

Waiting in line at the methadone clinic, I'm standing here with a bunch of 20-something-year-old women, all of us looking like we've been chewed up and spat out by life. We're in Comoka, this nothing little town just outside London, Ontario. The air's crisp, autumn creeping in, and here I am wondering how the hell I ended up like this. How did I get to the point where standing outside a clinic with other addicts is just, my Tuesday? It wasn't supposed to be like this. I had a future, man. Junior year of high school, I hurt my back playing field hockey.

I didn't want to sit out, didn't want to lose my shot at a scholarship. I mean, I was good. Real good. So when my doctor handed me a prescription for Percocet, I thought, yeah, this'll help me keep going. And it did. For a while. Until it didn't. Then came the fentanyl.

Fentanyl. That word still makes me sick. I got hooked before I even realized what was happening. I kept playing through the pain, pushing my body harder than I should have, lying to everyone and myself that it was just temporary. By the time I made it to university, I was so thin that my own parents barely recognized me. I'd withered into this ghost of myself. No more trophies, no more glory. Just pill bottles and lies. I flunked out. Straight F's. My scholarship went up in flames, just like the rest of my life.

Moving back in with my parents was like stepping into a pressure cooker. They tried to help, at first. But then the stealing started. I took jewelry, cash, even stuff like DVDs or old electronics, anything I could pawn off for my next fix. One day, I came home and my bags were on the porch. that was it. They'd had enough. And the doctor? The one who got me started on all this. He dropped me too. Just stopped seeing me. No more scripts, no more legal access to the pills that had become my oxygen. So I did what a dix do. I turned to the streets. Now here I am, on this dreary day, surrounded by other girls who probably have stories just like mine. look like cracked-out paper dolls, pale, frail, broken in different ways but standing in the same

damn line. The girl in front of me glances over her shoulder. She's got that same hollow look in her eyes. I ask, how long have you been on methadone? Three months, she says. Her voice is flat. She looks like me, run down, worn out, clinging to whatever hope this treatment might bring. Bet you never thought you'd be here, huh? She snorts a half-lath. Nope. I got hooked after a sports injury. Rugby.

No way, I say. Same thing happened to me, but it was field hockey. Then another girl behind me pipes up, tennis, for me. My wrist wouldn't heal. Got prescribed perks. I turn and get a good look at her. Something about her face, it's familiar. I squint a little. Can't place it, but I've definitely seen her before.

We all keep talking, trying to make sense of the wreckage. I start noticing patterns. We're not the grungy, down and out kind you'd expect. We're not covered in tattoos or dressed like biker chicks. We're suburban. Normal. Or at least, we used to be. Our clothes are worn but were clearly once expensive. We're the girls who used to be the nice ones. Then it hits me, I recognize more than just the girl behind me. All of these girls look kind of familiar. Where'd you guys go to school? I ask. Saunders, the girl behind me mumbles. Same, says the one in front. Saunders. That's where I went too. That's three of us already. Weird, right?

Not impossible, since it's a big school, but still, weird. Who were your doctors back then? I ask. Dr. Chong, says the girl in front. Same, both me and the girl behind me say, our voice is overlapping. That name lands in my stomach like a stone. Dr. Chong. He was nice, yeah, but now that I think about it, maybe a little too nice.

Always quick to hand out pills. Never questioned anything. I graduated with his son, I say, fishing for more info. Oh yeah. Me too. Class of 2016, the girl behind me says. I was 2018, with Peter, his younger son, I reply. Jeffrey Chong was class of 2016, she adds.

I almost went to prom with him, actually. turned him down because my crush finally asked me. Broke Jeffrey's heart, poor guy. I nod slowly. Peter asked me out in junior year. Things got super awkward after that, and I kind of just ghosted him. The girl in front of me chimes in. I graduated in 2017.

Jeffrey asked me out too. Said no. Then a girl two spots ahead spins around and goes, I was 2013. Had to nearly get a restraining order on Yong Chong, that's the dad, he wouldn't stop creeping on me. Okay. Now the hair on my arm stands up.

It's not just a coincidence. My whole life flipped upside down the same week I turned down Peter Chong. Before that, I'd gone to his dad a few times for minor stuff, sore neck, sprained ankle. He always brushed it off, told me. me it'd pass. Then suddenly, after I rejected his son, I hurt my back and boom, percassette prescription. No second opinion. No questions. Just pills. One of my therapists in rehab once asked, what kind of doctor gives a teenager opioids? At the time, I shrugged it off. Figured I was just

one of the unlucky ones. But now I'm starting to think it wasn't just bad luck. I remember. I I remember standing on York Street one night, trying to turn a trick just to get by. A car pulls up to the light, and it's Dr. Chong. He rolls down the window, gives me this smug little wave and a smile, like he's proud of what he's done. Like he won. I can't stop thinking about it now. All these girls from the same school.

All of us with the same doctor. All of us having rejected one of his sons. And all of us got hooked on opioids before we even knew what was happening. I'm not saying I was perfect. Far from it. I flirted with half the school. I was hungry for attention, especially from guys. But I wasn't mean.

I didn't think turning down a date could ruin someone's life, let alone mine. But looking around this line, I realize something chilling. I'm the only one who's put it all together. The same school, the same doctor, the same heartbreak, and the same prescription pad, leading all of us to this line, this clinic, this half-life. And as crazy as it sounds, I think Dr. Chong did it on purpose. I think he got off on watching us fall. One rejection for his son.

Boom, a bottle of percassettes. Another one. Fentanyl. It's like some twisted revenge plan. lot, hidden behind a lab coat and a smile. The scariest part. No one else seems to see it. They're just here for the pills, for the hope of getting clean. And maybe they will. Maybe I will too. But I'll never forget the way he smiled at me that night. Like I was a trophy on a shelf. Like all of this, the pain, the ruin, the broken lives, was exactly what he wanted. And now I know

I know what he did. I know how it all started. Maybe one day I'll tell someone. Maybe one day I'll do something about it. But today, I'm just standing in line, waiting for my dose, surrounded by ghosts of the past I didn't even know were haunting me. And Dr. Chang. He's probably still out there, prescribing poison with a pen,

ruining lives with a smile. The end. Or maybe, just the beginning of something darker finally coming to light. The end. In late 2019, a story began to unfold in a Valencian community of Spain that would captivate the nation, sparking discussions about justice, trust, and the dark secret some people managed to hide behind a polished facade. This is the story of Marta Calvo, a vibrant young woman with dreams, aspirations, and a loving family who would do anything to find her when she disappeared. It's also the story of Jorge Ignacio Palma, a man with a

chilling past and a twisted present, whose actions would lead to heartbreak and outrage. Marta's world, bright and full of dreams, born on March 5, 1991, in Estevella, Valencia, Marta Calvo-Baron was the eldest of two children. Her father, Sergio Calvo, worked in construction, and her mother, Marisol Beron Flores, was a cashier. Marta's family and friends described her as cheerful, affectionate, and full of life. She loved fashion, tattoos, animals, and the sea. But more than anything, she dreamed of becoming a mother to twins.

Her mother, Marisol, often reminded her to take things slow, to find a stable partner and build a family gradually. But Marta was headstrong and passionate. Children were her dream, and nothing could sway her. Wherever she went, she radiated warmth and optimism, always seeing the best in people, sometimes to her detriment. Growing up wasn't without its challenges. Marta's parents divorced when she was younger, and it deeply affected her.

Some accounts suggest the separation was far from amicable, and Marta ended up living with her father. During this period, she struggled with anorexia but managed to overcome it with time and support. Marta pursued her studies at a local school, the Baronia de San Antonio Abad in Jolet. After earning her secondary education certificate, she trained in hairdressing. She also dreamed of becoming a model and worked various jobs to support herself, whiteressing, cashiering, and even working as a receptionist at a municipal swimming pool. By 2019, Marta had moved into her own apartment in Albalat del Sorrels, a town not far from Valencia. She was independent, lively, and active on social media, sharing photos of her adventures,

family, and ever-changing looks. A mysterious meeting, somewhere along the way, Marta decided to explore online dating. While some sources claimed she used a regular dating app, others suggest she might have joined a platform associated with sex work, where she allegedly went by the name, Nikki. This detail remains unverified, but what's certain is that she met Jorge Ignacio Palma through the internet. He seemed normal enough, charming, even. They agreed to meet on the night of November 7, 2019. Marta had a close relationship with her mother, Marisol, and they shared everything. Whenever Marta planned to meet someone new, she'd always let her mom know where she'd be,

sending her the location in details. That night was no different. Marta shared her location with her mother via WhatsApp, pinpointing a house at 9, Kaya San Juan Bautista in Manuel, a small town about an hour from her home. At 5.55 a.m. on November 7, Marda sent her location. Then, she went silent.

A mother's instinct, Marisol woke up later that morning and saw Marta's message. The location struck her as odd. Why would Marta be in Manuel? Well. Concerned, she called her daughter. No answer. Before heading to work, Marisol stopped by Marta's apartment. No one was home, but everything inside was neat and untouched.

Three things were missing, Marta's coat, her makeup bag, and her favorite purse. Marisal tried calling Marta again throughout the day, but by midday, her daughter's phone was no longer reachable. Anxiety turned into dread. Unable to focus, Marisol left work early, got into her car, and she said. and drove straight to the address Marta had shared. By the time she arrived, it was dark, and the lights inside the house were on. She rang the doorbell.

No answer. Desperate, Marisol stopped a passerby and asked if they knew who lived there. The man explained that the house belonged to a married couple who were away on vacation. Their son, however, was home. The man accompanied Marisol back to the house, and together, they knocked again. This time, a man in his thirties opened the door. It was Jorge Ignacio Palma. When asked about Marta, Jorge claimed he didn't know her.

He spoke briefly, said he couldn't help, and shut the door. Marisol felt uneasy. This was the last place Marta had been. Something wasn't right. She began searching tirelessly for her daughter, reaching out to friends, family, and anyone who might know something. When days passed with no sign of Marta, Marisol reported her disappearance to the police on November 9th. The man behind the door, when the door, when the day's not.

When the police looked into Jorge Ignacio Palma, they realized he wasn't just any man. His name was already tied to multiple complaints from women, many of whom accused him of drugging them without consent. But who exactly was Jorge? Born on November 8, 1981, in Abague, Colombia, Jorge's early life is shrouded in mystery. What's known is that he moved to Spain and began building a dangerous reputation. In 2004, he was arrested for drug-related offenses. By 2008, he was caught in Italy transporting 9 kilograms of cocaine in a scheme involving

his grandfather. After serving time in Italy, he returned to Spain, but his criminal activities didn't stop. In 2017, Jorge was arrested in Navarra, accused of being part of a network distributing high purity cocaine. Despite being sentenced to over three years in prison and a hefty fine, Jorge managed to avoid incarceration by appealing his case to the Supreme Court. While his sentence was on hold, he moved to the Valencian community in 2018, renting two houses under his mother's name, one in Manuel and another in Lillaria.

Jorge presented himself as an upstanding citizen. He dressed well, appeared polite, and even ran marathons. But behind this polished exterior, he led a double life. His two homes served different purposes, one for living and the other, it's believed, for storing drugs and hosting illicit activities. A chilling pattern. Between 2018 and 2019, several women working in the sex industry reported being drugged by a client. Despite these reports, no action was taken, as the accusations were hard to prove. The women shared similar stories. They'd meet a client who seemed charming at

first, but then things would take a sinister turn. This man would allegedly spike their drinks, leaving them disoriented and vulnerable. When Marta disappeared, the police began to connect the dots. Jorge Ignacio Palma wasn't just a name. in their files, he was a suspect in multiple disturbing cases. As investigators dug deeper, they uncovered a horrifying pattern, and Marta's case would become the one that finally brought everything to light. The search for Marta, with Marta still missing, Marisol refused to give up. She worked tirelessly, pushing the authorities to investigate and raising public awareness about her daughter's disappearance. The police began focusing

on Jorge's activities, suspecting him a foul play. When they searched his home in Manuel, well, they discovered evidence suggesting Marta had been there. But Jorge was nowhere to be found. Days turned into weeks as investigators pieced together Jorge's movements. It became clear that he had gone on the run, leaving a trail of questions and suspicions. Meanwhile, Marisol's determination never wavered. She was Marta's voice, demanding answers and justice for her daughter. A nation's reckoning, Marta's case became a national story, shining a spotlight on the darker

corners of society and the failures of the justice system. As details about Jorge's past and the allegations against him emerged, people began to question how someone with such a criminal history could evade accountability for so long. Marta's disappearance was not just a tragedy for her family, it was a wake-up call for an entire country. This is where the story, at least for now, stands. Marta's light, so vibrant and full of life, was extinguished too soon. But her legacy lives on in the fight for justice, the love of her family, and the determination of a mother who refused to let her daughter's story go unheard. Jorge Ignacio Palma's actions have left a permanent scar on countless lives, and while his ultimate fate lies in the hands of the justice

system, Marta's memory serves as a reminder of the importance of vigilance, love, and the pursuit of truth, no matter how dark the path may seem. All right, buckle up, because we're diving deep into a story that's both horrifying and infuriating. It's about Jorge Ignacio Palma, a man who became infamous for his horrifying actions, particularly around the disappearance and presumed murder of Marta Calvo. But Marta's case isn't the only one tied to this man. Over the years, a disturbing pattern has emerged. Let's unpack everything, piece by piece, starting from the beginning.

He'd meet up with these women, agree on the price for their time, and get down to business. But here's where things get dark. Several women reported that once things started, Jorge would cross boundaries. He'd do things they hadn't agreed upon, and if the women refused drugs, he tried to force them to take some anyway. One of the most chilling aspects of these encounters was his alleged method. Some women claimed that he tried to insert cocaine-filled objects into their bodies without their consent.

Yes, you read that right. Imagine the sheer audacity and depravity. Let's dive into some of these cases because, honestly, they're a nightmare. The first reported assault dates back to June 29, 2018. A woman agreed to meet Jorge, and he, predictably, offered her drugs before they got started. She refused. They had their encounter, and afterward, the woman felt unwell. She noticed something wasn't right.

When she went to the bathroom to clean herself, she discovered small, rock-like pieces of cocaine coming out of her body. Furious and scared, she confronted Jorge, demanding answers. But, of course, he denied everything, acting like he had no idea what she was talking about. A heated argument ensued, and Jorge left without paying her. Fast forward to December 20, 2018. Another woman reported a strikingly similar experience. Jorge allegedly tried to insert cocaine into her body during their encounter.

She caught on and refused, and once again, he pressured her to consume drugs. She firmly declined. Afterward, she felt extremely unwell and suspected he might have spiked her drink. When she eventually recovered, she realized Jorge had. hadn't paid her either. The pattern was becoming clearer, but at this point, the full extent of his depravity hadn't yet come to light. Now let's talk about the truly devastating cases. On March 25, 2019 Arlen Ramos dos Santos, a 32-year-old woman, arranged to meet Jorge. The plan? Another white party. The encounter took place in an apartment in Valencia, where

other women working in the same profession were present. While Jorge and Arlen were in a private room, there were people outside who could have intervened if they'd known what was happening. What exactly occurred behind that closed door remains unclear? But after Jorge left, Arlen was found convulsing on the floor. Her co-workers immediately called an ambulance, but tragically, Arlen died days later in the hospital. The autopsy revealed something shocking, cocaine and benzodiazepines in her system, much of it absorbed through her intimate areas. The implication.

Jorge had inserted drug-filled objects into her body. Despite being the last person to see her alive, Jorge wasn't held accountable because others in the apartment could have potentially helped her, and thus, authorities argued he wasn't solely responsible for failing to provide aid. But it doesn't end there. On June 15, 2019, Jorge contacted another woman, Lady Marcella Vargas, a 26-year-old. Once again, the White Party scenario played out. Jorge met Lady in her apartment, and after he left, ladies' co-workers realized something was

wrong. When they checked on her, it was too late. She was dead. The autopsy results were harrowing. Not only did Lady have strangulation marks, suggesting deliberate violence, but her body also contained an alarming amount of high purity drugs, 20 times the lethal dose. Just like in Arlen's case, the drugs have been introduced into her body through her intimate areas. Additionally, a used condom containing Jorge's DNA was found in the room. But once again, Lady had no family in Spain to fight for her justice, and the case didn't receive the attention it deserved. By now, the allegations were piling up. More women came forward with stories eerily similar to the others. They described encounters where Jorge

attempted to force drugs on them or inserted cocaine into their bodies without their consent. Some managed to stop him, others only realized what had happened after the fact. Things escalated further in November 2019. On November 6, a woman reported an encounter with Jorge. She said he acted aggressively, stripped naked, and demanded sex without pain. When she refused, he left, but not without giving her a threatening look on his way out. The very next day, November 7, Jorge contacted several women he'd met before. Understandably, many of them ignored him or outright refused to see him again.

But one woman didn't escape his grasp that day, Marta Calvo. Marta's story is the one that brought Jorge's crimes into the national spotlight. On November 7th, Marta arranged to meet Jorge. Before heading out, she did something smart, she shared her location with her mother. When Marta didn't return home or answer her phone, her mother immediately raised the alarm. Unlike some of Jorge's previous victims, Marta had a family in Spain who fought tirelessly to find her. Her disappearance made headlines, and her photo flooded social media. The police couldn't brush this case under the rub.

The investigation moved quickly. On November 9th, police identified Jorge as the last person to see Marta alive. When they went to his house in Manuel, he was gone. But the house itself raised suspicions. It had been meticulously cleaned. Whatever had happened there, Jorge had tried to erase all evidence. The hunt for him intensified, with his name and face plastered across the media. Friends and acquaintances began coming forward with tips.

One friend revealed that Jorge had given him his car, a black Volkswagen Passat, and asked him to get rid of it. The friend, sensing something was wrong, called the police instead. The car was found in a warehouse 90 kilometers from Manuel. Inside, investigators searched for any clues linking Jorge to Marta's disappearance. They also expanded their search to include another property Jorge owned in Illyria, as well as nearby forests, wells, and open fields. But Marta was nowhere to be found. The pressure was mounting, and finally, on December 4, Jorge turned himself into the police. But instead of providing clarity, his confession only deepened the mystery.

Jorge claimed that Marta had died accidentally. According to him, they had taken drugs and had consensual sex. When he woke up, he said, Marta was already dead. Panicking, he said he decided to dismember her body, placed the parts in different bags, and dispose of them in various locations. His story raised more questions than it answered. Why didn't he call for help when he realized she wasn't breathing? Why go to such extreme lengths to hide her body if her death was truly accidental?

The police didn't buy his story. They suspected Marta had died the same way as Arlen and Lady, from a lethal dose of drugs introduced into her body without her consent. But proving this was challenging without Marta's body. Jorge had had a full month to plan his story and cover his tracks. He directed investigators to several locations where he claimed to have disposed of Marta's remains, but extensive searches turned up nothing. The recycling plant where he said he'd dumped some of the bags was combed through thoroughly. Police also searched nearby wells, abandoned areas, and even sewage systems.

Despite their efforts, Marta's body was never found. However, investigators did find traces of Marta's DNA in Jorge's home in Manuel. Hair and skin fragments were recovered from the bathroom's plumbing. This evidence placed Marta in Jorge's house, corroborating part of his story but also strengthening the case against him. If his version of events was true, why was there no blood found in the house? Why would someone go to such lengths to clean up if they weren't guilty of something far worse? Marta's mother, Maris Al-Baron, has been relentless in her fight for justice. In 2021, she spearheaded a legislative initiative to make the concealment of a victim's body

a standalone crime. Her argument is simple yet powerful, families deserve closure, and perpetrators shouldn't be able to use the absence of a body to escape harsher punishment. Marisol's efforts have brought attention to a loophole in the legal system that allows criminals like Jorge to withhold critical information without facing additional consequences. As for Jorge Ignacio Palma, he's facing a laundry list of charges. The prosecution has accused him of more than 30 serious crimes, including multiple murders, sexual assaults, and drug-related offenses. Experts who have studied his behavior describe him as a lethal sexual predator, with a compulsion to kill. They believe he takes pleasure in inflicting suffering and watching life

slip away. We begin with the first English attempt to create a colony on American territory, which ended in the most scandalous of failures, giving rise to a historical mystery that still endures. The 115 colonists, men, women, and children, abandoned the village, the safe settlement, to venture into the forest, and no one knows exactly why they did it. No one knows why they left a supposedly safe place to enter another that they couldn't be certain would protect them in the same way. To this day, there are several theories about what could have happened to these 115 colonists. However, it is time to show the facts, the historical events, to then bring conclusions based on legends and the perspectives of archaeologists and scientists

who studied the subject during the last decades of the 16th century. The first attempt to expand colonially in North America began in order to compete somehow with the great empire that was in the hands of the Spanish King Philip I. For this reason, when the petition of Sir Walter Raleigh to create a stable colonial settlement on the coasts of North America reached his hands, he could not refuse. He burned with desire, for his name to be remembered through time for his great conquest. So, on March 25, 1584, he granted this nobleman a royal charter authorizing him to form the said expedition and to begin the expeditions as soon as possible.

He gave him a deadline of ten years to create a stable and strong colony in the new world. On April 27th of that same year, the first contacts began. Sir Walter Raleigh sent Philip Amadis and Arthur Barlow on an expedition along the east. east coast of North America. On July 4th, the explorers arrived at an island called Roanoke and there began the first contacts with the natives, specifically with two tribes, the secadins and the crotones. While Philip Amata stayed in the settlement, Barlow returned to England with the company of two crotones, Mantio and Wanchis, to be able to inform Walter Raleigh more specifically and in detail about the progress of the expedition. The explorer spoke of the wonders

of those lands and supported his arguments with the testimony of the two crotones, who described the divisions and geographies of the area. Based on this valuable information, Raleigh organized a second expedition, this time led by Richard Grenville, a corsair, vice-admiral, an English explorer who participated in the fight against the Invincible Armada. Grenville's fleet departed on April 9, 1585, from Plymouth with a total of five important ships, the tiger, where he himself traveled, the Roebuck, the Red Lion, the Elizabeth, and the Dorothy. Unfortunately, a strong storm off the coast of Portugal separated the tiger from the rest of the ships, but luckily the expedition had a plan, if any ship got separated from the rest, they were to regroup later in Puerto Rico.

And so it was, the tiger reached what is now Guyanilla Bay on May 15, 1585. While Grenville and his men waited for the rest of the ships, they initiated contact with the Spanish. However, it seems they were not able to establish positive ties, and while building a stable fort near the bay, they began acts of piracy against the Spanish. Shortly after finishing that fortification, the Elizabeth arrived at the port, but there was no sign of the other ships. So Grenville decided to stop waiting and set sail again, specifically on June 7th. While the tiger was sailing through Ocracoke Inlet on June 26, it struck a sandbar, which ruined most of the provisions. Even so, the expedition was successful in repairing the ship, and the following month they reunited with two more ships, the Roebuck and the Dorothy, which had reached the outer banks two weeks earlier.

The crews quickly informed Grenville that the Red Lion would not continue. They had sailed with her up until that point, but upon arriving at the port, she dropped off her crew and set off. toward Newfoundland to engage in piracy. This should not surprise us. At the time, it was very common for a ship to separate from the rest to rob and plunder others, since no expedition leader guaranteed a salary upon return. Your pay depended largely on what was found on the other side of the ocean. If they found little, it was very likely you would not see a cent,

but again, only if you made it back alive were you entitled to payment. That's why many, midway through their long voyages. ended up abandoning the expedition in search of other income. What really should shock us is that from here on began the most senseless and bloody conflicts. During the first expeditions to the continent and contacts with various mostly peaceful native settlements, someone accused the indigenous people of the Aquascagoc tribe of stealing a silver cup. Despite being a baseless and senseless accusation, it was the perfect excuse to assert the colonist supremacy over the natives. So they looted and raised the entire village.

From here, tensions arose with other tribes, tensions with everyone. Any excuse was good to assert their power and strength over the natives. There are a large number of written testimonies that document the steps they took before destroying that village. Among them we could highlight the writings of the writer and Cordia Richard, it should be said that although this individual never traveled to Roanoke, he compiled the testimonies of none other than Sir Walter Raleigh. Despite the various setbacks they experienced as they advanced along the coast and the evident lack of food, Grenville decided to leave Ralph Lane in command of the

107 colonists who traveled with him to establish a colony at the northern end of Roanoke Island. Why did he do that? Because he himself decided to return to England to seek more men and supplies, promising to return to the island in April 1586. Grenville's word was taken as sacred and unbreakable. His men trusted him blindly, so the entire crew supported his idea. After Grenville's departure, Ralph Lane ordered his men to explore the area. While some did that, he and a few others built a new fort. They needed to blend into the environment to survive a while longer. The idea of staying there for long did not appeal to anyone,

since the constant tensions with the natives and among themselves created an unpleasant atmosphere. But they had faith in Grenville's return. they had faith in him and waited patiently. Time passed, and no news of the promised fleet came. In fact, by the agreed upon date, April 1586, no ship came to rescue them. There was no sign of Grenville's support fleet, and by June, they had completely given up hope. They no longer expected reinforcements. The men's motivation waned.

To this, we must add the deep resentment of the Aquascagoc, who decided to attack the fort and launch a first and very strong assault. The colonists, with the few forces they had, endured it, but they were aware they would not withstand a second attack. Luckily, one random morning, the ships of Sir Francis Drake, Vice Admiral of the English Navy, arrived at the coasts of Roanoke. After a successful incursion through the Caribbean, they had decided to stop there to take on supplies. Upon hearing the colonists' story, they obviously invited them to board their ships and returned to England with them. It should be said that shortly after Drake departed with the 105 colonists, Grenville's support fleet arrived. Upon finding the colony abandoned,

Grenville returned to England, but not before placing a small detachment, both to mark the English presence and to protect Raleigh's claim over Roanoke Island. With the return of his detachment, Raleigh understood that brute force was useless in the Americas. So, he theorized the idea of sending a large group of civilians to peacefully populate the area. Considering the years Raleigh had left to make that colonization a reality, he could not wait any longer. So, in 1587, he sent 115 colonists to establish a new colony in the Chesapeake Bay. At the head of this expedition would now be John White, an artist and friend of Raleigh who had accompanied him on previous expeditions to Roanoke. Before reaching their true destination,

they were instructed to travel to Roanoke to meet with Grenville's men. But when they got there, they found no one. They arrived on July 22, 1587, and all they found was a human skeleton, the skeleton of someone who may have been part of the English garrison. The travelers were counting on those men, Grenville's men, to found their new colony. But not finding them there, they lost hope of seeing them alive again. The commander of the fleet, Simon Fernandez. to be continued. There they lost hope of ever seeing them alive again. The commander of the fleet,

Simon Fernandez, decided they would not move. The colony would be established there. The reason for his decision is unknown. It is not exactly clear why he chose to stay there, but that choice truly marked a turning point in this story. Whatever the case, what matters to us is that John White, appointed governor of those lands, decided to re-establish relations between the colonists and the crotones, and to try to build positive ties with the other tribes, some of which have been affected by the poor decisions of Ralph Lane. Although his intentions were good, his diplomatic attempts were not very successful, mainly because not all of the tribes that had been mistreated in the past were willing to forgive and forget. The threats of an imminent attack created

great insecurity among the colonists, and even more so as food began to run low. The last straw came at the end of 1587, when a native from an unknown tribe killed a colonist who was looking for crabs. That's when absolute chaos broke out. Faced with this situation, White decided to return to England in search of supplies and provisions. He did so not only by risking his own life crossing the Atlantic Ocean during an unfavorable time for navigation, but also by leaving behind among those 115 colonists his son-in-law, his daughter, and his newborn granddaughter, Virginia Dare, the first English birth in the Americas. Unfortunately, once in England, he could not return, no matter how much he pleaded with the

crown. His captain did not want to embark on a voyage in the middle of winter. Moreover, he was completely blocked by government order due to the ongoing war between the English and the Spanish. The arrival of the Spanish Armada meant that every ship capable of sailing was sent directly to fight against them, leaving White without any ships that could take him back to Roanoke. Because of these events, White was unable to make another journey for three more years. Luckily, at a certain point in history, he was able to join a privateering expedition that agreed to stop at Roanoke on their return from the Caribbean. White was burning with desire to see his loved ones again.

In fact, he had counted his days and nights until his arrival at Roanoke. He had even calculated that the day he would set foot on that island would be his granddaughter's third birthday. He imagined that everyone would be happy to see him, that all would welcome him with warm hugs. White indeed disembarked on his granddaughter's birthday, August 18, 1590, but there was nothing to celebrate, because there was no one in that settlement. He found it completely deserted. or did they find signs of fighting or combat.

The only possible clue they found was the word crotone carved into a fence that marked the village boundary, and the syllable crow carved into the trunk of a tree not far from there. Before leaving the colony, White had asked the people that if they suffered any kind of attack, they should draw a Maltese cross. But there was none. The settlement was tidy, which clearly indicated that they had had time to prepare their departure to some other place. So he quickly concluded that all of them had had time to pack everything, dismantle their houses,

and moved to Croton Island, a people who had always maintained good relations with the English. But that was not the moment to investigate it. In the distance, in the skies, a terrible storm seemed to be forming, and the sailors who accompanied him did not allow him to continue or enter the forest. White didn't want to leave without first discovering where his loved ones were. He didn't want to go without first seeing his son-in-law. his daughter, and his granddaughter. But the men who accompanied him did not want to stay there another day.

So they gave him two options, the first was to stay alone on that island, which would have been a suicidal mission, and the second was to leave with them the next morning. What did John White choose? The second option. As we've progressed through this story, I suppose you've realized this isn't a Disney tale. So I imagine it won't surprise you when I say that John White died in 16. 2006 without ever seeing his family again and without knowing what became of them. Twelve years had to pass before Sir Walter Raleigh decided to investigate what had happened. He organized an expedition that would depart in 1602.

But this time, there were new changes in the crew, all had finally been paid in advance, which would prevent any of their ships from straying and engaging in piracy. This time, it seemed they had a clear objective and wouldn't stop until they supposedly discovered what had happened. But of course, the truth had a price, so they also hoped to earn a financial profit from the trip. Before reaching the island, Mace's ship stopped at the outer banks to collect aromatic plants, plants that would generate great profits once returned to England. By the time they were able to turn their attention to the colonists' issue, a great storm appeared on the horizon, and they had to return to England without ever setting foot on Roanoke Island.

What awaited Sir Walter Raleigh once he returned home? An arrest for high treason, which made it impossible for him to send new missions to Roanoke. After his return to England, the legend of the lost colony began, a story that remains a mystery to this day. Many hypotheses followed, including the following. The first idea was that the colonists left for Croton Island due to the extreme lack of provisions. This could be the most plausible theory, were it not for the fact that it could be. doesn't explain why someone wrote the word crow on a tree. Why didn't they finish the word? Were they in that much of a hurry? Another possibility was an external attack, an attack led by the

Spanish. But no signs of struggle were found, no trace suggesting there had been any fighting there. The possibility that the colonists had attempted a return trip to England was also unfeasible, as they would have left some record of their plans and departure date. The theory that they may have been attacked by a cannibal tribe was also suggested, which could explain why there were no human remains in that place. But there was no known record of such a tribe nearby. A somewhat more recent theory proposes they may have merged with the Lumby tribe, as these individuals exhibit Caucasian features. However, DNA studies conducted by the University of Texas yielded inconclusive results. But that's not all. The word crotone has been associated with

mysterious disappearances in the U.S. ever since that date. In this case, reality seems impossible to fully separate from mysticism, and it's unclear when the real story ends and the myth begins. Shortly before his death in 1849, after having gone missing for a few days, Edgar Allan Poe was found wandering the streets of Baltimore, whispering the word crotone. The same word was found scribbled in Amelia Earhart's journal after her disappearance in 1937, it was carved into the bed post where famed horror author Ambrose Bierce slept before disappearing in Mexico in 1913. There are handfuls of stories like these, yet even so, the relationship between the word crotone and these disappearances remains unknown. Since 1590, specialists have been

investigating the disappearance of the colonists. One of the most significant breakthroughs came in 2012, from the British Museum, which discovered an old map supposedly belonging to John White. On it, marking suggested a possible new settlement 80 kilometers from the original one, a place where the 115 colonists may have taken refuge. Although the reason John White made this mark remains unknown, archaeologist Nicholas Lacketti, a member of the First Colony Foundation, traveled to the location to see if there were indeed signs of the colonists' presence. Three years later, he reported that there were, in fact, metal objects there that could have belonged to those people.

Not only metal objects, but also ceramic pieces of European manufacture. Most notably, all the objects dated to the 15th century, not matching typical Native American artifacts. Based on all this, Lacketti and his team support the theory that the Roanoke Colony may have taken refuge in that area, an area later visited by several British colonist expeditions in 1655. Experts believe the group may have fled their initial camp, ventured into the forest, and later merged with a native tribe. But what do you think about all of this? Do you believe they were fleeing from something,

or that they left voluntarily? The end. I started playing a Star Wars mobile game in 2021 on my brother's recommendation, he was already playing it. I also started using Discord platform and joined our Guild server, but I hardly talked to people there. At the time I was at my parents' house looking after my mother who was suffering from dementia.

My mother died in 2022, but I still stayed in a house even though I have my own small apartment in another city. At the time I was in my mid-30s, university dropout, unemployed, I had not worked for 16 years, I had never dated, I was poor, no social network, was ready to die and had spent most of my live indoors in front of a computer. Also during my university years I was diagnosed with severe depression, anxiety, and a unique timeless state of being, as if I didn't see the passage of time and I just kept reliving the same day on a loop. In my teens I had felt inhibition and anxiety to carry out my wish to find a girlfriend. My anxiety finally erupted and I assaulted a person.

This led to a depression-tinged abandonment of my wish and I fell into my timeless state, sometimes feeling extreme anxiety when I happened to notice how time goes on and chances in life go past me. My psychologist thought I might have some childhood trauma, but he never found anything in my childhood to justify a diagnosis of it. Playing the Star Wars game ended for me on November 2nd, 2024. On 11.2 I had a meeting with some members of my Star Wars Guild in Discord and I was supposed to make another person the leader of my guild, I was the leader at the time. In the meeting I was informed that I had been hacked. However, this was no ordinary hack. There are millions of people in Discord who play a game called the Discord, a game that I didn't know existed.

The game was developed by Abel and Kane, two geniuses who are good with probabilities. The game has its own program which you can't get publicly and as far as I know, you have to be invited to join the Discord. In the Discord, among other things, people play a game, they call it a roleplay, for the control of certain Star Wars servers. unknowingly I had signed up for that game and downloaded malware to my computer in the fall of 2023. Also in the Discord people formed gangs based on nationality, of all the gangs the Cubans, they had hacked me, and the Finns are relevant in this story. When my guild members told me about the hack and told me to turn my head to the right and said there's a camera, we see you, I went into a mental shock. I was in shock for the next couple of hours talking in

Discord and the Discord, mainly during that time I was being told what everything was about, my whole life story was laid for all to see, I was being profiled by the Cubans and Abel and Kane, and they told me about probable future events and paths. I still don't remember everything that happened then, but here are, in no particular order, the highlights. My brother had also been hacked by the Cubans, I don't know how and in what connection, way before me, and they had made my brother place Wi-Fi cameras in my father's apartment. My father was aware of the cameras, but had taken my brother's side. Also my father didn't care about the cameras because he did nothing but laid on the couch and watched TV.

My sister and her partner also had known about the hack for a long time. The partner had been in the discord for years and if I remember correctly my sister had thought I was an evil person and didn't want to intervene. However, after seeing data of me, my sister had changed her mind about me being evil but didn't dare to oppose the people running at all. For months, the Cubans had been running at the Truman Show in the Discord that had millions of viewers. Millions of people have seen very sensitive data of me. The Cubans and Abel and Kane had spent a huge amount of time and resources profiling me and finding out my entire life history. They had even had psychologists, psychiatrists and other experts profile me. Also on 11.2 there were

researchers around the world following the event. They had even managed to find out that years ago when I was at university I had participated in a genetic study. Even I do not have access to the results of the study, but they had gained access to them. They said I have unique genes, I believe they said I have all the positive genetic markers, but almost none of the negative ones. Based on my genes, I could live up to the age of 100. Those who had profiled me said that I'm a unique person. A Finn said that a study based on my profile will be published someday. They had also figured out that what I truly want in life is to find a soulmate. In my Star Wars Guild there was an autistic woman named X-D, I know her first name.

For months, she had been following the T-Truman show, and had developed a crush on me. She had given information about herself for profiling and our profiles matched perfectly. It was said that her autism spectrum genes combined with my unique genes could produce geniuses, the type of geniuses who could change the world for the better. It was also said that she is my only soulmate in the world, but she has multiple soulmates. They had also found out, probably from my siblings, that in my childhood I had kissed a girl. She is the first and only girl I've kissed. They said my mother abused me so badly for kissing the girl it traumatized me.

me and made me think no girl likes me. I remember kissing the girl and telling my mother about it, but I don't remember what happened after it. They also had found out the girl had died in an accident when she was young, even I didn't know that. The girl and XD had almost the same first name, only one letter difference, so Abel and Kane came up with a twist, saying the girl was sent back down from the heavens as XD to be with me. The Illuminati is real. However, it is not a secret society formed by the world's elite, most of its members are ordinary people. The Illuminati consists of Freemasons, the good led by Abel and Cain, and Zeitgeist, the evil led by the Cubans. I don't remember, I probably wasn't even told, what is the connection

between the Discord and the Illuminati, but not all members of the Illuminati play the Discord. For example, my sister is a member of Freemasons, but she doesn't play the Discord. One of the probable future paths told to me was the story of Exelotie and XD. It was about how movies, series and books could be made about the way the two of us met. As I said before, this is a condensed story, the months-long hack alone had many coincidences. Finally, it was time to end the event on 11.2 by finishing the game for control of the Star Wars server and for me to make the most important choice of my life. At that point, almost, everyone wanted to help me change my life, even the Cubans, although they are evil. I was first told three choices

in plain language, what they meant in real life, and then what they meant in the game. The first choice was, in plain language, that the Cubans would give me a bigger furnished apartment in my home city. X.D. would be in the apartment waiting for me. They would also give me a job corresponding to my education. I would also join Freemasons and the inner circle of the discord, Abel and Cain also would help me in various ways. In the game the first choice meant I would stay as the guild leader. The third choice meant, in plain language and in the game, that the another person would become the leader of the guild and the Cubans would release my data.

The Cubans had enough data of me to destroy my life multiple times over. The Finns said the Cubans also have means and platforms to keep releasing the data for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, I was still in shock, I didn't understand what was going on and I forgot the things I was told almost immediately, as had been the case since I went into shock. As had been predicted, I might lose my temper and, stubbornly, make the another person the leader of the guild and that's what happened. The games did not end there. When I made the wrong choice on 11.2, a pre-planned and predicted game called, the Ultimate Battle of Good vs. Evil, began in real life. The game was about weather, during those months, I would meet X-D and accordingly have children with her someday, changing the world for the better.

The good in the game were represented by Freemasons and the evil by zeitgeist. The entire game was told to me on 11.2, but unfortunately I always remembered the things that happened on 11.2 too late and I was too anxious to think straight. Because it was a game it had rules, no one was allowed to interfere directly with what I was doing, some people did give me secret messages slash hints, especially my sister. My first chance to meet her was few days after 11.2, when my brother told me several times to go see a doctor. If I had gone to a doctor, I would still have received all the help that the Cubans had promised me. The backstory for this was that the Cubans had given me one wish

as a thank you for the happiness that Truman Show had brought to their leader's son. I had wished for my death, but they had declined it as they don't kill children. They called me a child in a man's body. Instead, the Cubans had given me a second chance to get all the help the Cubans had promised me. My second chance to meet her was when the Finns got her plane tickets to my home city in February so she could come to comfort me. My brother also told me about this by saying, go home, you will have a guest. She visited my apartment, but I wasn't there.

My third chance to meet her was the asylum. The Cubans had given instructions to my brother and father that as soon as I started causing trouble, they should lie to get me into a psychiatric ward. And as predicted, this is what happened eventually. When I was hung over and extremely anxious, I broke a drinking glass and it didn't take long before I was being evaluated by a doctor. The doctor was a player and sent me to my home city for a psychiatric evaluation. The psychiatrist who did the evaluation was also a player and sent me to involuntary treatment. The reason for the treatment was that no hack has happened and I just had a paranoid delusion. I pretty much only told them my devices had been hacked and a criminal report had been filed about it.

And then I was in the ward and there were players from all sides there. For example, a player was a young man who had also been hacked by the Cubans and he had defied them. The Cubans had kept him heavily drugged for months and he had actually gone insane. Players were also my psychiatrist in the ward and one of the nurses. My chance to meet XD was when the nurse in question asked me at one point to talk with her in a conference room. If I had agreed, I would have seen XD through a webcam and I would have been invited to join Freemasons. I got out of the ward in a few weeks because it was a game. One day my psychiatrist just decided I no longer.

needed involuntary treatment even though my behavior in reality had not really changed at all, in fact after spending a few weeks in the ward I was just more anxious as the experience was horrible. My last chance to meet her was during her holiday trip to my home city. After spending time with the Finns in the discord for a few years she wanted to travel to Finland. Out of all the possibilities, she chose my home city and this summer. I had an appointment with a psychiatrist during her holiday, but I cancelled it. If I hadn't cancelled it, Abel and Cain would have instructed her to go to the route I would have used to go to the psychiatrist. I could have also went out in the evenings to look for her as she went out to bars, etc. She also met my sister during

the holiday as some Freemasons had a meeting in another city. She left for her home country on a morning flight on 3.6, the world stayed evil and I will never meet her. The ultimate battle had a finale though, Abel and Kane wanted to give me a chance to at least get a photo of what I truly wanted in life. They instructed my sister to go alone to my mother's grave on my mother's birthday 7.6 and place a photo of XD inside, it has an alcove, my mother's gravestone. My sister also poured a bottle of champagne on my mother's grave, I can't remember what the champagne symbolized. I had until midnight to go get the photo because at midnight someone had been instructed to go pick it up. I didn't go to the grave until the next day. I got dizzy in the cemetery when I

remembered things for that situation. Abel and Cain had told me how XD changed her Discord avatar from a cute bubble gum girl into a fly immediately after I made the wrong choice on 11.2. Now she would always be just a fly to me, buzzing in my brain, reminding me of the life I could have lived. Later that evening Star Wars Empire Strikes Back was on TV, Just as planned, the Illuminati has members in broadcasting companies. The Cubans played sad violin music for me outside. Abel and Kane tried to call me, but I missed that chance. They had predicted I probably would.

Then, as predicted, I finally hit a home run. They sent me a link to a short audio file. There was really not much in it, it was pretty much just, We are those around the world who wish to help people, and some clips from the news. Even though the ultimate battle ended there, Abel and Kane gave me one last chance. The next week, they organized a game for me on my computer with Skype's AI, but I missed that chance. If I had not missed that chance, the following weekend when my sister came to visit my father's house, my sister would have invited me to our mutual secret society, and if I remember correctly,

my sister would have had a permission to talk about everything that happened to me. Now I have to live alone with all this for the rest of my life. If you wonder do I have any evidence of this, apart from vague circumstantial evidence, I have nothing. Perhaps the best evidence is that the Cubans predicted that in the ward I would contact legal aid. The lawyer assigned to me was also a player and the first thing she asked me was if I wanted to transfer the assignment to a private lawyer, but I said no. Private lawyers were not part of the game and would have immediately noticed something suspicious, a criminal report had been filed, but psychiatrists still said no crime has happened, in my patient records and I would have been quickly released from the ward.

And the criminal investigation? The investigation was one of the probable future paths told to me on 11.2 and there were few ways it could end, the way it ended now is that the police didn't even investigate the devices I submitted to them. and my data. Abel and Kane predicted that it will be leaked years later and the Cubans will deliberately release only strange material of me, with the intention of portraying me as freakish and abnormal as possible. They said the leakage will be so huge it will be on the news. Of course, the Cubans and Abel and Kane didn't predict much of a life for me should the games

end the way they did. For example, the Cubans predicted I might drink myself to death or actually go insane thinking about the chance I missed on 11.2 and Abel and Kane predicted I might commit suicide or live as a reclusive hermit for the rest of my life. There's so many things I have to live with for the rest of my days. I have to live knowing no matter what happens, I will never get what I truly wanted in life. I have to live knowing that I could have received as a help exactly the kind of life I've always wanted and even more. I have to live knowing I could have lived a truly extraordinary life worthy of movies, series, and books. I have to live knowing the world isn't what it seems, conspiracies and secret sossities really do exist. I have to live

knowing, as Abel and Kane said, two very different life paths opened up before me on 11.2. One path was a long and a happy life with the love of my life by my side and many children. The other path, which became true, was that I would spend the rest of my life alone and never have children. I have to live knowing all those unbelievable chances passed me by without me knowing. I don't believe in God or other greater force, but perhaps I was in my timeless state all those years so I could finally have a chance to have the life that was meant for me. Or perhaps it was just once in history type of series of coincidences. If you read everything, I thank you. If you happen to believe the story and wish to show it to some

journalist or conspiracy theorist, go ahead. I could even give instructions how to get into the discord. But like my father said, a person who would try to collect evidence and expose everything would have a very short life expectancy. Five years ago I, Wall 28M, made a choice that royally fucked up my life. I had a lot going for me. At the time I was the new guy at my firm. I was an architect, mostly subdivisions, and really enjoying it. I had a long-term girlfriend of three years, Emily 29F now, 24 then, that I had recently become engaged to. I really thought nothing could derail me.

After Emily said yes, we began to plan the wedding. We were not up for the big wedding thing. We agreed we would have an elopement to a coastal city, San Diego became the plan, parents slash siblings were welcome to come if they wanted, but basically we were just booking a honeymoon and getting married while we were there. Since this whole trip was going to be, relatively speaking, inexpensive. We decided to splurge on pre-wedding activities. Now, neither of us wanted traditional bachelor-slash-bachelorette parties. We agreed we would scratch off bucket list items. Emily wanted to swim with sharks, and booked herself one of those

cage dive excursions. Her and her best friend Maggie went to Florida for a long weekend and did just that. Mine was quite a bit more. I had always wanted to visit Thailand. It was one of those dumb things I got fascinated with as a 10-year-old and swore I was going to go. Emily actually encouraged me, pointing out that I literally brought up Thailand on our first date. We were six months into our engagement when the time came for me and my best friend, Jorge, to leave on the trip. For the first three days everything was great. We were in enjoying beaches, visiting temples, and a lot of drinking. On that third night, though, Jorge got absolutely smashed drunk.

I was a little pissed about this and tried to slow him down. The next day we were supposed to go on a jungle excursion. It was one of the things I was most looking forward to so I had been pacing myself so I could enjoy the trek. The next morning Jorge has a world-class hangover, refused to get up at all, and says we can book an excursion tomorrow. My thought was, fuck that, I'm going today. I had seen ads for a few places that did these. I went out to get some breakfast and spotted a guy on the side of road offering the jungle excursion cheap. He had a jeep and when he noticed me looking at his sign, moved in with the hard sell.

Honestly, it did look a little shady, but the guy spoke English so well it gave me a false sense of security. I decided to go with this guy. I get in and for a while it's actually pretty fun. He pulls off the main road on these off-road paths. I have no idea where we are going. We end up deep down these roads. I'm enjoying it for the most part, though. Then everything went sideways.

We stopped in this small clearing, and I was checking some things out, when out of nowhere local law enforcement pulls up. I don't know what's being said, I can only pick out a word here and a word there. They start going through the guy's jeep and find a rather large quantity of methamphetamine. I am shitting a brick at this point. These cops take us both into their small, middle of nowhere station. This is when I come to realization that this motherfucker has taken me into Cambodia. I don't have my ID or passport on me, they are back in the room. These cops are not listening to anything and I have no idea what my guide is telling them.

I was freaking out but also thought, it'll be okay, Jorge will realize I'm gone, look into where I am. I'm not going to go into what the next four and a half years were like, but hell is an easy comparison. I'll just leave it at a Cambodian jail isn't the most hospitable environment. It took five months of sitting in that cell before I even saw a judge. The judicial system there is so backlogged, and the few public defenders that exist are basically in the large cities only. During this whole time I was never allowed to contact anyone on the outside. My first time in front the judge they didn't have an interpreter and it got postponed another five months. I finally had that pretrial hearing, entered a plea, then it was another 14 months before my actual hearing.

When I finally had me hearing, the judge was very fair and dismissed my charges on time served, only for the prosecutor to appeal the dismissal. This put me back into custody for another 28 months. This was the most devastating moment of my life, to think I was out and end up still in for that long. During this time, after no one came for me, I realized they all thought I was dead. I had gone missing. Jorge had no idea where I was, I had called back home the morning I was arrested and left messages, but they only knew I was going on a jungle excursion. My parents, my fiancé, I missed them so much.

There were plenty of days I was hoping one of the other inmates or a rough guard would just take me out already, especially after the first year when I became more tolerant of the food and water. Finally after 52 months in captivity I was released. I had nothing to my name and was in a country I wasn't supposed to be in. I contacted the embassy, and they did have a missing person's file for me. They helped me contact home. I attempted to contact my fiancé, but a guy named Mitch answered and he did not know an Emily, so I figured she must have changed her number at some point.

I called my mother. She was absolutely frantic. She grabbed my father and I told her my entire tale. I kept asking about Emily and my mother kept deflecting. She wanted to get started immediately getting me home, and said we would talk about everything when I got back to the U.S. It took a little while to make this happen. My parents luckily had my original passport and ID, which made the process somewhat faster. During that time they sent me money and I was able to get a hotel. My parents were very, very adamant I not try to contact

Emily during this time and to wait until we got back. I obviously started to assume she had moved on and was with someone else. Which was heartbreaking. I had held out hope during my imprisonment that she would not, but with the way my parents were acting I assumed that was the case. Even so I wanted to contact her immediately, before anything else. I didn't want to talk about my time there, I didn't want to talk about what they did trying to find me, or know anything about anyone else. I just wanted my fiancé. My parents sat me down and handed me a save-the-date card. It was Emily and some tall, handsome guy I'd never seen before. She was engaged. I broke down, it wasn't unexpected, but the feelings were still there. I asked my parents

if they had kept in touch with her beyond just being wedding guestworthy. They said yes, they've actually been a huge part of each other's lives these last few years. I was a little shocked, I know they liked Emily, but with me gone I had somewhat expected them to drift apart not get closer. I decided to ask, so how close are you guys now? My mother responded, Very, her father passed a year ago and your dad, has agreed to walk her down the aisle. That hurt, it shouldn't, but it did. Why you? Was all I could say.

My mom got emotional, started going on about how they all thought I was gone, that a cartel or something got me, that they looked so hard and so long. They had a whole memorial service for me. I snapped a little, I don't care about that right now, what are you not telling me? My mother took that tablet and flipped a few photos. She then handed it back to me. There was a whole group photo. My parents, Emily, her fiancé, her mom, my sister, my brother, Emily's brother, Jorge, other friends and kids. But at the center of the table was a boy sitting behind a birthday cake.

The decorations read, Happy Fourth Birthday, He was smiling big. I just looked at my parents. My mother looked at me and said, that's your son, Paul, my dad's name, Walter, my name, Rhine, our last name. In the two weeks since I got back home it simultaneously feels like so much has happened, and that virtually nothing has happened. I have been largely brought up to speed on all that has happened on this side of the world. When Jorge finally got up out of bed that day five years ago he tried to call me. After having no success, the officers confiscated my phone immediately upon arrest, I never saw it again. He decided to just go about his day, assuming I was enjoying my

excursion. It wasn't until it was well past dark that he started to get concerned. He called back home to see if anyone else had heard from me. The next morning my family and fiancé were blowing up his phone wondering if I had come back yet. That's when he began venturing. out to all the excursion places. They all reported that they had not seen me. He began to panic and alerted everyone back home. He went to the authorities at this point. My parents, brother and fiancé all made the trip to join him. They spent a month canvassing the area before they had to go back. My parents made another trip to Thailand to try and find me, but again turned up nothing. Over the next year and half they were a constant reminder to the Thai officials of my

disappearance, unfortunately, no one thought to look in Cambodia. Meanwhile, my fiancé Emily came to the realization she was pregnant. On the day I left for Thailand, she was unknowingly around ten weeks. I can only imagine how hard it was on her. I'm missing, she's pregnant with my child. I wish I had never gone. My parents told her. me Emily really leaned on them, and they were happy to help. Over the years they've just grown closer and closer. Her parents were there, and supportive, but they are much older than mine and not in as good of health. My mom ended up taking Emily to a lot of her OB appointments. She was there in the delivery room along with Emily's mom. It was apparently

very stressful as Paul was born at just 34 weeks. Luckily he showed no signs of health problems and they just kept him under heightened observation initially. My parents tell me they needed this. The anguish of not knowing what happened to me was very hard, and the birth of their grandson provided a much-needed respite from the grief. They keep telling me how sorry they are, but they didn't do anything wrong. I guess it's just guilt now that they know I was out there, and they failed to find me. Jorge has been by to see me.

He has apologized far too many times. He's gotten married since the trip, and has two kids now. He seems nervous around me, and I guess that's fair, I do hold some resentment towards him. It's not his fault, but the feeling is there anyway. My brother and sister have marched on with life. My brother has kids now, and my sister is married. I missed all of this. I could probably get over all of that, but losing my fiancé and missing out on four years with my

son, it's been too much. My parents have set me up with a therapist. I went to the first session but have no idea what to talk about. I was wrongfully incarcerated for five years, beaten at times, starved at times. Plenty of PTSD. My whole family thought I was dead, so much so they had a memorial service for me three years to the day of my disappearance. I was supposed to marry the love of my life, and she is now engaged to someone. else. Then to top it all off, I have a four-year-old son, who has been raised by my replacement since he was 18 months old. Paul only knows this guy as dad, he calls him dad, and now here I am, back from the dead to fuck up everyone else's perfect little lives. I'm ranting though. It's just

too much to unpack. I still haven't directly spoken to Emily. My father went to her house the day after my return. He sat her and her fiancé, Kevin 34M, down, told them I had been found. She began to tear up, she thought he was saying my body had been recovered. When he corrected her, she had a complete breakdown. Her fiancé comforted her, my dad said she was just silent afterwards. I tried texting her, I got no response for a whole day, then just a, I'm so sorry, I just can't right now. I haven't asked him. I haven't asked him. I don't. anyone about her fiancée, other than I know she's been engaged for about two months, and the wedding is supposed to be in six. No one has just volunteered any information at this

point. We were supposed to all meet at the park this past weekend. My resurgence has thrown the harmony out of whack and I can tell everyone is a little off. My mother typically watches Paul while Emily and Kevin are at work. A lot of time it's at her house, but since I showed up it's been exclusively over at Emily's. I hear they are prepping him to meet me. He is aware I'm his father. My pictures are all over at my parents' house. Emily has apparently always had a picture of me up in Paul's room. I'm a shell of the guy in the picture, but I guess at least I kind of look like that still. He won't be totally blind-sighted. My parents and I arrived at the park first. When we saw their car pull up. Only Kevin

and Paul got out. Emily was not with them. Paul ran up to my dad first and gave him a big hug. He saw me and kind of retreated to my mom, then over to Kevin. I could tell he was nervous, I mean shit, so was I and I'm not four years old. The other adults tried to say something to get us to talk or embrace or something. I told them to let it go, let him go play. He perked up and ran off to the playground. Kevin came up and stuck his hand out. We shook, and he said, sorry, Emily, couldn't today. We were about out the door and she broke down, told me she wasn't ready. I just said, I understand. I went over to the playground to try and bond in some way. Turns out Paul is big into superheroes. He pretended to be Spider-Man and I had to be Rhino.

I chased him all over the playground, and let his webbed me up. He laughed and smiled. When the food was ready I was happy to see he liked his hot dogs the same as me. Ketchup on one side, mustard on the other, relish on top. I thought maybe this won't be so hard. Then he called Kevin, Dad. I shouldn't have surprised by this, he's been in this kid's life for 2.5 years, he marrying his mom, they all live in the same house. That all said, it was like a knife in the heart, I began to actually tear up. I excused myself for a moment, and said I was going over to the Gross Park bathroom. When I came out after a minute Kevin was waiting, I could see my parents across the way watching Paul. I felt instantly awkward, the last thing I wanted right now was a

heart to heart with Kevin. He was taller than me, more built than me, and had gotten to have the life I was supposed to have. He just said, can we talk? I said, yeah, man, what's on your mind? Kevin began, look, I'm sorry for what happened to you, it's a bad deal all around. I just wanted to talk because I'm worried about Emily and Paul. Emily more than him. She hasn't been herself, which I can appreciate to some degree, it took a long time for her to get over you. I'm the first person she dated after your incident. She cried the first time we kissed because, it was different. I want you to have a relationship with your son, he's little, he's resilient.

I had two dads growing up, I know he will be fine. I don't know how fine her or you will be if this goes too fast, and from a selfish standpoint I don't want anything disrupting our life or our engagement. I love her and want what's best. I'd like you two to take it slow and process everything before you meet. I made an appointment for her to see a counselor. I'd appreciate it if you could respect that and not push her or reach out to her. Let her figure things out on her own first.

I was pissed listening to him, pretentious ass, but fuck he had some points. I don't want to rip open all these old wounds. I ended up just saying, yeah, man, I can do that, and walked off to join my parents and Paul. Kevin went into the gross bathroom. When he came back over, he said him and Paul were going to head out. Paul gave everyone hugs, including me, I was surprised, but pleasantly. Then he called me Rhino, and ran off to Kevin. As they left I heard him say, Dad, can we get a cookie cake on the way home? Ugh, he's dad, I'm Rhino, and this just fucking sucks.

Three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, we finally. We started by texting a bit, but it felt so impersonal the conversation stayed at a surface level. The deepest we really got was talking about Paul and me briefly divulging what Cambodian prison was like. Over the three weeks between our first text exchange and our meetup, we only texted maybe five times, and each time it started to get into heavy subjects one of us would end the conversation. During that time, though, I did spend more time with Paul. My mother began watching him at her house again, and that gave us time to bond. I even had someone on one time with him when we went to get ice cream together one day. It's amazing how resilient kids are, he just goes with the flow of everything.

He still calls me Rhino, but maybe I'll get that Dad title soon. One day this past week, when Kevin came by to pick up Paul, he asked to talk again. This time he had a job offer for me, which had me getting pissed. Then he elaborated that it wasn't really an offer but more of a lead. His brother owns a construction company and is looking for an estimator. Kevin told his brother I was once an architect and his brother said he'd give me an interview if I was interested. He left his brother's card with me. I really want to hate Kevin, but he does actually seem to be a genuinely nice person, which also pisses me off.

His self-deprecating sense of humor grows on you fast, and this is just in five to ten-minute interactions with him. But at the same time, fuck that guy. I talked to Emily via text this past Friday. We agreed to meet the next day for lunch. I suggested this Italian place that had been our place, but she got a little upset about this and I thought she was going to cancel. Instead, we pivoted to Applebee's. Seeing her in person I can't even describe.

She was just as beautiful as ever. The hello hug caused a shiver through my soul. spine, I didn't want to let go, and may have lingered for just a second, but also didn't want to make it weird. We exchanged pleasantries and small talk through the ordering, and at that point the conversation took the first serious turn since my return, and it stayed that way for the next hour as we talked. She told me how hard it was to deal with my death. She was pregnant and grieving, and a lot of days didn't want to carry on. It hurts so bad to listen to what she was going through. She told me she felt so alone any time she was in our apartment that she

spent most nights staying at her parents or mine. She kept hoping that every time the phone rang it would be someone with news about me, and then began to hope it wasn't, because as time went on it became more likely that it would be a call that they found my body. She told me about how great my parents, and to a lesser degree my siblings had been to her. Myisiel and her even had slightly overlapping pregnancies so it was fun to have someone to talk to about it. It was after Paul's first birthday that my parents of all people talked to her about getting back out there. She admitted she was really only spending time with her parents, my parents, or my SIL and by extension my brother. She said she even fell off hanging out with her best friend.

Emily told me it was fear. She never wanted to be away from Paul, if I could disappear in an instant, then that means anyone could. She wouldn't be able to live without him. After this intervention, she realized she was living like a widow and not a 25-year-old woman. She began hanging out with her friends again, let others watch Paul occasionally

so she could go out. It was two months into her attempts at living life that she ran into Kevin. They were in a Starbucks, she was fumbling trying to get her phone out while holding Paul. When suddenly this tall handsome fucker, my words, comes up and scans his phone, buying her coffee and muffin.

They strike up a conversation while waiting. When her order gets called, he grabs it and hands it to her along with a business card with his cell number on it. Kevin owns a screen printing shop. Tells her, no pressure, but I'd like to get to know you better. Then they part ways. She called him the next day. For months later, she introduced Paul to him. A year later they moved in.

with him and a few months ago they got engaged. This is where I said my peace. I told her I still loved her, that it's impossibly hard to see her with someone else. The idea of getting back to her was one of the few things that kept me going when I was locked away. She began to cry, and I reached out and took her hand. I asked if she was sure, or if there was any way we could try again, in hindsight I feel like this was a dick move, but at the time I needed to know. She shook her head. Looked up at me and said, I love you, I never stopped, but I love Kevin too, and I'm marrying him. It's not fair, I know it's not fair, you didn't do anything wrong, but I had to move on.

I spent years thinking you had died. When you came back I was so happy, but also so guilty. I cut her off there, you have nothing to feel guilty about, I fucked up and cost myself everything. I always knew you'd likely moved on, and I don't fault you for that. I was gone. There was no reason for you to believe I was coming back, but I did dream that I'd find my way back and you'd be there when I returned. I realized that was unrealistic. I'm sorry for putting you in this position now. She said, it's okay, I knew this was coming eventually. We just kind of stopped talking at that point. Sat there just drinking our drinks. After a few minutes,

that seemed like eternity, she said, how do you want to move forward when it comes to Paul? I told her, I love him already and want to be in his life. She replied, I'm so happy for that, I always told him about you, I didn't want him to think he was abandoned. I said, he is the one bright spot in this whole situation. From there she told me that Kevin had planned to adopt him once they were married, but wouldn't now that I have returned.

I am listed on the birth certificate as the father, although I think I'll meet with a lawyer just to make sure everything is in place from a legal standpoint. We made some plans to meet together later in the week with Paul. Let him have fun with all of his parents at the same time. She also encouraged me to do more one-on-ones with him. At the end we hugged one more time and parted ways. When I got back to my parents' house and in my room, I broke down. The finality of it all was just too much.

After I recovered, I decided I was not going to wallow in my grief anymore. I needed to swallow some pride, and get on track to do something with myself. The next day I called Kevin's brother and did an interview that day. He hired me. This is the first step towards moving on. Holy shit, you are not going to believe what I'm about to tell you. These last six months have been nothing short of absolutely fucking crazy, but in a good way. After my first initial face-to-face with Emily, I decided I needed to move on with my life,

and I ended up getting hired to be an estimator for Kevin's brother Kyle's, 36M, construction company. It was going well and at about the two-month mark Kyle, knowing I was an architect, started asking me to design some of his custom builds and would compare them to the usual architect he was using. He was liking mine better, and while I still work as an estimator still, I am now solely designing the custom homes for Kyle and he gave me a huge raise. This allowed me to get my own apartment and I'm thankful to say I am no longer living in my parents' house. Emily and Kevin's wedding plans progressed with only one major change. My father was no longer walking her down the aisle, as everyone felt it was inappropriate given

my return. Her much, much older brother was going to take that role now, Emily was an oops baby, so her brother is 16 years older than her. After our initial lunch, I saw Emily a lot more often. We were making it a point to do something altogether with Paul at least once a week. Kevin was there as well, but they kept that couple behavior to a minimum. It was fun. I especially enjoyed getting to talk to Emily and just be around her. After a month of this back-to-school season hit, I guess in the screen-printing industry this is the busy season, which I guess make sense with fall sports, staff shirts, clubs, Greek life. Kevin has contracts with all the school districts and is used heavily by the local colleges

in the area. He became swamped at this time, which led to Emily, Paul, and I spending a lot more time just the three of us. Over the months of this we became a lot closer. Hello side hugs became lingering full-front hugs. Emily and I would talk about all sorts of things. It kind of reminded of me when we were first dating. After a couple of months Kevin began joining us all again.

This didn't dissuade Emily and I from rebuilding our friendship. And then the most amazing thing happened. Paul started calling me dad. I literally teared up like the first ten times. he did this. Life went on for the next couple of months. It was a week before the wedding. I was not going to attend, my parents were as guests only. That weekend they decided to have semi-combined bachelor-slash-bachelorette parties. Each was going out to dinner with friends, then friends' activity, per karaoke-him top golf, then they'd all meet up at a bar or club around

11 p.m. I wasn't involved in any of this and had no idea which place they were going to end at. I decided I was going out that night instead of just sitting in my apartment being a dud. It was a hard night for me as it was another reminder that I had lost her to someone else, no matter how good of a dude he was, I still hated it. It was around 10.30 that night, I had a good buzz, and was planning on getting an Uber home when Emily and her bachelorette crew walked in. I kind of hit in the crowd at first, not wanting to but into her night, but she spotted me. Emily came over and we began to talk. It was a little bit flirty. A song she loved came on and she began to dance, then dance on me. I joined in and we were laughing and having fun. As the song

ended she kind of stumbled into me, I caught her and we looked at each other. Our lips moved in close and we almost kissed when she pulled back. We laughed it off and moved to the bar to get a drink. It was probably a good thing we didn't kiss because about two minutes later Kevin came walking up. He was trying to be his usual self but seemed a little off. They kissed and I began to feel like the third wheel so I went ahead and ordered that Uber and headed home. The next day I'm a little hungover and slept in pretty heavy on my lazy Sunday. It was midday and I hear someone try and opened my door. It was locked and they began knocking heavily. I ran over and opened the door. It was Emily, she lunged into my arms and kissed me. It was the sweetest feeling I have ever felt.

Confusing, but sweet. I asked her what was going on. She said, Kevin came to me this morning and started asking some hard questions. I don't want to go into it, I promise I'll tell you everything one day, but I'm in no place to do so now. We decided to end things, I admitted my feelings were still strong for you, he said he understood, that it hurt but that he knew. He said we both deserve to be happy, and he is going to step away. I called your parents, they are good keeping Paul a bit longer. I love you and want to be with you, and I'm suspecting you feel the same way. I told her that was all I ever wanted. It's been a whirlwind. She had two bags packed for her and Paul, and they moved in with me that same day.

The next day my father went to visit Kevin. He told me Kevin looked a little hungover and had taken the day off. They had a talk and my dad tried to be as empathetic as he could. He just wanted to check on him as Kevin had been a large part of their lives over the past few years. He asked Kevin what he was going to do. He said beyond trying to get some deposits back, he had no idea. My father offered to refund him his money and take over the reservations. He didn't ask why, my father thinks he knew.

While this was going on, I had to go into work and face Kyle. He called me into he office upon my arrival. Kyle had me sit and began, just let me say my business. I'm angry, my brother tells me to let it go and I will. I want to take that anger out on you, but I'm not going to, my brother and I learned the hard lesson back in high school when it comes to revenge and swore we'd always be the bigger men going forward, but that's not a tale for now. I think it's best we part ways, my family needs time to heal. I won't leave you high and dry though. You get one week paid off

here, in that time I want you to speak to an acquaintance of mine Lee. Lee runs a construction company as well, and he says he will take you on at your current salary. It's commercial instead of residential, but you'll do fine. I stood up and started to thank him, but he cut me off, this isn't for you, it's for Kev. Now go get your things and get up out of here. I contacted Lee the same day. He told me I could start in two weeks. Once my father came back and said he now had control of the wedding accommodations Emily and I just looked at each other and knew we each wanted this. It wasn't the wedding we always wanted, we planned on getting married on a beach. It was Kevin that wanted the traditional wedding. In the end he was right though, we had an amazing

time. Jorge was my best man. She looked stunning in her dress. Getting me a tux rental on short notice was probably the biggest headache, but that worked out too. Neither of us had huge friend or family groups, but it was nice to enjoy celebrating with those that had supported us through all these dark times. It's been a month now since our wedding. I still can't believe it. Paul had a little trouble adjusting, he does miss Kevin, but he has seemed happier the last week. To be where I once was and be where I am now, I consider myself beyond lucky. All right, let's get one thing straight. I take things. Specifically, cars. Nice ones.

The kind that cost more than most people make in a year, maybe five. And yeah, I know what you're thinking, but save the judgment. I have my reasons. I don't hit regular folks, people struggling to get by. My targets? The ones who have more than they know what to do with, the ones who wouldn't miss one of their shiny toys for more than a week before their insurance coughed up for a new, even shinier one. You could say I'm a thief with a particular clientele.

They can afford it. They probably deserve it, most of them, the way they get that rich in the first place. I'm good at what I do. Very good. Been at it for years. The tools of the trade, the methods, that's not what this is about. I'm not here to give a seminar. I'm here because of what happened last Monday.

Something that's got me looking over my shoulder. something that's made me question everything, something that makes the hair on my arms stand up just thinking about it. There was this guy. One of the local big shots. Old money, new money, didn't matter, he had a lot of it. And he had this car. Oh man, this car. Latest model, foreign, sleek, black as a starless night. The kind of car that whispers, power even when it's parked. I'd see I've seen him around town, cruising in it, that smug look on his face. He became my project. You don't just walk up and take a car like that.

Not if you want to keep doing this. You watch. You learn. Patience is key. So, I watched him. Four weeks. Learned his routines, his habits. Where he went, when he went.

Most of it was predictable, office, fans. fancy restaurants, golf club. Boring. But then I found the anomaly. The little secret. Every Monday night, late, he'd drive out to this apartment building on the edge of town. Not the nicest part of town, definitely not where you'd expect a guy like him to be hanging out. He'd park on a quiet side street, go inside for a few hours, then leave.

I figured it was an affair. Classic. His little escape. His little secret made him vulnerable, and his car, parked out there, away from his secure garage at his mansion. That was my opportunity. So, last Monday, I was ready. Dressed dark, tools in my kid, heart thumping a steady rhythm of adrenaline and anticipation.

I found a spot in the shadows across from where he usually parked, and I waited. The night was cool, quiet. The streetlights cast long, lonely shadows. Perfect. Right on schedule, the Black Beast purred up the street and parked. He got out, looked around quickly, a habit, probably, but not thorough enough, and then hurried into the apartment building. The door clicked shut behind him.

Showtime. I gave it a few minutes, let the street settle. Then I moved. Quick, silent, like a ghost. Years of practice make you light on your feet. I reached the car. It gleamed under the streetlight, even more imposing up close. State-of-the-art security, I knew that.

But like I said, I'm good. I got to work. My tools are, specialized. They do what they're supposed to do. No loud noises, no fuss. The driver's side door clicked open with a soft, almost polite snick. No alarm. Beautiful. I slipped inside, a grin playing on my lips. The smell of new leather and expensive air freshener filled my nostrils. Cocky bastard. I ran my hand over the smooth dashboard.

First thing, always check the usual spots for trackers or kill switches. Then, I popped open the glove compartment, just out of habit, looking for registration, anything interesting. And there they were. The keys. Just sitting there. In the glove compartment. The actual, factory-issued smart key. I blinked. No way. People this rich, with cars this expensive, they don't just leave the keys in the glove box. It was too easy. Suspiciously easy. A laugh rumbled in my chest. Maybe he was just that arrogant. Or maybe his mind. mind was on his. Monday night activities. Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to question a gift. My job just got a whole lot simpler. Easy hunt, but I'm the winner. I pressed the start

button. The engine came to life with a low, powerful from that vibrated through the seat. Music to my ears. I checked the mirrors, pulled away from the curb smoothly, and headed out of town, towards my hidden garage where I'd let it cool off for a while. The drive was smooth. The car handled like a dream, responsive, powerful. I was feeling good, the adrenaline singing in my veins. Another successful night. This one would fetch a very pretty penny.

Then, about ten minutes into the drive, on a dark, deserted stretch of backroad, I felt it. A weird sensation on my back. low down, near the base of my spine. Like something was, tickling me. Gently at first. I shifted in the seat, arched my back a little, thinking maybe the upholstery was bunched up or something. The feeling didn't stop. It got stronger.

The tickling became a prickling. Little, sharp points pressing into my back, through my shirt. I frowned. What the hell? This car was brand new. Were the seats defective? Some kind of weird massage function I didn't know about. It kept getting worse.

The prickling turned into stings. Sharp, insistent stings, like a dozen beetles jabbing into my skin, all along my spine, spreading outwards across my back. It started to hurt. A burning, stinging pain. What the actual? I muttered, Reaching behind me, trying to feel what was going on.

My hand touched the smooth leather of the seat. Nothing out of the ordinary. But the pain was intensifying. I had to stop. I pulled the car over to the side of the dark road, engine still running, and flicked on the interior dome light. The pain was really bad now, like my back was on fire, being pierced from a hundred different points.

I unbuckled my seat belt, gritting my teeth. I needed to see what was happening to the seat. I twisted around, craning my neck to look at the driver's seat I'd just been sitting in. My breath hitched. My blood ran cold. The seat, it wasn't a seat anymore. Where the smooth leather and ergonomic cushioning should have been, there was, something else. The dome light cast a sickly yellow glow on it.

It was red. wet looking and it was moving pulsing almost like a giant fleshy tongue a grotesque meaty slab the color of raw liver filling the shape of the driver's seat and sticking out of it all over its surface were tiny needle-sharp points gleaming like a thousand tiny obsidian teeth they were retracting and extending slightly rhythmically those were the things that had have been stabbing into my back. Before I could even scream, before my brain could fully process the impossible horror in front of me, the seatbelt, which I just unbuckled, moved. It whipped out like a striking snake, a dark, nylon serpent. It wrapped around my chest, tight, constricting, clicking back into its buckle with a sickening thunk. It pinned me against the, the thing in the seat. Panic exploded in my chest, hot and suffocating. I thrashed, clawed at the belt, but it was impossibly tight, digging into me.

Then came the pressure, and a horrifying sucking sensation from my back. The meaty, tongue seat, it was pressing against me, those thousands of tiny, sharp edges digging deeper. I could feel a disgusting, wet warmth spreading across my back, and a ghastly pulling, like it was trying to draw me into itself. Trying to eat me. I screamed then, a raw, terrified sound swallowed by the confines of the car. I twisted, bucked, trying to break free, but the belt held me fast, and the chair thing was relentless, its sharp points embedding further, the sucking pressure increasing.

Pain, sharp and agonizing, lanced through my entire back. My mind raced, fueled by sheer terror. I was going to die here, consumed by a goddamn car seat. Then I remembered My pocket knife Small but sharp Always carry it My hand fumbled desperately for my pocket

fingers shaking, the car vibrating slightly Or maybe it was just me The chair thing pulsed against my back A wet, slurping sound now audible over my own ragged breaths My fingers closed around the familiar cold metal of the knife I yanked it out, flicked it open with a clumsy desperate movement. The belt.

I had to cut the belt. I saw it at it, the small blade struggling against the tough nylon. The pain in my back was unbearable, a symphony of a thousand burning needles. I could feel my shirt soaking with, something. I didn't want to think what. The sucking was stronger, pulling me harder against the monstrous seat. Get off me. Get the hell off me.

I shrieked, tears. of pain and terror streaming down my face. The knife bit through. One strand, then another. With a final, desperate yank, the belt snapped. I lurched forward, away from the horrifying seat, a gasp tearing from my lungs. My back was on fire. I scrambled for the door handle. Locked. Of course, it was locked. Central locking, probably engaged when I started driving. No time. I could feel the, the presence of the seat behind me, sense it moving, probably trying to re-engage. In a surge of adrenaline-fueled desperation, I threw myself onto my back on the passenger seat,

thank God it still looked like a normal seat, and kicked out with both legs, hard, at the driver's side window. My heels connected with the glass. It spider-webbed, but didn't break. I kicked again, with every ounce of strength I had, screaming a little. a wordless cry of terror and exertion. The window exploded outwards in a shower of safety glass. I didn't hesitate. I wriggled, clawed, and threw myself through the opening, heedless of the jagged edges. I landed hard on the gravel shoulder of the road, pain flaring through my already agonized back, my arms, my legs. I didn't look back. I scrambled to

my feet and I ran. I ran like I'd never run before in my life. away from that car, away from that, thing. I didn't care about my tools, didn't care about anything except putting as much distance as possible between me and it. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out, then I stumbled into the woods and hid, shaking, bleeding, until the sun came up. I never went back for the car. I don't want to know if it's still there. I don't want to know what it is. I'm writing this because you need to know. You need to be careful. You need to be Those expensive, flashy cars, maybe some of them aren't just machines. Maybe some of them are hungry.

Maybe that rich guy wasn't having an affair. Maybe he was feeding his goddamn car. I don't know. All I know is that my back is a mess of tiny puncture wounds, and I'll never look at a luxury car the same way again. There's something out there, pretending to be a car. And it's waiting. be careful whose toys you try to take.

Some of them bite back. Hard the E-N-D. I don't know what pulled me toward that place. It was a mansion I'd never seen before, rising out of the landscape like it had been dragged from some ancient nightmare. The sun was setting when I first saw it, and the last light of the day clung to its black and white façade like cobwebs. It shouldn't have been there.

I knew the area well. I'd walked this path dozens of times. But there it was, standing at the edge of the forest, silent and still as a tomb. The closer I got, the more the world seemed to fade away. The wind died. The distant hum of insects and rustling leaves vanished. Even the colors of the world seemed to dull, leaving everything muted and lifeless. The mansion itself loomed larger as I approached, its windows cracked and dark, its wooden walls warped and streaked with grime.

The front door hung slightly ajar. I should have turned back. But something about that door felt like an invitation I couldn't refuse. The moment I stepped inside, the air changed. It was cold, dry, and heavy, like the breath of a crypt. The silence inside was suffocating, thick and unnatural, pressing against my ears until even my own breathing sounded foreign. The entire interior was black and white.

Not faded, not dim, but utterly devoid of color. The floorboards beneath my feet were a deep charcoal gray, the walls and ashen white. Dust clung to every surface, undisturbed by time or touch. I called out, just to hear something other than the silence. Hello, my voice seemed to vanish as soon as it left my lips. There was no echo, no response. Just nothing. The hallway stretched out before me, impossibly long, lined with towering doors that

seemed to lean inward, watching me. My footsteps echoed strangely, sharp and hollow, as I moved deeper into the house. And then I saw him. At the far end of a grand, dimly lit room, he sat in a massive armchair, perfectly still. For a moment, I thought he was a statue. His mask, black, with a long, cracked beak, gleamed faintly in the gray light. The lenses where his eyes should have been were fractured, blood-red glass that seemed to flicker faintly, as if lit from within. His clothes were from another time, a long black coat with high collars and ornate stitching,

now frayed and worn. His hands rested on the arms of the chair, large, scarred, and twisted, the fingers bent at unnatural angles. Everything about him seemed ancient, heavy with the weight of forgotten years. I couldn't move. My body was frozen, trapped by the sheer presence of him. And then he spoke. Ah, thou poor boy, he said, his voice deep and rough, tinged with an accent that felt older

than the room itself. I pity thy decisions. They are writ plain upon thy visage. Tell me, dost thou know where thou art, I, my voice came out hoarse, trembling. I don't know, he tilted his head slightly, the fractured lenses of his mask glinting in the dim light. Nay, thou dost not. Few who stumble upon this place ever do. But thou art here, and so thou shalt listen, he leaned forward, the chair creaking under his weight.

When I was but a youth, much like thyself, I strode through life with mine own self at the forefront of all things. I was proud, arrogant, enamored of mine own shadow. But in mine folly, I craved more. I sought to be part of something vast, eternal, and greater than myself. I felt a chill run down my spine as his words filled the room, heavy and unyielding. And so, I found it. Or rather, it found me, he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. A thing so great, so all-encompassing, that I became but a fragment within it.

To be part of it was to surrender all that I was. And I did, his head tilted further, his mask casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. And so began my undoing. My mind unravelled, fraying as a garment caught in a tempest. I woods descend into madness, howling in the abyss, only to awaken anew, and descend again. Over and over. A cycle unending, a torment without measure, he chuckled then, a dry, rasping sound that sent a shiver crawling up my spine.

But the cycle stopped. One day, the tempest fell silent. My mind returned, yet I remained here, whole, but shattered. And so, I ask thee, young man, hast thou ever been broken? The question hit me like a blow. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. The room seemed to darken further, the shadows pressing closer. My chest tightened as I took a hesitant step forward.

And what if I, what if I choose wrong? The old man tilted his head, the broken red lenses glinting faintly. Then thou shalt join me, he said simply, his voice soft and final. And thou shalt learn how long eternity truly is. The air grew heavy, and I stumbled back, the world around me twisting and warping. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows shifting and writhing at the edges of my vision. Then, suddenly, I was outside. The mansion loomed behind me, silent and still, its black and white façade glaring at me like

an open wound. My legs carried me away before I could think, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Even now, as I sit here in the light of day, I can still hear his voice in my mind. That deep, ancient voice, echoing in the corners of my memory. Hast thou ever been broken, young man, and I know, deep down, that he's still there, waiting? Let me know if you'd like more added or further refinements. Okay, everyone. I don't know where or how to begin.

I'm writing this, and my hands are shaking, and I can't stop thinking about what happened. I've quit that job, I'm done. I can't go back to that place again, not even walk past it. This whole thing happened recently, but it's still nesting in my head like it was yesterday. I don't want anyone to know who I am or where this happened, so I won't be sharing any personal details, not my name, not the hotel's name, not its location. What matters is the story itself, and I hope someone believes me, or maybe someone else has seen something like this. I'm just a young guy, like any other. Money was tight, so I took a job in hotel security.

Not a five-star place, mind you, just an average hotel, decent condition, but operational and had guests. My work was in shifts and the one I worked most often was the night shift, from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. Of course, it was dead boring most of the time, complete silence, unless a drunk guest came back late or some other minor incident occurred. The whole job consisted of sitting in front of security camera monitors, doing a quick round every hour or two on the floors to make sure everything was okay, and answering any calls from rooms or outside. Our operations center was a small room next to the reception, with a desk holding the monitors, an internal phone, and a logbook where we noted down any observations. The cameras covered most important areas, the main entrance, reception, the lobby,

the corridors on each floor in front of the elevators and rooms, the restaurant, the bar, if there was one, and the garage if applicable. But there was one very important place, perhaps the crux of this whole story, that had no cameras, inside the elevator itself. The hotel elevator was a bit old, with an inner manual door you had to pull open after the automatic one opened. Its sound going up and down was distinctive, a faint wine and a mechanical groan that made you feel like it was exerting effort.

I once asked my direct supervisor why there wasn't a camera inside the elevator, especially since it's a place where anything could happen. He replied coolly, telling me the hotel owner considered it an unnecessary expense, and who's going to do anything inside an elevator anyway. It's just a minute going up or down. Strange logic, obviously, but what could I do? I was just an employee collecting my paycheck. Maybe if there had been a camera inside, things would have been a camera inside, things would have

have been different, or maybe I would have officially lost my mind much sooner. Anyway, I started noticing this strange thing maybe two or three months into the job. Like I said, the night shift is boring, so you become hyper-focused on any movement on the screens, or any weird sound you hear. The first time I noticed, this man, it seemed completely normal at first. I saw him on the lobby camera entering through the main hotel door, walking normally, looking ordinary, dressed very normally, slacks and a shirt, neither too fancy nor shabby. A man in his 40s or early 50s, thinning black hair, very unremarkable features you wouldn't

remember if you met him again. He headed towards the elevator, pressed the button, waited for the elevator to come down, it was on an upper floor, and when the door opened, he went in and the door closed. All very normal. As usual, I glanced at the elevator monitor screen to see which floor he was going to, just so I'd know if anything happened. The elevator lit up the number for the fourth floor. Okay. I waited a few seconds, normally, when it reaches the fourth floor, the camera in the fourth floor corridor should capture him exiting the elevator.

But strangely, the fourth floor camera didn't show anyone exiting the elevator. The elevator arrived, the door opened and closed, we see this from the elevator light reflecting in the corridor, but no one came out. I thought maybe I'd zoned out for a second and missed it. Or maybe the camera had a blind spot right at the door. Even though the camera covered the entire corridor in front of the elevator. I rewound the lobby camera recording, yes, there's the man entering the elevator. I rewound the fourth floor camera recording, the elevator arrived, opened, closed, and nobody exited. Okay, maybe he went down again quickly before I saw. I checked the elevator movement log, it showed it went down to the second floor

shortly after. I looked at the second floor camera, nobody exited there either. The elevator continued down and stopped in the lobby again. So where was this man? Did he enter the elevator and just, not exit on any floor? At first, I thought maybe I was imagining things, maybe I was tired, maybe there was a glitch in the camera system. I let it go. But two or three days later, the exact same scenario. The same man, or someone who looked incredibly similar, as I said, his features were very generic, didn't stick in the mind, enters from the lobby, gets into the elevator, selects a floor, once the fifth, another time the third, the elevator goes up, reaches the floor, the door opens and closes, and nobody exits on the corridor camera.

This is when I started to get seriously worried. This wasn't normal. I began to focus on this man whenever he appeared. I noticed something even stranger, the timing of his appearances and disappearances made no logical sense at all. For example, I'd see him entering the hotel at 1 a.m., get into the elevator, and supposedly go up to the sixth floor. The elevator arrives, nobody exits. Then, exactly two minutes later, I see him. him exiting the elevator in the lobby.

How? The elevator indicator still showed it was on the sixth floor. There was no recorded movement of the elevator descending. It was as if he entered the elevator in the lobby, and exited it in the lobby two minutes later, but in between, the elevator traveled to the sixth floor and back without actually moving. Another time, I saw him exiting the elevator in the lobby at 3 a.m. Okay. I kept watching the entrance cameras to see him leave the hotel.

Nothing. He didn't leave. So where did he go? The restroom? Did he sit in the lobby? I scanned everywhere on the cameras, no trace of him. It was like he stepped out of the elevator and vanished into thin air. And then, maybe 15 minutes later, I see him entering through the main hotel door again.

Where was he for those 15 minutes if he never actually left? I started going crazy I found myself waiting for him to appear every night sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't no fixed schedule I asked my colleagues on other shifts described him and asked if they'd seen him or if there was a guest matching his description

they all said they hadn't noticed or maybe he was just a regular guest nobody paid much attention to I asked the reception staff they said no one matching the description had booked a room alone or frequented the hotel regularly. The guest logs had no one matching either the description or these bizarre timings. I started digging through camera recordings from previous days. Entire night spent replaying footage of this man entering and exiting the elevator.

The same weird pattern repeated. Enteres from the lobby, elevator goes to a certain floor, nobody exits on that floor. A little later, he suddenly appears exiting the elevator in the lobby. or conversely, exits the elevator in the lobby, then appears entering the main hotel door sometime later without having ever left in the first place. One time, I decided I had to confront him. I had to know who he was and what his story was. I was sitting in the security room, eyes glued to the monitors. Around 2.30 a.m., I caught his silhouette entering through the main door. My heart started pounding hard. I left the room and ran out to the

lobby. It was him, walking calmly towards the elevator. I called out, a bit loudly, sir. Excuse me. He didn't turn around. As if he couldn't hear me at all. He continued walking and pressed the elevator button. I hurried towards him, calling out again, sir. Please, just a moment. I need to talk to you. I reached him just as the elevator door was opening. He looked at me with a look. I can't describe it. An empty look, like he was looking right through me, not seeing me at all. No expression whatsoever, no surprise, no anxiety, nothing.

Like a statue. And he stepped into the elevator. Before the door closed, I tried to reach out my hand to stop him or get in with him, but I don't know what happened, I felt like a heavy wall of air pushed me back for a moment, and the automatic door slid shut in my face, followed by the inner manual door closing with a muffled thud. I stood there in front of the closed door like an idiot, feeling a strange chill in my body. I looked up at the floor indicator panel above the door, the elevator hadn't lit up any floor number. The light for the floor number, which should illuminate

when it's ascending or descending, was completely off. As if it was stationary, but I could hear its faint whining sound, like it was running. I ran back to the security room to check the cameras. I looked at the cameras for every single floor. No sign of the elevator arriving at any floor. The indicator light showing the elevator's position on my control panel in the room was also off, as if the elevator didn't even exist in the system anymore. I stared blankly at the monitors for about five minutes, unable to comprehend anything. My heart felt like it was going to stop from fear and confusion. Suddenly, I heard the distinct ding sound of the elevator arriving, coming from the lobby. I quickly looked at the lobby camera and saw the elevator

door opening, and the man stepping out. With the same calmness, the same empty gaze. He walked out towards the main entrance, left the hotel, and disappeared down the street. How? The elevator hadn't gone to any floor and hadn't moved from its spot, at least according to the indicators and cameras, so how did this man exit it five minutes later? Where was he during those five minutes? Inside the elevator that was apparently stationary in the lobby? That night, I couldn't sleep at all after my shift ended. My mind was racing. Every possibility crossed my mind, was this a ghost? Was I hallucinating? Was there a major technical problem with the elevator and cameras that nobody knew about? But how could all the

floor cameras failed to capture him exiting. And how could his timings be so utterly illogical? I decided I had to know what exactly was happening inside that elevator. Since there were no cameras, I'd have to rely on my own senses. The next night, I was lying in wait for him. As soon as I saw his silhouette enter the main door, I pretended to be busy with something at the reception desk, near the elevator. I watched him walk towards the elevator with the same detachment, press the button. The elevator was already in the lobby. The door opened. The man started to step inside. In that instant, without thinking, I took two quick steps and slipped into the elevator behind him just before the door closed. My heart was hammering like a drum.

The man wasn't startled, didn't even glance at me. As if I were thin air. He stood in one corner of the elevator, and I stood in the opposite corner, both facing the closing door. The automatic door slid shut, followed by the inner door. The elevator grew dimmer, the light inside was weak and flickered slightly. I looked at the panel of floor buttons, he hadn't pressed any button. Neither had I. So where was he supposedly going all those other times? How was the elevator moving on its own? Before I could ask him anything or do anything, the elevator, the elevator was started to move. But not up or down. The movement was, strange. Like the elevator was sliding sideways, or rotating slowly on its axis, accompanied by a louder wind than usual, and a weird

metallic grinding sound. The light inside the elevator began to flicker violently, growing dimmer still. I looked at the man standing in the corner. He was still standing with the same stillness, staring straight ahead with that empty gaze. I tried to speak, my voice came out choked, you. Who are you? What is happening? He didn't answer. It was like he wasn't even there with me in this metal box.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped. Not a smooth stop like elevators usually make it floors. This was an abrupt halt, like a car slamming on its brakes. I stumbled backward, hitting the wall. The light cut out completely for a moment, then returned as a very faint glow, barely enough to make out each other's features. And I heard a sound from outside the door. Not the sound of people talking, nor the normal sounds of movement in a hotel corridor.

It was a sound, like distant sirens, but not mechanical sirens. Sharp, overlapping whales, like human voices screaming at extremely high, varying pitches, but fragmented and rhythmic in a terrifying way, as if it were a language or a form of communication. A sound that makes the hair on your body stand on end. The automatic elevator door began to open, extremely slowly, with a loud, metallic screech as if it were struggling. With every centimeter the door opened, the sound outside grew louder and closer, and the light filtering through the gap wasn't the normal light of a hotel corridor. It was a light. A dim red, mixed with a strange blue, like an unnatural twilight.

My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest from terror. I was frozen in place, unable to move or scream. My eyes were fixed on the slowly widening gap, and on the man still standing like a statue. And when the door had opened about two or three handwifts, I saw. I wish I hadn't seen. It wasn't a hotel corridor. It wasn't any place I knew or could eat. even imagine. The floor was, not a floor. Something shimmering and slowly rippling like the

surface of thick, black water. And the sky above, if it was a sky at all, was swirling vortexes of the strange red and blue light I'd seen filtering in, moving slowly like living clouds. There were no walls, it was a terrifyingly vast open space, but visibility was poor, as if there was a light, moving fog. And the sounds, the sounds were coming. And the sounds were coming from beings moving in that fog. I couldn't see their forms clearly, they were like tall, thin shadows swaying and moving in an inhuman way, as if their joints were everywhere. And they were the source of those sharp siren sounds. They were talking with them. High-pitched whales, low ones, intermittent, continuous, overlapping in a way that made you feel

like your brain would explode. Not just loud noise, no, this sound had, consciousness. Meaning. But a meaning that was incomprehensible and terrifying to the extreme degree. I felt for a moment that these sounds were trying to penetrate my ears and reach my brain directly, as if trying to dismantle my thoughts. And amidst that fog, I glimpsed something else, human figures. Or at least, they had been human at some point. They were standing scattered, motionless like statues, staring in random directions,

and their eyes, their eyes were completely white, no pupils, no irises. Their mouths were slightly open, as if caught in a silent scream. They were wearing ordinary clothes, clothes like we wear every day. One wore a suit, a woman wore a dress, another man wore a galabia, like ordinary people who had been snatched and placed in this horrifying place, frozen forever. Was the man with me in the elevator one of them? Or did he travel between them? I saw all of this in just a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

I felt a wave of icy coldness spread through my entire body, and pure terror, an existential dread, like the entire universe was wrong and inverted. I felt intensely nauseous, my stomach churning. Suddenly, as quickly as it had opened, the door began to close again, with that terrifying screeching sound. The sounds and the sight started to fade gradually as the door closed. And the man with me? Completely unaffected. Still standing in his spot with the same cold indifference. The door closed completely.

The weak, flickering light returned to its, already dim, normality. The whining and grinding sound started again, and I felt the elevator move again in that strange way, as if returning to its place. I remained leaning against the wall, my whole body trembling, unable to stand properly. I looked at the man, then at the closed door, unable to process what I had seen and heard. This wasn't a hallucination, it was real, terrifyingly real. After about a minute or less, the elevator stopped, normally this time. And I heard the usual ding, of arrival at the ground floor, lobby. The inner door opened, followed by the automatic door.

The normal lobby air, the warm yellow lobby light, the faint hum of the air conditioning, everything returned to normal as if nothing had happened. The man who had been with me stepped out of the elevator calmly, walked towards the main entrance in the same manner, exited, and disappeared down the street. I remained standing inside that damned elevator for about another minute, unable to move. My body was rigid, my mind screaming. The sounds I'd heard were still ringing in my ears. the image of that horrific place was seared into my eyes.

The sight of the frozen people with their white eyes. I couldn't get it out of my head. I stumbled out of the elevator, feeling like I was drunk. I went back to the security room and sat down on the chair, feeling like I was about to collapse. I sat there staring at the empty monitors in front of me, and at the elevator control panel which had returned to normal, showing the elevator was stationary on the ground floor. What was that?

What had I just seen? Was this elevator, a gateway? A portal to other places? Other dimensions? And that man, was he traveling between these places? Was he one of the inhabitants of that horrifying dimension I saw? Or was he just the driver of this elevator on its strange journeys? And those frozen people?

Were they people who rode this elevator at the wrong time, saw what shouldn't be seen, and got trapped there. All these questions swirled in my mind, and I couldn't find any logical answer. The only thing I was sure of was the terror I felt. Not the kind of fear you see in movies, no, this was a deep dread, a fear of the absolute unknown, of the fact that there are things in this universe were not supposed to know about, and if we stumble upon them by chance, our lives will never be normal again. I couldn't finish my shift. I felt that if I stayed another minute in that place, I would go insane or something would happen to me. I gathered my few belongings, wrote a quick resignation note, left it on the desk for the

manager, and walked out of that hotel, disappearing into the street before dawn broke, feeling like someone was following me, like those terrifying siren sounds were still whispering in my ears. Since that day, I haven't been able to sleep properly. Every time I close my eyes, I see the red and blue light, and I hear those sharp sounds. sounds. I'm afraid to ride any elevator alone. I'm afraid of enclosed spaces. I've started to feel that the reality we live in is incredibly fragile, and that there are other places existing around us, perhaps intersecting with ours at certain moments, in certain places, like that damned elevator. I left the job, and I'm still looking for new work. But this fear inside me

won't go away. I wrote this here to vent, to tell what happened to me, maybe someone will believe me, maybe someone has gone through a similar experience somewhere. I don't want anyone to know who I am, all I want is to get this nightmare out of my system, and to warn anyone who might work in a place like that, or notice something strange like this. If you see an old, suspicious elevator, if you get a bad feeling about it, if you notice a strange person using it in an a logical way, stay away from it. Get away immediately. Because you might not be going up to the floor above, you might be going somewhere else entirely, a place from which no one returns intact. I'm sorry if this is long or rambling, but I'm writing exactly what I feel and remember.

Those sounds. I still hear them sometimes when I'm alone at night. I hope it's just my imagination. I really hope so. The end. I live in Texas with my daughter, Alicia 8 and my son J. 4M. Their mom has been out of the picture for the past two years not dead, just a piece of shit and I've managed pretty well as a single father. The three of us lived in a two-bedroom in a nice neighborhood, I've got a solid job, and the kids are thankfully healthy. Everything was smooth sailing until one night, two months ago, during which I was awoken

by J. poking me in the face. He was sobbing violently, though I recognized it as the I'm afraid, kind of crying as opposed to the I'm hurt, kind of crying, which made me a little less worried. Jay's always been nightmare prone, so I assumed that's what was causing him distress. When I asked him what was wrong, though, he said, the man in the next house is making scary faces at me. I'd heard my fair share of Jay's stories about monsters terrorizing him from the dark corners of his bedroom, but this was something new. I assumed he meant our neighbor's house, and the lack of fantastical elements in his description made me uneasy. It felt too specific to be one of his usual nightmares.

I got out of bed and walked with Jay in tow to my kid's room. Alicia was awake in the top bunk. From the soft glow of their nightlight, I could see her crossing her arms and scowling down at her little brother. I didn't turn on any lights to give myself a better view of the outdoors and peered out the bedroom window. Their window had curtains on it, but for once they hadn't been drawn all the way, and there was a small opening between them through which Jay must have looked out. One side of the neighbor's house, the one to our left from the street, was visible from

Alicia and Jay's room. There were two windows on the neighbor's side of the house, but it was too dark inside to see anything. I recalled from what I'd seen in the daylight that the window on the left, the one closest to the front of the house, was the kitchen. I wasn't sure what the window on the right was as it always had its curtains drawn. I asked Alicia if she'd seen anything, and she shook her head. He's always having nightmares and crying. I don't want to share a room with him anymore, Dad. I never get any sleep, it's not fair. Of course, hearing that made Jay start crying again, so I let him sleep in my room for the night. He has this T.M. and T. Endor, camping, tent that he prefers to his actual bed.

Honestly, at that point, I have suspected his nightmare to be a ploy to get me to let him camp. Anyway, I guess I'm a total pushover because he slept in that tent in my room for the next two nights. On the third night, I was again woken up, but this time by Alicia, who was standing over me and shaking my arm. That kid hadn't woken me up in the middle of the night for years. When I asked her what was wrong, she said, the neighbor was making faces at me. Those words, and the fear in my daughter's voice, really put me on edge. I closed the curtains when I said good night. Did you open them?

Only a little, but it's because I heard a weird noise. What did you hear? Alicia couldn't recall exactly. According to her, she had gotten out of bed to see what was going on, and when she lifted the curtain, she saw a light on in the neighbor's window. The curtains in the back room had been drawn back and our neighbor was standing in his house, right up against the window frame.

What was he doing? Alicia thought for a moment, and then made an expression I never want to see on my child's face, or anyone else's for that matter, ever again. I won't do it justice by describing it, but it looked something like this. First she smiled with both sets of teeth, so that there was a little open sliver between the rose,

and then she furrowed her eyebrows. She inclined her head towards me, kind of Kubrick stare-esque, and strained the muscles in her neck. The worst part, though, was what she did with her hands. She held out her left arm, forearm up. Then she clenched her right hand into a fist and moved it back and forth rapidly over her forearm. Poor thing described it as, playing the violin, but it seemed pretty obvious to me that my neighbor was pantomiming cutting. Disturbed, I told Alicia to stop, and to not make either the expression or the gesture again. I was angry and confused.

My neighbor, a man in his 40s, was a bit of a recluse, but he had seemed normal enough in the three or four times I'd spoken to him. I couldn't fathom why he would do something like that to my kids. After asking Alicia a few more questions, I realized that my neighbor might not have done anything technically, or at least legally, wrong. It wasn't against the law to make inappropriate gestures in your own home, but it seemed like he was targeting my kid specifically. Legal or not, I planned to have a little chat with him the following morning. My last question to Alicia was if our neighbor had made any other gestures, and she nodded. Then, she started making beckoning,

come here, motions with both of her hands. I had Alicia sleep in my room for the night as well. well. I also checked out the window in my kids' room, but like before, I saw nothing. The house was completely dark. The next morning, before work and after dropping Alicia and Jay off to school, I spent a good five minutes knocking on my neighbor's front door. I figured he was home since his car was in the driveway, but he never answered the door. Eventually I had to leave for work, and as I was walking away, I turned around quickly to see if he was watching me. He was, the coward, I saw him for a split second at the front window before he ducked beneath the sill and out of view.

Clearly, the guy had problems. I yelled out to him to stop fucking with us and then left. That same night, I put a plan in motion. While my kids slept in my room, I hung out in theirs. It was a Friday night and I was ready to pull an all-nighter so that I could catch my neighbor in the act. Although I trusted my kids, I wanted to confirm that there was actually something nefarious going on before I escalated things. I made sure the house was locked up and all the curtains drawn, tucked my kids in, and sat on the floor under the window in their room.

At around nine, I started marathwining midnight mass on my phone. I didn't want to wear headphones and miss any strange sounds, so I kept the volume low and mostly read subtitles. At midnight, I started to hear strange sounds. Like Alicia said, it's a bit hard to describe, best I can do is that it was this low, repeated clicking sound. You know that CHK-CH-CH-K sound you make to beck in the horse. It was something like that. All I knew is that the sound was undoubtedly coming from a person. After a few minutes of this, the sound switched to what I think was supposed to be a whistle,

but it came out all wrong, like someone's sucking breath in through their teeth. The sound was so crisp that the neighbor's window must have been open, which was an unsettling thought given that there was only around 15 feet of space between our houses. Certain that the neighbor was at his window, and that this was my best chance to see him, I stood up and pulled the curtain back in one motion. I saw him right away. There was a dim light on in his room, allowing me to see that horrible expression Alicia had made the night prior. It was one thing to see my child's recreation. but it was far more frightening on an adult. His window was indeed open, and his arms were stuck out into the cold night,

violently swiping against each other in a grotesque mimicry of self-harm. When he saw me, and realized that he was looking at another grown man and not some poor child, he stopped his erratic motions. His cartoonish grin faded and another, more genuine emotion settled over his features, rage. The man grabbed the window and slammed it shut, then closed the window. the curtains with the same forcefulness. I let my own curtain fall. I was a little shell shocked, I think. Of course, I was perturbed by the sight of the man, by his face

and his movement and the fact that he'd been doing that for who knows how many nights now in an attempt to frighten my kids. However, another detail stuck out as even more concerning to me, which was the fact that I genuinely wasn't sure if the man I had just seen was my neighbor. I'd seen him so few times in the years I'd lived in that house, and I was having trouble conjuring up his face. I sat on the floor for a minute, my blood thundering in my ears. I definitely had enough evidence at that point to call the cops, right? Just as I was about to pull out my phone, I heard a tremendous smack against the glass of the bedroom window. After a brief hesitation, I pulled the curtain back again. There were no lights on in the neighbor's house, and there was

also no one outside from what I could see. I pulled the curtains back a little further and saw a handprint in the top corner of the window pane. It's worth noting that our house is on a raised foundation and that particular window is very tall, so even though the window is on the first floor, the man outside would have needed an insane vertical to get his hand up there. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. As I explained the situation to them, I quickly walked around the house to see if I could catch a glimpse of the man. My last stop was my bedroom. Once inside, I locked the doors and, while still on the phone with the operator,

I took my handgun out of the safe in my closet. My heart was beating out of my damn chest, but I knew I had to stay calm, even more so when I saw that Alicia was awake and looking out of the tent at me. I reassured her in as few words as I could, whispering that we were okay, but we had to stay very quiet. I sat on the edge of my bed, my firearm ready, and my ears straining. My kid's tent was in the corner, and to the left of the tent, in the middle of the wall and directly across from where I sat, was a window.

After what felt like an eternity, I saw something. It was a cloudless night, and the moonlight was bright enough that I could see a silhouette through the white curtains. The dark shape was nebulous at first, but became more clear as the man outside stepped closer to the window. Somehow, he knew which room we were in. The silhouette didn't move for several minutes, and I remember being thankful that, from the angle at which she sat, Alicia couldn't see it. Then, something happened that I couldn't entirely wrap my head around. The man stepped back from the glass and raised his arms, making a, why, shape with his body in his limbs. Only,

his arms were far too long. They seemed to be double the length that they should. should have been, each arm about the same length as his entire body. I thought at first that he was holding something, maybe two pipes that just appeared to be an extension of his limbs, but I could clearly see two hands at the ends of the extremities. I could see five fingers on each hand, flopping around slightly as the man brought his arms closer to the window. Thud. Thought.

Thought. I stood up and readied myself to shoot, but just then the sounds of sirens pierced the quiet night. The man outside banged his hands against the window one last time, and then it was as if someone had sliced his arms at the elbows. His forearms seemed to shear right off, and the man took off running before they so much as hit the ground. When the police officers announced themselves, I answered the door and explained the situation to them. Two officers, a man and a woman, asked me a few questions about my neighbor, which I assume was necessary to establish probable cause for a search. Once finished, they told me to stay inside with the doors

locked while they investigated the neighbor's house. I watched them through the window of Alicia and Jay's room. They knocked on the neighbor's door, and when no one answered, they tried the front door handle. I watched the unlocked door swing open. The two looked at one another, and then entered. I'm not sure what they found inside that house. All I know is that when they emerged a few moments later, they both looked very disturbed. When I went outside to ask what they had found, the female officer told me simply, your neighbor's dead. The rest of the night was a blur of strangers in uniforms filing in and out of my neighbor's home. Some came to my porch afterwards to ask me questions, and none offered me any answers. They moved with

tight-lipped deficiency, their faces guarded, their words clipped. At one point, I wandered to the side of the house and found several people photographing something on the ground outside my bedroom window. Before they could ask me to leave, I made out the gruesome shape of two human arms. The kids and I have been staying in my parents' apartment for months, and I think everyone, even Jay, is getting tired of the cramped living situation. We can't stay in the house, Alicia is way too traumatized for that, and I wouldn't be comfortable staying there while the murderer is still at large anyway. I want to stay in the house. I want to sell the damn house, but our story going semi-viral is making that difficult. After all, who would

want a house that, thanks to the news, has become permanently associated with phrases like dismemberment and days of torture and victim barely recognizable as human? This is my first time ever posting. A friend of mine suggested this as a place to vent into the void. I, Kevin 35M, was engaged to my amazing fiancée Emily, 30F. We met at Starbucks almost four years ago now. I saw this mom struggling in the line, so I went up and just paid for her coffee and muffin. I really didn't have any expectations, but we started talking.

I noticed she didn't have a ring on her finger, and decided I'd shoot my shot. I didn't want to be awkward, so I just slipped her my business card with me sell on it and told her no pressure, figured if she was married she could just toss the card. I was ecstatic when she called me the next day. Our relationship took off fast and I have to admit I was in love from the start. She had some trauma she had to deal with.

I was the first relationship she had since her fiancé had gone missing nearly two years earlier. I was sympathetic, I knew what it was like. I buried my first true love. I had met a girl in college, Jocelyn. We were together for five years, engaged, when she was taken for me in a car accident. It took me two full years to move on, and I'm still not 100%. Emily wasn't my first date after losing Jocelyn, but she was the first that made me feel that spark. I met her son officially some months later.

Paul was the sweetest boy, I bonded with him quickly. They moved in with me and I knew this is what I wanted out of life. She was still struggling with the loss of her fiancé. He had gone on a guy's trip to Thailand and never came back. He had just disappeared and was presumed dead. I really put in the work to help her overcome that grief. I handled it when she cried after our first kiss because it was so different. I took things slow while she came to terms with being intimate with someone new.

Held her hand on the bad days, and celebrated the good. I knew what it was like, and I didn't want her to have to feel that way alone, like I made myself do. We had been engaged about two months when everything started to go south. Her ex-fiancee came back from the dead. He had been gone almost five years when his father, who Emily is still very close with and I had come to have a great relationship with Came to our home. He told us that Walt was back, he was alive and well. He told us a story about being trapped in a campbell.

Cambodian prison, which if I'm being honest, still doesn't make any sense. Like you were just lost in the shuffle. They never once let you make a phone call. Maybe in 1979, but not in 2019. I brought this up to Emily once and she didn't want to hear it. I knew to be supportive at first. There was guilt there. I could understand that, they all gave up on finding him.

They even had a memorial service. I was actually pretty relieved when Emily didn't want to meet him right away. I remember when I first met Walt. There was something about him that just seemed off to me. I didn't say anything about that but did make the effort to let him know I wanted what was best for Emily and Paul. I even got the guy a job working for my brother Kyle. I didn't ever want to deny him his son, but I really needed him to understand that this was going to be hard on the people he left behind. We were plenty cordial with each other.

but I will admit I played a bit overly nice, especially since I'm pretty sure he was cussing me under his breath. Once they met in person it was the beginning of the end. My whole life I've been the bigger person, except for one time in high school. However, watching my fiancé have an emotional affair, EA, right in front of my face for the next four months was a bit much even for me. I know he was her son's father, but they got real close real quick. I would bring my feelings on this to her and she said it was just natural to them. That they had been together a long time before he was taken from her, but there was nothing romantic there anymore.

She was with me now not him. I bought the reassurances for far too long. At our bachelor slash bachelorette party I saw them almost kiss. I knew then that the EA wouldn't end, and would at some point become a physical affair if I didn't do something. I decided I had to take this head on the very next morning, we were six days from wedding bells. I asked her to talk to me. I asked, are you falling back in love with Walt? She was taken aback for a moment, I never completely stopped, a part of me will ways love him,

we were separated through circumstances not by either of our own failings, but I've told you, there's nothing more between us. I pushed forward, I saw last night, I know you both thought I got there at. after, but I saw you dance, I saw you almost kiss. I just want to know if you want him more than you want me. She began to cry, no, I made a commitment to you, I will not go back on it. Sure there are still feelings, can you blame me, but I love you as well. I told her, that isn't very reassuring, it sounds more like you are staying with me out of obligation than love. She got defensive, I do love you, I'm marrying you. I calmly asked,

asked, when you picture yourself walking down that aisle, who do you picture standing at the end? She was tearing up even heavier, I'm sorry, it's just hard now that he's back. I said, I know, I know what it is like to lose someone, I don't know how it feels to get them back. I'm sure it's hard. Emily interrupted, it's impossible. I just can't stop how I feel. I'm so sorry. I hugged it tight, if you want to be with him, you need to tell me, it gets so.

much harder after next week. I only want you to be happy, with no regrets. Now, do you want to be with him? She just nodded her head and sobbed harder. I broke down too, it was one of the most painful moments of my life. We talked on about fairness, she wavered in her choice for a moment, but came back to him. I could sense a weight had come off of her. She began to pack.

I asked if I could still be in Paul's life, she said, said that would make her so happy. In a last moment, before she walked out forever I told her I loved her and to take care of herself. I said, I know you don't want to hear this, but that prison story has never sat right with me, just promise me you will be careful. She just nodded, turned and left. I completely fell apart. I was left with the daunting task of telling my family, who all adored Emily, and getting back as much money as I could from the deposits. My brother was so angry, he wanted to fire him. I asked him not to, that this man would be providing for Paul now.

He calmed, and said he would call Lee up and see if Lee could use him. The next day the eldest Paul, my almost father-in-law came by. We had always had a good rapport. He came to make things right in a way, but I knew he also wanted to see his son Mary Emily. When he offered to cover the return of all my deposits, I knew what he was done. doing. He was going to give them the chance to get married. I wanted to tell him to shove it, but I didn't. Always the bigger person, always letting it go. She came and got the rest of her stuff that week and let me know they were marrying. All of this happened nine months ago.

I've seen on their social media they act like the happy couple. Everyone comments how happy they are for them. They say it was fate, that some divine force let him survive his, in prison and come back to her. Then this week they announced that Emily was pregnant. Very few people have reached out to me, especially from our mutual circle. It's like they forgot I'm a person too. I guess I was just supposed to be okay with everything because I didn't make a scene. I feel betrayed, I'm broken.

My first ever girlfriend cheated, my second died, and now I biased my fiancé to true love. This house I live and used to be filled with. hope for the future now it just has me wallowing in self-pity. I was only able to see Paul twice this whole time, both of those in the first month. Then the separating me from their loves began. That's been the hardest part. I miss my little buddy. This was a boy who called me dad, who sat on my lap every single night while I read him a story from his five-minute Marvel books. He would fall asleep on me every day and I would go lay him in his bed. You don't just turn that off, I miss him so much. I just don't get it. How is this fair? I never cheated, I never

raised my voice, I treated her with respect, care, love. And somehow I feel like I'm viewed as the bad guy in this story. How am I the one who deserves to be punished? I just wanted to raise Paul as my own, to love his mother and wake up to her every day, to give them the best life I could. where is the justice in this where i don't expect anyone to feel sorry for me we all have our losses i just needed to get this off my chest i did something recently i wasn't the bigger man i didn't walk away or smooth things over since it's been nine years since i even got on this account that i used one time ever i don't want to go into the details of what happened before but i used the search function and found that someone called you slash Gwen underscore Loves underscore A underscore DBL made a borough, I guess that's what it's called, and in it, it had assembled all the posts that related to my situation. I had no idea that Walt or Emily had ever posted, so reading their perspectives was quite enlightening and enraging. I was not surprised on what I read in Walt's story that started

all this, it was the mindless plot hold dribble I heard him spout off years ago. I always knew something was wrong with that guy. Reading Emily's post from a few years ago, though, that made my blood boil. He was a liar, and sleesball. He wrecked my whole life at the time because he was selfish. I never got to see Paul again, I took me a long time to get over Emily. And it was for nothing, he didn't even stop being a sleesball. I got angry. I went into his profile, he was using it to post in subs like petty revenge and legal advice. He always portrayed himself as the victim somehow. Anyway, he bragged in these posts about how he managed to drag out his divorce with his ex-wife

for a full two years costing her loads more in-legal fees. He bragged about sabotaging the sale of their home because he didn't need the money, and he posts about how he was purposely drag out their custody hearings and child support agreements, violating them, and challenging them just to make things harder on her. I lost the love for Emily years ago, but knowing that this guy was always also hurting their children just out of spite was enough for me to get over that. I messaged Walt on Reddit and instigated a confrontation. I told him who I was and that I knew who he was. I used a lot of personal details from our past, and called him by his name, not his

dumb handle. He got personal back, called me by my name, and never corrected my calling him Walt. After I ended this, I contacted Emily via email. Her response had an upbeat tone, and she came on strong with interest in what I've been doing the last nine years. I cut to the chase, though, and let her know I wasn't interested in catching up. I just sent page after page of screenshots and downloads of all of Walt's posts and our conversation. I wanted it clear that U backslash Cambod and EIA 2000 was Walt, and this was evidence that he was purposely causing issues out of spite that were affecting their legal battle. At that point I let Emily know I didn't want any more correspondence, and I blocked her.

I guess it helped, because about ten days later on a Tuesday afternoon, Walt came storming into the office of my print shop. There was only one other person in the office with me, Carly, a few college kids I employed were in the back running the machines and listening to music. Walt was cussing me up one side and down the other. He then got up in my face, put two fingers in my chest and threatened to kick my ass. Carly said she was going to call the police and I told her, don't, I got this handled. At this point I let 25 years of turning the other cheek out. My brother and I were raised in a boxing house.

Our dad loved boxing, he put us in boxing classes at a young age and we kept in them all the way until high school. Even then my brother and I would spar a little here and they're just to keep up with it. In high school, I was your stereotype popular guy. I was smart, well-liked, and a three-sport star, football, wrestling, baseball. I had a girlfriend I had since middle school and we were each other's first everything. It was early in my senior year, I was the starting QB on the team, and we were pretty good. Notably we had two guys on the team, Tyler and Zach, who were really good and were getting recruited by a few division two schools.

They were best friends and honestly two of the biggest jerks I had ever encountered. They played a lot of mean pranks, constantly talked trash to anyone about anything, and would try to get with the girlfriends of the guys on the team they didn't like, just all-around debagged behavior. They thought they were really tough too, I mean they were big and strong, but you could tell they were the kind of guys who had never been punched in the face before. I guess going into our senior year my girlfriend was starting to feel like she was, wasting her youth, being in a long-term relationship with me,

which I could have moved past if she would have told me this or just broke up with me in the first place. She decided, though, to just go ahead with her exploration, without informing me of the change in our relationship status. It was the night after our first win and of course there was a house party. I typically didn't go to these in season, or very often. I also had to work this night, movie theater. I get a call from a friend of mine that my girlfriend was seen making out with Tyler, and that they just went into one of the bedrooms together. In a knee-jerk reaction I tell my co-worker I got to go and head that way. It was about 15 to 20 minutes to get to the party. The second I walked and I could see eyes go on me, some people felt that overwhelming awkwardness

you feel when you know something crazy is about to happen. Others laughed and made comments. Zach blocked me from going down the hall and we were getting in each other's faces when Tyler came out in just a pair of compression undershorts. They both stood over me trying to intimidate me, then threatened to beat my ass if I didn't leave. I turned around and headed for the front door. Tyler and Zach began calling me derogatory names and making a show. Other people laughed and made comments. Once out the front door I pulled my cell and called Kyle. He was there in ten minutes.

When we walked back in together Tyler and Zach were standing there in the middle of the room together, Tyler was redressed, and my girlfriend was standing with them. When they saw us she just turned and ran out the other side of the room. I will never forget the shocked face on Tyler and Zach. We didn't say anything, each of us just walked up and shoved them against the wall, then stepped back, giving them the universal, come on, sign. I could see in their eyes they wanted nothing to do with us. They had always built themselves on being the big badasses.

Really they were just bullies, they picked on smaller guys and easy targets. Now they messed up, here were two guys, that weren't as big and strong, but were fit and confident saying, let's find out. They had no choice, it was either fight or give up that bad boy reputation. I mean there were a couple dozen people standing around one. watching. When they charged us, it wasn't a fight, it was a massacre. In addition to the usual bloody noses and black eyes, I had also broken Tyler's jaw. Kyle had cracked Zach's ribs. Each of them missed a few weeks of the season. When the colleges inquired as to why they were

injured, it didn't take long for them to find out it was because of a fight. They stopped calling. We always wondered if law enforcement would get involved, they never did. Our father gave us one hell of speech, though. I've carried that with me ever since. Those two were jerks, but I felt like I took their future away. They both came from broke homes and were just scared kids. They didn't have what me and Kyle had. They never ended up going to college and here 25 years later I know they never left our hometown

or really amounted to anything. I have been the bigger person every day since then. Now I was standing here being threatened by the person I despised the most in this entire world. I shoved him back and when he stepped forward again he got met with a quick jab and hard right hook. He flopped on the floor like a fish. Trying to get up but too woozy to steady himself. Carly came over and he started to cry a little. We walked him out to his car and put him in the driver's seat.

about seven minutes later he started it and drove off i don't feel the least bit bad in fact i feel amazing i have wanted to do that for almost ten years and now only kick myself because i should have done that a long time ago emily got into contact with me she had a new email account i did not read it just blocked her again then she did the same thing again this time i did read it It was a semi-long email. It basically said thank you for your help, I'm sorry for the choices I made, I bet you are, I'd like to meet, catch up, and show a little appreciation for the help with my ex. Obviously it wasn't worded this way, but that's the gist.

I showed it to Carly, and she said there is no doubt in her mind that Emily wants to get back together with me, telling me that the tone is flirty. She then asked me what I thought about that. I said, I would rather cut my own feet off. I'm just going to block her again. Carly said to me, I don't think she will get the hint any time soon. She's not outright saying it, so I think you should meet and make it perfectly clear you're not interested, give you a little more practice at being petty.

She said the last part with a laugh. I agreed to give it a shot. I responded to the email and said I'd be willing to do a friendly one-time meet up. She asked if the next day would be fine and I replied yes. She then sent back to meet her at noon at the Starbucks on Spring Mill Road. The very Starbucks we met at all those years ago. I told her under no circumstances was she to bring Paul, and she swore she would not. She ended up sticking to that because had she not, I would have walked out.

I arrived before she did, grabbed a drink and a table. When she came and she walked over to me, and went for the hug. I rejected it and gave her the handshake. She seemed a little sad, and I began question this choice. She excused herself to get a drink and then came back. I sat there staring at her, waiting for her to say something first. She finally began, You look really good. I replied, thanks, I go hit the bags with the MMA guys sometimes. Emily, I thought you were into boxing. Slightly annoyed by the small talk, I am, but the MMA gym is close to the house and they obviously work boxing

too, but I doubt this is why you wanted to meet. She began telling me about what she found out about Walt, I stopped her and told her I already knew. I also told her about him attacking me a year ago. Then came what Carly told me to expect, I'm sorry for what happened between us. I made a huge mistake. I let this Hollywood ideal of lost love get in my head. It was a very traumatic time for me as well. I just can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. I was hoping you could find a way to forgive me, or give me a chance to earn that forgiveness. I deadpan said, I got over all of that a long time ago, my distaste for Walt was much stronger,

I'm glad your situation worked out, but I did that for your kids. She became a bit more overt, I just have this feeling, like there could still be something there. I have regretted losing you for quite a while now, and I just feel like fate brought you back. I mean, what are the odds you of all people would find those Reddit posts? I just have this feeling that the universe is trying to bring us back together. I was about to reply, but Carly's timing was perfect. She had been listening via speakerphone. As she came in, she smiled at me and said,

Hey, Kev, you ready to go. She then gave me a kiss that lingered a little long. longer than normal for public. She looked at Emily and extended her hand, you must be his ex-fiancee Emily. Emily looked a little annoyed, yeah, Kevin didn't mention he was dating anyone, I guess he likes them young now. She said that like it was a dig at the both of us. Carly laughed and said with a smile, oh honey, you're sweet, I'm a 39-year-old mother of two, but I'll take the compliment nonetheless, I don't get called young too often, also, I'm his wife, of the last seven years. She then posed her stance in a way that really accentuated her amazing figure.

Emily looked a little shocked, Kevin, why didn't you tell me you were married? I stood up prepared to leave with my wife, you never asked, plus I wanted you to know no one was waiting around for you. At that point we headed out. I guess I'm realizing now that I never mentioned that in my post either. I met Carly about a year after my engagement ended. We've been married almost seven years, but I want fault my wife for rounding up. We have five-year-old daughter and her 14-year-old son from her first marriage. His dad is not a D-bag and we get along well.

My stepson calls me Kevin, probably always will, but we still have a really good relationship I wouldn't trade for anything. When we got back into the car, Carly looked at me and said, see, it's fun to be petty sometimes. I just nodded and thought to myself, yeah, it really was. I haven't gotten another email from Emily, so I'm thinking she got the hint. The bite pair was of course very, strange was a feeling that really, I couldn't write I spent more than 40 years. We yearned. In December 2002 a student, University decided to enter the BDSM world I didn't have much idea about. Those themes prevailed and it was, as well as came

to a forum called, of Cannibal Cafe there they gathered, people with very fetish tastes and fetishes, diverse but initially what they did was share their fantasies, fantasies many of which do not, had fulfilled and among them was, obviously cannibalism, however, this student found a very, striking that of a man who said that, another person who would like to be, sacrificed and devoured that other person. It caught his attention with which, he sent him a message and the two started, to speak at first I thought, this nicknamed man was from, joke that maybe he wanted to roll with him, issue of eating someone but meta. The days past, he realized that no, I was joking Frank told him that previously he ate someone and that the experience was fascinating, with which I was

looking for another person, willing to die to be food is, immediately went to the police station, close and denounced it is when. The incident begins today. Armand Mays was born on December 1st, 1961 in Kastel, Germany being the fruit of the third marriage of his mother Walter. Mavis his father was always absent not. He spent a lot of time and his life was his. I work but your mother on the contrary. He was a controlling and demanding woman. I was always on top of him, pressing it everywhere but without however the child grew up being very happy he had two older brothers and all his family via a big country house full of animals which was located in it was the dream of any child a caseta in the middle of nowhere with many animals nature major brothers but unfortunately his

father left when he was very small and his older brothers made the bags and they went to berlin to look for work was so when his life put legs up now he was an only child and loneliness it was his best companion so he decided create an imaginary friend who he called Frank Frank and he spent very good times together and that friendship would last many years may not we are the student class that was armin but according to several sources it was enough well i got good grades and that later he would allow him to forge a very interesting career however he believes he was not very interested in studies did not feel to study no he had motivation but his mother was very demanding that the boy although no i would like to 100% of himself his mother's figure marked his life since. This has a quite strong character. He loved him with all his heart but

two. Same time punished him with the same. Intensity something that made Armin, grew without understanding very well the social relations was shy reserved, and wishes with all your forces to connect, emotionally with someone looking for, create connections that were very intense, truth friendships, passionate and from very small those, concepts caught his attention. It was then that he crossed in his way the famous story of the brothers, Grim Hansel and Gretel the story, We all know but by some. I will summarize the. Hansel and Gretel brothers are lost in, the forest and then in the middle of nowhere. A chocolate house appears inside. Live a witch think that this is, good but really wants, gain them to eat them the end of. The story is pretty the children. This

detail is not important. It was really important that the witch was, I wanted to eat queen would like to eat. Another person was, fascinating and as I was growing, I was looking for stories similar to this, rumors articles or other books and arrived. Even to read several times, though. Robinson Crusoe de Daniel Defoe at age. Twelve years I fantasize about the subject and, he began to have desires with colleagues, class and with your own imaginary friend. They were not common desires but something else. I was looking for a union beyond the physical, and he thought that the strongest of all was.

Eat the meat of a lover sat that. When someone eats the soul of that, person would join yours and that the two, together they would form one was something. Difficult to explain but he felt. It was right that this union was the most, powerful of all however it was, aware that the rest of the people, they did not see it like that with which with the step. From the years he decided to save his wishes, like a secret after completing education, secondary Armand decided to change, his life and in 1981 he joined the forces, armed as a lash,

total of 12 years specifically in Rottenberg and Erfolda north of G's. He formed as his officer and employee, administrative and over the years, was climbing after passing through the, Armed Forces became a coach, computer for a database, banking located in Castle and From, from. From there he decided to settle his head many, children who would move elsewhere but, actually what he did was stay, with her mother and take care of her she moved, next to her to the house of her childhood end, he took care of her, 1990 moments in which the woman exhaled. His last breath was then when, felt a strange release no longer, nobody at his side to limit his, possibilities nobody would scream or, I would say what to do, but at the same time, after so many years there were, developed an impressive, emotional dependence with her and now, That was not feeling lost so, decided to build a small altar. Inside the house in honor of its deceased, Mother on this altar there was a mannequin, which simulated being her and constantly.

I was moving it from a place in a, chair in the hall and every night. He used it in his mother's bed without. She in her life Armin immersed himself in the, internet world as the case happened. Of Shannon L. Pacta he entered all kinds, of the claims and convinced himself, same that I had found a place, in which he could be who he wanted. Sharon created several aka but Armin.

I was clear that I wanted to be a person, specifically, and this was your friend. Imaginary Frank in all forums was, the same person Frank or Frankie and in. They all told the same and that is that, felt fascination with cannibalism. One of the forums in which, registered was the already extinct of cannibal. CAF at first I only read some posts, but in 2000 he created a thread in the, which one announced the following I am, looking for a young man and well formed, between 18 and 30 years to sacrifice it, that it was a joke that wanted to roll. I wanted to play to be cannibal, but there were two, who realized that he was very serious two

people who wanted the same, that he one of them was a man, supposedly called Borgh Jose de da. This story there are several versions, but none of them is entirely clear. Some say he was a cook and that, I had two assistants who were, willing to be eaten and another version. Account that this man was the one who wanted, be eaten as it may be, and this, man ended up hat, relationships were going to pass the next, phase but the time comes Bor Jose, threw back and all his plans. They came down there when the second and engineer 43 years, called Byrne June Brandis Armin received, your message on Valentine's Day of 2001 and at first I could not believe it. Because Byrne was too good to be, real this man told him that since,

he had always fantasized about being eaten and hired several men to. They will hit and have offered big sums of money for someone to, eight, but nobody absolutely nobody. Burn took seriously, that is open to everything I wanted, experiment and that is obsessed with, that they would hurt him there is a long e-mails restroth and the couple exchanged for quite some time emails in which you can see that burnt is really interested in this that he same gives ideas about how can die what wants armin to eat first that he wants me to pass with his bones and even gets to say that he wants his skull become ashtray our messages very surreal and finally the couple decides to stay on march ninth music 2001 that day the couple found the castle train station and from there

They went to Armin's house where they supposedly had relationships after. This Armin accompanied his new friend to, the station, and from there, they said goodbye they would keep talking. Another day and at that moment Byrne would be eaten but after Armin. Outside Byrne thought it better did not want, waiting for later wanted to be eaten. That same day with which he looked for a telephone called Armin and asked him to, would return and in a few minutes the guy, he returned him and took him home, and once there he turned on the camera and recorded everything in the following minutes.

I will count in great way what happened I will not give. Many details but the next part. Then it will be quite hard, with which if you think you can't. Supporting it, I recommend that jumps. Until this minute said we start it. In the recording it is supposedly seen that. Burn asks Armand to start his, parts to bites that this begins. Everything but unfortunately not.

Get knowing that what is coming. Now it will be very painful burn consumes, voluntarily a large amount of sleeping pills for cough and several liquors having consumed everything. This burn stays sleepy and Jarman. take the time to cut your parts with a knife the couple tries eat raw meat but can't end that is why armin decides to cook it but this seems to burn for three hours burn loses a lot of blood and armin low prepare a hot bath helps enter the water leaves you there and then the subject leaves him alone to read a star trek book after ten hours it seems that burn is still alive with which armin approaches him makes a cut in the neck and proceed to separate it into different parts some parts are taken to a false background that has its freezer and others are cooked for B meals immediately according to several. Internet portals Armand prepared its.

Dining room as I was waiting for a very special visit fixed the table. He placed a good man tablecloth, caught candles and cooked the flesh as if. Outside an exquisite placed, different herbs separated a glass of, came and enjoyed every bite the. First avocado was of course very, strange was a feeling that really, I couldn't write I spent more than 40 years. We yearned. To his trusted forum he published again, the same words and again, many people thought he was, of joke, but among all of them there was a university student with great curiosity to know if the truth said and that's when all alarms they shot in december 2002 the student began conversation with the man who called himself

frank and what shouted the four winds that had eaten someone and that they were ending meat reserves was also sinister that the young man could not avoid call the police thought that perhaps or a simple joke a macab joke but still afraid of which presented everything at the police station close and there it was discovered that frank no it was a joke and that in reality that. Man was a murderer on December 10th. Two thousand two, several agents appeared in there, domicidal and without preo notice led to, carried out an exhaustive record in this. They found the altar he had dedicated, to his beloved mother at the mannequin, and in the freezer of his house. They found a double background within the, which had packaged meat, they asked,

Armin, what was that to what this? He replied that it was wild-bore meat, but, it was clearly far from being what, that he said to the house in the part, exterior a lot of land was found, removed and when it was lifted there, and they found partner remains, belonging to a human being the DNA, showed that those remains and face of the freezer belonged to a male, adult to a 43-year old man named, Bern Jungen Brandes but worst of all, it wasn't that but it was also found, a several-hour video in, which could see the whole process to. The first moment this was one of the more controversial cases throughout Germany and, not only for the cruelty of acts, but because Armin Maestro confessed everything. From the minute one when I who, police noticed that

that this meat was not. Jabali released everything said who his. Victim why he did what he felt and, above all he remarked that he did not regret. The police took seven months and joining all, the pieces and that among all the, though, not only was the scene of the, the meat itself cries the bones, video but also everything. He found inside his computer. They read all the comments their post and also reviewed the files I had, saved in the system discovering that he was an adult content consumer, very graphic and, sinister is here

when the part comes, more shocking trial itself on, January 2004 Armand Mavis was declared, guilty of involuntary homicide and it was, sentenced to eight and a half years in prison. This condemnation of many seems to, ridiculous, but the arguments were, forceful, victim agreed with the executioner, and therefore it was not a murder was all, so surreal that it could not be avoided, investigate a little more and there, discovered that in Germany cannibalism, was not contemplated as something illegal, judging it again would be easy, but, condemn him as he really deserved would be complicated with which if he made a appeal trying to accuse him of murder for pleasure and disturbed the peace of the dead to demonstrate this the

accusation showed a judge a part of the recording that army made with his victim so far all trial appeared on television there were journalists in the room had public but when the video was shown all those people had to be expelled they all came out and then they reproduced 19 minutes from video 19 minutes that very few people could support a new trial was held january 12th 2006 and here was the return to the case the first time army it was judged that the victim wanted to die and therefore it was a

homicide but now the accusation said that burn was not fully aware of what was happening consumed a great amount of substances and when everything passed when the crime itself began to happening he was not fully aware therefore on May 10th 2006 this subject was sentenced to life imprisonment

for quite some time this subject he maintained a low profile did not want to give interviews did not want to be taken out films about him articles but no long ago he began to help the police to solve cases similar to yours and allowed a documentary to be made in which he himself told his version of the facts spoke of his life of his childhood of what he felt when killing burn so now is your turn you think about the case and you think this man he regrets what he did visiting athelhampton house was the final thing on my holiday agenda that day and it being winter it was already dark by the time i arrived. This suited me just fine, as the warm lamplight bathing the house gave a cozy air to

what could otherwise have been an austere, cold-looking facade. I entered the building through an oak and marble hallway and meandered from royal bedrooms to grand dining rooms, following the route laid out in the visitor's pamphlet. I stopped occasionally to snap a photograph or two on my little disposable camera, which were more commonplace at that time. Everything is digital nowadays, of course. No more running out of film or waiting to have your prints developed. I was able to get some good pictures, as the late hour meant that most visitors had already been and gone and I didn't have to worry about someone blundering into my shot. I had been in the house for about an hour and was thinking to myself that my tour must

soon be coming to an end when, as I strolled down a long empty picture gallery, a room off to the side caught my attention. It was very brightly lit, much more so than I had seen elsewhere and, in the doorway, I saw a velvet rope. There had been many of these throughout the house, blocking entrances and elegantly indicating to visitors that some areas were off limits. This one, however, was only hooked up on one side, with the rope trailing aimlessly on the floor. I guessed that a member of staff had perhaps been obliged to pass through and had not

yet returned and I certainly did not really believe that this room was suddenly open to visitors. However, it also meant that I had a pleasing opportunity to have a look into a restricted room with a good excuse for being there, should I be discovered. I approached the doorway and stepped carefully inside. I'm not really sure what I expected to find. A space in use by the resident family? A horde of fascinating curiosities.

Perhaps. However, to my slight disappointment, the room was empty. There was a wooden door in front of me, slightly ajar, and on the wall to my left, another doorway was blocked by an iron grate bolted securely to the stone. I looked at it, puzzled. From markings on the stonework beside the doorway, it seemed as though a normal door had once hung here. Why it had been replaced with this ugly lump of metalwork? I couldn't begin to guess.

On the other side of the grate was a short narrow hallway, also brightly lit and bare. After a short distance, it dropped away down a staircase to who knows where. Servant's quarters, perhaps. A cellar? A dungeon? Did stately homes have dungeons? Probably not. I walked over and peered through the bars, standing on my tiptoes to see if I could see any distance down the stairs. And then I nearly jumped out of my skin when a voice behind me said,

careful, love, I spun around and saw an elderly lady standing by the door that had been left open. She was dressed in the same blue shirt as other members of staff that I'd seen, and wore a small name tag that introduced her as Margaret. Oh, I'm sorry, I said, blushing a little. Am I not supposed to be in here? It's just that, the rope, I gestured a little pathetically towards the doorway and my excuse. No, no, she said. My mistake.

But, yes, this room is off limits. I moved back towards the hallway, stammering another apology. The old woman waved it away. It's quite all right, young lady. No harm done, I paused at the doorway and, seeing that Margaret seemed to be a friendly sort, decided to push my luck a little. Do you mind if I ask what's behind the grate? Oh.

She exclaimed, That's just the staircase that leads down to the man with too many eyes. I stood still for some seconds, staring at her. Then I said, the man, with too many eyes, Yes, she said, in a cheerful voice. He's all sorts of trouble, which is why we have to leave all the lights on. He can't stand the light. Because of all the eyes.

She was nodding her head enthusiastically as she spoke, her gray curls bobbing up and down. I scrabbled for the pamphlet in my bag. I don't recall reading about that story, I mumbled. Um, is it a recent legend? I'm not sure, answered Margaret. He's been here as long as I have, and likely a lot longer. Most people don't know about him, of course. I probably shouldn't have told you. And of those that do know, they don't like to come near his rooms because of, well, all the trouble.

I followed her gaze to the floor near the grate and saw a large scratch in the wood, and a stain where something dark had been spilled. Margaret was staring at me, her blue eyes wide in earnest. I come in every night to check that the lights are on. They're well maintained, of course, by people braver than me, but it never hurts to check. She pointed at the grate. That's just a temporary measure, until they replaced the door. What happened to the door? I asked.

She opened her mouth to answer, but didn't get the chance. Because the lights went out. I flinched in the sudden darkness and looked out into the hallway, towards the windows. No light came through and, with no moon that night, we found ourselves standing in absolute blackness. I think there's been a power cut, I ventured. Oh dear, replied Margaret, her voice a little. slow, almost dreamy. I intended to say something comforting, maybe that the power would surely be restored soon. Perhaps I could attempt to lead her out to the hallway where I vaguely remembered

there being seating. But I said nothing because, in the silence of my hesitation, I became aware of a noise. I listened intently and realized I was hearing the sound of running coming from the direction of the metal grate, of bare feet moving in long strides over stone, followed by the fast step of someone moving upstairs. As the footsteps grew nearer, I could hear that they were accompanied by another sound, like heavy breathing or grunting. Something hungry and desperate. I cowered back against the wall, one hand pressed against my chest, my eyes locked on the darkness ahead of me, unseeing but expecting.

And then there was a loud metallic crash and I realized that the approaching entity had collided violently with the metal grate. Beside me, Margaret again whispered, oh dear, the footsteps had stopped but the sound of awful breathing continued, somewhere directly ahead of me and only held back by a metal grate that suddenly seemed horribly insufficient. As the seconds passed in the blackness, and I stood frozen in fear, the awful grunting grew louder, alternating between drawn-out grunts and rapid gasps of exertion. An idea formed in my mind, and I dropped my hand to my pocket, drawing out my little camera.

I raised it up in front of me, pointed it towards the noise and pressed the shutter. The flash exploded into the room, momentarily bathing it in a bright, cold light. I saw the man. I saw his wide mouth and I saw his eyes, all those horrible eyes. And I saw impossibly long arms stretching through the Great Sun 15 feet in front of us, his fingers mere inches from my face. Saw them recoil back into the figure as he shielded himself from the filament's glare. I screamed and flung myself to the side.

I heard his wailing cry of pain and, once again, the sound of running, this time away from us heading back down the stairs. I sat frozen on the floor, my back planted against the wall, blinded. once more, but with the horrendous image of what I had just seen burned into my eyes. I heard Margaret nearby whispering something to herself, over and over, her voice soft and trembling. But I didn't pay her much attention as on the edges of my hearing came, once more, the footsteps. They were slower this time, more cautious.

Moving back this way. I reached out a flailing hand in the darkness and grabbed Margaret, feeling her flinch and hearing her cry out and then, staggering to my feet, I began to move back towards where I remembered the hall doorway being. I reached out blindly in front of me, my breath heavy and fast. I tried to move as quickly as I could, horribly aware of the approaching footsteps and those desperate hungry grunts. And then the lights came back on.

A scream tore the air, louder than before, screeching its agony out into the world. My head snapped around back towards the great but, suddenly blinded by the brightness, I saw nothing. Just the sound of wailing and receding footsteps into the dark belly of the house. Margaret and I walked hand in hand back to the entrance, neither of us saying anything. I deposited her into the caring hands of a colleague whose scared expression suggested that she too know what lurked beneath this fine building. Then I drove home.

If you're wondering about the photo that I took, it came out surprisingly well. I had it developed and I enclose it here for your examination. Sometimes I used to take it out and look at it, though never for long. His face is somewhat obscured by those otherworldly arms, but, perhaps, if you're braver than me, you can try to count his eyes. I've tried to be respectful and kind my year and a half that I've been here. It is very hard to do when you're being accused of something like this. I will continue to be this way, this is just the way I am. I wish no ill will towards anyone here, not even today. We begin. On the morning of November 24, 1989,

Mandy Stavik went out for a run. She was going to follow her usual route, a straight, 3.5 mile path. Normally, she ran with her mother, Mandy on foot, and her mom on a bicycle. But that day was different, as her mother couldn't accompany her. Even though it was daytime, Mandy didn't want to go alone. So she grabbed her dog Kira, a German shepherd, and the two of them went out. Dozens of people saw her pass by. They saw her through their windows, crossed paths with her, but two hours later, Kira came home alone, very agitated. The dog was panicked. They did everything they could to calm her down, but it was impossible. The reason for her state was clear, something had happened to Mandy. But what and where remained a mystery the police would

have to solve. Amanda Teresa Stavik, better known as Mandy, was born on April 16, 1971, in Bellingham, Washington, one of four children of Mary and Glenn Stavik. At the time, they were a strong couple with many years together, but something would later shake their foundation. In 1975, their oldest son, Bren Stavik, was murdered during a hunting trip. The boy had permission to hunt near the Fort Richardson military base in Anchorage, Alaska. Unfortunately, someone didn't agree with that and shot him 17 times in the back. The killer was never found, and the Stavik family never recovered from his death.

Years later, they divorced. When Mandy was in seventh grade, Mary took the kids and moved to Acme, a small town in Watcombe County, Washington. Back then, Acme had barely 200 residents. It was a rural area with large gardens, and nearly everyone knew each other. A girl like Mandy stood out immediately. Mandy Stavik grew up lively, cheerful, and very friendly. She had huge, striking eyes and was always smiling. According to her school, Mount Baker High School, Mandy was an outstanding student. She learned sign language, Japanese, and could play three instruments, saxophone, clarinet, and flute.

She was so competitive that she also participated in multiple sports, and in all of them, she stood out. She swam, worked as a lifeguard, played baseball, softball, and was on the college basketball team. Many might think Mandy didn't have time for a social life, always studying, playing instruments, doing sports, but the truth is she was one of the most popular girls in school. Her best friend, Annie Sergi, knew all her secrets, who she liked, who she didn't, who she got along with and who she didn't. She knew everything. and Annie was the one who played matchmaker between Mandy and a guy named Rick Zender. Rick and Mandy had apparently liked each other forever, that kind of high school love we all go through. There were glances, rumors, but neither one ever made the first move, until Annie finally did something

about it. From that moment on, the two became the perfect couple. They were always together, met each other's parents. But in 1989, when they graduated, they had to temporarily part ways, college awaited them. Each went to a different university. Mandy went to Central Washington, which was a three-hour drive from Acme. The couple had been together for three and a half years, but in the last year, with the distance, things got harder. They broke up three or four times, but every time they saw each other, they got back together. They still felt the same and did everything they could to keep their relationship alive. In the there's a holiday called Thanksgiving, celebrated in late November.

So on November 23rd, Mandy Stavik came home and spent the entire day with her family. And the next morning, the 24th, she decided to go out for a run. She usually ran with her mother, Mary Stavik, but this time Mary couldn't go with her, her sister had come into town for the holiday. So Mandy decided to take their dog, Kira. Kira was the family's German Shepherd, a large dog that commanded respect. That's why Mandy thought she'd be the perfect companion. She went to her room and got changed, a light-colored sweatshirt, green sweatpants, and white

Reebok sneakers with blue stripes. Then she put on her headphones, turned on her walkman, grabbed Kira, and the two of them went out the door. The route she followed was a straight 3.5-mile path, from her parents' house, across Highway 9, and ending at the Nooksack River. At the river, the path ended, so she'd usually turn around and go back home. She had done this route a million times, and this time it was daylight, and she had Kira with her. Dozens of neighbors saw her pass by. They greeted her, saw her from their windows. Her brother Lee, who was at Jim Anderson's house, saw her through

the window. However, two hours later, Mary Stavoc heard Kira barked. and whining. When she opened the porch door, she found the dog alone and very distressed, panting, whining, tail-tucked, pacing nervously. Mary immediately knew something had happened to her daughter. She went inside, called the police, and reported her disappearance. Over the next three days, Mandy's face was everywhere, on posters, on TV, in newspapers. She was searched for by helicopter, car, on foot, with tracking. dogs, they searched everywhere. But sadly, there was no trace of Mandy Static. On November 26, days after her disappearance, green sweatpants were found among some bushes near the Nooksack River.

They were identical to the ones she had been wearing when she disappeared. Unfortunately, if they were hers, the pants showed some very disturbing signs. First, they were torn with holes, scratches, and mud stains. Second, they had biological evidence in several areas. At the time, we didn't have the advances in DNA testing we do now. That kind of investigation was still in its early stages and wasn't commonly used in criminal cases. But this case led to major steps forward. They tested the pants and found something very interesting, they contained two profiles, Mandy Stavix and a male profile. Unfortunately, due to limitations of the technology,

they couldn't identify the man, no match, no criminal record, no name. Finally, on November 27th of that same month, Mandy's lifeless body was found in a bend of the south fork of the Nooksack River. Her body was entangled in debris, branches, mud, and trash. The strange part was that she was completely naked, except for her Reebok sneakers and socks. The autopsy revealed the following. First, Amanda Teresa Stavik had the same male DNA found on the sweatpants in her intimate areas. Second, her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bruises. Third, she had a hematoma on the back of her head,

indicating she had been hit before she died. Fourth, her lungs were filled with water, meaning she died by drowning. As I mentioned before, Mandy Stavis was athletic, a trained swimmer, a lifeguard, and the Nooksack River wasn't deep. If she had been conscious, she could have stood up and wouldn't have drowned. So the medical examiners concluded she was unconscious when she entered the water, unable to save herself or stand up, because she had been knocked out. The police, once again, were unable to identify the male DNA found on Mandy's body. So, if DNA was the solid lead, they had to find potential suspects.

The first obvious suspect was Mandy's boyfriend, Rick Sender. In the final year of their relationship, they had broken up and gotten back together several times, so maybe Rick had something to do with it. But from the first moment, Rick was cooperative. He gave Mandy's things, her gifts, everything. He collaborated fully, so the police ruled him out quickly. The town of Acme didn't want to believe a killer was among them. They asked the police to look for the culprit outside the town. And for a while, that's exactly what they did.

Supposedly, they had evidence indicating the girl had been kidnapped. Mandy's footprints entered the path to the Nooksack River, a dirt path, and at one point, her prince stopped. Alongside hers were Kira's prints, but after that, Mandy's footprints vanished. So they thought maybe a car had stopped and abducted her. That's when they decided to link the case to the Green River Killer, who had started his spree in 1982. Mandy Stavik fit his victim profile. But the DNA didn't match, and the modus operandi didn't quite fit either. To be continued, that's when they decided to link this case with the

Green River Killer, who started acting in 1982. Mandy Stavik fit the profile, but the DNA didn't match, and the modus operandi didn't quite align. So, faced with this evidence, the police went back to square one and realized that maybe Mandy's footprint stopped because she personally knew her attacker. The officers once again focused on the town of Acme. They interviewed neighbors, requested DNA samples, and at one point considered a neighbor named Paul Malick a suspect. According to several people, Paul Malick was very strange and couldn't provide much information

about Mandy Stavik. So the officers went after him, but the DNA. didn't match. Once again, the police returned to Rick Zender, but he passed the test once more. Mary Stavik, determined to prevent her daughter from being forgotten, appeared on countless different programs, on television, on the radio, in newspapers, and almost every month she publicly demanded justice for Mandy. But time, as it often does, can be cruel, and the case eventually went cold. In 2009, a new inspector took over the case and once again reached. checked all the DNA samples. But it wasn't until 2013 that he received an important lead.

Two friends, Marilyn Anderson and H. Blackstorm, began reminiscing about their past in Acme. They talked about friends, high school romances, and eventually remembered the case of Mandy Stavoc. Inevitably, as they remembered Mandy, they also recalled a boy named Timothy Bace. Timothy Bass was a very odd guy, introverted, distant, unapproachable, but no one ever paid much attention to that. Mostly because his younger brother, Tom Bass, was one of Mandy's best friends. The Bass family lived two houses down from the Stovics, and the two boys had gone to the same school as Mandy for several years. Tom was the same age as her, and Timothy was three years older. What was strange was that Timothy Bace, according to these women, never missed a single girls' basketball game, the team that Mandy played on.

He was always there, alone, sitting in a corner of the bleachers, staring at all the girls, especially at Mandy Stavik. The women also remembered that Timothy was sinister, persistent, and that practically all the girls avoided him. With this information, the police got to work and discovered that Timothy Bace was currently living in Everson, just 27 minutes from Acme. Mr. Bass had married his lifelong girlfriend two months after Mandy's death, and at that time, they had three children together. When the police visited his home and asked him about Mandy Stavik, Timothy didn't know what to say. He said he didn't know her, didn't know anything about her, didn't even know she had been killed. He said directly that she wasn't anyone he knew. At that point, all alarms went off. His brother was one of

of her best friends. They lived two houses away. Mandi's case was all over the media, on posters, on the radio, on TV. How could Timothy Bace not have heard about it? So they asked him to voluntarily provide a DNA sample, but he flatly refused. Unfortunately, at that time, the police didn't have enough to request a warrant. So they tried to find another strategy to obtain his DNA. Timothy Bays had been working for many years as a delivery driver for a French bakery called Franz Family Bakers. He delivered bread and pastries to various stores and also made home deliveries. So the police went to the company's management and asked for their cooperation in obtaining his DNA, but management flatly refused. There was too much paperwork involved,

too many procedures, and it seemed they weren't interested in knowing whether there was a criminal among their staff. So they simply looked the other way. At one point, the police asked the company for Timothy Bace's delivery routes, and that, at least, they did provide. But unfortunately, Mr. Bace didn't smoke, so the officers couldn't get a used cigarette but to obtain his DNA. The search for the culprit continued over the next few years,

but all clues always led back to Timothy Bace. So in 2015, a new team of agents went to his workplace, and interrogated him directly, during a break, in front of his co-workers. That moment stuck in the minds of several people. In 2017, the police returned to the company, and once again questioned Timothy Bace. This time, the interrogation was witnessed by his co-worker, Kim Wagner. Kim was shocked by what she saw. Over the next few days, she told her husband and a friend what had happened.

And that friend told her that Timothy Bace was a suspect. in the murder of Mandy Stavik. The friend said he had known Timothy his entire life, they went to the same school, and that the base family had lived next to the Stavix, and that Timothy's brother was very close to Mandy. So Kim began doing her own research and looked up the Mandy Stavik case online.

Back then, the case was very famous. Everyone knew who Mandy Stavik was. Everyone had seen the posters, heard her name on the radio, seen her on TV. Now, Kim had a daughter around Mandy's age, a daughter who physically resembled her a lot. She was athletic, a good student, had many friends. So inevitably, Kim put herself in Mary Stavik's shoes. She picked up the phone and called the police to ask if Timothy Base was a suspect. The officer supposedly said yes, and Kim asked what she could do to help catch him.

From here, everything is full of uncertainty. It's not legal. for a civilian to obtain evidence for a case and hand it over to the police, unless they do it voluntarily. If it's done voluntarily, it can be admissible. But if the police requested, that evidence cannot be used in court. So Kim said she would do it of her own free will. But even though it sounds easy, it wasn't. To begin with, Timothy Bace never turned in his uniform. All employees were supposed to turn them in weekly, but he washed his at home and wore it again. Secondly, he always wore gloves, to drive, to handle food, and never left fingerprints anywhere. Thirdly, he didn't smoke, so he never left behind cigarette butts. However, on

August 10, 2017, Timothy slipped. Kim saw him go alone into the break room. She watched as he opened the fridge, took out a Coca-Cola, then walked to the water cooler, grabbed a plastic cup, and poured the coke into it. He drank directly from the cup. When Timothy left, Kim went into the break room, dug through the trash, and took the cup in the can, and later handed them over to the police. On December 12, 2017, Timothy Base was arrested because the DNA matched. This time, when interrogated, he completely changed his story. Before, he said he didn't know anything about the stavoc case, didn't know Mandy, had never seen her, and the case itself didn't even sound familiar. But now he claimed that he did know her, that his father had introduced them.

Unfortunately, Timothy's father had died several years earlier, so he couldn't testify in favor or against his son. Timothy said he and Mandy were good friends, that they would hang out, call each other, write letters, but he had no calls, no letters, supposedly because he hadn't kept them. He also claimed that they were lovers, that they would meet to have sex. But again, this story couldn't be confirmed, no witnesses, no proof, nothing. As expected, the defense tried to discredit the DNA evidence, pointing out that it was illegal for a civilian to collect samples on behalf of the police. But the prosecution argued that Kim Wagner had collected the evidence voluntarily, which

she herself had to declare in court. In August 2018, a judge ruled that Kim Wagner had taken the samples on her own initiative. So if the defense wanted to reduce Bace's sentence, they had to act quickly. The trial against this man began in May 2019. The defense claimed that Timothy Bace had a consensual relationship with Mandy Stavik, but as mentioned earlier, he had no proof of this relationship. So he appealed to the good faith of those willing to believe him, I. actually delivered to this jail twice a week until 2016. I've tried to be respectful and kind my

year and a half that I've been here. That is very hard to do when you're being accused of something like this. I will continue to be this way. This is just the way I am. I wish no ill will towards anyone here. He tried to show the world that he was a good husband and father, a good worker, that he didn't drink or smoke. So the prosecution decided to call everyone who had ever known Timothy Base, including his own family. First, there was Timothy's wife, or rather, his ex-wife. In 2010, she filed a restraining order against him, claiming that he had physically abused both her and their children on multiple occasions. She said Timothy was a big fan of true crime documentaries, watched them almost every night, and in every one, he always said that

if he ever committed a crime, he'd never get caught. Another very interesting point is, that when he was arrested, he asked his ex-wife to tell police they were together the day Mandy died. The second testimony came from Tom Bass, Timothy's brother. Tom said that in 2015, Timothy asked him to lie to police, to say that both of them had sexual relations with Mandy Stavik. Tom obviously said no, that Mandy had only been his friend and that it never occurred to him to lay a hand on her. You might think this request makes no sense, but in reality, it did. That judge believed Mandy was involved with many boys in town. If the defense could prove she had multiple partners, the DNA wouldn't mean anything,

and Timothy would walk free. But thanks to Tom, the plan failed. The third testimony was without a doubt the most important, from Timothy and Tom's mother. She said that same year, Timothy asked her to tell police that the one who killed Mandy was his late father. So once again, Timothy had no valid argument. and inevitably, he would end up in prison. On May 24, 2019, Timothy Bass was found guilty of first-degree murder. And on July 2nd of that same year, the judge sentenced him to 27 years, a sentence that, of course, he intends to appeal. Now it's your turn. What do you think about

the case? Do you believe this man killed Mandy Stavik? The end. We begin. Many theories and super 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 Lalori 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 Society of European Immigrants.

In the 1800s, Delphine married Don Ramon Lopez Yangulo, 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 Borkida. 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 sugarcane. It was a vast estate with hundreds of slaves working on it.

Delphine became a master of finance and quickly prospered in the sugar cane 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 Lalori. In 1831, the happy family acquired 1140, Royal Street in New Orleans. Some sources say that the mansion was obtained through coercion by Madame Lawlorie.

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 Lawlory 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 Gerard 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 fourth 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 1833, very greatly. Historian Harriet Martinell collected several contemporary testimonies about how Madame Lalori 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 Devinz 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 Lalori would kill her in her sleep. A lawyer friend of the family said he once saw a 12-year-old slave girl named Leah 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 girl 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, 1834, 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 doors, 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 insured. instruments scattered everywhere. One of the discoverers, Jean Francois Kananjay, 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. Canangay 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 Lollori'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 Law-Lory 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 daughters 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. 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. It all started in December 1980, when a scared woman walked into a police station, a look of desperation written all over her face. She headed straight to the desk and asked to speak with an inspector. She wasn't there to report a crime she had witnessed or even to confess to one. Instead, she claimed to have information about the whereabouts of a missing woman. And where did she get this information?

Through a vision. Yeah, you read that right. A vision. She described hills, dirt roads, shrubs, and something white sticking out amidst the greenery. It wasn't clear what the white object was, but she insisted it was related to the missing woman. This was the beginning of a story that would take some wild twists, and turns, one that would leave both skeptics and believers arguing for decades. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's go back to where it all began.

Who was Melanie Uribe? Born on September 9, 1948, in Los Angeles, California, Melanie Uribe had a pretty ordinary life. She was kind, reliable, and deeply committed to her family. Her love for helping others led her to pursue a career in nursing. After earning her degree, she found work at a hospital in Pekoyma, Los Angeles. At some point in her life, she fell in love, got married, and had a child. But life wasn't always kind to Melanie. Her marriage ended in a rough divorce, leaving her a single mom juggling work and parenthood. Despite her challenges, Melanie carried on with determination, doing her best to provide for her son.

Her life took a dark turn on December 15, 1980. At 32 years old, Melanie hated working the night shift. The very thought of it gave her anxiety, but that day, she didn't have much choice. She packed her bag, changed into her uniform, got into her red truck, and drove off into the night. She never made it to work. The disappearance, witnesses later reported seeing something suspicious. At a stop sign, three men approached Melanie's truck. One climbed in a driver's seat, another in the passenger seat, and the third jumped in the back.

That was the last time anyone saw Melanie alive. When Melanie didn't show up for her shift, her co-worker Shirley Kell tried calling her but got no response. Worried, Shirley went to the police the next morning to report Melanie missing. She gave them a description of Melanie, her name, and a crucial detail, she drove a red truck. The police already had a lead. At 5 a.m., they'd found a red truck matching the description in the middle of Bromont Street. But before anyone got their hopes up, the officers explained the grim discovery, the truck was on fire.

Melanie was nowhere to be found. No blood, no signs of a struggle, nothing. The search begins. On December 17, 1980, Melanie's disappearance made headlines. Her name and face were all over TV, radio, and newspapers. Police combed through neighborhoods, knocking on doors, desperate for any clues. came forward, but their stories were inconsistent. Some said two men were involved, others said three.

One witness even mentioned seeing a package of wipes tossed from the truck, which police later confirmed. Unfortunately, the package offered no useful evidence. As leads dried up, police and the community were left with more questions than answers. Who kidnapped Melanie? Why was her truck burned? Was she still alive? That's when a woman named Edda Smith entered the scene.

Edda Smith, the psychic, Eta was a 28-year-old aerospace worker from Burbank, California. On the surface, she seemed like your average woman, hardworking, sociable, and unremarkable. But Eta had a secret. From a young age, Eta experienced strange feelings and impressions. She would say things about events that hadn't happened yet, only for them to come true. She sometimes knew things she had no way of knowing, like secrets people thought they'd buried deep. Her parents told her to keep these gifts to herself, and for the most part, she did. On December 17th, Eta was at work when she overheard a colleague talking about Melanie's disappearance.

The news sent chills down her spine. She felt an inexplicable connection to Melanie, as if their fates were somehow intertwined. Later that day, Eta overheard a radio broadcast about the case. As the details played out, something in her mind clicked. She had a vision, vivid and unsettling. In her mind's eye, she saw a canyon, a winding dirt road, shrubs, and something white. She couldn't make out what the white object was, but she had a strong feeling it was connected to Melanie.

Could it be her nurse's uniform? Etta couldn't shake the vision. After work, she decided to act. Reporting the vision, at 3.30 p.m., Edda went to the police station and told Officer Lee Ryan about her vision. To her surprise, Ryan didn't brush her off as crazy. He listened carefully, even pulling out a map and asking her to point out the area she was describing.

Eta identified a place called Lopez Canyon, a remote area of hills and dirt roads. Though skeptical, Ryan took notes and promised to look into it. But Eta wasn't convinced they would. She feared that if the police didn't investigate, Melanie might never be found. Taking matters into her own hands, Eta couldn't just sit at home wondering if she was right. She felt an overwhelming urge to go to Lopez Canyon herself. She told her kids why she was leaving and, despite her better judgment, took them with her. When they arrived, Eta felt a wave of anxiety and dread.

She didn't know Melanie personally, but she felt her presence, her perfume, her aura. As they searched, they came across tire tracks. Eta was sure they belonged to Melanie's truck. Finally, her youngest child spotted something white in the bushes. It was Melanie's lifeless body, face down, partially clothed, and covered in blood. Eta immediately called the police, who were stunned when they arrived. An autopsy later confirmed Melanie had been raped and beaten to death, her skull crushed by repeated blows to the back of her head. Suspitions turned to Eta.

You'd think the discovery of Melanie's body would bring closure, but instead, it put Eta under suspicion. How could she have known where to find the body unless she was involved in the crime? Edda was taken to the station for questioning. What started as routine soon turned into an interrogation marathon? on. Four hours, officers made her repeat her story, trying to catch inconsistencies. They held her for 24 hours without food or water, hoping to break her. They wanted her to admit she had killed Melanie or at least been an accomplice. Edda stuck to her story, but the police weren't buying it. To make matters worse, they gave her a polygraph test. Although Edda passed,

the officers told her she hadn't. They accused her of manipulating the results and continued to hold her in custody. During her time in jail, Edda's health deteriorated. She contracted dysentery, lost six kilograms in just two days, and was denied medical attention. Despite her condition, the police refused to release her. The real killers, on December 20th, a breakthrough came from an unexpected source. An anonymous woman called the police with detailed information about Melanie's murder. She claimed Melanie had been killed by three men, Norman, 17, Louise Carnell Morgan, and Spencer Nelson, 21. The caller said Spencer had bludgeoned Melanie with a large rock to avoid leaving a witness.

She even handed over the murder weapon, still bloody, wrapped in a pillowcase. Under interrogation, Luis confessed to everything. He explained how the three men had kidnapped Melanie at the stop sign, driven her to Lopez Canyon, and robbed her. Spencer then decided to kill her to avoid going back to jail. With confessions and evidence in hand, the three men were arrested and later sentenced to life in prison. Eta's ordeal, with the real killers behind bars, Eta was released, but the damage had been done.

The police never apologized for wrongfully detaining her, nor for the inhumane treatment she endured. Eta sued the police department for damages, seeking compensation for the trauma she'd suffered. In the end, she received $2,000, a small sum for what she'd been through. Was Eta psychic? Even now, people debate whether Eta truly had psychic abilities or if her vision was a lucky guess. She insisted she wasn't involved in Melanie's murder, and the evidence supported her claim. But how she knew where to find the body remains a mystery. What do you think?

Could Eta really have been guided by some supernatural connection, or was it all a coincidence? 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. place 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 be found on the very 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 the 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 forthblood, 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 coarse 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 in 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 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 pass 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 scar 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 I'd 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 tails within the throes of a stupor asleep, 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 the neckline of her 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 gray head, but she then turned, and with a hand that did shake with the 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. Their 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, bed decked 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

turned 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-hackle-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.

Memesbury, 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 manner, 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 fetus 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 a 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, disemboweled 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 mine 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 more 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 at 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 footmen, 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 no 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 the few strands of hair which had not yet turned to grey. 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 fibre 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 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. 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 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 Tannion, 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 instinct 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 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. 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. Hands 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. Asa 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. his 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, 19th. 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 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 Bath, 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 ten 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 first.

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 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 1978. 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 26th, 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 10 months in prison and receiving treatment for his problem, he decided to request parole. At this point, even his father, one of his fiercest offenders, 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's. 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 boy. He couldn't understand how he had been capable of doing it. To be continued. 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 exhumed 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 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 1988.

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 for him.

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. Necrophagy 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 Syntha 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.

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, 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 Casares, 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. Most 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 doors 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 13th, 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 Asador 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 at the front door was slightly ajar, indicating that someone had entered the house.

A burglar had clearly broken in. José 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 309 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-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 Tregaro-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 Extramadura 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 Logreson. A mysterious case,

revisiting the tragedy of Alfonso Tregero. 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 in 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 chorizo, 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, 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-scene 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 the evidence mounts. As the investigation continued, the evidence pointed increasingly toward Rosa and Jose Carlos.

Forensic analysis revealed the following. 1. The shotgun used in the crime bore Jose Carlos' DNA. 2. The cartridge had Rosa's fingerprints. 3. Jose Carlos's pajamas contained gunpowder residue, particularly on the chest and arms, indicating he had fired the weapon. 4. 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 José 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 in 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 and 7,600 euros in cash, further tarnishing his image. Hashtag hashtag, hashtag Rosa's fate. 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. 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 believed justice had been served, others felt the truth was still buried. Was Rosa truly innocent, or 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 race. 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 puniliv 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 child care. 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 sacrifices 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 chalked 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 him question things, but nope. At one point, he got to do that. 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 30 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, 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 groom drinks. On the wedding day, only about 15 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 meet 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 greenstocks whispered secrets to the wind. Later, I stumbled upon a hidden tea house, its entrance marked by a simple curtain fluttering in the breeze. Inside, 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 realize that the true essence of travel lies not in the places you go, but in the stories you carry home. 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.

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. 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. 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 road.

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. It 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 14 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 cassar wanted to do it immediately so that they went to another state and when i was sixteen years old they were married at this time the girl is very clear to leave the studies get pregnant with he and on july sixteenth nineteen sixty three 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 the, July 22nd, 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 to. 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. Own 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 22. 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 it's 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 Stel 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 nor 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 9, 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 time 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 punish 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 there, 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 talk to anyone, friends forbidden comments, on it the interaction's greetings, and of course he disconnected the phone from, house however soon people started, to speak according to the neighbors 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 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 Norr 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 him stay still, grabbed 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 hand. 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 it. 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 and 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 legs 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 mom. 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 end, 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, there 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's 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 90 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 our 22 and shoot Susan without any. 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 helped 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 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 nineteen eighty four 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. Retrude 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 So Valley and once there, according to William, women force 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. 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 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 though, 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's surprise 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, Lo 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 ours.

Then someone was going to find her, becoming this in another case without. Solve over the years though. 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. Plyar 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 force 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 to receive. Probation the first. Audience was in July 2019 but there. He was denied and the next

date is for 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 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 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. Fused 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, Pasquale Alcocer, a 16-year-old maid working for the Kajalba. 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 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, Donna Isabelle, begging her to come and witness

the strange phenomenon. Reluctantly, Isabel 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 bolder. 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 blame 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 Pasquala'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 Pasquale's, 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 pulled. 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 Thuendey, 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 Twende 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 Duende 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? 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 it see 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 Kerry 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 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 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'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. People are shouting at him. Calling him names. A 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 Doll House 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 Herald, 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. 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. 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 a.m. 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? 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 close, 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 strain, 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. 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 day. 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 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 300. 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, Stewart 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 full fully booked, and guests still inquire about the infamous Room 33, 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 33, 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. 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 966, 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 Marcia, leading to an incident in October 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 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. Red 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 Marsha and the emotional pain she was experiencing. According to the Warrens, the poltergeist activity seemed to be centered around Marsha, 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 Marsha'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 Marcia. 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 authority's 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, wails 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, Asturias, 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 Morida, 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 Gonzalez, 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. Eusebio worked in a mines 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, 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. Concepcion 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, Juan 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. 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. During 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 Plongo, 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 unsexual. solved. 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 Bayonne 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 spinting 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. 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 300 to 600 raths, 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, McMoneagle 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 Schools 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? Dead made 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 Lazare, who claimed to work on reverse engineering alien technology, and it's easy to see why UFOs are a favorite topic in discussions of class. classified secrets. The hard attack gun, one of the more unsettling revelations about CIA projects involves a weapon designed to induce hard attacks. Developed in the 1960s and 70s, this prototype gun could fire a tiny dart 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, America's 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 in 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 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, 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 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. We 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 backseat. 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. 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. 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 kind of. 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 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 25, 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 Marianne, 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 to emerge. Some said it was the work of evil spirits, and others that the soul of Thomasina Goddard was expressing her discontent with the Chase family by disturbing their wreck.

As expected, these stories did not go unnoticed by the island's governor, Lord Commermere, 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 Burr, 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 Christchurch 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. Christ Church 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 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 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 Orderson of Christ Church, along with a magistrate and two other men, thoroughly inspected the crypt, examining its walls and vaulted ceiling. There was 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 A group of people even sacrificed all kinds of animals. Reverend Thomas Orderson 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 Thomasina Clark was prepared to rest in a 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 Ordersson, 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 Comamere 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 was. 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 Gawyer. 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 profiles 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, Carrie 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 Applebee's race. 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 other. 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, got 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. stand. 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 Farver 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 13th, 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 16th, 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 3,000, She lost it and sent strange messages. That she continued sending odd messages afterward. The police believed it was a mental health issue. Carrie Farver is unwell, unmedicated, and heartbroken. She's an adult. She probably just needs 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

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 Farber 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. 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 Carrie. 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. So 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 Potawatomi 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 19th, 2012, shortly after she vanished. This suggested Carrie Farver 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 teen trade. 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. Shana, 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 disguised. discovered that she circled Amy Flora's house daily. Then, on December 5th, 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.

bullet caliber matched her missing weapon. To police, it was obvious, 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, Gallier guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced her to life in prison without parole. Since then, she's repeatedly in 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's secondary school, which is basically where all the weirdos and meanies from all across Idlands 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, we're 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, Aia 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 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 stay 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. Wanna go out for lunch, grab Subway. I ask Winnie and Jillian. Sure, why not? We need a break from all this.

Jillian 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 fresh of Petricor. We walk down the road and crossed the subway 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. Yep. 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. Gillian 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 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 crawl 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 stapled 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 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 9-1-1, 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 method? Fusla. 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 something good is about to come out of it. Navaya, 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. 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. I'm getting tears and ugliness all over her baby blue nurse scrubs. Shoo! You're okay. She whispers, tears clogging her voice. 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 20s. He shoots my mom, who falls in

slow motion, onto the wooden floor. My heart drops into my stomach. M-O-M. I shriek 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 a man. 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. Methuselow 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 my 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 blare in my ears. The police have arrived. 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 Villadelle 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 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. 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, theater, 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. Pionbo, 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 a 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 Eco, 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 twelve stab wounds. That wasn't the crime scene, there was barely any blood. The boy had been killed elsewhere and later moved there. He was transported, left there, and then they left. The case was investigated, there were suspects, but unfortunately it was never solved. Angelo Fabri was a great student, promising, brilliant, and was well known as Mberto 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 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,

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 12th, 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. 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 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 going to be able to 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 work 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 6.12, 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 eight. 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

The trial was held the following year, specifically on December 3, 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 set 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 Francesco 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 dams monster. At that time, many more people died in the dam's context. We have answered. 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 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 mildew. Her father motioned for her to sit on the worn 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, choosing 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 work. He hurts.

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 steady 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 a weight 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. Evelyn stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

This was only the beginning. 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 this 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 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 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 then, 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, Sinaita 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 he 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 the 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 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 her. 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 Zinida 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 15, 2008. That day,

after arguing with her parents, Casey made it very clear to them that she did. 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 Kaylee. As expected, this was one of the police's main points of investigation. 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 15, 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 17, 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, the 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 Zanida Gonzalez but, coincidentally this woman had never, worked as a nanny she was a nurse had, no record in 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 This sad mother became the main suspect on the morning of December 11, 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 poo 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 or 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 in 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 First is that on Casey's computer, which was at her. Parents' house, investigators found terrifying Internet searches including How to Make Chloriform, 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 RA 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 and irresponsibility 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

duct tape over her mouth and give her chloroform sadly one night She placed the tape wrong in 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 the, 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 compulsively 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. Kaley 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 five, men and seven 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 end, 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.