Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - 9 Hours of Terrifying Night Tales

Episode Date: December 10, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #nightmares #hauntednights #midnightterror #darkencounters “9 Hours of Terrifying Night Tales” is a haunting collection of stories that dive into the darkest hours of the night—where sleep becomes impossible, and reality blurs with fear. These tales unfold in dim rooms, lonely roads, and haunted houses, revealing the chilling truths behind sleepless nights and sinister whispers. Each story will pull you deeper into the darkness until you start wondering if the things lurking in the shadows are real. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, nightterror, hauntednights, ghoststories, supernaturalhorror, truehorrorstories, sleepdeprivation, eerieencounters, darkmysteries, spookyvoices, midnightwhispers, paranormalactivity, chillingmoments, haunteddreams, nightmares

I was a smearment of free, and can we learn with it? Chance not next do she, I'm. But it's few irauch to do you know. Okay, ban I'm three last. Do you know, Paul, do you knowin to the foreste. I'd like Tunker to handle Nicotine on the Nord,

a gala, and on the numer of Hocke. I'm more chance to gashy at the back and he'd do that for that, because that's taring in all, Gain, and lower low in new. Feige the four of Paul and Nicotine do you're co-chase. T'was Christmas in Dublin, and Puss was in Boots where he found better than half-priced star gifts on festive favourites, including best-selling favorites and premium brands.

Don't miss out. Shop in-store or online. Gift happily ever after. Boots. Selected stores while stocks last offer ends 24th of December. A few years ago, I decided I needed a major life change. Everything seemed to be going down to. hill, my finances, my mental health, my life. I would go weeks without sleeping sometimes as the heavy traffic passed through the city streets down below. Every time I went outside, I saw more homeless people, more needles and crack pipes littering the ground, more muggings and assaults and overdoses and deaths. The city had become a wasteland, and I knew it was time to leave. I had no girlfriend, no wife, no kids. My parents had both died a few years prior and I barely talked to

my siblings anymore. I had nothing to tie me down to this place where I felt like I was dying inside a little more each day. That was when I sold nearly everything I owned, got in my car and drove up to Alaska to try starting anew. I bought a small cabin and a plot of land in the middle of its majestic mountains and dark, enchanting forests. In the winter, the northern light would shine through like the eyes of God, sending out divine trails of light that danced through the sky in cosmic waves. And while the move did help give me some peace of mind, in the end, the source of all my problems had ultimately followed me thousands of miles into this endless wilderness. It would take me a long time to realize the cause of all this misery was myself.

Because, as a wise man once said, wherever I go, there I am, I lived in that cabin for three months without any major issues other than the constant threat of bears, moose, and wolves. I had a rifle and a shotgun for hunting, a small garden in the backyard and a solar panel to generate electricity. This is the life, I said, relaxing on a hammock I had strung across the corner of the cabin while staring at the endless beauty directly outside the window. White-capped mountains loomed like giants in front of thick clusters of evergreens. A virgin covering of fluffy snow made entire world glisten and sparkle. There wasn't a house or road in sight. No work, no stress, no pollution, no cars honking all the time, I closed my eyes, breathing in the clean air. I ended up

falling asleep for a couple hours, waking up just as the sun had started setting. Bright orange streaks mixed with the bloody smears of the fading light as it disappeared behind the mountains. I grogily arose, stumbling over to make a cup of instant coffee. As I sipped it, I wandered around the room, looking for something to pass the time. There were still quite a few random objects left behind by the last owner that I hadn't gotten rid of yet. I had moved in to find a stocked bookshelf filled with classics by Philip K. Dick, Isaac Asimov and Robert Heinlein.

Bored, I started rifling through the collection, looking for something good to pass the time. As I shuffled past, a maze of death, and Ubeck, something caught my eye. A black, leather-bound book with no title or author name stood there, its cover faded with time and where. Curious, I pulled it out and opened it. I saw the cursive scrawled across the pages in a neat, copperplate script and realized it was a diary left behind by the previous owner. The first entry was dated January 9, 2015. This is what it said. I don't know if I'm going crazy or not. I went into town to talk to my therapist yesterday and she said I should try writing everything down. She talks to me like it's all in my head. But I know it's not. When I

first moved into the cabin, it seemed like paradise. I never thought in a million years that something would be slinking around at night. I never thought it would be hiding under my bed, peeking in windows and following me like a shadow. Right now, I'm snowed in with a cut. I'm snowed in with a cup of coffee in one hand and my pistol in the other. I can't sleep anymore. I keep hearing something shuffling around under the bed. Sometimes, I think I even hear ragged breathing, as if a corpse with dirt in its lungs had come back to life. I've caught glimpses of that thing in the darkness. Whatever it is, its skin is loose, almost falling off the bone. It almost looks like a naked, emaciated man. Its eyes are rotted and

dark, its back hunched, its spine twisted and jutting out like tumors. It moves in this slow, jerky way, but I can never seem to catch it. Its body seems broken and out of alignment. Its legs bend the wrong way sometimes. By the time I turn on the lights or try to take a video of it, it's always disappeared. But its fetid odor remains. It lingers in the cabin like a sweet smelling, spreading infection. I don't know what it wants from me. I want to leave, but with the storm raging outside, I'm stuck here, unable to get all the way back to town. The snow surrounds the cabin in mounds five feet high. I feel like a prisoner caged with a rabid beast, not knowing when it will strike. My wife claims she hasn't seen or heard anything, but she keeps vanishing

on me. Last night, she disappeared in the... And now, this is going to Rehawes-Nash-Nasurer. It's leargoal gilor gaihe and not art Gereina in Aundun-Dun, and leant of Gala to give a time of a deirin. In Ergrid, we're dig tour tauchy in one-hae to find out of unwaugh. There's o'clock you know how much lecturers, on as good people, people, tariff in one, Tashdie. There's air of cooct-do, agon.

Fullam, no, in Ergrid, Pongahy. I've been thinking... We need to talk to him about it. He might not listen to me. But yeah, as good a time as any. Okay, I'll give it a go. If he ever takes those earphones out. Vaping is harmful to your child's health.

Nicotine addiction can affect their concentration, sleep and moods. They're much more likely to smoke when they're older too. So take a deep breath and talk to them today. Get the facts about vaping and nicotine. Visit hse.e. forward slash vaping from the HSE. middle of a snowstorm. Where did she go? I asked her in the morning, but she said she was here the whole time. She didn't remember anything. There's no way she went into town. There wasn't time and the trails were impassable that far down. Something's going on here, but I don't know what it is.

I'm truly scared for our lives. I slammed the diary shut, not wanting to read anymore. I didn't want to become infected by some kind of contagious cabin fever. If the last owner had gone insane in the mountains and started hallucinating naked corpses crawling around, I really didn't want to know. I shoved the diary back in the bookshelf, going for a maze of death, instead. I tried to forget what I had read in the diary as I flew through the novella. All night, I tried to get the image of the naked, twisting man with rotted eyes out of my head, but I couldn't. I eventually fell asleep right before dawn. But as my eyes were closing, I thought I saw a silhouette in the window, a starved man with excited, black eyes that seemed to be rotting out of his skull. I thought I saw

him put his inhumanly long fingers against the glass as he leaned forward. I blinked, sitting up and glancing out into the white, snow-covered Wonderland. There was nothing there. Another hunter occasionally followed the deer trails near my cabin. A frozen lake stood a quarter mile away, the surface white and covered in thick drifts of snow. I bundled up, deciding to go outside for a hike in the frigid dawn. I strapped on my snow shoes and grabbed my shotgun, as I always did when I went outside. I never knew when a polar bear might be waiting around the next tree, after all. I opened the door, seeing footprints pressed into the snow all around my house.

At first, I thought it was that silhouette I had seen, the nightmarish thing from the diary. But the footprints didn't go over to my window. They followed the trail 20 feet away, veering off towards the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill. I glanced down in that direction, seeing a black figure plotting slowly forward. Steve! I cried, recognizing. my only neighbor in a four-mile radius. He had a cabin about a mile away on his own little plot of land. He jumped, clearly startled by the sudden noise. His black snow pants and heavy

fur coat swished together as he spun, raising his rifle high. When he saw me, he immediately lowered it and put a gloved hand up in a friendly greeting. Hey Josh! Surprised to see you up this early, he yelled over the muted wintry landscape. Sounds always seemed different after it snowed, as if all the noise in the world had become faded and dead. Yeah, I've been having a little trouble sleeping, I said, slinging my shotgun around my shoulder. What are you doing anyway?

Just a little hunting, you know, he said, giving me a sly wink. Animals are always most active around dusk and dawn, it seems. That's when I always have the best luck, anyway. He stepped close to me, staring me in the eyes. You do look like shit. Those bags under your eyes are big enough to carry groceries in. Yeah, trust me, I know. Hey, this might sound a little weird, but did you know the previous owner of this cabin?

I asked. Steve's wrinkled, old face fell into a scowl. His expression immediately became guarded and distant. Sure, sure, we met, he exclaimed. bluntly. He seemed to be searching my face for something, but I didn't know what. His reaction left me feeling off-balance and nervous. Is he still around? I said. Steve's scowl deepened. Buddy, I don't know what this is about, but he's dead. He's been dead. He died in that cabin, actually. He pointed a finger at my home accusingly. With those words, my heart seemed to draw

into my stomach. Waves of dread flowed through my body like water. How? How did he die? Like a heart attack or something? I asked. Steve's gaze turned downwards. He didn't meet my eyes. Do you know that Alaska has the highest missing person's rate in the entire United States? It's not even close. In fact, for the population size, we have far more people who go missing and never get found than anywhere else. They even have a name for it, the Alaska Triangle, Steve said. And were square in the middle of it. I stared blankly at him, wondering where he was going with this.

It seemed like a way to avoid answering my question. No, I didn't know that, I responded. Steve nodded, raising his head again. He heaved a deep sigh. Look, the thing with the last owner and his wife, it's somewhat disturbing. If you really want to know, I'll tell you, but it's certainly not going to help your peace of mind. And it definitely isn't going to help you get some sleep. I want to know, I insisted instantly.

The wind started to whip past us. Flakes of ice and snow flew sideways in the sudden currents. Let's go back to your cabin then, Steve said, pulling his heavy fur-lined hood off and shaking out his long, black hair behind him. I could use a bit of whiskey to warm up. We sat down with a bottle of Johnny Walker and two shot glasses. I wasn't much of a drinker, but Steve certainly was. He chugged three shots in the span of a minute. I sipped at mine, drinking half and putting it back down on the coffee table with a thunk.

Steve grunted, hissing through his open mouth for a moment. Ugh, that's the good stuff, he said, slamming his chest as the burning liquor. It was Christmas in Dublin, and Puss was in boots where he found. and better than half-priced our gifts on festive favourites, including Ted Baker Blissful Moment gift set. With 70 euro, now only 34 euro 50. Don't miss out. Shop in store or online.

Gift happily ever after. Boots. Selected stores while stocks last to offer ends 24th of December. And now this is over the same age of the hamster. It's leargoal gillor gai and not art greeing in Aondun and lay in the Gala to get Tamilfadah Gail to Deirin.

In Ergrid, we're in touch in Woonaha with Foonive in Woonah. There's Ouschrard you do in Acknowe onus'clock Gnough and Pobble

tariff of in Tashdy. There's error of Cooctuagin. Follam Nis more at Ergit Pongahy. I've been thinking we need to talk to him about he might not listen to me

but yeah, as good a time as any. Okay, I'll give it a go. If he ever takes those earphones out. Vaping is harmful to your child's health. Nicotine addiction can affect their concentration, sleep and moods. They're much more likely to smoke when they're older too. So take a deep breath and talk to them today. Get the facts about vaping and nicotine. Visit hse.i. forward slash vaping from the hse. I've worked its way down. Steve looked up at me with a new

sparkle in his eyes. Huh, so you want to know about what happened to Will Lening? Well, I'll tell you that no one really knows the whole story. I used to see him occasionally, come down and have a drink and talk. We all know each other around here, obviously. I nodded, motioning him on. He seemed like a normal, upstanding guy. He kind of reminded me of you, actually.

A young guy trying to escape the hustle and bustle of the city life, the cancer of the American dream. Well, he was here for maybe a couple months, I don't know. Everything seemed fine. We used to go skeet shooting occasionally, have a beer, you know. We'd get together with a couple other hunters who live closer to town and sometimes play some poker. I never saw anything odd about Will. I never could have predicted what happened to him.

He heaved a long sigh at this, looking out the window at the sharp mountains with an expression of nostalgia. Well, what happened to him? I asked, encouraging him to go on. He started talking about seeing someone peering in through his window at night. He talked about hearing sounds from under his bed while he was laying there in the dark sounds like diseased breathing and shuffling. He started keeping all the lights on in his cabin 24 hours a day. Steve leaned close to me. A glimmer of fear rippled across his pale, wrinkled face. He started to lose his mind. Started digging holes all over the place, looking for something.

Even in the middle of snowstorms, I would occasionally see him outside, digging. It seemed like he never slept anymore. It was classic cabin fever if I ever saw it. It was only a few weeks later that I came over here, concerned. I hadn't heard from him in a few days, which was fairly unusual. I found the door hanging wide open. Propped up in a chair in the exact spot where you now sit, will lay with a blast hole showing clear through his skull, a shotgun laying at his feet. And next to him, I found a blood-stained diary open to the middle page.

The last entry was stained with blood spatter, but still visible. I remember leaning down and reading it. It was only a few sentences long. I glanced over at the bookshelf with the same diary, saying nothing. It said something like, I see now what's going on. The twisted man is leading me to the truth. Today, I will finally find it, and that was his suicide note. I asked, my heart hammering in my chest.

He nodded. Yeah. I went into town and got some rangers to come check it out. Eventually, they got cops and CSI there. They took all the stuff as evidence, including the diary, he said. said. Good riddance, I say. Reading something like that is never beneficial. Sometimes delusions spread like a virus, you know what I mean. I did, but I said nothing. I glanced back at the diary, its black leather cover gleaming like a crouching snake. And I wondered if the police took the diary

as evidence, how did it get back here? You said he had a wife living here with him, too? I asked. Yeah, she went missing around the same time, he said. Pretty bizarre. The cops thought maybe she just moved away, but, he shook his head grimly. As far as I know, she was never seen again. It was like she had evaporated into thin air. After Steve left, I walked stiffly over to the bookshelf, taking down the diary. I flipped open through the pages.

In the middle, I found the last entry. Spatters of old, darkened blood were scattered over the page like raindrops. I found the suicide note and read the date. January 27, 2015, it read. Will Lening had not lived long after he started seeing the twisted man. I wondered if my fate would be the same. The sun had started to set outside as I sat with the diary at the small circular kitchen table, eating some stewed venison and rice as I read through the entries.

At the end, Will Lening said the twisted man had been trying to guide him somewhere, that, in fact, the twisted man had been trying to protect him from some great evil, rather than being the source of it. I scoffed, feeling a flash of anger at his stupidity. His naivity obviously led to his death. But then a flash of insight struck me like lightning. It was Christmas in Dublin, and Puss was in boots where he found better than half-price star gifts on festive favorites, including Best-selling favourites and premium brands. Don't miss out. Shop in store or online.

Give Tappily Ever After. Boots. Selected stores while stocks last to offer ends 24th of December. And now, this is the Rehawkesh, Neart, Gereena, in Aondon, and leander to Gala to go on time a father

to Gail to Dairin. In Ergaret, we're talking in Woonah with Foonive in Woonah There's Ousquard you are doing on a hundred

Lecterches on as for both child, Gnaw and people tariff in Tassie. There's Ere of Coochduagin Follam Nis more

at Ergaret Pongahy What if I was committing the same kind of stupidity Perhaps I should just grab my gun and valuables and leave I could take off

on the snowmobile and be in town within a couple hours but in my heart, I knew I would not. Something about the mystery of all this beckoned me to stay. Like a siren leading sailors to destruction, my curiosity called out to me, and I knew I would not be leaving that night. I needed answers. And, sadly, I would find them. I had fallen asleep with an empty bottle of beer in my hand. I sat in front of the TV, which only got satellite reception.

There were, of course, no cable or phone lines threading their way through the forest. All of my power came from stored solar energy. Since I rarely watched TV and really only used it to cook or heat up water for bathing, the energy produced was sufficient even in winter. Tonight, though, I needed its sound, its mindless flashing of light and colors and canned laughter. It seemed to drive away the creeping, suffocating presents like a candle. I woke suddenly. The TV flashed with static.

The repetitive hissing of the white noise spit from the speakers like thousands of snakes. I glanced up at the clock. 3.33 a.m. I looked around the dark cabin, confused for a long moment. I didn't understand what had woken me so abruptly. The satellite had never gone out before either, even with the howling winds and freezing hail of the Alaskan winter. The TV started flickering as if the static were rising upwards. Black lines traced their way horizontally across the screen.

The hissing deepened into a gurgle, and for a second, I thought I heard faint words behind the white noise. I thought I heard breathing, slow and diseased, like the death gasp of a drowning man. A black line rose across the TV and an image came into view. The cabin was suddenly plunged into silence, except for the shrieking, wintry wind outside. I leaned close to the screen, confused at what I was looking at. It looked like a live camera feed of a room. As I took in the details, I realized it was my cabin. I saw myself in the chair, leaning close to the screen.

I raised my hand, and the miniature version of me on the screen did likewise. Ice water seemed to drip down my spine as well. waves of dread coursed through my body. What the fuck is this? I whispered, looking back to where the camera should be. It was just a coarse wooden ceiling in that corner. I turned back to the screen and nearly screamed. The TV showed a pale, naked man crouching directly behind my chair now.

With jerky movements, he rose, his broken spine twisting and shivering. A hissing voice rang out from the speakers. It spoke as if it had dirt and writhing maggots in its throat. He is a killer. The shadow of death, it gurgled. Many have fallen. Many lie buried across this forest. You will be next.

He is watching you, long, broken fingers with blackened nails reached out to touch my shoulders. I jumped out of the chair, stumbling back as I spun around in terror. My back smashed into the TV, and it fell to the floor with a shattering of glass and an explosion of light. In those few moments before the darkness descended on me like a blanket, I thought I glimpsed a pale, sunken face with rotted, blackened eyes peeking out from behind the chair. I turned on every light in the cabin, but there was no sign of the twisted man now. I knew I had to get out of there, though. I thought about the warning that the voice had spoken. If the creature wanted to attack me, then why hadn't it just killed me while I was

sleeping? None of it made sense. Who was watching me? The twisted man. And if he was, why warn me? Perhaps it was psychological warfare, I thought to myself. Perhaps the twisted man simply like... I've been thinking, we need to talk to him about it. He might not listen to me. But yeah, as good a time as any. Okay, I'll give it a go. takes those earphones out. Vaping is harmful to your child's health. Nicotine addiction can affect their concentration, sleep and moods. They're much more likely to smoke when they're older too.

So take a deep breath and talk to them today. Get the facts about vaping and nicotine. Visit hse.e.4.vaping from the HSE. It was Christmas in Dublin and Puss was in boots where he found better than half-priced star gifts on festive favourites, including Paul Smith's PS collection, was 78 euro, now only 38 euro 50. Don't miss out, shop in store or online, gift happily ever after. Boots.

Selected stores while stocks last offer ends 24th of December. To play with his food before he ate it. Thoughts raced through my head at a thousand miles an hour as I threw on snow pants and a couple heavy sweaters and coats. I covered up my entire body as much as I could to try. to prevent frostbite. I had made up my mind to flee. There was no snowstorm tonight, though the entire landscape was blanketed in it and I knew the wind chill would be like an ice blade whipping against my skin. It was extremely dangerous to travel in the middle of the night like this in temperatures

that might reach negative 30 degrees. Steve had been right, after all, Alaska had the highest missing persons rate of any state, many of them were never found, their bodies likely frozen solid in the deep snow dozens of miles from the nearest town. I grabbed my shotgun, jumped on my snowmobile and started heading to Steve's cabin. I hoped I could wait there until the sunrise and then figure out what to do next. But fate would take the decision out of my hands. I felt like there were eyes watching me as I drove along the narrow, winding deer trail. The boughs of the evergreens reached into the path like greedy hands, grabbing at my coat and legs.

More than a couple times, I thought I saw a pale, naked figure standing in the snow, but it had always gone when I turned to look. I gave a sigh of relief when Steve's place appeared in the distance. I could see the lights twinkling through the small windows of his log cabin. I pulled up next to his door, looking down. I saw two pairs of footprints there, one much smaller than the other. I found it odd, but shrugged it off. The snowmobile cut out with a sucking gurgle.

I knocked on the door hard a few times. Steve appeared after a few moments, groggy and half-dressed. He blinked slowly as he looked me up and down. His wrinkled face fell into a frown. Steve, I need a favor, I said quickly. Something weird is happening in my cabin. Can I stay here until morning, until maybe I can go to dinner? town or something. I can't stay at my place tonight. I just can't. He nodded, yawning and

motioning me in. You can sleep on the couch, I guess, Steve said. Put that shotgun somewhere safe, though, boy. He had a partitioned bedroom in his cabin. It was significantly larger than my little one-room cabin, though it was basically still just a joint kitchen living room, a small bedroom and a bathroom. He pointed to a well-worn couch in the corner and gave me an apathetic wave as he stumbled back into his bedroom, slamming the door. I couldn't sleep, though. I tiptoed around the room, looking at Steve's bookshelf. He had a rather strange taste in books lots of and rule and true crime there. I saw dozens of books about Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gasey, Richard Chase, Herbert Mullen, Jeffrey Dahmer and Richard Ramirez among the collection.

At the end, a large, black binder stood, unlabeled and worn looking. It reminded me of the look of that leather-bound diary for a second, and my heart dropped. But logically, I knew this was just a coincidence. Yet, still, I pulled out the binder, my curiosity peaked. What I found inside filled me with dread and horror. countless news clippings covered the length of it. The first clipping was from nearly 20 years earlier, about a woman who went missing in the Alaskan forest while hiking.

A later one confirmed that her body was never found, and that her family was still hoping that she might turn up alive somewhere. A reward was offered for any information, it said. And every page after that was more of the same, missing woman, murdered prostitute, missing man, no leads. I kept flipping through until I found clippings about Willening's suicide and the sudden disappearance of his wife. On the article about the suicide, Steve had used red marker to scrawl, h-h-h-a, next to it. I heard the click of a gun being cocked from behind me.

I froze as Steve's voice traveled across the room like a whisper. How do you like my work, friend, he asked, his tone jovial and mocking. I still held the binder of horrors tightly in my hands as I stared open mouth at this man I thought I knew. It's you. What, you killed Will Lening and his wife. And now a look at the forecast. We're seeing lots of wind, plenty of sunshine to come, and a long-term outlook that's bright for Ireland. At air grid, our forecast is for a sustainable energy future. We're upgrading the electricity grid so every home, business and community can benefit. We're powering up Ireland. Learn more at airgrid.e.

I've been thinking we need to talk to him about. He might not listen to me. But yeah, as good a time as any. Okay, I'll give it a go. If he ever takes those earphones out. Vaping is harmful to your child's health. Nicotine addiction can affect their concentration, sleep and moods. They're much more likely to smoke when they're older too.

So take a deep breath. and talk to them today. Get the facts about vaping and nicotine. Visit hse.e.4.vaping from the HSE. It was Christmas in Dublin, and Puss was in Boots where he found better than half price on electrical beauty. Including No. 7 silver cordless mirror

with 69 euro 99, now only 25 euro 99. Don't miss out. Shop in-store or online. Gift happily ever after. Boots. Subject to availability selected stores offer in 6th of January 2026. And a lot of other women, apparently. Everything felt unreal, as if I were stuck in a dream.

Steve's grin spread across his face, but his blue eyes stayed cold and dead. Yes, well, she was cheating on him with me anyway. Just another whore, you know. They always get what's coming to them in the end. He hissed with hatred oozing from his voice. It's too bad, really. I just killed another slut tonight. I was planning on saving you for later.

The urge isn't too bad yet right now, after all. It comes in cycles, you see. It comes in waves, I saw a glimmer of pale, naked flesh writhing behind Steve. With jerky movements, the twisted man came up behind him. I said nothing, just watching with wide-eyed horror and amazement. You need help, man, I whispered. Steve laughed. Help.

The only help they give people like me is a needle in the arm. You know that. That's why it's important to always cover your tracks. The twisted man ran along, broken finger across Steve's neck. Steve gave a strangled cry and jumped. He spun around, screaming. I glanced over at my shotgun next to the couch. I jumped for it as Steve turned back to me, firing his pistol.

twice. The first bullet soared high above me, raining wood splinters down on my head, but the second ripped into my leg. A cold, burning pain ran like fire up my shin. I screamed in agony in battle fury as I gripped the shotgun, spinning and firing. Steve's head exploded as the slug ripped through his brain. His forehead collapsed like a smashed melon as bone splinters and blood sprayed the wall behind him. The twisted man stood there, hunched over, grinning up at me. I felt warm blood gushing from my leg as I stared back at him, breathing hard. I wondered if I was dying. You, you weren't after me at all, were you? I asked. You were after. Steve. But the twisted man said nothing. After a long moment, he slinked back into the shadows of the bedroom and

disappeared. As night crawled its way toward morning, I thought back to the words the twisted man had spoken through the TV, suddenly understanding everything. He is a killer. The shadow of death. Many have fallen. Many lie buried across this forest. You will be next. He is watching you. He hadn't been trying to hurt me at all. He had been trying to warn me. He had probably tried to warn Will Lening and his wife. Two. I wrapped my leg in gauze, gritting my teeth. The wound looked puckered and deep, but I could still move my foot, and the bullet had gone clean through the flesh. I poured alcohol on it, screaming in pain as it burned its way through my skin. After rummaging through

Steve's bathroom, I found some prescription painkillers and swallowed a handful of them with a beer. I knew I would need the opiate high to get through the pain of riding into town with a mutilated leg. As the sun finally rose, I made my way outside the blood-stained floors of the cabin to my snowmobile. Before I left, I glanced back at that horrid place, the scene of so much torment and death. In the open doorway, the twisted man stood, his back hunched, his rotted lips, grinning at me. His hand lifted up into the air with jerky movements and waved. I waved back as I started the engine and headed into town. Mrs. Pollock was astonished when she gave the twins the dead girl's dolls. When I got these two dolls

out, one said, oh, that's Mary, and that's Susan. And it was exactly the same names my other daughters had given them. And that was the sort of real turning point in my way of thinking. Let's begin. On May 7, 1957, a terrible accident forever marked the lives of Florence and John Pollock. Their beloved daughters were run over while playing on their way to church. The incident left them devastated, filled with questions that no one could answer. And then they received what seemed to be an answer, because just one year later, they became parents to twin girls who appeared to be the reincarnation of their deceased daughters. But were these girls truly those they had lost?

Or had they been led to believe so? Let's find out. Before diving into the details of the case, we must understand the parents deeply, for the Pollocks were a peculiar couple. John Pollock was born in 1920 in Bristol, England, into an Anglican family. However, throughout his life, he questioned his beliefs. He wanted to believe in life after death, that the soul could be reborn in another body. And now a look at the forecast.

We're seeing lots of wind, plenty of sunshine to come, and a long-term outlook that's bright for Ireland. At Airgrid, our forecast is for a sustainable energy future. We're upgrading the electricity grid so every home, business and community can benefit. We're powering up Ireland. Learn more at airgrid.e. I've been thinking we need to talk to him about it. He might not listen to me.

But yeah, as good a time as any. Okay, I'll give it a go. If he ever takes those earphones out. Vaping is harmful to your child's health. Nicotine addiction can affect their concentration, sleep and moods. They're much more likely to smoke when they're older too. So take a deep breath and talk to them today. Get the facts about vaping and nicotine.

Visit hse.e. foreslash vaping from the HSE. It was Christmas in Dublin and Puss was in boots where he found better than half price on electrical beauty. Including Mark Hill Pick and Mix Airflexy Airstiler was 219.99, now only 105 euro 99. Don't miss out. Shop in store or online. Gift happily ever after. Boots. Subject to availability selected stores offer in 6th of January 2026. At the age of nine, he read a book about reincarnation, and from that moment, he was convinced life after death was real. At some point, and rather contradictory, John converted to Catholicism, a religion that does not

recognize reincarnation. It was during this time that he met Florence, who was a member of the Salvation Army. To marry, one of them had to convert to the other's religion, and it was Florence who made the change. In their early years of marriage, the couple had two boys, and in 1946, they welcomed their first daughter, Joanna Pollock. A year later, the family moved to Hexham, a town in Northumberland, where they had their second daughter, Jacqueline Pollock. Life smiled upon them, and the Pollocks decided to open their own business, a grocery store that also offered home delivery. The couple devoted countless hours to making it successful, so Florence's mother had to take

charge of raising the children. The children were, surprisingly, very special, especially the two girls. It said they got along so well they could read each other's minds. Joanna, being a year older, often acted like a mother to Jacqueline, who followed her sister's orders without question. Physically, they were very different. Joanna was slender, while Jacqueline was rounder. In personality, they were different too, Joanna loved attention, often dressing up and performing.

She was also generous. Jacqueline was equally generous but more introverted, struggling to speak in public. Up until this point, they seemed like normal children, just with a special bond. But there are two important things to note. First, when Jacqueline turned three, she had an accident. She allegedly tripped over a bucket and fell, hitting her face. As a result, she had a small scar above her right eye, near the bridge of her nose. She also had a round, dark birthmark on the left side of her waist.

Second, Joanna, the eldest, at one point began telling her parents that she would never grow up, that she would always be a little girl. And she didn't say it playfully or imaginatively. She said it with full conviction. She even declared, I will never grow up. I will never become a lady. No one took her seriously. Everyone assumed she was being dramatic.

But soon, they would realize this statement made all the sense in the world. On May 7, 1957, Joanna was 11 and Jacqueline 6. That Sunday morning, the Pollocks had arranged to go to church with friends. The older children walked with their parents, while Joanna and Jacqueline ran ahead with their friend Anthony, who was nine. The three kids were laughing, running, jumping, pushing each other, they were having fun. But suddenly, a car sped up onto the sidewalk and struck them. Joanna and Jacqueline were killed instantly.

Anthony survived until he reached the hospital. What's most shocking about the accident is that it apparently wasn't an accident at all. The driver was a local woman who had just lost custody of her children that very day due to a court ruling. She reportedly said, there's nothing I can do to get them back, and decided to end her life that morning. The woman took a large quantity of aspirin and phenobarbital, but when that didn't work, she got in her car intending to crash. She planned to hit a truck or another vehicle, but then, in the middle of the street,

she saw those happy children. And she thought, if I can't have my kids, no one else can either. So she hit the gas and ran them down, thinking she would kill them and die herself. The incident was covered in every newspaper. It left all of Hexham in shock. Everyone knew the woman and never imagined

she was capable of something like that. She was tried and sent to spend the rest of her life in a psychiatric institution. Sadly, for Florence Pollock, this punishment wasn't enough. She was devastated. She tried everything not to think of her daughters because the pain was unbearable. She couldn't understand why God would let them die like that. What if there was no heaven? What if there was no afterlife?

What if her girls went straight to hell? These questions slowly led her into a deep depression. Meanwhile, her husband couldn't stop talking about the girls. Once again, John Pollock turned to the idea of reincarnation. As you know, in Catholicism this isn't accepted, but John was convinced it was real. After the accident, he began having strange experiences. First, he had visions of the girls in heaven. Then he felt their presence in his room.

Finally, he dreamed they were reborn in his own family. At first, John thought these were divine punishments, signs he was being punished for believing in something false. And now a look at the forecast. We're seeing lots of wind, plenty of sunshine to come, and a long-term outlook that's bright for Ireland. At air grid, our forecast is for a sustainable energy future. We're upgrading the electricity grid So every home, business and community can benefit We're powering up Ireland

Learn more at airgrid.e I've been thinking we need to talk to him about it He might not listen to me But yeah, as good a time as any Okay, I'll give it a go If he ever takes those earphones out Vaping is harmful to your child's health Nicotine addiction can affect

their concentration, sleep and moods. They're much more likely to smoke when they're older, too. So take a deep breath and talk to them today. Get the facts about vaping and nicotine. Visit hse.e.4-vaping from the HSE. It was Christmas in Dublin, and Puss was in boots where he found better than half price on electrical beauty.

Including number seven ultimate cordless mirror was 99 euro 99, now only 39 euro 99. Don't miss out. Shop in store or online. Gift happily ever after. Boots. Subject to availability selected stores offer in 6th of January 2026. But later, he interpreted them as confirmations, signs from God that reincarnation was real. This created tension in the marriage. Florence didn't believe in reincarnation and demanded that John stopped talking about the girls, about ghosts, about coming back. But John insisted, it was real, he said. The girls would return. Then Florence became pregnant again.

The doctor told the couple they were expecting a boy. John again brought up his theory, he was convinced they would have twin girls. This led to another argument. There were no twins in their family history, and the doctor had clearly said they were expecting a boy. But on October 4, 1958, Florence Pollock gave birth to healthy twin girls, Jillian and Jennifer. Jillian and Jennifer were very special from the very beginning. They had many things in common with their deceased sisters. First of all, at birth, the Pollocks noticed that both girls had marks on their bodies very

similar to those of Joanna and Jacqueline, especially Jennifer. Jennifer had a small mark above her right eye, exactly where Jacqueline had her scar. She also had a round, purplish birthmark on the left side of her waist, precisely where Jacqueline's birthmark had been. This could have been coincidence, so the Pollocks didn't think too much of it at first. When the girls were three months old, the family decided to move on. Living in Hexham caused them too much pain, so they packed everything and moved to Whitley Bay, a coastal town in the northwest of England. Life there seemed much easier, no one knew about their deceased daughters, so they were able to live in peace for several years.

Until the girls started to speak. That's when the nightmare returned. Jillian and Jennifer talked to each other about things they couldn't possibly know. They spoke of places and events from the past they had never experienced. They even talked about toys they'd never had, especially two dolls named Mary and Susan, which they claimed were their favorites. That was when the Pollux realized something shocking, those were. were the names of Joanna and Jacqueline's favorite dolls. Immediately, John went up to the attic,

brought down some cardboard boxes, and emptied them on the dining table. The boxes contained the toys of their deceased daughters. As soon as the boxes were opened, Jillian and Jennifer ran toward them. The girls correctly identified which toys had belonged to whom, Jennifer picked out Jacqueline's, and Gillian chose Joanna's. There was no hesitation. They were completely sure about which toys were theirs. As the girls continued to grow, they began to resemble Joanna and Jacqueline more and more, not just in looks, but in personality. They had the same favorite foods, same mannerisms, same way of speaking. Jennifer, like Jacqueline, was stocky. Jillian, like Joanna, was slender. Jennifer, just like Jacqueline, had difficulty

writing because she held her pencil in a strange way. Jillian treated Jennifer like an older sister, she gave her orders, and Jennifer obeyed. Jillian also loved to dress up and perform, just like Joanna. Despite all this, Florence still didn't believe in reincarnation. She thought they were just coincidences. After all, the girls were sisters, so some similarities were to be expected. But then she noticed something she couldn't ignore. The girls had a terrible fear of cars.

Whenever they heard a car break, they would scream, oh God, the car. It's coming to get us again. When the girls turned four, the family took a short trip back to Hexham. And once there, the girls seemed to know everything. They recognized shops, streets, people, they knew places they had never been to. They even asked their parents to take them to a specific park, a park that Joanna and Jacqueline had loved. And while walking through the town, the Pollocks overheard their daughters talking about the day of the accident. At that time, no one had told them about their older sisters or how they had

died. But Jennifer and Gillian seemed to know every detail of the story. They spoke of blood, pain, flashing lights, and most of all, the fear they felt when they saw a car. Given all this, in 1963, when the twins were sick. And now, a look at the forecast. We're seeing lots of wind, plenty of sunshine to come, and a long-term outlook that's bright for Ireland. At Airgrid, our forecast is for a sustainable energy future. We're upgrading the electricity grid so every home, business and community can benefit.

We're powering up Ireland. Learn more at Airgrid.com. I've been thinking we need to talk to him about he might not listen to me but yeah as good a time as any okay I'll give it a go if he ever takes those earphones out vaping is harmful to your child's health

nicotine addiction can affect their concentration sleep and moods they're much more likely to smoke when they're older too so take a deep breath and talk to them today get the facts about vaping and nicotine visit hse.com It was Christmas in Dublin, and Puss was in Boots where he found better than half-priced premium beauty star gifts, including Mac All-Star Beauty Kit, worth $107, only €45, don't miss out. Shop in-store or online, gift happily ever after. Boots. Selected stores worth price based on standard selling price of individual items while stocks last offer ends 24th December. six years old, they were taken to see psychiatrist Ian Stevenson, a specialist in cases of

past life memories in young children. For Stevenson, the case was clear, either the girls had been reincarnated, or they shared identical DNA with their deceased sisters, something we now know isn't possible. He continued to visit the girls over the years. His first visit was when the girls were six, the supposed age limit for remembering past lives. His second visit was in 1967, when they were ten. By then, the memories had faded, just blurry images, fragments. And finally, in 1978, when the girls were 20, they remembered nothing at all. However, in 1981, Gillian began to have recurring dreams. In them, she saw herself playing in a sandbox, one she had never seen or been to. But Joanna had played in one just like it when she was young.

The story of the Pollock Twins was shared widely. Documentaries, films, and TV series were made. But two publications stand out, the book by Ian Stevenson titled Children Who Remember Previous Lives, A Question of Reincarnation. An interview with the Pollock couple, where John explained his belief in reincarnation and presented various arguments that, according to him, proved his daughters were reincarnated. Of course, not everyone believed the story was real. and multiple theories emerged. The first was proposed by historian Ian Wilson. He said the case

didn't hold up, because the only witnesses to the girls' strange behavior were their parents. And one of them, John, was a firm believer in reincarnation. It's entirely possible, Wilson argued, that he fed the girls this narrative and unintentionally manipulated their minds. The second theory, also from Ian Wilson, suggests that the similarities between the girls were the result of maternal impression. This theory claims that during her twin pregnancy, Florence may have repeatedly visualized the lives and deaths of her deceased daughters, and that this could have influenced the development of the fetuses, their psyches, and even their birthmarks.

The third theory is that the entire case was a hoax. Authors like Richard Rockley and Miles Warren have dismissed the story, arguing that John Pollock's strong belief in reincarnation likely shaped the entire narrative. They claim he may have manipulated the girls, and that Ian Stevenson may have simply continued the cycle. But now it's your turn, what do you think about the case? Do you believe it was real, or was it a fabrication? The end.

This story begins with a woman named Sarah Barris, born in 1984 in Sheffield, England. If you try to dig into her family's past, you'll find a confusing mess of details. Most of what's known comes from neighbors and casual observations, because her upbringing was anything but ordinary. Sarah grew up in a chaotic and unstable environment. She had four siblings, but here's the kicker, each of them had a different father. And not one of these men ever stuck around. They were absent, leaving Sarah's mother to handle everything, though, handle, might be too generous a word.

The house they lived in wasn't a home, it was a disaster zone. There were no rules, no meal times, no structure, just pure chaos. The kids were left to their own devices. doing whatever they wanted whenever they felt like it. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Sarah's mother had a revolving door of questionable men coming into the house. Some accounts suggest these men behaved inappropriately toward the children, either in front of their mother or behind her back. The specifics are murky, but whatever happened was bad enough to catch the attention

of social services. By the time Sarah was a young child, social workers stepped in and took all five kids away, splitting them into different foster homes. For years, they bounced from one house to another, separated from each other and from any sense of stability. When Sarah turned nine, though, she and her siblings were sent back to live with their mother. You'd think this might be a happy reunion, but it wasn't. At nine, Sarah had already been shaped by trauma. She was shy, reserved, and seemed to avoid trouble at all costs.

But when she reconnected with her older brother, Brandon, everything changed. Brandon, for years her senior, was the polar opposite of Sarah. He was violent, reckless, and downright mean. He thrived on conflict and cared about no one but himself. For reasons no one fully understands, Sarah looked up to him. She saw his defiance and cruelty as strength, something to emulate. Before long, she began mirroring his behavior. Gone was the quiet, helpful girl.

In her place was a girl who bullied classmates, lashed out at her siblings, and grew increasingly aggressive. Sarah and Brandon became a team. They spent their time watching gory horror movies and torturing animals, which escalated to killing them. It was a terrifying transformation, and by her early teens, Sarah was unrecognizable. But at 14, something shifted again. Sarah walked into a police station and reported abuse she'd endured over the years.

The details of this case remain unclear, but someone was arrested, and Sarah seemed to turn a corner. Her life appeared to settle into something resembling normalcy, at least on the surface. forward to 2019. By now, Sarah was 35 years old and living in a charming little house on Greg House Road in Shiregreen. She had six children, ranging from 14 years old to just seven months. From the outside, her life looked perfect. And now a look at the forecast. We're seeing lots of wind, plenty of sunshine to come, and a long-term outlook that's bright for Ireland. At Airgrid, Our forecast is for a sustainable energy future. We're upgrading the electricity grid

so every home, business and community can benefit. We're powering up Ireland. Learn more at airgrid.e. I've been thinking we need to talk to him about it. He might not listen to me. But yeah, as good a time as any. Okay, I'll give it a go. If he ever takes those earphones out.

vaping is harmful to your child's health nicotine addiction can affect their concentration, sleep and moods they're much more likely to smoke when they're older too so take a deep breath and talk to them today get the facts about vaping and nicotine visit hsee.i forward slash vaping from the hsee t was Christmas in Dublin and puss was in boots where he found better than half-priced premium beauty star gifts

including Liz Earle ultimate skin care collection worth a hundred and nineteen euro only 44 euro don't miss out shop in store or online gift happily ever after boots selected stores worth price based on standard selling price of individual items while stocks last offer ends 24th december neighbors described her as a devoted mother who adored her kids the four oldest were blake fourteen tristan thirteen and two others aged twelve and eleven while the youngest were just three years and seven months old blake and tristan the two oldest boys, stood out the most. Blake was the sweetheart, kind, polite, and a soccer enthusiast. He had an infectious sense of humor and was always making people smile. His best friend. His younger brother, Tristan. But while Blake was the golden boy, Tristan was the wild card.

He was loud, mischievous, and loved being the center of attention. Tristan's brightly colored hair and extroverted personality even landed him a spot on a BBC program about kids transitioning from primary to secondary school. He told the presenter he'd dyed his hair yellow to support a friend battling cancer and wanted to raise money for cancer research. It was a touching story, and Tristan became a bit of a local celebrity. To outsiders, the Barris family seemed like a dream, well-behaved kids, a loving mom, and a closed-knit household.

But behind closed doors, things were far more complicated. By late 2018, Sarah was deeply worried about Tristan. He'd been diagnosed with autism and ADHD, as had the other three older kids. Being a single mom to six children, four of whom had special needs, was overwhelming. She turned to social services for help, but the kind of help she got wasn't what she needed. Tristan's behavior was becoming more concerning, he was obsessed with pornography, aggressive toward his younger siblings, and had even stolen his aunt's car. When social workers visited, they found a clean and loving home.

Sarah seemed like a dedicated mom, and the kids were polite and well-cared for. But Sarah's refusal to talk about their father raised eyebrows. When pressed about the kid's father, Sarah would shut down. She insisted he wasn't in their lives and refused to say more. Meanwhile, her older brother Brandon, now 39, was living nearby and frequently helped out with the kids. The children adored him, and he seemed to be a supportive uncle. Social services didn't dig much deeper, offering Sarah advice but, little practical help. They had no idea how dire the situation really was. As Tristan's

behavior spiraled further, Blake began exhibiting similar issues. He, too, developed an unhealthy interest in explicit content and was caught having inappropriate online conversations. Sarah was horrified and begged social services for psychological support for her kids. But instead of meaningful action, she got more advice and empty reassurances. By early 2019, Sarah's fears reached a breaking point. Her sons were mirroring the same chaotic patterns she'd experienced in her own childhood, watching violent movies, stealing cars, and engaging in deeply troubling behavior. Then came the tipping point.

In May 2019, the father of one of Tristan's classmates accused him of sexually inappropriate behavior. Sarah was informed that social services were planning to take action, possibly even removing Tristan from her care. She was devastated. On May 21st, a meeting was held about Tristan's case, but Sarah wasn't invited. The next day, she learned that he might be placed under child protection. To Sarah, this was unthinkable. Losing Tristan would unravel everything.

What happened next is almost impossible to comprehend. On the morning of May 24, 2019, a friend of Sarah's called the police, saying she feared for the children's safety. When officers arrived at the barrace home, they were met with a horrifying scene. All six children were unconscious, and the oldest three showed signs of violence. Blake and Tristan were dead, their bodies bearing marks of strangulation and with plastic bags over their heads. The other four were rushed to the hospital, but Blake and Tristan couldn't be saved. Sarah and Brandon were arrested at the scene. As investigators pieced together what had happened, a disturbing picture emerged.

Sarah had been spiraling in the days leading up to the murders. She'd sent cryptic messages to friends, quoting, Stephen King in posting unsettling updates on Facebook. One of her posts read, Murder is like potato chips, you can't stop at just one. She also sent chilling messages to Brandon, saying they needed to act fast before their secret was exposed. And now a look at the forecast. We're seeing lots of wind, plenty of sunshine to come, and a long-term outlook that's bright for Ireland. At Airgrid, our forecast is for a sustainable energy future. We're upgrading the electricity grid so every home, business and

community can benefit. We're powering up Ireland. Learn more at airgrid.I.E. The secret? Brandon wasn't just the kid's uncle, he was their father. Their incestuous relationship had started when Sarah was just 14 and Brandon was 18. Despite their mother's attempts to intervene, the relationship continued. resulting in six children. To the outside world, they maintained the facade of a brother-sister duo, but inside the family, the truth was a poorly kept secret. On the night of May 23rd, Sarah and Brandon gave the kids a cocktail of medication, hoping to poison them. When that failed, they resorted to manual violence. After killing Blake and Tristan, they attempted to drown

one of the younger children but were interrupted before they could finish their plan. During the investigation, the surviving children revealed they'd been told their father was dead, some sometimes even hearing the absurd claim that he died in World War II. The truth was far darker. Sarah and Brandon's toxic relationship had created a cycle of trauma that culminated in unspeakable tragedy. In September 2019, Sarah Barris and Brandon MacKinn were convicted of two counts of murder, conspiracy to murder six children, and five counts of attempted murder.

They were sentenced to life in prison, with a minimum of 35 years before they could be considered for parole. This case shocked the nation, raising questions of how such a horrific situation could unfold unnoticed. Was the sentence fair? Could the system have intervened sooner? That's for you to decide. According to her version of events, the voices were so loud that they wouldn't let her sleep. They screamed and screamed, spoke among themselves, and when she finally managed to understand what they were saying, she was stunned, they claimed that Mazatlan had disappeared and that all of Quirotaro

was now spirit. Let's begin. My children are in. asleep in the house. I love my children very much, they are very good kids and not mischievous. These were the first word spoken by Claudia Mahongos after waking up in a hospital bed, surrounded by people she had never seen before. She was apparently disoriented and remembered absolutely nothing. Although her wounds and bloodied clothes spoke for themselves, she had coldly murdered her three children. The whole world was shaken by this case, not only because of the multiple and confusing versions given by the murderer, but also due to the brutality of her acts. No one could understand how a mother could have committed such a crime. Newspapers filled

their pages with this case, especially with the following words, the voices made her do it. It was as if the ghost story that shook the United States in 74 had come back to life in Mexico 15 years later. Had this crime been the work of ghosts or of a sick mind? Claudia Mahongos Arzac was born in Mazatlan on May 25, 1956. Little is known about her childhood, and the few details we have come from anonymous sources or people who claim to have known her during adolescence. Even so, they are worth considering, as their words may hold the key to her future actions. On the one hand, we have the official version, which states that Claudia's childhood was

entirely normal, she didn't suffer abuse and never lacked anything, as she was born into a very wealthy family. On the other hand, there's the version from people who claimed to have known her, and this version states that her parents were first cousins, and many of Claudia's siblings had mental illnesses such as schizophrenia or epilepsy. However, both versions agree on one thing, Claudia was apparently a healthy young woman, very pleasant and studious. In fact, she went on to study commerce. Her beauty was also widely noted, and it said that during her teenage years, she was crowned beauty queen of Mazatlan. However, this point is also unclear, as there is no official documentation, only some photographs that can be seen on screen. Unfortunately,

I must inform you that the woman in the photos is not Claudia Mahongos, but Evangelinea Tehera, whose case is quite similar. Over the years, Claudia met a man named Alfredo Castanos Gutierrez, whom she married at the cathedral in Mazatlan. After their honeymoon, the newlyweds moved to Quaritaro, where Alfredo began working at a bank and Claudia opened a boutique selling exclusive clothing, located in the Passa de la Lata. Over time, the couple had three children, Claudia Maria, Anna Bolin, and Alfredo Antonio, who attended the Fré Luis de Leon School, where Claudia occasionally taught catechism, ethics, and religion to be closer to them.

Up to this point, everyone who knew them spoke highly of them, they were a completely normal couple, respectful toward each other and others, and their children were well-behaved, polite, and affectionate. But their perfect life was about to change forever. After Claudia's mother died, nothing was ever the same. When the emotional wound was still fresh, rumors began to spread, rumors suggesting that Alfredo was cheating on her. As you can imagine, arguments became their daily brain.

To try and fix the situation, the couple began attending marriage counseling, both with psychologists and Catholic priests. But unfortunately, all efforts were in vain. The problems became so unbearable that they decided to divorce. By this time, Claudia had started experiencing severe psychological problems. Her depression was mixed with extremely strange behavior, she talked to herself, mumbled, stared at a fixed point for hours. But no one paid attention, assuming she was simply going through a phase. This unusual behavior did not stop Claudia from being granted full custody

of her three children. In fact, according to various testimonies, Alfredo didn't even fight for shared custody. He simply left the children with Claudia and walked away. From then on, he would act as a father only when and how he wanted. Although Claudia sometimes asked him for more help with raising the children, Alfredo refused. One could say that Claudia was left completely alone, with three children aged 11, 9, and 6, running a business, teaching at school, and under a great deal of stress, stress that slowly deteriorated her mental health. Her surroundings gradually began to notice something was wrong in her head. In the midst of this chaos, Claudia met someone, Father Ramon, a young priest who taught at her children's school.

This is the point where the story splits into two versions. The first says that Don Ramon and Claudia became lovers. The second claims the relationship existed only in Claudia's mind, that her obsession made her imagine an entirely unreal romantic story involving him. Whichever version is true, what we do know is that Claudia approached Father Ramon and Father Rigoberto to ask for advice on religious matters, as she intended to seek a religious annulment of her marriage. Both priests disagreed with this, as it went against their religious beliefs, and they tried to convince Claudia that she could not separate what God had joined.

On April 23, 1989, Alfredo Castanos took his children to a school festival. When he returned them home, he had a heated argument with Claudia Mahongos. The reason for the argument isn't completely clear, although it seems Claudia asked Alfredo to stay the night with the children because she wasn't feeling well. But Alfredo clearly had other plans, and they began to argue. According to neighbors, two more topics came up in the argument, Claudia's supposed relationship with Father Ramon and Alfredo's desire to reconcile, which Claudia refused to entertain. She locked the door and wouldn't let him in. Hours after the argument, Claudia called her friend Veronica Vasquez and told her what had

happened. She admitted she wasn't feeling well and had too many things on her mind. Veronica tried to calm her and promised to visit her and the children the following morning. Claudia, now calmer, hung up the phone, tucked the children into bed, prayed with them for a while, and went to sleep. At 5 a.m., just before dawn, Claudia Mahombos woke up. According to her version of events, the voices were so loud that they wouldn't let her sleep. They screamed and screamed, talked among themselves, and when she finally understood what they were saying, she was stunned, they claimed that Mazatlan had disappeared and that all of Quirotaro was now spirit. She listened for a while, trying to decide whether what they said was true or not. Finally, she got up, got dressed, went to the kitchen, and grabbed three knives.

Then, she climbed the stairs and went directly to Alfredo Antonio's room. She attacked him with such brutality that she amputated his left hand. I won't go into too much detail about the children's deaths. Let's just say that she stabbed this child repeatedly until she was certain he was dead. Once she finished, she switched knives and went to find Claudia Maria, 11 years old. She stabbed her six times and, assuming she was dead, left her in the hallway. Then she went after Anna Bolin, nine years old. This little girl couldn't defend herself and received a stab to the heart.

After taking her life, Claudia decided. Gather everything she decided, underscore underscore, to pile the bodies in a room and act as if nothing had happened. But when going back to pick up the body of Claudia Maria, she realized that it was no longer where she had left it and following the trail of blood she went down the stairs and ended the life of her eldest daughter stabbing her a couple more times at. This point many of you might think didn't the children scream, didn't the neighbors hear them scream the answer is yes the neighbors heard everything but they thought it was just a simple argument

a family quarrel that's why no one came to help something that everyone regrets today they heard everything and when the children went silent they went back to bed not knowing that while they were doing so while closing their eyes claudia mehongos was piling up her children on a bed covering them with a quilt and slitting her wrists to try to take her own life unsuccessfully since she was so exhausted that she could barely do it the next morning veronica vasquez knocked on the door of that house After a few minutes of waiting Claudia Mahongos opened the door with blood-stained clothes and a lost look, Veronica at first thought her friend had been attacked so she went in and tried to talk to her, but Claudia wasn't responding so unintentionally she started looking around everywhere. All the walls were stained with blood and the smell of iron. Was unbearable after a few minutes wandering around the house Claudia finally showed her the corpses of the three little ones and told her they were not dead but covered in ketchup the woman, horrified, quickly fled the house and called the police when the officers arrived they practically broke down the door and found a truly gory scene everything was just as Veronica Vasquez had described there was blood everywhere on the stairs on the walls in the

hallways and the place with the most blood was the upper floor specifically in the room where the corpses of the three children had been found and they're curled up next to them and sleeping peacefully was Claudia herself at first the officers upon seeing her cuts thought she might be dead but commander Adolfo Duran took her pulse on the neck and realized she was still alive so she was immediately sent to the Social Security Hospital Claudia. Mahongos opened her eyes at 11 a.m. on April 27th, 1989 she appeared disoriented, confused, but still the officers had to take her statement. So half an hour later agent Sarah Peregrino began her questions to which she received the following

answer, My Children are asleep at home. I love my children very much. They are very good kids and they are not. Noddy after a while Claudia Mahongos gave more details about what could have happened that Fateful night, however, everything she said was full of delusions and inconsistencies. Father Ramon spoke to me telepathically he influenced me to get divorced, but my mother was a break a hindrance for me to be with him. Father Ramon with Dark Arts killed my. Mother, he keeps working on me mentally to possess me and also my husband wants to come back to me and is working on me mentally the pressure was so much that I lost control later. Claudia changed her statement and said she didn't remember anything.

In fact, she gave a completely different version according to her that night she put the kids to bed, prayed with them and went to sleep the next morning she woke up to the sound of the doorbell opened the door, and there was her friend Veronica she let her and they chatted for a while she showed her the children who were sleeping together in the same room she said goodbye and got back in bed with them. Her last memory is waking up in a hospital bed, surrounded by people she had never seen before the newspapers instantly condemned her crime and dubbed her the hyena of Quaritaro from there a slow and difficult legal process began her defense attorney at first tried to blame her ex-husband Alfredo Castanos assuming that he somehow took advantage of Claudia's mental state to kill the children

and staged the whole sadistic scene to make her the guilty one, however, neurological tests showed that this woman suffered from a mental disorder which was epilepsy in the temporal lobe accompanied by a paranoid personality disorder and as expected on September 19th, 1991 Claudia Mahongos was found guilty of filicide and sentenced to 30 years of confinement in a psychiatric institution the maximum sentence at the time on January 23rd. she was transferred from the South Women's Prison in Mexico City to the psychiatric annex of the Teppapan Prison, and there she gradually began to undergo a series of changes that have made her beautiful face today look as you can see in the image it's worth noting that in all these years she has never received visits in fact when she underwent. Thyroid surgery in 2007 no one called, no one asked about her not even letters were sent after the crime.

All the people who had ever been involved with her like Father Don Ramon or Veronica Vasquez disappeared without a trace. the only one we know something about is Alfredo Castanos Claudia Mahongos's ex-husband and the information we have isn't. Very positive it's known that he has been reported several times by his own siblings reports for threats and allegedly occupying his mother's house who is supposedly very ill and bedridden after the crime a large number of enthusiasts broke into the house and began testing the supposed paranormal phenomena that were said to happen there many, claimed that the ghosts of the children were unable to go to the afterlife and relive the day of their death over and over again the rumors or supposed paranormal activity of the house reached such a point

that it was claimed neighbors had called the police many times because they said the lights in that house turned on every night and that they could also hear children screaming but I'm sorry to tell you that this is not true there were never any police reports much less about lights turning on and children screams yes many over the years have recorded EVP electronic voice phenomena in the house there is a large number of investigations that have been published on television and in print, but I'm telling you nobody, absolutely nobody has reported the house for having paranormal events still today. There's a rumor that has not been proven or disproven, and it is, said that Claudia

Mahongo suffered a nervous breakdown while watching a program showing EVP captured in her old house EVP as heartbreaking as the following. Can you give a sign any of the three can come to me, mommy, yes, but now it's your turn. Do you think this house could be haunted and most importantly do you think Claudia killed her children or, was she helped by someone else the END? Everyone would expect that a mother whose daughter has been kidnapped would appear devastated, unable to speak. However, as the days went by, her attitude began to change, according to many, as if each gesture were planned. We begin.

This story starts on July 20, 2005, when Lizette Farah, pregnant at 25 weeks, began having contractions. She quickly went to the emergency room with her husband, Mauricio Gabara, and their she gave birth to their second daughter, whom they would name Paulette. The little girl battled between life and death for weeks, as not only was she premature, but she also had a hemorrhage on the left side of her brain, which made everything much more complicated. But finally, almost as if by magic, she managed to survive. Sadly, she would never have a normal life because the hemorrhage affected her motor skills on the left side, and she also had difficulties communicating.

As she grew, she learned some words, but she was unable to pronounce complete sentences, although, of course, she could understand everything others said to her. With great difficulty, she also managed to learn to walk, something that doctors initially thought would be impossible. Even though Paulette was a very strong girl, she needed assistance 24 hours a day, so her parents hired two caregivers, the Cosimero sisters, Erica, and Martha. These two women not only took care of Paulette but also her older sister Lizette, and at the same time were responsible for household chores, they woke up the girls, dressed them, fed them, took them to school, and were with them 24-7. They also took Little Paulette every Thursday to the hospital for check-ups.

Paulette's treatment was very expensive, but her parents had a lot of money and it was not a problem for them, at least not outwardly. In March 2010, Little Paulette, aged four, and Lizette, six, went on a trip to Valle de Bravo with their father. The girl's mother did not attend this family trip, and it is said the reason was that the marriage was going through a rough patch. There were rumors that Lizette Farah was cheating on Mauricio Gabara, and at the same time, the marriage was facing financial problems. Be that as it may, the father and the girls returned home, located in Hossienda del Servo in Huixcuolo, on the night of the 21st of that same month. Once there, they were received by Lizette Farah, who took care of putting the girls to bed. She helped Paulette put on her pajamas, brush her teeth, tucked her in, prayed with her,

turned off the lights in her room, and closed the door around 9-10 at night. From that moment, the woman did her chores and finally went to bed at 12.30. At exactly 8 o'clock the next morning, Erica Cosimiro, Paulette's caregiver, entered her room to wake her up and get her ready for school. However, after searching everywhere, she could not find her. So, around 8.10, she entered the parents' room and informed them of the little girl's disappearance. From here, there are two versions. The first is the caregivers, and the second is Lizette Farras.

Erica Casimiro said that when she entered the couple's room, neither of them got out of bed. They told her that Paulette had probably hidden or was in her sister's room. So Erica left the room and kept looking, but Paulette was nowhere to be found. She went back to call them, and finally, they got out of bed and started looking for her, but in a very calm manner, Mauricio very lazily, and Lizette pausing to drink coffee and smoke a cigarette. However, Lizette Farah denies this version and says that she and her husband jumped out of bed as soon as they were informed and began looking for her, terribly desperate. In any case, both the caregivers and the parents searched for the girl both inside and

outside the building, but she was nowhere to be found. It was then, in the middle of the search, that Mauricio Gabara called his sister and told her what was happening. It was his sister who directly called the authorities. The authorities arrived at the house half an hour after receiving the call, and from there began an exhaustive search. Sadly, all efforts were useless. There were no signs of robbery or kidnapping, no forced doors or windows, and reviewing

the building's cameras, they saw no suspicious people entering or leaving the house. Also, no neighbors had seen anything. That was when the media show began. On the afternoon of March 22nd, the Attorney General of the State of Mexico, Alberto Bazbas, released a poster with the image of Little Paulette. My name is Paulette. I am four years old. I have motor and speech disabilities.

I have a scar on the left side of my back. I cannot fend for myself. I need my parents. Arlette Farah, Lizette's sister, sent emails and uploaded a picture of the girl on social media, and in less than 24 hours the case had gone viral. Singers, politicians, and famous actors from all over the world echoed the story, and the Gabara-Fara marriage began appearing on all media, TV, newspapers. and radio. They begged the supposed kidnappers to return their daughter, assuring that there would be

no retaliation. These are her favorite animals. She loves horses because, due to her disability, when I brought her home from the hospital, they told me she would never walk. And thanks to therapy and a horse, she now walks. Thanks to a horse. She is a child, she is an angel, she is a sweet child. She doesn't cry, she doesn't throw tantrums, she is the sweetest thing there is. How many days has she been missing? Since Sunday night. And today, what day is it? Today is Friday. Yes, today is Friday. However, in their statements, there were inconsistencies that everyone began to notice, until finally, on March 29th, Alberto Bazbas publicly highlighted this fact. For starters, the caregiver's statements did not match those of the parents.

The caregivers spread the images, helped the police, participated actively in Paulette's search, and always kept the same version. But the parents, every time they opened their mouths, uttered constant contradictions. On one hand, Lizette Farah claimed that she had always been very close to her daughter, attending to her every need, being very affectionate, and playing hide-and-seek with her. However, the caregivers claimed this was not true, that she completely ignored little Paulette, was not affectionate at all, and certainly never played hide-and-seek with her, because, due to her condition, Paulette did not know how to hide.

On the other hand, there are Lizette Farah's own statements. In one of the first interviews she gave, inside her daughter's room, she made a statement that shocked many mothers. Whoever has your daughter must know that she cannot ask for food or water, it must be given to her. She needs medication, yes, she needs medication, especially therapy. But right now, a medication she needs. I cannot say it, but she needs special medical attention. I mean, just in case whoever has her can give it to her, they must administer it. Her pediatrician, it's not that easy. The question then was, how could a mother not know what treatment her little girl was following?

But nerves can betray us all, although her gestures, her expressions, and the way she spoke about the girl started becoming a cause for suspicion. Everyone would expect that a mother whose daughter has been kidnapped would appear devastated, unable to speak. However, as the days passed, her attitude began to change, according to many, as if each gesture were planned. I am coming to the conclusion that they took her, the eyes. That's it I'm already there, I'm already in my madness you're going to be. take the microphone like this and look at me like this there it's fine and you just look at me like that no problem hey can we rehearse a little bit yes yes welcome of course you are all invited to the party we are going to have it was never really consider the possibility that it had

been a kidnapping because as i have said before they did not find any forced doors or windows so clearly the culprit had to be inside the house but which of them could have done it against mauricio gabara justice only had the testimony of one pablo garcia a gesture reader according to this guy both Mauricio and his wife while making. Certain statements their gestures said the complete opposite and I will explain their lips said they were sad but their hands, their eyebrows and their head movements said they felt nothing their movements even expressed disgust. Repulsion towards their own daughter against Eric and Marza Casimiro they only had suppositions the two sisters had serious financial problems so the justice theorized that they could have kidnapped the girl

to be able to demand the juicy ransom from the parents but something went wrong and they aborted the plan and finally against Lizette. They again had her behavior. and the fact that she really seemed not to know her daughter on Tuesday, March 30th in the morning both Pollitt's parents and the nannies were taken to the prosecutor's office and afterwards they were transferred to a hotel while the family home was searched again this time with rescue dogs once at the hotel before. Suspects were interrogated for the last time and during one of the breaks Lizette grabbed the phone and called her eldest daughter. She says, don't say anything more, we are just very sad because that's all why mom is that all you have

to say mommy because otherwise things start to be misinterpreted they can accuse us of having stolen her or that you pushed her out to lose her so better not to say anything okay because we don't know anything that same afternoon the police carried out between the parents a reconstruction of the events and following to the letter both their testimony and the nannies however they did not get anything new or at least not during the day at 12 midnight on march 31st the police received a notice and it was paulette's room apparently it smelled very bad the authorities entered camera in hand and found at the foot of the bed the lifeless body of little paulette there is a video online of the removal of the corpse, but I will not show the images out of respect for the family. I will

simply show you a diagram. So you know more or less how she was found right at the foot of the bed, but underneath the mattress half tucked in inside, half tucked inside and completely wrapped in blankets and it must be said that the autopsy did not help much to clarify the events either, but let's go step by step. The analysis revealed the following the little girl had. Ingested food five hours before dying and also in her body they did not find any drugs externally she had no signs of violence or sexual abuse although she presented bruises on the left side of her body specifically on the elbow and the knee injuries she had gotten while alive so probably while playing she tripped and hurt herself especially because in that part of her body

she had motor difficulties on her cheeks there were traces of adhesive tape but this was not indicative that they had tried to kidnap her because every night her parents would put orthopedic tape over her mouth so she wouldn't open it while sleeping the time and day of death could not be determined but it was estimated that she had been dead for five to nine days and finally it was said that the body was not manipulated after death and this last part was the most shocking of all especially when Alberto Bazbas declared before the media the cause of death along with some words that chilled everyone's blood and supposedly Paulette Gabara Farah had died accidentally. By mechanical asphyxiation due to obstruction

of the nasal cavities and thoracal abdominal compression according to the official version the girl while sleeping rolled around the bed until getting stuck at the foot of it having motor and speech problems she could not get out or ask for help and die there of asphyxiation, however this would not. Explain why internally the corpse had an accumulation of blood in the frontal part of the body a clear indicator that the asphyxiation occurred when the body was face down and not in the position it was found in nine days decomposing at the foot of the bed more than 100 people coming in and out of the room the little girls and sleeping there for. Five nights the bed constantly being made and unmade and nobody ever noticed anything. Did no one

smell the odor coming out of there did no one when making the bed notice the bulk at the foot of it according to the police the answers to these questions were very simple on the one hand no one smelled the odor because the corpse was wrapped in. Blankets and the blankets supposedly blocked the smell and the trained dogs that searched the house did not find the corpse because they were basically trained to find living people but of course absolutely no one believed this story if what we have seen so far seemed surreal wait to see what comes next and little by little multiple law. Enforcement agents and even the prosecutor Alberto Bazbas resigned from their jobs the major authorities involved in the case gradually disappeared according to many because

they knew the truth and allowed the culprit to go unpunished. It was even unofficially suggested that the Gabara-Fara marriage had connections with corrupt politicians and that they had pulled strings so the truth would never come to light and in this chaos of rumors theories emerged some of which personally give me goosebumps like that occult sacrifice the girl that this case is practically identical to that of John Meney Ramsey and therefore the older sister is the perpetrator of the crime, although the theory that currently has the most weight is the one that seems the most obvious that Lizette Farah mother of Paulette committed the crime, her contradictions, her inappropriate words, the little attachment she had to her daughter and a detail

not many paid attention to, and that is that days before the corpse was found this woman gave an interview in the girls. Room and in it as always she showed the press her favorite toys and of course her favorite clothes among which was this beautiful pajama guess what the girl was wearing when she was found, I think you can already imagine it, but of course after the removal of the corpse, no officer opened the drawers to look for that pajama because after all the body, had not been manipulated in doing that apparently would be a waste of time months after Paulette's death very compromising images of Lizette Farah came to light, and that's because while any parent would be immersed in depression for having lost their daughter, she was partying a fact that inevitably reminded many of the case of little Kaylee Marie, Anthony, but of course, the controversy did not end there because Lizette, after all, divorced her husband and began a fight to gain custody of her eldest daughter custody, she eventually won and afterwards started a battle against the media and Mexican justice demanding a juicy compensation for damages specifically she demanded 531 million Mexican. Pesos and her arguments were the following a market study was done on how much a television costs, how much my daughter's education costs, how much

psychological attention costs ballet classes, and if you want even the dogs because I have four pets all that transferred to a life in the United States like the one I used to have here, but of course now, it's your turn what do you think about this case? Was it an accident or a murder the END? We begin. Patrolman Richard French headed to the home of John Bennett and Patsy Ramsey, located in the upscale neighborhood adjacent to Chautauqua Park in Boulder, Colorado, approximately seven minutes after the 911 call made by the woman, a desperate call in which she reported the disappearance of her six-year-old daughter. The call was made at five 52 in the morning on December 25, 1996, by a distressed and sobbing mother, a former Miss

West Virginia and contestant in the Miss America pageant. Patrol officer Richard French stated the following. John Bennett Ramsey, the father, guided me through the entire house and showed me a three-page ransom note that was on the counter in the kitchen area. It was a lengthy handwritten note written on a notepad belonging to the Ramseys. The words forming the text were a combination of phrases taken from different horror and suspense films, phrases designed to instill panic in their readers. The message was ultimately sealed with the following statements. Do not call the police or your friends. Wait for a call and pay the kidnappers a monetary amount of $118,000 if you want to see the little girl alive again. The note was signed, Victory, and the initials SBTC. But why little John Bonae? Why not another girl?

What made this little girl so special? Little John Bonnet Ramsey was known for participating in and winning various child beauty pageants, among them America Royal Miss, Little Miss Michigan, Little Miss Colorado, Little Miss Merry Christmas, Little Miss Sunburst, and National Tiny Miss Beauty, among many others. It was perfectly understandable that a young girl with all those achievements behind her, coming from one of the wealthiest and most well-known families in the United States, could have been kidnapped by a group of criminals demanding a large sum of money for her golden locks. But this case would not be so easy to solve.

Richard French told his fellow officers that he found it very strange how differently the little girl's parents reacted to such a tragic event. While the girl's mother, Patsy, lamented and cried inconsolably, the father, John Bennett, appeared to be in control of the situation, calm and cooperative. He explained the sequence of events coldly, barely. blinking, as if he had lived through the situation over and over again until he had it completely internalized. For French, something seemed out of place, something beyond his understanding. After his initial interaction at the Ramsey home, he couldn't forget Patsy's eyes.

Specifically, he couldn't erase from his memory the image of Patsy sitting on a wooden chair in the sunroom, sobbing with her hands covering her face. But it wasn't the overall image that gave him goosebumps, it was that her eyes, hidden behind her fingers, occasionally looked directly at him, as if trying to say something without uttering a single word. Seven hours later, a second patrol team inspected the property again and found, in the basement, the bruised and strangled body of the child. It turned out to be a brutal crime that, within hours, made headlines around the world. The international press instantly picked up the story.

At this point, I want to highlight something. that, from my point of view, is very important. French regretted for months not having discovered the child's body himself. He claimed to have searched the basement countless times without finding John Bonnet's body. However, this act of atonement provided a key piece of information for the investigation. The officer remembered that the parents did not exchange a single word or glance with each other at any moment. They did not comfort each other in the face of such a calamity. They were incapable of supporting one another. But it was Patsy's sobbing image that deeply intrigued the officer. According to his testimony, and as I previously mentioned,

the woman seemed to speak with her eyes, watching his every move, especially when he stopped just a few meters from where the girl's body would later be found. Did she know from the beginning that her little girl was there? The Ramses, John, Patsy, their nine-year-old son Burke, and six-year-old John Bonnet, had celebrated Christmas dinner at the White family's home, located approximately a kilometer from their magnificent mansion. According to police reports, the Ramses arrived at Priscilla and Fleet White Jr. S. House at around 10 p.m. The adults drank and enjoyed the evening while the children from both families played and danced around the fireplace. Witnesses described that night as a wonderful Christmas dinner. Three hours later, both families

decided to change the children's clothes. The reason? The Ramses claimed their children usually fell asleep in the car. Burke put on blue pajamas, and little John Bonnet wore red ones with Christmas designs. After that, both families said goodbye, and the Ramses got in the car and started their drive home. According to Patsy, John Bonnet, as she usually did, fell asleep in the car. So upon arriving home, her husband John carried her in his arms to her room. From that point on, everyone went to sleep. It is in this portion of the story where the published information becomes very confusing.

Depending on the sources consulted, everything gets tangled and becomes extremely illogical. However, I will try to be as concise and clear as possible. At 5.52 in the morning on December 25th, Patsy made the famous 911 call, her daughter was not in bed, and on the lower floor she found a three-page note, remember, written on a notepad belonging to the Ramsey family, demanding a ransom of $1.18,000, a sum very similar to a bonus her husband had received very recently. The conditions to get the girl back were clear, don't call the police or friends, and simply wait for a call that would come between 8 and 10 in the morning. They had just broken one of the kidnappers' conditions, but this would not be the only one.

At 5.55, the whites were awakened by a call from John Ramsey. He summoned all family members to come to the mansion and begged for help in that grim matter. A few minutes after the whites arrived, several uniformed police officers led by Richard French arrived at the residence and began to take note of everything. They analyzed every corner of the mansion but found nothing. So at 8.10 a.m., a second patrol team arrived, led by Detective Linda Arndt and Sergeant Larry Mason. From the very beginning, the situation was not handled properly. Despite this being a time in history when there were many scientific advancements and established police protocols, none were properly followed.

As the story progresses, you'll begin to understand what I mean. The first team that entered the mansion immediately assumed the couple, this married pair, could not be suspects. Obviously, they were victims. Especially Linda Arndt, who, according to her colleagues, sympathized almost instantly with the distressed Patsy, something that led her to commit serious errors that would hinder solving the case. Let's return to the ransom note. One of the main instructions was that the family had to wait for a call between 8 and 10 in the morning. Among Linda Arndt's notes was the fact that John Ramsey, between 10.30 a.m. and noon, went outside, opened the mailbox, took something out, and read it. He didn't tell anyone what the letter said.

At 1 p.m. Arndt called Fleet White Jr. and John Ramsey. She took them to the kitchen and told them, I want you to search the entire house from top to bottom. That's when John Ramsey left the kitchen and headed straight to the basement. With Fleet accompanying him, he walked through the entire basement, but following a route that seemed precisely calculated. Fleet told police in a later interview that Ramsey led him directly to a broken window, as if he genuinely wanted him to notice that detail.

And he did. He exclaimed, Hey John, look at that, to which Ramsey replied, Yeah, I broke it last summer. Apparently, Ramsey wanted his friend to see that window to introduce the intruder theory, the theory that someone entered through the broken window, kidnapped the girl, and later killed her.

But clearly, that window was too small for anyone to fit through, not even a child could get through it. The basement of the mansion is quite, large, full of rooms and hallways, and had been searched countless times. Everyone was convinced nothing would be found there. But something shattered that certainty, a chilling scream. John Ramsey's scream. Fleet ran toward the sound of his voice and reached a small room in that basement,

one he had personally searched more than ten times. But it was there that John Bonnet's body was found. Lying on the cement was the little girl's body, dressed in a white, long sleeve, collarless shirt with a silver sequenced star on the chest. She was also wearing white underwear. Duct tape covered her mouth. A garote made of white cord and ballet tights was tied around her neck. Another cord was wrapped around her right wrist.

Her small head had a severe contusion. How could this scene have been missed in earlier basement searches? And how was it possible that the girl was now dressed in white, when the night before, he had seen her in red? But let's return to that moment. The child's body was covered by a white sheet. Near her was her red equestrian jacket, described by her family as her favorite possession.

Everything seemed part of a theatrical staging rather than a crime. But what most impacted fleet wasn't facing death, it was that his friend, his dear friend John, could stay so calm. He removed the tape from his daughter's mouth and, according to an investigator's testimony, picked up the child's lifeless body by the waist, as if she were a rag doll. He carried her upstairs and left her on the living room floor. There were no tears in his eyes, no expression of grief.

It was as if he were playing a role. According to testimonies, the most striking thing is that as Ramsey carried his daughter up the stairs in his arms, he didn't cry. He only cried once he laid the body on the ground, doing so while looking around to ensure everyone was watching him. But it wasn't only John who put his bare hands on the body. The next person to contaminate the scene was Linda Arndt herself, who picked up the little girl and took her next to the Christmas tree so Patsy could say goodbye.

After placing the body there, as if once again, it were part of a theatrical performance. Patsy collapsed over John Bonae. She caressed her hair and cheeks, shut a few tears over the body, then knelt down, put her hands together, and uttered the following words. Jesus, you brought Lazarus back from the dead. Please bring back my daughter. Surreal, isn't it? Well, the most shocking part is yet to come. How is it possible that the crime was committed in the house and no one heard anything?

Neither of the two main theories proposed by investigators could be confirmed. The first was that the perpetrator was within the family. The second was the intruder theory, someone who entered through the window and killed the girl. But how could that have happened? As we've said, the basement window was far too small for a human to fit through. Even so, interrogating the Ramses would prove to be an extremely difficult task. Because on the night of December 25th, after the body was removed and all-necessary forensic work and photographing of the house had been done, Linda Arndt approached John Ramsey to begin an interrogation session.

Unfortunately, it was an impossible task. To be continued. She approached John Ramsey to begin an interrogation session. Unfortunately, it proved to be an impossible task, as before she could even get within two meters of him, Mike Bynum, a famous private investigator, stopped her and said that only the family's advisors were allowed to ask questions or speak to John and Patsy Ramsey. Then, the police officers were invited to leave the premises. The next day, the police were informed that the Ramsey's had nothing more to.

to say and would not answer any more questions. To the press, the case seemed clear, the poor family had suffered a terrible tragedy. By May 1997, both the police and the Ramsey's lawyers were conducting their own investigations. The legal team sought to protect the Ramses, while the police accused the parents and the nine-year-old boy of having killed their daughter and younger sister. There was not a single week in which the U.S. tabloids didn't publish bold headlines about the case, such as, Dad did it, the autopsy of John Bonnet, Mom and Dad Guilty, Mom wrote the ransom note, Dad linked to child pornography, among many, many more. All members of the family eventually came under public scrutiny, and one name began to stand out

above the rest, Burke, John Bonnet's older brother. Despite being only nine years old, he was considered a suspect in her death. But why accuse a minor? Although the family claimed the children got along and those closest to them described Burke as shy and not the type to seek attention, thus not jealous of his sister, there was one fact that neither the press nor investigators would ignore. In the summer of 1994, Burke accidentally hit his sister in the face with a golf club. Always just sibling rivalry. It seems unlikely, especially since the girl's left cheek had to be reconstructed by a plastic surgeon. Another indicator of potential guilt from the boy was a conversation he had with his psychologist ten days after his sister's death, in which he said,

Now I'm getting my life back. It later emerged that after the murder, Burke spent hours in front of the television watching videos of his sister, videos of her participating in beauty pageants. After the autopsy was performed on the girl's body, things became even more disturbing. Blood and urine stains were found on her underwear, in addition to signs of sexual abuse, not by a sexual organ, but with a blunt object. From then on, media impressions became completely chaotic, and everyone had something to say. The Globe obtained photographs of the crime scene inside the Ramsey Home. The National Enquirer, known for its conservatism, conducted an interview with Patsy Ramsey

while she was out shopping. Meanwhile, Starr published an entire article dedicated to child pornography. The biggest media explosion came from very. Vanity Fair, which, citing anonymous police sources, claimed that the girl died while her parents engaged her in a sexual game that got out of control and ended her life. However, this claim was never proven. The second theory presented to readers was that Patsy Ramsey, during an argument with her husband over his alleged sexual abuse of their daughter, threw a blunt object and accidentally

hit the girl's head, killing her. Another version of this theory suggested that Patsy, arguing with John Bonae, pushed her and the girl hit her head against the wall, causing the severe head injury found on her body. All of these theories proposed that the girl's death was accidental and that John was the one who staged the dramatic scene afterward. The autopsy report, fully released in August 1997, confirmed that the girl indeed died from a severe blow to the head that caused a significant skull fracture. Finally, Dr. Richard Krugman, a child abuse expert, specified that there was a vaginal abrasion,

a clear sign of trauma, but not necessarily sexual abuse. Dr. Cyril Wecht, a well-known U.S. forensic pathologist, had no doubts that the 21-kilogram child had been sexually abused. He even stated that had she been taken to the ER that night with the cranial contusion and that abrasion, John Ramsey would have been arrested and convicted for abusing his daughter. As previously mentioned, her underwear contained traces of blood in urine, something Patsy quickly justified by saying her daughter with the bed every night. She supported this with several medical reports showing that the child had visited the pediatrician 30 times in recent months. An insurmountable obstacle for the investigators

was that the crime scene had been contaminated countless times, cleaned and reclaimed but never sterilized. Even more surprising was the fact that the girl had been redressed after being killed. Both the parents and their friends claimed that John Bonnet was wearing red that night, not white. However, the red Christmas pajamas were later found in the bathroom's sink on the upper floor. This once again cast doubt on the intruder theory. Did an intruder really changed John Bonnet's clothes, kidnap her, kill her, and then return her body to the house? Or had it all happened inside the mansion? Now come the most illogical parts of the entire investigation. The girl was fully clothed and wrapped in a blanket.

The ropes around her neck and wrists, according to investigators, were too loose. There were no signs that the entry door had been forced, nor were there any footprints in the snow surrounding the mansion. Greg McCrary, an FBI agent with 25 years of experience, stated that pedophiles and kidnappers never share the same modus operandi. He explained that pedophiles take children, abuse them, and abandon them, while kidnappers act solely for money. Three additional details especially frustrated investigators. First, Patsy's 911 call, she claimed to be completely alone when she called, saying her husband and son were still asleep.

Yet, investigators concluded that the voices of John Ramsey and Burke could be heard in the background. Second, John Bonnet's autopsy revealed that her stomach contained pineapple and milk, her favorite dessert. The whites, whom the family had visited earlier, said they didn't serve that food. The Ramses, for their part, claimed that John Bonnet fell asleep in the car and didn't move from her bed. The mystery deepened when it was discovered that on the kitchen counter in the Ramsey mansion was a bowl of pineapple and milk with fingerprints from Patsy and Burke around it. This gave rise to a new theory, Patsy and Burke, after arriving home from the White's house,

went to the kitchen and quietly ate pineapple and milk together while John and John Bonnet were asleep. However, the little girl may have woken up, come downstairs, reached into the bowl, and grabbed a piece of pineapple. Burke, a short-tempered boy unafraid to hit his sister, may have struck her again with a blunt object, only this time, fatally. A visibly upset Patsy may have awakened her husband, and together they came up with the perfect plan to cover up for their beloved son. They had just lost John Bonnet, they couldn't afford to lose Burke 2. According to the autopsy, the fatal head injury occurred between 45 and 50 minutes before the ropes were tied around her neck and wrists, giving Patsy and John Ramsey more than enough time

to come up with their alibis and write the long ransom note. The third crucial point was that, although the coroner could not determine the exact time of death, a neighbor reported hearing a blood-curdling scream coming from the Ramsey Mansion around 3 a.m. But guess what? The Ramses said they heard nothing. On December 14, 1998, People Magazine updated the case in a cover story titled John Bonnet, Unsolved Mystery. It reported that the Ramses were then living in a luxurious Atlanta neighborhood. John, 55, had started a new computer business and attended the wedding of his eldest daughter, Melinda, held at a Presbyterian church. in Marietta. Patsy, 41, continued with housework, while Burke, 11, was in sixth grade at a

private school. Everything appeared absolutely normal, except, of course, that it wasn't. In July 1998, British television produced a new documentary with the cooperation of John and Patsy Ramsey to once again support the intruder theory. Likewise, a family friend, Linda McLean, published a book defending the couple's innocence and reinforcing that same theory. But perhaps the strongest support came from Lou Smith, a retired police inspector from Colorado Springs. In a letter written on September 20, 1998, he accused the Boulder police of focusing their investigation solely on the Ramses and not on finding the real killer. Several investigators assigned to the case, such as Tom Kobe,

blamed the police for failing to secure the crime scene and for allowing it to become contaminated. Joseph Van Bach, a police officer with 14 years of experience in the Los Angeles Department, could not understand why Boulder Police failed to interrogate John and Patsy separately as soon as they arrived at the house. Waiting hours allowed them to talk and coordinate a perfect alibi. No part of the puzzle has caused more speculation than the ransom note itself. After thorough analysis of the handwriting and language, experts concluded that while Burke and John could be ruled out, Patsy was likely the author. She was the only one known to be present that night and the only one whose handwriting matched the note almost exactly. As for the theory favored by Ramsey defenders, the intruder theory, it cannot be proven in any way. There were no footprints in the snow surrounding the mansion, no forced doors or windows. How could someone break into a home, kidnap a child, murder her, and escape without any family member seeing or hearing a thing? Years after John Monace's death, a former family employee named Michael confessed to the murder, but

months later, he took his own life. Lacking evidence or a solid motive, his confession was dismissed and the investigation continued. On August 16, 2006, the case resurfaced when John Mark Carr, a 41-year-old unemployed teacher, was arrested in Bangkok, Thailand. Police learned that Carr had confessed to the killing in emails exchanged with journalist Michael He claimed her death was accidental. But no one believed his version, he said he picked her up from school that day, even though school is closed everywhere on December 24th and 25th. DNA analysis also confirmed that Carr had no physical contact with the girl.

Now it's your turn, what do you believe? Was the killer a family member, or someone who had it all planned and came from outside? The end. It was then that Diego moved on to the third. moved on to the third phase of his plan, which was to kill Erica. Around 10 a.m., Catalina claimed to have heard Erica say something like, I recognized your voice, it's you Diego. But she spoke with Erica, and then I knew it was Diego.

This was at the exact time when the young woman reported being attacked by him. First, he attacked me with a hammer, told me that I had killed my brothers, and that he had taken an overdose of drugs and had little time to live. He lay beside me and asked me to let him die beside me. Half an hour later, when he realized the supposed suicide had failed, he invited me to take a walk, which I refused due to my concern about my brothers. Diego asked me to kill him with a knife, which I refused, and he responded, then I'll kill you. He attacked me in the neck and lung.

I took a long time to bleed out, and he seemed in a hurry. He stepped on my neck and slashed my lung to make me die fast. At 12 p.m., Diego, with his face uncovered, entered the bathroom where Catalina was, grabbed her, put her in Erika's car trunk, and drove for several hours, making multiple stops. At one of these, he went to his friend Mbardo's house to ask for clean clothes. After changing, he started the car again and dropped Catalina off outside, giving her ten pesos to take a bus. At around 12.30, Linda Victoria returned to the house.

She called out for the children, but no one responded. She went upstairs and encountered a scene more suited to a horror movie. There was a trail of blood all over the hallway, eventually leading her to Erica Pina's body. She quickly ran to Ashera's room and asked her to call an ambulance, as her sister had suffered an accident and was semi-conscious. A few minutes later, the whole house was filled with police officers and paramedics who, upon checking everything, found the bodies of the two young children. Everything was so strange that it didn't seem like the work of just one person. How did no one notice what was happening? How did no one wake up besides Catalina?

According to Diego's version, the whole crime was based on Erica's revenge. A revenge that ended up becoming a kind of suicidal pact. This version is really strange and difficult to explain, but don't worry, you will slowly understand everything. told the police that Erica never got along with her mother. Apparently, she harbored deep resentment toward her due to the divorce, because her brothers were not really her father's children, and because she said her mother was a very selfish person. This bitterness grew in the early hours of March 2nd when, after simulating a robbery attempt in smoking a cigarette, he broke into

Erica's room and confessed to her that he had been unfaithful with her own mother. This triggered Erica to enter a fit of rage, and the couple started arguing. The argument began in Erica's room, but to avoid waking the whole house, they decided to continue it in the downstairs kitchen. After a while, they were interrupted by little Erica Zool, who timidly told his sister that he had peed the bed. At that moment, Erica was so angry that she couldn't hold herself back and hit the child on the head, knocking him unconscious. Anyone with any common sense would have stopped there, but Erika saw in her brother an opportunity for revenge against her mother. She then opened a drawer, took out a knife, and offered it to Diego with the following words,

if you want, kill him. He didn't do it, and that's when Erika stabbed her younger brother repeatedly. Diego would later argue that after this crime, he heard a noise upstairs. When he went to check, he found Catalina wandering through the hallway, so he had no choice but to trap her, gag her, and hide her in the bathroom because he never wanted to kill her. The two young people then entered Teresa Cosi Leon's room and sat at the foot of the bed for several minutes. But then they heard the little click-clack of Maria Fernandez shoes. According to Erica's version, Diego killed the little girl, but in Diego's version, everything changes. According to him, Eric called the little girl, inviting her to play a fun game. He made her get on all fours, put a rope around her neck,

her, even sitting on top of her to increase the pressure. When Teresa Cosi Leon's secretary arrived, Erica's plans were interrupted, and Diego was forced to hide in the bathroom. However, when she left, Eric demanded that Diego finish off Catalina's life. He told him to hit her with a hammer and then stab her until she was dead, but Diego didn't do it. He simply moved her to another hiding spot. He took a hammer from a nightstand in the room and said, let's continue.

you and me. I need you to hit me really hard. He put the hammer in my hand, and I said, No, I can't do it. She insisted that I could. I closed my eyes and started hitting her a few times, but I couldn't continue. She laid down on the bed, and I asked her, what's going to happen to me? She told me, you can jump off a bridge. Then Erica asked him to take her to her brother, and the young woman collapsed beside him. Later, she asked Diego to kill her to finish her revenge. I took her by the armpits, under the shoulders, and tried to carry her. Then she sat down, and I took her to her mother's room.

I lay her down on the bed. She said, I need you to get rid of Catalina. Don't leave her here. Go in my car. I said, I'm regretting this. I'm going to call an ambulance. And she told me, no, leave and don't forget to take Catalina. But I need you to finish with me too.

At that moment, Diego said he took a knife from his backpack and stabbed Erica in the chest. Obviously, this version of events has not been proven. What is known is that after this, Diego went downstairs, took Catalina, and put her in the trunk of Erica's car. But here's something truly strange, Catalina Bautista claimed to have heard Diego, before starting the car, lovingly say goodbye to Eric. If he had tried to kill him, why was he saying goodbye? If he was a murderer, why didn't he kill Catalina, and why did he give her money for a bus? From here, we find points that completely break Erica's version. According to Erica, when she discovered that the young siblings were dead, she was in shock and simply

let herself be dragged by Diego Santoy, as she somehow feared for her life. But there were several points that made this case one of the most controversial in history. The first is that at 10.10 a.m., when the young children were already dead, and Catalina was locked up, Linda Victoria saw Erica peering out of the window, and they even talked for a while. But if she feared for her life, why didn't she say anything? Why didn't she seem affected at all? The second point is Azura, Erica's sister. That night, she slept in the house but claimed she didn't hear anything. She said she woke up at 9 a.m. because she received a phone call, and from 10 to 10.20, she listened to music with headphones, something that has led many to believe that the sisters'i-Lion family had a lot of money, but the sisters Erica and Asher had to share their inheritance with two half-siblings whom they couldn't stand. This is where Erica's romantic relationship with Diego comes into play. According to reports, when Diego started dating Erica, His behavior changed completely, and he became a puppet in this girl's hands, a manipulative

girl with a lot of character and very dictatorial attitudes. Erica knew very well that Diego would do anything for her, so she involved him in her crime to the point of making him take the blame. This hypothesis suggests that Erica was never attacked by Diego. In fact, it is said that the struggle with Diego could have been real, but that after he left the house, Erica, with Azura's help, injured herself, which sounds really. twisted. But according to many, this could make perfect sense, considering two things. The first is that when Erica left the hospital, she seemed completely renewed, flirting

with the cameras and wearing a wristband on her right arm. According to the young woman, she injured her wrist during the struggle with Diego, but this injury is typical for people who hit badly or stab badly, either on themselves or someone else. The second point again relates to her attitude, because in interviews and during Diego Santoy's trial, both she, her sister, and even their mother seemed more concerned about their image than about what actually happened. But I suppose these are just assumptions. Moricio Santoy, Diego's brother, helped him escape, but their plans were thwarted on the night of March 6th at 10 p.m. when both were arrested while traveling on a bus in Osaka. Diego was found guilty of murder, kidnapping, robbery,

and attempted murder. As a result, the prosecution requested 138 years in prison. But what happened to the protagonists of this story? In 2009, Diego married Letitia, the president of his fan club because yes, even though it seems incredible, Diego has a fan club, one that fights to prove his innocence. With her, he had a son, who is currently eight years old. As for Erica, she married Mike Cotto and currently lives in his own. Guanoado. As for Teresa Cosi Leon, she still lives in the house where the crime occurred,

but this house is no longer the same. Shortly after the children died, she cremated them and completely remodeled the house, eliminating any trace of the crime. But now it's your turn. Do you think Diego is the only murderer, or do you think Erica and Azura are involved? Finn. From this point on, a true cavalry would begin for Jenny Rivera, and a wave of threats began to be received. Two of the cars in which she was traveling suffered engine failures that could have cost her life. Even at the end of 2009, she received death threats via Twitter from anonymous accounts. We start on December 8, 2012, at 6.15 p.m. The great diva of Bonda music, Jenny Rivera, arrived at the Monterey Arena to carry out her sound checks. According to various

witnesses, that night she was very excited as she was debuting a new type of stage, which, in the shape of a cross, offered a great view to the audience. That night, 15,600 people would see her perform, so everything had to be perfect. She reviewed the song list, approved the stage, changed clothes, did her makeup, and at 8.55 she burst onto the stage with all her energy. The audience gave themselves to her in every single one of her songs, and when she said, Paloma Negra dedicating it to her daughter, her emotion struck directly in the hearts of her fans. She performed with such passion that practically no one could avoid becoming emotional.

At 1230, Jenny was surprised on stage by several Universal Executives who publicly presented her with gold and platinum records. After that, the artist left the stage with the help of her publicist Arturo Rivera and walked to the dressing room along with her stylist Gigi Sanchez and her makeup artist Jacob Leveille. Once there, she changed clothes, had her makeup touched up, and met with ten fans for approximately 15 minutes. Afterward, she left the dressing room and gave her last press conference, which did not leave anyone indifferent. As always, she dazzled everyone with her sincerity, charm, and of course, her naturalness.

This season we are recording more about what it is to be the artist, and I want them not only to capture. Hello, who am I speaking with? Yours, they're going to blow your hair off. The next morning, specifically at 8 a.m., she was supposed to take a flight to Toluca. However, she couldn't wait and asked her team to move the trip forward. Some say it was because she was very impatient, others because she had an early meeting with her friend Polina Rubio and didn't want to be late. What we do know is that at 205 a.m., she and her team left the Monterey Arena heading toward

the airport. 10 minutes later, they made a brief stop at a supermarket, and 45 minutes later, they boarded a Learjet 25 with a U.S. registration. From here, everything becomes blurry. Before takeoff, Jenny wrote for the last time to her friend Jose Manuel Figueroa, promising to call him upon arrival, but that would never happen. At 358, the control tower realized a serious anomaly, they had lost all communication with the aircraft. No one knows how, no one knows why, but after reaching 27,000 feet in altitude, the plane in which Jenny and her team were traveling lost control and began a nosedive, eventually crashing into the Sierra Madre Mountains in Iderbide, Nuevo Leon.

But what happened that night? Next, I'll give you some brief brushstrokes about her life. Jenny Rivera was born on July 2, 1969, in Long Beach, California, daughter of Rosa and Pedro Rivera, two Mexican immigrants who were great lovers of music. Due to her parents' influence, Jenny was exposed from an early age to the tones and rhythms of traditional Mexican music. Her love for music grew, especially when listening to her father and brothers sing. She had such a powerful voice, charisma, an ambition that everyone who met her knew that, one day, the whole world would kneel at her feet. But, for better or

worse, that dazzling destiny everyone predicted had to be postponed, because at 15 years old, Jenny became pregnant. This caused a great rift with her parents. Shortly after announcing her pregnancy, Jenny went to live with the future father of her child, Jose Trinidad Marine. Her first daughter, Janie, was born on June 26, 1985. And although her parents initially disapproved of her decision, she received enough support and was able to move forward with her life, even studying business administration. For a long time, Jenny worked in real estate and also in administrative positions for her father's record label.

Things were going well, she had two more children with Trinidad, Angel in 1991 and Jacqueline in 1989. Unfortunately, her life was not as perfect as everyone thought. While her public life seemed perfect, behind closed doors, she was living in hell. She had to endure her partner's abuse every day. With each passing day, arguments increased, more threats, more yelling, more beatings. But she never gave into her husband's anger. Every time she was hit, she hit back.

Every time she was insulted, she insulted back. Knowing her relationship was extremely toxic, she couldn't leave. He was her first love, the father of her children. She would not open her eyes until she realized she wasn't the only one suffering, Trinidad was also abusing their daughters and Jenny's sister when Jenny wasn't around. In 1992, Jenny found the courage to report him. Unfortunately, the vile man escaped and was a fugitive for nine years. But in April 2006, he was finally caught and sentenced to 31 years in prison.

In 1993, at 24 years old, Jenny Rivera officially entered the music world. But it wasn't until 2000 that she showcased her great talent as a songwriter, releasing her album K. Me Antieran Khan La Bonda. From there, she rose to fame and international recognition. In 2002, she was nominated for a Latin Grammy for Best Bonda album. Jenny's career continued to climb, and in 2006 she was regarded as the top female artist in a male-dominated genre, traditional Mexican music. However, her love life would not be as brilliant as her career. In 1995, she met Juan Lopez Pardo in a bar and had two more children with him,

Janica and Johnny. She was very excited about him until U.S. authorities arrested him for illegally smuggling Mexican immigrants into the U.S. He spent six months in prison, and after serving his sentence, married Jenny in 1997. Unfortunately, a year later, they broke up due to his alleged infidelities. On September 8, 2010, Jenny Rivera's fans went wild upon learning that she had married retired baseball player Esteban Loezza. He seemed like a good man, someone who would treat the diva as she deserved. Everyone was happy for her.

Sadly, just months before her death, Jenny announced their divorce due to irreconcilable differences, though rumors claimed her eldest daughter Janie had an affair with him. At this point, many would think her life, though full of ups and downs, has nothing to do with the day of her death. But the truth is, it does. Every decision, every breakup, all form new theories about what could have happened the night of December 8, 2012. From the day of her birth to her marriage with Esteban Loewza, and if you don't believe me,

get ready for what's coming. When the artist's death was announced, absolutely no one could believe it. Information was initially very scarce and, at times, contradictory. First, they said the plane crashed due to a loose screw. Then, that one of the engines exploded. Finally, they blamed a series of errors. First, the pilots were not authorized to fly. The pilot, Miguel Perez-Soto, 78 years old, exceeded the legal age to pilot a Learjet with overload,

as happened that day. The co-pilot, Alejandro Torres, 21, lacked the license to fly this aircraft outside of the U.S. Second, loss of control. Upon reaching 27,000 feet, with altitude and speed fluctuations, the aircraft lost control, possibly due to a horizontal stabilizer failure, which was never reported to the control tower. With this public information, several hypotheses arose. When the plane's registration was published, many investigated its history and discovered something curious, this Learjet 25 was built in 1969,

the year Jenny Rivera was born. Was it coincidence or destiny? This little detail led to dozens of theories. That night, Jenny's last concert was filled with symbols and images that, in hindsight, gave chills. As noted at the beginning, the stage was shaped like a cross, now seen by many as a premonition. Every gesture and word from her last press conference was scrutinized. Some said the concert didn't feel as festive as others. Something in her seemed broken, and this was reflected in one particular question. This concert was completely different from the ones you've done in Monterey. There's always lots of celebration, tears.

She responded, My shows are very emotional. They're real. There's lots of partying and fun. I get paid to entertain people who buy it. ticket to experience Jenny Rivera live, and that experience includes both the artist and the woman. I give my all. I'm very passionate. My audience, as you can see, is extremely passionate and sentimental. They live my life. When asked about future plans, she began her answer. Every year you come to Monterey, you seem to go higher. Where do you see yourself next year? You know what? I don't even

think about what might happen. Another detail, Jenny cleared up rumors about her feud with her brother. She said there was never a confrontation, just past issues they had resolved. Many saw her as sad. She said she had no plans and simply left everything in God's hands. She claimed to be happy. Then came the final image, the last known photograph of Jenny Rivera. Many claimed they could see the face of the Virgin in it. This drove hundreds to visit the crash site to feel the artist's presence, flooding social media with apparitions and alleged EVP recordings. Accessing the crash site was difficult, but that didn't stop the fans. Any image related to Jenny was misinterpreted. People said her soul couldn't find peace. In my opinion, this theory

doesn't hold up. Most ghost images are edited or misinterpreted, like the one on screen. which people said was death itself, but was just a spotlight. Likewise, most EVPs on YouTube are clearly fake. The theory began when a video of her last concert went viral. At minute 2.19, many claimed to hear a voice announcing her death. She was singing Paloma Negra, dedicating it to her daughter Janney, rumored to be Esteban's lover. Until then, Esteban's reputation was flawless, until February 2018, when he was arrested for possessing 20 kilograms of cocaine intended for sale. Did Jenny know he trafficked drugs? More importantly, had she ever intervened? After the accident, the DEA investigated the owner of the plane

and discovered he was involved in drug trafficking. In 1999, he was arrested in Sinaloa with 4.5 kilograms of cocaine, but was mysteriously released the next day. It was revealed that Jenny, like other singers, had performed at private parties for Edgar Valdez V. Raoul, aka La Barbie. According to a protected witness, during one party Jenny and LaBarby argued, he hit her, and she shouted threats before storming out. From that point, Jenny began receiving threats. Two of her vehicles had engine failures. In late 2009, Anonymous Twitter account sent her death threats. She brushed it off, calling them bad jokes. But all of it ended magically in December, the same month LaBarby was arrested after an anonymous

tip. He remained silent until a few days before Jenny's death, when he issued a statement accusing President Felipe Calderon of colluding with cartels. The spotlight turned to LaBarby. When Jenny died, many claimed she'd been executed by a criminal group. Some said she'd She and other artists had been warned not to perform at Monterey Arena, that her life was at risk. For that reason, the Bonda Diva finished her interviews and insisted on leaving the city early, a decision that would cost her life. Many now believe that La Barbee didn't directly kill her, but one of his trusted men might have. The motive?

That Jenny was about to expose something, since at the time he was in prison, several anonymous witnesses point to one of the men who did it as the motive for the crime. Jenny was able to carry out her threat, that threat she made years ago, and she did, giving the tip-off that would put this drug trafficker behind bars. But now it's your turn. Do you think Jenny Rivera could have happened? Was it an accident, a murder, or fate? The end.

The chilling events surrounding that Enfield case spanned from 1977 to 1979, capturing the attention of the media and sparking intense public interest. reports of a young girl on the brink of possession, objects moving on their own, and innocent beings tormented by unseen forces shocked society. This case, one of the most documented and controversial in paranormal history, thrust the Enfield family's experiences into the spotlight, leading people to question the existence of the supernatural. Despite public interest in this case, famed paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren

never officially worked on it. Nevertheless, their reputation was so intertwined with tales of the supernatural that media and fans often associated them with the Enfield incident. Over time, this case inspired a film adaptation that reignited curiosity around the Warrens and their legacy, linking them to both the Enfield Haunting and another infamous case, the Amityville Horror. The cinematic adaptation, part of the Conjuring series, became a massive success, with a fictional twist involving characters and creatures that terrified audiences worldwide.

Among them was a sinister figure known as The Nun. This character quickly became iconic, haunting viewers and raising questions about its origins. Was this entity based on a real demon? Did it have a place in the real-life files of the Warrans? In reality, the figure of Valloc, as depicted in the films, draws inspiration from various sources of demonology. Ancient texts like the Lesser Key of Solomon and the Dictionaire Infernal described Vallic as a powerful demon, often appearing in the form of an innocent child with angelic wings. This demon is said to possess immense knowledge and a willingness to reveal hidden secrets and treasures, though always at a steep price.

Valic is also portrayed as a protector of magicians, supposedly teaching the ancient arts of taming serpents. Historical accounts from texts suggest that Valic rides a two-headed dragon, a symbol associated with biblical prophecies of the end times. This lore adds a mysterious and ominous layer to Valic's character, further fueling its demonic aura. The Bible itself presents complex views on magic and supernatural powers. In one instance, Moses and Aaron perform a miracle by transforming a staff into a serpent, an act mirroring what Egyptian sorcerers also performed. While sorcery is typically condemned, here it serves to highlight God's power over supernatural forces. In The Conjuring 2, Valic is introduced as a malevolent force with a disturbing focus on harming

holy figures like priests and nuns, a trait aligning with its depiction in historical texts. Director James Wan worked closely with Lorraine Warren to create an authentic horror experience for audiences. Lorraine reportedly described an encounter with a dark figure wearing a hooded black cloak, an entity she believed to be a demon. One channeled this vision into the character of the nun, intensifying its terrifying presence. To seamlessly connect Enfield's fictional events to the Amityville case, one needed a unifying demon, and Vallek provided the perfect choice. Although Valik wasn't directly tied to either case, it served as an ominous thread linking two iconic hauntings, allowing one to avoid legal issues tied to the rights of the

Amityville story. In reality, the Amityville case started with a gruesome family massacre by Ronald DeFaio Jr., who claimed he was driven to commit these acts by ghostly commands. A year later, the Lutz family moved into the same house but left within a month, reporting supernatural experiences so disturbing that they fled for their lives. Ed and Lorraine Warren, along with other investigators, visited the house and declared it haunted. While one wanted to tell this story, he found himself unable to do to rights issues. His creative solution was to invent a character like Valik that could weave the terror of both cases together without legal complications.

The second film wasn't the only one to feature this terrifying figure. Valac would reappear in subsequent films, including Annabelle, creation, and again in a dedicated spinoff, the nun, amplifying the character's importance in the cinematic universe. To fans, these appearances seem to foreshadow an expansion. into other haunted locations. Speculation swirled that the next entry might involve the Borley Rectory, a site deeply significant to the Warrens and considered one of the most haunted places in England. Ed and Lorraine were known to visit Borley Rectory over 200 times, claiming it to be a place where they had some of their most intense paranormal

experiences. In one account, they recalled a terrifying incident where someone felt as if they were being attacked by an invisible force, unable to breathe. These unsettling stories suggested that the warrants were deeply connected to this haunting site, possibly laying the groundwork for another spine-chilling movie. However, the true story of the haunted nun was ultimately set in Romania, diverging from the expected link to the Borley rectory. In the nun, the story unfolds around a young cloistered nun who commits suicide in a remote convent in Romania. A priest with a dark past and a young nun in training are sent by the Vatican to investigate, only to discover a sinister secret lurking within the convent. The horror intensifies as

the convent becomes a battleground between good and evil, dragging them into a terrifying struggle for their very souls. The question remains, will the Warren's story connect with this plot line in the cinematic universe? And will the famous Borley hauntings eventually make it to the big screen? Fans of the Warrens and the paranormal genre continue to wonder if these real-life accounts will inspire future horror stories. Jane couldn't remember any more because she fainted, but it wasn't due to the shock of seeing a being like that, but because the scratches were actually tears, and she lost so much blood that she quickly lost consciousness. If it hadn't been for the intervention of her younger sister, the young woman would have bled out on the doorstep of

her house. Let's begin. Incredibly, at the beginning of the 19th century in London, a wave of reports about ghost sightings emerged. These humanoid figures were described as very pale and ethereal. It was also believed that they stalked lonely pedestrians with the intention of stealing their souls. These were vague apparitions that exhibited very different behaviors, women who wandered alone and passed through walls, men who screamed, and shadows that pursued. The first report was filed in November 1803, and it was against the ghost of Hammersmith. Several people claimed to have seen or been attacked by the ghost of a man who, a year earlier, took his own life. The apparition was described as a very tall man completely dressed

in white, although some said he wore a case. capskin coat with horns and glass eyes. This being not only appeared in 1803, but also in 1804 and 1824, meaning it terrorized the London population sporadically for 20 years. The next ghost was the one from Southampton, which was no longer described as an ethereal entity. In this case, witnesses said it was a man made of flesh and blood, a man capable of jumping up to three meters high with a single motion. In the middle of the night, he would attack and then flee, jumping away. No one knew how he did it, and that was the part that scared them the most. That is, until 1837, when a new report was filed, and this wasn't against the ghost of Southampton

but against a demon named Springheeled Jack. Jack the jumper was a ghost who didn't limit himself to London but acted all over the United Kingdom, and not only for a few years. He began in 1837 and disappeared in 1904. But why was everyone so scared of him? Was he just an apparition or could he really harm people? Let's find out next. One October night in 1837, police whistles didn't stop sounding as a signal of alarm. A young girl had been attacked and abused by a ghost on Vendor Hill Street.

Her name was Mary Stevens, and for her young age, she worked as a maid. She helped in the kitchen, cleaned, and obeyed. That day, the family had several guests, so the poor girl left very late from the house, specifically at 8.30 p.m., and she headed alone to her parents' house in Bursa. After spending some time with them, she went to her aunt's house, with whom she had been living for a few months. It was on this journey, from B.S.Y to C LH. Common where her aunt lived, that a man dressed in black lunged at her. This man immobilized her with a strong embrace and then began kissing her face while using his claws to rip her clothes.

Taking advantage of the victim's shock, he began to caress her bare skin with hands that, according to her, were cold and wet like those of a corpse. Luckily, Mary Stevens was able to scream during her shock and scare off her attacker. That night, several neighbors armed themselves and went out into the streets to capture that horrible being, the one who had had the indecency to attack a poor girl. But sadly, they couldn't find him, and when the sun rose, Mary's story was forgotten by everyone. The next day, as night fell, a carriage was attacked by a jumping ghost very close to club hound common. Apparently, a man dressed in black jumped into the middle of the street, right in front of a carriage that was speeding, causing the coachman to lose control and crash into a

wall. This time, there were witnesses, and although their statements were quite fantastical, they were well-dressed men, so the police took it seriously. He escaped by jumping over a nine-foot high wall. He didn't use his hands, he simply jumped while laughing loudly and sharply. The news of this strange character spread like wildfire, and the press echoed the story, filling entire front pages with the supposed appearance of the character. He was either a very agile madman, a ghost, or a demon, no one really knew who he was. Although the press dubbed him Springheeled Jack, the entire city feared this being. However, panic wouldn't spread until January 9, 1838, when Sir John Cowan, the mayor of London,

gave a speech at his mansion revealing a new sighting of the character. At first, it was going to be just another conference in which he would announce new court cases, updates on police investigations and infrastructure reforms. However, in the middle of the speech, he paused to read a letter written by a man from Pam. The man was requesting extra vigilance in his neighborhood on behalf of all his neighbors, because Springheeled Jack was stalking them. First, the man emphasized that the character no longer focused only on scaring London but was now doing so all over the United Kingdom. Second, he claimed that no one could protect themselves from him because spring-heeled Jack could change shape at will. Sometimes he wore a

bear's skin, other times a ghosts, and when he wanted to cause more fear, he dressed as a demon. Third, he no longer limited himself to frightening people in the streets but now even entered their homes. He enjoyed sneaking into gardens and knocking on his victim's doors, usually targeting young, very beautiful women. According to the letter, he had caused five faintings and two heart attacks, making spring-heeled Jack a true public menace. The mayor, by reading this letter, didn't intend to cause controversy or let panic spread throughout London. He simply wanted to inform the public. However, once he did, absolute chaos broke out, and several men present in the room spoke out, confirming that these words were

entirely true. One of them, according to the Times, said the following, servants from Kensington, Hammersmith, and E&G tell terrible stories about the ghost or demon. As expected, this caused the newspapers to rush and fill their publications with the supposed portrait of Springheeled Jack. The Times newspaper, for example, ran several publications calling for citizen collaboration, inviting alleged victims to share their stories with the world. It was then that dozens of people anonymously wrote to the editorial office, recounting all kinds of stories related to him. Among these was one that said, several women from Hammersmith

have been victims of dangerous attacks. Springheeled Jack has tried to kidnap several of them, and some have even been severely injured with some kind of metal claws that the miscreant carries in his hands. After this letter, many more arrived, claiming the character moved as fast as lightning all over the United Kingdom. Letters came from Stockwell, Brighton, Ball. Letters came from everywhere. The fear that people had of this being was so great that the mayor had to give a new speech in which he announced that Springheeled Jack was nothing but an invented story. Sir John Cowan said that someone had invented this tale, and as it spread, people began to believe it. Several jokers decided to dress as him and imitate his supposed misdeeds.

So, he announced that he would take action against these pranksters and how he intended to catch them by offering juicy rewards. I suppose I don't need to tell you what happened next, right? Incredible long lines formed that police stations all over the United Kingdom as everyone was convinced they had seen Jack. Everyone wanted the reward, and to get it, they were willing to do anything, even betray their father, their brother, or their grandfather, and even dress up as him and confess. Many of the testimonies from the supposed victims of Jack were leaked directly to the press, such as one published on April 14, 1838, in the Brighton Gazette and the Times. In this report, a gardener from Rosehill Sussex, a poor man, said he had been attacked by a being

of unknown nature. The incident occurred on April 13th when the gardener saw an animal, possibly a bear, attract his attention by growling. Then, it ran on all fours before jumping and chasing the gardener for a while. After terrorizing him, the apparitioned. Scaled a wall and disappeared. From that point on, many more shocking tales about Springheel Jack emerged. However, the most famous ones were those of Jane Alsop and Lucy Scales, two teenagers who lived through a real nightmare on the night of February 19, 1838. Someone knocked on the door of Jane Alsop's house. When she opened it, she saw a man dressed in a long black cloak and a helmet. From a distance and in the darkness, she couldn't see his

face, but he quickly introduced himself, we've caught spring-heeled jack on this street. We need a light. Could you give me one, miss? From his manner of speaking and appearance, this man was clearly a police officer. So, the girl happily went inside, took a candle, and crossed the garden to give it to him. But when she illuminated his face, she realized this man wasn't who he said he was. He removed his cloak and revealed a horrible and terrifying appearance. He spewed a blue and white flame while his eyes seemed to be made of fire.

Without saying a word, he lunged at her, grabbed her by the hair, and placed her face under his armpit while using his metal claws to tear at her clothes. She screamed for help and managed to escape, but he caught her again and scratched her arms and neck. that, she couldn't remember anything. Jane didn't remember anymore because she fainted, but not due to the shock of seeing such a being, but because the scratches were actually tears, and she lost so much blood that she quickly lost consciousness. If it hadn't been for the intervention of her younger sister, the young woman would have bled out on her doorstep. Nine days later,

on February 28, 1838, Lucy Scales, 18 years old, and her 16-year-old sister Linda were returning home after visiting their brother, a butcher who lived in El House. While my sister and I were walking down Green Dragon Alley, we saw a dark figure standing right at the entrance of an alley. At that moment, I was walking slightly ahead of Linda, and just as I approached the person wearing a large cape, he spat a blue flame in my face that blinded me. The panic caused me to fall to the ground. Linda Scales was the one who spoke directly to the police and gave a complete description of her sister's attacker. According to her, he was a tall, thin man, well-dressed, wearing a large cloak and carrying a small lantern or bull's-eye light, very similar to those used by the police.

She also added that this person didn't touch or speak to them. He just spat on Lucy and left, jumping incredibly high. The police this time made a real effort to find the person responsible for this outrage and many others. Several people were interrogated but magically were set free. Yet, the truly shocking thing wasn't that people were arrested and then released, what was truly shocking was that the press filled dozens of pages talking about Jane Alsop's case, while Lucy Scales was given barely a couple of lines. The reason was very simple, it was considered that Jane Alsop was a real victim who was

attacked while at home, while Lucy was looking for trouble, two women walking alone at night could only be looking for trouble. So, no one cared that poor Lucy Scales would remain blind for life. The fame of Springheeled Jack grew by the moment. Newspapers talked about him, the police patrolled the streets at night, and women no longer went out alone. Even Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, joined the night patrols to hunt down the sinister figure. Over the following years, Jack acted occasionally, perhaps aware that the law was closing in on him. However, after his silence in 1843, new reports emerged.

Dozens of imitators were arrested and later released for lack of evidence, like the case of a man who claimed to be Captain Finch. Taking advantage of the legend, he wore a fur coat and horns and spent an entire night harassing women walking alone. Many men were detained and then released because they neither spat fire nor jumped very high, which further fueled the sinister legend, causing London streets to become deserted by nightfall. It was then that parents would tell their children the tale of the jumping demon, creating a generation of very fearful men and women. Sensationalist reporters filled the front pages with new victims, even connecting Jack to unsolved crimes.

The madness over the character was so great that masks and full costumes of this creature were sold. Children and new imitators bought the costumes, continuing the legend and preventing it from ever dying. Such was the case of Springheeled Jack, who in 1877 appeared at the Aldershot military base, where he terrorized several centuries. The last official sighting of the character was in 1904 in Liverpool, where several witnesses saw him jumping over houses and several bridges, disappearing forever from the city.

But now it's your turn. What do you think of this story? Do you believe Springfield Jack was real, or was he just a legend? Finn. But here's something really strange, Catalina Bautista said she heard Diego before starting the car, say goodbye affectionately to Erika. If he had tried to kill her, why was he saying goodbye if he was a killer? Why didn't he kill Catalina, and why did he give her money for a bus?

Let's begin. You broke into my house to kill me, to kill my family. You killed your family, and now you want to blame me. A very different time. Do you intend to continue with this act? I gave you the knife, I handed it to you. No, I didn't want to grab it because I'm not capable of killing anyone. In March 2006, Diego Santoy Riverall was accused of kidnapping a domestic worker, injuring

his then-girlfriend Erica Pena, and killing her younger brothers. The motive was jealousy and uncontrolled rage. However, after the story came to light, really shocking testimonies emerged. Those who knew Diego claimed he was an innocent boy, a good person, pleasant, dedicated to his family and never got into trouble. Meanwhile, those who knew Erica said she was a girl with a strong character, manipulative, and lacking love and affection, especially from her mother. In this case, there are many points that don't make sense, and we'll get to know them next. So, stay very attentive so you don't miss a single detail.

Diego Daniel Santoy Riverall was born in Tijuana in 1985, one of the two children of Jose Manuel Santoy and Maruggenia Riverall. Given the terrible crimes this boy is accused of, one might expect a tragic event in his childhood. However, the hardest thing he went through was moving from Tijuana to Monterey. Everyone who knew him said he was a very pleasant guy, a good son, a good brother, never the kind of person who liked to party, drink, or smoke. He was really a very healthy guy in every way, so his parents never worried too much about his curfew or bad company. He always had very good grades because from a very young age, everyone knew he was destined for a bright future. So, when in August 2005 he was accepted into the Faculty of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering at the Universidad Autonomic de Nuevo Leon, no one, absolutely no one, was surprised.

Even less so when a study revealed that he had a very high IQ, specifically 122 points. That same year, Diego was invited to a birthday party of one. one of his friends, which would be celebrated in a club since turning 15 doesn't happen every day. It was then that he met Erica Payna, a girl four years younger than him. A spark quickly ignited between them, and without barely knowing each other, they started a relationship that would last around two years. Diego had a good relationship with Erica's family. In fact, they spent New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, and exchanged multiple gifts.

Erica's mother declared on several occasions that everyone viewed this relationship positively and even thought that one day they would get married. However, this was not the typical love story we might imagine. Apparently, it was tortuous and very complicated. And here's where two completely different versions emerge. The first is that the only thing keeping the couple together was excessive sexual attraction and that, in reality, they had nothing in common. Diego was very in love with her, but Erica didn't feel the same way.

In fact, she might have used him. When one of her friends got pregnant, Erica used this as an excuse to leave Diego, of course, under the premise that she was afraid of ending up like her. The second version states that Diego was a jealous and possessive guy who didn't let Erica go on her own. For this reason, she decided one day to break up with him. There was a moment when I was afraid of him. I broke up with him, asking him not to contact me again. Why were you afraid of Diego? Because a healthy person doesn't steal your phone and give it to you as a birthday gift.

A healthy person doesn't make up things about your friends so you won't talk to them. He would tell me, don't talk to that friend, or she's a bad influence. He would even say that a girl had been with another guy, whatever the real story is, we must get to know the versions from the protagonists and, of course, their respective families. Here is a brief summary of Erica's story. Erica Pena Co-Leon was the daughter of one of Mexico's most famous couples, her parents being astrologers Gonzalo Pena and Teresa Cosi Leon, better known as T'Cose, who began her career by reading horoscopes on the Conclays program on Channel 12.

However, not everything in this family was golden. Despite living in one of the wealthiest areas of Monterey, the Cumber's neighborhood, they were hiding some truly dark secrets. Erica had three younger siblings, Eric Azza, five years old, and Maria Fernanda, three years old, with whom she had a very good relationship. Unfortunately, her relationship with these two was very tense and complicated, just like her relationship with her mother, Teresa, after the divorce of her parents. It was said that Erica felt a great deal of resentment toward her mother.

In fact, it was said that they couldn't stay two minutes together. without arguing, and this was no secret to anyone. To make things worse, rumors began to circulate that Erika's siblings, Eric Azza and Maria Fernanda, were not her father's biological children, but were the result of an affair her mother had with an unknown man. Due to her parents' work, the children were often left alone or accompanied each other. So, Teresa Cosi Leon hired a domestic worker named Catarina Bautista Juarez, who was in charge of cleaning the house, feeding the little ones, dressing them, bathing them, and practically staying with them 24-7. It all began on the evening of March 1, 2006, at 7 p.m., when Diego called his friend Mbardo

Leo Molina to invite him for dinner at his house. The night went by without any problems, in fact, the two young men laughed and watched movies. As it got late, Diego invited Umberto to stay the night, and he accepted without hesitation. However, At 4 a.m., Diego woke his friend up, asking him to drive him to Erica's house. Umberto was quite surprised, but he had learned not to ask questions regarding this relationship, so he started the car and took Diego to Erica's house, then left. Between 5 o'clock and 5.20 a.m., Diego snuck into the house with a backpack and a ski mask. Once inside, he cut the telephone wires, the cords of the blinds, and made a silent tour of the house.

No one heard him, no one saw him. At around 5.40 and 6 a.m., he smoked a cigarette. No one, absolutely no one, smelled the smoke, which is also incomprehensible. But the real madness begins here. From this point forward, two completely different versions emerge, one from Erica Pena and one from Diego Santoy. We'll start with the one currently accepted by the police, between 5.50 and 6.10 a.m., Diego went up to the upper floor of the house where the bedrooms were. Once there, he took little Eric Azza out of bed, led him to the kitchen, and stabbed him several times.

Unfortunately, he didn't kill him on the first attempt. The boy managed to escape and reached the laundry room, where he was finished off, wrapped in a sheet, and placed on a mattress. At around 6.30 a.m., Catalina Bautista woke up. That night, she had slept with little Maria Fernanda. She left the room and went to check if Teresa Cosi Leon had returned home. It was then that Diego, pointing a gun at her, covered her mouth and locked her in the bathroom. I get up, go to the bathroom first.

Then, when I go to the kitchen and open the door, he caught me. He started covering my mouth, and then he told me, I won't do anything to you, but if you try anything, I'll kill you. Maria Fernanda, who was used to sleeping in princess dresses and walking around the house, continued playing, and that morning was no different. Between 7.45 and 8.15, Catarina said she heard her little shoes. After that, she heard nothing else. Diego had strangled the little girl with the cords from the blinds he had cut hours earlier,

wrapped her in a sheet, and hidden her in a closet. The plan was perfect, but at 8.30 a.m., someone opened the door with a key. That someone was Linda Victoria Morent Mendez, secretary of Teresa Companies. This woman had an office in the house. So Diego opted to hide in the bathroom where Catalina Bautista was locked, and he waited there for about an hour and a half. When Linda Victoria left, Diego emerged from hiding and took Catalina out of there, locking her in another bathroom. It was then that he moved on to the third phase of his plan, to kill Erica. To be continued. It was then that grain, filled with rage,

stormed the castle and kidnapped the barren son. She told him that if he wanted to see his child safe and sound, he would have to always keep the castle doors open and a place set at the table for unexpected guests. Let's begin. She ruled fortresses on her native land and fierce galleys at sea, and no warlord or Viking had a braver heart than hers, grain, Irish patriotic and popular song. With these words, for years, hundreds of people remembered the terrifying grain, a strong woman who, with wit and cunning, ruled the seas and fought anyone who stood in her way. Though her life ended like that of a dull noble, her reign of terror secured her place among the most important figures of her century.

So get ready, this is a real pirate story. Grain Neem Hale, better known as Grain Mhale, was born sometime around the year 1530 in what is now County Mayo in the northwest of Ireland. She was the only daughter of Ewan Dubdra O'Mail, the elected chief of the O'Mail clan, and his wife Margaret. This clan was unlike most others. While most Irish tribes relied on agriculture, the O mails lived off the sea. They controlled Clue Bay, a natural harbor on Ireland's west coast, and made the sea their way of life. But don't think of them as humble fishermen. Since 1123, they have been exploiting every maritime resource at their disposal. They issued licenses to English, French, and Spanish fishermen to use their waters, trafficked

in slaves, and practiced piracy, which by the 14th century had become their main source of income after the English, who controlled the port of Galway, banned local sailors from trading. Forced to survive, many turned to piracy and joined the O'Mail fleet. Grain's father, Owen O. Mail, was one of the warlords who refused to swear fealty to Henry VIII, who had declared himself King of Ireland in 1551. And so his daughter followed in his footsteps. We know very little about Grain's childhood. She was raised on Clare Island, and as a noble, received a good education.

She was said to have excellent manners and was fluent in several languages, including English, Gaelic, French, Latin, and Spanish. She dreamed of becoming a sailor like her father. In those days, it was unthinkable for a woman to captain a ship. Women were expected to care for the home, children, and husband. But Grain didn't want that, she wanted to join the family business. One day, she proved she had as much courage and resolve as any man. When her father was preparing to sail to Spain for business,

she asked to go with him. He refused. When she asked why, he gave no real reason, just said her long red hair might get tangled in the ship's ropes. So she made a decision. She shaved her head, dressed as a man, and snuck aboard as a sailor. That's how she earned the nickname Graham Hale, Grain the Bald, in Gaelic. Her father was proud of her, but still not convinced she should travel with him. However, during their return from Spain, their ship was attacked by English pirates. The O-Mail crew was losing, men fell, some jumped overboard, and at one point, Owen O'Mail was nearly attacked from behind. Grain, filled with fury, grabbed the knife and defended her father, shouting as she fought. When the English saw this bald girl dressed as a man, they were shocked.

The Irish used the distraction to win the battle. That moment on, Grain was seen differently. At 16, the clan demanded that she marry. They arranged a union with her half-brother Donald and Chogate-O-Fleithberte, chief of the neighboring clan O'Flaithberte. They had known each other since childhood, so they agreed to marry. Together they had three children, two sons, Owen and Murrow, and a daughter, Margaret. Owen was known for being kind and forgiving. Morrow was the black sheep, he hated women and couldn't stand that his mother held such influence in the clan. He allegedly abused his little sister. Margaret, according to many

sources, looked exactly like her mother. During the first years of marriage, Grain devoted herself to raising her children. She stayed home, cared for them, and managed everything. But eventually, she had to return to the family business, her husband was immature and impulsive. He wasted time on meaningless trips rather than dealing with the English crown, which was putting heavy pressure on the free tribes, blocking trade, hunting their ships, and burning their crops. Grain took control of their operations, complex ones at that. She went to sea, and her husband's clan grew rich from her piracy, extortion, thefts, and kidnappings. Her primary targets, of course, were wealthy English merchants from Galway, who feared her so much that the city's well. Gate bore the inscription, O Lord, protect us from the fury of the O'Flaithbertase. While

Grain spread terror and enriched her people, Donald fought duels, and in one of them, against the Joyce clan, he was killed. Before dying, he had seized Cox Castle from the Joyce's. After his death, they tried to reclaim it, but Grain outsmarted them, slaughtered many, and forced the rest to flee. After all she had done, Grain expected to become the leader of the O'Flaithberte clan. As Donald's widow, she was already the de facto leader. But the clan disagreed, she was still a woman, after all. Instead, they named Donald's cousin as chief, another immature and impulsive man. This infuriated her. In just a few years, she had done more for the clan than they had in generations. She demanded blood vengeance.

With her three children, 200 warriors, and several galleys, she returned to her native Clare Island. From there, she became the clan's nightmare, raiding, pillaging, and reclaiming what was rightfully hers. It said that during this period, Grain had many lovers, but some historians argue this was likely slander, as promiscuity was often used to attack the reputation of strong women. Still, in 1565, at age 35, she married again, this time to Richard in Iron Burke, chief of the Mac William clan. Through this union, Grain extended her influence over both the west and north of Ireland. Burke controlled Rockfleet Castle in the north of Clue Bay.

But Grain didn't want to take risks, she wanted an escape route. So she married Burke under Brehan law, which allowed a marriage to last just one year, after which the couple could divorce. Both agreed. And indeed, after one year, Grain ended the marriage. One night, when Burke returned from a night out, he found the castle doors locked. Grain climbed the ramparts and shouted to him, I dismiss you. Rockfleet is mine now. The castle was hers, and the divorce was final. However, despite this scene, they continued living together for 17 more years. Their son, Tibet now long, Toby of the ships, was born at sea. On the day of his birth, Grain was in the ship's hold. The very next day, pirates attacked. Burke fought on deck,

while Grain, still recovering, was below with the baby. As the Irish began to lose, Burke rushed down and begged her to help. Grain, freshly postpartum, grabbed her sword, went up, and helped win the battle. In 1566, Burke's father lay dying. When he passed, the clan would choose a new chief. Grain knew Burke would be chosen. But rumours spread that some clan members were aligning with the English. Under English law, all titles and property passed to the eldest son. Burke was the youngest.

So Grain arranged a meeting with Sir Henry Sidney, Queen Elizabeth I's representative in Ireland. She negotiated titles for herself and Burke, Lady and Sir, in exchange for ending attacks on English ships and fighting beside the crown. But the title of Lady didn't change her. Legend says that same year, during a trip to Dublin, Grain went to Hothport and tried to visit Hoth Castle for supplies. The Baron refused, claiming his family was dining and it wasn't the right time. Grain, enraged, stormed the castle and kidnapped his son.

She told him that if he wanted his son back safe and sound, he must always keep his castle doors open and a place set at the table for unexpected guests. The Baron agreed and gave Grain a gold ring as proof of their agreement, a ring still preserved today. A year after her agreement with the English, the Earl of Desmond captured Grain while she was raiding English ships. She briefly stopped her operations, but in 1583, Burke died, and she returned to piracy, raiding, killing, and killed. kidnapping once again. The Crown, and Queen Elizabeth I, didn't tolerate it. With tensions high between England and Spain, Elizabeth feared an invasion from the Spanish armada. She ordered Sir Richard Bingham to pacify Grain. In 1593, Bingham launched a brutal campaign, he killed her eldest son Owen, captured Tibbet during trade with Spanish sailors, seized her lands,

and even convinced her son Murrow to join the English against her. Grain was devastated. The fact that Tibbet was captured while dealing with Spaniards made negotiations difficult. She knew Bingham would stop at nothing to destroy her. So, in July of that year, she wrote a letter to Queen Elizabeth the first proposing peace. If her sons and lands were returned, she would dedicate her life to defending the Queen's enemies with sword and fire, without exception or interference. Elizabeth, clever as ever, responded with a questionnaire, 18 questions to assess Grain's intentions.

Offended, Grain answered and immediately set sail for the Queen's court. Many stories exist about that meeting, some real, some not. Among the verified ones, Grain refused to bow to Elizabeth, not recognizing her as Queen of Ireland. She also refused to speak English, though fluent, she insisted on using Latin. One unverified tale claims that when Grain sneezed, Elizabeth offered her an embroidered handkerchief. Grain accepted it, wiped off dust, and threw it in the fire. Shocked, Elizabeth asked why. Grain supposedly replied, in Ireland, we don't keep used

handkerchiefs. We find that sort of thing unhygienic. Elizabeth laughed loudly. Whatever truly happened, Grain won. She returned home with a royal decree or ordering Bingham to release Tibbet and return her lands, Grain was now an ally of the English crown. But over time, the crown didn't fully uphold their end of the bargain. They tried to seize her lands again. So in 1595, Grain returned to her old ways. Near the end of her life, the Irish found themselves at a crossroads again. The Mac William clan didn't want Tibet as their chief. As a protest, he allied with the English and proved himself in battle. In 1603, he was knighted, and 24 years later, made viscount. Grain, meanwhile, retired to

Rockfleet Castle, where she died in 1603, the same year as her eternal enemy, Queen Elizabeth I. But now it's your turn, what do you think about the case? Do you believe Grain really was as terrible as they say? The end. Let me take you on a chilling journey through a place that's no stranger to dark secrets and tragic events, the infamous Antonio Grillo Street in Madrid. Brace yourself, because this tale starts way back in the 15th century and winds its way through centuries of unsettling events that could rival any horror movie. A sacred beginning, long ago, in the 1400s, the site where Antonio Grillo Street now lies was home to the beatrio de Santa Catarina del Senna, a religious sanctuary. As with many sacred grounds, the area

housed a cemetery, a peaceful resting place for the dead. But peace doesn't last forever. Over time, the cemetery was uprooted, and a new street paved over the graves. They named it Cayed de Las Bayadas, or Street of the Pious Women. Poetic, isn't it? Except the ground was soaked in mystery from the start. Historical records from the earliest days are sparse, but things started getting eerie in 1776 when newspapers reported what's now called the crime of the pious women.

One morning, the lifeless body of a man was found in the middle of the street, riddled with stabbed wounds. Back then, crime investigations weren't exactly cutting edge. The police traced a trail of blood leading to two nearby churches, the parish of San Sebastian and the Church of San Luis. Why the churches? Because back then, criminals often sought sanctuary in holy places, knowing the authorities couldn't drag them out. A scandalous revelation. Initially, police assumed it was a petty thief who had killed the man and fled to the churches to hide. But as they questioned priests, parishioners, and neighbors, a shocking story emerged. Rumors swirled that implicated the very clergy in a scandal that shook the Catholic

Church to its core. Allegedly, a priest at San Martín Church had fallen for a young seamstress who mended his robes. Night after night, he visited her home under the cover of darkness. Romantic, maybe? Not for long. The murder victim turned out to be a gardener who had humiliated the priest during a Sunday Mass, accusing him of sin and demanding he leave the clergy if he wanted to pursue worldly

pleasures. Puritioners sided with the gardener, leaving the priest furious. Consumed by anger, the priest later confessed to the crime after intense interrogation. But here's the kicker, instead of covering up the crime, the church allowed the priest to face secular justice. In an unprecedented move, he was sentenced to death. Yet the story didn't end there. Powerful connections secured him a royal pardon, and he was quietly reassigned.

to a remote parish. Justice served. You decide. This scandal cemented the street's reputation as a cursed place. To shake off the bad vibes, the city renamed it Cayet de Antonio Grillo in the 17th century. But the rebranding didn't erase its sinister aura. In fact, the tragedies kept piling up. Unfolding horror, a timeline of tragedies, fast forward to 1854.

On a quiet morning, passersby discovered the lifeless body of a newborn lying in the middle of the street. An investigation revealed that the infant was already dead before being abandoned there. Heartbreaking. Absolutely. But this was just the tip of the iceberg. A failed hit in 1861. In July 1861, Carlotta Pereira and her two daughters were walking home when a man attacked Carlotta with a knife. Lucky for her, Benito, a local character known for dressing as a man and serving in the military, intervened. Benito disarmed and restrained the attacker until the police arrived. Turns out, the assailant had been hired by Carlotta's ex-husband to kill her in exchange for a hefty sum. Though the hitman was executed, Carlotta's ex got off scot-free,

allegedly due to his ties with influential politicians. Justice? Hardly. A long list of misfortunes, as the years went by, the street seemed to spiral further into darkness. In 1901, police rescued a 16-year-old boy from a home on Antonio Grillo Street. The boy, severely malnourished and covered in bruises, had endured years of abuse at the hands of his own parents. Both were swiftly arrested. Then in 1909, a paralytic woman seeking revenge on her unfaithful husband's mistress threw acid in the woman's face. By 1910, a 47-year-old man leapt to his death from a fifth-floor window, and the following year, an unidentified man attacked two young boys. The tragedies didn't stop. In 1913, a young man riding a donkey was

struck by a cart, and in 1915, two suicides rocked the street. A 15-year-old boy jumped from his home's window, and just two months later, a baker named Antonio Gomez Castillo was fatally stabbed by a fellow baker. The dismemberment of 1926, one of the most gruesome cases came in 1926. Police discovered dismembered body parts scattered across several streets. The investigation led them back to Antonio Grillo Street, but the murderer was never caught. The body count and unanswered questions continued to pile up. The building that became a nightmare, among the many addresses on Antonio Grillo Street, one stood out, number three.

This unassuming building had a dark history of its own. In 1914, a priest's lifeless body was discovered there. In 1930, Dolores Gomez Ruth, a 50-year-old resident, threw herself from its balcony after years of battling an illness she couldn't afford to treat. The building seemed to absorb the street's cursed energy, becoming the epicenter of tragedy. A tailor's death, in 1945, Felipe de la Brana Marcos, a 48-year-old tailor, was found dead in his home at number three.

The scene was bizarre, his head was bashed in, his home was ransacked, and a clump of someone else's hair was clutched in his hand. Despite the chaos, police couldn't find any leads, and the case went cold. The massacre of 1962, now for the event that solidified Antonio Grillo Street's infamy. On May 1st, 1962, Juana Garcia, a housemaid for the Ruiz Martinez family, was sent out to find a pharmacy. It was Labor Day, and most stores were closed. When Juana returned to report her failure, her employer sent her out again. Unbeknownst to her, this errand was a ploy to get her out of the house.

Inside, the patriarch of the family, Jose Maria Ruiz Martinez, was unraveling. Financial ruin loomed after investing everything in an unfinished luxury chalet. Overwhelmed, he decided he wouldn't let his family suffer. One by one, he killed his wife and five children, using a hammer, knife, metal bar, and gun. The details are too harrowing to recount fully, but suffice it to say, not all the victims died without struggle, and their screams echoed through the building. A shocking confession, neighbors, alarmed by the noise, confronted Jose Maria, who dismissed their concerns, claiming it was just a bad dream.

But the truth couldn't stay hidden. later, he stepped on to the balcony, displaying the bodies of his loved ones and shouting, I've killed them all. I loved them so much. Jose Maria called the police himself, but his conversation was incoherent, mixing confessions with ramblings about God and salvation. When officers arrived, he refused to open the door, demanding a Carmelite priest. After bringing a priest to speak with him, the situation took an even darker turn. A gunshot rang out. Jose Maria had taken his own life.

legends and lingering shadows. In the years following the massacre, rumors swirled that the building was haunted. Some claimed to hear whispers, others saw shadowy figures. Paranormal enthusiasts were convinced the house was cursed, though the current owner disputes these tales. In 2018, a medium reportedly sensed negative energy within the home but nothing more. Surprisingly, the house was eventually sold. The real estate listing leaned into its macabre history,

pitching it as a dare for thrill seekers. If you love risk and urban legends don't scare you, this is your future home, it boasted. Would you live there? Knowing its history, could you call it home? Antonio Grillo Street stands as a stark reminder that sometimes truth is stranger, and far more terrifying, than fiction. The ghosts of its past, whether real or metaphorical, continue to haunt its cobblestones and walls. So, what do you think? Would you dare set foot on this curse street?

They wanted to know what foreigners were doing in a place that they'd be. didn't belong to them. They wanted to know why they were there and how long they planned to stay. So, Cortez summoned his personal translator, Geronimo da Gilaar. But you know what? This man spoke Mayan, but the Aztecs spoke Nahuatl. So, communication was impossible. It was then that Malange presented herself to Cortez, telling him that she did speak that language since her father was Mexico. From that moment on, Cortez's campaigns were going to be a total success. With Malinch by his side, the gates of Mexico were wide open for him, and he was so grateful for it that he made her a great number of promises and made her his lover. In 1522, Ernan Cortez and this

woman had their first son, whom they named Martine Cortez. However, Cortez was already married to a Spanish woman, and that same year, the woman would travel from Cuba to Mexico. just to see him. So quickly, and so as not to raise suspicions, he forced Malenched to marry another conquistador, Juan Haramio, who was the attorney of Mexico City. With this union, the woman gained a good social position, and not only that, she could also make use of the inheritance received from her father, the Encomiendas of Wilhelen and Teddiquipake. It is at this point that this woman becomes an enemy to both Mexicans and Spaniards. The Mexicans saw her as a traitor, and Christian morality prevented the Spaniards from seeing her in a good light,

a single mother who married a Spaniard, then married another, and with nasty rumors saying she was Ernan Cortez's lover. And at the end of 1523, her worst nightmares would become reality. After a trip through Mexico and Honduras, Malinche gave birth to a second child, a girl she named Maria. Gossip claimed that the child was not her husband's but Ernan Cortez's. But either way, after the birth of the little girl, Malinch and her husband went to live in Mexico City and everything seemed fine. They were apparently happy, they interacted with the rest of the world, but overnight, according to chronicles, everything changed. Shortly after giving birth, one Altamirano, Ernan Cortez's cousin, showed up at Malinche's house and forcibly took

little Martine Cortez. It was then that the first story of La Lorona began to emerge for the Mexican people. Malinge became a symbol of motherhood, but of a sad, offended, and humiliated motherhood, since this woman gave up her son by force knowing that she would never see him again. And for the religious, this woman became a symbol of a bad mother, who was not capable of defending her child and who preferred a thousand times over the carnal pleasures, lying with a man, instead of acting as a mother. The historical version of her death says it must have happened before 1529, but unfortunately the cause of her death is unknown. Some sources say it was smallpox, which was very common in Mexico in those times,

and others claimed that after traveling to Honduras while pregnant, she became very weak and ended up dying in childbirth. But the legendary version says that Malinch took her own life. It is said that she couldn't bear losing her firstborn, so she took her own life and became the spectre that many people here late at night crying in the temple of La Cuncita, a temple said to be right across from a mansion that belonged to Ernan Cortez. From this point on, the Catholic Church modified the story to give it the meaning that if you are a woman and you give in to base passions like Malinche did, you will become a specter and never rest in peace. And that's when the legend we all know arises, a legend that says that

during the time of the conquest, a beautiful indigenous woman fell in love with a Spanish diplomat. At first, it was a mutual love, but the man couldn't marry her because of what people might say. So, they lived in sin for ten long years, ten years in which they brought three beautiful children into the world. After this time, the Spaniard had to make a decision. If he stayed with the woman and the family they had formed, he would never achieve a good social position. But if he married a Spanish woman of high birth, the whole world would be at his feet.

So, you can imagine what that man ended up to. choosing. The woman could never bear this abandonment. She felt humiliated, betrayed, insulted. So, she chose to take revenge. She took the three children they had in common, took them to the river, and drowned them there one by one. During the process, she felt nothing, not even aware of what she was doing. But when she came to her senses, it was too late. She had lost the only thing that truly mattered to her. So she began to scream, to wail, to moan, to ask for help, but no one came. So, desperate, she threw herself into the deepest part of the river, and since she didn't know how to swim, she drowned. Some time later, a fisherman came to the area and found the scene.

He found the four bodies and decided to give them a Christian burial. The three children rested in peace, but the woman never could, and she became the specter we all know, the spectre who walks through the streets late at night, lamenting and asking for her children, the specter of La Lorona. Having heard so many versions of the legend, I assumed it was just that, a tale passed down from generation to generation, modified and adapted according to circumstances. But just last night, I checked my social media and found a large number of messages from some of you that left me shocked.

Not one, not two, not three people, but dozens were telling me that La La Lorona was real, that it wasn't just a legend. So I asked you to please tell me any experiences you might have had with La Lorona, if you've seen her, if you've heard her, if you've felt her presence. And to my surprise, the experiences I received were far more than I could have ever imagined. The first one I received was from a woman named Fiore, originally from Socatecas, Mexico. When she was little, she lived on a ranch very close to the Jachippila River with her siblings, her grandparents, and her parents. They were happy. But Fiore and her siblings lived terrified by the story of La Lorona. Her grandfather would tell them about his experiences with her.

He said that when he was young, one day he saw her pass by while she was washing clothes in the river. The old man swore that the specter had no feet, that she simply floated in the air and let herself be dragged by the wind. This story was the source of Fiore and her sister. And her siblings' worst nightmares. But as they grew up, that fear disappeared, and they began to think it was just a tale to scare them into behaving, or at least, that's what they thought until one day, after a storm, they started to believe again. It was such a strong storm that it ruined the roof, so the room she shared with her brother Hoseway had leaks. That night, the two of them slept in the living room. I remember we laughed about many things, including the

story of La Lorona. We laughed about Grandma's lies, we laughed about the woman with no feet who flew. And just as we were about to sleep, we heard the voice of a woman crying in the kitchen. It was a strange, electric lament. And we knew it wasn't Grandma or Mom, because that voice didn't match theirs. She cried for a few minutes and then disappeared. We didn't doubt it any more from then on. The next experience is even worse than the previous one. The woman who shared it with me is named Lease, and it goes like this. I've only heard La Lorona once in my life, and I confess, thank God it was only once, because it was truly terrifying.

It was one night, I was about 14 years old, I was asleep and I woke up abruptly. It was around 2.45 or 3 in the morning, and I couldn't sleep anymore. I tossed and turned in bed, and then I heard something very strange. My dog started barking, and suddenly, silence fell. And with that silence came a wail, it was the wail of a woman who was very far away. She was so far that her cries were almost imperceptible. But little by little, they got closer. That woman was getting closer and closer to my house.

And the closer she got, the more anxiety the sound of her voice produced. It was a whale that truly gave you goosebumps. It was terrifying. I was lying in my bed, unable to move, petrified with fear. The whale got louder, I swear I heard it right in my ear. But the woman didn't shout I, Miss Hyos. She only shouted I, but it was equally horrible. Suddenly, that voice disappeared, and the dog started barking again.

Lees describes the sensation as the most horrible she's ever had. And she says that just hearing that voice was enough for her to consider it the way. worst experience of her life. But don't think the experience ends there, because Lees told her experience to a friend of hers, and what he said chilled her blood. Talking to a friend, he told me he had also heard her. He told me that when you hear her far away, it's because she's close. And when you hear her right in your ear, it's because she's far away. The truth is, I haven't heard her again, but a neighbor heard her about a year ago, and she told me that if I ever hear her again, to hug my children tightly, because the legend says that if she's close,

it's because she wants to take them. I've received dozens of stories related to La Lorona, but unfortunately, very few people dare to tell them on camera. Very few people are willing to let me tell and share them, even with changed names. So now it's your turn. What do you think about this case? Do you believe La Lorona is real? The end. At this point in the story, we realize that we have solved two enigmas, the origin of the rider and the mystery of Sleepy Hollow. Now, we need to know one very important thing, did the tree of the dead really exist? And the answer is yes, but it was never known by that name. It was simply called the tree. We begin. It soon became clear when the road started to ascend. The figure of his companion

stood out against the clearer sky, it was a giant. And Cabot, terrified upon noticing that the rider had no head, reached his maximum fear when he realized that the head that should have been on the shoulders was instead placed on the saddle in front of the rider. His fear turned to desperation. With these words, Washington Irving in 1820 described the encounter between Icobod Crane and the terrible headless rider. But what about the truth of the story?

Did the ghost really exist? The reality often surpasses fiction, and the author proved this when, when asked about the veracity of his words, he answered that the writer did indeed exist. The story of Washington Irving takes place in 1784 around a settlement called Terry Town, specifically in a valley called Sleepy Hollow, a valley cursed by one of the most infamous ghosts in the world, the headless writer. This was a former Hessian soldier who lost his head when a cannonball struck him in a nameless battle of the War of Independence. This being rides the night, cutting off heads in search of his own. However, to know the real story, we must go back nine years earlier, to the beginning of the American Revolution. The uprising of the English colonies in North America posed an economic problem for the

metropolis, as the British lost Atlantic trade because of it. As was typical in wars, many men were sent to fight, many of them against their will. Unprepared both physically and mentally, many of them died long before they were. reached the battlefield. This led the government of King George to have to resort to the Hessians. According to the propaganda of the time, the Hessians were bloody German mercenaries who, for a small price, would kill the enemies without mercy. The Hessians did not mix with the rest of the soldiers. They had their own units with completely different uniforms, flags, and weapons. They had artillerymen, riflemen, and grenadiers, and they made their presence known

in every battle. Everyone could tell them apart. It is said that as more battles were fought, the British fell one by one, and even the Hessians suffered hundreds of casualties. Regiments that started with more than 500 men ended up with 300 or even 200. Just like the common soldiers, they too had the same rules, rules that they could not break under any circumstances, as the consequences would be terrible. If they lived through battle or formed bonds with the enemy, they were considered deserters and were either beaten or sentenced to death. So they had no choice but to fight until their last breath. And this is when the legend arose. There are two versions of the story. The first says that it all began after the Battle of Trenton on

December 26, 1786. This battle was a great victory for the American troops, as they only had two dead and five wounded, while the British were not so lucky, suffering 22 deaths, 83 wounded, and 896 captured. After the battle, the Hessian soldiers who had been captured were forced to march in Philadelphia to boost the morale of the American troops and motivate more men to enlist in the Continental Army. However, it was said that among the 22 dead was a particularly ruthless Hessian leader. This man, while his unit tried to leave the battlefield, was captured by three American soldiers and decapitated with his own sword. This act drove his soul to wander the world in search of his head. The second version says it all began after the Battle of White Plains

on October 28, 1776. This battle, fought as part of the New York and New Jersey campaign, was a victory for the British Army. However, among their casualties, there was a Hessian soldier who lost his head due to a cannonball impact. Whatever the true story, it is said that during the war of independence, many farmers reported finding headless corpses on lonely roads, dismembered and decapitated bodies deep in the forests. Men, women, and children were found dead in remote places, and around their bodies, the earth was disturbed and covered with horse tracks, as if a demonic rider had galloped up to the victim, decapitated them with a single gesture, and then returned to the starting point to collect the head and take it as a trophy. Because of this, the rumor spread

that the ghost of a headless rider was the cause of these crimes. Hundreds of people believed this story, as it was much easier to blame a ghost than the neighbors. Now, let's move on to the points of the story that have truly been proven. The first is the existence of Sleepy Hollow. According to Washington Irving's story, the rider's head was buried in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, which made the town cursed. However, Sleepy Hollow was originally a fictional town, but due to the great success, of the story, North Tarry Town in New York decided to change its name in 1996 to officially

become Sleepy Hollow. Why did the people of this town decide to change the name of their land? There are two main reasons. The first is that Washington Irving wrote his work there, in his villa called Sunnyside. The second reason is found within the story itself, where Irving pointed out that the real Sleepy Hollow was located very close to Tarry Town. So, North Terry Town adopted this name, while its original Terrytown became simply Terrytown. Thus, there is no longer a north or south, just Sleepy Hollow and Terrytown, as Washington Irving wrote. At this point in the story, we realize that we have solved two enigmas, the origin of the writer and the mystery of Sleepy Hollow. Now, we need to know one very important thing, did the tree of the dead really

exist? And the answer is yes, but it was never known by that name. It was simply called the oak tree. In Oak Hammock Park, in the municipality of Bernards, New Jersey, there exists an old oak isolated on a hilltop. Anyone who dares approach it says they feel a terrible anxiety and a pressure on their chest that makes it hard to breathe. Many have even claimed to hear screams coming from the tree's bark, as if hundreds of people were trapped there.

They also say they have seen shadows, felt presences, or even experienced inexplicable coldness. But the most common experience is that many say that after approaching the tree, they were chased by a black car, a car that follows them for several kilometers until it finally disappears in a flash of white light. Now, you may wonder, if the tree exudes so much evil, why hasn't it been cut down? Quite simply, because anyone who tries to harm it suffers a terrible fate, accidents, nightmares, attacks by incubi and succubi. It's as if the tree itself, in revenge, sends a great amount of negative energy to anyone who has tried to damage it. In fact, on one occasion, the town council decided to take action and send a team of gardeners to cut it down, but the

workers were unable to carry out the task. In their three attempts, they had trouble with their tools. On the first attempt, the chainsaws wouldn't start. On the second, they started, but the teeth broke when they touched the tree's bark. And on the third, when they tried to cut it with axes, the axe blades flew off. According to many, the tree is not a normal plant, it's a being from another world, a being that feeds on others' pain and grows stronger when human blood splashes its bark. Its malice is so intense that many say if you place your hand on it, you can feel the beat of a heart and even the warmth of human skin. Strange coldness surrounds those nearby, cold that parapsychologists say is a clear sign of demonic entities.

But what's with this tree, and why is it curse it today? Let's find out. No one knows exactly when the tree began to grow. It has stood for so many generations that no one can say exactly when it first sprouted. What is known is that for hundreds of years, it has been the chosen spot for many to take their own lives. The place where the tree stands is a lonely and seemingly quiet hill, so it is not surprising that those who wanted to end their lives in the past chose this spot to do that.

so. However, the area not only attracted people silently wanting to end it all but also individuals with very evil intentions. Allow me to explain. In Somerset County, there was the headquarters of the Cook clan of New Jersey, and as you can imagine, this tree became their favorite place to execute African Americans. Some were hanged from its branches, but others, less fortunate, were burned alive or tortured around the tree. The crimes of this organization stained the trees bark with blood and pain, turning it into a point of great paranormal activity, a place that attracted all kinds of individuals looking to keep feeding the evil of the place. Entering the 20th century, the police recorded a new crime at this spot.

This time, it was a white man from the area, a farmer, who after killing his two daughters, decided to take his life right here. From then on, rumors spread that the tree poisoned people's minds, causing them to commit crimes before taking their own lives in its terrible embrace. That's why while many have stayed away from it and avoid passing by, others gather around it at the dead of night to perform rituals in its honor. In the 70s, the tree received a new sacrifice, as Gerard J. Shifa chose it as the site for a double murder. Shifa was a U.S. police officer who raped and murdered at least nine women. He would threaten his victims with arrest, offered to overlooked their offenses in exchange for a date, and when they accepted, he would take them

to a secluded forest area where he tortured and killed them. That's exactly what he did at the base of the tree, where he raped and dismembered two girls. The tree still stands today, but it is forbidden to approach it. In fact, around its trunk, there is an iron ribbon that forbids people from touching the bark, as they risk becoming the next victim of the curse. But now, what do you think of this story? Do you believe the rider could have been real? And most importantly, do you think the tree of the dead is truly cursed? Finn. We begin. Every house has a distinctive feature. It could be something as simple as a beautiful front door, a marble staircase, or a grand fireplace in the main hall. However, in the case of the Winchester mansion, it is itself a unique

piece, boasting 10,000 windows, 1,660 rooms, 47 fireplaces, six kitchens, three elevators, two basements, and, most striking of all, a multitude of doors and staircases that lead nowhere. Every corner of the mansion held meaning for the widow Sarah Winchester, meaning that only she understood. That is why today this mansion is so admired, but at the same time feared by every person who has ever visited it. But don't worry, because I will now tell you why. The story of the Winchester mansion dates back to 1840 in New Haven, Connecticut, with the birth of a little girl named Sarah L. Good Pardy. She was the child of Sarah and Leonard Pardy, who were members of the upper middle class. Due to her social standing, young Sarah always had

access to all the events in New Haven, the best music teachers, and, of course, a wide range of possibilities. Upon reaching adulthood, it is said that Sarah was admired throughout the state of Connecticut. She had incredible musical skills, fluency in several languages, and a sparkling charm. Her beauty was also well known among the young men of New Haven, who practically lined up at her house just to catch a glimpse of her, even if only for a moment. This became an advantage when it came to finding a husband, but at the same time a disadvantage when it came to making friends, as many girls couldn't understand how a 150-centimetres tall young woman could be so desired by men. At the same time that Sarah was growing up, another young man

was also coming of age within a powerful New Haven family. This young man was named William Wirt Winchester, son of Oliver Winchester, a shirt manufacturer and businessman. In 1857, Oliver took over the assets of a company that manufactured the volcanic repeater, a rifle that used a lever mechanism to load bullets into the chamber. Obviously, this weapon represented a major improvement over earlier muzzle-loading rifles. But Oliver didn't want to stop there. So, in 1860, the company created the Henry Rifle, a lever-action repeating rifle fed by a tubular magazine. Because it was easy to reload and fired very quickly, it was said that the Henry Rifle averaged one shot every three seconds, making it a favorite among union troops at the outbreak of the American

Civil War. Money began to flow, and Oliver Winchester soon amassed a great fortune, especially due to government contracts and private sales. He was so proud of his product that he reorganized the company and changed its name to Winchester repeating arms company. The business and the family were thriving, so the Winchesters arranged a marital union with the Pardee family, thus merging not only two families but also two great fortunes. And so came September 30th, 1862, at the height of the Civil War. William Winchester and Sarah Pardy were married in a lavish ceremony in New Haven to which everyone was invited. The new Winchester couple had trouble conceiving children. However, the weight seemed worth it, as four years later, Sarah Winchester gave birth to a baby girl named Annie,

specifically on July 15, 1866. Unfortunately, just days later, fate struck Sarah with full force. The baby contracted a disease called Marasmus, a childhood illness in which the body slowly and painfully wastes away due to a severe lack of nutrients. Sarah had to bury her baby on July 24th, and from that day on, she was never the same. Sarah was so devastated that she dressed in mourning and withdrew into herself. She felt that no one could understand her pain, not even her husband. It would be over a decade before she returned to a somewhat normal state, but she never wanted

to try having another child. To bring another life into this world, for her, would be like forgetting Annie, and she didn't want that to happen. Not long after Sarah re-entered the world of the living, another tragedy struck her existence. William, now heir to the Winchester Empire, was struck down by pulmonary tuberculosis. He fought it for a long time but lost the battle on March 7, 1881. As a result of his death, Sarah inherited $20 million, the equivalent of $500 million today. She also received 48.9% of the shares in the Winchester Repeating Arms Company and an income of $1,000 per day that was not subject to taxes until 1913. But all the gold in the world could do nothing to ease the intense pain she felt inside. Sarah had lost her daughter, her husband,

also her will to live. She planned to go far from New Haven and start over, but things would not be so simple. This woman began experiencing strange events. According to later writings, Sarah Winchester began to feel presences in her house, to hear footsteps of a man coming from her husband's room, children laughing, and the crying of a baby. She also said she saw shadows everywhere, shadows that haunted her, that followed her, that made her feel like a prisoner in her own home. At first, the widow thought it was the spirits of her little girl and her late husband. So she tried to contact them, lighting candles and performing crude rituals, but she never received answers. She began to frequent spiritualist circles. In those times, spiritualism was a social

act that was not frowned upon, so she had no qualms admitting her participation. The problem came when she received the answers she had been seeking. She contacted multiple mediums, and they all told her the same thing, that a man was with her, a man who loved her above all else and was protecting her from beyond. She automatically thought this man was her late husband, so she became increasingly obsessed with spiritualist sessions. Every week, she would go to a different medium. Every week, the story repeated, Sarah received hope and returned home with eyes soaked in tears.

Until one day she visited a man who shattered all her hopes. The man in question was named Adam Cram. Little is known about him, except that during a session, he spoke the following words. Your husband is here. He tells me to tell you that there is a curse on your family. A curse that took his life and your babies. A curse born from the creation of the terrible Winchester rifle. Thousands of people have died because of it, and their spirits now seek vengeance.

The only way Sarah could escape the curse was by selling all her properties in New Haven and heading west. Supposedly, she had to travel until her instinct told her to stop, and then begin to build. To build a mansion labyrinth for the spirits. You must begin a new life, said the medium, and build a home for yourself and for the spirits who have fallen because of the terrible weapon. You must never stop building the house. If you keep building, you will live. Stop, and you will die. Shortly after that session, Sarah Winchester sold her new Haven home. With a great fortune at her disposal, she moved west, to California.

She believed that at all times she would be guided by her late husband, and she didn't stop traveling until 1884, exactly when she reached the city of San Jose. There, she found an eight-room house that was still under construction. And something from deep within told her that it was going to be her home. So she pulled strings and discovered that the property owner was a Dr. Caldwell. Unfortunately, the man refused to sell the property. But Sarah Winchester was very persistent and offered far more money than any other buyer had ever suggested. Negotiations with him soon reached a good outcome, and the superstitious lady not only acquired the house but also the 162 acres surrounding it.

Mrs. Winchester hired workers, carpenters, and gardeners, and without any architectural training, she designed the plans herself so that the House of Spirits could begin construction. At first, no one questioned her plans. No one asked questions. The woman provided jobs to half the city, and everyone was immensely grateful. But time passed, and rumors began to surround the woman, not for being a stranger in those lands, but because her workers labored every day of the year, 24 hours a day, without rest. The sound of hammers and saws rang out from sunset to sunrise, and people talked.

Unlike what you will read on the official website of the Winchester Mansion, both the workers and their families were very grateful to the widow Winchester. She was kind to all of them, treated them well, and many employees named their daughter Sarah in honor of the widow. And this affection appeared to be mutual, as she named some of her. her employees as heirs. However, people outside her circle didn't exactly describe her as pleasant. First, she always dressed in mourning, covered her face with a thick veil, and never spoke to strangers, no matter how kind they were. She didn't participate in social events, didn't mingle

with other high-class women, and so no native of San Jose knew anything about her. Second, her mansion was always under construction. If you passed by her land at any time of the day, the sound of saws and hammers would echo in your ears. No one knew why one day a room would begin construction, only to be torn down and built again on the other side. So in the city, a rumor began that the widow Winchester was so crazy she didn't even know how she wanted her house to be. And the third point came from innocent comments made by her own workers.

Apparently, according to some of them, when Sarah entered the construction, she would disappear, only to mysteriously reappear on the other side. side of the mansion. Which would be perfectly normal, considering she designed the house herself. She knew every corner of the mansion, every hiding spot. But there were so many hallways, rooms, and doors that even the workers got lost if they didn't use a map. And so the next rumor was born. To be continued. She knew every corner of the mansion, all the hiding places, but there were so many hallways, rooms, and doors that even the workers would get lost in it if they didn't use a map. So, the following rumor began, the widow Winchester is a witch.

For the next 38 years, they built and rebuilt, altered and changed, raised and demolished. The work was so extensive that the railroad tracks were changed to a nearby line to transport materials to the house. The mansion grew and expanded rapidly, and although Sarah claimed she had no master plan for the structure, she met every morning with the foreman to discuss the day's plan. The plans were often chaotic but showed a real building instinct, and even when things didn't go as expected, Sarah would solve it by placing one room around another. As the days, weeks, and months passed, the house kept growing. Rooms were scattered, and their size became so large that they formed entire wings. Doors joined with windows, levels turned

into towers, and the entire construction reached seven floors. Inside the house, there were three elevators and a total of 47 chimneys. There were numerous staircases that led nowhere, doors that opened into blank walls, secret trap doors, skylight stacked on top of each other, and slanted doors that, when opened, led directly to the backyard. But the most curious thing of all is that every element of the mansion had a meaning for Sarah Winchester. The first point to highlight is that all the stained glass windows in the mansion were created

by Tiffany and Company and, at the widow's request, were richly decorated with precious stones, quotes from Shakespeare's works, and spider webs. The second point is that only two mirrors were installed in the entire house, and the reason for this has never truly been known, although later you will learn the supposed explanation. The third point to note is that Sarah was obsessed with the number 13. All the windows were made up of 13 panels of glass, the walls had 13 wooden panels, the greenhouse had 13 domes, the floors were divided into 13 sections, there were a total of 13 bathrooms, and the largest of them had 13 windows. To access it, one had to climb 13 steps. The entire mansion was filled with chandeliers for 13 candles.

Mrs. Winchester's closet was designed to hold 13 hangers, where the widow would hang the 13 dresses she used exclusively for her spiritual sessions. And as if that weren't enough, a will was made that was divided into 13 sections, a will that was modified 13 times and signed 13 more times. But why was Sarah obsessed with this number? In popular culture, the number 13 has always been associated with bad luck. However, it is known that Sarah based her construction on ancient scriptures, which emphasized the importance of mathematics and geometry, considering them part of a divine language. It is said that the number 13 is sacred and represent since rebirth after death. But how did this woman know so much about ancient scriptures?

Very simply, because the spirit spoke to her about them. Sarah was obsessed with containing the evil spirits that wanted to take her to hell, so she turned her mansion into an eternal labyrinth so that they would never find her. But to ensure her building plan had no flaws, she took direct instructions from the souls of her ancestors. In a remote part of the mansion, Sarah built a room that she only used for spiritual sessions, in which only her closest people were invited. Many sources, especially the official ones, say that Sarah invoked the spirits alone in the middle of the night, but this is not entirely true. As I mentioned earlier, the spiritual sessions were a social act. Sarah knew every corner of the mansion and chose the heart

of it to create a room where the spirits would feel truly comfortable and could give her instructions on how and where to continue building. But obviously, she didn't invoke them alone. It is also said that Sarah never slept more than two nights in the same room, fearing that the evil spirits would catch her. However, this is also not entirely true, or at least not during the first 22 years. Sarah used to sleep in the room you can see on screen, known as the Daisy room. But if one night she failed to make contact with the spirits, fear would overtake her, and she would leave this room to temporarily settle in another. The house continued to grow, and by 1906, it had reached seven floors. Sarah continued her work and expansion of the house, living with her

melancholy. The servants, workers, and of course, the spirits, all said that on sleepless nights, when she talked to the spirits, she would play her grand piano until dawn. The sound of that instrument was admired by passers-by, despite the fact that all its keys were out of tune. Some later testimonies say that in 1906, an event occurred that changed the course of history, the great San Francisco earthquake. The ground trembled and shook violently, leaving parts of the mansion in ruins. The three upper floors of the house collapsed onto the gardens, and the chimney in the daisy room, where Mrs. Winchester had been sleeping on the night of the earthquake, collapsed, trapping the widow there for hours.

At that moment, Sarah convinced herself that the earthquake had been a sign, a sign that the spirits were angry because she was almost finished building the house, and that was their way of reminding her that her life was at risk. To ensure that the house would never be completed, she decided to seal the 30 rooms located at the front of the house. At the same time, she thought that by sealing the doors, the spirits trapped between the rubble would never be freed. In the following months, the workers repaired all the damage, or at least what was allowed, and the expansion of the house began again.

The chimneys were installed everywhere, though curiously most of them were not functional since they didn't have a proper outlet for smoke. What is known is that when the house was remodeled again, one of the workers approached Sarah Winchester and suggested installing a couple of mirrors in one of the new rooms. She replied, if I want to see my face there, I'll use a pocket mirror. There's no place for any more reflections in this house. Considering these words, we could say that the mirrors in the mansion are later additions, likely placed to give the mansion a more sinister appearance. At the same time, this fact leads us to wonder, was she afraid of seeing the spirits reflected in them? On the afternoon of September 4, 1922, Sarah bid farewell to her employees, thanking them for spending 38 years of their lives with her.

She then entered the mansion, spoke once more with the spirits, and went to bed. Her eyes would never see the light of day again, as she passed away sometime in the early hours of the morning in her sleep at the age of 83. In her will, she left many things to the employees, but most of her assets were given to her niece, Frances Marriott, who had been with her during several spiritual sessions and had managed her business in her later years. Many of the widow Winchester's employees did not like the idea and felt that this woman didn't deserve a penny. So, they agreed to do something about it. It was rumored that somewhere in the

mansion, there was a safe, a safe that contained a vast fortune, jewels of unimaginable value, pure gold cutlery, and all the money that the human mind could ever imagine. So, the workers set out to find the treasure. Unfortunately, Sarah Winchester never thought like the rest of mortals. Spending money didn't bring happiness. When they opened the safe, they found two locks of hair, one from a baby and one from an adult, the being Sarah Winchester loved most in this world. Francis Marriott took everything she wanted from the house, furniture, personal belongings, decorative items, and the mansion was later sold in a private auction to a local investor,

who planned to use it as a tourist attraction. One of the first to visit the place when it opened its doors was Robert Ripley, who featured the house in his popular column, believe it or not. It was such a puzzling place that workers took more than six weeks to remove all the furniture. The employees kept getting lost again and again because it was a living labyrinth. Initially, it was announced that the house had 148 rooms, but the plans were so confusing that, over time, many more rooms were discovered, and it was finally estimated to have a total of 160. However, no one was ever truly sure. As you may have noticed, no one mentioned ghosts until now, as they considered the house

nothing more than the product of an eccentric woman's mind. However, the visitors to the mansion wouldn't think the same. From the very moment the doors of the mansion were open to the public, numerous rumors began to circulate. Both guides and visitors claimed to feel presences, hear footsteps, doors being knocked by invisible forces, mysterious voices, windows shattering into a thousand pieces, and the sound of hammers and saws. These are just some of the experiences reported over the years. Dozens of paranormal investigators have visited the house, and all of them are convinced

that the Winchester mansion is truly haunted, haunted by multiple spirits, including a man dressed in black wearing a hat, children running through the halls, people arguing on the other side of doors that lead nowhere, and a woman dressed in black with a thick veil covering her face. Most of the activity is recorded in the following rooms, the Daisy room, where Sarah Winchester passed away. Visitors there often capture strange lights in their photographs and say they feel cold presences passing by their side. The stove room, where visitors have reported being attacked by invisible forces, saying something tried to push them or simply touched their hands. And finally, we have the zigzag staircase, where visitors report feeling

very ill, with nausea and dizziness. According to several psychics, this place could be a portal to the Afterlife. Today, the mansion has been declared a historic landmark in California and is listed in the National Park Service with the following words, a large, odd house with an unknown number of rooms. Also, in honor of Sarah Winchester's obsession with the number 13, every Friday the 13th at 13.m., the bells of the mansion ring 13 times. But now it's your turn. Do you believe that the Winchester Mansion is truly haunted, or is the story I just told nothing more than a legend. The end. Having heard so many versions of the legend, I assumed that it was just that, a story passed down from generation to generation, modified and adapted according to the circumstances.

But just last night, I checked my social media and found a huge number of messages from some of you that left me stunned. Not one, not two, not three people, but dozens were telling me that La Lorona was real, that she wasn't just a simple legend. So I asked you to please tell me about experiences you might have had with La Lorona, if you've seen her, if you've heard her, if you've felt her presence, and to my surprise, the experiences I received were far more than I could have ever imagined. Let's begin. All of us, absolutely all of us, know or think we know the legend of La Lorona. There are more than a thousand versions, plays, books, toys, there's everything about her. But what you probably don't know is that, for many people, La Lorona isn't just a simple

legend, she's a reality. Next Friday, April 19th, the movie The Curse of La Lorona will premiere worldwide, and the official synopsis says the following, Los Angeles, 1970s, a legendary ghost who hides in the darkness of night terrorizes children. After ignoring chilling warnings, a social worker and her children enter a supernatural world full of mystery. Their only hope to survive law Lorona lies in a priest who practices mysticism. But does this Lorona have a story behind her, or is she just a flat character? And what we really want to know, will her director, Michael Chavez, be faithful to the authentic legend to avoid confusion and so Hollywood doesn't sell us a completely distorted story? Today, I'm going to tell you everything I know about this ghost.

To understand the truth about this being, we must go back to pre-Hispanic times. Before the arrival of the Spanish colonists in Latin America, there existed a being that would make many of you get goosebumps. It said that the Mexico, also known as the Aztecs, believed in the existence of a being called Siwakotal. In Nawatil, this means the woman who cries, it was said that she was the first woman to die after giving birth to her firstborn, and that she unfortunately was never able to get over it. So after her death, she would rise from the waters to hunt travelers who had lost their way.

Those who once saw her described her as a living corpse, a lady whose fleshless skull, separated from her body, emitted terrible and harrowing whales. Her mere presence could sentence your soul to two possible grim fates, one of them was death, and the other, a series of catastrophic misfortunes. This was the first story about La Lorona, but the one that would pave the way for all the others came through a book that told the story of an emperor. During the second half of the 15th century, a Spanish historian and Dominican friar named Fray Diego Durand decided to share with the world everything he knew about the Mexico. He did this through a work called the Codex Duran. In it, he mainly discussed the departure of the Mexico from Chickamaestock until their defeat at the hands of the Spanish.

However, there was something very special about this narrative, and that was the details. The friar carried out a truly careful anthropological work. He spoke directly about the customs and traditions of the Mesoamerican peoples, their gods, legends, rituals. He even spoke of their social and political structure, and he did it all with great detail, illustrating each point with full-color drawings. But what interests us are the dreams? According to Frey Diego Duran, Emperor Mactezuma had the same dream night after night, a vision that, through a series of strange images, showed him the imminent end of his reign.

At first, he paid no attention to it, but as the days went by, stories reached his ears that would chill anyone's blood. Apparently, multiple inhabitants of the city of Tenochtitlan, capital of the Aztec Empire, claimed that at nightfall, a strange woman would walk through the streets crying and wailing at the top of lungs. No one knew where she came from. No one knew where she was going. They only knew that the woman wasn't of this world, because her screams were so harrowing that animals would go completely mad when they heard her. So the emperor ordered that anyone who saw her must ask her directly why she was crying, because perhaps in that way, if the being had a message to deliver,

she would speak and then return to the underworld. But no one had the courage to stop her and speak with her. So search parties were organized to locate the exact point from which this being emerged each night. Dozens of men swore that when the sun set, a lady would rise from Lake Texcoco, her whales tearing at the souls of all who heard them. The woman, from the moment she left her hiding place until the sunlight peaked through the clouds, wandered through the lakes and temples of the valley of Anahuac, dressed in a flowing white dress and with long black hair. Everyone who had heard her said she repeated the following words over and over again, Oh, my children. Oh, oh, where will you go? Where can I take you to escape such a dreadful fate?

My children, you are about to be lost. According to historians of that time, practically everyone believed she was silicole, although they also called her the serpent woman or the mother. But after the Spanish conquest, no one believed that anymore. In fact, according to her, According to Frey Bernardino de Sahagen, it was then believed that the entity's true purpose was to warn the inhabitants of the imminent arrival of the Spaniards, begging them to flee, because otherwise, certain death awaited them. But no one understood her message, and absolute chaos was unleashed. From that moment on, sightings of this being were continuous.

In fact, the colonists themselves repeatedly reported seeing a woman who, crying, wandered late at night through the most emblematic places in Mexico City. As the years passed, this story ended up becoming an instrument of evangelization. According to Mexican historian Efran Franco Frius, between 1521 and 1821, the story of La Lorona that we all know today was forged, a story with two branches, each worse than the last. The first story I'll tell you is that of La Malinche. For those who don't know, the name Malinche means traitor, and that is exactly what this woman was for Mexico. In March of 1519, Arnon Cortez was taking his first steps in the conquest campaigns of Mexico. He was on the coast of Tabasco, ruled by the Mayans.

After the Battle of Scentla, the local chiefs decided to honor him. They gave him gold, jewels, blankets, food, and they also gave him 20 maidens. Among those 20 maidens was Malinale, or Malinche. The Mayans campaign accompanied by women, the men fought, and the women cooked and cleaned the tents. But the Spaniards were completely different. They traveled alone, and when they arrived in a land where there were women, they enslaved them and turned them into concubines. When they were given the 20 maidens, the Spaniards believed they were being given concubines. So, being good Christians, they couldn't do anything with women who were given.

weren't Christian. They forced the 20 ladies to be baptized and to change their names, of course, to Christian names or names that sounded better. And a clear example of this is Malinch herself, who came to be called Dona Marina. The story of this woman is long and difficult to understand. She was the daughter of a ruler of the city of Paynala, but after his death, she passed from hand to hand until becoming a slave of the Spaniards. But instead of hating them, instead of seeking their destruction, she played her cards very well and became the right hand of Ernan Cortez. At one point, Ernan Cortez made a five-day trip to the city of San Juan Ulua, which was governed by the Aztecs. He arrived in a city, set up camp, and before he

could prepare anything, Moptazuma's ambassadors arrived to demand answers, they wanted to know why foreigners were in a land that didn't belong to them, why they were there, and how long they planned to stay. To be continued. begin. Everything started on August 23, 1971, when the owner of the humble little house located at No. 5 Real Street in Belmese de La Moralida, Dona Maria Gomez Camara de Pereira, discovered a strange stain on the cement floor of her kitchen. The surprised woman bent down slightly to look closely at that shadow, which traced what looked like a face, a human face with well-defined features. As the day went on, the face became more solid until it had an unmistakable

appearance. At first, Maria thought it must be a joke, that some ill-intentioned neighbor or her own children, taking advantage of the local festivities, had sneaked into the kitchen and drawn that face to scare her. But when she mentioned it to her husband or her children, no one knew anything about it. Everyone found it just as surprising as she did. So, she couldn't help but mention it to her neighbors, to her friends, to her closest people. However, in a small town, telling two or three people means telling everyone, because word of mouth spreads news like wildfire. Rumors quickly started, rumors from devout locals eager to relate what had happened to God. Many claimed that this face was the living image of the holy face kept in the cathedral

of Jane. People claim that this was a manifestation of Christ. That could bring a lot of money to the Pereira family. But they didn't want to have anything to do with the matter, so they chose to destroy the face. Maria asked her son Miguel to grab a pickaxe and destroy it, then later cover the floor with plaster to repair it. They thought that would be the end of the mystery of the face at No. 5 Real Street. But unfortunately, it was not. Just days later, in the same place where they had chipped away and applied plaster, the same face reappeared. The same face with the same expression. It was then that Donna Maria decided to preserve it and contact the town hall, which sent the master builder Sebastian Fuentes. This man was in charge of cutting out

the image, removing it from the floor, placing it in a niche, and covering it with glass, thus turning it into a kind of painting to decorate Maria's kitchen. At this point, everyone thought the phenomenon was over. The face of God, or whoever it belonged to, now decorated a kitchen. There was no more mystery behind it. But what happened next was even worse than the first time. time. The story had remained local until September 15th of that same year, when a reporter from the Diario Jane traveled to the area to cover a dispute between oil cooperatives. Upon arriving in Belmes de la Moralida, he found the scoop of his life, the scoop that would catapult him to fame. After arriving at the house, he took several photos of the face,

now framed, and wrote a story that made headlines around the world. A story reporting the discovery and its supposed divine manifestations in a humble home in Belmes de la Moralida. After Diario Jane Kim Ideal de Granada and then Diario Pueblo, the best-selling paper of the 70s, which sent three special correspondents to cover the news. The media pressure surrounding the event led hundreds of people to make pilgrimages to that house, considering it a sacred place. As days went by, more and more faces appeared in the house, faces that left everyone shocked, faces that could not be explained, all kinds of faces. Sometimes, within days or hours,

they manifested with such clarity that Maria had named them all, El Palado, because he clearly looked like a bald man, La Familia because you could see a mother, father, son, and daughter, El Friley for his resemblance to Frey Leopoldo, El Pandir, or La Pava, the most well-known. But not all the faces were of adults or peaceful people. No, there was nothing celestial about this. There were also very unfriendly faces and often deformed fetuses. Encouraged by newspaper articles, hundreds of people crowded into that small town, a mountain village with barely 2,500 inhabitants now seemed like 5,000.

It may sound exaggerated, but the streets were completely clogged. Bars and supermarkets ran out of supplies. Psychics, brave people, scared people, and the first scientists crowded around the area seeking answers. Everyone focused on those ghostly images, images that overwhelmed anyone who looked at them and brought only torment to the town. On the one hand, they brought a positive aspect, tourism, money. But on the other, harsh criticism and accusations of fraud aimed at the mayor, the family, and the entire town. But we'll talk about those accusations later. later. In mid-January 1972, several members of the Criminal Investigation Brigade from the

Directorate General of Security in Madrid arrived at the House to officially investigate the matter. What no one knew was that, for a month, surveillance cameras were installed in the neighboring building to monitor all movements in the house, control the family, the visitors, and try to uncover the alleged fraud. But this surveillance was fruitless. The case gained so much attention that Europe's most recognized parapsychologists visited the house to uncover the phenomenon's origin. Names like Fernando Jimenez del Oso and German de Ardumosa made their presence known. They spent long hours inside the house, chipping the floor and analyzing the stains in every possible way, but none of the experts found an explanation during the first tests.

So they moved to the next phase, after all kinds of measurements, they began psychophonic sessions. The results were surprising. In the description box, you'll find links that take you directly to some of the recordings captured by the experts, absolutely chilling recordings. Still, I want to point something out. Not all voices captured by the recorder seemed like echoes from the past. Not all sounded like laments or words carried by the wind. Some were capable of giving intelligent responses to the experts.

In particular, there was one that dared to respond to German de Argumosa, and the voice impacted the experts so much that they decided to follow its advice. And what did that voice say? It told him that if he wanted answers, he had to lift the floor of that house. Specifically, the words were, German, dig, lift the cement. Indeed, just as the voice indicated, the house had a history no one had wanted, or dared, to unearth. On February 18, 1972, Sebastian Fuentes returned to the house to lift the floor where all those faces had appeared. And he was shocked to find hundreds of human bones, bone remains more than 170 years old, belonging to adolescence. Hundreds of bones were extracted, reinforcing the belief that the four digits appearing below the face of El Palado are related to the date on which the events originally began.

Historians who had volunteered to investigate the matter quickly shed some light on the situation. They showed that there are municipal records certifying that the land on which the humble house stands was once part of the church's cemetery, the cemetery of the Church of Belmas. As everyone knows, cemeteries used to be built right next to church walls, so it's no surprise that hundreds of bones were found there. Going back even further, as excavations continued, they discovered that before it was a church, was a Muslim funeral mosque. And before that, it had been a sacred Roman site, facts that once again, and for a third

time, confirmed the presence of skeletal remains. Even so, none of this explained the faces. Nothing justified why they kept appearing day after day. So the researchers kept digging into the village's history until they found a testimony from the year 1858. Back then, the grandparents of Maria's husband lived in that house, Don Ramon Sanchez and Dona Antonia Martinez. It was their daughter Ramon, nine years old at the time, who began to experience supposed paranormal events. The girl wrote in her diary that very strange

things were happening in the house. She mentioned footsteps on the roof, footsteps that repeated the same route every night. She also mentioned whales in the early morning hours, whales coming from a hidden corner in the kitchen. What initially seemed like childish imagination to her parents eventually became a cause for concern. The girl defended her truth fiercely, and the events became something tangible. And I say tangible because a strong poltergeist phenomenon began occurring in that kitchen, plates and pots trembled and danced as if by magic. The event became known throughout the town, and the house's reputation as a haunted place was solidified when, during a fight, two merchants died right outside its doors after stabbing each other. But the story doesn't

end here. The family patriarch, Ramon Sanchez, died in that very room, the lowest and closest to the exterior. But he did not die peacefully. In agony, he uttered the following words, this must be a soul from another world, a chilling story, especially when you add that in 1978, Juan Pereira, Maria's husband, moments before dying, was moved, at his express request, to that very room. That room known for having more than a dozen faces. To be continued. Before passing away, he was taken down by his express wish to that room, that room known for having more than a dozen faces that watched visitors.

New, different faces were discovered by journalists practically daily. While some formed to remain there for weeks, others appeared and disappeared within hours. These discoveries must have exhausted the patience of the church and the Francoist government. No one knows exactly what happened, but on February 25, 1972, the newspaper Pueblo woke up with the following headline, the mystery is over. According to that chronicle, a commission led by Jose Luis Jordan, along with the Pueblo Investiga team and chemist Angel Venus, had discovered that the faces of Belmes were nothing more than a hoax. After this conclusion and the supposed rigor of the analyses carried out, the case was considered closed. So, the rest of the media stopped talking about it. All of Spain laughed at the faces of Belmese, and even the mayor and the entire town council were prosecuted.

Was there perhaps a hidden hand behind all of this? Yes, gentlemen, a hidden hand that was called Operation Trident. Operation Trident was the name some people gave to certain actions that took place by some individuals and institutions to try to discredit and silence the phenomenon of the faces of Belmes. For skeptics of the teleplastic phenomenon, this movement never existed, simply, different specialists exposed the fraud. Iker Jimenez claimed to prove that there was a ministerial commission from which even a report was issued. Analysis carried out by the CSIC in 1991, 1994, and 2002 showed that the faces had not been altered or created by human intervention. No oil, silver salts, or any other substance was found in them.

According to the theory of those who defend the existence of Operation Trident, Franco's regime opened three fronts. The first was through the church, since thousands of people visited the residence daily in search of a miracle, a pagan miracle that irritated the parish priest of Belmese, Antonio Molina, from the very beginning. He was the first to accuse the phenomenon of being a fraud. In early 1972, this man was the first to accuse the women in the house of having created that face. But we're not just talking about a simple parish priest, but the entire church. All the clergy were against the faces of Belmese and continuously pressured the town hall to silence the event. The second front came from the state. In 1972, Pablo Nunez Moto, head of the local administration of the province of Segovia,

was the first to threaten the alleged cover-up perpetrators of the trick, sending a letter to Mayor Manuel Rodriguez Rivas. In August of that year, a black car entered Belmes de la Moralida. That car picked up the mayor and took him to Minister Tomas Garikano Goni, who told him bluntly that the matter had to be stopped at the route, that Belmes de la Moralida had to be cut off. Don Manuel said it was impossible, that he simply couldn't block the streets and prevent access to everyone. So the man said to him, word for word, you're going to find out, Revas, you'll find out.

But it wasn't just empty threats. There is an abundance of letters the state sent to the mayor to persuade and threaten him, warning he would be prosecuted for sponsoring a fraud. The government itself began to apply pressure. The third front came from science. On February 19th, Jose Luis Jordan appeared with a supposed commission of specialists, experts in construction, painting, chemistry, photography. Their goal was to discover the fraud and its creators.

Their results claimed everything had been the work of Maria and her neighbors, and that all the psychophonies recorded there had been made from a car located three kilometers from the residents using a very advanced device. The next case was to demonstrate the fraud of the second appearance of the face in the kitchen, the one framed in glass. It was concluded that it had been created, shaped with a thick bristle brush using vinegar. This discovery was recorded in different minutes, very relevant ones, of this commission, which never existed. This fact came to light through some of its supposed members years later. Thanks to the investigations of lawyer Manuel Gomez-Ruiz, it has been proven that those

analyses were never carried out, nor could they have been, because the face never left its frame. How could the composition of the paint be analyzed if no samples were taken and there was no direct contact with it? Lastly, Mayor Rivas confirmed that if such a commission had existed, they would have presented themselves to him first, showing their credentials, and no one ever did. But it's worth noting that there is a fourth element within the Operation Trident, and that is the press, which took care of spreading all these lies. For the next 20 years, the whole country believed that a humble family, an illiterate family,

had used sophisticated methods to deceive everyone. The thick smokescreen created by those in power had an immediate effect. The media fulfilled their role to perfection, and within a few months, no one remembered Belmess. But despite being abandoned by all, the teleplastics continued. The faces kept emerging. But it wasn't until the 1990s that the event was investigated again. In 1995, the CSIC proved that all samples taken from the faces showed no trace of ink, oil. or any other substance. It was chemically proven that those faces had not been created or

altered by human intervention. Notary Don Antonio Palacios Lucay was called by the mayor's office in 1972. The reason was that he had to seal off that kitchen for three months to see if the faces had undergone any changes, and they had. Some had changed in the position of their heads. One in particular rotated 180 degrees, and the notary recorded this. in a total of 32 official records. Researchers like Professor German de Argumosa were involved and somehow demonstrated that these teleplastics were a projection of Maria's thoughts. It was somehow proven that these faces were a telepathic projection by Dona Maria.

Maria Gomez was considered a medium who created those faces without being aware of it. She was interrogated by authorities, even accepting a polygraph test. Iker Jimenez and Carmen Porter had the privilege of investigation. that house from day one, spending months and months with Maria, a woman they described as magical, someone who could be the most affectionate person with you, but also, when she wanted, the most sullen and elusive. Among the many events that occurred in that house and that the couple experienced with Maria, I'd like to highlight one in particular, the one that confirmed Maria as the unconscious cause of those faces. A young medium came to the house without knowing anything

about the story and without being particularly interested in the faces. The girl took Maria's hand and entered a trance, a trance in which she saw walls collapsing on women and children, people dying, and young girls escaping hand in hand with a clergyman. Maria was absolutely stunned because the girl had just described the moment when part of her family died, on August 18, 1936, at 10 in the morning. Maria said goodbye to her sister, her brother-in-law, and her nieces, as they, due to persecution of the civil guard by the Republican side, were forced to hide and flee from their home in Belmes de la Moralita. That would be the last time Maria saw her loved ones. They went to seek refuge in the sanctuary of Our Lady of the Head in Andahar,

Jane, a place that suffered a terrible siege. Plains flew over the sanctuary to drop food and water for the refugees. However, there came a point when that connection became impossible, and hunger became the order of the day. Blinded by this, her brother-in-law and one of her nieces went out into the field and confused hemlock with wild radishes. Weeks after their death, Isabel Gomez-Kamara, Maria's sister, died in the refuge with her daughters, except for little Isabel and Amparo, who were rescued by a man of the church. How could the young woman know all this if Maria had never told anyone? How could she know about that dark chapter if it was a closely guarded secret among the villagers. Following these statements, a new round of investigations began. Could those

faces be telepathic projections of Maria? Projections of her deceased loved ones. This topic is extensively covered in the book Tumba Sin Nombre by Iker Jimenez. The book focuses its argument on that hypnosis session. The most bizarre interpretation is the comparison of the face called La Pava, the most famous one, with that of a civil guard, specifically Maria's brother-in-law. Another thing that greatly caught the attention of the researchers is that the faces evolve as if they were alive. Lopava was first a stain, then a clear face with eyes, nose, and teeth. After appearing with such clarity, her mouth began to darken, giving the impression that a black

tongue was emerging from it. This last detail caught the attention of experts, as it's known that Hemlock poisoning causes vomiting of blood. Maria, the protagonist, never profited from the faces of Belmes. Her home and way of life never changed, and on the day of her death, February 3, 2004, everything remained the same. The House of Faces was later sold by her relatives. But now it's your turn, what do you think about the phenomenon of the faces of Belmese?

The end. He didn't care about executing men, women, or children, if you're not. you committed a crime, you deserve punishment. In the eyes of some, that made him a monster, in the eyes of others, a hero. The next front of fight was against the boyars, the aristocracy who had killed his father and brother. That's why he began his revenge by ignoring them. Normally, the nobility held important court positions under rulers, high military posts, advisors, but Vlad began giving these positions to peasants who were truly loyal to him. Finally, on Easter of 59, he carried out his revenge against the boyars.

He invited 500 of them to a great dinner. They had to dress in their finest clothes, as he had a very important announcement to make at the end of the banquet. Once they finished eating and their stomachs were full, Vlad Teeps ordered the impalement of the oldest ones, a punishment carried out in front of the younger ones. After that, he ordered the survivors to walk to a mountain near the Arjesh River. The journey was long, and many perished, but those who made it to the end were forced to build the famous Po'annery Castle. Their fine clothes gradually turned to rags, and exhaustion slowly consumed them. In fact, legend says that when the final stone of the castle was laid, the last survivor died, and Vlad Teeps felt his vengeance was complete. Texts from the time say that Vlad Teeps discovered a method of impalement that caused people to agonize for two full days.

At first, this was thought to be only legend, but science has shown it is indeed possible. He would skewer his victims with a stake through the rectum and out through the mouth, without directly damaging any vital organs. This way, the victim would remain alive for two whole days, struggling to breathe and feeling their body slowly shut down. But even once the victim died, their body wasn't removed from the stake, it remained there, rotting, as a warning to anyone entering Wallachia with harmful intent. The height of the stake reflected the person's social rank.

If you were a beggar, your stake would be short, if you were a noble, it would be very tall. The impalments Vlad Teeps ordered were so numerous that entire pine forests were cleared to create what became known as forests of the impaled. The legends about Vlad Teeps are numerous and truly complex. Among them are the following. It is said the prince ordered the construction of a fountain in a the main square of Wallachia's capital, Targavist, and placed a golden cup there so anyone could drink from it. But anyone who stole it would be severely punished. During his reign, no one

dared to steal the cup. After his death, it was said that the cup remained there for many years, as people still feared Vlad's wrath. Another tale tells of a Florentine merchant who came to Poenary Castle, reporting that a man had stolen a sack of gold coins from him. Glad Teeps listened attentively and asked the merchant to return the next day. When the merchant returned, he found the castle courtyard filled with impaled bodies, thieves from the village and their families. Underneath them, the prince returned the merchant's sack and asked him to count the coins one by one. Terrified, the merchant did so and told the prince he had one coin extra. Then Vlad Teep spoke the famous words, Your honesty has saved you. If you had tried to keep it,

you'd be on the tallest stake with the rest, the people complained about poverty and constant robberies. So Vlad Teeps came up with a radical solution. He invited thieves, cripples, and the sick to a great feast. Once they were full and drunk on wine, he locked the hall doors and burned them all alive. From then on, whenever people complained about poverty or theft, the prince of Wallachia would organize another feast. In 1460, Dan two tried to overthrow Vlad Teeps. After his failed attempt, he was captured, and his punishment was remarkable, our protagonist not only condemned him to death but forced him to dig his own grave and attend his own funeral. As you can see, the legend's number in the thousands, but I'll leave it in your hands to

find the rest and share your favorite in the comments below. In 1460, Sultan Memd II decided to demand a tribute of 10,000 ducats from Vlad Teeps, so he sent emissaries to Wallachia to deliver his demand. And this is when another famous legend was born. As was customary, the emissaries wore traditional Turkish clothing, long tunics and turbans. Vlad Teeps asked them, out of respect, to remove their headwear, but they refused, as it was a cultural custom in their homeland. Deeply offended, the prince ordered his guards to nail the turbans to their heads so they could never remove them again. When the emissaries returned to the Sultan, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Vlad Teeps had not only refused to pay tribute, he had also nailed turbans into the

emissary skulls. That was unforgivable. So he devised a new plan. In 1461, he summoned Vlad Teeps to Georgia to resolve a border issue. The idea was that, upon arrival, Vlad would be ambushed and captured by the Turks. But Vlad Teeps was always one step ahead and brought with him a large army, with which he defeated the Turks without any trouble. Outraged, Mendes two organized his army and began his march through the mountains toward Targavist, the capital of Wallachia. However, on the outskirts of the city, he came face to face with a forest of the impaled. All the soldiers who had gone missing after Vlad Teep's ambush were there, and not just them. There were thousands of people from all walks of life, nobles, beggars, peasants,

women. MEMT too, a man nearly as cruel as Vlad Teeps, was nonetheless horrified. The sight made him so ill that he had to retreat to Constantinople. Our protagonist felt immense pride from this, and in 1462, he took things even further. He sent a letter to King Matthias Corvinus of Hungary, informing him that his forest of the impaled contained at least 24,000 people. Not only that, but to prove it, he sent two sacks filled with heads, noses, and ears. That was too much. So men, too, with the help of Radu, Vlad Teep's brother, gathered an army of 150,000 men and finally captured Wallachia's capital.

The prince didn't have nearly as many soldiers and had lost the support of the nobles, so he was forced to take refuge in Poennery Castle. Unfortunately, this time luck wasn't on his side, and he ended up a prisoner of the Turks. In 1474, Vlad Teeps was released, and his revenge came quickly. He once again took Wallachia with a large army of Wallachians, Transylvanians, and Maldavians. Sadly, his position was weak, and after two years of fighting, he died in battle against the Turks. There are two versions of his death, so here's a brief summary of both. The first, and most widely accepted until 1933, is that the Turks beheaded him and displayed

his head impaled in Constantinople. While his head was shown off, his body was said to be buried in the snag of monastery. But excavations led by Dino Rosetti in 1933 found no tomb there. So it was believed that the ruler was actually buried in a church he himself ordered built, the Kamana Monastery. The second version claims that Vlad Teeps did not die in battle. Rather, after his release, his daughter Maria Balsa, wife of Mateo Ferrillo, took him with her to Naples, where he eventually died. This hypothesis emerged in 2014 when a group of Italian researchers claimed that the tomb long attributed to Matteo Ferrillo, located in the Church of Santa Maria Nueva in Naples, actually contained the remains of Vlad Teeps. The reason? On screen, you can see the image

of the tomb, and it features a dragon and symbols of Egyptian origin, two opposing cobras, considered the emblem of the city of Thebes, which could refer to the nickname, Teeps. Unfortunately, there are no records of Vlad Teeps having a daughter, and the name, Teeps, has nothing to do with Thebes. Teeps in old Romanian means, impaler. Also, the dragon is the heraldic symbol of the Farillo family. So this version appears to be a dead end. But now it's your turn, what do you think about this character?

Do you believe he was a monster or a hero? The end. The infamous address, 108, Ocean Avenue, Amityville. Yes, 108, that's the current number, modified multiple times to keep nosy visitors at bay and spare the neighbors from constant intrusions. This house, a striking colonial building, sits on a rectangular lot with a sprawling yard, complete with a private pool and a boat dock. But on the morning of November 14, 1974, this picturesque setting was shattered. The town of Amityville, a small vacation spot on Long Island, woke to a chilling headline, the Defeo family had been brutally murdered in their sleep. The Defeos were seen as an ideal family, religious, generous, friendly, and deeply connected to their neighbors. But when people mentioned the eldest son, Ronald Defeo Jr., their words turned bitter. From a young age, Ronald faced bullying at school, had no success with girls, and grew into a withdrawn, hot-tempered young man. His life spiraled as he became addicted to drugs and alcohol, and, despite years of therapy, he saw

no progress. Ronald didn't believe he had issues, he thought his father was the problem, and their frequent, loud arguments were well known in the neighborhood. But Ronald's troubles ran deeper than mere rebellion. Some accounts tell of a party where he pulled out a gun, pointed it at a friend's head, thinking it would be funny. Unsurprisingly, his peers began distancing themselves from him after that incident. So, when news broke that Ronald DeFaio Jr., Was the prime suspect in his family's murder, some neighbors weren't entirely shocked, what stunned them was that his victims included his parents and younger siblings. At 3.15 a.m. on that fateful November morning, Ronald woke, grabbed his .35 caliber

Marlin rifle, and made his way through the rooms of his family home. First, he shot his mother in the forehead, then his father in the back, and then his siblings, all while they were asleep, all without any of them waking up. Strangely, none of the neighbors reported hearing gunshots, and tests on the victim's blood showed no signs of sedatives. Ronald carefully stashed his rifle, shell casings, and blood-stained clothing in a pillowcase, hiding them behind the stairs. Then he headed to a nearby bar, visibly shaken, telling the bartender, Joe, that someone had broken into his house and killed his family. Joe, familiar with Ronald's bizarre tales, was skeptical but agreed to go with him to 108, Ocean Avenue. There, they discovered a gruesome massacre.

The police who arrived at the scene said it was unlike anything they'd seen before, bloody and brutal. Ronald's story changed multiple times during questioning. At first, he claimed an intruder had killed his family, and he'd barely escaped. Then he blamed his sister Dawn, who he alleged killed everyone before he shot her in self-defense. Finally, he confessed, saying he'd killed them all but claimed he was forced to do it. He said a black-haired woman had appeared to him, handing him the rifle and urging him with the chilling phrase, kill them all. The story of the Amityville murders became infamous worldwide.

Ronald's lawyer argued for an insanity defense, but the jury sentenced him to 25 years for each of his six victims, effectively a life sentence. The house stood empty, locked tight for a year, with no willing buyers, until the Lutz family came along. George and Kathy Lutz, along with Kathy's three children from a previous marriage, were hunting for a new home. The lutsas were drawn to the property's size and amenities, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a basement, hot water heating, and even a private dock. Their real estate agent, Edith Evans, offered them the house at a surprisingly low price. George, a former Marine-turned businessman, immediately wondered why the price was so low. Edith was transparent, telling them it was the Defeo House, where the previous occupants had been

murdered. George and Kathy discussed it for about ten minutes. George famously shrugged, saying, Ghosts don't kill people, and houses don't either, only people do. They signed the papers and, within days, moved into 108, Ocean Avenue. With a new home and a fresh start, the Lutz has decided to have a blessing performed. Father Pekararo arrived to bless the house, sprinkling holy water and reciting prayers. He worked his way from the ground floor to the basement, where the air turned thick and heavy.

A deep, unsettling voice echoed from the shadows, saying, get out, visibly shaken, the priest finished the blessing, declined the family's invitation to stay for dinner, and left, never to return. As the Lutz has settled in, strange occurrences began almost immediately. Though it was winter and cold outside, the chill within the house was unnaturally intense. George fed log after log into the fireplace, yet he couldn't warm the place up. Even though the thermostat read 68 degrees Fahrenheit, he felt an unbearable cold. Assuming it was an insulation issue, George thought it might explain the house's low price. That first night, around 11 p.m., George and Kathy went to bed, but George was soon startled

awake by a loud noise from the main entrance. He rushed downstairs, finding nothing amiss but hearing their dog, Harry, barking outside. He discovered that the boat dock doors were swinging open and shut, even though he remembered securing them. He locked them again, returned to bed, and noticed the clock read exactly 3.15 a.m. shrugging it off as a coincidence, he went back to sleep. The next day, George still felt an unshakable chill. Searching for a draft, he entered the sewing room, where he found something unsettling, flies, swarming by the hundreds. Odd, since it was winter, a time when flies don't usually survive the cold. George grabbed a newspaper, swatted at them, and eventually

cleared them out, baffled by the sight. That night, George was again woken by loud banging noises, this time from the sewing room. The door was slamming repeatedly, yet all the windows in the house were tightly closed. George grabbed the door handle and forced it shut, stopping the noise, but more banging echoed from downstairs. He rushed to the entrance door, finding it also banging open and shut. George pushed it shut, realizing the lock had been forced from the inside. Suspecting a break-in, he grabbed his gun and searched the house, finding nothing.

He decided not to wake the family, attributing it to his mind playing. tricks. But night after night, the banging continued. George was the only one awakened, convinced it was some form of post-traumatic stress. He was, after all, an ex-marine. Yet the incidents grew stranger. On one sleepless night, George was roused by a rhythmic sound, a military march, echoing from the sewing room. Grabbing his gun, he rushed in to find no one, but the carpets were rolled up and furniture pushed aside, leaving an open space in the middle. It looked like a drill area. He shared this with Kathy the next morning, who suggested he may have been sleepwalking.

Odd events weren't limited to George. Kathy also faced strange experiences. One day, while the children played in the yard, she found black, sticky stains in every toilet. No amount of scrubbing could remove them, and they appeared on locks, door frames, and even beneath carpets. A sticky, black substance that reappeared every time they cleaned it. The family called in professionals, but experts found nothing wrong with the plumbing or the house's structure.

The mystery of the black sludge remained unsolved. To make matters worse, a foul, decaying odor began to permeate the house, moving from room to room as if it were alive. It was so overpowering that even Harry, the dog, would whine and retreat. It was as if the very walls had absorbed the scent of death. The story of the haunting in the Amityville house is filled with strange and unsettling occurrences, but one of the earliest signs of something abnormal was the mysterious disappearances of everyday objects. At first, it was nothing more than small, unimportant things that would go missing.

Toys, keys, glasses, hats, and shoes, items that didn't hold much significance, yet their vanishing left the family perplexed. But as time went on, the disappearances took on a darker tone. It was no longer just trivial objects, the family began to notice something more sinister at work. Perfumes, but not just any perfumes, these were fragrances tied to people, smells that were eerily familiar. The first manifestation of these perfumes occurred one day in the kitchen while Katie was preparing a cake. She was relaxing, absorbed in her task, when she felt the presence of these scents closing in on her. It wasn't just the smell that disturbed her, but the sensation it brought with it, one that scent chills up her spine.

The first time this happened, Katie was startled when invisible hands gripped her waist. She was so shaken by the experience that she bolted out of the kitchen and rushed to find George, asking for help. When he entered the kitchen, though, no one was there. The perfume had vanished without a trace. But the second time the scent returned, things escalated quickly. The presence was no longer just confined to the smell. This time, Katie was physically accosted, two invisible entities grabbed her and struck her. From that moment on, Katie could never again be alone in the kitchen.

The room, once her favorite place in the house, was no longer a space of comfort. It had become a place of fear. So, you might be wondering, if the family was experiencing these strange events, why didn't they just leave the house? The truth is, they did consider it. On more than one occasion, they weighed the severity of the experiences they were having. But they eventually concluded that the entities haunting them weren't evil, that these were likely the souls of deceased individuals, trapped in the house, with no malice.

They didn't feel a threat from the spirits, at least not at first. This leads us to another part of the strange history of the house, which involves a mysterious figure that came to be known as Jody, an imaginary friend of one of the children. Jody, in the movie, the Amityville horror, is portrayed as a little girl who allegedly died in the house. But the first time Katie became aware of Jody was when she noticed the strange behavior of the children after moving in. The kids have become unusually introverted. They each had their own imaginary friends and no longer communicated with their parents. Concerned, Katie decided to investigate and was especially curious about the interactions of her youngest daughter, Missy. One afternoon, Katie made her way up to Missy's room, and just before entering, she noticed Missy leaving the sewing room, talking to herself.

The little girl seemed unaware of her mother's presence as she continued to speak to someone, someone invisible to Katie. Missy entered her room, sat on her bed, and gazed out of the window. She then spoke aloud, don't you think the snow is beautiful, Jody. Katie, confused, asked her daughter with whom she was speaking. Missy hesitated and then shyly explained that Jody was her friend, an imaginary pig who only she could see. Jody, Missy said, played with her every day, helping her make the house less boring. Initially, Katie dismissed this as just part of the children's play, nothing to be concerned about. That night, however, something strange happened.

At around 3.15 a.m., George was once again disturbed by sounds coming from the boathouse doors. He went down to investigate and, after closing the doors, looked up toward the house. He noticed that the light in Missy's room was on. As he looked closer, he realized that not only was Missy standing by the window, but she wasn't alone. Behind her was a massive pig, one that looked far too real and much too menacing. It seemed to be about to attack her. Panicked, George rushed up the stairs, nearly falling as he grabbed the banister for support. But when he reached Missy's room, he found the lights off, and Missy was peacefully asleep in her bed, alone. There had been no pig, no danger at all, it was as if the whole thing had been a figment of his imagination.

Not long after this incident, George's eldest son, along with his wife, Carrie, stayed over at the house. That night would become one of the most terrifying experiences they would have. Carrie woke up screaming, drenched in panic. George and Kathy rushed to her aid, finding her clinging to her husband, gasping for breath, too terrified to speak. When they finally calmed her down, she revealed that throughout the night, a strange boy had been sitting in a chair at the foot of her bed, touching her feet and begging for help, claiming to be terribly sick.

The chair was still warm when George touched it. Neither Carrie nor her husband had seen the boy before, and no one could explain what had happened. This horrifying experience caused George and Kathy to reconsider their stance on the haunting. They were urged by friends to have the house blessed again, or to bring someone in who could truly investigate the supernatural phenomena. That's when a woman named Francine entered the picture. She was a psychic, said to have been born with some sort of veil over her, which supposedly gave her spiritual abilities. When Francine entered the house, she immediately noticed an overpowering scent, which she described as a cheap, sickening perfume

that seemed to emanate from the kitchen. She claimed that the scent was linked to two elderly people who had either lived in the house before or were somehow drawn to it by some sort of energy. As she moved through the house, she felt negative energy in every room, sensing death everywhere. But when she reached the basement,

she couldn't bring herself to go down. The entity she sensed there was too negative, too powerful. She told George and Kathy that they had to leave, as no exorcism would be able to rid the house of such evil. After Francine's visit, the events in the house took a drastic turn for the worse. One night, Kathy awoke at 3.15 a.m., screaming in agony. George tried to calm her down, but she seemed out of control, thrashing around as if trying to extinguish some invisible fire.

When she finally stopped, George saw that her body was covered in deep, red marks, like burns. The family doctor was unable to explain how such severe burns could have appeared while Kathy was simply lying in bed. The next night, it wasn't. wasn't Kathy who suffered. The children began to scream in fear, begging George to save them from the monster under their beds. George ran to their room, but by the time he reached it, the monster had already fled.

It was a pale, hooded figure, one that seemed to vanish as quickly as it appeared. But this wasn't the only time the family saw this creature. A few nights later, the same hooded figure emerged from the fireplace, its face burnt into the stone. As the days passed, the haunting became more intense. On the 28th day of their stay, George and Kathy were placing food in the cellar when they noticed one of the wooden beams was slightly displaced. Their curiosity led them to push it further, uncovering a small, hidden room, about 1.2 by

1.5 meters, completely painted in red. In the center of the room was a poorly sealed pit, emitting a disgusting, rancid odor. George spent the entire day investigating the room and discovered that it hadn't been included in the original house plans. He realized that this room had to have been added later. The final night in the house was filled with uncertainty. The family was debating whether to leave for good, but before they could decide, something terrifying happened.

They saw glowing red eyes outside the house, watching them from the yard. Kathy screamed and pointed at them, claiming that a monster was staring at them through the window. George grabbed his gun and ran outside, but instead of finding a person, he discovered large, hoof-like prints in the snow, marks left by a pig that was likely over 100 kilograms in weight. At that moment, the decision was made. The family had to leave. They woke the children and fled the house, leaving behind everything. They would return later, during the day, to collect their belongings.

The story of the Lutz family's time in the Amityville House didn't end there. The family went public with their experiences, giving interviews and holding press conferences. They were met with skepticism, and some even tried to link the Lutz family to Ronald DeFail, the man who had committed the brutal murders in the house years earlier. Lutzes denied any connection to defail, and even underwent polygraph tests to prove their sincerity. The case gained further attention when a reporter named Marvin Scott contacted the famous demonologist Zed and Lorraine Warren, asking them to investigate the house. However, the Warrens couldn't enter without the family's permission, so they quickly got in touch with the Lutz's and took charge of the investigation.

The warrants reported that the cold in the house wasn't just from poor insulation but was a psychic cold, a sign of a very powerful demonic presence. They also discovered a strange, viscous black liquid that appeared and disappeared in the house. This substance, which could not be cleaned away, was thought to be ectoplasm, a materialization of a message sent by the. The train groaned, its wheels grinding against the tracks with an unnatural screech. The child was still staring at her, his stuffed rabbit limp in his grasp. His lips parted, forming silent words. Then, in a whisper barely audible over the train's movement, he spoke.

You shouldn't be here." Maya's throat dried. What do you mean? she asked, her voice barely steady. The child tilted his head, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering overhead light. He opened his mouth as if to say more but the masked woman beside him suddenly turned her head, slowly, unnaturally, towards Maya. Tap. Tap.

A slow, rhythmic tapping echoed through the carriage. The doors at the far end of the train slid open on their own. A gust of frigid wind swept inside, carrying with it the faint scent of something rotting. Maya's breath quickened. There was no station, no stop just endless darkness outside the window. And yet, someone, or something, had entered the train. A voice, low and distant, whispered through the carriage. Why are you still here?

The lights flickered violently. shadows stretched unnaturally long. The masked woman let out a slow, wheezing breath and began to stand. Maya didn't wait. She bolted up from her seat, heart pounding in terror. The doors behind her were closed, locked. No escape. She turned back, the masked woman was now inches away from her.

From beneath the mask, a cold, rasping voice emerged. The train has already chosen you. And then, everything went black. Maya's world snapped back into focus with a violent jolt. She was still on the train but everything had changed. The dim, flickering lights were now completely off. The carriage was cast in an eerie glow, as if bathed in pale moonlight, though there was no moon outside. The masked woman was gone.

The child and his stuffed rabbit had vanished too. She was alone. Or so she thought. The air felt heavier, thick with something unseen. A faint whisper curled through the carriage, weaving between the empty seats. The sound was distant at first, but it grew louder, more distinct, until it was right behind her. A chill ran down her spine. Maya turned slowly, afraid of what she might see.

The old man was back. But something was wrong. His face was more gaunt, his hollow eyes. sunken deeper into his skull. His mouth was stretched into an unnatural grin, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too jagged. His voice came out like a rasping wind. You shouldn't have gotten on this train. Maya's heart pounded. What is this place? What's happening to me? The old man's grin widened. You're between the worlds now. The living and the dead. The train moves, but it never arrives. The old man's grin widened. You're between the worlds now. The living

and the dead. The train moves, but it never arrives. Maya felt the blood drain from her face. That's not possible. This is just a train. It has to stop somewhere. The old man let out a chuckleau, guttural, and inhuman. It does stop. But not where you think. A sudden clang rang out through the carriage. The train lurched, shaking violently as if something enormous had collided with it. Maya stumbled forward, grabbing a nearby pole to steady herself. Then she heard it. A slow, deliberate knock.

It was coming from the outside of the train. But that was impossible. There were no stations. No roads. No land. darkness stretching forever. The knocking grew louder. Maya turned towards the window, dreading what she might see. Her breath hitched in her throat, a pale, lifeless face stared back at her from the other side of the glass. The old man's expression darkened.

They are the ones who boarded before you. And they never left. But no sound came out. Its eyes were black voids, its mouth twisted into a soundless scream. The face pressed against the window, its cracked lips moving as if speaking but no sound came out. The train shuddered again, its speed increasing. The face in the window began to multiply more and more of them appearing, pressing against the glass. Their hands clawed at the surface, desperate, pleading. Maya clutched her head, panicked taking over. I have to get off.

There has to be a way out. The old man took a step closer. His voice, though cracked and broken, carried a terrifying certainty. There's only one way out, Maya. The train gave another sickening jolt. And the doors at the far end of the carriage slid open once more inviting her into the unknown. At B-Tip Stories, Episode 1. Wait, are you actually serious, said a freshman.

Yeah, but it won't be that bad right, said another freshman. Ellie and Steve were talking about going to a haunted hotel, which is almost impossible to survive in, because nobody who had went there came back in one piece only some lucky ones did. What are you guys talking about? said a classmate. It was Aaron. He was on his phone. Yeah, I know, but I don't think Ms. Peterson would like it. No, it's fine. How would she know? said another classmate. It was a normal day in a dorm, high school friend Steve Mike Ellie and Aaron were just chilling. Not really. Mike is coming back from the bathroom. He says he has an awesome way to cheat during tests, said Aaron.

Yeah, but I have a better idea, said Steve. Wait, pant, pant, you know a better way to cheat? Pan, said Mike, after dashing through the door. No, I mean something else. You can show us your way of cheating later. I think we should go explore. The Mud Tree Woods Hotel, Steve. What's that?

said Mike. A haunted hotel, said Steve. Cool, said Mike. Well, I don't know if we can go there. MS. Peterson says we can't stay up after 8-00, said Ellie. Dude, it's the weekend, and I have an idea, said Steve. Ten minutes later. Dude, I don't think this is going to work, said Mike.

Trust me at will, said Steve. Steve was trying to get on a unicycle while wearing a giant robe. and so was Ellie. This feels ticklish, said Ellie. Which is what I will do, said Aaron. Are you trying to flirt with me? said Ellie. Uh, uh, actually no, totally not, said Aaron while blushing. Then, they were ready.

Aaron sat on a unicycle looking through a cut in the robe design to look like a zipper. Ellie was sitting on his shoulders, wearing a top hat with sunglasses. Steve also sat on a unicycle doing the same thing with Mike. Then, they snuck out of the dorm. Hello, um, sir or ma'am, what are you doing here? Said Ms. Peterson. Uh, um, um, in the head, uh, Mr. Stevenson, said Ellie while trying hard to sound. like an adult man. I'm also ahead, Mr. Bill, said Mike, we're just going to leave. Steve accelerated. Good

thing their dorm isn't on the second floor or else when going down the stairs, you know what happens. Once everyone was out of there, they took off the hot robe. Well, finally we're out. So where's the hotel? said Ellie. Oh, it's only seven miles north, said Aaron. What? How will we get there without any transportation? said Mike. We can get an Uber, said Steve. Good idea, said Ellie. Everyone empty your pockets. They only had three dollars. God damn it. Looks like I'm going to have to go get my wallet, said Aaron. So he went as fast as he can to their dorm, he dashed past MS. Peterson, is that you, Mr. Bill, she said, without her glasses. He got his wallet and ran back to his friends. I got almost $300, he said. More than enough, said Ellie. So they got an Uber and went to

Lachlan's petrol, which was the closest place to the woods. Forty-three buck dash, said the driver, before being interrupted by Aaron. Just take 50 all for you no change. So they went in the woods, they saw spiders snakes and every insect you can imagine, but then they saw a bear. So they dived in the bushes, the bear slept in its den, so they tried to sneak past it, until Steve stepped on a branch. Oops, he said. The bear got up and started chasing them. They ran and ran until they had made sure they lost it. The hotel was right in front of them. It was abandoned almost 100 years ago. They were too scared to go in, Steve said. Not it. Ellie, not it. Mike, not it. Aaron, not I dang it. So Aaron was the first one to go inside. He saw the dark, dusty broken lobby, he said.

Man, I don't feel safe alone. So the rest of his friends came inside. They looked around the lobby, nothing suspicious. They went to the second floor. They saw blood on the walls in the ground and got a little scared, but they kept going, Ellie said. Imagine if we found something creepy. I would get the hell out of here, said Steve. When they reached the second floor, they saw hotel rooms. They tried going to one of them, but it needed a key and the room door was somehow still stable. They tried breaking it, but they couldn't. Steve said he wanted to look for a key. He went to the lobby and looked around. He found a master key in the reception. He then was ready to go back up. He then thought that something peaked at him from a corner. It looked like two red dots, but

But he thought it was just his imagination. He went back to his friends in the second floor. They put the key in and the door opened. They went inside and saw a bed that had lots of blood stains on it. The room smelled. They tried turning on the lights, but the lights didn't. Turn on. They had to rely on their flashlights.

Ellie said she needed to go to the bathroom. So she went to the bathroom. The others waited then. They heard a scream. They got jump scared and went to the bathroom, but it didn't open. Steve, who was the strongest one in the group, tried breaking the door and he broke it. Then they found out that it was a toilet that blocked the door. someone took a toilet and threw it in front of the door they looked for ellie but she was nowhere they then decided

this place was too scary they went down to the first floor then they heard a door creak open they went there but every one of them was too scared to go inside mike said he's going in first then the rest of them came then they saw a storage room with an old photo of the hotel it had a blood stain and in the background they saw three three heads with black eyes and huge smiles steve said he saw something like that peeking at him but he only saw one head then the door behind them slammed shut everyone got a heart attack they then heard what sounded like a little girl's chuckle. Then, when they looked at the corner, they saw them, the triplets of terror, laughing and then coming at them, all of the. Friends tried to open the door, but it didn't open. Fortunately there was a window. They jumped out of there, but their

friend Mike slipped and the triplets caught him. The rest of the friends ran away, never to come back there again. Some people say they went to the woods around the hotel and saw one of the triplets looking at them. Some people said they heard laughs echoing through the woods. They call the triplets of Terror Talia, Tessa, and Trinity. Episode two, one year later, one YouTuber named Eric Explorers thought that the story about the triplets of terror was all fake. He went to the hotel with his camera and filmed it, before he even went inside the hotel he heard Trinity laugh. He thought maybe it was an owl screaming, for some reason. He then went inside, then. He saw Mike's body on the ground, all eaten up, he came to. The hotel one year after the friends went

there, so the body was basically a skeleton, he got scared, but he kept exploring the hotel, then he went to the second floor and explored a random room. He saw a huge spider crawling. He whacked it with a broom, but that just made it more mad. It tried to bite him and he tried to get away, but the door got slammed. Hi, there was a pool below which was completely empty, but he saw a window below, he jumped there, then tried to escape, but Trinity was there. He still ran as fast as he could, while the triplets of terror were chasing him. He was able to get out of the hotel, then the triplets stopped chasing him. They all said it once, in a terrifying monstrous. Boys, don't come near here again, or Mama will get you. Eric was too scared to even

understand, so he just ran away. Episode three, Eric also works as a clerk, and And every day after he leaves work he goes to Subway to get a turkey breast sandwich, the friends, who are right now just Aaron and Steve, just finished a high school day, and they were hungry. So they also went to Subway. They ordered and went to their table. Eric was sitting in a table next to them, Steve said. Do you think we should go back there? Aaron thought Steve had gone crazy, he said, and possibly get eaten by those creepy girls. No way.

Eric overheard them and he said he had the same experience. The friends were surprised. Then Eric had an idea. He said, after leaving Subway, they should go to the hotel and at least catch one of the triplets and study her. Of course, all the friends disagreed, but the Eric said, do it for Mike and Ellie. The friends were convinced, but Steve said, okay, but how will we be able to catch one? Eric had an idea. In the afternoon, the friends and Eric went back to the hotel with flashlights and a net with a trap. They set the trap on the floor. The friends saw Mike skeleton on the

floor. They almost cried, Aaron yelled out loud, which got the attention of Trinity. Trinity came and got caught in the trap. All the friends were happy and surprised that they were. able to catch her. They then got her and ran away while she was trying to rip the net with her long nails. They put her in a trash bag and threw her in the back of Eric's truck every second was filmed. They got away from there. Aaron looked behind. Then he saw someone that looked suspicious and he said, no way. It looked like E LLIE. Two other creepy humanoids popped up behind her. Then they heard a loud, ear piercing screech. It was so loud that it caused an avalanche. Tons of rocks piled up in the road, Eric Aaron and Steve couldn't get away. So they had to ditch the truck and carry Trinity. They ran and ran and ran until they got out of it. the woods, then they lost the two triplets, and now they only had Trinity in a trash bag, so they sat to rest, then they heard footsteps, they heard a branch fall off, they got, scared, and then they saw something, something pretty small and looked human why, Steve said. To be continued, nobles, beggars, peasants, women, men die was a man almost as cruel as Vlad Teeps, and even so, he was horrified, and that image made him sick to the point where he had to retreat to Constantinople.

Let's begin. We all know the famous count. Dracula by the writer Bram Stoker, that character who, according to several experts, was created from the texts of Samuel Kitch, Noah Hoffman, Sheridan Lofanu, Emily Gerald, and Palladori, among others. However, what few know is that, to create Count Dracula, Bram Stoker supposedly also drew inspiration from a real historical figure, a Romanian ruler named Vlad 3, who went down in history under the nickname Vlad Teeps, the Impaler. This man's dream was to rule with an iron fist and punish anyone who was not loyal to him. This story begins at the end of 1431 in the city of Sigisora, Transylvania, when Vlad 2 Dracal, ruler of Wallachia, became the father

of Vlad 3. He was his second legitimate son, so he would only become heir to the throne if the elder, Mircha, died. Despite having few options, Vlad 3 directly inherited several titles from his father, among them, Drackel, or Dracula, since Vlad 2. 2-Dracle belonged to a knightly order called the Order of the Dragon, which was a kind of alliance among Germanic emperors to fight against the invasion of the Ottoman Turkish Empire. This title, incredibly, has a double meaning, as in ancient Romanian, Drackel means, underscore underscore, something that defines Vlad III's way of being perfectly. Over the centuries, this character was also crowned with another name, Vlad Teeps,

which translated means Vlad the Impaler. But to understand these titles and translations, first we must dive directly into his biography. This prince of Wallachia was born in the middle of the Middle Ages. At that time, the Ottoman Turkish Empire was in full expansion throughout the southwest of Europe, and to confront it, only the Kingdom of Hungary, the principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia, and Transylvania remained. However, not everything was so easy, because while these countries or regions tried to unite to fight the Turks, their aristocrats, called Boyars, kept fighting among themselves.

So we could say there were problems both inside and outside the governments, which made unity among them impossible. Border wars were constant, and mass executions were the order of the day. Therefore, it is not surprising that Vlad Teeps received a strict education based on the art of war, in a world full of violence, there was no time for sentimentality. And that became very clear when, in 1444, Vlad Teeps and his brother Ravi were handed over as hostages to the Turks. Vlad 2. Drackel was forced to hand them over to the Turkish Empire as a sign of his submission. And apparently, Sultan Murad 2 thought it a brilliant idea and offered to care for them himself. From this period of Vlad Teeps's life, there are very few records.

However, there are two versions that could very well match what might have occurred. The first says that the boys continued their instruction in the art of war, but it went beyond that, as it said the boys were forced to fight daily against experienced warriors, warriors who beat them mercilessly again and again, hardening their character. The second version says that this instruction indeed took place, but that the boys were also abused in every way by the members of the Sultan's court, who not only allowed these acts but, on many occasions, participated in them. In 1447, at 16 years old, Vlad Teeps was able to return home. He had been exiled for many years, but he could finally reclaim his place in the world.

But when he did, he discovered something that would change his entire being, his father and brother had been murdered. Vlad 2. Drackel had been beaten to death, and Mircha had been blinded with a hot iron and later buried alive. The perpetrators of the crimes. Vladislav I, a noble who wanted to seize control of Wallachia, Count John Huniati, who was supposedly loyal to his father, and the boyars, who, let's remember, were the local aristocrats. Apparently, these individuals were against Vlad II Drackel's alliance with the Turks and used his and his son's deaths as an example to discourage others from following the same path. When Vlad Teeps found out, he was determined.

He would take revenge and destroy the lives of those who were. who had killed his loved ones. But vengeance is a dish best served cold, so he spent eight long years traveling the borders of Wallachia seeking allies. And when he finally secured them, he ended up at the court of none other than Count John Hignati. But he didn't do it to forcefully reclaim what was his. Instead, he did it to get to know his enemy intimately, and let me explain. Vlad Teeps won over the count by pretending to give him his support. He shared with him everything he knew about the Turks and, in some way, convinced him so thoroughly of his loyalty that the Count named him his advisor. Teep seemed such a loyal person that he gained many contacts and

quickly seized power in Wallachia, which didn't sit well with John Hignati. So he teamed up with the Bayars once more, and together they ousted Vlad Teeps from power and placed Vladislav I, murderer of Vlad 2 Drackel, in his place. This event didn't stop our protagonist. Quite the opposite, it motivated him to build a large army. And in 1456, when no one expected it, he entered Wallachia with a great Transylvanian army led by a noble from the Bathory House, yes, an ancestor of Elizabeth Bathory, the bloody countess. Vlad Teeps didn't settle for defeating Vladislav I in battle, he also ordered his execution in the main square of Wallachia's capital, the very place where that man had ordered the execution of his older brother, Mircha. With Vladislav II,

dead, Vlad Teeps finally became Prince of Wallachia, and with that title in hand, he could begin the second phase of his plan, destroy anyone who was not loyal to him. Vlad Teeps ruled with an iron fist and never showed mercy to his enemies. He was unpredictable, twisted, and very cruel. In fact, he was considered the harshest ruler of the 15th century in Eastern Europe. Still, his reign had a very positive aspect, he punished criminals regardless of their social class, theft, adultery, murder, disloyalty, the punishment was the same for everyone, whether nobles or peasants. This fact made him a national hero, as he always defended the interests of his country

and did everything possible to make it a better place in every way. However, as I said before, mercy was not his strength, and the punishments he inflicted were truly extreme. In 1459, Vlad Teeps ordered the impalement of 30,000 German colonists from the cities of Hermannstadt and Kronstadt, since apparently these people had refused to trade with him and to pay him tribute. He did not care about executing men, women, or children. To be continued. So she started asking people, her classmates, her friends, if someone could kill her. She was seen by her classmates Jim Mercer and Mike Ware, but they both loved. laughed at her, thinking she was joking.

Betty Williams had always been a very dramatic girl. She loved attention, she loved to joke around. So no one took her seriously, at least not until March 22nd, 1961. That morning, Mary Bell Williams knocked on her daughter's door to invite her to breakfast, but Betty didn't respond. She kept knocking and, seeing there was no answer, left the house and entered the room through the back door. Betty's room had two doors, one that led into the house and another that opened to the patio.

But when she entered from the outside, she realized the room was completely empty. The woman thought that maybe she had gone to school without eating breakfast, but an hour later Betty's teacher called home, asking where she was. That's when Mary Bell feared the worst. She called the police and urgently asked them to search for her daughter, since Betty would never do something like that. School was very important to Betty, and she had never missed a class in her life. That morning, one by one, Betty Williams' friends and classmates went into the principal's office, where two officers were waiting with a lot of questions.

Who was Betty? Who did she hang out with? What kind of girl was she? Did she have secrets or not? And little by little, they built the profile of this girl, rebellious, someone who snuck out at night, who wanted to be an actress, and who had dated M. Haring during the summer of 1960. However, of all the testimonies, two were key to the investigation, Mike Spencer, a friend of Betty, and Ike Nail, one of the most popular boys in school. The first key testimony came from Mike Spencer. Like many others, he told the police that Betty had been trying for a while to find someone to kill her. The day before, while working on stage props, Betty came up to him and they had the following conversation.

It's been a pleasure knowing you, Mike. I won't forget you. What do you mean? I finally convinced Mack to kill me. I'll send flowers. Mike Spencer didn't believe Betty truly wanted to die. He just thought she was trying to get Mack's attention, and everyone knew that.

However, this testimony was combined with that of Ike Nail. This young man said that around 10 p.m. the previous night, he dropped Betty off at her house. But Betty asked him to come back in half an hour to keep talking. And so he did, he went home, dropped off his things, and returned. He parked for a couple of minutes, and then Betty came out the back door of the house wearing a very short pink pajama and a blue jacket. She got in the car and they continued talking.

After five or six minutes, suddenly another car approached from behind with its headlights on and stopped right behind them. That's when Betty turned around and said the following, words, oh my God, I didn't think he'd come. I have to go, even if he kills me. When Nail looked closer, he realized it was Mack's car. And then he remembered that Betty had been looking for someone to kill her, but just like everyone else, he thought she was joking, just dramatizing to get Max's attention. So he didn't try to stop her. He didn't ask her to stay in the car. He let her go, walk to that car, and get in the passenger seat. Police officer. Police

Officer Bobby McAlpine, with this information, added it all up and decided to interrogate M. Herring directly. He asked him about his secret relationship with Betty, and he denied it. He asked him what he did that night, and he denied being with Betty. He asked again and again what had happened to her, and the young man denied everything. So the officer had to tell him he knew everything. He had to say that many people knew he was going to kill her. In fact, he told him there was a witness from the night of March 20th who saw his car picking up Betty that night. So Mack gave a story that seemed plausible, that he had indeed picked her up that night, but around 12.30 a.m., he dropped her off in front of her house and left. The officer

asked him then, which door had he dropped her off at? Mack said the front door. Then the officer asked if he waited for Betty to go inside before leaving, and Mack said no, he didn't wait. The The girl got out of the car and he immediately drove off. These responses made Mack Herring's story fall apart. How could he not wait to see her enter the house if she was practically naked? How could he let her enter through the front door if going through the living room would wake up her parents? After what happened between Betty and her parents, would she take that risk? It just wasn't possible.

So the police had a suspect. M, Herring was taken to the station and interrogated for four. 45 minutes. Afterward, he broke. He said that Betty begged him to kill her, and that everything he did that night was to please her. He said he took her to a pond far outside the city, practically on the outskirts, where he used to hunt with his father. And once there, he pointed a 12-gauge shotgun at Betty, pulled the gun away, kissed her on the lips, pointed again, and fired. The officers asked the young man to take them to the crime scene, and Mack had no problem. He got into the patrol car, they drove 26 miles down winding dirt roads,

and finally arrived at the pond. Once there, Mac, without remorse, without emotion, without empathy, showed them a large pool of blood that supposedly belonged to Betty. He showed them their footprints leading straight to the pond, and left the officer stunned, especially because at one point, one of the officers asked Mack if it was possible for him to show them the body. And the young man, barely blinking, completely undressed, went into the water, grabbed a very heavy object, and dragged it to the shore. That object was indeed Betty Williams' lifeless body. He didn't hesitate when he pulled the body from the water or when he said he had put a shotgun

to her head. He was as cold and premeditated as it gets. What drove him to do it? none of us knew later when i put him in the patrol car to take him to jail i said mac you didn't think we'd catch you did you and he said not this fast he showed no emotion no regret no fear according to the officer present when mack herring pulled the body from the water before he was taken to jail journalists from the american or fort worth telegram took photos of the young man and asked him many questions. That's when they got a full confession. Mack admitted that before killing her,

he bought lead weights to tie around her waist and sink her in the water. He bought ropes, shotgun shells, and the shotgun itself. It was a completely premeditated crime. And when they asked him how Betty was feeling, what she said, he stated the following words. She was cheerful and talked about how happy she be once she was dead. In the car, she was happy. She kept talking about what heaven would be like. Mack said that once they arrived at the pond, he opened the trunk and Betty chose to die by gunshot. She pointed at the shotgun.

He grabbed it, and they walked together toward the pond. But just before he shot her, Betty ran to get her blue jacket, put it on, got into position, kneeled, and they proceeded. He said, give me a kiss to remember you. She gave him a kiss, and then said, thank you, Mack. I'll always remember you for this. Then she told him, now. He raised the barrel of the gun, she held it with the back of her hand and placed it against her temple. Then he pulled the trigger, and she was dead. Despite the cruelty of this crime and the first-degree murder

charges against Mac, his classmates didn't abandon him. They considered him a hero for killing a girl who deserved to die. They invited him to parties, to Tommy Ding's. Girls were crazy about him, bragged about kissing him or having something with him. We all supported him because we couldn't believe it. We thought if Mack did it, then there had to be a good reason. The whole world saw Betty as a despicable person, someone who didn't deserve to live, just for sleeping with whoever she wanted, thinking differently, wanting to escape, wanting to be herself.

But her true friends weren't so sure. Betty was a dramatic girl. She loved attention. So many thought she didn't really want to die. She wanted Mack to notice her, to agree to kill her, take her to the pond, and at the last moment, kiss her and save her life. What Betty wanted, according to her friends, was for Mack to love her, to accept her. But most of all, she hoped to be with him again.

In fact, one of her friends declared, she was improvising the whole time, and it got out of control. I remember a teacher pulled me aside after class and asked, is Betty pregnant? And I said no. I wish it were that simple. It was just a game, but she didn't step away in time. The trial against John Mack Herring began on February 20, 1962. Everything pointed to this young man paying for what he did, because he truly did kill her, and it was premeditated. Besides, he showed no emotion in front of the police. So it was clear he would end up in the electric chair. But his family had an ace up their sleeve, lawyer Warren Barnett. At 34 years old, he was considered one of the best trial lawyers in the world, and most incredibly, he had

never lost a case in his life. And this wasn't going to be the exception. He knew there was a perfect way to get Mack out of jail, plead insanity. So Barnett declared that Mack Herring wasn't aware of anything until he saw Betty's dead body lying on the ground. To support his theory, he called friends and family members to the stand, people who said he couldn't hurt a fly. He called a football coach who saw great promise in him. He called his friends, his girlfriends, and his father, who had a letter written by Betty Williams herself. Apparently, the night of the crime, Mack returned home with a letter written by Betty herself. A letter where she admitted Mac was not to blame. March 20, 1961, I want everyone to know that what I'm going to do in no way

involves anyone else. I say this to ensure that no one but myself is blamed. I have depression issues mostly due to myself. I'm fighting a battle within, a war to find my true self, and I fear I'm losing. So instead of admitting defeat, I will make a quick retreat to no man's land. Since I only have the will but not the strength, a friend of mine, seeing how great my torment is, has kindly agreed to take care of the details. His name is Mack Herring. I asked him so that he won't suffer from what he's doing for my sake. I take full responsibility, because it lies solely with me. Betty Williams, 90% of the people at the trial were friends and family of Mack Herring. The remaining percentage were Betty's parents and friends.

So you can imagine the social pressure surrounding the case. Everyone considered Mack innocent. Everyone supported him. Everyone cheered for his acquittal. The jury found him not guilty, accepting the insanity plea as an excuse for the crime. Upon hearing the verdict, everyone ran to hug Mac, to cry with Mack, to lift him up like a hero. Betty's parents fled the courtroom to avoid journalists' questions. Herring's lawyer never once mentioned Betty's behavior, never criticized her.

But the witnesses did, and the newspapers quickly declared that the dead girl deserved to die. They said she was promiscuous, that she loved men, wore mini skirts, wore makeup. So being shot in the head was entirely her fault. Mack Herring went on to study at Texas Tech University, where everyone welcomed him as a great hero. He married, divorced twice, held me. many jobs, and lived happily until earlier this year when he died at the age of 75. But now it's your turn. What do you think of this case?

Do you believe Betty Williams truly wanted to die, or was she just seeking attention? The end. It not fucking funny how you can grow up thinking something is just part of life, only to realize later that it been the thing undoing you all along. Life is trash like that, and that's why I drink vodka now. Sally was always the life of the party, despite worshipping political figures, mostly old men, and probably jerking off to them. She had a warmth about her, the kind of person who'd tell a story you didn't know you needed

to hear, like the time she fed her dog the last peanut butter sandwich and then shot it in a face with shotgun because Rufus clearly had cancer, but looking back now, caffeine was definitely the villain of her life, killing her without ever letting her chill, blap-blap, mota-fucka. Sally's relationship with caffeine wasn't anything extreme by today's shits. She wasn't one of those people who posted memes about needing coffee to survive or guzzled energy drinks like water. It was more chill than that, she even smoked the occasional medicinal marijuana joint,

but it was always 90% coffee and 10% weed or alcohol in her life. Now, I always swear to to the opposite. She died way too young, at 69. I don't try a lot of grass, but I've been drinking plenty of white wine and vodka since she passed. I think this is the way. I'll never touch another cup of coffee again, unless it's just to take a little sip, because it is just poison and science and doctors everywhere are starting to confirm this.

Mixing weed and alcohol makes me crazy and evil, but maybe that's just a me-brain thing. I don't do that now. Last time I did I got divorced and my child a wife left, but I found baby Jesus now so maybe they'll come back soon. Coffee kept poor old fucking Aunt Sally going when her body was pleading for rest. I'm way younger and figured out coffee was bad. One morning, she didn't wake up. The doctor called it heart failure, and just shrugged when I got in his face,

and that's when I realized I was out of line and acting like Aunt Sally on the evil caffeine monster. After Sally was gone, I found myself questioning everything I'd taken for granted about coffee. It's such a normalized thing. It's everywhere, and we treat it like water, necessary, harmless, even virtuous. What if the thing we should be wary of isn't alcohol, but coffee? After Aunt Sally's funeral, I stopped drinking coffee. I freaked out on her corpse because they did open casket, and my family made me leave after I yelled at her dead face for letting my daughter try coffee at only 12 years old.

Now my estranged daughter is always drinking energy drinks behind my back, and just living with my dumb wife and spreading untrue rumors about me on social media, which I would never allow her on, if I had any say. Society has long painted alcohol as the villain, the thing to avoid unless you're celebrating or winding down after a hard day. But as I adjusted to life without caffeine, I started to wonder if we've been too quick to judge. I did research,

and all the 100-year-olds drank alcohol every day, not fucking coffee, retars. My ex-wife will come back when she sees how fun I am now. I even threatened someone at work and did a new resume, not drunk but tipsy and lied on it, and now, new job ha-ha-fuckers, I get paid. A good glass of red isn't just a treat, it's a motherfucking source of antioxidants, something that actually supports your heart.

Fuck beer, unless it's there and free. I pound vodka shots like a champ now. I'm a live forever basically, as long as I only do eight or ten shots a day, somewhat spaced out. It's just science and you can't argue with fucking science unless you're looking back. We're looking forward now, and caffeine bad. That's new science and research we figured out. Look it up, if you don't know already. I'm not saying alcohol is perfect, it be abused, just like anything else. But fucking coffee pushes us to go faster, to do more, to ignore the natural rhythms of our bodies until we die as fucking slaves to these meaningless, polluting, earth and mind and body raping corporations. You can fuck on it, which basically proves it healthy. Every tried

fucking on coffee. It's just not a natural feeling if you sit back and take a moment to think about it. With your genitals connected to your loved one's genitals and the coffee mug right there and the shit in your blood screaming at you, you can't fuck like that and stay healthy for too long, and every doctor and scientist will confirm that if you aren't too pussy to ask. It's not just personal observation either. Studies have shown that moderate alcohol can have real health benefits, from improving heart health to reducing stress. And yet, we stigmatize it to the status of badness or GTA vice city type shit. Meanwhile, coffee is a fucking murderer. That's why I work at Target or wherever I happen to work at the time, always with some vodka

in the car that I can sip on during breaks or whenever I can sneak out. No one's end stop me. I've thought about Aunt Sally a lot as I've made this shift. I still miss her every day, but I see her as dumb now. Pour one out for dead homies. These days, I raise a glass to Sally every now and then, not a cup of coffee, but a quiet toast with a glass of wine or a simple gin and tonic. It's my way of honoring her memory while trying to live differently.

To find balance, to listen to my body, to let go of the things that push me too hard and embrace the ones that let me breathe. Maybe we've had it backwards all along. Maybe it's not alcohol that needs to be demonized, but coffee. Maybe the real indulgence, the real escape, is letting yourself slow down, even if it means putting down the mug and picking up the glass. Here's to Aunt Sally, and to doing things differently. Doing shot now.

And again. Another thing about alcohol is that it actually promotes being active, which is necessary. It's not heart-healthy to work out on caffeine, it will kill you fast. Caffeine promotes rest, but also doesn't allow you to rest, it's fucking evil as fuck. I'll sip some coffee once in a while, but that's not a healthy habit every morning. You'll be bedridden at a certain point, without knowing why. Let me take you into my world for a moment. It's not glamorous, it's not exciting,

in the way you see in movies, but every now and then, something happens that flips your whole perspective upside down. I work five nights a week at a gas station. Nothing fancy. One of those chain ones that stays open 24-7. I mostly work the night shift. Quiet hours, minimal traffic, and usually just enough weirdness to keep you alert but not terrified. Usually.

Right across the street from this gas station is a cemetery. An Old One The kind you see in horror movies Cracked tombstones, crooked trees, and a wrought iron gate that creaks in the wind. It's been there forever, and nobody visits it at night. Hell, people barely visit during the day. You just don't mess with places like that after dark. You don't even joke about it.

So let's talk about what happened on the night of March 19th. I was halfway through my shift, hanging out behind the counter with my co-worker, scrolling through our phones during a low. It was about 2 a.m. when I noticed the first police cruiser pulling up to the cemetery gates. Not exactly something you see every day, but maybe they were checking out a disturbance or whatever. Then another one pulled up. And another. Within half an hour, there were at least ten police vehicles lined up along the street.

We watched them from the store windows, sipping coffee and wondering what the hell was going on. No sirens, no lights, just a quiet, steady presence. The whole thing felt off. We get our share of petty theft and the occasional fight outside, but nothing like this. A gathering of cruisers across from the cemetery in the dead of night. That's a whole new level of creepy. When my shift ended, I started gathering my things. I was just about to clock out when a cop walked into the store.

He wasn't one of the regulars I knew. He had this tight expression on his face, like he'd just come from seeing something he wished he hadn't. He asked about our security cameras. Wanted to know how far back the footage went. I told him we had about two months archived, give or take, depending on the camera. Then he asked which angles covered the cemetery entrance. That raised a flag for me. I asked him straight up what was going on.

What were they looking for? But he wouldn't say. Just told me it was part of an ongoing investigation and that it was urgent. He left his card and told me someone might follow up with a subpoena for the footage. And then he was gone. The next day, I saw one of our regulars. A cop I've come to know over the years. He comes in for coffee every morning and we usually shoot debris about sports,

or dumb stuff like scratch-off tickets. That day, though, he looked tired. Worn down. I asked him about the cruisers. He hesitated, then leaned in and said, you didn't hear this from me, all right? But someone found a suitcase by the cemetery. Been sitting there for a few weeks. Some guy walking his dog finally called it in. Thought it looked too nice to be trash. I nodded, already getting getting a chill up my spine. I mean, who leaves a suitcase by a cemetery gate and doesn't think that's sketchy. He continued, at first, the guys thought it was spoiled meat or something. Maybe someone dumped roadkill or a butcher's trash. But when they opened it. He paused again, shaking his head, it was a torso. Human. Female. Wrapped in a black garbage bag. Let me tell you, hearing

that at 7 a.m. before you've even had your first proper coffee of the day hits different. It messes with your head, especially when it's right across the street from where you spent half your life. The remains were taken to the medical examiner's office in Farmington, Connecticut. That part made it to the local news pretty quick, but the details were scarce. Just a vague report of, human remains discovered near a cemetery. But the internet doesn't need much to run wild. Pretty soon, the theories started popping up. Reddit threads, Facebook mom's groups, Twitter sleuths, you name it. Everyone wanted to solve the mystery. Was this a one-off murder or part of a bigger pattern? People started connecting dots that may or may not have existed, linking this torso to

other bodies found in nearby towns over the past year. Then the whispers began. Serial killer. That was the buzzword. Everyone latched on. into it. Even the local news outlets couldn't help but feed the fire. Once that term hits the headlines, there's no going back. The fear multiplies. Everyone starts imagining their next. I'm a curious guy. I always have been. Maybe a little too curious for my own good. So I started asking around. Talking to customers who weighed at the bus stop near the cemetery. One guy told me he seen the suitcase weeks ago, thought it was just someone's junk left behind. I figured someone forgot it or maybe a homeless person stashed it there, he said. Didn't want to mess with it.

Just looked out a place. I couldn't shake the thought that whoever did this might have walked right through our doors at some point. Bought gas. Bought beer. Smiled at me. We see hundreds of people every night. Who knows what any of them are really up to? As the days passed, the tension in the community only grew. People were locking their doors earlier, checking their backyards more often. That paranoia. It's contagious. It spreads like mold.

Everyone you see becomes a suspect. Every weird noise makes you jump. Then, about a month later, April 18th, to be exact, everything boiled over again. Police shut down an entire street less than, than a mile from where I work. Total lockdown. Caution tape, barricades, media vans. For 16 hours, has Matt suited officers moved in and out of an apartment building, hauling out bags of evidence. Boxes, black bags, you name it. And still, no answers. No statements. No confirmations. Just more silence. People were going crazy trying to piece

it together. That part of town turned into a media circus. Journalists, bloggers, amateur investigators all swarmed the scene. But the police kept their lips sealed. Then the rumors really took off. Some said they found more body parts. Others swore up and down they saw bones in one of the bags. There were even whispers that the person responsible had been caught, but that the cops were trying to connect them to other unsolved cases before making it official. I started spending more time online than I should have, reading every comment thread, every conspiracy theory. Some of it was laughable, sure. But some of it? Too detailed to ignore. People were scared, and I think that fear made them sharper. Or at least more desperate to find answers. At one point, someone

messaged me anonymously through a local forum, said they used to live in the same building that got raided. Claimed the guy who lived in the apartment was quiet, kept to himself, always took his trash out late at night. That tracks, right? It's always the quiet ones. But then again, maybe that's just what we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night. Now, I'm not saying I have the answers. I don't. But being that close to something like this changes you. It sticks with you. It makes you double-check your locks. Makes you look twice at your neighbors. And the worst part? I don't think it's over. I don't think we've seen the last of this story. There's something darker underneath all this, something that hasn't come to the surface yet.

Maybe it will. Maybe it won't. But I can tell you one thing, I'll be watching. I'll keep working my shifts, five nights a week, facing that cemetery across the road, waiting to see what happens next. Because stories like this, they don't just fade away. They linger. And trust me, I'll be here when the next chapter unfolds. To be continued. A chilling encounter, the unfolding of a grisly mystery, it all began on a cold morning in early March. The kind of morning where the frost clings stubbornly to the ground, and the air bites at your skin. I was on my usual route to work, the same path I took every day, when something unusual caught my eye near the old cemetery on Allen Street. A suitcase, battered and out of place, sat abandoned near the wrought iron fence.

Curiosity peaked, I approached it, thinking perhaps someone had left it behind in haste. As I got closer, an unsettling feeling crept over me. The suitcase was partially open, revealing what appeared to be clothing stained with a dark, ominous substance. My heart raised as I realized this was no ordinary lost luggage. I immediately called the police, reporting the suspicious find. Within minutes, the area was swarming with officers, crime scene tape cordoning off the perimeter. The suitcase was carefully opened, revealing a human torso, severed and wrapped in layers of plastic and cloth. The scene was surreal, like something out of a woman.

a horror movie. The detectives on-site exchanged grim looks, realizing they were dealing with a homicide. The investigation begins. The torso was transported to the forensic lab, where a team of experts began the meticulous process of identification. A forensic anthropologist was brought in to examine the remains. Based on the bone structure and other physical markers, the expert estimated that the victim was a woman between the ages of 45 and 65. Further, analysis suggested she might have had Turner syndrome, a genetic condition that affects growth and reproductive development. This detail was crucial, as it could help narrow down the list of potential victims. The police released this information to the public, hoping

someone might come forward with a lead. A tip line was established, and within days, calls began pouring in. One woman contacted the authorities, expressing concern that the victim might be her sister, Suzanne Werser, a 58-year-old woman who had been missing since early January. She mentioned that Suzanne's absence was unusual, especially since she hadn't called on her birthday, a tradition she never missed. The following day, another family member reached out with similar concerns. They hadn't seen or heard from Suzanne since before Christmas. The detectives began digging into Suzanne's background, searching for any clues that might shed light on her disappearance. Uncovering the past, records indicated that the last known contact with

Suzanne was in October 24, when police conducted a welfare check at her residence on Allen Street. At the time, she appeared to be in good health. However, in December, another welfare call was made, this time for her 68-year-old roommate, Donald Koffel, who had recently been diagnosed with stage for cancer. He was taken to the hospital, and that was the last time anyone saw either of them at the address. As the investigation progressed, more information came to light. I couldn't help but recall my own encounters with Suzanne and Donald. Suzanne was a familiar face outside the local convenience store where I worked. She often panhandled near the entrance, sometimes becoming aggressive when asked to move along. I remember

one incident where she threatened to spit on me. Eventually, she was banned from the premises. Donald, on the other hand, was a relative of a friend, my friend's dad's cousin, to be exact. He, too, was banned from the store after threatening a coworker who asked for his ID when purchasing tobacco. In Connecticut, it state law to check ID for tobacco purchases, regardless of age. Their behavior was erratic, to say the least. A shocking revelation, the case took a dramatic turn when a man named Nicholas Zaymon came forward. He had occasionally provided transportation for Donald and was disturbed by the news reports about the investigation on Allen Street and the nearby cemetery.

Nicholas recounted a conversation he had with Donald in December 2024, where Donald mentioned that Suzanne had stolen $200 worth of crack cocaine from him. He described the heated argument between them and made ominous remarks about making her disappear, suggesting that no one would suspect him if she vanished. Nicholas recalled the unsettling odor emanating from Donald during their car rides. He had a rough odor to him. It almost smelt sweet at first, but then it got worse and worse, he said. Donald's comments about Suzanne's disappearance and his nonchalant attitude raised red flags for Nicholas,

prompting him to share this information with the police. The crime scene, armed with this new information, detectives obtained a search warrant for the apartment on Allen Street. What they found was horrifying. Blood-like residue was present throughout the apartment, indicating a violent struggle. A hand saw was discovered under the kitchen sink, and a baseball bat with blood and hair on it was tucked behind the dresser. A garbage bag containing a mix of male and female clothing, all soaked in a red, blood-like substance, was also found. Two days later, he moved her to the bed, and that night, he returned with a hacksaw and dismembered her body. He disposed of her head and limbs in a dumpster behind my workplace.

Unfortunately, none of those remains could be recovered, as the city's waist is incinerated, leaving no trace. The thought of that haunts me every time I take out the trash. Donald couldn't lift the suitcase containing the torso, so he left it near the cemetery, hoping someone would find it and bury it. A troubled past, Donald had a criminal record dating back to the 1990s, but the police found no solid evidence linking him to any other recent bodies discovered across the state. This effectively shut down any theories about a serial killer being on the loose. Reflecting on the events, I'm still in disbelief that I was indirectly involved in such a gruesome case. The interactions I had with Suzanne and Donald

now carry a chilling weight. It's a stark reminder that we never truly know the people around us or what they're capable of. Processing the aftermath, in the weeks following the discovery, the community was in shock. News outlets covered the story extensively, and people couldn't stop talking about it. The fact that such a heinous crime occurred in our neighborhood was unsettling. I found myself replaying my encounters with Suzanne and Donald, searching for any signs I might have missed. The store where I worked implemented new security measures, including additional cameras and increase staff training on handling difficult customers. We were all on edge, wondering if there were other dangers lurking in our midst.

Community response, local organizations held meetings to discuss the incident and provide support to those affected. Counselors were made available for anyone struggling to cope with the news. The tragedy served as a wake-up call, highlighting the importance of community vigilance and mental health awareness. People began checking in on their neighbors more frequently, ensuring that everyone felt safe and supported. The sense of community grew stronger, even in the face of such darkness. Personal reflection, as I sit here recounting the events, I can't help but feel a mix of emotions. There's sadness for Suzanne, whose life ended so tragically.

There's anger towards Donald for committing such a brutal act. And there's a lingering unease, knowing that I had crossed paths with both of them, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. This experience has taught me to be more observant and compassionate. It's a reminder that everyone has their struggles, and sometimes those struggles can lead to devastating consequences if left unaddressed. Moving forward, life has slowly returned to normal, but the memory of that suitcase and its contents will forever be etched in my mind.

The incident has left an indelible mark on our community, serving as a grim reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of looking out for one another. If there's one takeaway from this ordeal, it's that we must remain vigilant and empathetic. We never know what battles others are fighting, and sometimes, a simple act of kindness can make all the difference. The end. Her parents and siblings completely disowned her. They called her a sinner and told her that the flames of hell were waiting for her, that she would never be an actress and that she would never be anyone because she didn't deserve it. So Betty, completely devastated, decided to die. We begin in the city of Odessa, Texas.

Things were always different there compared to the rest of the world. Girls had to be quiet, sweet, and delicate like flowers, and boys had to be strong, tough, and independent. In this context, a legend emerged that still persists to this day. And that is the legend of Betty's ghost. Teenagers used to stop their cars outside Odessa High School, claiming that at midnight, a ghost could be seen in the auditorium windows. There were two ways to summon it, the first was to flash the car's headlights three times, and the second was to shout her name and honk the horn three times. It was said that Betty once studied at Odessa High School, that she was a great actress, and that she deeply loved that auditorium. But no one knew how she

died. Some said she fell down the auditorium stairs, while others claimed that during a performance of Romeo and Juliet on stage, her boyfriend shot her. Whatever the cause of her death, one thing is certain, that auditorium is haunted today. Voices are heard, footsteps echo, moans are felt, and even the theater teacher, Carl Moore, recently stated the following words in the Odessa newspaper. I hear her name almost daily. Every time something inexplicable happens, If a book falls to the ground during class or the light board shuts off during a tech rehearsal, someone always says, it's Betty, but is this ghost real? And did she really die in the auditorium?

Let's find out. Elizabeth Jane Williams, better known as Betty, was born on August 11, 1993, in Illinois. She was the eldest of four children of Mary Bell, who worked at the J.C. Penny Store chain, and John Washington Williams, a carpenter who struggled to find stable work. This couple was Baptist and took their religious beliefs to the extreme. They went to church every Sunday, blessed their meals, prayed in the morning and at night, and although this might seem normal to many believers, for the Williams family, religion went beyond that.

From a very young age, Betty was taught to fear sin. They told her that sinning would eternally condemn her to the flames of hell, that she couldn't go out with boys, that she couldn't kiss anyone, dress provocatively, or deviate even slightly from the path of faith. She was forced to pray every day and to beg God to help her be an obedient girl. At first, that kind of life fulfilled her. It made her feel good about herself. But at a certain point, things changed for her. Her family moved to Odessa, and there she grew up until she turned 17. Once she reached that age, Betty became a very attractive girl, big blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, tall and slender, and what her friends called, a silver

tongue. This girl knew how to charm adults, always showing them her sweet and pure side, but with her friends, she was a true rebel. She knew what she wanted in life, she wanted to be an artist, a great actress, to escape Odessa. She had aspirations that didn't fit at all with the environment in which she had been raised. According to her cousin Shelton Williams, she was a completely different girl from the rest. He said Betty loved being the center of attention. In fact, she loved it so much that she would walk into a diner called Tommy's drive-in dressed in black, with white painted fingernails, or wearing tight jeans and a semi-transparent t-shirt under which she wore no bra. She also had no problem admitting she was completely against segregation,

meaning she believed black and white people should attend school together. She always insisted that women were more than just men's accessories. We're talking about the early 60s, before the hippie movement really took hold. So we could say Betty was way ahead of her time. She might have been one of the first women capable of leading that movement for equality and peace. But the town where she grew up was never going to understand her. At Odessa High School, there was a kind of social hierarchy. and at the top of it were what Betty called, the chasm girls, perfect girls from Odessa's

best neighborhoods, the ones always voted most beautiful, most popular, or class favorite. Betty wasn't one of them. She probably wished she were, but those kinds of girls were the ones who mocked her. According to Shelton Williams, Betty wanted to be liked. She wanted what we all want, to be completely unique and totally accepted. But why didn't anyone like Betty? Was it because of the way she thought, or was it something else? Betty dreamed of leaving Odessa. Her room was covered with movie posters, filmed she dreamed of being in someday. In her junior year, she starred in a school production of Romeo and Juliet,

and she proved to everyone she had incredible talent. The only problem was that her parents couldn't afford college. With four kids, sending just one to college was nearly impossible. But Betty didn't give up, she kept. worked working hard so she might someday earn a scholarship. And this was one of the reasons people rejected her, because her family didn't have money. The next reason had to do with boys. On weekends, the youth of Odessa gathered at Tommy's drive-in, a popular diner. But Betty's parents didn't allow her to go, because a respectable girl didn't go out at night. So when they fell

asleep, Betty would sneak out. She dressed provocatively and went straight to Tommy's. Once there, she would let a boy buy her a milkshake, and then they'd go to his car to have sex. That was Betty, a girl with an open mind, a girl who took charge. If a girl had a steady boyfriend, then sex was acceptable as long as she didn't flaunt it. But if she did it with someone who wasn't her boyfriend, then she was a pariah. Jane Smith, Betty's classmate, said the summer of 60 was magical for Betty Williams. For the first time, she felt like things were changing, and it was all thanks to her first love, John Mack Herring.

He was a rising star on Odessa's football team, The Broncos. A World War II veteran returned from the battlefield, this man, his father, had started a successful business. He even bought several properties and a hunting reserve on the outskirts of Odessa, a beautiful place where he hunted with his son, Mack. So you could say Mack had the life Betty dreamed of, money, popularity, a normal family. She never imagined a boy like him would notice her. But he did.

And in the summer of 60, they began dating. However, their priorities were very different. Betty told all her friends about Mac, how they went on walks, visited nice places, and had sex. But Mac never told anyone. He avoided being seen with her in public. He never danced with her, never invited her for a milkshake at Tommies, never introduced her to his parents or friends. It was like he was ashamed of being with her. And when Betty realized this, she decided to get revenge.

And how did she do it? Very simply, by having sex with Mack's best friend. That made Mac furious. So he got back at Betty in the worst way possible, publicly dating one of the most popular and beautiful girls at school. This new girl, he danced with her, kissed her in public, and bought her milkshakes at Tommies. I have never felt so humiliated and torn apart as I do now. I feel so desolate I don't care what happens, now or never. This is pure hell, words written by Betty in a note to her best friend. When Betty returned

to school after the summer, no one spoke to her. Mack had told everyone that they had slept together without being a couple, that she'd had an affair and then cheated on him with his best friend. He didn't say it was serious. He didn't say he really cared for her. He just acted cool and spread lies about Betty. Betty now had a reputation as an easy girl, and so she became a pariah. Even the teachers knew. And because of her behavior, the theater teacher decided to punish her. This woman knew that in the audience of their upcoming play, there would be college scouts. She knew that if Betty performed, she would obviously get a scholarship, she was incredibly talented. But she decided that because Betty was

an easy girl, she didn't deserve it. So she gave Betty a notebook and a pen, and named her stage manager. She would oversee everything, scenes, props, everything, but from behind the curtain. No college looks for a director. They want actors. Betty's punishment wasn't just to give up her dreams, it was also to watch Mack Herring play the lead role with his new girlfriend. She'd have to watch them kiss on stage, speak words of love, while she had behind the curtain. But the tragedies in this girl's life were only just beginning. One day, her father found her diary. And in it, he read all about her sexual adventures. So you can imagine what came next. Her parents and siblings completely disowned her.

They called her a sinner and told her the flames of hell were waiting for her, that she would never be an actress and never be anyone because she didn't deserve it. So Betty, completely devastated, decided to die. Betty over and over climbed the beams of the auditorium, trying to throw herself down in front of her classmates, but she didn't have the courage to die that way. Because according to the Bible, people who commit suicide are not worthy of God's love. So she began asking around, friends, classmates, if someone would kill her. To be continued. I found this sub off of a podcast that did Let's Not Meet, Story Readings, and I felt like this fit into that genre, LOL, shout out can.

When I was 18, fresh out of a breakup, I decided to try dating apps for the first time. I didn't know much about them, only that Tinder was for hookups, and I wasn't interested in that. Bumble felt like a safer choice, so I made a profile and started. started swiping. For weeks, I didn't get much traction. I live in a small southern town where my alternative style doesn't exactly fit in. The closest big city is an hour away, something that'll matter later, so I expanded my location settings, hoping to find someone more my type. Finally, I matched with a guy we'll call Jay. He was cute, alternative, and honestly, that was all I needed to start a conversation. He matched with me a little later, and we started

talking. Jay was charming and seemed to have this natural way of saying the right thing. We clicked. It felt good to talk to someone who seemed to genuinely share my interests, a refreshing change from my last relationship. After about a week of messaging, we planned a date. The idea was to meet up at a mall in the city. He lived there and I had to meet my friends a couple blocks from the mall that night after the date so it worked for the both of us. It felt like a safe, public spot, and I was nervous but excited. When the day came, things started off fine. Jay looked like his pictures, and the conversation flowed well enough.

But not even 30 minutes in, things started to get, weird. He was touchier than I was comfortable with, holding my hand, rubbing my back and arms, and even brushing his hand along my thighs when we sat down. I'm shy by nature, and at the time, I was also a huge people-pleaser, so I didn't know how to tell him to stop. I just kept laughing nervously, hoping he'd pick up on my discomfort. He didn't. At one point, he started joking about how his beanie was actually a ski mask rolled up.

He said that if he pulled it down, he could walk into a store and pretend to be a robber. I laughed it off, thinking he was just trying to be funny, but the joke stuck with me. The touching only got worse. While we were sitting in the food court, he suddenly picked me up out of my chair and tried to sit me on his lap. I froze, completely caught off guard. When I managed to laugh nervously and pull away, I mumbled something about how we were in public and that I wasn't comfortable. Instead of apologizing, he just stared at me, deadpan, then buried his face in my chest and wrapped his arms around my waist like it was no big deal. I was mortified. People around

us were staring at him basically cuddling me, and I wanted to disappear. I kept telling myself to get through the date, convincing myself that it wasn't as bad as it felt. Thankfully, the malls started closing, and I used it as an excuse to wrap things up. He immediately switched back to being charming, like nothing had happened, and I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. As we left, he suggested driving to the river walk downtown to take a walk before I headed home. It sounded innocent enough, so I agreed. When we got there, everything seemed fine again at first.

We strolled along the path, talking casually. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled down his ski mask and joked, What if people think I'm kidnapping you? I laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off. I wouldn't be holding your hand if you were, I said. That's when his expression changed. He stared at me through the mask, completely deadpan, and said, do I not scare you enough? You came out here with a stranger, an hour away from home.

You don't even know me. Do you realize how easy it would be for me to get rid of you? No one would ever find you, I froze. The light-hearted energy disappeared, replaced with a sinking feeling of dread. It was getting dark, and the path was practically empty. My parents didn't even know I was on a date, I told them I was out with friends. If something happened, no one would know where to look. Before I could say anything, he started laughing, loud and sudden, like it was the funniest

thing in the world. God, you need to take a Xanax. Did you actually think I was serious? I forced a laugh, trying to regain some sense of normalcy, but I was shaking. I told him it wasn't funny, but he just brushed it off and kept walking, slipping back into his charming persona like nothing had happened. On the walk back to the car, he insisted on carrying me, Bride style, because I mentioned my feet were sore.

I didn't know how to say no, so I let him. When we finally got back to his car, he was eerily quiet. The charm was gone again, replaced by that cold, emotionless demeanor. As he drove me back to the mall where my car was parked, I tried to fill the silence by asking him questions about himself, his family, his interests, but his answers were vague and monotone. I stopped trying after a while, counting down the minutes until I could leave. But instead of pulling into the main parking lot where my car was, he veered off into the empty parking garage. My stomach dropped. He drove all the way to the top level, where it was completely dark and deserted.

My heart was racing as he parked the car and sat there in silence. I unbuckled my seatbelt, casually leaning toward the door and gripping the handle, ready to bolt if I needed to. Jay turned to me with that deadpan stare again, glancing around the empty garage. It's so quiet up here, he said. No one's around and the street lights aren't even working. Kind of creepy, huh? Then he pulled his ski mask down and started making ghost noises.

Even with him trying to make jokes, he just in that moment with him, was not the same guy anymore. No more charm, he was just empty. I tried to laugh, but I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe. I thought about the River Walk, his comment about getting rid of me, and how isolated we were. I genuinely thought this was it, that I wasn't going to make it home. Finally, I managed to stammer, hey, I need to meet my friend soon, remember. I tried to keep my voice light, like I wasn't on the verge of tears.

Let's look at the stars first, I just wanted to watch the stars with you." He told me, staring at me with a blank expression. He opened the sunroof, which he had not even alluded to for the first ten minutes we were there. I had no idea how to say no, so I agreed to stay for five more minutes. We both leaned back to look at the sky, but all I could think about was getting out of there. When my phone showed five minutes had passed, I sat up and said I had to go. He grabbed my face and kissed me. I froze, completely caught off guard, and pulled back as quickly as I could, pretending

I'd just gotten a text from my friends. He didn't say anything, just glared at me with this cold, angry expression as he started the car. The drive back to my car was silent, and as soon as we got there, I jumped out of his car and into mine. I didn't even wait for him to leave before blocking him on everything. That was three years ago, and somehow, Jay still tries to contact me. He's used burner accounts to stalk my social media and even messaged me

last year through the fake profiles. I have no idea why he's so fixated on me, but I've taken every precaution I can to keep him out of my life. Now, I'm 21, in a healthy relationship, and mentally in a much better place. The whole situation has become a running joke with my friends when we go to that mall, but I'll never forget how terrified I was that night. I don't know what his intentions were, and I don't want to know. So Jay, let's not meet ever again. Way back in the day probably 2008 or so I was still in school, probably ninth grade or so and I was dating a girl who randomly said she had a guy over. Well, I wasn't cool with that and I wasn't cool with the fact he was going to stay the night.

So I dropped her like a ton of bricks. Day goes by and she begins texting me. So we start talking but only as friends. This carries on for a few days. Then one day I arrive at school and am talking to my friends and a group of five or so guys come over and one is loud as hell and asking where I am. I just say, uh, here, and they started to. talking about how I was talking to such and such and that I needed my ass beat and should

stop talking to her. But these guys wanted to fight me. I look past them all and my ex and her now BF, same guy who spent the night, were just standing there watching it unfold. I just walked away and of course was called a pussy. Days go by and im at a Wendy's. And her BF walks in. Sees me and just does nothing. I walk by him to get to my friend's table who I was with and he stopped me. He proceeded to apologize for essentially getting a few guys to try and fight me. He also confessed she was unfaithful to me even before she said anything about him being over. He then went on to say she's just a ho who left him as well for an even younger guy than us both. I laughed and said, man, it's all good, don't worry about any of it.

We both dodged a bullet. To clarify the whole reason for this is she complained to her BF that I was annoying her despite her always texting me first. Having grown up in a much warmer climate of South Carolina, early February at Fort Carson, Colorado wasn't a good time to be stuck working outside in my company's motor pool. But to be honest, pulling PMs on vehicles and performing maintenance on radio equipment there did beat the alternative of being on a field training exercise, FTX, downrange dealing with either mud or snow. But then there were rare occasions when dealing with the hardships associated playing soldier out in the field were better than getting tangled up in old family issues. Specialist Vaughn, my platoon sergeant yelled while

walking up to where my platoon's vehicles were parked. Lieutenant Chase is on the phone, he wants to talk with you, ASAP. Hall ass up to the office and find out what he wants. Roger that, Sergeant Blackledge, I said, taking just enough time to put away a couple of pieces of equipment back into the platoon storage container before double-timing down the line. My seemingly responsible and prompt response still earned me a hateful glare from the man. My platoon sergeant, SFC Blackledge, was a huge, African-American guy with a baked in bad

attitude when it came to anything I was involved in. To this day, I never really understood his dislike for me. I definitely wasn't the platoon fuck up, we had three new privates fresh from advanced individual training, AIT, who were all competing for that title. The general consensus among the other members of the platoon was that if you combined the intelligence of the three new guys a squirrel would probably still beat them at tic-tac-to. At the time my best guess for why Blackledge enjoyed hassling me was that I was the perfect average soldier. I was almost three years into my enlistment and my gunhole mentality had long since died. It had been replaced with a new perspective of doing just enough to keep the NCOs and

officers above me happy. I had one year in a couple of months or so left of active duty and my happy ass would be going home to start college and enjoy the beaches. As most things go, the army during the late 1980s was pretty cut and dry. This is a gross simplification but as long as you shined your boots, performed basic hygiene, and could read a map most American males could be a success in the United States Army. But for me the glamour had long since died and whatever Rambo-esque dreams I might have entertained had long since been crushed by your basic standard-issue reality. Thinking about it now, my carefree attitude may have been the source of Blackledge's distaste for me. In all modesty, if I had stayed motivated and played

the dog and pony game by looking good and performing beyond basic standards, I probably have already been promoted to Sergeant, E-5, and putting in the effort toward Staff Sergeant, E-6. After After arriving at the repair bays I stepped into the office and was handed a phone by one of the people working there. Specialist Vaughn reporting, Sir, I said or something similar. Vaughn, L. T. Chase said in a tone of voice that betrayed a touch of annoyance, your dad called the company commander. He's in town and wants to see you.

Ah yes, sir, did someone die or something? I asked back confused. At that moment I couldn't remember the last time I had talked with my father. My mom and dad's marriage and their final divorce back in 1977 had been Chernobyl-like in its messy, complicated nature. So bad that one of the few absolute certainties in this universe is the fact that those two fucked up individuals should have never been allowed to live on the same continent, much less merry and have children.

My mother had legitimate mental issues that in South Carolina went unrecognized and, of course, totally untreated. She was the child of hardworking but poor parents whose education never went beyond a couple of years of high school. South Carolina was, or still is, a backwater provincial land with a grossly undereducated population lacking any true idea of how mental health can affect individuals and society as a whole. Mom's way of coping with her issues was to drink. She was a chain smoker as well, which brought on a whole other series of problems. Finally, there was infidelity, something she would actually talk about to us kids once she had a few drinks in her

system. Her other favorite subject of conversation was to tell her children how much farther she could have made it in life if she had never had us. Dad's issues were a little more abstract, but he was also a product of southern society and culture. He was a hard worker, but showed next to no emotion to his kids other than rage when they did something bad. Beatings with a belt were the usual punishment for infractions raging from not doing homework to breaking one of his possessions. There was also more than a little resentment when he had to use his money for us kids. I clearly remember department store trips to buy new clothes for my siblings and I with him whining about how much money was being wasted. Adding more insult to these injuries, after mom and dad

separated he got us for the weekends, which most of the time had us hanging out in his mobile home as he worked on cars outside. I vaguely remember catching him telling a neighbor, who had asked him to go on a fishing trip, that his damn kids were here so he couldn't do anything this weekend. Don't know Vaughn, L.T. Chase answered, bringing me back out of my memories. But prepared to copy this phone number, L.T. Chase calls out the phone number to a local motel and the room number. I wrote it down on my notepad sort of figuring this meant someone had died, which in itself was a mystery since I had even less to do with his side of the family than him. But then again my father had always seemed a few French fries short of a full

happy meal when it came to common sense. So I had no idea why he would travel from deep in the bowels of Bumfuck, Texas, where he lived, and come to Colorado Springs just to see me. My father just wasn't the type to put out that effort. If anything he would have expected my siblings or me to go see him. Tell me something, Vaugh, L.T. Chase interjects without warning, why haven't you talked to your father in several years? Whoa, that was the other thing about dear old dad which I had forgotten, he loved playing the victim. It's a long messed up story, L.T., I responded wearily. Okay, I get it, Vaughn. He says before hanging up. The rest of the day plays out as usual with me wondering if I should even contact the bastard.

I've got to admit, I was more than slightly pissed with him playing the abandoned and forgotten father. Dad had promptly remarried suspiciously fast after my parents' divorce was finalized. Can't really fault him for that with Mom Long experienced in blazing new trails in roadside motel exploration. His new wife brought with her a couple of daughters and by all accounts he was a great stepdad to his new kids. My siblings had spent some time with them a few summers back while I was over in West

Germany playing soldier. The reports I got from them about a happy, affectionate man was a truly alien concept considering the sullen individual I remember that only reluctantly took his own kids fishing. After the company's final formation and being released for the day I found myself drifting towards the rack of payphones in the Barack's day room. With mixed emotions I dialed the motel number and asked for his room when the desk clerk answered. Hello, a lady said in a sweet voice. Yeah, this is Eric. I got word that my father was staying there. I replied figuring I was talking to his new wife, my stepmother by default. Oh, Eric, the lady said, we've been hoping you would call. I'll get your father, hold on, a second or two later he picks up the phone.

Hey, Eric, it's your father, he says like there was some question who it might be. Remember, a few fries short of a full happy meal. Yeah, dad, I say hesitantly, not really comfortable labeling him as such. You're in Colorado Springs, what's up? Lisa has a band competition here tomorrow, and we decided to see if you wanted to have dinner with us tonight. Running this information through my brain, I had to figure that Lisa was my step-sister, someone who I had not only never met but didn't have a clue what she looked liked. Full disclosure, I didn't know what his new wife looked like either because I had literally never been in the same location with the lady. When my parents officially divorced, Dad stayed in Texas and my mom and siblings and myself went back to

South Carolina. Dad's new family life began about three or four days after everything was finalized. Being the oldest of my siblings, I knew neither of our parents were worth much in the way of consideration. Going with our mother back to South Carolina was the safest course since we had her family to fall back on for support. But I admit, I was considering his offer of dinner. Part of me thought it would be interesting to meet at least a couple of members of his new family. So how about it? He asked in an upbeat tone that I found both curious and slight irritating. Past experience had taught me that my father expected instant acceptance and that any hesitation on the part of me or my siblings was a personal insult to him. There was way

too much baggage in our past for me to have any enthusiasm about this reunion. I wasn't a kid anymore, I was an adult in my 20s and the few times I remember talking to him in the previous years he clearly still thought of me as a child. Out of nowhere a question popped into my head that I had to ask before giving him my decision. How long was this trip up to Colorado Springs planned? I mean you guys didn't just receive news about the band competition the last couple of days. Oh, it's been in the works for the last couple of months. Dad replied offhand not realizing what it meant for his own flesh and blood to be an afterthought. Such actions were typical for him, for some reason his own kids were never a priority.

Truthfully, it bothered me a lot that he somehow expected me to drop everything and rush across town to see him. He served in the army himself and knew the end of the duty day didn't necessarily mean a soldier was free to leave the post. It was either that or his offer for dinner was never meant to be accepted, that he would use my refusal as yet another example of him being the victim. Given that the trip to Colorado Springs had been months in the planning, the fact that he didn't call me until the day they arrived tended to support my conclusion. I simply didn't feel like being played that day. No, I said to him, had you called and arranged something in advance it could have happened.

But no, I'm going to the mess hall and then hang out with a few friends. Okay, he said in a tone that I felt was indifferent. He started to say something else, but I cut him off. Look, it was great hearing from you, something I didn't really mean, but your arrival was totally unexpected and, honestly, more than a little inconvenient for me. How about we try this again sometime in the future? After that I hung up and didn't think about him for the rest of the night. Was I cruel?

Probably. Should I have given the man the benefit of the doubt? Maybe, if the weight of too many disappointments wasn't bearing down on my shoulders at that moment. The one good thing out of this cluster fuck was that I learned to treat my own kids completely different. The coming years would bring my father back into my life, namely him showing up unexpectedly at my house a couple of months after the birth of my son.

Once again, my father and his wife had been visiting his brother in South Carolina when he learned the news. My wife made me play nice. But Dad never really changed and my patience with him only got. shorter. My brother somehow developed a phone relationship with him over the years with nothing but silence between him and myself. Recently, I got word for my brother, Wilson, that dad asked for my phone number. Thankfully, Wilson told him he would have to ask me first. As I talked with my brother I thought about it for a couple of minutes. My decision was ultimately

no, curiously there is no bitterness on my part. I found myself indifferent to the man in his life. Whatever relationship we might have had has long since passed into nothingness. So, one day a 14 years old decides to come out as gay to his mom. He is nervous about her reaction, but knows she isn't the type to overreact so he feels safe telling her. He sits down and flat out tells her that he is gay. She jumps up and is absolutely shocked. She calls his father on the phone and screams into the receiver, Our son just told me he is gay.

At 14 years old he told me he is gay. I can't believe this. Do you know what this means? His dad is equally as shocked and the son can hear him screaming on the other line despite the phone not even being on speaker. The boy is shocked by their reaction and feels quite violated that his mom shared his secret without his consent. However, at dinner later that night his parents are very accepting and they have a very calm and accepting conversation about it all. They apologize for overreacting, but this moment forever sticks in the boy's mind as quite traumatic. Many years later time travel is invented and the technology is open for public use.

The son, now a grown man in a happy marriage, still remembers the day he came out to his parents as a very rough moment in his life that set him back years and feeling comfortable with his identity. Though time travel is expensive, he decides to book a trip in order to help his younger self come out to his mother more successfully. He figures that since he is older and more wise he will be more successful at getting his mother used to the idea. He pays the fee and travels back in time to when he is five years old, giving his mother ample time to digest the information he is about to give her before he turns 14 and decides to come out to her.

Excuse me, ma'am. She takes out an earbud, he gently explains to her how this will not affect their relationship and she will still have grandkids. She nods along, seeming bewildered, but stays to listen. When he is done, she continues jogging and the man takes a walk around the park watching the sunset, grateful he could help his childhood self. Later that night, after his mother puts his five-year-old self to bed, she tells her husband about the encounter. This disturbed man at the park came up to me today. He thought he was a time traveler and that our son would come out as gay at 14.

I was so scared he would try to hurt me, I just stood there until he was done talking. He didn't, though. He just finished talking and let me go. He really seemed convinced of himself and he didn't really look like the type to be doing drugs, it was eerie. Her husband nods. You never know, these kinds of things can affect anyone. Bring your pepper spray next time. Years pass and the couple only ever mentions the incident in passing as an inside joke. Fast forward a nine years. The son is now 14 and sits down his mother to come out to her. He tells her flat out that he is gay. She jumps up and is absolutely

shocked. She calls his father on the phone and screams into the receiver, our son just told me he is gay. At 14 years old he told me he is gay. I can't believe this. Do you know what this means? TLDR, a boy comes out as gay to his mother and she inexplicably freaks out. In the future time travel is invented and he decides to use it to go back in time before he came out and prepare his mother for his coming out. His mom thinks he is just a crazy person and doesn't believe him. When the time comes his mom completely freaks out just the same as before because his coming out confirms that time travel is real. She would have never freaked out if he didn't try to interfere with time travel. He tried to get in contact with her, he tried to get

Cindy to answer, but he received no response. So he quickly went there and found a woman lying on the hallway floor, face down, with her left hand nailed to the ground with a knife on top, a knife that went completely through her hand and also held a note pin to her skin. A note that said, you are a dead bitch. The woman also had a black nylon stocking tied around her neck, a mark that would later become the attacker's signature. Mr. Cavan, visibly shaken, tried to check her pulse, but he was so nervous that he thought she was dead.

He called emergency services, and when they arrived, they realized that her pulse was indeed very weak, but luckily, they were able to save her life. Cindy was obviously hospitalized, but when she woke up, she could only remember that someone had injected her arm with a needle. The case, again in the hands of the police, was handled with very little professionalism. They didn't even bother to examine the crime scene, didn't look for fingerprints, didn't look for suspects, they were certain Cindy had staged the whole thing. Luckily, there was someone who did believe Cindy's words, Oz Kavin.

He was convinced that no human being could fake something like that. No one could drug themselves into unconsciousness and then stab their own hand while making sure a fake killer's note was perfectly pinned into their skin. Moreover, he himself had heard strange noises on the other side of the radio. The woman was subjected several times to hypnosis sessions and polygraph tests, but even so, her testimony was dismissed, as it was automatically assumed she was too traumatized to think and respond clearly. The threatening phone calls continued, but they could never trace the origin of them, as the stalker kept them very short. At the same time, the person seemed to manage time

well, it looked like he knew how the police operated. When they were watching the house, he wouldn't call. When they weren't, he harassed her day and night. So suspicion toward Cindy grew, since the incidents always happened when she was alone. Even so, Cindy's family supported her to the end. In fact, they were convinced the person behind it was someone who knew her, someone who knew her very well and had previously made her life a living hell. They gave the police a name, Roy M. Peace. They described him as manipulative, controlling,

and someone who had dominated Cindy for years. The pressure Cindy was under was so great that she ended up calling her ex-husband and screaming at him, demanding answers. That call was automatically classified by the police, and in it, one could hear a devastated, distressed, and desperate Cindy, and a Roy who was insensitive and incapable of empathizing with her. Roy denied the accusations and coldly accused her of being mentally ill, which drove Cindy completely insane.

After the call, the police interrogated Mr. Peace, who stated the following, he claimed his ex-wife was nothing more than a psychopath with paranoid delusions who suffered hallucinations and had multiple personalities. He said that for years she had been self-harming and living in a paranoid fantasy. The Vancouver Police and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Richmond investigated Roy M. Peace for five years, resulting in the longest and most expensive investigation in British Columbia's history. However, they never found conclusive evidence, and the initial statements of that renowned doctor became Cindy Hacks' death sentence. Cindy moved to a new house, painted her car, and changed her last name to James,

but none of that worked, as her stalker always found her. On one occasion, Cindy was found in a ditch three kilometers from her home. She was wearing men's work boots and one glove, suffered from hypothermia, and had bruises and injuries all over her body. She also had a nylon stocking tied around her neck. She had clearly been raped, but the police dismissed it, assuming she had probably had consensual sex beforehand. Once again, she woke up unable to remember anything and was so afraid that she asked her parents to stay the night with her at the hospital. After being discharged, she decided to spend a few days at the home of her best friend Agnes Walk and her husband Tom.

One night, all three woke up due to a loud noise and a strong smell of smoke coming from the basement. When they went downstairs and opened the basement door, they discovered it was on fire. They quickly tried to call the fire department, but the house's phone line had been cut. The three ran into the street to scream for help from the neighbors, and there they encountered a complete stranger. They ran toward him to ask for help, but when he got close, the man ran away in fear. The police determined that the fire had been started from inside the house, and the window through which the supposed arsonist had entered shows. no signs of fingerprints. So, Cindy James was automatically blamed for the fire. They even mocked her by naming her elusive stalker, the man. Due to the increasingly violent nature of the

attacks, Cindy was forced to move constantly, change her car color, change jobs, and change her last name. But he always found her. In 1985, the immense stress she had built up caused Cindy to suffer a nervous breakdown, and her doctor admitted her to a psychiatric hospital. Cindy slowly fell into depression. She felt that no one believed her, that no one accepted her, that if the world had its way, she'd already be dead. By then, she had already reported over 100 different incidents to the police, but they had stopped believing her.

She wondered day after day if anyone had ever believed her. And all her thoughts, all her anguish, all her longing, continued writing in her diary. On June 2nd, 1988, a year before her tragic end, she wrote the following. I am so alone. No one in the world will ever understand this. Somehow I live in a different reality than others. I am next to them but always separate. I have been tormented and harassed by someone who knows me well enough to know what really hurts me. I feel a great need for justice, but I must accept I will never get it. Ten weeks later, she was discharged from the hospital and told her father, Otto Hack, that she already knew who her stalker was.

She never said anything else, just that she knew who it was. By that time, the private investigator had already managed to record one of the threatening calls, the only one that remains today, in which a fake female voice says the following. On May 25, 1989, seven years after the first threatening call, Cindy James disappeared. She had gone to the mall to collect her hospital check and had also used the trip to buy some groceries. That same day, her car was found parked on a street corner. Inside were groceries and a wrapped gift. There was blood on the driver's door, and everything she had in her purse was found underneath the car. The police didn't search for her. They assumed it was just another one of her many setups. Two weeks later,

specifically on June 8, for days after her 45th birthday, her body was found behind an abandoned house. She had been brutally murdered. Her hands and feet were tied, a nylon stocking was also tied around her neck, and her body was full of bruises and contusions. She had an injection mark on her right arm, but the officers found no needle, neither at the crime scene nor near her car. The autopsy showed that the cause of death was a morphine overdose and other drugs. from there a public investigation began and 84 witnesses were called to testify the man seen after the fire at agnes walk's house was considered a suspect but they never found anything about him never identified him however one man stood out among the rest patrick mcbride who had been cindy's lover and at the time worked as a police officer though she never knew what his profession was because mcbride hid it from her many pointed to him as cindy james's killer as that that That would explain how the stalker could control timing. That would explain why, when the police were watching Cindy 24-7, the killer didn't appear.

It would also explain how the person left no fingerprints, and how no one ever saw him, since he, being a police officer, knew all the tricks in the book. What no one would know is what his motives were. Jealousy. Cindy's obsession with her ex-husband. I suppose that doesn't matter anymore, since this man was never in. investigated. Accusing someone from the police force wasn't pleasant, nor did it help the credibility of the investigation. But it doesn't end here, because in Vancouver, the coroner determined that

the cause of death was not suicide, not an accident, and not a homicide either, but an unknown event. However, this version was never made public, as officially, the police told the media that the woman had committed suicide and stubbornly defended the invisible man theory. Despite the pleas of loved ones, the police never investigated it. They closed the case and forgot everything. For them, it was much easier that way. But Cindy's parents never gave up. They fought until the end of their days to prove that their daughter had been murdered. AutoHack died in 2010 after a distinguished career in the military. TYY died in 2012, and as I said before, they never gave up. Cindy's sister, Melanie H., who was 27 when she died, wrote a book titled

Who Killed My Sister, My Friend. It took her 14 years to be able to carry out her own toxicological investigation, get access to the autopsy report, and access police and medical records to gather enough information about her sister's unsolved case. She dedicated all her efforts to proving that Cindy had been murdered. However, her death remains a complete mystery to this day. But now it's your turn, what do you think about all this? Do you really believe that the one who killed her was an invisible man, or someone made of flesh and bone from her circle of acquaintances? The end. The first time I noticed something was off, it was subtle. A faint chill lingered in the air, sharper than the season warranted. It was the kind of cold that clung

to the skin, impossible to shake. I didn't think much of it at first. Winter was settling in, and I blamed the draughty old windows in my apartment. Then came the footsteps. Faint but deliberate, they echoed behind me as I walked home late one night. I glanced over my shoulder and saw nothing, just empty sidewalks washed in the amber glow of streetlights. A rational part of me dismissed it. The city was noisy. Sounds traveled.

Maybe it was just someone walking the opposite direction a block over, their steps distorted by the alleys and tall buildings. But it happened again. And again. It was on the third night that I began to feel the weight of it. The sound wasn't consistent, but it was there, always far enough to seem distant, but never absent. By the time I reached my apartment door, my chest was tight with unease. As I fumbled with my keys, I couldn't shake the sense that I was being watched.

The sensation crawled over me, prickling the back of my neck. When I finally stepped inside, I bolted the door and checked every lock twice. I even slid a chair under the doorknob, though I laughed at myself for the gesture. Paranoia, I thought. Just paranoia. But that night, as I lay in bed, something woke me. A noise, not loud, but deliberate. It was the soft creak of a floorboard.

My heart pounded as I stared into the darkness of my room. The sound came again, closer this time, as if someone were shifting their weight just out of sight. I held my breath, straining to hear over the rush of blood in my ears, but the silence that followed was absolute. The next morning, I convinced myself it had been a dream. I went about my day, though the feeling of being watched clung to me like a shadow. At work, I found myself glancing over my shoulder, scanning faces in the crowd, searching for something, or someone, out of place. But no one stood out. Everyone seemed normal. Ordinary. That evening, I decided to test myself. To prove that I was imagining things.

I took a longer route home, weaving through unfamiliar streets. I stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, pretending to check my phone, and listened. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, faint but undeniable, I heard it. Footsteps. They stopped when I did. I spun around, my heart hammering, but the street behind me was empty. The lights of passing cars flickered against brick walls and shop windows, but there was no one there.

No one I could see. When I reached my building, my hands were shaking so badly I dropped my keys. I hurried inside and locked the door, pressing my back against it. My apartment felt different, smaller, darker. The shadows seemed deeper, the corners more oppressive. I didn't sleep that night. Every creak of the floor, every groan of the pipes sent my nerves into overdrive. I sat in the living room with all the lights on, clutching a kitchen knife, waiting for.

I wasn't sure what. turned into weeks. The presence, whatever it was, didn't leave. It stayed with me, hovering just out of reach, just out of sight. The footsteps became a constant companion. Sometimes they followed me home, other times, they seemed to come from within my apartment. I would find things out of place, a book moved from the shelf, a glass I hadn't used sitting on the counter. I started to question my sanity. Was I losing my mind? But no matter how much I doubted myself, the feeling of being watched never wavered. It was always there, a silent pressure, a wait I couldn't escape.

One night, I couldn't take it anymore. I stood in the middle of my living room, heart racing, and shouted, who's there? What do you want? My voice echoed off the walls, but there was no answer. Just silence. And then, as if in response, the faintest sound reached my ears. It wasn't a voice or a knock. It was breathing.

slow, steady, and impossibly close. I froze, every nerve in my body screaming to run, but I couldn't move. The sound didn't stop. It lingered, filling the air around me. I turned slowly, my eyes darting across the room, but there was nothing there. Just empty space. Yet, I knew I wasn't alone. It started as any regular Tuesday afternoon does.

I was minding my own business, enjoying the unusually sunny weather, walking to my local coffee shop. As I strolled down the street, I saw a little dog trotting ahead of me, leash dragging behind it like a bad action movie cliche. Now, I'm a sucker for dogs, don't get me wrong, but this one looked particularly helpless. It was one of those tiny, bug-eyed chihuahuas, and it kept glancing around like it had just walked out of the wrong part of town. Naturally, being the good Samaritan that I am, and because I'd had way too much caffeine already, I sprang into action.

number one, never assume a dog that looks lost actually is lost. I jogged up to the dog, bent down to pet it, and checked the collar. No tags. This was a red flag, but my brain, powered by a lethal combination of a hero complex and caffeine jitters, ignored it. I decided to take it with me to the coffee shop. Surely, I thought, someone in the neighborhood would recognize the dog. I mean, how hard is it to lose a chihuahua?

Spoiler alert, harder than you'd think. State number two, sometimes, a lost dog is just a well-trained criminal accomplice. As I sat in the coffee shop with the dog perched on my lap like a tiny furry dictator, I noticed something odd. Two men in matching black leather jackets walked in, heads on a swivel. One of them had the most ridiculous neck tattoo, an eagle flying over a cityscape or something. I'd never seen them around before. They scanned the room, and then I saw one of them lock eyes with me.

or more specifically, with the Chihuahua on my lap. At this point, most people would probably piece together that something sketchy was going on. But not me. I thought, wow, they probably lost their dog. I waved at them with a big smile, trying to signal that I had their dog. They didn't wave back. In fact, they whispered something to each other and headed straight for the door. Odd, right?

Well, here comes mistake number three, don't follow people who look like they've just stepped out of an action movie. I paid for my coffee, gathered up the Chihuahua, and casually followed them outside, thinking I was about to reunite a poor lost dog with its owners. As I approached them, I called out, Hey. Is this your dog? They turned around, and the look on their faces wasn't relief. It wasn't even confusion.

It was pure, unadulterated panic. Before I could react, one of the guys grabbed my arm and hissed, you need to come with us. Naturally, I panicked. But before I could even consider running, the guy with the eagle tattoo pulled something out of his pocket, a small bag of what looked like powder, and whispered, this ain't just a dog. You've got something we need. Wait, what? Was this dog some sort of drug mule? What had I gotten myself into? Mistake number four, when faced with potential criminals, don't freeze. I froze. Now, at this point, you're probably thinking this is where I get

involved in some crazy action sequence where I fend off the bad guys with the power of caffeine and a chihuahua. Spoiler alert, that didn't happen. Instead, they dragged me into an alley where they started talking fast, using words like stash, exchange, and time sensitive. My brain could barely keep up, especially when I realized that the chihuahua wasn't just any ordinary dog, it was some sort of bargaining chip in an underground drug ring. Apparently, this little bug-eyed creature had been delivered to me by accident. And now I was in the middle of a transaction I wanted absolutely no part of. They told me to wait there, as they stepped aside for a hurried phone call, likely to confirm

the next part of their shady dealings. While they were distracted, I did the only logical thing I could think of. I bolted, dog in hand. I ran faster than I ever had before, not even caring about the coffee that had splashed all over my shoes. I didn't know where I was going, but all I could think was, get. Away. Mistake number five, running with a stolen dog in a panic makes you look.

look extremely guilty. I'd only made it a few blocks before I heard sirens. In my head, I thought, well, I didn't commit a crime, so no worries. But as the police car screeched to a hulk beside me, I realized that's not how the world works. People running down the street with a chihuahua tucked under their arm tend to attract attention, especially when they're being chased by two shady dudes in leather jackets. The police got out of the car, guns drawn, and shouted at me to stop. I had no choice. I dropped to the ground, hands up, while the chihuahua looked around like it had no idea what the fuss was about. Here's the kicker, turns out the dog wasn't lost. It wasn't a drug mule either. It belonged to some wealthy socialite who had been offering a reward for its safe

return. The two guys? They were her bodyguards, who thought I was trying to kidnap her precious fur baby for ransom. Mistake number six, always ask questions before assuming you're the hero of the story. After a lengthy interrogation and a lot of explaining, the police let me go. The socialite even offered me a reward for finding her dog, which I politely declined, still shaking from the whole ordeal. As for the bodyguards, they glared at me like I just personally insulted their entire family lineage. So, moral of the story. Sometimes being a good person with a penchant for caffeine in hero complexes can land you in some absurdly ridiculous situations. But hey, at least I didn't end up in jail, or worse, caught in the middle of a real

criminal conspiracy. I haven't seen that dog since. But every now and then, when I walk down that same street, I keep my eyes peeled. Not for dogs, though. Just for men in black leather jackets with eagle tattoos. T. LDR, I thought I was rescuing a lost dog, but I somehow ended up entangled in an elaborate crime scheme, only to discover I'd accidentally kidnapped someone's prized Chihuahua. What do you guys think? Would you have followed the guys in black jackets, or bolted the second you saw them? I'm still replaying the whole thing in my head, wondering how I got into this mess. Let me know if you've ever experienced something this wild. Update, so I just got a text from a random number. Apparently, the socialite found out that I posted about her dog

on Reddit and she's furious. Guess I'll be staying away from that coffee shop for a while. Tiana raised her eyes, but she couldn't see anyone. All she could hear were footsteps, laughter, and murmurs passing by. The cold wind seemed to carry the sounds, as if there were a hundred people in the room, and she was the only invisible one. This story begins with the birth of a child who would become very important in adulthood, Chester Thorn. Chester was born on November 11, 1863, in New York, to Charlotte and Edwin Thorn.

At that time, families were large, and it seems that Chester had many siblings, though unfortunately, we don't have any documents to confirm this. What we do know is that the Thorn family was one of the most prominent of that era. They were involved in finance and owned several companies, which allowed Chester to study in later graduate. After graduation, Chester worked for Missouri Pacific Railway, and in 1890, he moved to Tacoma, where he would eventually become a key figure. Upon his arrival in Tacoma, Chester became part of the National Bank of Commerce, and over time, he worked his way up within the bank.

When this bank merged with the National Bank of Tacoma, Chester became the chairman of the board. Years went by, and Chester didn't settle for just being successful, he wanted more. He co-founded the port of Tacoma, built infrastructures, created jobs, and soon became one of the most beloved men in the city. He was a great leader in both industrial and civic enterprises, a true friend to hundreds of people from all walks of life. He was known as the father of the port of Tacoma and dedicated much of his time to it. In the final years of his life, he served as the commissioner of the Port of Tacoma. On October 17, 1927, Chester's professional achievements brought him not only fame but also vast wealth. He had so much money that he invested in Tacoma and Puget Sound.

He invested in more companies, stocks, and slowly, he amassed even more wealth. However, at one point, Chester decided to invest all of his money in a project that was very different from the others, a dream of his wife. One day, Chester met Anna, and to him, she was unlike any other woman he had ever known. She was dreamy, adventurous, and completely enchanted by English castles. She dreamed of living in a castle and feeling like a princess. So, Chester, determined to make her dream come true, bought a 100-acre plot of land along American Lake in 1908 and hired architect Curlin Kelsey Carter. Chester probably invited him for tea, and once they were sitting comfortably, he dropped

the bombshell, he wanted an authentic English castle or something similar. He envisioned a castle built from materials taken from old castles, with bricks from abandoned castles and stained glass windows from churches. He even wanted employees to go to churches and take the stained glass and dismantle old castles to bring back the bricks. This project was nothing short of a crazy idea, but the architect agreed, and Chester invested over a million dollars into it. In the end, he had an incredible mansion with 54 rooms, 22 bedrooms, 22 bathrooms, a kitchen, a main hall, a ballroom, and marble fireplaces. It was something spectacular. To maintain the estate, Chester hired 40 servants. But that wasn't all.

Chester didn't just want a castle, he also wanted beautiful gardens. He hired a landscape architecture firm to turn 37 acres of land into gardens that looked like they belonged in a fairy tale. The gardens were cared for by 28 gardeners, and the whole project was completed in 1911. From that moment on, Chester, his wife Anna, and their daughter Anita lived there. Having a castle like this, it was no surprise that the Thorn family hosted incredible parties, dances, outdoor dinners, important gatherings. Many influential people attended these events, including Theodore Roosevelt and William Howard Taft. Everyone who attended raved about the parties, saying they were magnificent, lavish,

and that the thorns were exceptional hosts. However, not everything in this beautiful estate was filled with joy. Like many families of the time, tragedy struck. When Anita, Chester's daughter, married, she moved into the mansion with her husband. Not long after, they had children, some sources say four, others say three. Regardless of the number, one of the children tragically lost his life in the estate. One day, the children were playing in the gardens, running around and hiding. In a tragic accident, one of the children fell into the lake.

According to sources, the child couldn't swim, and by the time the adults arrived to help, it was too late. The child drowned. Time went on, and more misfortune befell the family. Chester was diagnosed with cancer. He fought the disease for many years, but on October 16, 1927, he passed away. His wife Anna was elected to the board of the bank he had led, and she created several philanthropic projects in his name. Some sources claim that she remarried, while others say she remained a widow until the end of her life. However, their daughter Anita did something unusual. She divorced

her first husband, stayed in the mansion with her children, and, over time, remarried Major General David the Stone. They had another child together, but as the years passed, David was transferred to the Panama Canal Zone, leaving Anita and her mother alone in the mansion. By then, the children were grown up, some were married and independent, and the youngest had outgrown playing in the gardens. So, Anita decided to move to a smaller house located on the corner of North Avenue and 5th Street in Tacoma. Anna Thorne, Chester's wife, never left the mansion.

In fact, she lived there until her death in 1954. Five years later, her daughter Anita sold the mansion. The children were all grown, had families of their own, and the house was just too big to maintain. They searched for a buyer for some time, and finally found one in Harold St. John, who bought the entire property and divided it into 30 plots. Over time, the estate changed hands, with each new owner-making modifications. Eventually, in the year 2000, a couple of investors, Diana and Wayne Robinson, purchased the property.

Their intention was to restore the Grand Castle and the beautiful gardens, turning it into a hotel. They planned to host guests, hold events, and weddings, and of course, they wanted to live there well. The setting was perfect, a fairy-tailed castle. But, sadly, the estate hid dark secrets. One afternoon, Diana sat in the main hall, reading her favorite book. She settled into an armchair, took a deep breath, and relaxed. The atmosphere around her inspired her to read. Everything was peaceful and quiet, with the distant sound of birds. But suddenly, eerie noises filled the room. These weren't the typical sounds of a haunted house, no footsteps, whispers, or knocks. It was as if a hundred people were dancing in the hall.

She could hear glasses clinking, drinks being poured, heels clicking, footsteps, soft music, laughter, and conversations. Tiana looked up, but saw no one. She only heard the sounds, the footsteps, the laughter, and the murmurs passing by her. Cold winds swept through the room, and it felt like a hundred invisible people were present. Terrified, Diana dropped the book and ran out of the room. This was her first inexplicable experience in the mansion, but it was far from the last. Diana thought it might have been her imagination playing tricks on her, so she decided

to go to the gardens to read instead. She had read about haunted houses and cursed cemeteries, but not about gardens with ghosts. So, she assumed it was impossible for anything strange to happen there. As she walked among the flowers and trees, she suddenly heard the laughter of a small child. She turned around, but saw no one. She continued walking, but the laughter followed her. Eventually, she turned around again and saw what appeared to be a spectral shadow. Once more, Diana thought it was just her mind playing tricks on her, that maybe she was too

focused on her reading, but when the mansion was turned into a hotel, guests began to report similar experiences. One guest went to the front desk to complain about an intruder. He said he had been sleeping, covered up, with everything turned off, when suddenly, a man appeared in his room. The man was dressed in riding clothes and, just as quickly as he appeared, he vanished. The staff didn't know what to say, so they checked the room, but found nothing unusual. They let it slide.

But over time, more guests reported similar experiences, always in the same room. A man in writing clothes would appear in the corner of the room or at the foot of the bed, then disappear. After investigating, they found out that this was the room Chester Thorn had occupied before he passed away. Another recurring complaint from guests was about a woman who appeared in front of the mirror, fixing her hair. The longer they stared into the mirror, the more they swore they saw a woman behind them. When they turned around, no one was there. This happened to several guests in the same room, which had once been Anna Thorns. The ghosts slowly started to emerge from their rooms and fill the mansion.

Guests began hearing footsteps and whispers, and many claimed to see Anna Thorne walking down the stairs, heading to the front door. Some even claimed to see Chester Thorn, dressed in riding clothes, walking toward the front door. But not all the ghosts in the house were friendly. Many of the spirits didn't like the lights. Guests would enter their rooms, tired after a long day, and turn on the lights, only to find that the light bulbs wouldn't turn on. When maintenance checked, they discovered that the bulbs were all unscrewed. To this day, no one knows what happened to the Grand Mansion. It's now a shell, a house filled with dark memories.

And while most of the ghosts left after the renovation of the property, the place still has an eerie feel, and it said that at night, you can still hear sounds coming from the mansion. We begin. Cindy Elizabeth was born on June 12, 1944, in Oliver, British Columbia, Canada. She was the eldest of six children of TYY and Otto. She always had a very close relationship with all of them, especially with her younger sister Melanie, who would later become a writer. From a very young age, she dreamed of becoming a nurse and being able to help those most in need.

She always wanted to change the world, a dream that all her loved ones found wonderful, and for that reason, they supported her until the end. In 1966, Cindy finished her studies at nursing school. She first worked with disabled children and then as a pediatric nurse. Although, in her daily life, she didn't limit herself to healing people physically but also emotionally. She loved being able to guide children with psychological problems to help them gradually take control of their lives. She was a girl loved by all her loved ones. They said it was a great fortune to be able to spend time with someone like her, she was

very pleasant, very sincere, and so attentive and kind that she made you forget all your problems. She had many qualities that made her a unique person. However, in December 1966, and despite her family's reluctance, she married Dr. Roy Makepeace, who at the time was 37 years old. If at this point in the story we do the math, we'll find that this man was 15 years older than her. However, it wasn't the age that concerned Cindy's parents, but his behavior. They described him as a controlling and extremely possessive man. Cindy met him at work, and from the first moment, she was smitten with him.

To her, he was an almost platonic, unattainable love, an ideal, magnificent, perfect person. She seemed truly enchanted and didn't seem to realize the kind of person Roy Makepeace was. He was a busy man who hardly spent time with young Cindy. He had worked both inside and outside the hospital. Moreover, according to him, during the first year of his relationship with Cindy, he was in the middle of a tough divorce process, although in reality, he didn't begin the proceedings until months before marrying Cindy. In Otto's words, a man who lies for a whole year about his actual romantic situation, a man like him was not good for my daughter. Maitpiece had divorced

that same year from his ex-wife, Lois I, and the cause of the breakup had been Cindy. That made her feel very special. After marrying him, the young woman always appeared very happy, and it seemed their marriage was an inexhaustible source of satisfaction. Moreover, in 1969, Makepeace was appointed head of the Social Psychiatry Division at the University of British Columbia. The strange part came on July 1, 1982, when Cindy filed for a mutual consent divorce. Her reasons were unclear. In fact, she said they had never argued, they had no problems, and that everything would continue the same. And so it did. They continued seeing each other and attending social events together.

In fact, they spent Christmas of 1982 and 1983 together. They went out dancing, out to dinner, played bridge, took an acting class together, and visited her family several times on Vancouver Island. It was as if they had never really broken up. They saw each other when he wanted, they called when he wanted. Cindy's family didn't understand anything, but they saw her happy, and that was the the only thing that mattered to them. That relationship seemed out of this world to Cindy's parents. They didn't understand how she had agreed to be the other woman for a whole year,

to marry him, endure his excessive control, and finally break up only to be the other woman again, because everyone was convinced he was seeing multiple women at the same time. However, and as might be expected, due to the pressure and uncertainty, Cindy began to have mental health issues. She started suffering anxiety attacks, and her psychiatric condition gradually deteriorated. From time to time, she would violently lash out at her ex-husband out of frustration. She no longer felt special, didn't feel unique, and ended up being hospitalized on seven occasions due to alleged self-harm. From this point on, Roy Makepeace's lawyer advised him to distance himself from Cindy and her family. In 1985, this recommendation became a reality.

The mutual consent separation or divorce turned into a complete and definitive breakup. They stopped communicating, and everything that had united them disappeared. From the very beginning, Roy Makepeace wanted to make it clear to everyone that Cindy was not well. He wanted everyone to know from the moment he left her behind. On many occasions, he declared the following, she clearly suffers from multiple personality disorder. After the final breakup with her husband, Cindy began to receive very disturbed. phone calls. Every time she picked up the phone, there was a fake voice on the other end that, after a long silence, sentenced her to death. Then the caller would quickly hang up. Cindy reported

this to the Vancouver police, which prompted law enforcement to begin an investigation. Over the next three months, the harassment intensified. Cindy reported that every night she heard people lurking in her yard, the porch lights were destroyed, and the phone line was cut. According to Cindy's best friend, Agnes G. Cooke, strange notes piled up in her mailbox, extremely graphic notes about how an anonymous individual would kill Cindy. According to Melanie, the nurse's sister, Cindy also found photographs on her car windshield, pictures of corpses being wheeled into the morgue on gurneys. But it didn't stop there.

She also received packages of raw meat. Every morning, she would wake up to find the corpses of hanged cats in the tree in her yard. All this was always accompanied by threatening notes. The cats weren't just hung in the tree, they were also left on her doormat, along with letters written using newspaper cutouts. But the damage wasn't limited to the outside of her house. The perpetrator, when no one was watching, would sneak inside her home, break several windows, and slash all her cushions to shreds with scissors. No fingerprints were ever left, no evidence that a stranger had committed all those acts of vandalism. The police investigated the case with

great astonishment, nothing made sense. How was it possible for an intruder to hang all those cats in the yard without being discovered by the neighbors? How could someone break into her house without being seen or leaving any traces? As time passed, the police began to doubt Cindy's stories. Even so, they continued watching over her. Down deserted streets, a woman who feared for her life walked alone, not caring about the supposed danger she was in. Police interrogated her about this, and 24 hours later, her dog disappeared. Days later, the animal was found trembling, tied to a tree, and covered in its own feces. The harassment seemed to come in waves. For brief periods of time, Cindy would receive no calls,

no letters, no packages. But suddenly, the nightmare would return, and Cindy would would become completely destabilized. In desperation, she began writing a diary, a diary where she poured out all her anguish and despair. She didn't understand anything that was happening to her, and her words were chaotic and full of pain. Eventually, driven by panic, she decided to invest all her savings in hiring Ozzie Cabin, a prestigious local private investigator. When he took over the case, Cindy no longer felt safe. She no longer trusted anyone. She no longer trusted anyone, so she only gave him the information the police already had. From the very first moment, Cabin realized that Cindy was evasive and was withholding information. So,

in his investigation, he asked Cindy's mother, TYY, what she thought of her daughter, and she told him that Cindy indeed kept many things to herself because she was afraid of the threats, afraid that the stalker would hurt her parents or sisters. Cabin installed emergency lights at Cindy's residence and gave her a two-way portable radio, so it could serve as her panic button. If she heard or saw anything strange, she was supposed to take the radio and inform Ozzy Cabin immediately. But she never really did. One night, the man began to hear strange noises through the radio, sounds of banging, scratching, a combination of truly inexplicable things. He tried to contact her, tried to get Cindy to respond, but he received no

signal at all. To be continued. We start at the top of a wind-swept hill in southern Illinois. There stands an apparently idyllic dwelling surrounded by vast lands, with a large shed full of possibilities. Its name is Hickory Hill, and in recent years it has been visited by hundreds of people due to the strange phenomena that occur there. And its history has nothing to do with the piece it shows to the world on the outside. Once, there was a chamber of horrors where men, died, dragged here by heavy iron chains. This house was a prison, one of the cruelest prisons that ever existed. But its prisoners were not thieves or murderers, they were slaves. That is why today it is known as the old slave house. But now let's learn what really happened within its walls.

This story began with a birth, that of John Hart Crenshaw, on November 19, 1797. John was the son of William and Elizabeth Crenshaw, who unfortunately did not belong to the upper ranks of American society. They were a humble couple who at that time lived in a cozy little house located right between the borders of North Carolina and South Carolina. In those days, people usually had quite a few children, as each mouth to feed meant another potential income in the future. So it's no surprise that by 1810, when John was 14 years old, the Crenshaw's already had a total of seven children. The little house they lived and had become too small, so they thought it was time to find a new place to live. They gathered all their belongings

and moved to a much larger house located in New Madrid, Missouri. Unfortunately, their new home was destroyed by the earthquake of 1811. So once again, they had to gather up what little the earth had allowed them to keep and set off for a new destination. Apparently, Luck decided to smile on the Crenshaw's, offering them the opportunity to acquire some land in Saline, Illinois. There they gradually built a farm that they intended not only to be their home but also their main source of income. They planned to raise livestock, to cultivate, but none of that was possible. Because shortly after acquiring the property, they discovered that it contained a salt well, which they called Harmon Lake. In those days, salt was used as money or as barter material when

buying goods and supplies. So you can imagine the treasure the Crenshaw's had in their hands. Unfortunately, shortly after settling in Illinois, specifically in 1815, the father, William, passed away. In his will, he made it very clear who was to support the family, his eldest son, John. To him, he entrusted not only the property but also the moral duty of supporting his siblings and his mother. And indeed, his decision was truly wise. John was a very shrewd young man and realized that salt could be his ticket to freedom and power. As mentioned earlier, salt was highly valued at that time. In fact, shortly after the Crenshaw's acquired that land, the government realized that there was indeed a large

salt reserve in southern Illinois. They began leasing and exploiting the land as if there were no tomorrow. All the lands surrounding the Crenshaw House were acquired and exploited by the government. But John knew he just had to wait, he had to wait for the perfect moment, the moment when one of those parcels would be auctioned and he could build his own empire. And that moment arrived in early 1829. By then, the government had raised enough money to build a prison and make state improvements in Illinois. So they put up for sale all those lands they had previously exploited, and the first to bid on them was, of course, John Hart Crenshaw. Over the years, this man kept acquiring more and more land, and eventually, he ended up owning

several thousand acres. He also owned two furnaces and a sawmill. John Hart Crenshaw made his surname one of the most important in southern Illinois, developing extensive business interests that allowed him to amass a great fortune. However, today we do not remember him as an example of determination, struggle, and effort, we remember him for Hickory Hill and the injustices that took place there. Workers were always needed in the salt mines, the work there was very hard, so only the most desperate men showed up. Thus, slavery became vital to the success of the salt extraction operations. Unfortunately, in the minds of the powerful, this option could not be considered, since

slavery had been banned in Illinois in 1818. So they had to look for other ways to obtain labor. John never accepted a no for an answer. He didn't want to settle for what everyone else had, he didn't want just a few workers, he wanted hundreds of them, working from sunrise to sunset, exclusively for him. So he got in touch with several slave traders and leased a few to slightly increase his workforce. Little by little, he realized that the slave traders had a great business in their hands, a business he couldn't pass up. So he came up with what he considered the master plan.

to search for and capture fugitive slaves. Like him, many men hired the services of slave traders, who supplied human beings to be the workforce that kept their enterprises running. So while during the day the salt business theoretically operated within the margins of legality, at nightfall, John sent out the so-called night riders to hunt down black men and women. It didn't matter how, it didn't matter where, they had to catch them and return them to their rightful owners. Between 1830 and 1840, real raids were organized. The night riders were always on the lookout for fugitive slaves and knew their hiding places perfectly.

They knew that when they escaped from traders or their owners, they ran toward the Ohio River, where boatmen were waiting to help ferry them to freedom. So the riders, hiding in the shadows, waited for them, and when they saw the opportunity, they captured them all. This was a very profitable business, and when John's men returned them to their owners, they received juicy rewards. Within the framework of illegality, John considered that he was working for a common good, a good not far from the image society had of him, a respected businessman and an important pillar for the church and the

community. However, greed forced him to go further. He was no longer content with capturing fugitive slaves and returning them to their owners. No, now he began to kidnap free men, women, and children to sell them in the South. While there was a network of underground tunnels to help slaves escape to freedom, the night riders created another, completely different one, the so-called reverse railroad, through which slaves, instead of being taken to the freedom of the northern cities, were dragged to the plantations of the South,

where they would be exploited until the end of their days. No one in John's Circle could have imagined that he was holding slaves, much less that, taking advantage of his social status, he had kidnapped entire families and sold them as slaves. But incredibly, the worst was yet to come. In 1833, John hired an architect to build him a house, a house that had to meet a series of requirements. The first was that it had to resemble the classic Greek style,

with large columns adorning the main entrance. The second was that it had to have three stories so that from the third, he could overlook everything surrounding the construction, especially the Saline River. And the third was that, of course, the house had to have a large number of rooms, 13 on the lower floor and 13 on the main floor, and each and every one of them had to be heated by an independent fireplace. Thus began the construction of Hickory Hill,

a truly grand house whose owner adorned it with original works of art and furniture imported directly from Europe. It was the ideal place to throw grand parties, parties to which the most influential men of the time were invited, colorful parties, noisy parties, parties and more parties, perhaps organized to cover up the true purposes of the construction. For while at night on the main floor there were laughter, music, and alcohol, in the basements and attic was hell itself. To be continued, while at night on the main floor there was laughter, music, and alcohol, in the basements

and the attic there was hell itself. We will begin upstairs and little by little uncover all the surprises hidden in this idyllic dwelling. The attic is perhaps the scariest place in the house. Not only would its interior make anyone's hair stand on end, but also its entrance, a small stretch of narrow stairs, worn down by time, that only John could climb. Not even his wife was allowed to access that space. But why? Because upon climbing them, one would discover a wide hallway on whose sides there were more than a dozen cells, cells were men, women, and children were chained and kept in totally unsanitary conditions. The only ventilation and lighting system in this place were two tiny windows,

each located at the ends of this wide hallway. Unfortunately, during the summer months they were completely useless, as the heat turned this place into an authentic oven, and in winter, since they were permanently open, the cold seeped into the bones of all those people trapped by the evil of John Hart Crenz, who, whenever he had the chance, would enter the depths of this grim place and punish his body, poor victims in a thousand different ways, lashings, amputations, drownings, or even denying

them food for days. According to legend, when there was a buyer interested in one of the slaves, they were taken down to the basement of Hickory Hill, where they were forced to go through a long, dark tunnel that would lead them to certain death. Other slaves would be transported through other tunnels toward the Saline River, where they would board a boat that would take them directly to the southern plantations. But those who couldn't withstand the high temperatures of the attic or who couldn't go several days without food or drink would be led toward the death tunnel, which was large enough to hold a wagon. In this wagon, all the corpses were piled up and transported to the rear of the building. There they were loaded into various vehicles that would

carry them far from those lands to incinerate or bury them without raising suspicion. In 1842, Luck stopped smiling on John. Early that year, someone made a public accusation against him, accusing him of being the author of the kidnapping of a black woman and her children. The remarkable thing about this accusation is that it wasn't made to defend the honor of the people who had been forced to serve as slaves. In fact, up until that point, society still didn't know what was really happening at Hickory Hill. However, this accusation was enough for rumors to start circling about him, rumors claiming that his salt empire wasn't as legal as it seemed, that he kidnapped free men to sell them as slaves, that he tortured innocent children in the attic of

his residence, that he transported corpses through an endless network of tunnels under Hickory Hill. And the rumors became reality when, in 1844, his sawmill burned down, and among the rubble, the bodies of several slaves were found. And how did they know they were slaves? Because their feet were chained. Several people of the time took legal action against him, accusing him of trafficking slaves and selling free men and women. And while all this was happening, the government discovered new salt deposits in Virginia and Ohio, which turned out to be more profitable than those in southern Illinois. To make matters worse, John had a dispute with a slave, which resulted in the loss of his left leg. There are multiple versions of this, but in my opinion,

only two seem the most reliable. The first says that John, when drunk, tended to behave very violently, especially toward women. One morning, he kidnapped a black woman and dragged her to a field where he intended to assault her. The woman was lucky that her husband saw everything and followed them, and once he had the chance, he stabbed John Hart Crenz several times, especially in his left leg. He lost so much blood in that area, and the wounds became so infected that a surgeon had to amputate it. The second version says that John was attacked by surprise is by a revenge-seeking slave. Whatever the truth about why John had to have his leg amputated, after that, all the slaves were sold, and little by little his great salt enterprise shrank

until the outbreak of the American Civil War. It was then that he decided to abandon Hickory Hill and move with his family to a farm closer to equality, where he would begin a new commercial phase, selling both the products he cultivated and the timber from the trees growing on his lands. As one might expect, he was never convicted of his crimes. He died on December 4, 1871, while sleeping in his comfortable bed next to his beloved wife. And as indicated in his will, he was buried in the Hickory Hill Cemetery, a solitary plot located northeast of his old house, the one where he committed most of his bloody crimes. In 1913, the cis couple fell in love with the magnificent house that rose on the horizon.

So they made an offer to its owners. They didn't know its history, but the truth is, they didn't care much, at least not until they began receiving strange visits. Visits from people who claimed to come from the other side of the world just to see what their house was like inside. Visits from people who knocked on their door and asked strange questions, questions like, is it true there are cells in the attic? Are there really tunnels in the basements?

When they bought the property, the attic was full of old junk, so they had barely gone up there, and the same was true for the basement. But faced with those questions, they had no choice but to start investigating, and after several months of searching, they realized they were living in one of the bloodiest prisons in Illinois history. In fact, historical records almost officially call it Hickory Hill, but people living nearby knew it by a completely different name, the old slave house. It was starting in 1920 when the cis couple began opening the doors of their house so that anyone with the slightest interest in the history of slavery in Illinois could come and see the real Hickory Hill. Little by little, they realized that this could be a very profitable business, so from 1930 onward, they began charging a penny for each person who entered their house. It was then that visitors reported that something really strange was happening in the house. They complained of strange noises in the attic, noises that sounded like muffled screams, cries, moans, and even the rattling of what seemed to be heavy iron chains, chains that hit the floor and even

dragged along it. Several people claimed to feel uncomfortable in some of the attic cells, to feel intense dread, sadness, to claim they were being watched by someone they couldn't see, and even reported being touched by invisible hands. The SISCs couldn't believe it, they couldn't imagine it, as they themselves hadn't experienced anything like that in the house, perhaps because they hardly spent time in the active areas or perhaps because they didn't believe in paranormal phenomena. Until one night, when a ghost hunter decided to carry out a ritual in the attic. The purpose was for the supposed spirits to find peace, but things didn't go well, and the man ended up fleeing in screams. No one knows what happened up there, but thanks to this, the

SISCs organized a new program as part of the tour they offered to tourists. This program consisted of inviting a few people to spend the entire night in the attic of horrors. Years passed, and although many tried, no one was able to spend the entire night in the attic of the old slave house. The ghost hunters had the habit of abandoning the attic hours before dawn, and finally, the program ended when one of them forgot his flashlight on, causing a small fire. After that, the Cisks rejected all offers, they didn't want anyone to spend a night in their attic again. Until in 1978, a reporter from Harrisburg named David Rogers knocked on their door. The man belonged to a special program dedicated to their beautiful house, and as expected, he introduced himself as a skeptic. He intended to sit on the attic floor and tell his recorder the disturbing

story hanging over Hickory Hill. He didn't plan to embellish anything, he didn't. He didn't didn't plan to talk about ghosts. However, his recorder picked up something he could never have imagined. The reporter tried to ignore the feeling of discomfort he felt all night, the sensation that someone was watching from the shadows, but what he couldn't ignore was that his recorder, while he was speaking, picked up several more voices, voices that clearly shouldn't have been there, voices of people lamenting, trying to interact with the skeptical reporter. In 1996, the old slave house closed due to the health problems of Mr. and Mrs. Sisk.

Only four years later, the Illinois government acquired the property. Their idea was to turn the house into an authentic museum. Unfortunately, that never happened. Reopening the house to the public required major renovations, repairs, a new road, parking space, and all this would cost at least $7 million, a price they were not willing to pay. So both the house and the grounds were permanently closed to the public. Still, if you search the internet, you'll find homemade videos of people who do not fear the warnings and who have snuck into Hickory Hill, facing not only the law but also the ghosts that apparently inhabit it.

But now it's your turn, do you believe the house is truly haunted, or is it just baseless legend? The end. But little by little, things started to become more and more sinister. As night fell, whispers, voices, and the keys of a piano echoed through every corner of the house. And when Mary got out of bed to look for the origin of those sounds, she always ended up in the same place. We begin, on a corner of Franklin Boulevard in Cleveland, where there is a beautiful castle whose story has become the subject of the worst nightmares you can imagine. Its stone tower, threatening gargoyles, and dark windows hide something more than just an air of mystery,

they hide a story full of unpleasant characters, sadness, madness, terror, and unexplained deaths. But is the story of this place really that horrible? Let's find out. This story begins with a man named Hans Tiedeman, a German immigrant who had settled in Cleveland with his family. This man began working as a barrel maker, selling his product wholesale. What was initially meant to be a family business wasn't expected to become a multimillion dollar company. However, this business brought him great profits. So Hans ended up going into banking and founding a new company called Euclid Avenue Savings and Trust.

And this one did indeed turn him and his family into truly wealthy people. Now, suddenly, they had a lot of money. But they still had the same friends and the same run-down house. So Hans decided it was time for a change. He hired the famous architectural firm Cudell and Richardson and asked them to build a beautiful castle for him in one of the most exclusive areas of all Cleveland, Franklin Boulevard. And so, between 1881 and 1883, the residence you can now see on the screen was created, a castle with more than 20 rooms, 88 windows, and an annex house meant to store carriages.

The floors and walls of this place were adorned with tapestries and elaborately decorated oak wood paneling. The chairs, armchairs, tables, and paintings, every element was thought out and designed exclusively for this house, which seemed like the ideal place to start a great family and host relatives visiting from Germany. However, it is said that this was never a happy home, as Hans Tiedemann was not exactly a good family man. A large number of people lived in this house at the same time, on one side, the Tiedemans, and on the other, the servants. The Tiedemann family was made up of the following members, Hans Teetaman, the father, his mother, named Viveka, his wife, Louise, and their three children, August, Emma, and Dora. The servants, some sources say there were

seven, others eight, included a gardener, cook, cleaning staff, and of course, a woman who took care of the children. During their early years in the castle, the Teetamans gained a reputation for being a very strange family. Louise did not speak to the neighbors, and the children were very quiet, which was odd, as children are usually noisy, running through the garden, throwing balls, but these children were different. In fact, if it weren't for the neighbors seeing them through the windows, no one would have thought the Tiedemans even had kids. So people began to talk.

Hans was a very serious man who inspired respect, so there were rumors that he mistreated his wife and children. People said he didn't allow his children to leave the house and, of course, didn't let his wife talk to anyone either, because he was terribly afraid of being found out. But the neighbors had no proof, so they couldn't do anything. In 1891, tragedy began. At the beginning of the year, Viveka, Hansa's mother, died in her sleep. She was an elderly woman, so no one suspected anything,

and this death was followed just a few days later by the death of the Tiedemann's eldest daughter, young Emma. The cause of her death, diabetes, a disease that was fatal at that time. So again, no one was surprised. What truly worried the neighbors was that the rest of the Teetam and children started dying, one after another. Over the next three years, August and Dora died, and Louise lost a great number of babies. It was never known how they died. It is said that Dora fell down the stairs and that August died in his sleep.

As for the babies, it is said that they simply stopped breathing or were born dead. One of them lived until 11 days after birth. According to people who knew them, this family seemed cursed, and that curse is what caused Louise to fall into depression and wander through the house like a ghost, dressed entirely in black. Hans Teeteman didn't know what to do to cheer up his wife, so he once again called Cudell and Richardson to make renovations to the house. He added a ballroom on the third floor, added the turrets and gargoyles, and according to legend,

also ordered the construction of secret passageways and rooms, places he would later use to commit atrocious crimes. At the time, two truly sinister rumors existed about Hans Teetaman. The first directly linked him to the death of his niece. One day, the Teetamans called the police and reported that their niece, a teenage girl with mental problems, had hanged herself from one of the beams of the house. But when the police arrived, they found a scene that did not seem like a simple suicide, as the body was hanging from a beam in a dark passageway, one located behind a wall in the ballroom. To enter there, the girl had to go through a secret door completely covered with wallpaper. How she found it, no one knows. But her body was there. And the second

rumor connected him to the death of a servant. It is said that Hans Tiedeman was an incurable womanizer and that, on one occasion, he became infatuated with a servant. But when he found out she had just gotten married, he pushed her down the stairs and hit her body for months in one of the secret passageways. And now you may ask, were those secret passageways and rooms real? For years, people have searched for those passageways and hidden corners, but no one has ever found anything, either because they never existed or because the later owners made sure to seal them. However, even without them, many people have been. deaths and tragedies continued to be linked to the house. On March 24, 1895, Louise Teeteman,

57 years old, died of liver failure. Barely a few months had passed when Hans remarried a much younger woman. And this act reignited the rumors. People said this man had killed his wife, but that he was so powerful the police didn't dare to put him behind bars. But no one ever knew the truth, and this case was never investigated. Hans sold the house to a local family named Mulhazer and then moved to a much larger house located on Lake Road. From here, what we know is that after a year, he divorced his new wife, and in 1908, while walking alone in a park, he died of a stroke. In 1913, just five years after buying the house, the Mulhazers sold it, and the new buyer was the German Socialist Party. The party intended to use the house for meetings and parties.

But once again, people began to talk. They said the castle was really being used as a headquarters for espionage efforts during World War I. They also said that interrogations were carried out inside and that many people were tortured in the secret passages and tunnels. For years, that was just a rumor. No one had dates, documents, nothing. But many sources say that when the party left the castle, a large number of very sophisticated devices were found inside the walls. What they were used for, no one knows. But many say they could be linked to espionage.

In January of 1968, the party sold the house to the Romano family, a family made up of eight members, James, Mary, and their six children. Since it was such a large house, the Romano's plan to turn it into a restaurant. However, as soon as they moved in, they realized this dream could never come true. On the first day of the move, while the adults were unloading boxes from the trucks, the youngest children were sent upstairs to play. But just a few minutes had passed when two of them, Jim and Dee, came down the stairs and asked their parents if they could give a cookie to their new friend. Mary, upon hearing this, was in shock. So she followed the children upstairs.

But in the spot where the girl was supposedly sitting, she couldn't see anything. The children kept pointing their fingers and saying that the girl was sitting there in a corner. To marry Romano, it seemed terrifying. To be continued. And to say that that girl was sitting there in a corner, to marry Romano that seemed, terrifying, but even so, she thought her, children were pulling her leg, so she didn't give it much importance. But little by little, things began to become more and more, sinister. As night fell, the whispers, voices, and the keys of a piano, traveled through every corner of the house, and, when Mary got out of bed to find the origin of those sounds, she always ended

up in the same place, the old ballroom, located on the third floor. This woman, began to think she was losing her, mind since apparently she was the only, one hearing strange things. So, she decided not to tell anyone. The house was very old. My sister Dee and I were five years old, and the two who came, after us, also twins, were three. The four of us were always scared and wanted to sleep with the lights on. But if we told our older siblings that we thought we had, seen or heard something, they would say it was our imagination.

We knew that wasn't true. Mary constantly felt, harassed by invisible forces. While doing the dishes, she felt someone, breathing on her neck, and while hanging, clothes in the garden, she, wanted to see vaporous figures, peeking through the windows. But, what scared her the most was that her young, children kept playing with that imaginary friend, with that girl who on the first day was crying alone in a corner of, the house. According to the little ones, this girl would appear and disappear at will. None of them knew her name, because she never told them, but, apparently, she always wore a white dress and loved playing, hide and seek. At first, she was only seen, on the upper floors, but as time passed, this girl started, wandering throughout the house, and with her came other strange events. Sometimes, the light in a room would turn on even though no one was, inside.

The doors opened and closed, on their own. In the mornings, scratches appeared on every wall. And then, one day without warning, a window pane shattered into, a thousand pieces. The house was incomplete, silence, a thick and very uncomfortable silence. Suddenly, it, was interrupted by the sound of, shattering glass. We turned, around and the window was, shattered. It was as if someone, from the inside, had thrown a rock, at the glass. but there was no one who could have done it, and the rock never appeared.

Mary was terrified, so one day, she invited three friends to see if they, could notice anything strange in the house. She didn't tell them anything about what was, happening, she simply had them walk, corner, and eventually led them, to the old ballroom. She only wanted, to see if they noticed something. She didn't expect a poltergeist, or for a ghost to appear. She just wanted someone to tell her she wasn't crazy. And as they were climbing the stairs, to the third floor, they discovered that, right in the middle of the old ballroom, there was a dark and mysterious fog, a kind of shadow with no clear form. However, the more they stared at it, the more it seemed like the shape of a woman wearing a long black dress, and a veil covering

her face. Anyone with common sense would have run away, but one of, those present worked up the courage, and walked toward that thing to, see exactly what it was. But when he was just about, three steps away from it, the brave, one started screaming, screaming with all his, strength because he claimed, he had gone blind. All those, present ran to help him, and, the moment they burst into that ballroom, the fog, vanished completely. As the weeks went by, the dark shadow that haunted, the ballroom began to take on, more and more shape and until it became, what it really was, a pale woman, who murmured and walked making her, heels echo loudly.

That way, of walking, those murmurs, those, noises, the woman clearly seemed, to be very angry. And that, became clear on Halloween night in 1973, that night, the Romano family, like so many others, had gone out, trick or treating, and when they returned, they were so tired that they went straight to bed. However, around midnight, the phone started ringing. Everyone knows that if the phone rings at that hour, it must be an emergency. So Mary jumped out of bed, ran down the hallway, and picked up the phone. Mary asked again, who it was, but no one answered. She only heard a shaky breath on the other end. And just as she was about, to hang up, an electric sounding, voice said the following words,

Can I sleep with you tonight? After that, the paranormal events became much more aggressive. The children would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and swearing that a dark figure had pulled their sheets, and then hid under their beds. More and more windows, shattered into a thousand pieces, more and more scratches appeared on the walls, and the entire neighborhood kept reporting seeing a woman dressed in black,

peaking from the third floor windows. Things got so sinister, that the Romano's contacted, a Catholic priest directly. They asked him to please cleanse their house, but the man refused. According to him, the spirits did not accept them as the new, owners of the castle. Those specters, considered the house to be theirs, so the best thing they could do was, leave before things, got really twisted. The Romano family had invested all, their savings in that house, so they did everything they could, to rid it of those spirits. But unfortunately, they, couldn't, so in 74, they sold it to a man named Sam, Muscatelho. During the last years, of the Romano's stay, the fame of, Franklin Castle had skyrocketed.

Everyone had heard of, the family's misfortunes, so it's no surprise at the moment, it went on the market, someone, interested in capitalizing, on the curse rushed to buy. it, and that someone was none other, then Sam Muscatelow. This man, the moment he, bought the house, began, offering guided tours to everyone, and at the same time selling, the story to the media. And, really, at first the business, did quite well. The, media dedicated many specials, to Franklin Castle and showed the world just how haunted, the house was. A clear example of, this was the experience of John Webster, a local radio host who was filming a Halloween special telling the terrifying story of this place. They say an invisible force, ripped a recorder from his

hands, and threw it down the stairs. I was there holding the microphone, he said, watching the recorder, fly down to the bottom of the stairs, where it shattered into pieces. On another occasion, when television was filming a special there, a reporter named Teddo Us witnessed something truly unusual, one of the ceiling lights, just a, simple bulb hanging from a cable, started spinning on its own. There were no drafts, no one had, touched it, but that light bulb was moving. And, even though it may sound silly, the man was so scared, he had to quickly leave the set. By then, it was clear that paranormal events were real, but were the crimes of Hans Titman Raoul.

Sam Muscatelho needed proof, to sell to the newspapers. So for months, he searched the, rooms and secret hallways, where supposedly Hans Titman committed his terrible crimes. That's when he found, human remains behind a panel, in the tower, an event, that sparked a huge debate, among mystery lovers. On one side were the, people who supported Sam Muscatelow, those who said the bones were, real and clearly belonged to one of Hans Titman's victims. And on the other side were, those who didn't believe him, people who said Muscatelow,

was capable of going to a graveyard, digging up a tomb, and using the bones just to, get media attention. Whatever the case, Sam Musketello never turned, the bones over to a lab, so no proper tests, were ever done. He kept them as a souvenir, and overnight, he sold the house, without keeping. giving anyone any explanation. From that point on, the residents changed hands, several times, first to a doctor, then to Cleveland's police chief, and then to George Mirza, a man who tried to follow Muscatelho's footsteps, and turned Franklin Castle, into a tourist attraction.

But just like him, in 1984 he sold the house, without any explanation. The next buyer was none, other than Mickey Deans, the last husband of singer and, actress Judy Garland. The man was absolutely, captivated by the castle, and spent over a million dollars completely renovating it. He got the original blueprints, restored the front door, placed antique furniture, restored tapestries, hung up, vintage paintings. But again, like all, the other buyers, he put it up for sale in 1994. For the next five years, the castle remained abandoned, until finally in 99, someone bought it and continued, its restoration. But once again, after investing a fortune, they put it up for sale,

without saying a word to anyone. And this chain continued, until 2012, when it was announced, that the castle was going, to be turned into a set of apartments. But guess what? Construction has been on hold, ever since, and the building is, closed to the park. public. No one really knows who, owns it now, or, if they plan to continue renovating it. They only know that screams, and strange murmurs, still come from the building, late at night. But of course, now it's your turn, what do you think about this case? Do you believe the house is really haunted, or is it just a simple legend? The end. So she came up with the brilliant idea of getting revenge on the masters. It would soon be little Mary Octavia's birthday, so she decided to make

her a cake and include in it a secret ingredient, a reduction of oleander leaves, which are extremely poisonous. Let's begin. Mertl's plantation is an antebellum plantation located in St. Francisville, Louisiana. For centuries, it passed from hand to hand until it became what it is today, a bed and breakfast that offers guests the chance to go back in time and experience what life on a plantation was like. The phone coverage there is very poor, the decoration is the same as 50 years ago, and many guests have said that the staff's attention is not the best. However, there is something that keeps this place very visited, and that something is its ghosts.

Ghosts capable of pulling off your sheets, moving objects, appearing in mirrors and photographs. And now I'll tell you their stories. This story began with a man named David Bradford, who was born in the seven, 17th century into a high-class family. As expected, this man became a lawyer and deputy attorney general of Washington County, Pennsylvania. However, he didn't become famous for those roles but for his part in the so-called Whiskey Rebellion. Around the year 1791, the federal government decided to impose a tax on whiskey, and that tax affected the regions that produced this drink, and therefore affected farmers and distillers. This angered the people so much that many rebelled,

among them General David Bradford. He was the mastermind behind several operations and had such an active role that he became known as Whiskey Dave. Unfortunately, this nickname, though it earned him the favor of many people, also earned him the enmity of President George Washington, who ordered the arrest of Bradford and his men. But Bradford was very smart and quickly devised the perfect plan. At that time, the state of Louisiana did not belong to the United States but to New Spain. So if he and his men reached that area, they would be free. And so it was. They avoided roads and hid in the shadows for weeks, and with great effort finally reached their destination. Bradford knew that upon arriving, he could not immediately bring his wife and five

children. So, while things calmed down, he acquired land, 350 acres, and in 1796, he built his new home, a plantation called Laurel Grove. Several years had to pass before President John Adams granted him a pardon and allowed him to return to Pennsylvania. But until then, Bradford investigated the origins of the land he was living on and discovered that it used to be a burial ground for Native Americans. His house was built on top of hundreds of thousands of bodies. And according to tradition, anyone who dares disturb the rest of the dead

will be the victim of a terrible curse, a curse that will pursue anyone who walks in their footsteps. But Bradford didn't believe in these stories. He had crossed the border, acquired incredible land, and now, after a long time, was going to reunite with his beloved family. He couldn't be luckier. So the curse wasn't catching up to him, or at least not yet. In 1808, David Bradford died and left all his belongings to his widow, Elizabeth Bradford.

As was common at the time, the properties and the fate of her children were in her hands. So in 1817, the widow arranged a marriage between her daughter, Sarah Matilda, and the lawyer Clark Woodruff. From here, the story splits into two versions, the official and the unofficial. The official version says that this marriage decided to move to Laurel Grove, and there they brought into the world their three children, Cornelia Gale, James, and Mary Octavia. Sadly, between 1823 and 1824, Yellow Fever took the lives of Sarah Matilda, James, and Cornelia Gale. After seven years of mourning, Clark Woodruff and his daughter Mary Octavia left the property and never returned. From this point on, we have the unofficial version, a version that claims those deaths didn't happen the way we're told.

Slavery was illegal in the United States until 1863. Until then, Masters could do practically whatever they wanted with slaves, and that was the daily reality, especially on plantations. A slave's duty was to obey without question, work long hours, and always do whatever the master demanded. It is said that among those who worked at Laurel Grove was a very beautiful young woman named Chloe. Chloe entered the plantation at a very young age and served the woodruff's in all household tasks. She cooked, cleaned, cared for the children. But unfortunately, the master became infatuated with her and forced her to become his mistress. Either Chloe agreed, or she be sold or sent to the fields, and working there was much harsher.

So she simply resigned herself. Time passed, and the master stopped seeking her. Chloe feared the worst, if the master no longer sought her, it was probably because he'd grown tired of her. Maybe now he planned to sell her, torture her, or even kill her. anything could happen so she began listening behind doors peeking through keyholes pressing her ear to walls and one of those times the master caught her as punishment he grabbed her by the hair dragged her outside and there in front of the other slaves he cut off her ear before that Chloe had been

very attractive she wore earrings fancy hairstyles but now all she wanted was to cover her humiliation. So she began wearing colorful turbans. The young woman wasn't just ashamed, she was also full of anger. So she came up with the brilliant idea of getting revenge on the masters. It would soon be little Mary Octavia's birthday, so she decided to make her a cake and include in it a secret ingredient, a reduction of oleander leaves, which are extremely poisonous. Chloe's idea was simple, each child would eat a piece of cake and get sick. She needed. She needed, the remedies to save their lives, so she would care for them and save them, and thus, the masters would love her again.

She had lost her ear, but she wasn't about to give up her job. Unfortunately, that day things didn't go as expected. Mary Octavia didn't eat the cake. Instead, James, Cornelia Gale, and their mother, Sarah Matilda, did. Each of them took a slice, but while Chloe was distracted, they took a second one. that second slice was fatal. The children and the mother died in terrible agony. If the master found out, the whole house would suffer the consequences. So it was the slaves who had to punish this woman. Several of them hanged her from a tree and later threw her body into the Mississippi

River. There's an ancient belief that when someone dies in a house, all the mirrors must be covered, otherwise, their soul will get trapped inside them. Sadly, when Sarah Matilda and her two children died at Laurel Grove, no one thought to cover the mirror at the entrance. And that mirror became the home of their three ghosts. Since then, a stain appeared on that mirror, and no one has ever been able to remove it. Some sources say that mirror arrived at the plantation in 1820, others say later. But all agree that in 1834, Mr. Woodruff sold the plantation, the land, and the slaves to Ruffin Gray Sterling and his wife, Mary Catherine Cobb. This couple, upon arriving at Laurel Grove, thought it was too mediocre for them.

So they decided to completely revamp it. They nearly doubled its size and also renamed it to Myrtle's plantation. They filled its rooms with imported European furniture, Carrara marble, tapestries, sculptures, and all kinds of items that showed guests the grandeur of the owners. But there was one element that surprised everyone, hand-painted stained glass windows, which bore the French cross, also known as the cross of Lorraine. It was often used as a protective amulet to ward off evil spirits. Several sources say the Sterling's experienced paranormal phenomena while living there.

They saw shadows, strange reflections, and claimed to see a slave with a green turban watching them from the darkness. The Sterling family had up to nine children in the plantation, but unfortunately, tragedy struck, five of them died young. And in 1854, Ruffin Gray Sterling also died. Just like the Bradford family, he left everything to his beloved wife. Though she wanted to leave that land with all her heart, she stayed there until her final days, a decision that would cost her dearly. Because in 1861, the Civil War broke out in the United States.

As with other plantations, Myrtles was looted. Union soldiers stormed the property violently, stole jewelry, sculptures, and valuables, and killed three men who tried to stop them. Since then, the blood of one of those men remained imprinted behind a door, and it said that today it still has the shape and size of a human silhouette. Not only that, but trying to sweep across that doorway with a broom is impossible, the broom gets stuck right on the threshold. For years after this tragedy, Mary hired a man to manage the plantation.

That man was none other than lawyer William Drew Winter. From here, the story has many versions, but I'll give you the most coherent one. Months after being hired as Mary Cobb's lawyer, Winter married one of her daughters, Sarah Sterling, and quickly started a family with her. Some sources say they had six children, others say four. But from the beginning, tragedies began to strike them. In 1868, due to financial problems, the couple had to sell Myrtle's plantation. But just two years later, they managed to recover it. Sadly, not long after returning, their three-year-old daughter Catherine contracted yellow fever.

At the time, the disease had no cure. The winters could only pray for her soul. That's when they heard about a young woman who could perform miracles. On a nearby plantation, there was a woman named Cleo, who used voodoo to heal. They quickly summoned her and gave her everything in exchange. for saving their daughter. Cleo locked herself in the little girl's room day and night. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't save her.

As punishment, she too lost her life. Some versions say Mr. Winter hanged her from the front tree, others say he hired men to do it. Either way, it said her ghost now appears in the daughter's room and performs voodoo rituals on anyone who dares sleep there. But the tragedies didn't end there. In 1871, a man named E.S. Weber trespass on the property and shot William Winter. The man tried his best to enter the house and ask his wife for help, but he lost so much blood

that he couldn't reach the second floor. Staggering, he died on the 17th step. After her husband's death, Sarah wore mourning and stayed on the plantation until 1880, the year she died. The property then passed to their eldest son, Stephen Winter, who, due to death, sold it six years later to Orundit Brooks. From then on, the plantation changed hands until becoming what it is today, a bed and breakfast considered one of the most haunted places in the world. Its guests have repeatedly reported feeling presences or even seeing famous ghosts, especially the slave Chloe. In photos shared online, ghostly figures are seen emerging from windows and stealing the spotlight in innocent selfies. But it's not just the guests who notice this,

even the owners of the property can capture them. In 1992, the owner took photos of the entire plantation to prove to the insurance company that fire escapes were in good condition. And in one photo, they captured the shape of a woman who shouldn't have been there, a woman wearing the typical clothing of house slaves, and a turban. And you know what's creepiest of all? A few years ago, a fire broke out in that exact part of the plantation, in the very building where Chloe was supposedly seen.

And there were three very eerie things about it. First, even though firefighters cut the electricity, they found a lamp inside still on. They did everything to turn it off, but it only went out once they took it out of the building. Second, the fire only destroyed the new part, the section added by the new owners to expand activities. Had the fire started in the central part, the entire plantation would have exploded due to a large gas tank stored there. Third, weeks before the fire, a plantation worker had a strange vision. One day, in his house, the bathroom door slammed by itself, the fire alarm went off, but there was no smoke, no fire.

He thought it was a glitch. But that same night, he dreamed a woman dressed in white told him to flee because the fire would trap him. The dream repeated for weeks. And then, one day, his boss is called, the new Myrtle's building was. was on fire. Many paranormal shows have visited this place over the years, in 2002 I of Mysteries, in 2005 Ghost Adventures. But the investigation I want to highlight today is the one done by Ghost Hunters. I'm not a big fan of this show because they exaggerate everything, but in this

case, they captured something worth mentioning, among other evidence, they recorded a female voice revealing that the ghost of Mr. Winter was located exactly where he died, on the 17th step. Let me close with one of the creepiest experiences I've ever read. If you check out the Myrtle's page on TripAdvisor, you'll find truly chilling stories. But the one that gave me goosebumps is this. My husband and I stayed there on July 1st and 2nd, 2003. We only stayed one night, and that night was enough. We couldn't sleep because we heard footsteps outside our door, and also saw the shadow of a man

walking back and forth past our window. We heard running water in our bathroom. We were in the Magnolia room at the back. Around 2 a.m., while we were out of the room, we heard the sound of children laughing. It seemed to come from the area where the statue of the woman stands, right in front of our room. We took some photos at Myrtles, and in many of them, a red figure appeared. I can't explain what it is. My husband and I are convinced this place is haunted.

Anonymous, July 2003, but now it's your turn. What do you think about this case? Do you believe Myrtle's is haunted, or do you think it's all suggestion? The end. To understand today's story, we need to travel back in time to the quiet little town of Aberdeen, a small community nestled in the Upper Hunter region of New South Wales, Australia. Aberdeen wasn't exactly a bustling metropolis. According to the 2016 census, it had a population of just 1,894 people, but the events were

about to dive into happened long before that, back in the mid-20th century, specifically in the 1940s. This isn't your average small-town story, though. This one is dark, shocking, and filled with twists you wouldn't believe. Our tale begins with a woman named Barbara Rogan, who seemed to have it all. She was married to Jack, the manager of the local slaughterhouse, and together they had four children. From the outside, their life looked perfect, Jack was a hard-working, attentive husband, and Barbara played the role of the devoted mother. But appearances, as they say,

can be deceiving. Behind closed doors, Barbara was far from the picture-perfect wife. She was having an affair with a man named Ken Knight, who just so happened to be one of Jack's good friends. Yes, you heard that right. Ken and Jack were not just acquaintances, they worked together and were close enough to hang out socially. When news of Barbara's betrayal spread, it rocked the small town to its core. If that wasn't enough to turn heads, Ken's reputation only added fuel to the fire. He was known for being a heavy drinker and had a history of aggressive behavior. The scandal didn't stop there. Barbara didn't just leave Jack for Ken, she left her four children behind, an act that was considered outrageous and unthinkable

at the time. People in Aberdeen couldn't stop talking about it. Most folks didn't believe Barbara and Ken's relationship would last, given Ken's reputation and the circumstances of their union. Yet, against all odds, the couple stayed together and even went on to have for more children, two boys and twin girls. One of those twins was Catherine Mary Knight, born on October 24, 1955, in Tenterfield. At first glance, Catherine's childhood might have seemed ordinary, but nothing could be further from the truth. When she was very young, people described her as a sweet, affectionate, and shy little girl. But as she grew older, her behavior took a sharp turn.

She became distant, aggressive, and unpredictable. The roots of this shift lay in her turbulent home life. Catherine's parents, Barbara and Ken, were anything but nurturing. Both came from abusive backgrounds, and their toxic relationship only perpetuated the cycle. Ken was an abusive man who regularly mistreated Barbara and their children. He forced Barbara into unwanted sexual encounters, sometimes even in front of their kids, and had no qualms about physically abusing his family. Barbara, on the other hand, was cold and distant, showing little to no affection for her children.

When Catherine and her siblings sought help from relatives, they were met with indifference. By the time Catherine was four years old, she had started to mentally detach from reality. The more she suffered, the more she retreated into her own mind. later speculated that this early trauma stunted her emotional development, leaving her unable to grasp basic emotions like love, happiness, or empathy. Then, in 1959, Jack, Barbara's first husband, passed away. Barbara took in two of her older children from her first marriage, bringing the household total to six kids.

The home, already chaotic, descended further into disarray. At school, Catherine displayed two completely different personalities. On one hand, she could be a bully, mercilessly tormenting other children. Some accounts suggest she defended the weaker kids, but others paint a much darker picture, describing her as someone who enjoyed picking fights and using her fists, and sometimes even weapons, to assert dominance. In one particularly alarming incident, Catherine brought a knife to school with the intent of causing serious harm.

On the other hand, Catherine knew how to charm authority figures. To her teachers, she was polite, respectful, and well-behaved. She even won awards for her exemplary conduct. This duality made her unpredictable and, frankly, terrifying to those who knew her. By the age of 14 or 15, Catherine dropped out of school. Some sources claim she never learned to read or write, though this is debated. Regardless, she didn't let her lack of education stop her from finding work. Her first job was at a textile factory, but it wasn't a job she enjoyed.

She stuck it out for a year before landing what she called her dream job at the Aberdeen Slaughterhouse. For most people, the slaughterhouse would have been a tough place to work. The sight, smell, and sound of animals being killed would be enough to make anyone queasy. But Catherine thrived there. She didn't just tolerate the gruesome nature of the job, she loved it. She enjoyed watching the animals bleed out and even experimented with different methods of killing them. Catherine took her work seriously, investing in a set of high-quality knives that she meticulous

miraculously sharpened and cared for. She eagerly took on the bloodiest, most unpleasant tasks that others avoided. Her enthusiasm for the job helped her climb the ranks quickly. In 1973, Catherine met her first boyfriend, David Stanford Kellett. She was 18 at the time, and he was 22. The two hit it off immediately, and their relationship moved at lightning speed. Within months, they were engaged. However, their relationship was far from picture-perfect.

Both Catherine and David had a penchant for heavy drinking, and their alcohol-fueled arguments often escalated into violence. David's drinking had already cost him his previous job, but Catherine's behavior when drunk was even more alarming. She became aggressive and confrontational, often looking for a fight. Despite this, David excused her behavior, claiming she was sweet and loving most of the time. He was head over heels for her and seemed willing to overlook her darker side.

The couple married in 1974, and during the wedding reception, David David's mother pulled him aside and offered some chilling advice, if you do anything wrong, she'll kill you. David laughed it off, thinking it was just a dramatic warning from an overprotective mother. He would soon learn just how serious she had been. Their marriage got off to a rocky start. On their wedding night, Catherine tried to strangle David in a fit of rage. The reason?

She was furious that they had only had sex three times, while her parents, according to her, had done it five times on their wedding night. demanded that David match or surpassed that number, and when he didn't, she decided he needed to be punished. Despite this horrifying incident, David forgave her. He chalked it up to a combination of nerves, exhaustion, and too much alcohol. In September 1975, Catherine discovered she was pregnant, and the couple was thrilled. However, the joy didn't last long. Catherine's jealousy and possessiveness grew worse during her pregnancy, and after the birth of their daughter, Melissa, on May 11, 1976, things spiraled completely out of control.

Catherine's violent outbursts became more frequent, and one day, she attempted to stab David with a broken bottle. That was the final straw for him. David packed his bags and left, moving to Queensland with another woman. Catherine was devastated. She was determined to make David pay for leaving her, and her anger soon turned toward their infant daughter. In July 1976, witnesses saw Catherine, acting erratically as she pushed Melissa's stroller through town. At first, she seemed dazed, walking in a straight line with a blank expression. But then she started shaking the stroller violently and even pushed it toward oncoming traffic. Horrified bystanders called the police,

who arrived just in time to intervene. Catherine was taken to St. Elmo's Hospital, where she was diagnosed with postpartum depression and kept under observation for two weeks. However, Catherine's release didn't mark the end of her erratic behavior. Shortly after, After returning home, she placed Melissa on a set of railroad tracks and left her there. A man passing by spotted the baby and rescued her just in time. Meanwhile, Catherine was wandering the streets, threatening people with an axe she had stolen from a neighbor. Once again, the police were called, and Catherine was arrested and sent back to the hospital.

Despite these alarming incidents, she was released after just 24 hours. David, still in Queensland, was either unaware of Catherine's actions or chose to ignore them. Frustrated by his absence, Catherine decided to take matters into her own hands. She grabbed a knife, held Melissa in her arms, and forced a woman to drive her to Queensland. When the woman tried to escape, Catherine slashed her face and continued to threaten her. The victim eventually managed to call the police at a gas station, and Catherine was arrested yet again. This time, she was sent to Morris at psychiatric hospital. While in the hospital, Catherine's obsession with David reached New Heights.

She showed no remorse for her actions and repeatedly stated that she planned to kill David and the mechanic who had repaired his car, blaming him for enabling David's escape. The hospital staff, recognizing the severity of her mental health issues, contacted David and urged him to visit. On August 9, 1976, Catherine was released from the hospital and placed in the care of her mother-in-law. Surprisingly, this arrangement led to a reconciliation between Catherine and David. He agreed to give their relationship another shot, and the couple relocated to Woodridge, a suburb of Brisbane, in an attempt to start fresh. At first, it seemed like the move had done them good. David found work as a truck driver, and Catherine got a job

at a slaughterhouse in Brisbane. She appeared to be happier and more stable, even earning praise from friends and family for her improved behavior. David, convinced that Catherine had changed, through her a birthday party in October that year. The couple seemed to be back on track, but behind closed doors, their relationship was as volatile as ever. Catherine's life was a storm waiting to break. Her facade of normalcy couldn't last forever, and the chaos that simmered beneath the surface was about to erupt in ways no one could have imagined. A twisted life, the unfolding nightmare of Catherine Knight.

Behind closed doors, life was anything but ordinary for Catherine Knight. Outwardly, everything seemed fine, a picture-perfect facade, but behind the walls of her home, chaos brewed, slowly and ominously. had a peculiar fixation that only grew worse over time, knives. Not just any knives, but the ones she used at her job. She carried them everywhere, obsessively sharpening, cleaning, and admiring them for hours. Eventually, these knives found a new home, above the headboard of her bed. A strange choice, to say the least, but it didn't seem to bother her husband, David.

That is, until things started spiraling out of control. In 1979, David discovered something that shattered his world, Catherine was cheating on him. You'd think that would have been his breaking point, right? Not exactly. Catherine managed to manipulate him into staying. She wasn't done yet, she even convinced him to have another child with her. For a while, the family returned to some semblance of peace. But it didn't last.

One night, David came home late after a casual outing with his co-workers. As soon as he opened the door, Catherine attacked him. She struck him repeatedly with a frying pan, fracturing his skull in the process. Somehow, David managed to escape, crawling to a neighbor's house for help. Police arrived to find Catherine in a fit of rage, completely unhinged. David spent a week in the hospital recovering, and despite the brutal attack, he didn't press charges. When he returned home, though, he discovered Catherine had burned all of his clothes. She claimed it was an accident, a fit of anger gone too far.

Shockingly, David forgave her again. But the cycle of abuse didn't stop. Catherine's behavior only grew more erratic. Yet, as unbelievable as it sounds, she became pregnant again. On March 6, 1980, she gave birth to their daughter, Natasha Marie. From that point, life unraveled further. David became convinced that Catherine was going to kill him. For years later, his fears drove him to leave her for good.

He came home one day to find her gone, taking their two daughters with her to her parents' farm in Aberdeen. A pattern of toxic relationships, Catherine returned to her old life, working at the slaughterhouse. But her back problems forced her to quit, and she began receiving disability payments. Alone for the first time, she quickly sought out a new partner. This time, it was 38-year-old David Saunders. Their relationship moved quickly, and soon David moved into her home. But as always, Catherine's true nature emerged, jealous, possessive, and paranoid. She argued with David constantly, accusing him of infidelity.

Her jealousy often turned physical. The fights were vicious. Catherine would kick David out of the house, only to beg him to come back days later. This on and off cycle became their norm. But Catherine's most horrifying act came during one of their arguments. In a fit of rage, she grabbed David's puppy and slid its throat right in front of him, saying, if you ever cheat on me, this will be you. Most people would have run for their lives at that point, but David stayed.

Despite the red flags, the couple had a child together, a daughter named Sarah. To accommodate their growing family, David bought a bigger house. Catherine decorated it, but her idea of home decor was, unconventional. Every inch of the walls was covered with knives, axes, animal traps, and other disturbing items. It was like living in a museum of violence. Unsurprisingly, the tension between them only grew. One day, David finally had enough and left for good. When he tried to return months later, he discovered Catherine had filed a restraining order

against him. Another chapter, Another John. In 1990, Catherine began dating John Chillingworth, a former coworker. Things seemed stable for a while. They even had a son together. But stability wasn't Catherine's strong suit. By 1993, she had left John for someone else, a man named John. John Price, known to friends as Pricy.

Pricy, born on April 4, 1955, was a well-liked and outgoing man. Divorced with three kids, he had custody of his older children while his ex-wife cared for their youngest daughter. He worked two jobs, as a truck driver and a full-time minor. Pricy was aware of Catherine's violent reputation, but he thought he could handle it. She presented herself as sweet, caring, and loving, a perfect partner. In 1995, Catherine and her children moved in with Pricy. He quickly won over her kids, showering them with attention and gifts.

But, as always, Catherine wanted more. Three years into their relationship, she demanded that Pricy marry her. When he refused, explaining that they didn't need a wedding to be happy, Catherine flew into a rage. She accused him of using her, but Pricy stood his ground. Things took a darker turn when Catherine found a copy of Pricy's will. She discovered that his assets were set to go to his ex-wife and children. Furious, she demanded he change it and even asked him for $10,000 in compensation for her suffering.

Pricey refused. This only fueled Catherine's anger. The beginning of the end, determined to ruin his life, Catherine began plotting. She filmed random items around Pricy's home, tools, medications, and even small trinkets, claiming they were stolen from his workplace. She sent the footage to his boss, and although the items had come from the trash, they technically belonged to the company. Pricy was fired after 17 years on the job.

For once, her manipulation backfired. Furious, Pricy kicked her out of the house. But as always, Catherine found her way back. Over the next few months, she spread rumors about him, claiming he was abusive and a danger to his children. Her goal was clear, isolate him until he had no choice but to take her back. By early 2000, things had reached a boiling point. Pricy confided in friends that he was terrified of Catherine.

He even told them, if I don't show up for work tomorrow, it's because she killed me. Despite their pleas, he returned home that night. The final night, on February 29, 2000, Catherine sent Pricy's children to a friend's house. She then visited one of her daughters, leaving behind a cryptic video message that seemed like a goodbye. Later that night, she let herself into Pricy's home using a friend's house. spare key. She watched TV, took a shower, and crawled into bed with him. In a twisted display of affection, they reconciled and even had sex. The next morning, Pricie didn't show up for work. His co-workers, alarmed, called the police. What they found inside his home was a nightmare.

A house of horror, the scene was drenched in blood. Pricie's lifeless body lay in the kitchen, brutally mutilated. Catherine had stabbed him 36 times. But her actions didn't stop there. She skinned him and hung his skin on a meat hook in the living room. She decapitated him, boiled his head in a pot, and used parts of his body to prepare a meal. She even set the table with name cards for Pricy's children, intending to serve them their father for dinner. When police found Catherine, she was unconscious after overdosing on pills. She was rushed to the hospital, where she recovered. But the horror of her crime was undeniable. Justice for Pricy, during her trial, Catherine claimed she had no man.

memory of the murder. Her defense argued insanity, but psychiatrists concluded she was fully aware of her actions. They diagnosed her with borderline personality disorder but emphasized that she knew right from wrong. On October 18, 2001, Catherine Knight was sentenced to life in prison without parole, the first woman in Australian history to receive this punishment. To this day, she has shown no remorse for her actions. What do you think? Was Catherine pure evil, or was she a product of her circumstances? Many claimed that Patty Cannon only wanted two things in this life, herself and money. She was incapable of loving anyone else, and if for a millisecond you thought she had some affection

for you, it was because there was something about you that interested her, your money, your influence, your contacts. There was nothing in Patty that showed any humanity. This story begins around 1820 with a humble farming couple who had a beautiful daughter. The name of this daughter is now a complete mystery, but her two husbands went down in history as bloody murderers. But it wasn't just her husbands who made history, her parents, Jesse and Patty Cannon, were leaders for years of a slave trafficking network. But how could they have done this for so long without the justice system intervening? Simple, because the real leader of the gang knew how to play his cards very well.

Martha Patty Hanley was born in the early 1760s in Rand. Maryland. The only thing we know about her childhood is that she was born into a very humble and large family. Over the years, she earned two nicknames. The first, less known nowadays, was Fat Patty, and the second, which she received when she was already an adult, was Lucrezia, in homage to the famous aristocrat and serial poisoner, Lucrezia Borja, who had a Machiavellian style. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, and as Jack the Ripper once said, said, let's go step by step. It was said of Patty that she had a very strong and complicated character. In fact, a 1907 newspaper article described her as follows, she was massive in the

chest and massive in other places, weighing over 260 pounds. She was not a violet who would bow to anyone. She had long, black hair and a very dirty tongue. It was said that Patty was as muscular as a man, capable of carrying heavy sacks of wheat on her shoulders. However, over time, Hollywood took her story and turned her into a fragile woman with an eternal smile, which had nothing to do with the real Patty Cannon. At around the age of 16, Patty married Jesse Cannon, a local farmer, and it was then that she adopted his surname. While Jesse worked alone on the farm, Patty ran a tavern. The business was thriving, as she ran it with an iron fist and didn't hesitate to kick out the most problematic customers. However, rumors of the

time said that when a man fell drunk to the ground, Patty would rummage through his pockets while escorting him out. Over the years, the canon marriage had a beautiful daughter, whom they married off at a very young age to Henry Burton, a local blacksmith, who was surrounded by terrible rumors. Some claimed he was a hitman, while others said he was a slave trafficker. But the truth wouldn't come out until 1811 when the police imprisoned him in the Georgetown jail, accusing him of kidnapping and killing free men, women, and children. Henry knew that if he was judged, he would end up on the gallows. So, three days later, he escaped from jail and sought refuge in his friend Joseph Griffith's

house, unaware that his friend was also involved in the crimes. Both men ended up dying on the gallows in 1808. In 1808, the U.S. Congress prohibited the importation of slaves. At that time, the restriction caused the value of slaves to rise, exceeding $1,000 in the South, creating a strong incentive for traffickers. Many free blacks lived in a cannon neighborhood near the border between Maryland and Delaware, and that's when they realized they had a great business opportunity in front of them. Kidnapping black slaves was risky, as their white owners would protest, and kidnapping white slaves or killing whites would bring trouble with the law and neighbors. However, kidnapping

free blacks wouldn't bother anyone since they belonged to no one. So they quickly formed their gang, which involved both influential whites and blacks. Yes, this might sound strange, but as we move forward in the story, you will understand it perfectly. After Henry Burton's execution, Patty and Jesse Cannon's daughter Mary Jo Johnson, a supposed merchant with an impeccable reputation. This union not only helped clear the girl's name but also founded the Cannon Johnson gang. Joe had brilliant ideas, ideas he always shared with the canon couple, the leaders of the gang. His plan was infallible and consisted of three key points. First, they had night riders, an essential element in the slave trade, which we've seen in cases like that of Annie Palmer.

Second, they had their own slaves, black men used to lure in people seeking work. The third key point was Jesse Cannon himself, who was the face of the operations. This man would offer work to anyone who asked, promising housing, jobs, and even education for the family's children, something unimaginable at the time. But in reality, when they stepped on their land, they were chained, tortured, and later sold. Jesse was always the face of the operations and the gang, giving orders to Joe and others. However, the mastermind behind all the operations was always Patty. According to the abolitionist newspaper African Observer,

victims claimed to have been tortured in the attic, the basement, and the secret rooms of the Cannon residents. They remained there until the gentleman took them in covered wagons to Cannon's ferry. Once there, they traveled to the Chesapeake Bay to the Georgia slave market. The Cannon couple quickly amassed a fortune and could not avoid completely changing their lifestyle. The family residence, which was initially very small and humble, became a labyrinth with large cellars, a huge attic, and multiple secret rooms. Patty no longer dressed practically but loved to wear extravagant dresses and large amounts of jewelry, which was considered very indecorous at the time. A subtle necklace, perhaps a ring, was common, but Patty loved to load up with many rings, earrings, and magnificent necklaces.

She loved it when people turned their heads as she passed by. She enjoyed seeing those without resources suffer when she walked by, and most of all, she loved hurting people. It is said that she enjoyed torturing slaves, especially seeing the blood of their wounds, particularly those of children. And this is when the legend of Patty Cannon is born. It is said that Patty was the first to take the whip and lash her victims for sneezing, protesting, or simply yawning. A clear example of this can be found in a story of one of her victims, whose name remains unknown. They said that one night, when the writers returned with new merchandise, they brought a girl who wouldn't stop crying. She was between seven and eight years old.

Patty approached Henry Carr and John Smith and asked why she was crying. Her henchmen explained that only minutes before, they had shot and killed her father, and the little girl had witnessed the whole thing. But Patty thought this story was too weak and not a good enough reason for the girl to cry so much, so she ordered them to silence her. Patty left the scene and entered the house, where she remained for more than half an hour. She continued to hear the girl's cries. So she grabbed a stick and returned to the slaves, beating the girl over and over, demanding that she stopped crying. The more the girl cried, the harder she was beaten.

But the blows were so severe that the girl couldn't say. stop screaming. And this is how Patty Cannon killed a young child, all while being watched by dozens of people. Many claimed that Patty Cannon only wanted two things in life, herself and money. She was incapable of loving anyone else. And if for a fraction of a second you thought she had any affection for you, it was because there was something about you that interested her, your money, your influence, your contacts. There was nothing in Patty that showed any humanity. Everything points to the fact that she was a woman obsessed with control, obsessed with making every one of her plans go as expected.

She calculated the millometer in all her operations. She calculated the exact hours when her husband and daughter entered and exited the house, and if things didn't go as she wanted, there would be reprisals, not just against the slaves but also against her partners and loved ones. It is said that Patty shot more than once at white men who contradicted her or tried to make her feel lesser just for being a woman. But she also liked to kill the supposed lovers of her husband. Patty never loved Jessie, but for her, this man belonged to her, so no woman had the right

to look at him, breathe near him, or speak to him. And here we arrive at the second legend that marked Patty Cannon's history. It is said that she heard rumors that one of the slaves had become her husband's lover. How was it possible that this detail had escaped her? And more importantly, since when had they been lovers? She then remembered that the slave in question had recently given birth, so she ordered her to bring the newborn to her. When the poor woman arrived, she had no idea what was about to happen.

Patty examined the baby closely and concluded that the baby wasn't as black as the mother and that it had many features that resembled Jesse's. Clearly, it had to be his illegitimate son. What did she do to remedy this? Pomer would have killed both mother and child, but Patty was much more twisted. She thought that if she killed one, the other would inevitably die as well. So she ripped the baby from the mother's arms and threw it into the chimney. That mother had to watch as her newborn baby agonized in the flames while Patty smiled, enjoying

the scene. But all changed in 1820. The mayor of Philadelphia, Joseph Watson, and Governor John Andrew Shultz began investigating the disappearance of young blacks from Mississippi. They had been tracking the Cannon Johnson gang for a long time, but they had no solid leads. In 1826, they offered a reward of $500 for information. That's when the members of the gang started to fall one by one, and every time they arrested one of them, they were extradited to Virginia, Alabama, or Mississippi to keep them away from the supposed leader of the gang, Jesse Cannon, against whom they had nothing.

However, that same year, Jesse's death was recorded, and with his death, it was assumed that the gang had disbanded. The kidnapped and tortured young people were then freed, but some of them, once free, stated that the true leader had never been Jesse, but Patty Cannon, and because of this great failure, she was now far away. Patty Cannon always stayed two steps ahead of everyone. So, before the police could raid her house, she had already fled across state lines. But escaping justice wouldn't help her. Her loyal followers quickly betrayed her. Joe Johnson, her son-in-law and partner, confessed that he had shackled both free men and women and had severely whipped them.

He justified his actions by claiming that he did everything under Patty Cannon's orders. Mrs. Johnson, Patty's daughter, also testified against her, and from her long testimony, we can extract the following words, she made it clear that she enjoyed beating the boys. Many will think that these words are meaningless, but they perfectly summarize what she said about her mother, as, boys, was a derogatory term used to refer to black men of any age. In other words, what she meant was that her mother loved to humiliate black people, make them feel inferior, and in doing so, feel powerful herself. From here, we find testimonies from some victims. One of them was a free woman of 25 years old named Sylvia Smith. She claimed that she had been tortured by Patty Cannon herself.

She said she had been chained for four weeks in a secret room in the family house. She was later taken to the Johnson Tavern, where she remained for five months, and finally, she was sent to the South to be sold. Another witness was Cyra James, a black man who was bought by the cannons at the age of seven and used as bait to lure in free men and women. This man said that one night he saw Patty carrying a very badly injured black girl in her arms. Patty didn't send anyone to call a doctor. She simply took the girl into the house, and no one ever heard of that girl again. Considering these details, the police conducted a search of the house and found secret rooms, chains, and cages, but no corpses. Therefore, they couldn't prove that Patty was a murderer.

Justice continued to closely follow Patty. steps, waiting for the right moment to catch her, and that moment came in early 1829 when an agricultural worker discovered four bodies in his garden. But these weren't just four bodies, they had a book with them, documenting many more deaths, as if each of their victims were nothing more than cattle. For example, a female baby on April 26, 1822, a white male on April 26, 1822, an adult male on October 1st, 1820, and a black boy on June 1st, 1824. On April 1st, 1824, Patty Cannon was accused of four murders in front of a grand jury of 24 white men. They couldn't judge her for the rest of the names in the list, as there were no more bodies,

and they assumed she wouldn't confess. But Patty felt proud of what she had done, and she didn't hesitate to confess that she had killed more than 20 people, men, women, and children, both white and black. Patty Cannon never discriminated. She didn't care about people's color, age, or social status. She didn't care if you were a slave or free. For her, people were disposable. If you couldn't get anything from them, they were useless to her. And she made sure to tell the jury this. But she also made one thing clear, she didn't plan on dying on the gallows. and indeed, on May 11, 1829, a jailer found her dead in her cell.

The cause of death, according to the medical report, was suicide by poisoning. Her body was initially buried in the Georgetown Jail Cemetery, but when this land became a parking lot in the 20th century, her body was moved to another cemetery. However, they didn't do the same with her skull, as it was displayed in various places, including the public library of Dover. Another noteworthy fact is that in the 90s, a historical marker was placed where her old house once stood. However, today, nothing remains of her house, as the original was demolished in 1948. But now it's your turn, what do you think of this dark story?

End. In the early 17th century, there were countless tales of accused witches and burning stakes in Europe. One particular story unfolds in Bamberg, Germany, where a terrifying chain of events happened between 1626 and 1631. During this period, accusations, confessions, and executions painted a grim picture of society's desperation in handling the unknown. The tale begins in 1627, where a man publicly voiced his complaints but later decided to officially present them in spire on December 27. Almost immediately after he left, his wife and one of his daughters were arrested on charges of witchcraft. This is just one snapshot of the widespread fear that consumed Bamberg in many European cities at the time. The whole continent, Europe, was in

turmoil during these years. People faced a harsh reality that shook them from their daily routines. Around the late 15th and early 16th centuries, the Holy Roman Empire went through what historians now called a little ice age. Temperatures dropped dramatically, leading to widespread crop failures. This wasn't just a small inconvenience, it led to starvation. Villagers, who relied heavily on their crops, had no way to pay taxes or feed their families. As if hunger and cold weren't enough, illness began to spread, affecting even the young and strong, who should have been able to withstand such hardships. Things only worsened as the 30 years war erupted from 1618 to 1648. The war added further devastation, with people dying from famine,

disease, and constant conflict. All these factors combined to create an atmosphere of utter desperation across Europe, leaving families struggling to survive each day. If only that had been the end of their worries. But another source of conflict began to tear apart society, religious tension. Catholic and Protestant factions clashed in bitter disputes, each side wanting to assert its beliefs. These deep-rooted religious divisions festered and added another layer of unease to an already desperate society. This background sets the stage for the events that unfolded in Bamberg, where which trials from 1626 to 1631 began under the direction of Prince Bishop Johan George Fuchs von Dornheim. His approach to curbing Protestantism was unusual,

he wanted to create an excessively devout, obedient, and strictly Catholic state. The bishop's vision was one where citizens followed Catholic principles meticulously, with no room for questioning or deviation. In May 1626, severe frost destroyed Bamberg's crops, and the citizens were left in despair. Hunger, disease, and death surrounded them, and no one could understand why their lives had taken such a dark turn. Desperation became fertile ground for blame, and soon, someone pointed the finger at others. The murmurs began, witches were behind their suffering. According to rumors, evil had infected the hearts of some locals, and so the bishop started a small investigation. They arrested a woman, accusing her of being a witch,

and forced her to confess through various methods, we'd now call torture. She, confessed, to having caused the frosts, consorted with the devil, and committing various acts of evil. Not only that, but they also made her give up the names of other supposed witches. This is when things spiraled further, Prince Bishop Dornheim formed a commission specifically to investigate and punish suspected witches. He recruited high-ranking officials, not only judges, but also well-regarded physicians, to carry out his plan.

The bishop also took a step to ensure no one would oppose his witch hunt. A law was enacted that forbade anyone from speaking out against the trials. Those who protested risked being flogged or banished, so people stayed silent, too fearful to voice dissent. When a person was accused of witchcraft, the process that followed was brutal. First, they needed two testimonies against the accused. Once two people pointed a finger, the accused was presumed guilty and forced to confess. After that, they were thrown into the dungeons, subjected to tortures that often went far beyond

what was prescribed in the Lex Carolina. This law set out specific punishments for crimes, but in Bamberg, it was disregarded entirely. Here, if you were accused, you would be tortured and eventually burned at the stake, with no chance to defend yourself in a fair trial. The authorities didn't just want confessions, they wanted more names. Each accused person was pressured to implicate others, leading to a ripple effect where one accusation turned into five, then ten, then even more. Soon, children, priests, the rich, and the poor alike were accused. The trials became so frequent that a prison was built specifically to hold accused witches. It's believed that within just six years, Bamberg saw around 900 executions,

each a testament to the hysteria of the times. Among the victims was Christina Mora, a notable figure in the records of these tragic events. In 1627, she was married to Johann Mora, the mayor of Bamberg, and they had two children together. Yet, despite her status, she wasn't immune to the chaos. After the frost of 1626 and the subsequent hardship, Christina found herself imprisoned on April 9, 1627. She endured unspeakable torture, and just as her suffering began, authorities seized her property. It was a swift and heartless process, arrest, confiscate, and strip her of any rights to defend herself or let her family speak on her behalf. In the Dungeons, she was forced to confess to countless sins and to name others, including her mother,

Katerina Hahn, wife of counselor George Hahn, and Mayor Johannes Junius. They even arrested her 14-year-old son, subjected him to torture, and forced him to admit to witchcraft and accuse his younger brother. Christina was burned alive in August of that year, but her eldest son faced a different fate, kept alive for another year under similar torment. George Hahn's story followed shortly after. A doctor and councilman, Han was a respect to a respect. figure with six children. But his downfall was speaking out against the witch hunts. He had

voiced his objections publicly, yet in December 1627, he went to spire to file a formal complaint. Soon after, his wife and one of his daughters were arrested for witchcraft. Christina Mora and her son had allegedly accused them, and with two witnesses against them, the authorities had all they needed to proceed. Both women were tortured, and on January 16th of the following year, they were burned alive. Shortly after their execution, two more of Han's sons were also arrested and tortured. When Han returned from Spire and learned of his family's fate, he sought help for Maximilianai, Duke and Elector of Bavaria, who offered him protection and a job. But before this help could reach him, Han was already in prison,

where he endured days of relentless torture before being publicly executed on January 24th. During his torture, Han was pressured to name other witches, and inevitably, he implicated Johannes Junius. Junius was a well-known politician who fought fiercely to prove his innocence, enduring tortures that many said were worse than what others had faced. The most remarkable part of his story was a letter he wrote to his daughter Veronica on July 24, 1628. In the letter, he detailed his torture and false confession, telling his daughter he would never see her again. This letter is one of the most reliable accounts we have of the Bamberg trials, and what's especially significant is that it was smuggled out of prison, a risky act, as which

weren't allowed contact with the outside world, nor were they given fair trials or proper defenses. In his letter, Johannes describes how he entered the witch's prison as an innocent man, was tortured into confessing, and faced an inevitable death. He writes of the butterfly screws used to crush his fingers, saying he couldn't write for four weeks afterward. His letter ends with a painful farewell to his daughter, instructing her to keep the letter hidden to avoid further punishment. Despite his family's best efforts, Johannes Junius was burned at the stake on August 6th, 1628. By this point, the witch trials were affecting people from all walks of life, causing a wave of fear that pushed influential families to fleeing protest to the Holy Roman

Emperor and the Pope. But it took a particularly horrifying case to truly ignite change. This was the case of Dorothea Flock in 1630. Married to Councilman George Heinrich Flock, Dorothea was George's second wife, his first, Apollonia flock, had also been executed for witchcraft. Dorothea's troubles began when she became pregnant, and an anonymous accusation of adultery landed her in prison. Though her family managed to help her escape, she was soon captured again, this time on witchcraft charges. Her treatment in prison was brutal, even though she was pregnant. Her family appealed to the Imperial Council in Vienna, demanding she be treated with dignity until she gave birth. But their pleas fell on deaf ears.

Prince Bishop Dornheim ignored the council's mandate and continued his relentless pursuit. Dorothea's suffering prompted a huge outcry, and in March 1630, the Imperial Council demanded her release. But the Prince Bishop sped up her trial and execution before the Council's orders could be enforced, burning her at the stake. Her tragic death became the breaking point for many. As word spread, people, rich and poor, influential and ordinary, banded together, voicing their anger and fear.

The outcry from Dorothea's death finally led to a full-scale investigation. leaders across Germany questioned whether the trials were just. During the investigation, new arrests were forbidden, but the trials in Bamberg didn't end entirely until Prince Bishop Dornheim's death in 1633. Though the nightmare eventually stopped, the legacy of those brutal year's lives on, with hundreds of innocent men, women, and children having lost their lives in the frenzy of fear and superstition. At around 6.30 p.m. on October 26, 1965, a patrol stopped right in front of the Van of Ski family's house. The Van of Ski family was very large and well-liked by everyone in the neighborhood, especially the mother, a sad and thin woman named Gertrude. Gertrude, in

addition to raising her seven children, was also caring for the two daughters of a broken marriage, two girls who were supposedly troublesome. One of the girls was sick, and the other was simply a lost cause. It was this latter girl that Gertrude called the police about. Apparently, that day the girl left home with a couple of boys, two boys who beat her and then abandoned her. The girl was found unconscious, unresponsive, and not moving. Gertrude called the police to see if they could do something, but unfortunately, it was too late, as her heart had stopped. Up until here, everything seems normal. The Manchetsky family repeated exactly the same story, the girl was a bad person, crazy, troublesome, and that what had happened to her was her own fault.

But the physical state of the girl did not indicate just a simple beating. She was malnourished, covered in wounds, and was found in a basement, lying on a filthy mattress. To make things worse, her little sister approached the police and said the following words, If you get me out of here, I promise I'll tell you the whole truth. Sylvia Marie Lenz was born on January 3, 1949, as the third of five children of Elizabeth Francis, better known as Betty, and Lester Cecil Lycans. The Lycans family was never like other families, as they were never in one place for too long. Apparently, Betty and Lester were carnival workers and were constantly traveling.

Unfortunately, that job didn't bring in much income, and raising five children was a complete ordeal, especially when one of them was sick. The Lycans children consisted of two sets of twins, first, Diana and Daniel, then Sylvia, and finally Jenny and Benny. As a child, Jenny suffered from polio, which made one of her legs weaker than the other. She had to wear a leg brace permanently and, therefore, could not take care of herself. Walking was difficult for her, and constantly traveling was not ideal for her. Given these circumstances, the Lycans family decided that they couldn't travel with all five children,

so they quickly sent them to different homes, home to uncles, friends, and grandparents. Diana, Daniel, and Benny went to one side, and Sylvia and Jenny went to the other. Sylvia and Jenny were always together, like they were twins. Wherever one went, the other followed. According to those who knew them, these girls were very sweet, affectionate, friendly, and lively. Sylvia, in particular, was so sweet that everyone called her, Cookie. One very characteristic thing about Sylvia was that she was a beautiful girl, which can be seen in all the pictures preserved of her. But what we can't see is that she was missing

a tooth, which she broke when she was young. It is also said that she was a huge fan of the Beatles, walking, and skating, things she did often with her sister Jenny. Jenny, unlike Sylvia, was very shy and insecure. She didn't like to go out, didn't like being looked at, and was very self-conscious about her leg. Sylvia, in this regard, was her great support. She took her to walk, to skate with her friends. The Lichen sisters were fully aware of the economic troubles their parents were going through. But while Jenny couldn't work, Sylvia did start working. She worked as a babysitter, cleaning houses, and gave all her money to her parents.

However, they refused to accept it all. Up until this point, everything seemed relatively normal, but at some point, the Likens' marriage fell apart, and the children were separated. Diana, Benny, and Daniel stayed with their grandmother, and Jenny and Sylvia went to live with their mother, Betty Likens. Lester Likens continued traveling across the United States, but Betty stayed in Indianapolis. Unfortunately, the woman didn't have much money, didn't have a job, and didn't have any alternatives. So, she decided to start stealing. At first, no one said anything. She stole a few things here and there, but on July 3rd, 1965, the police caught her and sent her to jail. Her daughters, Sylvia and Jenny, were left completely alone.

Lester Likens acted quickly. He picked up the girls, took them with him, but realized that the life he had was not for them, especially not for poor Jenny. She had muscle pain, limped, and couldn't walk properly. So, the man decided to look for an alternative. At that time, Sylvia and Jenny were studying at Arsenal Technical High School and had become very good friends with two sisters named Paula and Stephanie Van of Ski. The Van of Ski family appeared to be normal, hardworking, responsible, and kind people.

So, Lester went to the girl's mother, Gertrude, and asked if she could take care of his two daughters for a few months. He promised to pay her $20 a week in exchange for taking care of the girls from July to November of that year. It was only a few months, and $20 back then was a lot of money, so the woman agreed without hesitation. On July 4, Lester Likens left his two daughters right at the door of the Van of Ski family. He left them there, said goodbye, and then went to work. Unfortunately, what he didn't know was that he had just left them in the house of monsters. Gertrude Nadim Vanovski was born on September 19, 1928, in Indianapolis, as the third of six children of Molly Myel and H. Marcus Vanofsky.

It is said that at the age of 11, she witnessed the death of her father due to a heart attack, and at 16, she dropped out of school to marry a man named John Stephan Vanofsky. With John, she had four children, and at least in the beginning, everything seemed perfect. They got along well and respected each other. However, at some point, the light turned to darkness. Supposedly, John would beat her all the time, and after ten years, Gertrude packed her bags and left. For three months, the couple was separated, and during this time, Gertrude met a man named Edward Garcy. We have very little information about Edward.

Some sources say he abused Gertrude, while others say he treated her well, but either way, after three months, Gertrude went back to John. Their relationship ended in 1963, and by that year, Gertrude started dating Dennis Lee Wright, a 22-year-old man. Dennis was exactly like John, violent, controlling, irritable. But she stayed with him, had a seventh child, and then after giving birth, Dennis disappeared. Some sources say that Dennis came and went constantly, he would leave Gertrude, return, sleep with her, ask for money, leave again, and during one of these moments, Gertrude became pregnant again, but this pregnancy didn't last. The woman fell into depression, lost a lot of weight, was a smoker, had asthma, and her body, after eight pregnancies,

was no longer the same. Psychologically, this woman was destroyed. On the outside, Gertrude appeared normal and ordinary. She was shy, reserved, very hardworking, but on the inside, she spent her days crying and smoking. Anything, no matter how small, hurt her, and anything could make her cry. She didn't have a steady job. She cleaned houses, took care of children, and received a very small pension from her first husband. Her life was so miserable that her seven children became very protective, protective to the point where they thought Gertrude was evil and needed to be eradicated. So, knowing this context, I believe it's time to tell you the case as it really happened. As I mentioned, on July 4th, the Lycan sisters, Sylvia and Jenny, were left

at the door of the Van of Ski family's house. A beautiful little house located at 3850, East New York Street in Indianapolis. It had two floors, an attic, and a basement, and everyone who went there seemed charming. Gertrude presented herself as a very accommodating woman, and her children were also charming. There were Paula, 17 years old, Stephanie, 15, John, 12, Mary, 11, Shirley, 10, James, 8, and Dennis Lee Wright, who was just one year old. Paula and Stephanie were very good friends with Sylvia and Jenny, and they spent all their time together, playing and listening to music. They took walks, went to the park, and chatted about boys.

During the first week, everything was great. But then came the day of payment, and the $20 from Lester Likens never arrived. Gertrude became furious. The woman shouted at the top of her lungs that Lester Likens had cheated her and that she would never get those $20. To compensate for this lack of respect, she forced the Likin sisters to strip, kneel, and receive 15 hits with a wooden paddle. But then, Sylvia stopped her. She told Gertrude that Jenny couldn't handle the blows, that Jenny was very sick because of her leg. So, if Gertrude wanted

to hit someone, the best thing would be to hit her. Gertrude agreed without hesitation. She hit Sylvia again and again, and unfortunately, this was just the beginning, as from then on, Sylvia Likens would become her toy. The Vannevsky family went to Sunday church services regularly, and they took the lichen sisters with them. They went to the church, participated in activities, had dinners, and at one of these dinners, Sylvia supposedly ate too much. When they returned home, Gertrude punished her. She hit Sylvia 15 times on the back with a wooden paddle. After that, she started mocking her weight. Sylvia's weight and her way of eating became a serious problem in Gertrude's mind. Gertrude and her daughter Paula

constantly harassed Sylvia, calling her fat, taking her food away, and this showed terrible jealousy, jealousy because the girl was well-liked everywhere she went. Sylvia, from the pictures, was a beautiful girl, attentive, polite, respectful, and she never had bad words for anyone. She had so much talent that she could be whatever she wanted. She could be everything Gertrude had never been, a healthy and happy woman. Paula Vannevsky was basically a reflection of her mother. To be continued. From the pictures, she was a beautiful girl, attentive, polite, respectful, and never had a bad word to say about anyone. She had so much talent that she could be anything she wanted. She could be everything that Gertrude had never been, a healthy and happy woman.

Paula Venevsky was basically the reflection of her mother. If Gertrude saw Sylvia, Paula did the same. Little by little, they began to deny Sylvia food, saying she ate too much, that she was too fat, and that she was inflating a lot. At one point, when they found out she had a boyfriend, they began to accuse her of being pregnant. This part of the story is truly shocking because Paula was pregnant, and Paula never suffered any beatings, no one ever called her a bad influence, no one ever looked at her badly. Paula was simply untouchable. But Sylvia was the worst just because she had a boyfriend. Gertrude was unfair.

It wasn't only the Venevsky family who tortured Sylvia, as the neighborhood kids also joined in sometimes, and among them was Randy Gordon Lever. One night, Randy, Gertrude, and Paula Venevsky forced Sylvia to eat a hot dog filled with spices. It had mustard, hot sauce, a lot of different herbs, and of course, Sylvia had, ended up vomiting. So, Gertrude forced her to eat what she had spit out. The next morning, Sylvia was so hurt that she told everyone that Paula and Stephanie were prostitutes. She told it at school, in the neighborhood, and when she got home, Gertrude decided to take revenge. She hit her over and over with a wooden shovel, and Coy Hubbard, Stephanie's boyfriend, grabbed Sylvia and slammed her against the wall. Coy was a tall, strong guy, and he also

practiced judo, so the blows he gave Sylvia were terrible. Gertrude Venevsky felt so much hatred for Sylvia that she made her into a tourist attraction, inviting all the neighborhood boys to her house to beat her. They tied her up in the basement, beat her, practiced judo on her body, and even put out cigarette butts on her arms. On several occasions, Gertrude stripped Sylvia and forced her to insert an empty bottle into her private parts. Furthermore, to keep pushing her to the limit, she forced Jenny to beat her. As I mentioned earlier, Lester Likens paid $20 a week for Sylvia and Jenny's care, which went toward clothing, studies, and food. But the girls never saw any of that money. So at one point, Sylvia was forced to steal a track suit at school, as it was mandatory

to have one, but hers was broken. So, Sylvia stole the track suit and went to class. When she returned home, Gertrude hit her, insulted her, beat her over and over, called her a thief, and finally decided she would never go back to school. From that point on, Sylvia would no longer leave the house. Sylvia and Jenny wanted to tell their parents everything, but sadly they couldn't because whenever they went to visit them, the Venevsky family was there. So on one occasion, they wanted to tell their older sister, Diana. The three sisters met in a park, and once there, Sylvia told her everything. She spoke about the beatings, cuts, burns, and how she was starving.

But Diana thought she was exaggerating, so she just let it go. Later on, Diana saw Sylvia and Jenny again and realized that Sylvia was extremely thin. She had always been thin, but this time she was worse than ever. Her ribs were visible, she had dark circles, and bruises. So Diana took out a sandwich and offered it to her. Unfortunately, Mary Venevsky walked by at that exact moment, and as soon as she saw Sylvia take a bite of the sandwich, she ran home and told her mother.

When Sylvia returned, Gertrude already had the next punishment prepared. It was a bathtub of boiling water. Gertrude and Paula filled the bathtub with boiling water, stripped Sylvia, and put her inside. While they beat her, they told her. that the water would cleanse her sins. Obviously, due to the heat, Sylvia passed out, and Gertrude woke her up by slamming her head against the sink. The violence in the Venevsky House was so extreme that at one point, a neighbor, Michael John Monroe, reported it. He said that a 15-year-old

girl was seen in the windows covered in sores, but when a nurse came to check, Gertrude made excuses, saying that the girl was Sylvia Likens and that these wounds were because she didn't bathe, that she was lazy, a prostitute, uncontrollable, and that she occasionally got into trouble. Gertrude appeared to be a very calm, humble, sad woman, so the nurse believed everything she said. Another time, Diana Likens went to the Venevsky house to ask about Sylvia and Jenny, but Gertrude wouldn't let her in. She said she couldn't come in, that she had no right to see the girls, and that she had to leave. Diana didn't call the police, she just picked up her things and left.

Due to the beatings, Sylvia became incontinent, and one night she wet the bed, which caused Gertrude to force her to insert a piece of glass into her private parts. From this point on, the girl was forced to live hidden in the basement and roamed the house without clothes, something the boys from the neighborhood loved. They beat her and insulted her, doing whatever they wanted. On more than one occasion, the Venevsky family received money from people who wanted to beat Sylvia Likens. Gertrude even made her younger children hurt Sylvia. On one occasion, 12-year-old John Jr. took a diaper from his younger brother and shoved it into Sylvia Likens' mouth.

And if this seems disgusting to you, wait to hear what comes next. One morning, Gertrude told her daughter Paula and Richard Hobbes, a 14-year-old boy, to grab Sylvia, and they burned her stomach with a hot needle, writing the words, I'm a prostitute, and I'm proud of it. At one point, Gertrude got tired of cutting, so she handed the knife to Richard Hobbes, who continued the work. That day, practically all the Venevsky family enjoyed this punishment. Everyone watched, everyone participated, and everyone beat Sylvia's body.

After the punishment, Sylvia was paraded in front of the boys from the neighborhood. All the boys read the words, and all of them, without exception, laughed. But of course, no one called the police because Sylvia was everyone's hobby. At that point, Gertrude didn't know what else to do. She had beaten her, burned her, cut her, done everything possible to Sylvia. So she decided to get rid of Sylvia Likens. On October 25th, she agreed with her children to abandon her in a forest. Sylvia began screaming, and a neighbor heard her voice.

The neighbor listened to her scream for hours, and at one point was about to call the police. But at 3 a.m., the girl stopped, so the man hung up the phone. On October 26, John Venevsky was sent to the basement to wash Sylvia. The young man went downstairs, grabbed the hose, and sprayed her body with cold water under high pressure. Sylvia tried to escape, so Gertrude threw her to the ground and smashed her head several times, which eventually ended her life. Around 5.30 p.m., Richard H. found Sylvia's lifeless body, so he decided to call the police. Together, they made up a plan. When the officers arrived around 6.30, they were told that Sylvia had escaped with two boys, and that these boys, in a moment of

madness, beat her and left her lying there. They claimed that the girl was a bad person, promiscuous, a prostitute, that she was pregnant, and the officers were shocked. But fortunately, they didn't believe any of this, and before leaving, Jenny approached them and said the following words, if you get me out of here, I promise I will tell you the whole truth. On December 30, 1965, the trial for Sylvia Marie Lichen's death took place. Of all the people who tortured her, only five were called to the stand. The grand jury of Marion County accused Gertrude, Paula, and John Venevsky of first-degree murder, and also accused Richard Hobbes and Coy Hubbard. In this trial, there were many witnesses, including Stefan Venevsky, who testified

against his family in exchange for not going to prison. There was also the testimony of the coroner, Charles Ellis, who described the type of injuries Sylvia Lycans had on her body. Then, The most important testimony came from Jenny Likens, who recounted all the tortures her sister had suffered. She spoke about the beatings, the cuts, and gave names. There were also disturbing testimonies from people who saw the tortures, witnessed them, knew about them, and did nothing. Neighbors, acquaintances, and a pastor. Then came the five accused, who blamed each other for being real monsters. Gertrudev Venevsky blamed her children for torturing Sylvia Lichen.

and they blamed her. Other torturers, who were not directly accused, were there as witnesses. Randy Lever, for example, admitted that he had once given Sylvia Likens a spiced hot dog and that he helped Gertrude make the girl eat her vomit. The details of the torture Sylvia Likens suffered shocked the entire United States, and the press compared the tortures the girl endured to those suffered by the Jews in concentration camps. Gertrude was found guilty of first-degree murder and was sentenced to life imprisonment. Unfortunately, her behavior in prison was exemplary, so she was granted parole in

1985. From then on, she never set foot in prison again. Some said she should never have a second chance, but in September, the parole board voted to give her that chance. Protesters collected 40,000 signatures objecting to her release and staged a memorial funeral procession to Sylvia Leichen's grave. The wave of protest persuaded a judge to vacate the earlier parole decision and order today's extraordinary hearing. Venevsky told the parole board she was a born-again Christian. She burst into tears when asked to talk about her crime. Paula was found guilty of second-degree murder and sentenced to two to 21 years in prison. Although she tried to escape prison several times, she was released on March 7, 1984. From this, from the first of her,

Then on, she changed her name, got married, and had two children. John, on the other hand, was sentenced for involuntary manslaughter and became the youngest inmate at the Indiana State Reformatory, serving only two years before being released. When he was free, he changed his name to John Blake, and it is worth noting that he became religious. Coy Hubbard, for his part, was convicted of involuntary manslaughter, served two years before being released, and finally, Richard Hobbes also served a brief prison sentence and passed away at the age of 21 due to cancer.

So now it's your turn, what do you think of the case, and do you think the sentences were fair? The End. The Odyssey of a Misfits adventure, an unlikely hero. Let me tell you a story about someone who'd never be the first pick for an adventure. Heck, they wouldn't even be the last pick, more like the oops we forgot to pick, kind of person. A late bloomer, to put it generously, Max had always blended into the background so well that wallpaper envied him. Max's life was as bland as it was predictable.

Wake up. Eat cereal. Browse cat memes. Work at a dead-end job where nobody knew his last name. Then, rinse and repeat. He lived in a tiny, cluttered apartment in a city that seemed to be perpetually stuck under a gray sky. Max liked it that way. The gray matched his mood, and the clutter matched his mind, chaotic but oddly comforting.

But, as these tales often go, Max's life was about to take a hard left turn. Or maybe it was a U-turn. Either way, it wasn't going to stay on its predictable track for long. A knock that changed everything. One fateful evening, Max was elbows deep in a bag of chips, binge-watching a true crime documentary he'd already seen twice. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Not the polite kind of knock.

No, this was the kind that screamed urgency, like whoever was on the other side was either running from a horde of zombies or really needed to borrow sugar. Who even knocks these days? Max muttered to himself, annoyed. Most people just texted. Reluctantly, he got up, brushed crumbs off his shirt, and opened the door. Standing there was a woman in a trench coat that looked like it had seen better days. Her hair was wild, her eyes wilder.

She held a package wrapped in what appeared to be old newspaper and duct tape. "'You're Max, right?' she asked, peering over his shoulder like she expected someone to jump out of the shadows. "'Ah, yeah.' "'And you are.' Max replied, instantly regretting opening the door. "'No time for introductions,' she said, shoving the package into his hands. "'Take this.

Keep it safe. Don't open it. Don't let anyone else open it.' Especially not the, her voice dropped to a whisper. The order of the crimson crescent, Max stared at her, blinking. The, what now? Before he could get any clarification, the woman took off down the hallway like she'd just set fire to something. Max was left standing there, package in hand, mouth slightly open.

Okay, he said to no one in particular. That's definitely not normal, the package. Max brought the package inside, setting it down on his cluttered coffee table. It looked so out of place amidst the empty soda cans and half-read books. For a long moment, he just stared at it. The logical part of his brain told him to call the police. But the more curious, and frankly, bored, part of him couldn't resist the mystery. After all, it wasn't every day someone showed up at your door rambling about secret orders

and shoving mysterious packages at you. Don't open it, he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. Yeah, sure, that's totally going to happen. Max reached for the duct tape, his fingers itching with curiosity. But before he could peel it back, the lights in his apartment flickered. Then they went out completely. Visitors in the dark, the darkness was thick, oppressive. Max fumbled for his phone, using its flashlight to illuminate the room.

That's when he heard it, a faint, scraping sound coming from the other side of the apartment. Hello. Max called out, his voice shaky. He immediately regretted it. What kind of idiot calls out to potential intruders? The scraping stopped. Then, out of the silence, a deep voice spoke. Give us the package.

Max's heart nearly exploded. He turned the flashlight toward the voice and saw, nothing. The room was empty, but the voice came again, this time closer. We know you have it, Max. Give it to us, and we'll make this quick. Max's grip tightened on the flashlight. Who's we? He stammered.

In response, a shadow moved across the wall, independent of the light. Then another. And another. They weren't human. Not even close. Oh, come on. Max groaned, clutching the package like it was a life preserver. This can't be happening, running for his life.

Max didn't wait to find out what the shadows wanted. Well, besides the package. He grabbed his coat, shoved the package into his backpack, and bolted out the door. him, the shadows hissed, their voices echoing unnaturally. The hallway was eerily empty as Max ran, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. He didn't stop until he was outside, gasping for air in the cold night. The city's gray skyline loomed above him, but even its dull familiarity wasn't enough to calm his racing heart. Okay, he panted, leaning against a lamp post. Think, Max think. What the heck do I do now? Enter the sidekick. Just as Max was about to spiral into

full-blown panic, a voice came from behind him. You look like you've seen a ghost. Or several, Max turned to see a guy leaning casually against a nearby bench. He was dressed in a leather jacket, had a smirk that could charm the pants off a nun, and carried a sword. Yes, an actual sword. Because apparently, that's a thing people carry now. Who, who are you?

Max asked, eyeing the sword warily. Names Dorian, the guy said, flipping the sword in his hand like it was a baton. I'm here to help. Help with what? Max asked, clutching his backpack tighter. The package, obviously, Dorian said. That thing's trouble. And judging by the fact that you're still alive, you have no idea how to handle it. Max narrowed his eyes.

How do I know you're not one of, them? Because they don't carry swords, Dorian said with a wink. Not exactly reassuring, but Max didn't have many options. The chase, before Max could decide whether to trust Dorian, the shadows reappeared. slithering out of the alleyways like living ink. Dorian's smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of grim determination. Run, he said, drawing his sword. Max didn't need to be told twice.

He took off down the street, Dorian right behind him. The shadows gave chase, their hissing voices filling the air. Why are they so fast? Max shouted, his lungs burning. Because they're not bound by physics, Dorian replied. Now stop asking questions and keep running. Haven, sort of, after what felt like ours, they ducked into an abandoned warehouse. Dorian barred the door with a rusted metal beam, then turned to Max, who was doubled

over, gasping for air. You, you mind explaining what's going on. Max wheezed. Dorian sighed, running a hand through his hair. Short version. That package you're carrying. It's got something in it that a lot of people want. Dangerous people.

Like those shadow freaks, what's in it? asked. I don't know, Dorian admitted. And frankly, I don't want to know. My job is to keep it away from the wrong hands. And right now, that means keeping you alive. Great, Max muttered. I didn't sign up for this, you know, nobody ever does, Dorian said with a shrug. Now get some rest. We've got a long night ahead, unwanted responsibility. Max tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn't shut off. He kept replaying the events of the night, trying to make sense of it all. Who was that woman? Why had she chosen him, of all people, to take the package?

And most importantly, what was inside it? The temptation to open it was overwhelming. But every time he reached for his backpack, he remembered the woman's warning, don't let anyone open it. Especially not the order of the Crimson Crescent. What kind of name is that anyway? Max muttered. Dawn brings no peace.

By morning, the shadows were gone, but Max's problems were far from over. was already up, pacing the room like a caged tiger. We need to move, he said. They'll be back, and next time, they won't come alone. Great, Max groaned. Just what I needed. A sequel, The Journey continues. Over the next few days, Max's life became a whirlwind of danger, confusion, and surprisingly, growth. He and Dorian traveled from one safe house to another, dodging shadows and other unsavory characters along the way. Max learned to think on his feet, to trust his instincts, and even to throw a decent punch. Through it all, the package remained unopened, a constant reminder of the mystery that had

upended his life. Max still didn't know why he'd been chosen, but he was starting to understand one thing. Sometimes, you don't choose the adventure. The adventure chooses you. The final showdown. The story's climax came in the form of an epic showdown in an abandoned cathedral. The Order of the Crimson Crescent had finally caught up to them, and they weren't alone. Dozens of shadow creatures filled the room, their eyes glowing with malevolent intent.

Dorian fought valiantly, his sword flashing like a beacon in the darkness. Max, meanwhile, clutched the package, his mind racing. He couldn't let it fall into the wrong hands, but he also couldn't keep running forever. In a moment of clarity, Max made a decision. He tore the package open. Inside was a small, glowing orb. It pulsed with energy, filling the room with light. The shadows recoiled, hissing in pain.

Max didn't know what the orb was or how it worked, but he didn't need to. He just knew he had to use it. Holding the orb aloft, Max focused all his fear, frustration, and determination into one thought, end this. The org responded, releasing a burst of light so powerful that it obliterated the shadows and sent the members of the Crimson Crescent fleeing. When the light faded, the cathedral was silent. A new beginning, Dorian approached Max, a look of awe on his face.

You did it, he said. Max looked at the now-deer morb in his hands. Yeah. I guess I did. For the first time in his life, Max felt something he'd never felt before, purpose. He might not have asked for this adventure, but he'd seen it through to the end. And in doing so, he'd discovered a strength he didn't know he had. So, Dorian said with a grin.

What's next? Max smiled. I guess we'll find out, and with that, Max's life as an unassuming misfit came to an end. in its place was something new, something extraordinary. Because sometimes, all it takes to become a hero is one knock at the door. We begin the case of the 43 students, from Ayat Sinapa who disappeared in the state, of Guerrero, it is much worse than what happened in 68. They were 43 young normalistas who, disappeared in a single night, and afterwards, there was no response from the government. In 1968, although the Olympic Games followed, and there was a

an attempt to silence it, it became a cry of the youth that has, continued. With these words spoken by author and journalist Elena Paniatowska, we begin this new, investigation. The 43 students belong to a school called the Rural, Normal Raola Cedro Burgos, located in the village of Iotsenapa in the state of Guerrero, Mexico. This institution, despite the few resources it has, is one of the main colleges where primary school, teachers are trained in all of Mexico and present several peculiarities. The first is that it only trains males. The second is that the teachers trained here will not be sent to just any public school, but to schools in rural areas, places where children can hardly access an education. And the third point is that the ideals of this college clash

significantly, with those of the government. Because of this, according to various articles consulted, this, college receives little or no aid. At first, the problems between this college, and the government were due to a lack of economic resources to maintain regional, normal schools. But after Cardinismo, between 1934 and 1940, the hostility between these colleges and the federal and state governments increased, and as a result, the government cut their subsidies. To give you an idea, in 2014, the Raoul Isidro Burgos Rural Normal College, had 540 students, but since 1940, they only had one bus, with a capacity for 40 passengers. In other words, if they had to go on a field trip, 500 students would be left behind. So, for years, the students organized, to hijack

more buses. Everyone knew about these practices and allowed them because the, students usually didn't use violence and, were never armed. They obtained the vehicles through dialogue, and, almost always the drivers gave up, the buses to them. On October 2nd of each year in, Mexico City, a march is held in protest of the events. That occurred on October 2nd, 1968. That day, for those who don't know, was the so-called Platelalco massacre, in which students and civilians were killed by soldiers, and police officers in the Plaza de Las Trace, Culturis. The most shocking part of all this is that the government, instead of acknowledging, an internal problem in issuing, a public apology for what happened, simply acted as if nothing had happened.

They thought that with time, Mexico would forget, but Mexico neither forgave nor, forgot. And every October 2nd, a March was held in protest of what happened, on that fateful day. As usual, the students from the Raola Cedro Burgos, Rural Normal School decided that that year, they were going to participate in the march. So, on September 26, 2014, they organized to make a trip to Mexico City. They only had one bus, so they organized to get several more. Hours passed, and, they only got one more, so, they decided to go to the neighboring city, Iguala, grab a few more buses, return to Iatsunapa, pick up there, classmates, and together head to Mexico City. And so they did. Around 5.30 p.m., 100 students boarded the, two buses and left

for Iguala. That's when things got complicated. According to the Survivor's account, 100 students from iatsinapa, mostly first year, were on two buses, from the Estreya de Oro Company. Once near Iguala, they split up. Estreya de Oro bus number one stopped in Witsuko, and Estreya de Oro, bus number two continued and stayed at the Iguala toll booth. Around 8.30 p.m., Estreya de Oro No. 1 intercepted, another bus from the Costaline company. So the students aboard split into two groups, One stayed in Estreya de Oro No. 1, and the other got off and stopped, the cost-aline bus.

These students, tried to negotiate with the driver, told him they were students who, needed the bus, and the driver, struck a deal with them. The man said his final stop was the, Iguala bus station. So, he invited the students aboard and told them that when they got to the station, he would drop off the passengers, get off himself, and give them the bus. students, agreed, got on, and went with him to that destination, not knowing that, once there, the driver would trap them. Instead of dropping them at the stations, entrance, the driver took the bus inside, dropped off the passengers, got off, and locked all the normalistas inside. That's when the students, called their classmates on Estreya de Oro, number one and Australia de Oro number two, asking them to please come, find them. According to security,

Cameras, the reinforcements arrived at, 9.09 p.m., and there, the students, carried out the last part of their plan. They freed the students locked inside, a bus and hijacked three more. In total, the convoy was Estreya de Oro No. 1, Estreya de Oro No. 2, a costaline, and a red Estreya bus. Then, the five buses began their trip, back home. But things didn't go, as planned. Around 9.30 p.m., the convoy split. Four continued, along one North Alvarez Street and the fifth, turned east. This first group continued together until the, Galena intersection.

And there, the first, sinister event occurred, a group of Iguala Municipal Police began, shooting into the air. This caused the group to split again. The fourth bus turned away, and the first three continued. The students took it as a warning to leave Iguala, and that's exactly what they were trying to do, flee the city. So they kept heading, toward the outskirts. But the police, apparently, either didn't want them to leave or didn't, understand the gesture, they didn't understand where they were headed. So at one point, they opened fire, on the buses. The fourth bus, having taken a different route, avoided the gunfire, but the first, three suffered greatly. The students shouted, begged for, the shooting to stop, said they were unarmed, but even so, the officers didn't stop. Some students got off the buses, to grab cans, stones, and defend

themselves, but it didn't help. So they got back on and tried to flee. Around 9.40 p.m., when they thought the danger had passed, these three buses found themselves, in the middle of the street, blocked by a patrol car. It was patrol zero two from the Iguala Municipal Police. So some got out to, push it out of the way. That's when the hail of bullets, returned again, and several students were seriously injured. One was shot in the head, another in the arm. And although no one died in that, shooting, the consequences were terrible. The students ran, hid in the buses, begged for the shooting to stop, asked for ambulances, but again the police didn't listen. And instead of calling for medics, the police

called for more patrols. At the front of the buses were, Unit 002, 11, and 26 from the Iguala Municipal Police, and also, Units 302, 305, and 306. The Kokula Municipal Police surrounded them from the front, and from the rear, they were also surrounded by the Unit 17, 18, 20, 22, 27, and 28 of the Iguala Municipal Police. After several minutes of enduring the attack, patrol cars from the ministerial police arrived. All this happened because they were trying to steal buses. The students repeatedly asked for a ceasefire, asked for ambulances, and begged for help, but the police ignored them.

After 45 minutes, someone finally came to their senses, and an ambulance arrived. But don't think things were that easy. One of the men, a tall, dark-skinned man with an uncovered face, gave orders to some of the police officers. He then covered his face, and the units behind everything forced the students from the last bus to get off. They beat them, threw them to the ground, and then split them up into different cars that were behind. When they were taking the boys away, the man with the covered face ordered the students to go home because there was nothing else to see there. But clearly, these students were not from Iguala and their classmates, while this was happening, experienced other equally gruesome events. The fourth bus, the one that managed to escape in time, was blocked under a bridge right in front of the state justice palace by four patrol cars from the Iguala municipal police.

These students were repeatedly attacked by the police, and as time passed, more and more patrols surrounded them, going from four to eight, and by 11 p.m., these eight turned into 12. including the Iguala Municipal Police, Witsuko Police, and federal officers. When there were so many police, they shot out the windows and threw the holes, introduced tear gas inside the bus, which made the students abandon the vehicle and be arrested by the police. Between 12 and 15 students were placed in patrol cars and taken far away. A few meters behind this scene, unmarked federal patrol cars stopped the fifth bus and forced all the passengers to get off and continue on foot. The students complied, and while walking, three patrol cars from Iguala's municipal police chased them.

Throughout the night, they tried to run them over and shot at them on several occasions. During all the chaos, several students tried to call their classmates still at school and hid, doing everything they could to reach Iguala to rescue the students who were in danger. But they encountered blocked roads, empty streets, and neighbors who wouldn't help. They faced so many obstacles that it was almost impossible to find the survivors. Around 10.15 p.m., the students from the three-bus convoy tried to organize a press conference to make the world know what had happened that night, but since the roads were blocked, the journalists took over an hour to reach the center of Iguala.

But don't think that at this press conference the students were able to say anything. When they began to speak, at 12.15 a.m., several vehicles driven by masked men opened fire on them. In this last shooting, several people died, and many more were injured. Meanwhile, the rest of the city was in chaos. In one part, several taxis were also attacked by law enforcement agents. A goods truck was also attacked, and the bus carrying the football team, the Hornets of the 3rd Division, became a victim of gunfire, resulting in many passengers being injured, and two of them died. But the worst part is that despite more calls for help, more requests for ambulances, and more ceasefire demands, the officers did not respond.

They were just there, standing, watching the scenes, and doing absolutely nothing. Around 1 a.m., a teacher and 25 students from the convoy of three buses showed up at the Christina Hospital in Iguala, but the two nurses and the director of the center refused to help them. They called the military, and when they arrived, they intimidated the students, threatened them, and at one point acted like nothing happened and let them leave. By 6 a.m. on September 27th, all the survivors were able to gather and testify against the law enforcement officers. They also inquired about the 57 missing students, and guess what? The officers claimed that no one had been arrested that night.

But the truth was right there, 57 students had been arrested, put in patrol cars, and taken far away. Where were these students? Why couldn't they be found anywhere? What had happened to them? Days later, 14 of the 57 missing students returned home, completely terrified, but they had no idea what had happened to the remaining 43. It took another week for Enrique Pena Nieto, the president of Mexico at the time, to make a public statement about the terrible event, but he didn't clarify anything at all.

If the government wasn't doing anything, someone had to act. So, the public ministry of Guerrero decided to take matters into their own hands. They tried to interrogate the security forces that were active that night, but they refused to speak. They didn't allow their weapons to be inspected, and they didn't let anyone enter their barracks. As the ministry delved deeper and deeper, it was nothing but roadblocks, problems, and hurdles. And overnight, the PGR, Attorney General's office, which was part of the president's legal capital, cabinet, presented itself to the media and offered a version of the story they called the historical truth.

And what was this truth? Apparently, on September 26th, a political event was taking place in the city of Iguala, where Maria de Los Angeles Panada Villa, the wife of the then mayor of the city, intended to present herself as a candidate for the upcoming elections. When the mayor found out that the students from the rural teacher training school, normalistas, were in the city, he thought they were trying to sabotage. the event. So, he ordered the Iguala Municipal Police and the organized crime group Guerrero Zunitos to take care of them. The municipal police detained the students and handed them over directly to Guerrero

Unitos, a criminal group responsible for dealing with the 43 disappeared students. They took them directly to the Kokula garbage dump, killed them, made a large bonfire, burned their remains, broke their bones, put them in bags, and then threw them into a nearby river. And they Indeed, this version of events was supported by witnesses and various physical evidence. There were signs of a fire at the garbage dump, mass graves in Iguala, black bags with human remains, and more bones in the river. But conveniently, all the evidence appeared when the forensic experts sent by the public ministry of Guerrero were not present, absolute madness. And the worst part of it all was that the PGR's own reports and the supposed evidence didn't hold up in any way. Firstly, the study conducted by the PGR only mentioned four buses, not five.

Secondly, they claimed that organized crime burned the bodies of the students at the Coquola garbage dump, but there was not enough evidence to show that a fire of such proportions had occurred to burn 43 bodies. According to the GEI, Mexican Investigation Group, to burn a single body, 700 kilograms of wood, 310 kilograms of tires, and 12 hours of maintaining the fire would be necessary. So, to dispose of 43 bodies, you would need 30,000 kilograms of wood, 13,530 kilograms of tires, and 60 hours of maintaining the fire. This simply wasn't possible.

There were traces of fire in the dump, but not of such dimensions. Thirdly, the human remains found were very fragmented, too much to carry out a good analysis. and although one of them was said to belong to one of the missing boys, the rest remained unidentified. Fourth, the night of September 26th to 27th in Iguala, it rained heavily, making it impossible to maintain a bonfire of such size while the rain tried to put it out. Against the historical truth, we have the real night of Iguala by Annabelle Hernandez. In this work, the PGR's theory is completely debunked. Testimonys, data from Guerrero's ministry, and data from forensic experts who investigated the case are presented, and it is made very clear that the Mexican government had always intended to eliminate the rural normal school of Iyotsinapa, as it had always been a breeding ground for leaders and social fighters like Lucio Cabanas or Gennaro Vasquez.

But now it's your turn. What do you think about this case? Do you believe the government was involved, or was it just the work of a mayor and organized crime? The end. After several hours of interrogation, the police discovered the following. On July 29, 2008, Vince began hearing voices in his head. Voices telling him that either he killed someone, or he would die. So, the man bought a knife and waited for new orders. In the summer of 2008, one of the bloodiest crimes in Canadian history occurred, a crime witnessed by several people, but none of them did anything about it. They saw the attack, the blood, heard the victim's

screams, and yet everyone only thought of saving their own lives. They thought of screaming, running, and of course, finding a hiding place where the killer could not reach them. Timothy Richard McLean, better known as Tim, was born on October 3, 1985, in Winnipeg, Canada, to Carol Dye and Timothy McLean, Sr. not much is known about his family, except that his mother worked in a nursing home. However, we know what his loved ones told the press. Tim was a very affectionate, outgoing, an active young man. He liked to practice all kinds of sports, such as basketball and football. He was also a huge fan of rap music. Another thing he loved was traveling, and whenever he had the opportunity, he would organize

getaways with his friends. Whether it was a mountain or beach trip, any excuse was good to get together and travel wherever they could. Now, let's start with the case itself. In early summer 2007, a friend called him and asked what plans he had for the next few months, to which Tim replied that he didn't have anything planned. It was then that the girls suggested they could join a traveling fair across Canada. They would earn money, meet people, travel, and party. This idea seemed brilliant to Tim, so he packed his bags and went with his friend to see the world.

Initially, the plan was just to work at the fair for the summer, but it turned out to be the perfect job for him. The kid stayed there for an entire year. They traveled, made money, met new people every day, and partied. But as time passed, they realized that this job didn't allow them to save much. They spent everything they earned on parties and whims. It was essentially a day-to-day job, not one for planning the future. So, in 2008, Tim proposed to his friend the possibility of settling down. He wanted to move permanently to British Columbia, buy a house, and get a stable job. The two of them made calculations and made the decision that between July and August 2008, the fair would move from Edmonton to Regina, and once they packed everything, Tim thought about

closing his booth and returning to his parents' house in Winnipeg. The idea was simple, Once in Winnipeg, Tim would start his new life. He would look for a job, find a house, and leave the whole fair business behind. As shown on the screen, the distance between Edmonton and Winnipeg, by car, is about 13 and a half hours. So, Tim had two options. The first was to buy a plane ticket and travel the distance in two and a half hours, and the second was to buy a bus ticket that took a whole day to reach the destination, meaning a 13 and a half-hour trip would take 24 hours. The first option seemed more convenient, less travel time, more comfort, but the second one was much cheaper. So, the young man opted for the second option, checked the schedules,

and on July 29, 2008, he bought a ticket for Greyhound Bus 1170. This is where his nightmare began. Tim boarded the bus at 12 a.m. and sat in a row in a row in front of the bathroom. The bus stopped at each of the scheduled stops, and at each one, more people got on. But just when they were very close to home, at around 6.55 p.m. on July 30th, the bus stopped in Erickson, Manitoba, and more people boarded, including a 40-year-old Asian man named Vincent Wigan Lee. As soon as he entered the bus, this man sat at the front, and it was clear from the beginning that something was strange. He wore sunglasses, had a large backer. a thermos and a roll of toilet paper. The bus continued to the scheduled rest stop,

where everyone got off, bought food and drinks, and chatted. One of the people who talked the most was Tim. He commented on the trip with people, laughed, made jokes, and then boarded the bus, put on his headphones, and tried to sleep. The other passengers did almost the same thing, half of them tried to sleep, while the others looked at the landscape. But a couple of people noticed that one of the passengers was behaving very oddly, and that was Vincent Wigan Lee. As soon as the bus started moving again, Vince grabbed his backpack and changed seats. First, he sat to one side, then a little further back, and finally, he positioned himself very close to Tim, staring at him. Tim, feeling the gaze, looked up, smiled, and some say

he started talking to Vince, asking about his trip, where he was going, and who he was going to meet. Vince understood this as an invitation to sit next to him. So, he grabbed his backpack, walked towards Tim, and sat down. A few minutes later, Tim leaned against the window and closed his eyes. But even though he was calm, the other passengers were not. Half an hour later, the bus driver turned off the lights, and that's when Vince began to sing in a language no one knew and moved to the rhythm of the music, swaying back and forth.

It was so eerie that the people around couldn't sleep. They were scared, uncomfortable, and nervous. But the worst came at 8.20 p.m. when this man stopped singing and dancing, took out a knife, and started stabbing Tim McLean. Some passengers, seeing this, raised the alarm, an absolute panic broke out on the bus. Many ran, others cried, screamed, or vomited, but no one, absolutely no one, thought to help Tim. Tim tried to escape. He tried to jump over the seats, but his attacker wouldn't let him.

At some point, Tim went over him and tried to run through the aisle, but he tripped, fell to the ground, and then Vince pounced on him and continued stabbing him. Dozens of people saw the scene and dozens passed by them, but none of them thought to confront Vince. The witnesses only thought of saving their own lives, screaming, running, hiding. By the time the bus driver managed to stop the vehicle, Vince had stabbed Tim about 50 times. Fifty times, which still hadn't killed the young man. Once the bus was immobilized, all passengers got off, and the driver locked the doors, leaving

Tim and his attacker inside. Vince never tried to escape. He simply continued stabbing his victim with more force and kept on stabbing him while the other passengers screamed outside the bus. passed, and no one did anything for Tim. They only screamed, cried, and ran. But then Chris All Weir, who was driving his truck down the road, noticed something very strange happening. So, he stopped his vehicle next to the bus and asked the people what was going on. When they told him, he couldn't believe it. So, he took a metal bar, got out of the truck, and asked the

bus driver to open the doors to stop that madman. They had to save Tim in it. any way. Only when this man spoke did the others react. The bus driver opened the front door, and Chris, very determined with the bar in his hands, entered and confronted Vince. But this man didn't respond. Chris shouted at him, asked him to stop, but Vince kept stabbing, and at one point, he started decapitating his victim, who was no longer defending himself. They had taken so long that Tim was already dead. So, they decided that, that the best thing they could do was to seal off the bus so Vince couldn't escape. First, they activated the emergency system to prevent Vince from driving the bus, and second,

they barricaded the front and rear doors. When the mounted police arrived, they spent four hours doing practically nothing. They surrounded the bus, asked people questions, and simply waited for Vince to calm down. They believed this man was having a psychotic episode and that if they waited long enough, he would either calm down or take his own life. So, under this assumption, they did nothing. But time passed, and the man didn't calm down. He ran, shouted, and didn't let go of the knife. At 1 a.m., he broke a window and tried to escape. That's when the police shot him twice with a taser, which caused him to fall to the ground and be subdued by several officers. When the killer was arrested, the forensic team entered the bus and discovered a

complete slaughterhouse. A slaughterhouse that wasn't just limited to stabbings and decapitation but also cannibalism. Apparently, Vince cut pieces of Tim's flesh, not only spreading them all over but also eating them. Vincent Wey and Lee was born in Dondong, China, on April 30th, 1968. He got good grades, was responsible, and organized. In fact, in 1992, he earned a degree in computer science in Wuhan. From 1994 to 1998, he worked as a software engineer in Beijing, and in 2001, he moved to Canada. From 2001 to 2006, Vince worked several temporary jobs, but he still couldn't get used to speaking English. He worked for six months at a church in Winnipeg, then quit and moved to Edmonton.

Once in Edmonton, he had three jobs, the first delivering newspapers, the second at a restaurant, and the third as a cashier at a Walmart, a job he was fired from a month before committing the crime. After the attack and his arrest, the police gave Vince clean clothes to analyze his body, and that's when they discovered something terrible. Both the jacket and pants pockets contained remains of Tim McLean's body, his tongue, ears, and nose, but there was no trace of his eyes or heart. The agents assumed that Vince had eaten them. After several hours of interrogation,

the police discovered the following. On July 29, 2008, Vince began hearing voices inside his head, voices telling him that either he killed someone, or he would die. So, the man bought a knife and waited for new orders. He sat at the Erickson bus stop, and there, as a truck passed slowly in front of him, the voice told him to kill the driver. So Vince stood up and tried to do it, but when he realized he couldn't, he sat back down and waited.

He sat there all night, and the next morning, he opened his backpack, took out his laptop, and put a sign on it for sale. A boy approached him and asked the price, to which Vince said $600. The boy refused, saying he couldn't afford such a high price, so Vince lowered it to $60, and with the money, he bought a bus ticket to Winnipeg, the same bus line where Tim Richard McLean was. From that point on, everything was a matter of time. During the trip, the voice reappeared, and this time, it told him to kill Tim. Vince simply obeyed the voice, and after killing Tim, it told him to finish him off, to make sure Tim didn't survive.

The best way to do that was by devouring parts of his body. Several specialists evaluated Vincent Wey and Lee, and all of the way. of them stated that this man suffered from schizophrenia, a schizophrenia that he had been carrying since at least the age of 20. If Vince had committed this crime in the United States, he probably would have faced the death penalty or life in prison. But the crime was committed in Canada, where the laws are more lenient. Vince's trial began on March 3, 2009, and the man pleaded not criminally responsible due to his mental disorder. This means that he admitted to committing the crime but at the same time claimed that he was not responsible for what he did because it was

all due to the mental disorder. His sentence was quite strange. He was sent to a mental health center, specifically to Selkirk. The duration of his sentence had no set date. When he recovered, he could be free. In 2012, he began walking around unsupervised, and in 2013, they considered the possibility of releasing him, but that year, it didn't happen. Finally, in February 2016, Vince was released and given a new name so that no one could find him. So, he currently lives in Canada under the name William Baker. Several testimonies of the murder had to undergo psychological treatment for many years. Even a police officer who witnessed the crime scene took his life in 2014.

So now it's your turn, what do you think of the case, and do you think after everything, Vince deserves freedom?