Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Ghosts and Killers: Horror Compilation

Episode Date: January 31, 2026

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #ghoststories #killerstories #hauntedtales #darkhorror This horror compilation combines supernatural terror with true crime elements, taking listeners on a journey through haunted places, vengeful spirits, and deadly human acts. Each story builds suspense and unease, blurring the line between paranormal horror and real-world fear. Perfect for those who crave a mix of ghostly chills and murderous suspense in one continuous, spine-tingling experience horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, ghoststories, killerstories, hauntedtales, darkhorror, paranormalhorror, truemurderstories, scaryencounters, chillingstories, psychologicalhorror, frighteningtales, terrorcollection, nosleepstories, hauntingexperiences, midnighthorrorThis episode includes AI-generated content.

Are you Chris? Amanda said, yes. I said. Amanda and I started to talk about our problems and why we, re-here she told about how she lost custody of her kids to Kim, then I told her about my experience with Kim and his cronies. We both had shared cabins and started our friendship from there. The next day Leo's wife Anna served me and Amanda with a nice delicious breakfast,

I opened up Leo and Anna about my issues with Amanda's ex-husband. I told them what that pig did to me and how he ruined my life. Luckily I recorded every phone call and threatening messages. Leo then spoke, you know I have dealt corruption before, I might help you out. It'll take time, take as much time as you need, I said. Anna then spoke and said, you poor man, why would anyone do that, and what about your wife Zoe? I then say, I don't know, she made it clear that wants nothing to do with me. Well, think your luck because I think there's someone here that will be a good match for you, Anna said glancing at Amanda.

She the blushes. As weeks go by Amanda and I were getting closer and closer, I don't know if I'm falling in love, but Amanda was showing signs of her feeling the same but she's been my comfort buddy. As we were laying in bed in our cabin I couldn't sleep thinking of my kids and destroyed marriage and life I began to cry. Amanda noticed, Chris, are you okay? Amanda said. I spilled everything she already knew while breaking down but Amanda comforted me. It's okay, Chris, I know it hurts but you'll be okay, you'll get through this I'm here for you, Amanda said. Suddenly we started kissing Amanda then spoke, OMG Chris I'm so sorry I don't know what came over me I.

I then kiss her back, it's okay, I replied we then made love. The next morning we both wake up, while Amanda does her morning routine I thought, of we she said I should take control. While we eat breakfast, Leo introduced me to his lawyer who help out with his divorce from his ex-wife and others that helped him and Anna out. One of the lawyers spoke, Hello, my is Frank. Nice to meet you, I said, I hear we have a case of a corrupt cop, correct? Frank said, yes. I replied. And it's a officer Kim, correct? Frank said, yes, I replied. Well, Officer Kim. Kim has a pattern of corruption, he has the chief of the LAPD in his pocket.

Frank proceeds. He's blackmailing the chief of police with some unspeakable things. Frank then shows me what Kim is blackmailing to the chief with brought by his PI. Jesus, I said he then moves on to Anunda, she laid everything out and showed Frank long-saved evidence that was dismissed by a judge that was on Kim's payroll. God, this officer Kim needs to be stopped with everything shown we all came up with a plan. I call my parents back in Aspen, Colorado and told them about where I am and to come visit the phone call was untraceable so Kim doesn't track me.

They're then welcomed by Leo. I did say they lost their jobs in internal affairs well not exeically, it was to get Kim away from my parents. They still in internal affairs and have saved evidence that will work they were just laying low. Frank has a good judge that is not in Kim's pocket. We discuss our plans to get justice for me. and for Amanda. Me and Amanda were already a couple while we were making love. I say,

Listen Amanda, Kim will probably arrest when we arrive in L.A. But we'll both get justice for us. Baby, I'm scared what he'll do. I don't want to lose you, Amanda says. Don't worry, gorgeous, everything is going to be all right. I then kiss her for head assuring her till she falls asleep. This pig ruined my marriage, my life, took away my children and threatened the life of my parents, this pig will pay. Now let's see Amanda's perspective. Three weeks later me, Chris and his parents depart from the lodge saying goodbye to Anna and Leo. Chris's plan had me worried with him wearing that orange jumpsuit, but he assures me that it's going to be all right. It's all part of the plan. It turns out Kim has my baby's Jake and Bridget hostage to hurt me and with what he did to Chris,

I swear, Kim is such a whole he ruined so many lives but all that will be settled in court. As we land, Kim looks at us with that stupid smug smirk as if he's not punchable enough. Chris is then loaded into Kim's cruiser taken to the station. We're also taken to the station. That's when everything goes to plan. Officer Kim. A server says, yes. He says, you've been served, Kim then flips and his cronies are also served. Kim then says, you all think you can do this to me, you can't destroy me, I'm the LAPD, I'm this department, I am the law, God litsen to him he's such an arrogant prick. We then sit in the courtroom. Kim's lawyer spins the story saying the charges on Chris are justifiable and that Chris is a menace to society and that Kim was protecting Zoe.

Then Zoe spills her BS story of him being abusive. But the evidence was damning all the manipulation, threats, wrongful arrests and the shooting of Chris's parents' house. I then testify against Kim. I explained that he also kept me away from my children and that he threatened to have arrested or killed. Chris's parents now back in internal affairs uncover years of Kim's abuse of power and authority, rackering, extortion, drug trafficking, attempted murder and wrongful arrest more witnesses come up with more stories of their ordeal with Kim. Chris's ex-wife admits in court that she was force into this but Chris doesn't believe a word of it. She also claimed that Kim made her set up the restraining order threatening to leave if she doesn't accept.

The judge throws the book at Kim, Officer Kim, your actions against the plaintiff is unacceptable for the police department you have shown this that you're nothing but an abusive deplorable police officer and that you don't deserve that badge as if right now I strip you from your badge and sentence you to life in prison in without the possibility of parole and that goes to the rest of your two men. And as for you Miss Zoe Jensen, I sentence you to 30 years in the state prison for your involvement in this crime against the pontiff. This court is adjourned. The judge says as he slams the gavel hard and it was all over. Kim tries to beg us for mercy, but it was just pathetic.

Chris then changed his identity for a clean record because society is such be asterisk asterisk-C-H when it comes to having a rest record, God I hate society sometimes he also gets his custody of his KDS back with the restraining order lifted and I also got my babies back. His kids get along so well with mine and all became best friends. After all of that Chris and I start our lives over in Aspen. Chris and I were working on our horses in his farm when he gets down on one knee and says, Amanda from the moment I met I never thought we'd have a common enemy and how both of us were hurt by an abusive authoritative figure that ruined our lives. You are my rock that kept Balanced give me a reason to keep pushing when things get, you comfort me when I need you the most, and you're the most beautiful women I've ever met, so Amanda James Parker, will you be wife?

With tears in my eyes I screech saying, yes, yes, a thousand times yes, I tackle to the ground kissing him all over. Chris and I get married with a small intimate wedding with just his parents and his ex-wife's parents since my dad passed away when I was 15 and my mom that caused his death as God knows where she is which a story for another time. They up to Chris for forgiveness with what happened with daughter and what she did, Chris didn't at first but he came around. We then say our vows and I start to speak.

Chris James Parker I just want to say you're the best thing that's ever happened to me I've been through so much in my life, but you were there to give me comfort and you make me feel so loved and desired and you also give me the most wonderful gift in the world, you're the man for me, I love you, Chris. And so we live our together. Years later I hear a knock at the door. Randy now 14 is shocked to see his mom. Mom, Randy says, hey sweaty, how are you?

Zoe says I welcome her in and offer her tea or coffee. Coffee will be nice, thank you, she replies just then Chris walks in and says to Zoe. Zoe, what are you doing here? I've done so many bad things to you so I need closure. I then bring her coffee and we started speaking, what happened to you, Zoe, all I ever did love you, and you go along with THR destruction of my life. He said. Zoe over the phone said, he made me do it.

I just really needed it. I couldn't help myself. No. You made your choice. You could have come up to me and told me what was going on, but you divorce me and kept me away from Randy and Annie, Chris said. I'm sorry, Chris, I just I don't why I did what I did, but she stuttered. Gosh, Zoe, I really loved you, now I might never understand why you did what you did. did. I'm not going to keep you away from Randy, but I'll never forgive you, Chris said.

I know and I'm sorry, Zoe said. A few minutes later Zoe makes an exit. Just know I never meant for any of this to happen and I'm sorry, Chris. Good by Randy, be good for Dad now I love you and you to Chris, she said. Chris and Randy both start to cry, but I comfort them both. Randy sweaty your mother will always love even though she is not here but I'll be here for you and always refer to as my son, I said to Randy. Thanks, Mom, I kiss his forehead, then I go to Chris. Honey, I'll never ever going leave, I'll always be here not going nowhere, handsome I love you. I then hug them both then his sister and my kids Jake and Bridget follow suit and we live

happy for the rest of the years come. The end. The year was 2012, and we were all supposed to die in December. It was my freshman year of college. I was settling in quite well. I made friends with a bunch of people in our residence hall, we hit it off immediately. We started going out on the weekends, starting with Thursday, which turns out is actually a thing. I had more than one roommate.

We lived in a four-person suite with two bedrooms. I had a full ride to my university, so I had a lot of extra money to spend on my living arrangements and meal plan. Oh yeah, I was also a huge pothead. I made friends with the dealer on my floor and started buying him extra meals in exchange for weed. That's when one of my roommates came to me with a proposition. He asked me if I knew what bitcoins were. I did not. He explained the virtual currency and how it worked.

Then he really laid it all out. He told me that he had quite a lot of bitcoins and that he wants to get into selling weed. It all sounded great, but I wasn't sure what he needed me for. He then told me that he doesn't really talk to anyone and that he always sees me with people and going to parties every weekend. Okay, this makes sense. He told me how the operation would work, and it sounded swell. For the record, I was 18 and very stupid. Anyway, he would purchase the drugs from the Silk Road, a dark website where you can buy literally fucking anything.

Our friend Noah would then get the goods delivered to his apartment, which had a mailroom with hundreds of mailboxes. This was good because it would be just a little bit less suspicious, also his apartment was not on our campus. Then we'd package everything there and move it to our dorm, which had its own security. We lived in North Philadelphia, so the security and police were always looking out for the students. After we safely had the products, I would find the buyers. Our first shipment went well.

We ordered a half pound of weed, a gram of hash, ten hits of LSD, a small bag of opium, for us, and 1,000 milligrams of al-Prasalam extract for my roommate's personal anxiety treatment. We got into this business to become wheat salesman. That we'd took forever to sell. Everyone who sold weed already had good connections from their hometowns. The LSD, though, that sold in five fucking minutes. to one buyer who was interested in buying much more than 10 hits. He asked us if we could sell him a couple hundred tabs.

He said he'd pay $350 for each sheet of 100. We looked at the price per sheet on the Silk Road. It would cost us only $80 each. Yes, sir, we can absolutely sell you a couple sheets. We told him we'd call him when it arrived. Later that night we brewed some opium tea and celebrated entering the L.A. business. We bought the sheets for him, and we also bought two extras in case anyone else wanted some. The next shipment came with no problems. Our friend came over and bought the sheets we had

promised him. We made nearly $800 on that deal. We thought that was a lot, so we celebrated. Later that same day, while smoking a blunt in our courtyard, I made friends with some art students. They invited me to their dorm on the third floor. I agreed, went with them, and we listened to music and painted the walls of the dorm room which was super against the rules. They started talking about how they had taken magic mushrooms two weeks before and how it was life-changing. I told them I had 200 hits of acid in my room. I've never seen people get so excited in my entire life. They bought all of it.

They paid $400 for each sheet. Seemingly out of nowhere we made $600. Again, we thought this was a lot. My roommate was really happy with my networking abilities. Dude, I was just getting high with some hipster art students. I didn't really possess that networking skills that everyone thought I had. We went online and purchased another five sheets. We started getting a bit more confident in our ability to sell this magic money-making paper.

That week I was in one of my classes and had to do a group project with a kid named Eddie. We went to his apartment to work on the project after class. Eddie had an apartment off campus because he was an upperclassman. On the way he asked if I smoked weed. Of course. He said he had something to show me. When we got there he showed me a small wheat plant he was growing. It was an adorable little plant in a flower pot by the window.

I asked if he needed any weed and he said that he did not. We smoked a bit and then her offered me a Xanax. I had never taken Xanax, so I googled the pill he offered me. Al-Prasalam. Huh, that's funny. I told him I had 1,000 milligrams of Al-Prasolam in my room. This excited him. I asked my room-maid if he was willing to sell some of his private stash.

Eddie only wanted to buy around 100 milligrams. He agreed and I brought Eddie to my dorm. We gave it to him for the cool price of $150, a slick markdown from what he was paying. After all, we hadn't even planned on selling that stuff. He asked how we got it so cheap and if we could get anything else. We told him that we sell LSD. He said he loves hallucinogens and would love to purchase a sheet, so he did.

for sheets left. If we sell them, we can get a new and faster computer. The weekend came and I was hanging out with two of my friends from our residence hall. Joe, who was really chill and loved smoking weed as much as I did. And Bianca, who was so cool that it frightened me. She was really intimidating. I had a huge crush on her, but she was talking to a kid that lived in Johnson and Hardwick Hall. Bianca was the type of person you see in movies about cool kids doing cool things.

A character who has a lot of depth, but it takes nearly the whole movie to slowly peel back the layers, and by that time you're in love. I told her if we sold the rest of our acid-eyed by her a new tattoo. She was covered in them. That night Joe was going to take us to his friend Jamie's house. We were going to try cocaine for the first time. I was terrified. Not only was I terrified about trying cocaine, but I was scared of doing it with Bianca. I just didn't know how I would act, and I didn't want to do something stupid.

We arrived at Jamie's house. Jamie was also intimidating. His house was what your typical trap house looked like at the time, with a bunch of really expensive music equipment. Everybody wanted to be a rapper or a DJ that year. He introduced all his friends and offered us lines of Coke. Here we go. Joe went first, he'd already done some before. Bianca went next without hesitation.

Now it was my turn. I remember my hand shaking with the rolled-up bill between my fingers. I chose the smallest line and sniffed. It did not taste anything like I expected. Five minutes went by. Oh, this is what cocaine is like. It was so underwhelming. It was also some thoroughly.

stepped on shit. I know that now because since then I've done some foreign blow that literally almost made my heart stop. Anyway, Jamie and I got to talking, mostly about his, music career. Jamie told me if I ever wanted to buy cocaine in bulk to hit him up. I laughed and told him if he ever wanted to buy LSD in bulk to hit me up. I was half joking. He looked at me with the straightest face and asked if I was serious. Honestly, this change. Jamie Guy really scared the shit out of me. He was a good ten inches taller than me and the whole scene was really starting to freak me out. I told him I was serious though.

He told me to come with him. He brought me into his room and closed the door. In the room it was quiet. The walls were soundproofed. I looked around and the room was full of money, cocaine, and guns. Okay, he's probably not going to kill me. I hope. He then asked about my LSD connection. I told him I could get sheets for $350. He said he wanted books. Books? This guy wants books. I didn't know this at the time, but a book is a thousand hits of LSD. I told him I had to talk to some people and I would let him know the price, but that I could definitely make it happen. We went back into the party and he gave me line after line of course. cocaine. Joe offered him money for the lines, but Jamie told him not to pay. He said your friend

here bought you guys as much coke as you want for the night. Honestly, that made me feel really cool. After the party I talked to my roommate and told him what happened. We looked up the price of a book on the Silk Road. $300. Not only could we have saved a lot of money if we had just bought a book from the start, but we were going to make a lot more money selling by the book. The days of getting excited over $800 were about to come to an abrupt end. I talked to Jamie and asked how much he would be willing to pay for each book. He said he would pay no more than $3,000 for each book. We decided we would sell him the books for $2,800 each.

He agreed and asked how many we had. I said we can start with five books. He agreed. This was perfect. Not only were we about to make more money than we had ever expected, but acid was incredibly easy to ship. They were basically sheets of paper. Our supplier used to send it to us in between the pages of large children's coloring books. The books, or prints, as our supplier called them, blended with the kids' books very well. Our prints consisted of a large picture of Bart Simpson, the Grateful Dead Bears, and a double rainbow

portrait. If you didn't know what acid was, you wouldn't know these were drugs. We made nearly $14,000 from that first deal. Over the course of a few months we would sell close to 30,000 hits of LSD. We had $75,000 in cash sitting in an empty bedroom at Noah's apartment. I stopped going to class. My roommate had filled his entire room with computer parts and instruments. Noah, well, we didn't really see him much, but he was always present when we needed a shipment. We broke our cardinal rule of not getting high on our own supply. We took a lot of acid that semester. It was an extremely enlightening period for us. Things in my world began to take on entirely new meaning. I had a newfound appreciation for things I had never noticed. The connections with my friends became very strong and we talked

about a lot of stuff that was just too deep for my other peers to even scratch the surface of. It was nice. By my birthday in February we had over $200,000 in cash. We didn't die in December, not that I thought we would, but some people were legitimately surprised. They were mostly art students. Things started getting a little crazy. We always told ourselves we would only sell LSD. We had sparked a huge psychedelic scene in and around Philadelphia. There were literally parties where everyone was tripping acid. Many groups of people began taking acid and doing really creative stuff that I admired so much. So much good music and art was around during that period. I felt like I was living in San Francisco in the middle 60s. It felt like we were part of

this incredible scene that nobody outside of the city knew about. Of course every wave has to break and roll back. It was getting close to the summer. I hadn't been to class in months. We hadn't seen Noah since the previous shipment about a month prior. It was a regular weekday, but I wasn't going to class, so I took two hits of acid. I spent most of that evening and night writing and yapping into my tape recorder. I was on the subject of togetherness and how there are so many things that are so incredible

that we never notice even though they're right in front of us. Acid talk. I was looking at a glass of water, thinking about its importance, and how so many of us take it for granted. That's when my roommate came home. This was my roommate, though. Remember, we had a two-bedroom, four-person suite. My roommate, who was never involved in our operation. He was obliterated, and not from alcohol.

This was something else. He limped into the room and collapsed on the bed. I immediately got the rest of my roommates together. That's when Christian told me what transpired earlier while I was locked in the bedroom tripping acid. He told me that my roommate had broken up with his girlfriend, took an entire bottle of lorazepan, and tried to cut his leg open with my biology scalpel. What the fuck? I examined his leg and he did not try to cut it open, he succeeded. He had a gigantic cut all the way down his chest.

lower leg that was fixed up by his father who is a surgeon. His father then brought him back to the dorm. The condition he was in was terrifying. He was breathing, but not well. His heart rate was also very low and we had to monitor him for the remainder of the night, taking shifts to make sure he didn't stop breathing. I couldn't believe his father had brought him back in the condition he was in. The next morning I was exhausted.

My roommate and I, the one with the Bitcoins, left and went to Noah's apartment to relax for an hour. While we were gone, Bianca was to watch over him with her roommate. When we got to Noah's we had a new problem. Noah hadn't gotten out of bed for what looked like weeks. He had ran out of his antidepressants and was in bad shape. At this point I checked out. I walked into the living room and opened a bottle of champagne.

I poured a glass, popped a Xanax, and sat on the sofa. I was still a little foggy for my acid trip and I hadn't slept all night. That's when my phone rang. It was Bianca. I answered the phone and her first words were, Your room is full of police. Well, it's been a good run. On my desk were a couple thousand hits of LSD and a handgun.

In the other bedroom were numerous unopened boxes of expensive computer parts, scales and drug paraphernalia galore, and a large pile of white-powdered Alprazolam. That room also smelled heavily of weed because there was a half pound out in the open. We had gotten very sloppy. I asked her if my roommate was okay. She said that's why the police are there. She said his mom was trying to reach him and he wasn't answering her, so she called the police for a wellness check.

Bianca then started talking to someone and hung up the phone. We pondered whether or not to flee the country and become outlaws. We did after all have all the cash here at NOAAs. Close to a million dollars. Maybe more. Because we were getting sloppy, we had also started selling hash, Xanax, LSD, 25I, NBOmi, 2C, C, B, 2CI, 2CE, mescaline, cocaine, MDMA, MDA, LSA, Klonazepam, and other various designer drugs.

We were going down for a long time. I started thinking about my life. It literally was flashing before my eyes. I thought about my high school crush, and how I should have been more up front with her about how much I liked her. I loved her. I thought about the time we slept in the same bed and I couldn't fall asleep because I couldn't believe she was really laying next to me.

I remembered how I never wanted to wake up next to anyone else. I thought about my trivial crush on Bianca and how shallow it really was. I thought about my parents and how they'd raised me better. How they did so much for me so that I could go away to college and have a better life than they had. I thought about sitting on the beach last summer without a care in the world. The problems in my life that seemed hilarious now. Will I go to prom? Is my car cool enough?

My K-slash-D ratio in call of duty. How could so much happen in less than a year? That's when Bianca called me again. I was terrified to pick up that phone. We looked outside to see if police were surrounding the apartment complex. They were not. I answered the phone. She said the police were gone.

She had put my gun and LSD in my desk drawer. The police never entered the other bedroom. It was just a wellness check. An ambulance came and took my roommate. He was going to be okay. I hugged my partner in crime and we cried. I wish I could tell you we cleaned up our lives after that. My roommate with the Bitcoins developed a really dangerous drug habit after that.

He spent most of his money on drugs over the next few years. I went back to class after that summer, but stopped going again because I wanted to party instead and start a career as a writer. I failed out of college. Throughout the years I went on many adventures all around the world. I have hundreds of stories, I just have to write them. Oh, and I have to learn how to write properly. I don't use a lot of drugs today, and I don't encourage people to use drugs. I have unfortunately lost many friends during the opiate epidemic.

Weed is cool, though, I like weed. I wouldn't tell people to smoke it, but I'll never shame someone. for enjoying some cannabis. Actually, I don't really shame people for anything, it's just not my place to judge anyone. Feel free to judge me, though, about how my dorm room became a drug superhighway. T.L. Dr. We sold some acid, created a psychedelic scene in Philadelphia, and almost got caught. The end. I was born and raised in a provincial town in Peru. Life was simple, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone. When I was 18, my entire world turned upside down because of something I never saw coming.

My cousin, who was my age and someone I grew up with like a sibling, accused me of raping her. We have been close since we were little. Every family reunion, every vacation, every lazy Sunday afternoon, she was there. But when her home life started falling apart, she changed. Depression took hold of her like a shadow swallowing her whole. It started slowly, mood swings, yelling, emotional breakdowns, and soon she was lashing out at everyone, especially me. She'd scream at me for not having her problems, for living like everything was fine while she felt like she was drowning. I tried to help, I really did.

I listened. I stayed up late to talk. I offered distractions, fun, advice. But after a while, I could feel my own sanity slipping. So I distanced myself. Not coldly, just gradually. I stopped calling. I didn't go to family gatherings.

I figured maybe that was what we both needed. Months passed without a word from her. And then, one day, my father showed up at my door. I was confused, I hadn't seen him in a while, and he looked furious. Before I could even say anything, he slapped me. My father had never hit me before. My mom, sure, but only when I really messed up. This?

This was rage. I asked him what the hell was going on, and he slapped me again. Then he said the words that made my stomach drop, your cousin said you raped her. I stood there frozen. I couldn't believe it. I felt like I was falling. He told me that my uncle, her dad, found out she'd been sorry. self-harming, and when he confronted her, she said it was because of me. She blamed me for

everything. And despite her not pressing any charges, because there was no evidence, of course, the damage was done. My dad told me my uncle wanted to kill me. He called me a monster, an abuser, a piece of trash. And then he kicked me out of the house. My mom didn't say a word. She just stood there, staring at the floor. I packed what little I had, my lip bleeding from the hit, and walked out. Thank God I had been working a few odd jobs and had some money saved up on my debit card. I took a bus to the Capitol. Alone. Confused.

Angry. Terrified. I found a small room to rent in a rough part of the city. Those first couple of years were hell. I was alone. I worked any job I could get, sometimes too much. or three at once, just to survive. I dated here and there, nothing serious, because I didn't trust anyone. When I turned 20, my girlfriend at the time helped me get a job at the KFC where she

worked. I started off taking delivery orders. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills. And with the bonuses, sometimes I made more than I expected. At the same time, I was studying business administration at a technical institute, trying to give myself a future. Time moved on. I worked hard, harder than I ever thought I could. I got promoted to supervisor, then to manager. My degree helped, sure, but I earned it with sweat and patience. When I was 25, I reconnected with a woman I knew from school. She had become a lawyer. We started talking, then dating, and two years later we got married. It wasn't some fancy, showy thing, we kept it small. Just a civil ceremony and a few close friends. I didn't invite any family. Why would I? As far as I was concerned, I had no family.

My wife and I now have a son. He's one year old, and I love him more than life itself. We've built a peaceful home together. A new life. I had finally moved on, or so. I had finally moved on, or so. So I thought. Today, everything unraveled again. It started with a knock at my door in the afternoon. I opened it and froze. It was my parents. I hadn't seen them in over ten years. I didn't even know how to react. Not fear, just fury. My dad asked if they could come in. I told him no. So we walked to the park down the street. They sat me down and told me my cousin had committed it suicide. She had left a letter. In it, she confessed everything, said the man who actually abused her was her mom's brother, and that she blamed me because he told her to. It was all a cover-up.

I sat there listening, not moving, not reacting. I didn't feel sad. I didn't cry. I told them, calmly, to leave. That they were dead to me. That I never wanted to see them again. As I stood up to walk away, my dad grabbed my shoulder. He said we needed to talk more. I said no. He kept insisting. I told him no again. Then he reached out again.

And something in me snapped. I turned around and punched him. One punch, and blood started pouring from his nose. He just stood there, eyes wide. Weak. This was the man who raised me. This was the man who believed a lie and threw me out into the street. My mom gasped and covered her mouth.

I don't know what came over me. I charged him, knocked him to the ground, kept hitting. When he shielded his face, I aimed for his head, his forehead, anywhere I could reach. I was crying. Not out of sadness, out of rage. It felt like every punch was a decade of pain being released. My mom didn't stop me. She just stood there, frozen and sobbing.

When I finally stopped, my hand was throbbing. I think I might have broken a knuckle. Night had fallen. The streets were mostly empty, there was a big soccer game on TV, so no one was out. My mom finally helped my dad up and flagged down a taxi. She didn't say a word. She just cried, carried him away, and disappeared. into the night. I'm not going to lie, if she had stepped in while I was beating him, she probably

would have ended up the same way. Later that night, she messaged me. She said they had tracked me down through an old university friend of mine who found me on social media. She told me my dad needed surgery, septum reconstruction, dental surgery for four broken teeth. The total cost. About $4,000. Not exactly a fortune. but a lot in Peru. I told her I didn't care. Not a single scent was coming from me. I said if they ended up like my cousin, that was their problem. They deserved every ounce of pain. She kept begging for forgiveness, saying she was scared back then, that she should have stood by me. She said my dad felt the same, that he deserved what he got. I told my wife everything.

She already knew the basics, how I'd been disowned, falsely accused. After I explained the latest events, she just nodded. Then she said something that stuck with me. She told me, your father died the day he threw you out. That man at the park was just a stranger with his face. That line hit me hard. It made sense. It gave me peace.

I agreed with her. She said if they tried to be. press charges, we'd say it was self-defense. Peru recently passed a law allowing even lethal force for self-defense. We'd be covered. Having a lawyer for a wife has its perks. I feel free now. Lighter. Like I finally cut the last string tying me to that nightmare of a past. My parents aren't poor, they'll find a way to pay for his surgery. I just hope they're not stupid enough to come near me again. This is my home now. If they show up again, I won't hesitate to defend it. I won't hesitate to protect my family. I know that sounds brutal. But I've been through too much to let them

hurt me again. They started all this. I was just a kid trying to help someone. I was just trying to survive. And now that I've built something good, I'll destroy anything that tries to ruin it. I won't apologize for how I feel. I'm happy. I'm genuinely happy that they're suffering. It's what they deserve. I look at my son and my wife and feel nothing but gratitude. I'll protect them with everything I have. And if that means keeping my parents out of my life forever, even violently, so be it. I'm writing this now just to get it out of my system. Like pulling poison from a wound. And you know what? It worked.

I feel better. The end. So when I was in eighth grade, I became friends with a girl named Rachel. She was your average, girl next door, type, didn't try hard to be pretty, wasn't annoying to talk to, never bothered talking to boys. We've all known the type. Over the course of the year, we began getting more and more acquainted. being a chubby, awkward 14-year-old boy, this was my first experience being genuine friends with a girl that I had similar interests with. So after a while, I guess you could say I was developing a little bit of a crush on her.

I don't know how she felt about me, but it was obvious she at least enjoyed my company. Looking back, it was definitely an important kind of relationship to have had at that age. Over the summer, we kept in touch and she really wanted to hang out and do things with me. After a while, she'd invited me to hang out at her house. Now, obviously, I was hyped to hang out at a girl's house, but was also extremely nervous. My parents were slightly unsure about it, but after meeting Rachel's mom and stepdad they were more than okay with me hanging out there. It was a fun time, we'd play Halo on the OG Xbox, watch R-rated movies.

Looking back, it really was a wholesome few weeks of my summer before high school. Her parents loved me as well, it was sort of becoming like a home away from home. But everything changed when her adult sister, Allie, moved in with them. I'd heard stories about Allie for a while, she was a bit, unhinged. In and out of jail slash rehab, multiple attempts on her own life. Just one of those older siblings that was constantly fucking their life up. This past incident that caused her to live with them was she broken up with her boyfriend, whom she was living with, and had nowhere else to go.

When Allie started living with them, the whole vibe of their house changed dramatically. It'd be clouded up with cigarette smoke, people would be over there drunk and high all the time. I know it was putting a strain on the mom and stepdad's relationship. Since I was some young awkward boy hanging out with her little sister, she and her friends just love to harass me and make me feel uncomfortable asking me sexual questions and shit like that, just to embarrass Rachel by doing so. It didn't bother me, I just thought they were weird. But things were definitely different,

and while I didn't entirely care, it was making me more hesitant to be there. So one day, Rachel texts me asking if I can come over. Their mom and stepdad were gone at work all day, and Allie was arguing with her ex-boyfriend. I'm not certain, but I'm guessing it was the same one she had just moved away from. Obviously, I jump at the opportunity to come in and save her from her simply awful day.

At this point my parents didn't even bother making sure if her parents were home, they were just glad to get me out of the house. I come in and she's just sitting on the couch, all bummed out while Allie and her ex are quietly arguing in the next room. So we decide to go out for a little bit of a walk. She lived in a fairly nice neighborhood, lots of parks and stuff like that nearby, so we had plenty of places to wander off to. We end up going to this lake by her house, skipping stones, and chasing ducks and stuff. You know, just kid things. After a while, she tells me how I was

the only guy at school who wasn't creepy towards her, and I tell her she was the only girl who wasn't mean to me. We just stand there smiling at each other for a moment, we were too innocent to know what to do next. It was honestly a really cute memory, the closest my life had ever gotten to to one of those cheesy teen romance movies. But all good things must come to an end eventually. After about an hour, she decides we should go back home, since she's certain that Ali and her ex are done arguing by now. I'm thinking, hell yeah.

This is how I'll have my first kiss. Just anxious teenager thoughts. We were a good few blocks away from her house, and as we're walking I vividly remember seeing an ambulance speeding past us in the opposite direction, and I also vividly remember not thinking anything of it. In the business, we call this foreshadowing. It took us a few minutes before we reached her street,

which had one of those big hedge-wall things so we couldn't see anything until we got all the way up to the corner. As soon as we turned on her street and towards her house, Rachel just stops dead in her tracks and lets out a quiet gasp. I look over at her and see she's visibly bothered, so then look over at what she's looking at, almost a dozen police cars and several ambulances surrounding her house. All the neighbors out in their yards looking at all the commotion.

You know how at the end of horror movies where the cops finally show up and the heroes are all hanging out in the back of an ambulance wrapped in blankets and they're all happy to be alive. It was something like that, except there was no happy ending, and there were no blankets. As we approached her house, we noticed that there was blood literally all over the street and sidewalk. It led from her front door all the way to the neighbor's house across the street. It was. Everywhere.

Once we get there, the cops start talking to us and asking like who we are and everything. We still have no idea what the fuck happened, but we see Allie sitting in the driveway, wearing nothing but a bra and pajama pants and blood all over her hands. Just casually smoking a cigarette like she was waiting for the bus. She had the most vacant look on her face that still haunts me. So as it turns out. Shortly after we left to go on our cute little walk, Allie's ex got fed up with her and, understandably, told her that he was going to leave.

Ali didn't appreciate that, so she went into the kitchen and grabbed a frying pan with one hand, a butcher knife in the other, and just, started swinging at him. Smashing his head in with one hand, slicing him into ribbons with the other. Apparently at one point he lifted his hand up to try and block her, and she sliced halfway through it. Somehow he managed to get away, stumbling out of the house and over to the neighbors. By the time we got there he was already being rushed to the hospital, death in that ambulance we saw speeding away, so I didn't actually see him and the damage done, but boy did I see his blood. In a way, I think not seeing him made it even more gruesome. So for the next hour,

were all standing out in the driveway while the cops and forensics, etc. go through the house, collecting evidence and everything. Allie tried saying it was self-defense, but also straight-up admitted everything. Like I said, she was unhinged. That's how I know everything that happened, because I literally heard her tell them everything. I remember just standing there, not even knowing what to think. I don't think any of them knew what to think either. I was expecting this day to go a different direction. After a while, they end up putting Allie in handcuffs and carting her off to jail. Her mom wasn't even upset or worried or anything, just extremely annoyed. I called my parents and had them pick me up, and awkwardly told them what happened. Spoiler alert, they were not

pleased and that was the last time they let me go over to Rachel's house. She ended up moving away shortly after, anyway. I have no idea what happened to her or the rest of her. of her family, but I hope they've all found peace in their lives somehow. The funniest thing to me is just, the point in my life that it happened. If it had happened to me today, or at any point in the last decade or so, it definitely would have been just as wild of a story, but being such a young innocent kid experiencing his first time hanging out with a girl, it just makes the whole thing much, much funnier. To me, anyway, that's just how I cope with dramatic shit.

Now, I'm sure you're probably wondering, O.P., why the fuck are you telling us about something terrible that happened almost 20 years ago? Well, I'm glad you asked. I'd completely forgotten all about this. I went on with my life and never once thought about that horrifically awkward day in my adolescence. Sadly, I'd completely forgotten about Rachel and everything about her. Until the other day I was doom scrolling on Facebook and glanced at one of those police station posts sharing a story about an arrest. A guy killed somebody and his girlfriend helped him dispose of the body. Real nasty stuff. When I saw their mugshots, I literally shat bricks.

It was none other than Allie. At least this time around she was helping her boyfriend kill someone instead of just trying to kill him, so I'm glad she's been making progress. So yeah. It's wild how we just bury insane memories from our youth until one day something just unearths it all. TLDR I went to a girl's house expecting my first kiss, and left her house as a witness to an attempted homicide. Life in Florida can be funny sometimes. The end. If they didn't have a suspect, then they had nothing, so the police decided to focus on the victim's vehicle.

In the car, they found the victim's ID, wallet, and documents, they would find everything, and very likely, also find the killer. They placed announcements in the press, on TV, on the radio, and spread it online, and finally, a truck driver called to inform them that it had been parked on H Road, a practically abandoned street in Columbus. Let's begin. May 2017, the Grove City, Ohio Police Department received the call you just heard. Apparently, while a couple was walking in the countryside, they found what appeared to be the body of a young woman, completely naked and covered in blood. When the police arrived, they encountered one of the bloodiest crimes they had ever seen.

The victim was a girl between 18 and 25 years old, lying on the ground with two gunshots to the head, one in the left cheek and another at the back. Everything indicated that probably, before killing her, the killer had assaulted her, but until forensic tests were conducted, it couldn't be confirmed. The only certain thing they knew about this girl was that she had two items on her that could help identify her, a very distinctive necklace and a tattoo on her left side. So, they quickly informed the media to spread the news and hope someone would recognize the tattoo or necklace, and sadly, that's exactly what happened. The victim's name was Reagan Delaney Toakes. She was born on March 13, 1995, in Edward, Kentucky, one of two daughters of Lisa MCR.

and Toby Tokes. Reagan, then 22 years old, was a normal, everyday girl. Her friends and family described her as responsible, attentive, and cheerful. She didn't like partying, didn't drink or smoke, she much preferred staying home watching movies and eating microwave popcorn. Her parents emphasized that she was unstoppable, she was studious, athletic, and had clear priorities. In fact, she graduated with great grades from Anthony.

Wayne High School. When the time came for university, her whole family moved to Florida, assuming Reagan would go with them and study there. They expected her to make new friends, but as I mentioned before, Reagan had her mind made up. She chose to stay in a shared apartment and study at Ohio State University. Her parents couldn't stop her, she was an adult, responsible, and clear-headed. They offered to pay for her studies and housing, but Reagan refused once again. She found a part-time job at a restaurant and fully became independent. Reagan was a source of pride, a good daughter, good student, played on the university's tennis and lacrosse teams, and everything she did, she did well.

She had a bright future ahead. Statement from the Tokes family, 2017. In May 2017, Reagan was about to graduate with a degree in psychology, planning to move to Cleveland to work at a clinic, then attend graduate school and eventually open her own practice. She was so excited that on February 5th of that same year, she tweeted, Today my dad sent me an email with Diploma Frames and told me to pick one. I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry. Sadly, she didn't get to enjoy that moment as she truly deserved.

On the evening of February 8, 2017, Reagan went to work at Bodega, a restaurant in downtown Columbus, Ohio. Just before her shift, she received a call from her father. She told him she couldn't talk because she was working, but promised to call after her shift. She didn't. It happened often, she'd come home tired and forget to call, but she usually called the next morning. So he wasn't too worried. Toby Tokes, Reagan's father, the next morning, Lisa and Toby called her, but she didn't answer. They called her roommates, who said she never came home the night before. They called friends, the school, and her job, no one knew anything. That day, Reagan didn't go to class and didn't show up at work. Her frantic mother called local hospitals and finally reported her disappearance

to the police. That's when the officers asked Lisa Tokes for a full description of her daughter's body, and realized it was extremely similar to the body found in the field, same tattoo, approximate build, and a very similar necklace. With all that information, the police went directly to Bodega, the restaurant where Reagan worked. They brought photos of the body, specifically of the tattoo and necklace, and showed them to everyone they could find. Everyone said those photos had to be Reagan. The tattoo was 100% hers, and she always wore that necklace. With this evidence, police called Reagan's parents and asked them to come to Ohio to identify the body. But, as I mentioned earlier, Reagan's parents lived in Florida, 16 and a half hours away from

Ohio. So they sent Lisa Tokes' brother instead. In less than 24 hours, he was able to identify the body of his niece. Reagan had no enemies. She didn't have bad habits, nothing that could have put her in a dangerous situation. We just couldn't understand this. Toby Toakes, in 2018, police quickly traced a timeline and found that the last people to see Reagan alive were her co-workers. That day, she went to class, then to the restaurant, and after that, she left. That's exactly what the security cameras showed. During her shift, there were no incidents, no fights with co-workers, no unruly customers, nothing at all. The cameras didn't show anything suspicious either. She was calm, smiling, and left alone. So, the questioning began. Her co-workers said Reagan always parked her car in the same

spot, and that night, when they left, her car was already gone. They assumed she had gone straight home. They also said Reagan got along with everyone, she was friendly and kind. But there was one person who had been bothering her for the past few weeks, Jake Hadley, her ex-boyfriend. They had broken up and gotten back together many times, but this last time, Reagan was clear that she wouldn't go back. Still, he kept insisting, messaging her, calling her, showing up. So the police had two leads, Jake Hadley. During questioning, Jake was very nervous, he stuttered, rambled, and wasn't clear about details. But he had an alibi and witnesses to support it, so he was quickly ruled out. With no suspect, they had nothing. So, the police decided to focus on Reagan's vehicle. If they found the car,

they'd find her ID, wallet, documents, everything, and likely the killer too. They posted announcements in the media, on TV, radio, and online. Finally, a truck driver called to report he had seen at parked on H Road, a nearly abandoned street in Columbus. A patrol car went there and confirmed the tip. They opened the car, found Reagan's purse and documents, but also discovered something strange, a cigarette but under the driver's seat. Why strange? Because Reagan was very healthy, she didn't drink or smoke. That cigarette had to belong to the killer. Knowing this, police send it to forensics. Here's where something truly strange. happened. Normally, matching DNA to a suspect takes 15 days to a month. But in this case,

the moment they entered the data, a face popped up, a man who had recently been released from prison after serving time for assault. That man was Brian Golsby. Brian Golsby was born in 1988 in an abusive environment. His mother mistreated him, and he was also a victim of abuse. As a teen, he became very troubled, he stole, dealt drugs, used drugs, drank alcohol. Over time, his crimes worsened. He once threatened his mother with a knife, joined a gang, assaulted people, and in 2010, he was sentenced to six years in prison for assaulting a pregnant woman in front of her two-year-old child. While in prison, Goalsby committed 52 infractions, he stole from other inmates, started fights,

dealt drugs, and was transferred five times. Finally, in November 2016, he was released. Once out, he was supposed to be supervised by the Alvis program, which helps reintegrate ex-convicts into society by tracking them with GPS and offering counseling. He was also under the exit program, which provides housing for former inmates. But neither program properly supervised him. They didn't track his GPS, didn't counsel him, In short, Goalsby didn't exist to them. So, he committed six thefts shortly after release. He knew the justice system so well that he never stole more than $500,

just $50 gift cards here and there. He was playing the system. But soon, his luck would run out. After confirming the DNA match from the cigarette in Reagan's car, it was time to question Goalsby. The SWAT team entered his home, arrested him, and took him in. Unfortunately, as I said, this man knew police procedures very well. He knew that if police hadn't made his case public, they probably didn't have enough evidence.

So, he tried to play games during interrogation. Detectives Rick Forney and Nick Deskins led the questioning and did an impressive job. As you saw, Goalsby was playing games. They gave him cigarettes, tried to gain his trust, and eventually got him to admit that he had been at the same location as Reagan that night. He said he was wandering, looking for robbery victims, and around 9.45 p.m., saw Reagan getting into her car. He pulled a gun and forced her inside. He claimed he only wanted to rob her, but Reagan had no money. He made her drive to two ATMs, both transactions failed. Then, he drove her to an alley for 12 minutes, then to another ATM, which finally worked. After that,

to two gas stations. Near one of them, Goalsby made her get out, took the wheel, and abandoned her. At this point, Detective Rick Forney asked the question on everyone's mind, when did you kill the victim? No one believed his version. He had previously been convicted of assault, and his history included many similar accusations, just never convicted. Reagan's autopsy confirmed she had been assaulted before death. So, it's likely Goalsby forced her during those 12 minutes in the alley. What wasn't clear was why he killed her. Why didn't he let her live? Then, Goalsby said he never pulled the trigger. He claimed a third person did. When criminals feel trapped, they often invent imaginary accomplices, and that's exactly what Goalsby did. He repeated his story, he threatened Reagan, stole her money,

drove her to gas stations, but now, in the second version, a man named T.J. made him do all of it. T.J. allegedly forced him to rob, assault Reagan, and finally made her strip, walked through a field, and then shot her twice. But guess what? His story fell apart quickly, because later that night, Goalsby came home with two gifts for his girlfriend, an expensive purse he bought with Reagan's money and Reagan's wallet. And let me tell you, that's the story. That's the night, Golsby came home with two gifts for his girlfriend, And let me tell you, that's classic serial killer behavior. Murderers often keep a trophy from their victim, and in this case, Goalsby gave Reagan's wallet as a gift to his girlfriend. Everything pointed to him.

After a bit more pressure, police got a full confession, no more lies, no more imaginary people. He was sent to jail and tried in March 2018, 13 months after Reagan tokes death. He was sentenced to life in prison. However, there is currently an ongoing appeal seeking to change his sentence from life imprisonment to the death penalty. Meanwhile, the Tokes family created a foundation in Reagan's memory, which works to promote legislation that reduces crime. They also provide housing and self-defense training to young people. As expected, they filed a lawsuit in May 2018 against the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction for Negligence, because if Alvis and Exit had done their

job, followed up with Goalsby, and really monitored him, Reagan Toakes would still be alive. But now it's your turn. What do you think about this case? Do you believe Brian Goalsby can really change, or do you think he never will? The end. Back when I was 13, I lived with my dad out in a pretty isolated spot in Georgia. Imagine a house sitting on five acres of land, surrounded by mud, gravel, and a bunch of other family members who had places nearby. Our driveway was this long dirt path that split into other, even rougher paths leading to the different houses. Most nights, I'd do my homework, then either blast music for my stereo or binge some cheesy paranormal TV shows. This one night, it was around 9 p.m., and I was just winding down when something totally

freaky happened. I was up in my room on the second floor, and suddenly I hear this tap at the window. Now, keep in mind, there were no trees outside that someone could have climbed. No ledges. Nothing. And I knew most of my relatives were away, so who the hell could that be? There was a giant TV stand blocking most of the window, so I couldn't see who, or what, it was. I got spooked, so I crept downstairs and checked around the kitchen and living room. No one. My dad was working a late shift that night, so I was all by myself. I thought maybe he had come home and forgot his keys. I headed to the front door but didn't see his car.

He always parked right out front by the living room window, but it wasn't there. Then I turned and noticed something that still gives me chills. Our sliding glass door at the back had these long blinds, and the porch light was on. I could see the shadow of someone just standing there. Not moving. Just, looming. My heart practically exploded in my chest. I had no idea if the door was locked. I sprinted over and shoved my hands through the blinds, too afraid to look out.

Thank God it was locked. I flew to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife. I could find, then ran upstairs and killed the lights. As soon as I flipped the switch, BAM. A loud bang came from right outside my window. I dove into my closet and called my dad. He picked up fast, and when I told him what was happening, he freaked and said he was coming home immediately. Then I called 911, but they said the closest patrol car was about 25 minutes away. So there I was, crouched in a closet with a knife, just waiting, heart pounding, ready to stab whoever broke into my room. The banging didn't stop. It was coming from all directions now.

It didn't sound like one person, it was like two or three people trying to break in at once. When my dad and the cops finally showed up, whoever it was had vanished. But they found footprints. A bunch of them. All around the house. To this day, I have no clue who those people were or what they wanted. I don't know what was scarier, seeing that shadow on the porch or realizing there was more than one person creeping around. Nothing ever came of it. Just a terrifying mystery that still haunts me.

Fast forward a few years to when I was going to school in L.A. in 2012. I'd grown up in Indiana, in one of those peaceful neighborhoods where the craziest thing to happen was a neighbor's dog pooping in your yard. So, moving to a big city like L.A. was like culture shock with a side of chaos. I was living in an upstairs apartment with four other girls from my college. The place was above a regular house, and to get to it, you had to walk down this narrow alley next to the house and climb up a staircase. Kind of hidden.

Kind of sketchy. One afternoon, I ran home to grab some sheet music before choir practice. I figured I'd be in and out in five minutes, so I didn't even bother locking the door. While I was gathering my stuff on the kitchen table, there was a knock at the screen door. I looked up and saw this guy standing there. Young Hispanic guy, normal looking, t-shirt and jeans. I assumed it was a delivery or something. I said, hey, can I help you, expecting him to drop off a package or ask for directions?

But this dude didn't say a word. He reached for the screen door, opened it, and started walking toward me. Still, I didn't panic. I was about to tell him to leave the package on the table, but then I noticed, he wasn't holding a package. Just a box cutter. By the time my brain processed that detail, he was already too close. He pressed the blade to my neck and told me to go into my roommate's bedroom right next to the kitchen. He locked the door behind us and pushed me onto the bed.

I kept thinking, maybe he just wants money. Maybe I'll get out of this if I don't resist. But then he started looking around the room and found some telephone cables. He tried tying my wrists. Wasn't doing a great job, but still, he was trying. That's when it hit me, if he tied me up, it was going to be bad. Worse than robbery. Something in me snapped.

I screamed and shoved him. He tried to tie me again, but I was thrashing, screaming, hitting him, going full survival mode. After a few seconds of this, he gave up and ran out of the apartment. I chased after him, still screaming, and one of our downstairs neighbors came out and saw the guy bolting down the alley. The neighbor actually chased him into the street while I called 911. The cops came fast. I even worked with a sketch artist at the station.

They aired his face on TV. Within a week, they caught him. Turns out, he was part of some gang. And get this, some of these gangs had initiation rituals where new members had to mutilate women to prove themselves. This guy. He was supposed to cut off a woman's nipples and bring them back. Ever since then, I tell everyone, lock your damn doors. Even if you're just stepping in for five minutes.

Now let me take you back to 1987. I was 12 and living in Africa, in a small village surrounded by Rocky Hills. The kind of place where you could run wild and free with your friends until sunset. Those rocks. They were our playground. We played hide-and-seek in them all the time. One day, we decided to have the biggest game ever. Dozens of kids.

Me and two others were the seekers. We counted to 50 behind the market and then ran off to look for everyone. 15 minutes go by. We find nobody. Which is weird, because the rule was you could only hide in the rocks. So we start searching other places, the market, the village paths, still nothing. Then one of us spots something in the distance. Way past the rocks where the desert starts.

Figures. Not people exactly. More like scarecrow's. Tiny scarecrows stuck on tall pikes out in the sand. Unmoving. Creepy as hell. We ran back to the village screaming. What happened next is a blur.

Gunfire. Screams. Flames. My father threw me onto a truck and told me to go. I saw him get shot as the truck pulled away. Almost everyone I knew died that day. My name is Samuel O'Brien. I'm from Somalia.

What happened was part of the Isaac Genocide. And no child should ever have to witness something like that. And finally, let's jump to Halloween night, 2019. I was 14, running around with my boys, Dennis, Eddie, and Adam. We were doing the usual, collecting candy, causing harmless trouble, hitting up the bowling alley afterward. They were all dressed in black with spooky masks. Me? I was rocking a red and black Spider-Man costume.

Real flashy. Keep that detail in mind. After bowling, we hit up another neighborhood to pull some pranks. Nothing crazy. Just knocking on doors to spook people. At the first house, I crouched by a fence while the others waited in the yard. A car pulled up across the street. Two guys inside.

One skinny. One built like a linebacker. They saw me, and I tried to act normal, smiled, waved, put my mask on. Nobody answered the door, and the car stayed there. Weird. So we left. As we walked, we noticed the car slowly tailing us. Not close, but definitely following.

We turned into an alley, pitch black, going up. uphill. About halfway through, we looked back. The big guy was walking toward us. We took off, made it through, into a new neighborhood. That's when my crappy costume shoes started betraying me. No support. I kept slipping out of them. Running was almost impossible. I even tried riding piggyback, but no luck. Meanwhile, the big guy reached the end of the alley, then crossed the street and waited. The car looped around and picked him up. Right as we were about to turn a corner, the car sped ahead and blocked our path. I froze. Hands up. The others ran. Can't blame them. The big guy jumped out, yelling, get your, expletive, friends back here now, turns out, they thought we were someone else.

Some kids they were after. But still, the whole thing was traumatizing. Moral of the story. Whether you're in Georgia, L.A., Africa, or trick-or-treating in suburbia, bad things can happen when you least expect it. Stay alert. Lock your doors. And maybe don't wear slippery Spider-Man shoes when running from potential kidnappers. To be conchew, it all started on Halloween night, when my friends and I decided to mess around.

a bit in the countryside. We weren't doing anything too crazy, just hanging out, telling scary stories, and being a little mischievous. You know, typical spooky night energy. But man, we had no clue just how real the horror was going to get. We were near this old abandoned barn that had been the subject of local legends. Supposedly haunted, or cursed, or whatever. We didn't really believe in that stuff, but it was the perfect backdrop for a night of chills and dares. One of my friends even brought a baseball bat, half jokingly, like it was going to protect us from ghosts. The vibe was life-hearted until it wasn't.

Then we heard tires screech. Loud. Violent. A white van had just slammed to a halt and was blocking the only dirt road exit out of there. That killed the mood instantly. Two of my friends didn't even wait, they just bolted straight for their car. A man stepped out of the van and started walking toward us. Immediately, I felt like something was wrong.

Off. His whole aura was off. Like, wrong frequency kind of off. He kept one hand buried deep in his jacket pocket. The other hum loosely by his side. He got close enough for us to hear him say, do any of you have a lighter? us moved. None of us said a word. That hand in his pocket. It never moved. And I couldn't stop thinking, what if he has a gun? I mean, my buddy's bat wasn't gonna save us from a bullet.

I started to back up slowly toward the car, dragging my girlfriend along with me. We all did. Just inching our way to safety. The guy's voice got louder. Why are you leaving? We're not cops. His grin was sickly under the pale moonlight. Just standing there, in the middle, blocking both cars like he owned the place. Which one of you, bleep, has a light, he asked again. That's when my friend started up his car. The guy turned to look. I took the chance and jumped into my girlfriend's car and got it running.

We peeled out, tires spitting gravel, hearts hammering. Somehow, some way, there was just enough room. for our vehicles to squeeze past the van. We didn't look back. Just gunned it down that long, lonely country road. Made it to my place in record time. No idea what that guy wanted or what he had in his pocket. But I'm damn sure it wasn't good.

That story? I'm actually sharing it on behalf of a close friend who lived through it. I'm just the messenger. But let me tell you another one, this one from his own lips, and it's even more terrifying. He lives in what they call medical housing. It's like a small village where the residents are either older

or have severe health problems. Everyone gets their own little cottage. My friend's place is a cozy one-bedroom set up. About two weeks before he told me all this, he was hanging out during social hour with some neighbors, and a few of them were sharing stories about weird knocks on their windows late at night. Someone even said their doorknob twisted like someone was trying to get in. Luckily, the door was locked.

People chalked it up to dumb kids. Harmless Halloween pranks. This was a quiet, safe village. Security wasn't really a thing they worried about. A few days later, after a routine physical therapy session, my friend got home and took a long nap. He figured he'd left the door unlocked, but again, tight-knit community. right? Who would just walk in? He woke up to Vicky, his neighbor across the street,

coming in to help him set up his medical gear for the night. She's super sweet, used to be a nurse. She went to check his furnace, twisted the dial, and said, that's strange. Your heat's not working. It's going to get really cold tonight. Why don't you come stay with me until they fix it tomorrow? He was groggy, still half asleep, but some of the same. Something about her face didn't sit right. They both had done a bit of theater back in the day, so he could tell she was, acting. Trying to stay calm. He went along with it.

They packed up his gear and she helped him to the front door. She was walking just a little too fast. As they left, he heard a weird noise from his walk-in closet. Dismissed it as the cat. Maybe playing or digging in the litter box. They got to Vicky's place. and her husband Frank, a retired cop, was setting up a bed. That's when Vicky told him the truth.

She'd gone to grab and four from the cabinet near the closet, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark figure crouched in there. She didn't want to freak him out, since his condition could trigger a medical emergency. He was stunned. That guy might have been in his cottage the whole damn time he was at therapy. Or worse, the whole time he was napping. Vicky hugged him and promised that Frank would keep them safe. Said if anything happened, to yell out.

Frank was armed, and he wouldn't hesitate to protect them. Later that night, my friend woke up to tapping on the bedroom window. A man was standing there. I see you in there, he said. I'm coming in. One way or another. My friend was hooked up to breathing machines. Immobile.

Terrified. He screamed for Vicky and Frank. Get your gun. Now. Vicky shouted. Frank rushed in, aimed his gun straight at the guy, and shouted, Get off my property or I'll blow your damn brains out, you nutcase. Vicky helped him into the master bedroom and locked the door behind them.

Pulled him into the walk-in closet and tried to regulate his breathing. He was in full-on panic mode. nearly passed out. Frank knocked a few minutes later and told them the guy had taken off. Vicky called the cops. The man had been slamming on the window so hard he left cracks. By the time police arrived, he was gone. Disappeared into the night.

My friend was shaken and couldn't sleep alone, so Vicky stayed with him in the master bedroom until he dozed off. The next day, security was beefed up big time. Guards now patrol 24-7. They're even planning to build a gate to turn the place into a proper gated community. Frank also installed security cameras and alarms in both cottages. But the weirdness doesn't end there. Another story, this one I'm telling from personal experience.

I live in a pretty remote part of the Midwest. Not much goes on around here. Just farmlands, woods, and the occasional tractor parade. Nothing you'd call mysterious. Until this started happening. A few years ago, I was outside with my old dog in the garden. Picking cucumbers, pulling weeds, just regular stuff. We live near a forest, and I usually hike there.

That day, though, we were leaving the garden when I heard this strange sound from the woods. At first I thought it was an animal. But my dog, super chill, never aggressive, suddenly free. freaked out. Ears up. Teeth bared. She never acted like that. We stepped closer to the trees.

That's when I heard it. Breathing. Labored. Raspi. Like someone trying to be loud on purpose. At first I thought it was a prank. But as I stepped about 20 feet into the trees, it surrounded me. There was no clear direction.

It wasn't coming from the left. right, above, or even straight ahead. It was just, there. Everywhere. Like it was inside my skull. My dog was clearly terrified. Tail tucked, shaking. So we bailed. Ran all the way back to the house. The breathing continued until we got inside. Then silence. I tried to forget it. Years passed. The dog died. Got a new one. One day, I was out metal detecting, looking for screws I'd dropped. My new dog suddenly stopped and stared into the same part of the woods where the old one had freaked out.

It was daytime. We would have seen any animal. I was curious. Walked over, detector buzzing. Found some weird iron pieces buried about half a foot deep. And next to them, Three tiny paint jars I'd thrown away the week before. Sealed in a bag, in a bin that was never touched.

No raccoons, no reason they should be there. And no alert from the security system. So yeah, I feel like something is watching. Targeting. Following. I don't have answers. Only more questions. One more tale.

Back in high school, I was a loner. Played games, kept to myself, had maybe two real friends. One of them, Charlie, invited me to a sleep over one Friday. I said sure. We stayed up playing call of duty till like 11, then his mom told us to sleep. I woke up around 2 a.m. to thuds. Heavy ones. Like someone stomping upstairs.

Tried to wake Charlie. He told me to piss off. Half an hour later, another. thud. Then footsteps. The basement door creaked open. I panicked. Hit in the closet behind some old coats. Time passed. I must have dozed off. Woke up to loud breathing. Looked through the slits in the closet door. And there they were. Eyes. Staring right at me. And that was just the beginning. It was something truly brutal, but the most shocking thing of all is that no neighbor claimed to have seen or heard anything at all, and the identity of that killer was a complete mystery. But honestly, in those times, the death of a prostitute didn't matter to anyone.

Anyone could have killed her, a client, a pimp, someone she owed money to. So nobody cared about this death. Or at least, they didn't until the night of August 30th of that same year. We begin in the year 1888, in London. A series of crimes occurred that shocked the entire world, not only because of the brutality of the acts committed, but because the perpetrator was never found. Hundreds of theories and dozens of suspects,

but none of them were ever prosecuted. About the perpetrator of these crimes, we know that he could be an educated man with a mustache and who supposedly wrote three texts mocking the police, three texts in which he made it very clear that the police at the time were truly useless. But as our good friend Jack would say, let's go by parts. To understand this story, we must take a trip back in time, specifically to London at the end of the 19th century. Back then, the city was ruled by a thick fog caused by pollution. It was dirty, overpopulated,

and when night fell, things didn't improve, in fact, quite the opposite. The street lamps were gas lamps, and the light they emitted barely had the strength to pierce through the dense fog. So, as you can imagine, it was the perfect environment for many crimes to occur. At that time, London had a population of 900,000, and 250,000 of them lived in the District of Whitechapel. This was a zone mainly populated by foreign immigrants, primarily Irish and Jewish. It was also a place frequently visited by sailors, as there were many places to stay and many brothels. However, not all prostitutes could work indoors, because if you worked in a brothel, you had to pay. The client paid you directly, but a percentage of that money had to be handed over to

the brothel owner, and that percentage was very high. In addition, renting a room at that time was also very expensive. Sleeping in a bed cost four pence. So the cheapest options were either to sleep on the street, which was free, or pay a penny to sleep in a hallway standing up. and tied to the wall with a rope. It was a truly bleak picture, and in the middle of that chaos, a real nightmare emerged. On August 7, 1888, the lifeless body of 39-year-old prostitute Martha Tabran was found on the street. This woman received 39 stab wounds all over her body, one stab for each year of her life, on the torso, arms, legs, everywhere. This woman was attacked. It was something truly brutal.

But the most shocking thing of all is that no neighbor said they had seen or heard anything at all, and the identity of that killer was a complete mystery. But honestly, in those times, the death of a prostitute didn't matter to anyone. Anyone could have killed her, a client, a pimp, someone she owed money to. So nobody cared about this death. Or at least, they didn't until the night of August 30th of that same year. That night, Mary and Nichols, better known as Polly Nichols, was seen several times by friends of hers. First around 11 p.m. walking along Whitechapel Road.

Then at 12.30 a.m. leaving a pub called the frying pan. And finally at 2.30 a.m. after being kicked out of a lodging house on Thrall Street. The reason for her expulsion? She didn't have the four pence needed for a bed there. From this point on, no one ever saw her alive again. Around 3.45 a.m., carriage driver Charles Cross found the lifeless body of this woman lying in front of a door on Buck's Row, a very secluded and dark street. At first, this man, seeing the scene, didn't want to get involved, so he ignored what he was seeing and left, convincing himself that what he had seen was just the body of a homeless person sleeping. That was much easier than going straight to the police and reporting what he had seen, because if he did, and the police didn't have a suspect, he would become one, and most likely end up behind bars. However, after a few minutes, Charles Cross felt guilty and went directly to alert the police.

That's when they discovered that this crime had nothing to do with the previous ones. It had no connection with Martha Tabram or with any other recently murdered prostitute. Holly Nichols' body hadn't just been stabbed. First, the victim had several bruises on the face and neck, which indicated that she had possibly been strangled. At that time, women wore very long skirts, skirts that reached their ankles. So Polly Nichols likely hid in an alley with a potential client, and when she bent down to lift her skirt, the client covered her mouth with one hand so she wouldn't scream and strangled her with the other, thus causing the bruises on the corpse.

And the second point was the stabbing's. Polly Nichols had two very deep cuts from left to right across her throat. In fact, they were made with such force that her head was almost severed from her body. The attacker then made many cuts all over the victim's body, especially in the abdominal area, causing a very large opening. Once this body was analyzed with the limited means of the time, the police concluded they were dealing with a serial killer. Therefore, a commission of inspectors was created to investigate this situation. The lead detective, the famous inspector Frederick Aberline.

Aberline had already served 14 years as a detective in the H division and had acquired unmatched knowledge of the streets and criminals in the area. So he was the perfect candidate for the job. According to an article from the London Observer dated September 8th of that same year, during the first day of the investigation, Detective Aberline interviewed a great number of people, Polly Nichols' five children, regular clients, potential witnesses, and for days he worked tirelessly on this investigation. But unfortunately, nobody knew anything about her attacker. No one knew who might have wanted her dead. So the identity of this killer remained a complete mystery. This case, for minute one, was surrounded by sensationalism. At that time, the police openly collaborated with the press

and revealed all the evidence without any kind of discretion. They handed over images, data, names of possible suspects, they gave everything away. and the different London newspapers competed with each other to be the first to publish exclusives. What's more, shortly before these terrible crimes occurred, a new printing technology had emerged that allowed texts to be illustrated with images, as gory as the one you can see now on screen. And this is the announcement of Jack the Ripper's second official crime, the one involving the prostitute Annie Chapman. It happened in the early morning of September 8, 1888. The lifeless body of this woman was found in the backyard of number 29, Hanbury Street, and the person who found it was the owner of the house, John Davis, who worked as a stevedore.

According to many consulted sources, when this man saw the corpse in the morning, around 6 a.m., he called the police. But according to other versions, this man decided to take advantage of the discovery. At that time, it was very common to find corpses on the sidewalk, but what wasn't common was to find a butchered body like that. So John Davis called the neighbors and invited them to see Annie Chapman's mutilated body. And seeing how much interest people had, he began charging an entry fee. For hours, he charged many people, and in the end, guilt ate away at him, and he called the police.

When authorities arrived, they realized this body had the same characteristics as Polly Nichols'es, bruises from asphyxiation, neck cuts so deep you could see the spine, abdominal cuts, and an opening in that area. But there was a difference between the Annie Chapman case and Polly Nicholses. In this case, the killer removed the victim's intestines, left them outside, and took the uterus as a souvenir. To the police, it was clear, this was an attack on female sexuality. And it was also clear that to do this, the killer had to have anatomical knowledge. He had to be an endotropical knowledge. He had to be an educated man, perhaps a doctor or even a butcher, since they have basic knowledge of anatomy. Also, to make those deep cuts quickly and easily, a knife was needed that could very well be a surgeon.

This is when the long list of suspects begins. On September 10, John Pizer, nicknamed by the press leather apron, was arrested. He was a poor shoemaker of Polish Jewish origin who worked precisely in the Whitechapel district. But unfortunately, he wasn't very successful, he was a misogynist and had no problem admitting it. He had been arrested many times for assaulting prostitutes. So the police, with this evidence, locked him up and let the press do the rest. However, on the 14th of that same month, John Pizer was released due to lack of evidence. The first thing he did was sue the press to clear his name, and not only did he succeed, he also got a hefty compensation. On September 13th, another

man made all the newspaper headlines, Joseph Isenschmidt, better known as the mad butcher. The evidence against him was very simple, he was a very strange butcher. He talked to himself, always carried his knives with him, and his wife had reported him for beating her multiple times. However, once he was imprisoned, the following crimes occurred, so he was quickly ruled out and released. There were many more suspects, and the press, of course, published all their names along with the endless theories about Jack the Ripper. They also emphasized, again and again, that the killer had to have medical knowledge. And keep this concept in mind, the idea of a doctor, because it will come up again. On September 29, after a long list of suspects and gruesome drawings published

in the newspapers, a sinister letter arrived at Scotland Yard, the famous Dear Boss letter, preserved in the Black Museum of Scotland Yard. Its author wrote it on September 25th of that year in red ink, using a rich vocabulary, impeccable handwriting, and hardly any spelling mistakes, something incredible for the time. So its author had to be an educated man. If this letter was authentic, it was something unheard of. And if it was fake, it was extremely well done. And now you'll see why, don't be upset if I give you my professional name. This letter had something different, it mocked the police, described the crimes in disturbing detail, and above all, showed that its author was intelligent. He had command of grammar, spelling,

and vocabulary. And that was strange, because until then, the profile of the murderer had always been that of a madman with no education. But this letter broke all the rules. Two days later, a postcard arrived at the offices of the Central News Agency, signed with the same name, Jack the Ripper. That postcard made reference to the double murder of September 30th, just as he had promised in the first letter. Let's briefly go over that event. That night, a woman named Elizabeth Stride was found dead in a small courtyard. The only thing the killer had time to do was cut her throat. But before he could do more, he was interrupted by someone passing by.

That's why that crime was incomplete. But only 45 minutes later, the killer found a new woman. victim. This time, her name was Catherine Edaus, and her body was found in Mitre Square. This woman had her throat slid in the same way, and again, a large opening was made in her abdomen. But this time, the killer took a kidney from the victim. And not only that, he cut a piece of her ear off, just as he had written in the famous Dear Boss letter. So it was clear, the letter was genuine. And Scotland Yard, now sure that they were dealing with a serial killer, tried to do everything in their power to find him.

For weeks, the streets of London were filled with policemen, volunteers, and journalists. Hundreds of suspects were interrogated, and dozens were imprisoned temporarily. But no one could be charged. That's why the terror did not subside, and the fear only grew with each passing day. Then, on November 9, 1888, the killer claimed his final known victim. Her name was Mary Jane Kelly, and unlike the others, she wasn't killed on the street. She was murdered inside her room, at No. 13 Miller's Court. This detail allowed the killer more time and privacy.

What he did to this woman's body was so brutal that even the most seasoned officers were horrified. Her body had been dismembered. The face was unrecognizable, her chest had been opened, and her organs were scattered all around the bed. There is a photograph of that crime scene, and it is, without a doubt, one of the most disturbing ever taken. The room, stained with blood. The mattress soaked red. Pieces of flesh and body parts all over the place. It looked like a horror movie. That day marked the end of the Whitechapel murders, and although many other women were killed later, the police never again attributed them to the same killer. Many believe that Jack the Ripper even.

died or was imprisoned for some unrelated crime. Others say he fled the country. There are even those who believe he never existed at all and that the crimes were committed by different people. What is certain is that no one was ever caught, and Jack the Ripper became the most infamous serial killer in history. To be continued. So he wrote them in an improvised way on the side. Don't be bothered if I give you my professional name. I wasn't well enough to send this before cleaning all the red ink from my hands, underscore underscore, still no luck. Now they say I'm a doctor, ha-ha. The most shocking part of this letter is that the day after Scotland Yard received it,

that is, on September 30th, Jack killed again. And not only that, but the famous double murder or double event took place. The first victim of the double event was Elizabeth Stride, a 44-year-old prostitute. On this occasion, there were witnesses, Or at least that's what the police said. One of them was named Israel Schwartz, a Hungarian Jew who had only recently started living in London. According to this man, on the night of September 30th, he saw on a corner of Burner Street a man around 30 years old wearing a peaked cap attacking Elizabeth Stride. He said this man threw her to the ground and dragged her into an alley.

The strangest part is that this scene was not only witnessed by Schwartz but also by another man who had just come out of a nearby pup. This man was well dressed and stopped near the scene to light a pipe, as if assaulting a woman were the most normal thing in the world. Perhaps, according to the witnesses, if he had intervened, Elizabeth Stride could have been saved. But by now, we will never know. The lifeless body of this woman was discovered at 1 a.m. on September 30, 1888, lying on the ground of Dutfield's yard on Burner Street, specifically in a corner that today is part of a school courtyard. The person who found the body was Louis Deemshuts, doorman of a nearby club called the International Working Men's Educational Club.

This man was driving a pony-drawn cart and, in the darkness, realized he was passing right next to the lifeless body of a woman. Blood was still flowing from her wound, so he assumed he had just interrupted the killer. He even believed the killer was still there, but he could see nothing else in the darkness. Afraid of becoming the next victim, or even being mistaken for Jack the Ripper himself, this man quickly went to alert the authorities. When they arrived, they noted the following points. On one hand, Stride's murder had many similarities to the rest of Jack's crimes,

the year, the time, the context, a secluded and solitary place, the characteristics of the victim, and the modus operandi, strangulation and stabbing. But on the other hand, Stride's body showed no mutilatory. Perhaps Schwartz really did interrupt Jack the Ripper. And if that was the case, the killer must have been very angry. So most likely, after killing Stride, he ran in search of the next victim. And that's exactly what he did that same night. Just 45 minutes after Elizabeth Stride's body was found, the body of Catherine Eddows appeared, specifically at the southwest corner of Mitre Square. This may be one of the most brutal crimes committed by Jack the Ripper.

He went to town on a victim in ways you can't even imagine. He strangled her, just like all the others, but this woman he stabbed so many times in the face and body that he completely disfigured her. Then he opened her up, took out her intestines, laid them over her right shoulder, and took her left kidney and her uterus as a souvenir. It was truly atrocious. But this terrible double crime, or double event, didn't end there. At 3 a.m., a bloodstained piece of Catherine Edauze's apron was found discarded in the passage leading to 108 and 119, Goldston Street. And on the wall right beside this clue, the following words were found written in chalk, the Jews are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.

Fearing that anti-Semitism would erupt in Whitechapel, the detectives erased those words before dawn. From that point on, they acted as if that piece of evidence had never existed. On October 1st, 1888, the editor of London's Central News Agency received a postcard again written by Jack the Ripper. This time, the handwriting was rough, with many capital letters, and it was clear the writer was full of rage, evident from the pressure of the penstrokes. It didn't seem like the same person who wrote the first letter, but even so, the words were full of half-truths. When I gave you the tip, I wasn't bluffing. Dear boss, tomorrow you'll hear about the work of saucy Jackie. This time a double event.

The first one screamed a little, so I didn't get time to finish. Didn't have time to take her ears for the police. Thanks for not releasing my last letter until I got to work again. Signed, Jack the Ripper. Many experts say this letter was sent just before the double event happened, but the postmark suggested it was delivered to the police 24 hours after it happened, so anyone could have written a postcard. Remember, the media published every detail about the crimes. They showed images, detailed really gruesome things, and said it all without filters.

So anyone could have written it. Later on, the police claimed that the Dear Boss Letter and that the Sassy Jackie Postcard were written by a journalist looking to fill his pockets with fake exclusives. But don't worry, there's a third letter that, to this day, no one has been able to prove is fake. It's the so-called, from hell letter, and it goes like this, from hell. Mr. Lusk, sir, I send you half the kidney I took from one woman. Preserved it for you. The other half I fried and ate. It was very nice.

I may send you the bloody knife that took it out if you wait a bit longer. Signed, catch me when you can, Mr. Lusk. There are several points I want to clarify about this letter. First, as you've seen, it's very hard to read. The letters are squished, elongated, and it's hard to understand what the author is trying to tell us. Second, Mr. Lusk refers to the man the letter was sent to, George Lusk, the then-president of the Whitechapel vigilance committee. So again, the killer is mocking the incompetence of the authorities, who by now had arrested and released dozens of men, and apparently, none of them were the real Jack the Ripper.

And the third point will make your hair stand on end, because it's the reason experts believe this is the only letter that truly came from Jack the Ripper, along with the letter, the author included a box that just happened to contain half of a human kidney. At this point, all the prostitutes in Whitechapel were terrified of becoming the Ripper's next victim. Many of them went to work armed to the teeth, and others chose to stop working until things calmed down a bit. One of those who decided to hide was Mary Jane Kelly, a 25-year-old young woman.

Like the rest of Jack's victims, she hadn't had much luck in life. She had been married, but a series of catastrophic misfortunes forced her into street work. According to several sources, Mary Jane Kelly was not a normal girl. She was young, beautiful, charismatic. She had worked as a high-class prostitute in France, in London's West End. She was a young, beautiful, charismatic. She had worked as a high-class prostitute in France, in London's West End. and finally ended up in Whitechapel. It's also said she dated a millionaire but didn't like the life of a rich and sophisticated woman and eventually went back to the streets. Another thing they say is that Mary Jane Kelly was a mythomaniac, she lied constantly about

everything and lived in a constant fantasy, probably due to her alcoholism. Whatever the real story is, Mary Jane Kelly was doing quite well in this line of work. She was doing well enough to afford the luxury of paying rent for. a room. However, by the end of October, this woman ended up in debt. Instead of spending her money to survive, she spent it on alcohol and ended up owing a lot to her landlord. Because of this, on the early morning of November 9th, she was forced to return to the streets. That night, several neighbors and fellow workers saw her coming and going many times with different men. The last person to see her alive was her friend George Hutchinson, who described her last

companion this way, he was a well-dressed man with a foreign look, maybe a Jew. At 1045 in the morning, Thomas Boyer, a debt collector, knocked on Mary Jane Kelly's room door, but no one answered. The young woman owed a pound and nine shillings, and if she didn't pay, she'd be evicted. The man insisted and insisted, but no one answered. So he went to the window, which had a broken pain, put his hand in, pulled aside the curtain, and came across a real slaughterhouse. Seeing the scene, the man was so shocked he screamed with all his might and pulled his hand back so quickly he cut the back of it on the glass. Once the police were alerted and examined the crime scene, they were horrified Jack.

He had completely butchered the body of Mary Jane Kelly. He cut off her nose, her breasts, part of her thigh, and several internal organs were scattered all over the room. It looked more like the work of a demon than that of a man. This was the most disgusting crime committed by Jack the Ripper, perhaps because he had more time to take out his rage on this last victim, or perhaps because he was still angry for not being able to finish with Elizabeth Stride. But either way, this crime will never be forgotten in the city of London. At this point, I think it's time I summarize my favorite theories about the identity of Jack the Ripper. The first is that it was never Jack, but Jill the Ripper, and the name of the suspect was Mary

Percy. The reason why many people consider her the real Jack the Ripper is because her story is truly twisted. Mary Percy was living with her lover without being married to him, something that, at the time, was very frowned upon. But she didn't care because supposedly they were very much in love, or at least that's what she believed. Because at one point, her lover abandoned her, married another woman, and had a daughter with her. Upon finding this out, Mary became furious and decided to take revenge. She invited the wife of her lover and their daughter to her home, and upon receiving them, hit them on the head and stabbed them. Mary Percy was executed on September 23, 1890, and in her final will, she asked her lawyer to publish the following phrase in the

newspapers of Spain, for me, C.P., last thought of M.W., I have not betrayed you. Many think that this phrase could be directed at the accomplice who helped her kill this woman and this girl. But others say it goes further, that she was addressing the one who helped her kill all the prostitutes in the time of Jack the Ripper. Furthermore, the inspector who handled Mary Percy's case said she was a strong-built woman and that the weapon she used to kill her two victims was a very sharp knife. Another important detail is. Acknowledge of the inspector of the case. Another important detail is that in 2006, Jack's letters were analyzed and female DNA was found. So Mary Percy could very well have been Jill the Ripper. The second theory says the killer was the painter Walter Sickert,

and that he even left clues in his paintings. One of these clues could perfectly be the painting called Jack the Ripper's Room. The writer Patricia Cornwell has defended this theory for years, claiming that Walter Sickert had a genital deformity that caused him great frustration, and this fact could have pushed him to murder prostitutes. The third theory involves Aaron Cosminsky, a Polish barber who was a misogynist and had homicidal tendencies, which is why he was committed to a psychiatric hospital in 1890. Furthermore, his mitochondrial DNA matched the one found on the body of Catherine Eddows. So it's very difficult to discard him as a suspect.

The fourth theory was Inspector Abberline's favorite and considers Severn Klausowski a suspect. This man was a Polish immigrant with surgical studies, as well as a psychopath who was in Whitechapel during the murders and who also killed his three wives by poisoning. But this modus operandi didn't match Jacks. And even though he had killed women and had mental issues, he didn't quite fit the profile of the killer they were looking for. The fifth theory will highlight is the one that involves Francis Tumblety, an American doctor, and I say, doctor, in quotes because what he really was, was a con man. This man, in the United States, scammed a lot of people. He sold fake medications, claimed he could cure any condition, and when things got bad, he'd pack up and disappear.

That's how he ended up emigrating from the United States to London. Once there, the rumor spread that this man had once been married, fell deeply in love with a woman, and gave her his whole heart, but she repaid him by cheating with a prostitute. So he was forced to leave her and from then on, he hated all prostitutes with all his soul. He became a misogynist and started collecting women's uteruses, which he classified by social class. It said that after breaking up with his wife, he decided never to be with another woman again and began having sexual relations with other men. On the night of September 30th, when the double event took place, people said that on Batty

Street, an American was staying at an inn and that in his room, the owner of the building found bloody clothes. So she automatically called the police, and this man disappeared. On November 7, Francis Tumblety was arrested by the police, but not for murdering Elizabeth Stride or Catherine Eddows, but for public indecency, as he was found in the street having relations with four different men. Unfortunately, shortly after arresting him, they released him. And after the last murder of Jack the Ripper, Tumblety was arrested again, this time as a suspect in the crime. But the police had nothing on him, no evidence, no witnesses, nothing. So they charged him again with public indecency. But on November 16th of that same year, they were

forced to release him, and from then on, no one ever heard from Francis Tumblety again, as he boarded a ship, changed his name, and returned to the United States. There are hundreds of theories about Jack the Ripper, that many people were involved, that it was Lewis Carroll, or even that the British royal family was involved in these crimes, just as we can see in one of my favorite movies, from Hell, 2002. But now it's your turn, and I'll leave it in your hands to share your favorite theories in the comments below. The end. Okay, listen up. This story long. So I met this white bitch at Hooters. I was her waitress. She came in with this old-ass, big-ass black dude, so you know as a hooters girl we have to talk to our customers.

So I sit with them and we get to talkin' and she tells me she dances. So I'm like, oh yes bitch me too. Then she tells me this hulking black man is her sugar daddy. And I'm like, oh yes, bitch my S-D at home. I feel it, I feel it, so we vibing over our hoism or whatever. And we exchange numbers. And we like, next time you dance hum I am a come dance. with you. And they leave, so the next day I get a text like, bitch, let's go to Florida.

And I'm like, huh? She's like, I'm going to dance in Florida, let's go. Now I'm skeptical like damn bitch we just met and we already taking ho trips together. But I had went to FL two months prior and made 15K, so low-key I was down. So I was like, okay I'll go. Who's all going and when we leaving. All this bitch says is, be ready by eight, so I call her like, bitch I said who's all going. And she says, my boyfriend and our roommate and my roommate has a place in Tampa, so I'm like okay, okay, okay. I'll be ready. So I pack my badass stipper where and I'm ready. Now my nigger did not want me to go. He was so hurt, so I had to fuck him calm, and then I left. Now when I got in the car it was a white boy, her BF, and this hulking black guy, not the same one. So I texted her on the slick

while in the backseat like another sugar daddy. You got a type bitch. And the black old dude had her damn phone. So he starts laughing and he goes, I'm using her GPS, no I'm not a S.D. I've known her and her dude for eight years. We all live together. So Jessica, the white bitch, pulls me to the side and is like, we gone be at the club all night. This room for Jarrett. Not us. D&T even trip.

So I was like ya bitch okay. But trust one I'm not laying my head here. So we leave our shit at the motel with Jarrett and head to the club. So we're working. It was king of slow, it was early Friday night, the club had hella rules which I'm not used to. I'm a full nude type of bitch. But this club require pasties and bull.

boys shorts and all this other shit, whatever. So after making about $800, I was ready to go. She was talking to some dude, trying to talk him out his wallet and they exchanged numbers. So I was like, call you are man. I'm ready, she calls, the black dude. I'm like um that's not you are man but okay. So I pull her to the side before he pulled up like, what's up with you are roommate? And she was like we're really close.

Before I met Jared I was with him. He was taking care of me. I was like, oh, hitch-h-h-h-h-well, I don't need that. Taking care of me, in stripper language, means that was her pimp. So I was like, does Jared know? And she goes, of course not, strike one. So then she goes, I didn't make anything tonight. What you make because he's GNA ask, I said,

I'm that's not y'all's business, Jess, chill. So he pulls up and as soon as we get in, he goes, what y'all make, we said at the same time, nothing, so he goes, damn my girl said she had a, bad night too. We finna go pick her up. His fiancee who lives down here, we pick her up and he goes, nobody made shit. Y'all want a trap. Trap in stripper lingo means trick. So Jessica goes, Hell yeah. You got some clients, him in the back on mute. He was like, you can get some. So Jess is like, Yeah, I need to trap. But Jarrett is at the room.

And he goes, I wasn't putting y'all in face shit hole that was for him not y'all. I'm still quiet. We pull up to a nice-ass hotel on the other side of town and he goes, he'll get the clients together and text y'all off this. He handed her a trap phone. So I am mind-blown at this point. So then we get to the room. Nice as fuck.

Just me and Jess and I start going off. bitch you got me fucked up i am not about to play with you ho i am going home so she starts crying and she's like i didn't want to take this trip alone please don't leave me i would be so scared alone she's fucking sobbing am like umgngg really now i'm feeling bad for the ho she goes you can just check the guys in he's not gna force you to trap i said oh h bitch i know he not i kill dead a s s kill y-a-l verbatim. So she cleans herself up and there's a knock at the door, I open the door and some fat white man goes, him here for the white girl. So I check his pockets, take his wallet and let him in, they start fucking right on the bed next to me. It was a fucking mess. A mess, so when

they finished he gave her $100. I said, Jess, you sellin' puss for $100. Pussy is worth thousands. You trippin, she goes, I don't, make the prices. The prices are already discussed before they come in. So I was like, bitch, no. If you gone do this. Do it right. So I took some picks of her and put em on backpage. Along with a the trap phone hashtag with a minimum of $500.

The phone starts blowing up. I was like, s'y bitch. I got you a nigger coming up right now. Now giving $500 for 15 minutes, he comes, I check him they get it in, he leaves. We are doing this all night. She fucked about 20 dudes and her sorry-ass Pimp only sent three of them, so around 6 a.m. Jared calls. She answers on speaker and he is going off.

Where T.F. are you and Zola? The club been closed, she goes, we went to another club because it was slow, so in Googling 24h clubs, FL has a few, trying to have a few, trying to have. help her lie and he is not having it. He's livid. He goes, if you went home with a dude you are dead. So he asks to speak to me. I was Likram on I may end up killing these crazy white niggas tonight. So he starts cursing me out. Where are y'all? I know she's lying. Don't be a ho like her zola. I said, I promise you, im not, he hangs up on me and that was it. We didn't hear from him for the TRST of the night. We fall asleep. A few hours later the black dude, I still don't

know his name, comes up. He's like, how much you make last night, Jess goes, 5,500. I was like WTF why she telling the truth. I pimped her not him. So he goes, WTF how? That's good but I only sent you three clients. She goes, Zola made me a back page. I was like, whoa, whoa, whoa. Here we go. So he goes, you can do my job better than me? I said, I was just helping her out. Burke. You our clients were cheap, he started laughing. He goes, give me the money, she gave him all of it.

And he goes, thanks Zola. You a real one inch and throws $500 at me. I put that shit right in my bra. T.F. and Jess goes, what about me? And he said, you owe me. me rent Jess. You haven't paid in months, I was like damn, so we leave and head to Jarrett and the Ragedy Motel. Cause our shit was there. As we pull up, Jared chillin outside smoking weed with some dude, pay attention here. We get out and walk up to them and Jared goes,

Here they go, the pimp goes, here who go little nigger, who dis? Jared starts laughing and was like, he was asking me who I was here with and I said my girl and her friends that's all. Chill out. The guy Jarrett was talking to laughs and goes, I'll catch you later, man. Nice meeting you, and leaves. He was a black guy with dreads.

AFL nigger. So we all go up to the room and the pimp is going OFF on Jarrett. You don't know these niggas. I can't believe you told him two bitches in here. And Jarrett goes, he asked why I was out here mad last night. All I said was my girl went to work with her friend and I ain't want her to. Now the Pimp screaming, so that nigga K-N-O-I-T-S money up here now. Hell no.

We gotta go. Now, me and Jess are like, so we pack our shit and head out. We went to a nicer hotel about 20 minutes away. So the Pimp was like, Zola Kippa-I on Jarrett. I was like, oh shit he den promoted me to look out and shit, so he leaves to go back to his fiance at home and Jared and Jess start arguing. He was like, I know you was trapping Jess. I saw the back page ad ho, and he shows her a screenshot.

I was like O. H.S. H. H. H. H. I t. Here we go. So he starts crying like a bitch. I was like, wow. He's like, I thought you were done with this. I didn't come to FL for this. You messy. Then he turns to me and goes, this what you came here for Zola. I said, Helen A. Jarrett she low-key set me up. I'm not fucking with y'all after this. He goes, while you even set up you are friend.

You such a ho, so they are doing for hours. I leave and go down to the pool. I mean, I am in Florida. So my man calls me. I lied and said everything was okay. I didn't want him worrying. I had a nice dinner and then the Pimbing. I'mt calls the trap phone, I answer and he's like, since you a madam and shit, do that shit again tonight.

But set up out calls only cause this hotel too nice to trap out of. I was like cool. I got you. Especially for another $500. So I go up to the room and told Jess to get ready. Jarrett goes WTF again, bitch no. I said, Jared calm down. Please, this white nigger starts punching himself. Like crazy people do dog. I saw like Oh H. Hellnall. He goes, if you do this again, Jess. I will kill myself. I love you too much.

I was like this nigger lost in the sauce and his bitch lost in the game. So I said, Jarrett sit the fuck down. Jess come on so I can take some pics. It's already 10 o'clock. Y'all playin, so I make her a fresh ad. We come out the bathroom. I did her hair and makeup and shit, and Jarrett goes, Everybody knows you a ho now.

Fuck you. I want to go home. I said H-U-H. He throws his phone at her and it's her Facebook. A status of both ads. Her M-O-M-O-F-F-F-F-F-F in the comments. Jessica starts bawling. Oh, M-G.

My mom had my daughter this week. How could you? She on the floor literally breaking down, I was like. So Jessica calls the pimp and tells, Jarrett just put everything on Facebook. My whole family sees. The pimp goes, I told Z-O-T-O watch him. Literally five minutes later it's the pimp banging at our door. He comes in with his fiancé this time.

And snatches Jared up by the neck, he wasted an oh time. He goes, I should really kill yo ass. Jared is dangling off the ground crying, please don't please, low-key am crying. The fiancé pulls out a handgun, y'all. She goes, You want to ba' or what? Fuck him. He did our girl so wrong, I was like, oh, h my fucking God. So now Jess steps in, she's like, please don't. Just beat his ass Z. I was like, Oh, his name Z. Okay. Got it, so he puts him down. Z goes, nah, I'm gone kill his man though. And he sits on the bed next to his fiancé, he goes, sit in front of me, Jared. He does,

still crying. He goes, delete the post. And give me you our phone, he did, then he goes, come here, Jess, I was so lost. His fiancé unbuckled his pants and Jess gets on her knees and starts sucking his dick eye in front of Jared and I. I was like Y-oh-oh, he then gets up, and starts fucking Jess from the back, Jarrett just sitting there, him standing with my mouth to the floor. He looks at Jarrett and says, any questions. Jarrett says, I want to go home, I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. NZ goes, nah.

I'm a spend the night with my girl so you gone take Jess to her outcalls. I was like damn n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n. That's fucked bro. He goes, Zola got the clients and address. so y'all can take her and him and his fiancé leave. The room is silent for the next 30 minutes. Swear, the first client calls and says he ready, so Jared takes us. Zee left a handgun but told me not to tell them. He slid it to me on the slick. He texted the trap phone like him trusting you with my bitch Zola. If anything goes left. Use it, I was like

what. Nigger I can't. So anyway, Jared took us to about four clients and then the phone was slow. Me and Jarrett were in the car together while she was working so we, starting have any deep convoy. He really wasn't a bad dude. But he was bipolar. Very bipolar, so I understood his outburst a little more. So we head back to the hotel and I forget this one call late AF.

And the client says, I got 5,000 but I want two bitches. I said, oh sorry we, only have one. The client goes, well I got 2000 for one but it's four dudes, and we only do in calls. I was like, wow. What? So I text Z and told him. He was like, hell yeah, tell him come on. So I set it up. Then last min the client goes, actually, out call is fine and gives me a address. So we get in the car and head to the address. Jess goes, it's four of them can you just wait in the hall please? I was like bitch. I it come on. So we head up to the room number they gave and Jess Knox. A dude goes, who is it?

And she says, Incall, the door flings open fast a.S. fuck. And two big black dudes snatched Jess. Bitch, I ran so goddamn fast I couldn't even see straight. I was out. Fuck that. I run out and the CR is gone. I'm screaming, Jarrett. Jarrett.

This fool gone. So I called him, still. Runing and he like y'all done. I said, Bitch C. told you two never leave U.S. Where are you? He's like, I'm at the gas station. I was thirsty. I though she was gone be a minute, I'm still running. Umpho. Don't know where I'm going. In like, they snatched her dude. Come get me. I am Cal and the police. He pulls up a minute later and is like, don't call the police. Call Z. I was like, Z gone beat everybody ASS. You wasn't supposed to leave, and he's like, well, you have the gun.

If you call the cops you done too. I was like shit. You write. So I called Z and told him what happened. Z is livid. And this deep African accent comes out. I couldn't even understand him on the phone. I was like Mian.

We dead bro. So Z pulls up and is like, let's go. I said, um, I am a stay here. Y'all go, he goes, I am not in the mood, R N. Come T-F on. So we all go, me and Jared on the side of the hall where you can't see and Z knocks on the door, a man goes, who is it, Z goes, where my bitch man. Jessica S-C-R-M-S.

And the voice says, ain't no bitch in here, bruh, I was like, oh. God, Z goes, open the door, guess who opens the door? The niga wit dreads that Jarrett was smoking wit at the run-down motel. I was like you. So he goes, come in and check. To Z, Z motion for us to stay hidden. Thank God. So he goes in the room and Dred head there by himself R.N.

Z sits on the bed with his strap out and goes, where's she at man. Dreads goes, well since she wants to steal work. work F-R-M my girls. She clearly wants to be here with U.S., we still don't see Jess, so Z goes to the closet and bust the door in and she in there. Tied up. Knocked T.F. out, Dreads goes, I got 20K for her right now, man and all is forgiven, Z said, we made more than 20K this weekend alone. Get out of here. So Dreds goes, my dudes downstairs not gone just let you walk out with her like that, and Z said, we'll see. mind you I can barely see him around the corner.

So I just hear everything. Next thing I know I hear some shuffling and a gun goes off. Once again I take off, but I took off down the hall through the back. Jarrett wasn't far behind and then we looked behind us and Z is running two with Jess over his shoulder. He throws Jess in the car and hops in the driver's seat. I hopped in with him and Jared hopped in the other car and we got the fuck on. I'm crying. I said, WTF happened.

He goes, that nigger reached for his piece. I shot him in the face man, I was like O-G-H-M-M-A-A-G-A-W-D-D-D. We got back to our hotel, packed our ship and checked out. We went to Z and his fiancé's condo, nice as F-U-C-K by the way. Jess is up now and she tells us what happened. Apparently they recognized her from the motel and set her up, clearly, and once they snatched her, they told her to trap for them and she said no. So they beat her ass, that's what Zee interrupted when he knocked so they knocked her out.

I was like, I really got to go home, y'all. Sorry to kill the mood but I can't take no more of this. Jarrett was like same. Z's fiancé was in the kitchen counting money dog. Just like a rich ho. So Z was like everybody get some sleep. I got to get rid of this, talking about the gun, so he leaves, we all try to get some sleep. The next morning he comes in with tickets for me and Jarrett.

Jarrett goes, I'm not leaving Jess here. Not after last night. She has a daughter and needs to come home. Z was like, Nah, we making money. I was like woo-o with a black eye and busted lip and some F-L-Nigas looking for y'all you still trying to trap. Crazy. I was like, well I am ready.

Jess goes, ITL-L-L-B-OK, Jarrett. I'll be home in three days, Jarrett started with that punchy. himself shit again, I was like man. Here we go. Jarrett goes, come with me or I'm killing myself. Z was like, ugh. Not this shit again. It'll be in the car, y'all too, hurry up. So Jared is literally breaking down. You ever seen someone hysterically crying? It's intense. And just trying to calm him. I'm at the door ready, Jared randomly stops crying. Instantly. Like some movie shit. And goes, so you aren't coming.

Jess said, no Jarrett. I can't, this nigger Jarrett, runs towards their balcony and jumps. I swear to God. Bible. He fucking jumped. I screamed so loud my heart stopped. Jess runs towards the balcony and this nigga Jarrett was hanging. He didn't fall all the way.

He was stuck by his pants. Thank God. We were only on the fourth floor but he still would have died. It was a good drop. So Jess is helping him and I call Zilmfayu. Still crying, I was like, Jared is stuck. He tried to jump off U.R balcony. Z was like, what is wrong with this nigger?

Families live here bro WTF, so Z came up, helped get him. Slapped the fuck out of him, literally, and physically guided him to the car, Jess comes out and goes, I swear I didn't set you up Zola. I never intended for you to trap. That's why you didn't. I hope we can be friends after. I looked at her like she wasn't speaking English and I said, I'm not gone beat yo ass aren't cuss you already in bad shape. But I better not ever, see or hear from you again, and she walked away, Z literally buckled Jarrett Seek Belt L MFAO. And we went to the airport. Bear with me. It's almost over.

When we landed in Detroit, my man picked us up. We both looked horrible. So washed up and tired, my man was like, who is this white boy and what's wrong with y'all? I said, babe. Neither of us are the same. Just tack him to his car and tack me home. We dropped Jared off and on the way home I told him everything. He couldn't even speak honestly.

Check this out. this the last four tweets, I get a collect call for days later from a jail in Las Vegas. It's Jessica. She goes, we got caught trappin' in Vegas and we all got arrested. I said, oh, why you call in me? She goes, Z was wanted for kidnapping 15 underage girls and is linked to six murders including FL. I said, Florida. Murder.

You have the wrong number. She screams, ask Jericho. T.O. Bail me out, he want answer my collect call. I said, Jarrett. You really have the wrong number, I hung up and called Jarrett. He goes, yeah, I heard. It's on the news. He's a huge trafficker. I found out later that Jessica and his fiancé played victim and said they were forced and Z whose name I can't pronounce was a African male and was, wanted literally everywhere. He got sentenced to life and I hear Jess is back in Detroit with her mom and baby. And that's the end of that.

If you stuck with that whole story you are hilarious, LOL. People still saying I'm lying, bitch. Where does our location say? At the strip club getting ready where? They told me to take Jarrett's F.B. down because y'all gone harassed the poor boy. This him and his new boo though, found her ass. Pregnant again, new family I guess. Cute

Everything of Z and the fiancé gone off her shit, obviously. It was just like any night back then, in those days we were running shit, every Friday. Ask anyone about Noss boss, the real ones will know. These Functions were real fun, all these rich kids would pull up, we were slinging lean, LG, drinks everything, on a bad night we made bout K, on our best night we covered 25K. It. Shit was wild man. All these white bitches would pull up with a wallets full of daddy's money and leave with nothing. It was a lot of money for teenagers and even now, still quite a bit

of money for me. I mean we always blew it all on Puff and the club on a Saturday night but when I was 15 I wasn't looking to invest it in the SNP or anything. Anyways, him getting sidetracked, I had a friend, let's call him a, he was fucked up from birth, a semi-present father, a crazy skis schizophrenic mother, who ended up on the news for jumping out a window 10 stories up, surviving but ending up wheelchair bound, and a drug dealer brother. At one point, he became affiliated, with some serious people, following a boss and everything, he started doing a shit ton of coke with his newfound cash. Him and his buddy who were affiliated with the same group became runners, running coke, getting high on the supply and dealing for their elders. So A's parents saw this and sent

him to a Catholic boarding school, he couldn't take it, basically ran away and started living in this trap hostel. He kept the Coke stash there, in the middle of one of the most ratchet ghetto buildings in the city. It was where all the poorest immigrants and refugees would stay to get their shit figured out. Good God the food here was fucking amazing, talking about Filipino, Indian, and Ghanaian restaurants run by aunties, talking about there being at least nine brothels and more dealers on the bottom floor than I could count. Shout out Don Burjou for inviting me to the smoke and the post-smoke after dinner. Ifter with the munchies,

chilling with the dais and the johnnies till the sun rises is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I met a fucking human trafficker and a supposed IRA member in this place, 50% sure he was lying, but that's a story for another time. Anyways, him. And his homie thought it was a good idea to steal a bunch of the stash, and use it. This guy was tweaking 24-7 off of some coke that was probably half walled. dust by the time it reached him. Of course all my man's told A to chill the fuck out, we all knew

he was going to get in some serious shit soon enough, but noon foresaw what ended up happening. Of course, A didn't listen, he thought he was a big trapper, tripping on some Tony Montana shit, while working as a runner whose whole job was to be arrested. This came down to one night of no spa sin, and it was the usual, we hosted a nice little party, and made a shit ton of cash. The night ended with us sitting in a closed mall, we were cracking jokes and A was being his usual goofy self, flirting with this pachy girl. It was a normal night where we ended up discussing the important topic of what should we do next and where we would go. The night was young and so were we. As usual, we had to go out to the club since we had some fresh cash, some girls, and a lot of energy.

We smoked up in a little garden and headed out to the strip in taxis. We went out to our usual spot, with the bouncers letting us in and giving us the nice tables as usual. As usual, we blew all the money we made on bottles and getting drinks for everyone. It was everything 15-year-old me wanted, being all cool with the money and bottles. Some of the homies left and we decided to leave from the club, we picked up a couple of randoms and a couple of old friends at this point, OFC giving them a massan and the bar staff some nice tips. We decided to go to a underground club where A knew the owners, it was the top Filipino after-party spot in the city, shout out to my Filipino brothers they really know how to party. We went in, got hustled into the VIP part where we met some Filipino dais and got some free drinks on them.

At one point in the club, we were chilling in the bathroom and they offered me and some friends a couple lines. Being so gone, we accepted, it was our first times doing Coke and we were pretty gassed about it. Me, my best friend, let's call him Elle, this cool stoner chick we met and they went out on a quest to get some coke. I got his trapper friend to bring a couple G.S. across the harbor to us, and we all went the bathroom to do lil bumps. Me, Elle and the stoner chick decided to leave at one point, and we left her with his trapper friend to continue partying. We went to a park, smoked a couple joints and left, I caught a cab with the stoner chick since she lived somewhat near me. Skip to the next morning. I had a mad headache, as I made a cup of tea and checked my phone, all I saw were notifications.

The group chat was blowing up, everyone was really concerned, we heard from A's trapper friend of the scene, and pieced together a complete story hearing from people who lived in the ratchet building. Apparently, after we left, A and his trapper friend Kinnigna'd partying and ended up back in the trap hostel they were living in, and started doing lines and lines with this middle-aged Bahamian man who owned the hostel they lived with. This is where it all got fucked. A started seizing up, vomiting, pissing and shitting, the Bahamian man and his friend were tripping out Bikio. They were high on a lot of different shit, so they sat down and contemplated

what to do. A was clearly in a shitty state, but they had about a million dollars worth of coke stashed in the hostel. His trapper friend ended up calling an ambulance, and dozens of cops pulled up. They found a basically dead, and instead of letting the medics rush him to the ER, they spent a good half hour grilling the Bahamian guy and the trapper friend. A died that morning in the ambulance, and the next day we saw a news article, saying a 14-year-old boy died of an overdose and the cops made a $750,000 seizure, where did the rest go? Fuck this fucked up police, of Coke. Everyone was shook and pretty fucked up. We had all been wilding out, we thought we thought we were.

we were on top of the world, beating anyone who called us out and robbing whoever and whatever we wanted, flaunting our connections to Deis and being an overall nuisance to the party scene. We were rough kids fucking with defenseless rich sons and daughters of bankers and businessmen. Consequences were an afterthought, since we were minors, every time we got caught all we got were warnings and slaps on the wrists. We were in this drug and money-fueled year-long bout of insanity. A's death was sobering, and took us all but. back to reality for a while. This situation was completely fucked, one of ours had died,

and this time we couldn't blame anyone apart from A and his own actions. We had a little vigil, and in the fucked-upness of it all, we smoked a couple joints on the harbor in memory of A. In the months that followed, many of us calmed down and straightened out. I am not proud to say, but I continued to be involved in BS until I had an awakening from a particularly powerful asset trip and a failed kidnapping. What's fucked is that it took one of us dying to give us a wake-up call. What's fucked is that some of us, including me, didn't even take a brother's death as a warning, and continued down this path. I was lucky to be able to escape, but still, many people from this group continued dealing, robbing and scamming, going deeper and deeper.

It went from kids fucking around to serious organized crime. Every month or so I get news from home, oh yeah, so and so got arrested, his bail is set at 30k, so and so is on the run in ex-country, he's never coming back, oh yeah, him. He's in rehab, oh, he's fucked, he's in jail for a bit. Every time I hear this I'm reminded of how lucky I am to have had the awareness to escape this cycle. The way that all this shit seemed normal to me at one point is actually fucked. I took the opportunity to move to another country far away, and straighten myself up. To this day I avoid coke and hard drugs like the plague, and I promise myself to never get on this BS ever again. The memory of A continues to haunt me to this day.

When I return to the city, they'll smoke a joint in his memory and leave some flowers for him at the crematorium. The end. Jane Elizabeth Andrews was born on April 1st, 1967, in Cleethorpes, Lincolnshire. She was the youngest of three children in a working-class family. Her mother worked as a social worker. and her father was a carpenter. Despite having stable jobs, they struggled financially. Money was always tight, creating constant tension in the household. Jane's mother held down her job consistently throughout her childhood, but her father's work

as a carpenter was seasonal. Some months were good, while others were slow, leaving the family to survive on a single income. Vacations? Forget it. New clothes or a night at the movies. Out of the question. Other kids enjoyed the those little luxuries, but not the Andrews family. Yet, they never talked about their struggles. Admitting financial hardship or asking for help was seen as a weakness. Crying, expressing emotions, or opening up about problems simply wasn't allowed. Everything had to stay bottled up, both inside the home and out. This mindset of silent endurance deeply affected Jane.

At eight years old, her family's financial troubles hit a breaking point, forcing them to move to Grimsby. Their new home was much smaller and lacked an indoor bathroom. To use the restroom, they had to go outside and share facilities with neighbors. This situation crushed Jane's self-esteem. She began daydreaming about escaping her reality, imagining a life where she was rich, successful, and mingling with the elite. Her dream. To become wealthy, famous, and respected. Jane's escape plan revolved around a hobby her mother had taught her, sewing.

Her mother owned a sewing machine and showed her. Jane how to mend clothes and create simple items like pencil cases or rag dolls. Jane decided sewing would be her ticket out of her dreary life. She attended Herford Secondary School, where she was described as responsible, intelligent, and hardworking. Her grades were good, and she seemed like a model student. But at 15, Jane began skipping classes. The most common explanation. She ditched school to focus on sewing. In her mind, the more she sewed, the closer she'd be to achieving her dream. She believed every stitch brought her closer to wealth and freedom. But beneath this determination, Jane was struggling. The pressure she put

on herself became unbearable. Outwardly, she acted like she had everything under control, but inside, she was scared and overwhelmed. By this time, she had started experiencing panic attacks, depression, and eating disorders. But true to her family's ethos, Jane kept it all to herself, suffering in silence. One day, everything came to a head. Jane had skipped so many classes that her school called her mother. When Jane walked through the door, her mother confronted her. The argument escalated into a full-blown shouting match. Overwhelmed, Jane locked herself in the bathroom, grabbed a handful of pills, and swallowed them, attempting to end her life. What happened next is unclear. Some accounts suggest Jane's mother tried to help her, while others

claimed the opposite, that her mother left her to suffer, unwilling to ask for outside assistance. After all, admitting a family member had tried to take their own life would mean exposing their struggles to the world, something the Andrews family couldn't tolerate. Fortunately, Jane survived the ordeal. Around this time, Jane also started dating her first boyfriend. Insecure and eager to please, she agreed to things she wasn't comfortable with, including sexual acts she found degrading. Her boyfriend's demands, combined with her own insecurity, left her feeling humiliated. By 17, Jane discovered she was pregnant. Faced with a tough choice, she decided to have an abortion. While this allowed her to continue pursuing her dreams,

the experience left her deeply traumatized. Determined to take life more seriously, Jane enrolled in a fashion course at Grimsby College of Art after graduating from high school. Later, she landed a job designing children's clothing for Marks and Spencer. While she enjoyed working with fabrics and creating designs, the job didn't fulfill her grand ambitions. She wanted more, wealth, fame, and a glamorous life among the elite. To manifest her dream life, Jane began living as though she were already part of the upper class. She studied fashion magazines obsessively, copying the looks and styles she saw. She saved up to buy clothes, hats, and jewelry that mimic the outfits worn by high society. Slowly but surely, she transformed her appearance. By the time

When she was 21, Jane was unrecognizable to those who had known her as the shy, insecure girl from Grimsby. Her life took a dramatic turn when she stumbled upon an ad in the Lady magazine. Someone was looking for a personal wardrobe assistant. The job paid well and was based in London, the city Jane had dreamed of living in since she was a child. Without hesitation, she applied. Months passed without a response, but Jane remained hopeful.

She visualized herself working in London, living a glamorous life, and become becoming someone respected and admired. Six months later, the call came. Jane had been selected for the job. But this wasn't just any job. She would be working for none other than Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York. At the time, in 1988, Sarah, Fergie Ferguson was one of the most well-known and beloved members of the British royal family. Married to Prince Andrew, she was pregnant with their first child, Beatrice. But the press was harsh, criticizing her weight and fashion sense. Sarah desperately needed someone to help her refine her image, and Jane was the answer. The job was demanding.

Jane had to be by Sarah's side 24-7, ensuring her outfits were flawless and adhered to royal protocol. Jane also had to blend into the background, never drawing attention to herself. It was an exhausting role, but for Jane, it was the opportunity of a lifetime. She left Grimsby behind and moved into Buckingham Palace temporarily until Sarah found her a place in London. Jane's transformation was complete. She became the perfect employee, an elegant shadow who perfectly understood Sarah's style and needs. The two women hit it off immediately, becoming fast friends. But while Jane was thriving professionally, her personal life was unraveling.

Friends and family back in Grimsby barely recognized her anymore. They felt she'd changed too much and no longer belonged to their world. Meanwhile, the elite circles Jane now moved and also rejected her, viewing her as an outside. insider trying too hard to fit in. Determined to belong, Jane enrolled in elocution in etiquette classes. Sarah, impressed by Jane's dedication, grew even closer to her. The two bonded over their shared struggles. Sarah confided in Jane about feeling abandoned by her husband, who was often away for

royal duties. The press constantly compared Sarah unfavorably to Princess Diana, leaving her feeling inadequate and unloved. Jane, in turn, shared her frustrations about being rejected by both her old and New Worlds. Their friendship deepened over their mutual pain. In 1989, a year into her job, Jane began dating Christopher Dun Butler, and IBM Executive 21 years her senior. Their whirlwind romance led to marriage within three months. But the relationship was far from perfect. Jane grew bored and began having affairs, leading to their eventual divorce. Around the same time, Sarah's marriage

to Prince Andrew was also falling apart. The couple announced their separation in 1990. following years of rumors and tabloid scandals. Photos surfaced of Sarah with other men, including a particularly scandalous image of her toes being kissed by American financial advisor John Bryan. The royal family distanced themselves from Sarah, stripping her of her royal privileges. Desperate to make ends meet, Sarah had to let go of much of her staff. But Jane remained by her side, her loyalty unwavering. During this tumultuous period, Jane began dating Dmitry Horn, the son of a wealthy Greek shipping magazine. Their relationship was passionate but volatile.

Dimitri quickly realized Jane's mood swings and instability made the relationship untenable. When he tried to end things, Jane reacted with explosive anger, throwing objects and threatening to take her own life. She overdosed on pills but survived. Shortly after this incident, Jane found herself at the center of another scandal. Sarah had taken a flight for a work trip, bringing along some valuable jewelry. When the plane landed, the jewels were missing. As Sarah's wardrobe assistant, Jane was held responsible.

The press accused her of stealing, painting her as a conniving thief. In reality, an airport employee had stolen the jewelry, but the damage to Jane's reputation was done. By 1997, tensions between Sarah and Jane had reached a breaking point. Sarah ultimately fired her. The official reason was budget cuts, but rumors suggested jealousy played a role. Allegedly, Sarah had started dating an Italian count, and Jane's flirtations with him didn't sit well with her.

Whatever the truth, Jane's dismissal marked the end of her royal connections and the beginning of a downward spiral that would eventually lead to far darker events. It all started like one of those stories you might hear at a coffee shop, where someone's love life takes a dramatic turn. Jane and Andrew began their flirtation with the kind of spark that made people think, this could be it. They started dating, laughing together, and sharing sweet moments. But the tables turned when Andrew showed more interest in Jane's friend, Sarah.

And here's the kicker, Jane seemed to reciprocate, knowing full well how happy Sarah was in her life. That's when Sarah drew the line and shut Jane out for good. Losing her best friend wasn't just a social blow for Jane. It was a full-on collapse of her world. She'd lost her job, her closest companion, and any sense of stability she had left. Her life was a far cry from glamorous now, she was back to living like an ordinary person, and it hit her heart.

By August 1998, she'd fallen into a deep depression, and it seemed like nothing could pull her out of it. That was until she crossed paths with Thomas Ashley Crisman, a former stockbroker with a fortune big enough to make anyone's head spin. Tom was everything Jane wanted in a man. He owned a thriving automotive accessories business, mingled with London's elite, and had connections with powerful, influential people, the kind who ruled the city outside the royal bubble.

To Jane, this was the ultimate dream. She quickly started fantasizing about a life with him, marriage, kids, and everything in between. But here's the catch, Tom didn't see Jane the same way. At least not at first. To him, she was a casual fling, someone he liked spending time with but wasn't interested in taking seriously. Despite Tom's lack of commitment, they kept seeing each other. They attended balls, got to know each other better, and even shared some laughs. Jane, in the meantime, juggled odd jobs, from working at a jewelry chain to landing a gig at the

prestigious Clerages Hotel. But deep down, her ambition was clear, she wanted status, and Tom seemed like her ticket to it. One night, during a grand ball, Jane's life took a strange turn. She tripped and fell, breaking her wrist in the process. She claimed she was in unbearable pain and felt utterly miserable. Feeling guilty, Tom invited her to move in with him. His apartment in Fulham was a posh, luxurious space in one of London's most desirable neighborhoods. For Jane, it was like stepping into a fairy tale. But not everyone was charmed. Tom's friend suspected Jane was exaggerating her injury to manipulate him.

Regardless, she had achieved her goal, a glamorous life and a fancy home. Marriage seemed like the next logical step, at least to her. Jane believed that persistence would eventually wear Tom down. If she kept pushing, he'd give in and propose. But Tom didn't share her vision. As their relationship dragged on, it became clear that their fairy tale was more of a nightmare. Arguments became a daily occurrence, and they both started using threats as weapons. Jane, feeling betrayed, shared secrets about the royal family with Tom, who in turn threatened

to expose her to the press. Jane, however, wasn't one to back down. She had her own arsenal of secrets about Tom's private preferences and wasn't afraid to use them. accused Tom of physical abuse, claiming he hit, humiliated, and degraded her in unimaginable ways. She even stated that her broken wrist from the ball wasn't an accident. According to her, it happened during a heated fight when Tom pushed her into a cabinet. Tom's friends and family vehemently denied these allegations, painting him as a kind, gentleman. His ex-partners echoed the same sentiments, insisting that while he was commitment-averse, he was never abusive. As their

relationship deteriorated, Jane's behavior grew more obsessive. She hacked into Tom's email and scoured through every message. Her snooping eventually paid off when she discovered a series of emails between Tom and a woman named Deborah de Macailly. They had met at a conference in Las Vegas, and their correspondence quickly escalated from professional to provocative. Some of the messages were outright explicit, and rumors swirled that they'd even exchanged risque photos. But the most damning piece of evidence was a message from Tom to Deborah. In it, he compared Jane to an old pair of sneakers he couldn't throw away. The line was both cruel and telling.

For anyone else, this would have been the final straw. But not for Jane. Instead of leaving, she printed the emails, confronted Tom, and issued an ultimatum, marry her within six months, or it was over. Surprisingly, they didn't break up. Instead, they planned a romantic trip to Italy, hoping to mend their fractured relationship. The vacation had all the makings of a perfect proposal, stunning views, luxurious hotels, and private chauffeurs. They even visited Tom's parents.

But as the days passed, Jane grew increasingly frustrated. The proposal she dreamed of never came. When Tom finally admitted he had no intention of marrying her or having children, Jane snapped. The trip ended in chaos, with Jane threatening to drive off a cliff and end her life. Back in London, their relationship hit rock bottom. On the night of September 17, 2000, just days after returning from their disastrous vacation, Jane calmly suggested couples therapy. Tom refused, insisting that she was the problem and needed help. The argument escalated to the point where Tom called the police, pleading for assistance. Unfortunately, his cries for help went unanswered.

The next morning, one of Tom's employees went to check on him after days of silence. The front door was unlocked, which immediately raised alarms. Inside, the employee discovered a horrifying scene. Tom's lifeless, naked body lay in a pool of dried blood. He had been bludgeoned with a cricket bat and stabbed in the chest with a kitchen knife. Both weapons belonged to Tom, the bat from his closet and the knife from his kitchen. The brutality of the attack suggested deep-seated rage, and the intimate circumstances pointed to someone he trusted. The police quickly turned their attention to Jane.

Her car was missing, and so was she. In the kitchen, they found two handwritten notes from Jane. In one, she apologized to her parents, claiming she couldn't bear the pain anymore in blaming Tom for her suffering. The notes painted a grim picture, leaving the police with two possibilities. Jane was either a victim or the perpetrator. As the news spread, the case captured national attention. Even Sarah Ferguson, Jane's former best friend, issued a public plea for her to turn herself in.

But Jane was silent. She ignored calls, texts, and messages from everyone, pretending she had no idea what was happening. When a friend finally reached her by phone, Jane confessed she'd taken a large number of pills and planned to end her life. Police traced the call and found her in a car near Cornwall. At first glance, it seemed she was dead, slumped over the steering wheel. But when officers knocked on the window, Jane stirred. She was alive, just asleep. After a brief hospital stay, she was arrested and formally charged with murder.

During her trial in 2001, Jane's story changed multiple times. At first, she denied any involvement. Then she claimed self-defense, alleging years of abuse at Tom's hands. Her version of events was dramatic. She described the night of violence, confinement, and eventual escape. According to Jane, Tom's death was an accident. She said he'd impaled himself on the knife during a struggle. But the evidence told a different story.

The jury took 12 hours to deliberate before finding her guilty. She was sentenced to life in prison. In 2009, Jane was granted parole but fled shortly after her release. Authorities found her in a hotel with her family and sent her back to prison. While incarcerated, she began a romantic correspondence with another inmate, calling him her, husband. But once he was released, he sold their love letters to the media, portraying her as unstable. Jane was released again in 2015 and tried to rebuild her life under a new identity. She worked at a market-selling antique items, some allegedly linked to the role.

royal family. But when her past came to light, she disappeared. In 2018, she started dating a married man who eventually reported her for harassment. Though the accusations didn't hold up, the incident brought her back into the spotlight. She was briefly arrested in 2019 but released after investigators found no evidence of wrongdoing. Today, Jane Andrew's whereabouts remain unknown. Her story is a labyrinth of ambition, betrayal, and tragedy. What do you think of her case? Was justice served, or was there more to the story than we'll ever know? I'm going to take you back to a chapter of my life that still sticks to my bones like the smell of smoke on an old hoodie. It was raw, it was painful, it was lonely, but somehow, there was light that cracked through the mess.

This is about being young, homeless, scarred, and somehow, surviving. I was a teenager, maybe 17 when things started sliding off the rails completely. I'd already been through hell by that point. I had trauma stitched into every corner of my brain, years of abuse, the kind people don't talk about at family dinners, and one horrible moment at 15 that nearly broke me completely. That was the moment everything changed. I was raped, and that event just detonated everything I thought I knew about safety, trust, and people.

After that, I was legally emancipated. For those who don't know, that means I'm not. I was legally considered an adult before I was even old enough to vote. No parents. No guardians. Just me against the world. On paper, it might sound like freedom, but let me tell you, it's just another word for being completely alone. No home. No safety net. No plan. So yeah, I fell into drugs. Hard not to when the only escape from a constant nightmare is whatever numbs you for a little Weed, pills, eventually heavier stuff. Not proud of it, but that was my reality.

For a while, drugs made the pain foggy and distant. But the high always wears off, and when it does, the pain comes roaring back, sharper and angrier than before. At some point, I looked around and realized if I didn't stop, I was going to end up dead. Not in a dramatic way, just quietly gone, another forgotten face in a more drawer. So, I made a wild decision, I'd hitchhike across the state. Just wander. No ties.

No familiar people. No one to enable me or pull me back in. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the only one I had. I was scared. Like, deep in your get scared. Every night, every step, every car ride with a stranger was a gamble. But at least I was trying. I had no money, no place to go, barely enough food to stay standing, but I was trying to get clean.

That had to count for something. One thing you learn fast when you're homeless is that people don't see you. Or worse, they see you and immediately look away. You become this unwanted shadow in their perfect little world. They cross the street when they see you. They clutched their bags. They whisper to their kids to keep walking. I became the boogeyman in their suburban fairy tales.

My first criminal charge. Sleeping in a public park. That's it. No drugs. No theft. No violence. Just sleeping. It was late.

I was tired. I curled up on a bench and bam, cop wakes me up, tells me I'm trespassing. I tried to explain I didn't have anywhere else to go, but it didn't matter. I had a record now. Welcome to the system. Bathrooms? Forget about it. Stores, restaurants, gas stations, they'd slam the door in my face. I once watched a woman with a designer purse walk in right after me and get handed a key with a smile. Me? I got told the restroom was, out of order. The world becomes colder than you ever imagined when you're living on the street. People yell things at you.

Cruel stuff. Stuff they'd never say if you had a roof and clean clothes. It chips away at your soul. You start believing maybe you are less than human. Maybe you don't deserve kindness. Then came the day I met Dawn. I remember it so clearly. I was sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk,

just holding a cardboard sign that said, hungry. That's it. No big pitch. No clever sob story. Just one word, hungry. I didn't have any hustle or game. I didn't even want to be seen. I was just tired.

Tired in a way that felt permanent. I didn't like begging, and I avoided it when I could. But that day, I had nothing. No food, no money, no shelter. Just the hope someone might spare a bite or a dollar. I wasn't expecting much. Hell, most people avoided eye contact altogether. But then this woman, Dawn, walked by with her two daughters.

They couldn't have been more than six or seven. She glanced at my sign, then looked at me. Really looked. Not with disgust or pity. Just with this calm, steady gaze. You're hungry, she asked. I nodded. Well, why don't you?

you come eat with us? That broke something in me. I was used to people shielding their kids for me like I was a disease. Parents whispering to their little ones, pulling them away like I might suddenly explode. But Dawn, she welcomed me. She invited me. I followed them into this small diner around the corner. It wasn't fancy, but it smelled like heaven. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, warm food, real food. We sat at a booth, and she treated me like, a person. She asked me my name. Asked how I ended up on the street. She listened. Really listened. Not like she was collecting gossip, but like she genuinely cared. Her kids didn't seem afraid of me either. They were curious, sure, but not scared. They smiled at me. They giggled when I made a scept. They giggled when I made a

silly face. For the first time in years, I felt normal. Not broken. Not dangerous. Just, human. Dawn ordered me breakfast. Not just the basics either, she let me get what I wanted. Pancakes with syrup, bacon, eggs, orange juice. I tried to turn down the dessert she offered afterward, but she insisted. Said, everyone deserves something sweet. Before we left, she handed me a few dollars and a small slip of paper with her number on it. If you ever need help, she said, just call me. I stared at that number for days. Carried it in my backpack like a lifeline. I never worked up the nerve to call her. And then, a few months later, someone stole my backpack while I was sleeping under a bridge.

Gone. Just like that. But I never forgot Dawn. That one moment, that one morning, it stuck with me. When you're stripped down to nothing, kindness feels like magic. She reminded me I wasn't invisible. That I wasn't some monster that people needed to fear. I was still a person. Still worthy of dignity.

Years passed. Slowly, painfully, I got clean. It was a messy road. I relapsed a few times. Got back up again. Eventually, I was a little. landed in a rehab center that accepted Medicaid. It wasn't glamorous, but it saved my life. From there, I got into a transitional housing program through my county. Then, Section 8 helped me get a

small apartment. Now, I'm six years sober. Got a little place I can call home. I work in IT now, funny how life twists around. I'm almost done with my associate's degree, and I'm hoping to move into cybersecurity soon. But I never stopped thinking about where I came from. How fragile it all was. How close I was to just, disappearing. And every now and then, I think of dawn. I wish I could call her. Tell her I made it. Tell her that meal mattered more than she'll ever know. That her daughters got to see what kindness looks like, in action. That her small moment of grace helped pull me back from the edge. If she's out there, if somehow this story finds her, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. And if anyone reading this is struggling,

please know this, you matter. Even if the world tells you otherwise. You do matter. And fun social programs. They work. I'm living proof. The end. Basic info, I Ross Mail friends with Joyce Mail who is married to his wife Rebecca. They have been married for seven years and we all are in late 20s or early 30s. Now the Story. I have been friends with Joyce since Third Standard and we were best friends with each other for a long time till yesterday. We all have good careers and earn above average salary. Joyce met Rebecca in college and have been inseparable since then and married seven years ago. They were very much in love and nothing indicated there was anything wrong with Rebecca or their relationship. They dated for five years before marriage.

marriage. Problem started two years into the marriage. Rebecca slowly became more withdrawn and focused more on her career than in relationship. But Joyce was still happy but their sex life sucked because they had sex only two to three times in a month and not very exciting. All of this was narrated by Joyce. As time past things became more drastic. Rebecca started coming late from work, as late as 3 a.m., and sometimes didn't come at all night from office saying she was exhausted staying at hotel. Fights started increasing as Joyce became suspicious. Joyce wanted to focus more on relationship and wanted to get close with Rebecca as it was before

marriage. Rebecca put very little work but Joyce put much work, date nights, gifts, parties, massages, cuddling, mini-honeymoons. But Rebecca was still withdrawn. What was actually happening was Rebecca has started an EA with her married boss slash co-worker one year after marriage and first slept with him for promotion two years into marriage. But it became a full-blown affair from thereon and it became, Seedy. She had all sex unprotected and twice became pregnant with AP's child, but aborted both

times. Joyce was oblivious to all this during both abortions and she said she was going on in international work trips. This was going on and my friend was still none the wiser until three months ago he snooped into Rebecca's phone and suspected affair and came to know her text messages with her AP. He thought at the time it was only EA and confronted Rebecca. She first denied the affair, gaslight him, trickle-truthed and first admitted to EA. When Joyce pulled up the divorce card and phoned the lawyer she admitted to everything above. And then the nuclear bomb she is third time pregnant with AP's baby and wanted to show as if Joyce is the bio dad.

Joyce told get ready to single mom until she aborted and then she confessed it was AP's baby. Joyce went into a deep depression and tried to commit suicide. I along with his family members convinced him otherwise and not to try it again that he agreed, but was still a mess. Rebecca apologized and wanted reconciliation and not divorce. She agreed to abortion and cut off all contact with her AP and quit her job. Joyce wanted to give her one last chance as he still loved her very much. Until three days ago. Joyce lives with me for a few days when he becomes too depressed or gets triggered. So three days ago I went with Joyce to a nearby store to buy somethings.

But we were caught off guard as we saw Rebecca there talking to someone male. Joyce informed me he is her AP. I immediately charged towards him and landed a good couple of punches, but he escaped. We berated Rebecca for talking to her AP again and started name calling her. Rebecca ran outside, but we wanted full info so we wanted full info and confronted her. She said she met him only to give him closure. Her AP wanted her to give birth to baby and hand the baby over to him, but Rebecca was firm on abortion. She got angry at me for making matters worse and why I am poking

nose in her relationship. I called her slangs again. Joyce thanked me but left with Rebecca. Joyce texted with casually with me for two days until today. He called me saying I was bad for putting hands on AP and Rebecca has put reconciliation on hold until he gets rid of me. Joyce said it's time to end the friendship and he wants to put Rebecca before me. I called him ungrateful and some names, and he did the same to me. He texted me he loves Rebecca above everyone, and to consider this end of friendship and never call or text him. He then blocked me. I only wondered how much of a doormat he is and lacked spine, but was also sad for losing my friend. There goes our 23-year friendship down the drain that I hate Rebecca and am resenting

her even more than after her affair. I wonder what wrong did I do for standing for my friend in his support. This is my story, thanks for reading. It was a small, unsuspecting bedroom. Decorated with soft purple walls, white trim, and a built-in with drawers on either side. The full-sized bed sat high in the center of the room, perpendicular to a small crowded closet and a single window, with just enough space to walk around. The room was nestled on the corner of a second-story brick house, the window overlooking a gentle rolling hill carved into two by a two-lane road. Behind the house, within 50 feet of the sloped, uneven backyard, lie a dense forest that stretched on for miles.

Inside this small room, I found refuge. I was a typical teenager, rebellious, moody, and given frequent conflict with my family, I preferred to be alone. Each night, I would retreat into my room, shut the lights, and dial into my laptop. The laptop was merely a vessel for a hobby that I was indulging in. Inspired by a film class, I began watching all kinds of movies, both old and new, from the comfort and solitude of my bed. In that dark room, the world seemed to melt away as the screen danced with images of other worlds.

Their stories distracted me from the chaos and emotion that simmered inside of me. Weeks passed and a routine began to take hold. Many times, after leaving the room for a bathroom break or a quest for the perfect snack, I'd discover my cat, Emmy, must have snuck in behind me. She was a short-haired black cat, impossible to see in the dark behind the screen, but I could feel her jump onto the bed and settle into the corner. One particular night, I retired early and it was not long into my second film before I felt the familiar weight at the edge of the bed.

Smiling, I shifted myself to give her room and nestled back into the sheets, but was abruptly startled by my door whipping open. My mom stared into the room, looking visibly confused. Did you just walk into your room, she asked me. No. I responded hesitantly, I've been in here for a couple hours. She took several paces into the room, looking around the edges of the bed, impressed again, do you have a friend over? No, it's just me and Emmy in here. Why? What's wrong?

She turned on the light, and I sat up and looked down at my bed to see a large indent, still creased from the weight of her, was empty. I looked to both sides of the room, but she isn't there. Puzzled, I look back at my mom to see a fearful look in her eyes. I watched a girl walk into your room. I saw her in the hallway. Are you sure it wasn't you? No one is in here. I'm sure, I answer her. Fear began bubbling up deep inside of me, but I swallow hard to try to force it back down. Okay. Never mind, then, my mom says dejectedly and closes the door as swiftly as she opened it.

Stunned, I sat quietly in the darkness, illuminated solely by the dim light of my computer. The energy of the room seemed to have shifted. It no longer felt comfortable and safe. I felt scared. Who could she have seen, I wondered. Was it real? or a trick of the eye. And where did Emmy go?

My stomach twisted with anxiety, unsure of what to believe. I took a deep breath and pressed play on the laptop. This will help keep my mind off things, I thought to myself. 10. Maybe 20 minutes go by and I feel the familiar weight press into the edge of the bed. Pausing the movie, I sit up and whisper, there you are, as I begin reaching for her. My hands pat around the blanket, but I don't feel her. I climb out of the bed to turn on the light when I suddenly realized that my door is closed,

she, couldn't have gotten in. Eyes wide, I dart to the light and switch it on to find the indent slowly leaving the bed. Emmy isn't in the room. Chills seemed to dance across my skin, giving rise to a sea of goosebumps as the realization seeped in. In an instant, I shut the lights back out. Diving back into bed, I slammed my laptop shut and pulled the sheets over my head. I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard my bed crissed. streak under the weight of it.

Turning my back to the edge, I willed myself to sleep. It can't hurt me if I don't give it the energy, I told myself. My blood ran cold as I felt a hand on my shoulder, tugging me, beckoning me, to look at it. The grip seemed to grow stronger, and from the corner of my eye, a dark figure towered over the bed. I whispered over and over for hours for it to leave, that it was not welcome. I whispered until exhaustion won the war versus fear, and the world went still.

It was the last night I ever stayed in that small, purple room. At this point, Paris fixes everything. He is sleeping, brushes his teeth, gets into bed, and has a very strange dream related to demons. He dreams of demons laughing at him, attacking him, and in the middle of the dream, Paris grabs a knife and stabs one of these demons. He struggles with the monster, defends himself, and when he opens his eyes, he realizes that the monster is actually his four-year-old sister.

The boy, terrified, doesn't know what to do, so he grabs the phone and calls 911. This story begins at 1230 a.m. on February 4, 2007. Charity Bennett, 33 years old, was finishing her shift when two officers asked for her. That night, the woman had left her two children with a babysitter. So, she immediately feared the worst, that the woman had kidnapped that. hurt them, or that the house had caught fire. But what she didn't expect to hear was that her four-year-old daughter had died and that her 13-year-old son was at the police station. What exactly happened that night? We will find out next. Charity Lee Bennett was born in 1974 in Atlanta, Georgia,

to Kyla Taylor and James Robert Bennett. This marriage was not ordinary, as they were business owners who had made large profits. They had been renting and selling for years, and this made them members of high society. Because of this, Charity never received a, no, answer to anything. She studied at the best schools, had private tutors, and practiced horseback riding. She had horses, and her parents were members of exclusive country clubs. At one point in her childhood, her parents divorced, but they later remarried. During a trip to Las Vegas, they got married again. It was at that point that something very strange happened, 57 hours later, James was shot dead in his own home.

The weapon used was a magnum.357, which was never found, but the way this man died was clearly in execution. Someone appeared, shot him in the back, and then approached his body and finished him off. There were no fingerprints, no weapon, and no forced doors. As time passed, the case went cold, and the police noticed that Kayla was acting strangely. She was managing the businesses James had left behind, handling his money, closing unfinished deals, and spending all the money on jewelry and luxury cars. She quickly became the prime suspect. In June of that same year, 1980, Kayla was arrested and sent to prison pending trial. Justice accused her of paying a hitman to kill her husband in order to take everything, the money, the business, the house, and

house, the cars. A truck driver who worked for her testified that this woman offered him a lot of money to kill James, and several people said she was capable of murder. Still, there was no crime weapon or fingerprints. Therefore, this woman was acquitted. Kayla went back to her life and got married seven times, enjoying luxuries, jewelry, and sports cars. According to Charity, she completely neglected her. Charity felt that her mother, didn't prioritize her and instead prioritized her own life, which made charity become very rebellious. Charity was a brilliant mind, getting good grades, and was promoted a grade. At 17, she graduated with honors.

But from here on, everything went downhill. At 18, she started hanging out with the wrong crowd, who invited her to do drugs. She went to parties, drank, and became addicted to drugs. Her perfect life had completely turned upside down. She partied, drank, and used drugs, but at some point, Charity discovered she was pregnant. She then decided that she needed to stop. She thought life was giving her the chance to be the mother she never had. So, she took control, went to a detox center, found a job, and a house.

When her first child, Paris Lee Bennett, was born on October 10, 1993, she decided that her life would revolve around him. According to Charity, Paris was the perfect child, very affectionate, empathetic, and very intelligent. In fact, he had an IQ of 141, so we're talking about a little genius. He always got good grades, was organized, and responsible. But when he turned 8 and Charity told him she was pregnant, everything changed. Paris was a very good child, but at the same time, he was very possessive and jealous of his mother. They always did everything together, and the thought of having to share her with another sibling made him furious. For nine months, he refused to hear anything about babies and didn't even want

to know what his new sibling would be called. But when Charity gave birth to Ella Bennett, everything changed again, and Paris became the perfect big brother. He volunteered to hold her, feed her, play with her, and as they grew older, they became inseparable. Ella was very charismatic, loved dancing, princesses, and being the center of attention. Paris enjoyed spending time with her. Some sources say that, outwardly, they were the perfect family. They were always together, laughing, and the kids were very polite. However, between 2004 and 2005, Charity had a relapse, and Paris had to take full care of his younger sister for six months. The woman was absent, but after this time, she regained control, focused on her children,

her job, and became the same as before. Over the years, Charity had several jobs, and in 2007, she was working as a waitress at a Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant. Anyone who has worked in hospitality knows that this job is very demanding, with complicated hours and long shifts, so this woman hired a babysitter to take care of her children. She would call the girl, go to work, and when she returned, the girl would leave. On the night of Sunday, February 4, there was the Super Bowl, and all the restaurants were packed. There was a lot of noise, many reservations, and the line of people was around the block.

So, Charity grabbed the phone and told the babysitter she would be home late. hours passed and her shift went by without much incident. However, at 12.30 a.m., two police officers walked in asking for her, and a woman feared the worst. A thousand things ran through her head, but the last thing she expected was for these men to tell her the following. First, they told her that Ella, who was four at the time, was seriously injured. Then they calmed her down, asked her questions, and finally told her that she wasn't injured but dead. That's when Charity asked about Paris, who was 13 years old at the time, and the police told her that the boy was at the station, as he was the one responsible for the

little girl's death. Authorities didn't let Charity see her daughter until 6 a.m. on February 5th, and the most shocking part was that they only showed her the face. They didn't tell her the cause of death or how it happened. They simply showed her the girl's face, closed the bag, and stored the body. Throughout the day, they fed her information little by little, and after several interrogations, they gave her the first version of events. It was 9.30 p.m. on February 4th when Paris spoke to his babysitter and told her to go home. It was Super Bowl night, a night to spend with family and friends, so he told the girl to go and have fun, not to worry about them, as he would take care of everything.

The girl obeyed and left without any further issues. At this point, Paris fixed everything. He was sleeping, brushed his teeth, got into bed, and had a very strange dream about demons. He dreamt about demons laughing at him, attacking him, and in the middle of the dream, Paris grabbed a knife and stabbed one of the demons. He struggled with the monster, defended himself, and when he opened his eyes, he realized that the monster was actually his four-year-old sister. The boy panicked and didn't know what to do, so he grabbed the phone and called 911.

one. Unfortunately, the story doesn't end here, because with this call, we learned the cause of death, stabbing. And we know that Paris is deeply sorry, that it was all a dream, a hallucination, and that he thought his sister was a demon. But what happened here is that if the police didn't tell charity everything, it was because there was more to the story. And that something was that, in reality, Paris story didn't hold up at all. When the police arrived at the crime scene, they found a 13-year-old boy, a crying mess, covered in blood. When they entered the room, they couldn't believe what they saw, the walls and bed were covered in blood, and the body of Ella was on the floor, face down. Up until this point, everything seemed to fit. The boy attacked the

girl, realized what he had done, called emergency services, moved the body to the floor, and attempted CPR. But there were some points that didn't add up at the crime scene. First of of all, Ella's body had bruises all over it, bruises that didn't seem to match the CPR attempt. In fact, forensic experts said that no one had ever tried to resuscitate her. Second, her neck showed signs of strangulation. Third, Ella had received 17 stab wounds, and fourth, both on the bed and on her body, there was Paris Bennett's DNA. With all this evidence, the police decided to investigate the entire family.

They couldn't believe that a 13-year-old boy could commit such an atrocious crime, so they put charity and the babysitter under surveillance, asking friends, acquaintances, and neighbors. Everyone said they were the perfect family, that the children were well-behaved, respectful, affectionate, and that no one could ever imagine something like this happening. So, the next focus of investigation was the computers and phones in the house, and that's where they found the next piece of the puzzle. First, the phone records. Apparently, Paris Bennett, before calling 911, called a friend of his.

They talked about their plans and chatted for five to ten minutes. Then there were the computers. On the computer in Paris Room, there was a long history of adult websites. The boy had spent a lot of time visiting sites unsuitable for minors, especially BDSM videos. I'm not going into details about what BDSM. is, but broadly speaking, what Paris liked about it was the theme of submission and domination. But here's the thing, Paris didn't just watch BDSM videos, he also watched SNAF films, which show bloody crimes and all sorts of disturbing events. While it's concerning for a 13-year-old to

watch adult videos, watching SNAF films is truly alarming. Because of this, the police decided to submit him to a psychological evaluation, and that's when they discovered something. very disturbing. Paris, when not in his usual environment, was arrogant and showed what he truly was, a narcissistic young man with psychopathy. He had no empathy for anyone, and there was no room for remorse inside him. He didn't regret killing his four-year-old sister. Furthermore, he had the audacity to say that his initial plan was to kill his mother and his sister. killing someone had always been in his mind, but it increased when his mother had a relapse between 2004 and 2005. Paris wanted to take revenge on his mother for that relapse, so he decided to kill her and Ella.

But killing Ella wasn't so easy. He had to hit her, strangle her, and stab her. Realizing it was so difficult, he decided that killing his sister was enough to ruin his mother's life forever, with one daughter dead and the other in prison. Charity Lee Bennett would be completely devastated and would never recover. So, in reality, it would be a death in life. Charity Lee Bennett's statement, the first reason I didn't go through with it was because killing someone was much harder than I thought. The second reason was realizing that if I had killed myself, I would have only suffered for five, ten, or fifteen minutes.

But if I stayed alive without Ella, I would suffer for the rest of my life. On the night of February 4th, Paris told the babysitter to leave, got to work, grabbed Ella, and did everything he had learned from BDSM and SNAF films. Then he grabbed the phone, talked to his friend for five to ten minutes, paced around his room, did his thing, and then called 911. He pretended to be distraught, worried, and faked CPR on his dead four-year-old sister. And I repeat, he did all this at only 13 years old. After committing the terrible crime, Paris Lee Bennett was sentenced to 40 years in prison,

the maximum penalty for a minor in the state of Texas. But unfortunately, the case doesn't end here, because not only is it controversial due to the horror of the crime, but because of what happened next. After the death of his daughter, Charity had a second relapse. But after this, she started recovering and decided to start visiting her older son. But what happened here is that Paris didn't want to see her. He was angry with her and didn't want to see her at all. However, little by little, they began talking more and more often. In 2011, Charity created a foundation in honor of her daughter, Bella, a foundation focused on helping people who have been victims of violent crimes.

However, several experts have advised her to change the name of the foundation and move to another state, as Paris is dangerous and won't always. be behind bars. Since turning 18, Paris hasn't received psychological follow-up. He has no therapy sessions and doesn't take medication. We currently don't know what his state is. The boy will be eligible for parole starting February 5, 27. So from then on, Charity could be in danger, especially since in 2012, she gave birth to her third child, a boy named Phoenix. If no measures are taken, story could repeat itself, which became clear during the interview with Pierce Morgan for ITV in 2019. In that interview, the host spoke with Paris about the crime and how everything developed, and at one point, he asked him what love meant to him. Paris didn't know how to respond.

He thought he could control it, but he was lying to himself. There's no cure for who he is, and even if there were a cure, he doesn't feel he needs it. He is dangerous, and he will make decisions when the time comes, but he won't be released any time soon, probably in about 15 years. So now it's your turn. What do you think of the case? Do you think Paris is still dangerous? End. Synopsis, an anxious young man brings his American girlfriend back to his hometown, where he must re-face the town's Gothic festivities that drove him away. E.T. Whitby, October 29th, Day. Fade in, a gloomy afternoon day. A gloomy afternoon day. is revealed to posseys the seaside town of Whitby in North Yorkshire, England, nested sinisterly

under gray ash clouds that refuse to reveal the sun. The howls of the chilling coastal wind coincide with the flying slash calls of seagulls. Montage, the famous Captain Cook landmark watches over the bay's left-hand side, the colossal whale bone next to this. To the bay's right-hand side, high up on the large hill overlooking the North Sea, the abbey ruins protrude, where in the bay's its 199 steps drain into the town below. Ant-sized people climb up and down them. Now inside the town, over one of the many narrow cobblestone streets, that makes us feel we're in a twisted Tim Burton fairy tale, a banner reads, Welcome to Whitby Goth Weekend

2023. Underneath this sign, the streets and pathways are barely even visible, as herds of tourists, but mostly goths, swarms of them, fill the town to the brim. A variety of vampiric costumes, from men in black cloaks and big top hats, to women in brilliantly detailed black Victorian dresses. Some even wear masks, hiding their human faces. Many have death black eyeliner on, both genders. Lining these streets and throughout the town are a scattering of shops, some purely Gothic, while others display Dracula merchandise in the windows. Opposite the river flowing out of the bay's mouth, tourists and goths alike. like stroll past the Dracula Experience LTD attraction.

Exte Car Park, Abbey Ruins, Day. Once again, Goths are located everywhere, shuffling out from their cars towards the Abbey Ruins. A white siar, a saw-thumb among the darker colors, parks in what seems the only space left. Seagulls continue to stalk above. Inc. slash Exte, white car, car park, Abbey Ruins, Continuous. the engine switches off. In the driver's seat, sits Adelis, a 27-year-old Creole woman, her frizzy hair held back by a purple bandana decorated in Budu skulls.

She leans over the steering wheel to peer out at the flamboyantly dressed goths nearby. She's utterly mesmerized. Adelis, New Orleans accent, wow. They all look so amazing. Adelis appears to speak to herself. Adelis, Silentee baby, don't they? She turns beside her, where in the front passenger seat, lies Brandon, a pale, 27-year-old of an anxious posture. He practices a breathing technique while he stares down at his own feet.

Adelis, Silenteed, to Brandon, baby. Adele-Eyes gently grabs Brandon's wrist. He turns up, almost unsure where he is. Adelis, Silentied hey. It's gonna be all right. Okay. I promise you. We're gonna get through this.

Adele Ice portrays confidence as she draws in Brandon's gaze, as though to confirm her words of comfort. Brandon, nods, yeah. I know. Strains a smile, it's just. Brandon dares to bring his eyes towards the windscreen. Brandon, sileneteet's weird being back here, you know. And why is there so many of them now? Adelis, jokingly, you need me to hold your hand.

Adelis' smile is infectious, makes Brandon blush. He turns down again, embarrassed. Adelis, so entee come on. Kisses his cheek, let's get out of here. The two now exit out the car doors. Brandon, seemingly more confident, strides towards the front of the car, when. Brandon, a.H. He turns only to jump out from his own skin. At the sight of a trio of goths, just as spooked by his reaction, a woman in a brilliantly detailed which costume,

puts her arms around her two ghoulish children, who laugh right at Brandon. Just an ordinary family, dressed up for the weekend festivities. With them, the dad, a vampiric Victorian gentleman, holds back his wolf-like hound as it barks aggressively at Brandon, who now climbs up the bonnet in misjudged terror. Goth Dad, to hound, Armand. No. Get back. With the dog restrained, the family now move on.

The mom provides Brandon with a strange look as they go by. Adelis, baby. You got a chill. Okay. You just got a chill. Brandon, with a hand on his heart, manages to regain his breath. Brandon, breathes, yeah. Sorry.

Ext.T. Abbey Ruins slash graveyard, moments later. Brandon and Adelaeis now approach arm and arm towards the Abbey. Adeleis fixates again on the surrounding costumes. This is clearly her kind of place. Brandon, however, stares up at the ruins ahead, guarded by gravestones, the sight of this makes him uneasy, tightens his arm around Adelis. Adelis, Silentidau. Baby.

As they draw closer towards the 199 steps, a group of Goths have gathered around a tour guide by a single grave. They could almost be mistaken for a satanic cult meeting. Brandon and the Del Ice over here. Tourist guide, as you all very well know, Whitby played a huge role in Bram Stoker's writing of the Dracula novel, and it is a very well. It is around this very spot where the characters, Mina and Lucy are told of the white lady who roams around the ruins at night. Adelis, to Brandon, you want to have a listen.

Brandon, um, Tourist guide, Cilinete, it was also along the coast just below us here where the Demeter would shipwreck, leading to Dracula entering the town in the form of a large black dog. Brandon onlooks as more goths swarm around the tour guide, like dark vultures. Brandon, Sillantied no. No, let's just carry on. Brandon pulls Adelis away with him towards the steps. Extension 1-99 steps later. They have now reached the bottom of the lengthy steps, a few away from flat ground, where the old cobblestone begins. Again, Goths are scattered everywhere.

Brandon views down at them, frozen with fear, as though he's about to step into his own personal hell. Adelis, Tse-O-N-T baby. Baby, you hurting me. Adelaeis jerks Brandon, his fixation on the goths now fades, to realize he's squeezing the color from Adelis's hand. Brandon, oh, he lets go. Ext. Old Town, Whitby, Day, through the old tourist part of town, still packed with people, Brandon and Adelis resort to squeezing through a diversity of Goths and tourists alike. Brandon's clearly out of his element, his eyes on the ground as they walk on. He finally manages to look up, to see Goths in single file go by, before. They suddenly flash into blood-sucking fiends, one after the other. Each of them hisses and snarls at Brandon as he now feels all eyes on him. He moves in closer to Adelais, tightens his grip around her arm again.

Adelis notices his discomfort. With space now opened up, Adelaus stops dead, turns to Brandon. Adelis, are you all right? Brandon notices the concern in Adelis's eyes, as she searches him for an answer. Brandon struggles for words, this. This is all just too much. Brandon gives a look of plea back to Adelis, no different to an anxious child. Adelis, okay.

Looks around, why don't we go somewhere? a little quieter. Will that be better? Brandon, nods manically, yeah. Please. Let's. In-T. Spell shop, later. Brandon reluctantly follows a dell ice inside an empty spell shop, displayed with shelves of spell books, potions, gothic jewelry, ETC. Behind the counter, the shop assistant, a witch-like woman, 50s, dark clothing, dyed black hair, reads the pages of an Rice novel. By her feet lies a little black terrier, it YAPS as they come in. Brandon startles back. Shop assistant, Wolfie. Shut up. Adelaeis looks around the shop with childlike fascination. She picks up a book, on the cover reads, Lunar Spells and Magic.

Brandon's of course uncomfortable, yet chooses to approach a shelf display. He views a long line of dusty, old-fashioned candles, wax melted and dried up around it. Adele-ice now concentrates on a necklace, intrigued by its design, of a black inverted pentagram, sigil of Baphomet. Brandon reaches for one of the candles. As soon as his fingertips touch the wax, he begins to hear the faint sound of satanic-like chanting, as though someone's whispering this right in his ear. Brandon searches around the room in dazed paranoia, the shop assistant just sits there,

reading, as Adelaise now observes the potions. The chanting continues, Brandon is freaking out. Adelis, O.S. excuse me. How much is this? Shop assistant, OS 5 pounds, love. Brandon panics so much that he exits out the shop without Adel ice. Bell's ring as the door shuts behind him. The confused shop assistant now watches Brandon retreat out of sight,

the Terrier tilts its head, puzzled. An embarrassed Adelaidellis goes after Brandon. Adelis, to shop assistant, sorry. Exte Old Town, minutes later, reunited, Brandon and Adelice are once again among the tourists and Goths. Ahead of them, Adelice sees a tourist family taking pictures with three elaborately dressed goths, a man, dressed up like Johnny Depp's mad hatter, except all in black. A woman, like some of some of them.

out of a Gothic mad max. And thirdly, a woman in a black dress, with giant bat wings. A bulb lights up inside Adelis's head. Adelis, this is perfect. I'll get a picture of you with those guys. Brandon, what? Adelis, come on. We just went over this. You need to interact with them so you can see they're just people. Brandon, um, Adelis, No. Come on. Adelaidell Ice brings Brandon, accepts no objections, over to the three Goths, the tourist family now gone. Adelis, so enteed, to Goths, hey. Would it be all right if I took a picture of you guys with my boyfriend? Mad Max woman, yeah, goth mad hatter, go for it, Batwoman, of course. Adelis, great. To Brandon, baby, go on. Brandon, with a

The plea of mercy to Adelaise, moves timidly over to the middle of the three. Adelis, Sientid, to Goths, you guys look amazing, by the way. As Adelais prepares to take the picture, Brandon tries his best to convincingly smile, before he feels something in clothes around him. The Batwoman. Her left wing wraps itself around his waist. Brandon can't breathe. Adelis takes the picture.

Adelis, Sientid, views folks. Oh. That's fabulous. Thank you so much. The Batwoman smiles warmly. Mad Max Woman, to Adelaise, I love your accent. Where are you from? Brandon moves instantly back to Adelis.

Oh, I'm from New Orleans. Behind Adel Ice, Brandon catches sight of something. Batwoman, oh that's really. New Orleans. A tall man, in a long black cloak covering his whole body, face covered by a white death Dr. Mask. He turns and heads into an alleyway, but what's disturbing is that the man seems to be luring a lone eight-year-old boy in there with him.

Brandon watches, wonders as to what the hell's going on. Mad Hatterman, you know, I've always wanted to go to New Orleans. The child now follows the bird man into the alleyway. Brandon decides to go after them. Adelis O. S you should. The food there is to die for. Brandon, from across the narrow street, enters into the old brick alleyway, to find it's completely empty, almost as if he imagined it. The noise behind Brandon now fades.

The only thing heard as he stares down the alleyway is the sound of his own heartbeat. Beating fast, then faster, and faster and, Adelis. Adelaus, Silenteed, concerned, hey. Brandon jumps. Caught off guard, away from Adelis. Adelis, Silenid, what the hell are you doing? Beat. Brandon again peers down the empty alleyway, before faces back to Adelice, without an answer.

Exte in Car Park, Night. On the town outskirts, the white car now pulls into a deserted CR park of an I&N, only two other cars there. E-X-T in Pub, moments later, a continual awkward silence follows Brandon and Adelice as they approach the door of the ins P-U-B. No sound is heard from inside. In-Pub, continuous, Brandon opens the door, expects to see an empty room, yet to his surprise. Every table is fully taken, by Goths. Conversation fills the room. Everyone drinking, laughing and having a good time.

However, as Brandon and Adelaise stand in the doorway, all eyes turn to them, to Brandon. The entire pub now silent. Anxiety builds up again inside Brandon, as Adelaus faintly calls to him from behind. Adelaus Odares, so enteed, faint, Brandon. The sound of his racing heart returns. Beating fast. Then faster. Adelis, O'Donest, so enteed, faint.

Brandon. And faster, and faster, and, Adelis, Silentee Brandon. Brandon snaps out of it, startled, glares back to Adelis, Sileneteed, you all right. Brandon nods, yes, unconvincingly. Adelis, Sileneteed, lifeless, come on. Let's sit over there. Brandon follows Adelis towards a small round table for two. He pulls the chair out nervous. He pulls the chair out nervous. to sit. Adele Ice removes her jacket, no longer seems to have any spirit left inside of her. Beat. Adelis, Silenteed, tired slash annoyed I'll get the drinks. Brandon senses her frustration, before she goes. Brandon, no, that's okay. You sit, I'll go. Adele Ice says nothing, as Brandon jitters up from his chair and curves sheepishly around the

goth tables to reach the bar. An elderly bartender turns round to him. Bartender, well then, young sir. What can I get you? Brandon, um, looks to Adelais, two loggers, please. Brandon waits for the bartender to pour the drinks, as chatter still heard from the tables behind.

Bartender, is she yours? Brandon, sorry. The bartender nods over to Adelice, sat miserably on her phone. Brandon, silen teed, uh, yep. Yep, she is. Bartender, first date not going so well. Brandon's eyebrows furrow at the bartender, before two pints are laid on the counter in front of him. Brandon nods before he heads back. Seconds later, Brandon, pints in hand, curves round the last table, careful not to spill, before he turns up to see, four goffs, two men and two women,

similar age to Brandon, sat around his table, they talked pleasantly with Adel Ice. Brandon freezes, conflicted on what to do. He then decides to turn, ready to flee, when. Mark O.S. Brandon. Beat. Brandon halts, back turned to them. Mark O. dot S. So entee Brandon Shepard. Brandon's hesitant to face back round, yet does so, to see the four Goths and Adelice staring at him, for real this time.

Mark, so enteeed, to three Goths, oh my gosh. It is. This was one of my best mates in school. Three goths, hey, slash hya, Brandon, slash all right, Brandon. Brandon doesn't recognize Mark, one of the four goths. Mark, clarifies, it's me. Mark. Now realizing the name and face, Brandon's eyes widen at Mark.

Adele Ice watches him, concerned to how he'll react. Brandon, Mark. Mark Thompson. Brandon stares, stunned by Mark's appearance, his dyed black hair. Black eyeliner. Black clothes. Black finger nails, black everything. Brandon, so enteeed, but...

But, you're a... Mark, come sit down. Have a drink with us. Brandon, once again frozen. Unsure on what to do. In, later that night, montage, Brandon now sits with Mark at the table with the other Goths. Adele Ice is wedged between the two goth girls. All six with a pint clasped between their hands.

Mark, Tzu andeed, raises pint, cheers. All, cheers. The four Goths and Adelice devour their drinks. Brandon sips his, peeks at Mark through the corner of his eye. Brandon then glances over the table to Adele Ice, directly opposite, sees the happiness in her expression as she clinks glasses with the goth girls. Adele Ice looks back to him, both hold on each other. Moments later, the six now cackle hysterically amongst themselves, a hell of a good time. Each goth girl has their arms wrapped around one of Adelis, the three are basically a coven of sisters.

Brandon, now far more relaxed, reminisces with Mark, they pick up where they left off. Later in night, they have now ordered shots of dyed red whiskey for themselves, raised their tiny glasses. All, cheers, Brandon, no, no, no. In Dracula voice, Dracula. All, Dracula voice, Dracula. The six clinked their glasses high in middle of table and drain back the booze. Brandon and Adelice, now sat together.

Both with a sour face from the whiskey. Each then gives the other a genuine smile. Their problems seemingly behind them. In room, morning, on the juvei of an in-room bed, Brandon and Adelice both lay passed out, corpse-like from the night before. The room around them is a mess, beer cans, vodka bottles, cigarette butts, clothes, some not theirs. Adele Issa wakes.

She moans in pain as she sits up with her feet on the floor, barely clothed. She holds still the headache in her head. Brandon, also conscious, can barely move. He now wears a black heavy metal t-shirt. Adelis, hungover, M-M-M. My head is just killing. Brandon moans a, me too, lets out a little laugh. Adelis, still and T. Do you have any idea what we did lost tea night?

Brandon lifts his face from his pillow. Brandon, no. But, ugh. Whatever we did. I think it was a lot of fun. Adelis, why'd you say that? Brandon looks around the room with half-opened eyes, sees the mess. Brandon, I don't know.

It just, feels like we did. Up from the bed, Adelais comes. comes over to the window. She opens the drapes, only to cover her eyes from blinding light, moans again. She then plods over to the mirror to see, Adelis, moans, who drown my face in eyeliner. Brandon, hmm. Brandon, half asleep, now sat upright, also drenched in eyeliner. Adele-ice suddenly becomes still, makes a strange face.

She then touches her silver nose pierce. Adelis, ow. Brandon wakes back up, concerned by the ow. Brandon, what? What's wrong? Adelis, my nose pierce hurts. Brandon, is it infected? Adelis, how could it be?

Adele Ice speeds into the bathroom, tries to take out the pierce along the way. Brandon, hung over, but relaxed, half-asily gets out of bed. He walks barefoot over beer cans to the mirror. Into the mirror, Brandon sees the eyeliner. He touches his face to then notice the black nail polish on his fingers. Brandon, Christ. Brandon now winces, as his attention comes down to his top left arm, pulls up his sleeve to see. Brandon, silen teed shit.

Brandon's taken back, by the fresh tattoo inked on his arm, of a demonic snarling wolf, still red. He studies the design in the mirror, almost smart. when Adelis O. S. high-pitched scream, Midge. Brandon reacts. Brandon, Lacey. He storms into the bathroom after her. Int. Bathroom slash bedroom, continuous.

Brandon, still and teed, barges in, babes. What's wrong? Adele Isse, in hysterics. She turns to Brandon, holding her shoulder. Tears have smudged her eyeliner. much to her eyeliner. Adelis, someone bit me. Brandon looks in horror at the bloody bite mark on the back of Adelis's shoulder. Brandon, oh my God. Who? Adelis, I don't know. But it really hurts. Brandon, panics, okay. Okay. I'll get some alcohol for it.

Brandon rushes back into the bedroom, as Adelis' cries are still hurt. Brandon sees a vodka bottle on the floor, grabs it, heads back to the bathroom. Brandon now rips off some toilet paper, wets it and applies the vodka. Brandon, silenete okay, I'm just going to put a little swab over it, okay, but it's going to sting a little. Adelis, fine. Just do it. Brandon dabbs the alcohol on the wound. Adelis, ah.

Brandon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. INT. Car, morning, back into the car, both sink down into their seats, painfully hung over and still in a state of shock. Awkward silence between them. Adelais holds her shoulder. Brandon, silenite I told you us coming here was a bad idea. Adelis, shut up. Just drive. Brandon, in the driver's seat, starts the engine, puts the car in gear and drives out the car park and down the road. Exte Moores, Day, the car now drives through more country, on a long, bumpy old road with old country walls on either side. The scenery around is deserted, all shades of green from the fields to the hills.

In the center of the road, the car pulls to a halt, as a farmer crosses with his flock of sheep. Brandon and Adele Ice wait as they pass, only for something to be left in the flock's wake. Brandon, squints, I think it's a lamb. Adelis, squeamish, U-G-H, please tell me someone here didn't just run over a lamb. Brandon, well, a fox might have gotten to it, maybe. Adelis, please, can you just go around it? Brandon drives around the bloody, slaughtered lamb. As the car heads off again, they pass a sign, which reads,

Stay on the road. Exte Road, Night, the car now drives on a pitch black open road. INT CAR Continuous Brandon still drives with Adel Ice in the front passenger seat All quiet, except for the music playing on the radio. Both are visibly tired and still a little hungover, especially Adel Ice.

Suddenly, Adel Ice rises from her slumber, she doesn't look good at all. Adelis, pull over. Brandon, what's wrong? Adelis, please, just pull over. Something don't feel right. Brandon, what? Are you going to be sick? Adelis, agonizing pain, h-h.

Pull over. Brandon, okay. Okay. Hold on. Brandon startled, almost drives into a passing car, beep. Brandon indicates as he looks for a side of the road to stop. Adelis, oh God. It really hurts.

Brandon, what does? does. Your shoulder. Adelis, no. It hurts all over. Brandon, concerned, okay. I'm pulling, I'm pulling over now. Adelis, oh God. Brandon pulls to the side of the road while Adelis continues to groan in horrific agony. The car now stops. Brandon, silen teed, pulls break, okay. Tell me where it hurts. Adelis, strained voice, get out. Brandon, Watt, Attalus, screeches, get out of the sire. Brandon notices Adelis's teeth are different, sharper, as she forces him out of the car door. Brandon falls to the ground outside.

He gets up, confused as hell. Cars going by beep as he tries to reopen the door. Locked. Brandon, Lysie. Lysie, what's wrong? No reply. All Brandon can hear is a deep groaning from inside the car. Brandon hurries over to Adelaus's side.

Bangs down hard on the window. Brandon, silenied licey. The door won't open. Brandon, silen teed lice. Open the door. I need to know what's wrong. Lice. No use.

Brandon now pulls out his phone, turns on the flashlight and shines it through the window. searches for her. The inside has now gone quiet, no sound. Brandon can't even see a thing. Brandon, silen teed, licey. Bang. Adelaeis slams her face and hands against the window. Displays a full set of long, jagged teeth, especially her canines, as she snarls slash hisses at Brandon. Her eyes are a bright glowing yellow. Her fingers are also longer, as are her fingers are also longer, as are her nails, long and sharp. In the window's reflection, by Adelis's face, gleams the reflection of the moon. Cut to black. The end. I'm sorry. Remember, Illumina Allrededer. Well, subscribe.

Compartre the video and give a good like. I've got a bone-chilling story for you that comes straight from my own family history. I recently sat down with my grandma and asked her about her experiences during World War II. She told me about the scariest moment she ever faced, and it still gives her. goosebumps to this day. So, get ready to dive into a dark night on the French border. My grandma was a brave medic during the war, and she saw some really intense things. But there was one night in the trenches that gave her the creeps like nothing else. She was assigned to a watchtower with her friend, keeping an eye out for any enemy soldiers

trying to invade. Everything was quiet until they heard a loud crash coming from below the tower. It startled them, and they looked at each other, scared. To investigate, they had to climbed down a rusty ladder and open a stubborn hatch. They were worried that the noise would give away their position, but they had to check it out. When they opened the hatch and looked down with their flashlight, they were shocked to see a broken vase lying there. The thing was, the vase wasn't supposed to be there at all. It was like it had appeared out of thin air.

They were confused, but they figured it must have fallen by accident and didn't think much of it. But that's when things got really spooky. about 25 minutes later, they were looking out the window of the watchtower when they saw something that made their hearts race. In the distance, there was a figure, all dark and mysterious. The only thing they could see clearly was the ripped and destroyed German uniform from World War I.

It was a terrifying sight, and my grandma's friend freaked out. She fired three shots from her pistol, hoping to scare the figure away. But when they opened their eyes, the figure had disappeared without a trace. They were both left shocked and confused, wondering how it was even possible for someone to vanish like that in an open field. They searched the area thoroughly, but there was no sign of the mysterious figure. They couldn't explain what they had just witnessed. It felt like something out of a ghost story.

They were left with more questions than answers, and the incident haunted them for the rest of their lives. Both my grandma and her friend made it through the war, but they could never forget that eerie encounter. They often wondered if they had encountered some sort of spirit or ghost from the past. The figure disappeared in a largely open space. My nightmare experience buying a home story too, so, I recently went through the exhausting process of buying my first home, and let's just say it wasn't the exciting milestone I thought it would be. Instead, it turned into a stressful journey filled with broken promises, a lack of professionalism, and hidden issues that should have been

disclosed. Here's the story. The viewing itself started off weird. I arrived a few minutes late because there was some kind of commotion outside the building. As I walked up, the agent, let's call him, E, was literally about to leave. I had to flag him down to stop him, and it was clear he assumed I wasn't showing up. He didn't call or check to confirm if I was close, just decided to pack up and go. When we finally got inside, E dropped his folder on the kitchen counter and basically left me to wander around on my own. The apartment was small, sure, but I was hoping for at least some input or guidance. I had questions, especially as a first-time buyer, but I had to drag every bit of information

out of him. He didn't offer any insights, barely answered my questions, and spent more time on his phone than engaging with me. At one point, I opened a kitchen cabinet to check its condition. E immediately stopped me, saying I wasn't allowed to open anything because the seller still lived there. I get wanting to respect someone's privacy, but I wasn't doing anything invasive, I just wanted to see what I might be buying. Despite the rushed and unhelpful viewing, I decided to move forward because I liked the property. But things only got worse. He told me some minor repairs would be completed before I moved in. Spoiler, they weren't.

When I contacted him to follow up, his responses were vague and unhelpful, if he replied at all. I also asked about specific details, like the electrical work in the apartment. but the information never materialized. Instead, I kept getting brushed off with, We'll look into it, or it's being handled. In hindsight, this was the first major red flag. When the bidding started, E made it sound like there were several other interested buyers. He strongly implied I needed to act fast.

Feeling pressured, I submitted my offer. Later, I found out from the seller that this wasn't true, there were no other bids. Whether this was a tactic to push me or just a miscommunication, it left a bad taste in my mouth. On the day of the handover, I got a last-minute text from another agent, M, saying it had to be postponed because of an issue with the bank. Naturally, I was frustrated, but when I arrived, the seller and another agent, L, were completely unaware of the delay.

It was such a mess. During the handover, I finally got a proper walk-through of the property, not from the agents, but from the seller. They pointed out several issues I hadn't been made aware of during the viewing or through the agents. There were electrical outlets that didn't look safe, a small water issue in the bathroom, and some loose kitchen fixtures that hadn't been repaired. None of this was in the listing or mentioned by the agents.

To top it all off, there was a really awkward moment when one of the agents made a comment about my background and suggested I'd get along well with another agent at their office who shares the same ethnicity. He started talking about my ethnicity and saying that they have a lot of people from the same ethnicity in their office that could help me sell when I was done with the apartment. It felt like he was using my ethnicity to market his bad company. It made the whole situation uncomfortable. I want to clarify that I am fluent in three languages people cannot tell where I might be from

for my speak as I am fluent in both his language, my own and English. It's just that my looks gives it away and he genuinely believed that I struggled with his language. Which pissed me off. He made me feel like I was racist and that I needed someone that shared my ethnicity in order to go through with the process. alert, I, do. I am perfectly fine with any agent as long as they're competent and do their job correctly. I do not discriminate because at this point he made me hate every single agent from that company equally. I know they probably meant well, but it felt so unnecessary and out of

place. Looking back, I can't believe how poorly this whole process was handled. I was promised information I never received, rushed through important steps, and left to discover critical issues on my own after the fact. I trusted these agents to guide me through buying my first home, but instead, I felt like they were just trying to get the sale done as quickly as possible. If you're buying a property, especially for the first time, don't let anyone rush you. Ask all the questions, insist on thorough inspections, and don't settle for vague answers. This experience has been a hard lesson, but I hope it serves as a warning to others. All right, so here goes nothing. What I'm about to share isn't easy, and it's

as hell isn't something I usually talk about out loud. But maybe it's time. Time to stop carrying it like some dirty little secret locked in a basement. Time to lay it all out, messy and raw. Maybe someone else out there needs to hear it, or maybe I just need to finally let it out. My name. Doesn't really matter. What matters is where I come from. Or rather, who I come from. And that, that part is heavy. Like real heavy. The kind of thing that changes the air in the room once people know. My grandmother was Judy Benoano. Yeah, that Judy. If the name doesn't ring a bell, you're probably better off. But for those deep into the true crime rabbit hole, you might know exactly who I'm talking about. Florida's first female serial killer. Poisoner. Manipur. Manipur.

Executed in 1998 by Electric Chair. Her name shows up on Netflix lists, True Crime Podcasts, Reddit threads about the most disturbing women in criminal history. To most people, she's just an eerie story with a morbid end. To me, she was Grandma. Let that sink in for a second. My grandma wasn't the sweet old lady who baked cookies or knitted weird scarves for Christmas. She was a killer. And not in some metaphorical, exaggerated way. She was the real deal. But here's the thing.

I didn't grow up knowing all of it. Not at first. When you're a kid, no one sits you down and says, Hey, champ, your grandmother murdered people. No, it comes in whispers. In fragments. In the way adults get real quiet when certain names come up. In the looks.

In the lies they tell to protect you. What I did know, almost right away, was the tension. The unease that sat in our house like a ghost no one could see but everyone felt. My mom, Judy's daughter, carried scars you couldn't always see, but man, you felt them. I won't go into detail, not because I'm trying to be dramatic, but because it's her story too and I'm not here to betray her trust. Just know this, she didn't grow up safe. She grew up trying to survive, trying not to be crushed by the same forces that almost swallowed her whole.

And that trauma? That stuff doesn't vanish when you move out or change your last name. It sticks. It trickles down like oil through water. You don't even realize you're drowning in it until it's already in your lungs. Our house wasn't like other houses. We didn't laugh the same. We didn't fight the same.

the same. We didn't love the same. It was like our whole existence had this invisible weight pressing down on it. Sometimes it came out as silence. Other times, rage. And me? I didn't know what to do with any of it. So I numbed. Alcohol. Pills. Weed. Anything that could mute the noise in my head, shut down the overthinking, the shame, the sadness. I started young. Too young. By high school, I was the guy always, chill, but never really present. College didn't happen. Or if it did, it happened in short bursts between binges. And deep down, I think I believed I was doomed. Like, how could I ever be anything else? My grandmother murdered people. My mom barely survived her childhood. And me? I was just another messed up piece of a

cursed bloodline. Every time I tried to get better, it was like my past was waiting to pull me back. And yeah, I told myself stories. Like, it's not that bad. Or, I can quit whenever. Spoiler, I couldn't. I was spiraling. Quietly. Slowly. But definitely. And then came the plot twist. My best friend, the only one who'd stuck by me through all the chaos, told me she was pregnant. And not with my kid, this wasn't some dramatic Mori moment. It was her kid, her situation.

But here's what flipped the switch, she looked me in the eye and said, You're going to be an uncle. Something about that shattered me. Not in a bad way. In a wake the hell up kind of way. I pictured this tiny little girl being born into our world. Into my world. Into that story.

And I just knew, I couldn't keep going like this. I had a choice. Be another broken branch on a toxic family tree, or be the guy who finally chopped it down. I wanted her to know me. Not as some sad, strung out ghost of a man. Not as the screw-up with a famous killer grandma. I wanted her to see me as someone strong. Someone safe.

Someone who showed up. So I got sober. No lie, it sucked. It wasn't like one of those montages where I throw out all my bottles and suddenly I'm jogging and drinking green juice. It was brutal. Withdrawals, therapy, support groups with strangers who somehow knew exactly how I felt. I relapsed once, and I hated myself for it. But I got back up.

That was six years ago. I haven't touched a drink or a pill since. And yeah, life didn't become sunshine and puppies overnight. Sobriety isn't some magical fix. It's a daily fight. You learn to sit with your demons instead of drowning them. You learn to talk. To cry.

To forgive people who never said sorry. Especially yourself. I spent a lot of time untangling my past. What it meant to be Judy's grandson? What it meant to grow up in that shadow? What it meant to have survived? And somewhere along the line, I realized something that changed everything. Legacy isn't DNA.

It's choice. I used to be terrified people would find out. That they'd Google me and see the headlines. That they'd judge me before they even met me. But now I own it I own it because the story doesn't end with her

I'm not her I'm not her choices I'm not her darkness I'm me I'm a man who clawed his way out of addiction who learned to love himself after decades of hating everything about his reflection who decided to be the kind of person he needed growing up

today I work with prison ministry I visit inmates. Not to preach. Not to judge. But to show up. To say, hey, I see you. You're not forgotten. You're not broken beyond repair.

Because I know that feeling. I lived it. And maybe, just maybe, they can look at me and see that change is possible. That even someone born into darkness can find their way to the light. My niece She's amazing Bright, loud, stubborn, and curious When she laughs, it feels like the universe is giving me a second chance

She doesn't know all of this yet One day she might And when that day comes, I want her to hear it from me Not the internet Not the whispers I want her to know her uncle isn't perfect But he fought for the man he became I want her to know that no matter where you come from, you get to decide where you're going.

If you're still reading this, thank you. Seriously. I don't need pity. I don't want to be a sad story someone scrolls past on social media. I just need it to speak. To be real. To remind myself, and maybe you, that we are not our pasts. We are not the sins of our families.

We are not our worst moments. We are not doomed. We are stories still being written. I come from blood that spilled and hurt. But I also come from people who survived. People who tried. People who kept waking up. I am one of them.

And if I can break free. So can you. The end, it all kicked off in October 2013. I still remember the cold wind of early fall brushing against our cheeks as we roamed the back streets of the Paris suburbs. My name. Let's just say I go by Nate. I had three stepbrothers, John, Davis, and Hector.

We were Puerto Rican kids dumped into a whole new world when our dad got transferred to France for some big shot job. Our stepmom came with, and the six of us made up a tense little family trying to pretend things were normal. We were close, my brothers and I. Not just, hey bro, close, I. I'm talking thick-ass thieves close. But yeah, we were rebellious little shits too.

I won't sugarcoat it. We hated everything about our new life in France, especially the school. The building looked like a prison, the teachers had this snobby air, and the students? They treated us like we had cooties or something. I mean, sure, we could speak French fluently thanks to all those language tutors our parents wasted money on. But blending in... Nah, we weren't about that. Our folks were basically ghosts.

Always working, always gone. It was like we were on our own. So what did we do? Skipped school, hung out in parks, broke into abandoned places just to feel something. The school kept calling home about our lack of effort and bad behavior. Our dad would bark a few angry words during dinner and then forget about it the next day. We didn't care. Not really.

Then came that one night. It was a Thursday, around 1 a.m. Our parents were away on some business trip. We had the whole house to ourselves. The night was quiet. Too quiet. We were bored out of our minds and figured, Screw it, let's sneak out.

Again. We ended up wandering through some industrial part of the city. Fences, warehouses, graffiti cups, covered brick walls. That kind of vibe. Eventually, we stumbled upon this fenced off area, like a graveyard for old train cars. Rows and rows of them, rusted, abandoned, almost forgotten. Hector was the first to climb the fence. Let's check it out, he yelled with a grin. John followed. I hesitated, just a little. And then there was Davis, our unofficial voice of reason. Guys, this is insane. We could get arrested. Or worse, quit being a grandma, John teased,

pulling him up over the fence. I still remember the way those train cars looked up close, massive, looming, covered in rust and decay. Some were tagged with wild spray paint, others just had flaking metal. I'd heard rumors about old train cars being used for shady stuff. smuggling, trafficking, creepy things that sounded like urban legends until you stood next to one and felt the weight of silence hanging around. We explored. Climmed up, peaked inside. Just dumb teenage stuff. Then we heard it, footsteps. Shoo, I whispered. Did you guys hear that? Everyone froze. Yeah, Hector said, squinting into the darkness. There's someone else out here. At first, I thought it was just security or cops.

Maybe we tripped a motion sensor or something. I started walking toward the exit, whispering for everyone to follow me. That's when we saw them, three men, standing near one of the box cars. Just, watching us. They spoke in a language I didn't recognize. Arabic, maybe. One of them pulled a knife from his coat. No warning.

Just bolted at us like a man possessed. Run, we turned and sprinted like hell was on our heels. I felt rocks hit my back, thrown by one of them. They weren't just chasing us off, they were trying to keep us in. Protecting something, maybe. We couldn't make it back to the fence. Not in time. Instead, we ducked between the trains, looking for another way out.

Dead end. We were trapped. They surrounded us, closing in with blades drawn. My heart thumped so hard I thought I might pass out. We were ready to fight, even if it meant getting slashed. But then, sirens. Drop your weapons, blinding flashlights lit up the yard. Police.

They poured in from every direction. Guns aimed at everyone, including us. No one knew who the good guys were. We all got cuffed. They took us to the station, let us stew in a holding cell overnight while they tried to figure things out. Turns out, those guys were already under surveillance for suspected trafficking. We had just stumbled into their turf like morons.

Our parents were livid. Beyond livid. Furious wasn't even the word. As punishment, they shipped us off to the Dominican Republic to live with our grandparents on dad's side. No more city life, no more Paris. Just a hot island, chores, and school janitor work. A whole year of mopping floors, scrubbing toilets, and waking up at dawn.

Honestly, it sucked. But we were alive. That's what mattered. Now we live in Miami, working construction. It's not glamorous, but it's real. And every time I pass a train yard or hear the word boxcar, I get chills. That night? I'm sure those three men weren't the only ones there. I felt eyes on us the whole time. Like something darker was just out of view. That was 2013.

Let's jump forward to 2017. This one's wild in a different way. I was living in Georgetown, Guyana at the time, yep, South America, sandwiched between Venezuela and Brazil. The country speaks English, but it's a different world. I was 28, renting a decent three-bedroom house in a chill neighborhood. That night, November 5, my girlfriend, let's call her Becca, came by for a visit. We didn't live together yet. Just dating, still figuring stuff out. She stayed until around 11 p.m.

We kissed goodbye at her car, laughed about something dumb I said, then she drove off. I went upstairs to my room, slipped into bed, started dozing off. Then, crash. Glass shattering from downstairs snapped me awake. My heart dropped. I froze, listening. Another sound, footsteps. No way.

Someone was in the house. I didn't have a lock on my bedroom door, so I crept to the hallway, peeked down the stairs, and sure enough, two guys were in my kitchen. One held a knife. A big one. I backed up, panic rising. Quiet as a mouse, I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. I held my breath.

My phone was in my hand, but I didn't dare call the police. Guyanese cops are, let's just say, not the fastest responders. Then I heard them coming upstairs. Thud. Thud. Thud. They were right outside the bathroom now. Bang!

They pounded on the door. Open the F-a-a-astur-k-a-stress-king door. We know you're in there, the hinges rattled. I was shaking. This was it. Then, pop. Gunfire. Right outside the door.

Then a man's voice, desperate. No, no, it was his idea. Please. Don't shoot, another shot. Silence. Then I heard a voice I knew, Beckas. Come out. It's me.

I opened the door and there she was, standing in the hallway, holding a pistol. Shaking, but alive. She told me she had seen the men sneaking around the side of my house in her rearview mirror. She'd turned the car around, came back, and walked in through the back door. She had a licensed firearm and knew how to. to use it. The cops showed up maybe 30 minutes later. They didn't care much. Took some notes, waited for the ambulance, then left. No questions. No arrest. Nothing. I owe Becca my life. And I told her that every day after. Let me share one more before I wrap this up. This one's from

two years ago. I was 38, working night security at this ridiculously fancy apartment resort in the States. Not your average gig, this place had a golf course, indoor pools, hot tubs, and even a mini-movie theater. Retired doctors and rich folks used it as their summer escape. The building? Huge. Three stories, 50 apartments per floor. Twelve exits on the first floor alone. After 11 p.m., everything locks up. No entry unless you use the intercom, which connects to a cell phone I carry on me during my shift. It was midsummer.

Quiet night. I did my usual patrol, checked the pool, then made a loop around the private parking lot. That's when I saw something weird. A woman in a white dress standing near the edge of the woods that bordered the golf course. She wasn't moving, just, staring at the beach. building. I called out. No answer. I started walking toward her, and boom, she was gone. Like, gone gone, no sound, no movement. Just disappeared. I checked the security footage later. Nothing. Still don't know what I saw that night. But it wasn't normal. If there's a takeaway here,

it's this, be smart. Being young and rebe. Rebellious is fine, but don't be stupid. We were lucky. We could have been dead a dozen times over. Whether it's knife-wielding creeps in Paris, home invaders in Guyana, or ghost women in a white dress, life has a way of sneaking up on you. Don't let curiosity or boredom be your downfall. Because trust me, not every story ends with survival. To be continued. Graveyard shift gone to hell, you ever have one of those nights where you just know something's off the second you walk in the door. That was me, clocking in for the graveyard shift at the building I worked security for. Nothing fancy, just a mid-sized office complex that liked to pretend it was too good for trouble. But trouble doesn't give a damn about zip codes. It was mid-July,

and while our little city isn't known for sweltering heat, that night decided to throw the weather playbook out the window. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, but the air was still sticky and warm, making my uniform cling to me like a desperate ex. I rolled in around 10.50 p.m., just early enough to shoot the breeze with the day shift guard, Kelly. She looked beat, like she'd seen something she wasn't sure how to explain but didn't want to deal with either. The side gate stuck again, she said, tossing me the keys, the company cell, and a clipboard with the night log. Left sides jammed open. Maintenance says they'll swing by in the morning. Sweet, I said sarcastically.

Just what I needed, a surprise guest entrance, just patrol it a bit more than usual. You know how the park creepers get after dark, and she wasn't wrong. Directly across the street sat a public park. By day, families and joggers loved it. By night, it turned into a gathering spot for the city's most unstable citizens. Junkies, homeless folks, the occasional angry drunk with nothing to lose. They'd sometimes wander over, looking for a warm corner or someone to scream at. Most were harmless, most.

Anyway, my shift started off chill. We're not exactly armed guards, we've got pepper spray, a heavy-duty flashlight, a set of keys, and a janky cell phone that could call 911 if it felt like cooperating. Policy was clear, don't play hero. Eyes and the ears only. If something goes sideways, call the top. cops and let them deal with it. I did my rounds, three floors, a couple stairwells, parking lot perimeter, and settled into the security office, which sat just off the main lobby. It had two monitors

for the building's old school camera system, a coffee maker that barely worked, and a squeaky chair that made fart noises if you leaned too far left. By 3 a.m., I was back at the desk, about to tear into my turkey sandwich when the cell phone rang. Now, this phone barely rings. So when it does, it usually means one of two things, someone needs to get into the building or something weird is about to go down. The caller ID told me it was one of the exterior call boxes. That was already weird, given that no one should have been out there at this hour. Security office, Officer James speaking. How can I help you? Silence. Then, breathing.

Not like someone out of breath, but like, intentional. Controlled. Like they wanted me to hear them. I glanced at the monitor that showed the front door. A figure stood just out of reach from the camera's night vision. All I could make out was a shadow, motionless. It gave me the same feeling as when you think someone's watching you but you don't know from where. Hello.

I asked again. Still just breathing. Then, below, drawn out laugh. The kind you hear in those horror flicks right before the killer does something unspeakable. Then it went dead. I stood up, my appetite forgotten, and walked toward the front doors. Just as I reached for the handle, the phone rang again. Different call box.

This one farther down the side of the building. I bolted back to the office and checked the monitor. There he was, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a hoodie way too thick for this weather. He had a black bag in one hand and his back to the camera. I picked up. Before I could say anything, a gravelly voice spat out, I'm coming for you, and you're going to die. Click. Did I mention I hate night shifts?

The phone rang again almost immediately. I grabbed it and snapped, police are on their way. You're on camera. Leave now, he was already at a third call box. I can see you. You ready to die yet? Cops won't make it in time, this time I responded differently. I acted like I wasn't alone.

Copy that, dispatch. Three more guards on route. Suspect is on cam. Police have been notified. He slammed the phone into the box and disappeared into the shadows. I let out a breath I didn't know. I was holding. Probably some junkie trying to scare me. Still, I walked the perimeter, pepper spray in hand, checking every dark corner and stairwell. Nothing. Back at the desk, I logged the

incident. Just as I finished writing, the phone rang again. Unknown number. I sighed. Security office, James speaking, where are the cops? I don't see them. But I see you, you PCC. of shit, my spine stiffened. You're a dead man walking, I scanned every monitor. Nothing. I checked the front door. Empty. Only the dim glow of streetlights and shadows cast by the trees. I know you're alone. And I'm going to cut you open. I hung up. Called the non-emergency line, explained the situation. The dispatcher said an officer would swing by and make contact. Not five minutes later, a loud thud slammed against the glass of the day manager's office, just across from the security room. I ran over, unlocked the door, yanked the blinds up, and shined my flashlight.

He was there. Hoodie off now. Long, greasy hair, face smeared with something dark. Blood? His eyes were enormous, unblinking. He grinned at me, wide, teeth yellow, and then slammed his forehead into the glass. Over and over. I shouted, told him cops were coming, to leave. That's when he pulled out a butcher knife. Huge. Ridiculously huge. He dragged it across his throat in a slow, deliberate motion. Then kept slamming into the window. Blood now smeared down the glass as his forehead split open. I bolted, locked the door behind me. That knife changed everything. I wasn't dealing with some strung-out punk. This guy wanted blood.

Mine. He ran to the nearest side door and ripped the call box phone off. Then sprinted to the others and yanked each one out. The company cell lit up with non-stop calls, one for each box, ringing over and over. Jammed the line. Guy was fast. Inhumanly fast. I glanced at the monitor.

The garage sliding door was open. Panic hit like a train. I sprinted through the banquet hall, flashlight bouncing in my hand. Just as I reached the garage entrance, I saw him running up the slope, knife in hand. I slammed the sliding door down and locked it, seconds before he reached it. Bang! He threw himself against the door. Again. Again. But it held. I locked the inner doors too, heart racing. This wasn't supposed to happen. This job wasn't supposed to come with potential stab wounds. I shouted that the police were here.

He laughed, a how really, and waved the knife above his head before vanishing into the dark. I called the cops again, on my personal phone this time. Told them the guy had a knife. They said units were inbound. I ran back to the office and locked myself in. It had no windows. I felt a little safer. I watched the monitors, every screen glowing like a horror movie countdown.

Then I heard another thud. Front lobby doors. He was back. Standing right there, knife in hand, staring directly into the camera. His hood had fallen, revealing patchy hair and a wide bald spot. Blood dripped from his scalp down his face. He leaned close to his face. He leaned close to the glass, locked eyes with the camera, and mouthed, die.

Die. Die. He made stabbing motions at the glass. And then he was gone. Vanished. Five minutes later, a cop pulled up. Just one. He cruised the lot with his spotlight, circled the block, checked behind the park and the golf course.

Nothing. I showed him the footage. Printed a still image of the guy. cop said he'd keep an eye out but didn't look too convinced he'd find anything he left around 5 a.m. By six, it was light out and I finally did another walkthrough. The psycho had ripped all 12 phones off the call boxes. 12. When my manager came in around 8 a.m., I told her everything. She looked freaked out but calm enough to start planning.

Said she'd talked to the rest of the staff and increased security for the next few weeks. We had a second guard with me for two weeks straight after that. But the guy never came back. I don't know what he wanted. If he was just trying to scare me or really planned on carving me up. But I know this, some nights when I close my eyes, I still see that grin. And I still double-check every lock before I sit down. Because there's always a reason to be afraid. The end, tick, tick, tick, the sound of the clock ticking ran through the detention room. The room was dead silent, only filled with one other student and myself. The other student was sitting on the other side of the room not paying any attention to me or their surroundings.

I would take a nap to save myself from this purgatory but the constant ticking of the clock ran through my brain like an alarm clock. Tick! Tick! I considered making conversation with the other student, but they didn't seem like much for conversation. They seemed around my age, 16 or 17, their short brown hair sat on their shoulders. The way they dressed and presented themselves made them look like your average innocent girl, but then we made eye contact. Her eyes were light blue, but they might as well have been scarlet red. They had a sort of fierceness in them that would make anyone shiver. I could feel her judgment crawl down my spine. I quickly turned away not wanting to poke the beast anymore. I started to think

about how I ended up here. I don't even remember, in all honesty, everything is kind of a blur. I know it was in the hallway, everything was normal and then it was all red. I remember the rage, the hatred, and anger flowing through my body, any humanity in me drained away as I became a savage husk of anger. I think I hurt someone, but I can't remember. I don't think I want to. Finally, the teacher walked in to save me for myself. He was a tall man with a stern face. You could tell he's been dealing with troublemakers for a while, and he wasn't going to crack. His voice was deep and imposing, you know why you are here, he said. You're here because the school needs to punish you while they figure out if you're worth

expelling or not. Expelled? I thought to myself. What had I done that set me up for expulsion? I could feel the memory trying to escape but was unable to reach the surface. The teacher once again spoke. You'll be here for a few hours, exits are magnetically locked with the main office being able to unlock them once your time is up. Your phones are in the office as well, you'll receive them once

detention is over. The student next to me raised her hand. Yes, Laura. Said the teacher, obviously annoyed. How long do we have to do this for, said the girl presumably named Laura? You both will be here until the school expels you or lets you off, said the teacher. However, for some people, the teacher looked over at me, expulsion is more likely. I lowered my head in shame, I don't even know what I and here I am being reprimanded for it. It happened this morning, only a few hours ago, so why can't I remember? Whatever I did wrong, it's going to cost me a lot. First I had to wait after school until six, and now I have detention until nine.

Now I'm being told I could be expelled. I raised my head once I felt that the teacher's disappointing glaze had left. So make yourself comfortable, said the teacher, I'm going to be right back, I need to grab something from my car. Once I'm back it's going to be three hours of silence. The teacher walked out and closed the door behind him. The second the door closed the girl next to me laid back in her chair. After a few minutes of silence, she finally turned to me.

What did you do? She said, huh. I responded. What did you do? What did you do to get here? I turned to her, her fierce eyes piercing through my soul. I. I don't know.

I responded meekly. You don't know. What do you mean you don't know? She sounded annoyed like my answer offended her somehow. I, I dash. I heard a rumor about you, she said, I heard they are holding you here because they are waiting for the police to figure out what to do. I looked at her hoping to see that she was joking, but the intensity in her eyes said otherwise. I also heard about what you did.

Her eyes turned from fierce to straight up hatred. And if it's true you're lucky, I don't bash your head against a wall for what you did. With this comment, I stood up. I'm going to find the teacher, I said. The teacher won't save you from responsibility, said Laura. I turned away from her and began to exit the room when she let out one more remark. You know it's ironic, you didn't want to lose your friends to her. Yet you lost them anyway.

I closed the door behind me. I felt sickened, those weren't just empty threats. Those were real. I began walking towards the entrance of the school, letting what Laura said sink in. I didn't want to lose my friends to her. Who was her? Suddenly a memory unlocked, my brain finally allowing me to slightly remember what it was forcing me to forget. Bethany, her name was Bethany.

Bethany is a new girl at our school, and she is perfect. Super nice, super smart, and the sweetest little thing. She had recently integrated into my little friend group. Everyone in the group basically showered her in attention, but that wasn't a problem for me. She's just a new part of the gang and I don't have anything against her. I wouldn't hurt Bethany, she's my friend. I wouldn't. All these thoughts stopped once I reached the entrance.

The front entrance was in ruins. The ceiling had been torn down with rubble blocking the entrance entirely. There was no way to access it, and even if you could squeeze through you would risk the whole mess collapsing on you. And then there was the body. My teacher was lying on the floor. His body was mangled to the point you could barely recognize. him. His face was practically torn off. His blood and entrel spread across the floor and walls. The smell hit the hardest, it was the most disgusting thing I had ever smelled in my entire life.

I stood there for a while, not knowing what to do. How did this happen? Who had done this? Then I heard the stomping. I began to run back to the classroom as the stomping behind me only got louder. I didn't know if it was behind me or not, but I didn't want to find out. Whatever was there let out an unholy noise. It sounded like it was screeching while inhaling. The noise pierced my skull as I continued to run in horror. I reached the detention classroom and ran inside, closing the door behind me. The room was empty, Laura was nowhere to be seen. Whatever got the teacher must have gotten her too. But what was it? The thumps got louder and louder with the screeching continuing at random intervals. Suddenly the shadow of the creature

passed by the window of the classroom. I couldn't see much of it. but I knew one thing for sure. It wasn't human. I waited for what seemed like an eternity until I felt as though the monster was gone. I opened the door slowly and peered out. The hallway was no longer lit up, the lights were completely smashed, all I could make out was the outlines of the classroom doors and lockers. I took a deep breath and stepped out trying to be as silent as possible. My best move was to get to the office, the controls for the magnetic locks were in there and so was my phone. I could call for help and unlock the magnetic doors letting me leave.

Plus the office faculty may still be in there and could be oblivious to the monster roaming around. The least I could do is try to warn them. I started to make my way through the hallway trying not to make a sound. I was on the first floor and I knew the office was on the second. I just had to make it up the stairs without running into that thing again. I made my way through the halls quietly and paranoid. I had never felt so much fear in my entire life, each second felt hours long and I knew I could

easily be found at any moment. I felt alone, everyone I trusted wasn't with me anymore. All my friends were busy with their own lives, so I was left to face the darkness alone. I felt like I had no one by my side. No one to trust. No one to lean on. I was all on my own. But yet they all paid attention to Bethany. They all talked to Bethany, they all hung out with Bethany. Why were my friends there for her? Why weren't they there for me? I suddenly snapped out of my trance. What were those feelings? Why am I thinking about Bethany and my friends right now? They have nothing to do with this. I felt alone at the moment as I was locked in a school with a monster, but that was something different. That was a memory. That's how I felt. What had I done?

Before I could remember anything else, I saw it. It was staring in front of me at the other end of the hall. It was at least three times my height. It had a large skull-like face. It's arms were long and its hands were huge, each with incredibly long and skinny fingers. Its legs were large as well, with backward knees and large deformed feet. His entire body was malnourished with his skin tight around his bones. You could see its rib cage and you could see it breathing. Its eyes and mouths were hollow, with only a faint red light in its eyes. We stared at each other for what seemed like ours.

Both equally fascinated in the other. It then started to raise its hand. It slowly extended its arm and finger, pointing at me with no expression on its face. Then it let out a screech. And then it started to move. I ran in the opposite direction of the hallway, trying to reach the other staircase. Behind me, I could hear the creature screeching in stomping forward. I turned around at one point to see it.

Its hands were in front of it like a T-Rex, and it was stomping forward at incredible speed. Adrenaline rushed through my body as I pushed myself to reach the staircase. I ran up the stairs as the creature continued to howl behind me. I reached the second floor with the office in reach. Suddenly a hand grabbed me and pulled me into a classroom. I tried to scream but a hand covered my mouth. It was Laura. She motioned me to be quiet by putting her finger on her lip.

Outside we heard the monster pass, still letting out its horrific screeches. Once the noises had faded. Laura removed her hand from my mouth and began to talk. You're lucky I even saved you after what you did." Said Laura. I don't know what you're talking about. I responded. I didn't do anything to Bethany, I didn't hurt her.

Laura turned to me with an angry look in her eyes. Funny you should say that. She said intensely, because I never mentioned Bethany. My eyes widened as I realized my slip up. You know what you did, said Laura. You just don't want to remember. With that, something snapped within me, shut up. up. I screamed as I knocked Laura to the ground. She stood up and punched me in the jaw,

knocking me to the floor. Admit to what you did. She screamed, hitting me again as I lay on the floor. Admit it. You know what you did admit it. Suddenly the hand of the creature burst through the classroom door. Both of us jumped back in fear. The creature held its horrific screech as it clawed its way through the door and into the classroom. It stood tall still letting out its hollow screech. was quick to act, picking up a nearby textbook and charging at the monster. She swung the textbook at the creature and hit it square in the jaw. The creature stumbled back and crashed into the wall letting out a screech of pain. Laura ran back to me and grabbed my arm pulling me up.

Just as we were about to leave the classroom, however, the creature's hand launched forward and grabbed Laura. She screamed in fear as the creature tried to pull her way. I grabbed on to Laura's arm refusing to let her go. The creature, however, was stronger and grabbed Laura with its other hand. With Laura screaming in fear and pain I watched as her arm slowly began to tear, before coming off completely in my hands. The blood poured out of what was once her arm, drenching the classroom in the dark red liquid.

I watched in horror as the creature lifted Laura into the air, grabbing Laura's head with one hand and her feet with the other. Then as Laura screamed in pain in absolute terror, I watched as the creature began to pull. I could hear the bones cracking, I could hear the skin ripping, all while Laura screams in agony. Finally the tension gave in and the creature with a loud howl ripped Laura in half. Her intestines sprawled out as blood and entrails began to cover the floor. Her upper half laid lifeless in the creature's hands, her expression still locked in a terrified scream.

The creature, body in hand, led out a terrifying screech and as I began to run out of the classroom and towards the office. I reached the office with the monster still screeching in the distance. I opened the door to find what I expected. The faculty were all mangled, with blood coating the walls. I ran behind the desk and first unlocked the magnetic doors. I then opened up the desk and grabbed my phone. I called 911 as I could hear the screeching getting louder.

After what felt like an eternity, the line picked up. Hello 911, what's your emergency? Hello? I yelled. I need help, there's a dash dot. the monster's hands burst through the ceiling above me, causing me to drop my phone as I scream in terror. I ran out of the room without even thinking. I could worry about the police later, the doors were unlocked.

I had to leave. I ran through the hallway as the monster attempted to claw its way through the ceiling in the office. I was going to make it. I was going to make it. And then I saw her locker. Bethany. Bethany's locker. I tried to avoid looking at it, but I couldn't.

What Laura said rang through my head. You know what you did, you just don't want to remember. I tried to push the memory away. This wasn't the time. This wasn't the place. I looked at the locker again as I heard the monster screaming in the distance. I don't care anymore. I don't care if it hurts.

I don't care if I die. I don't want to forget anymore. I want to remember. I remember the morning. I remember feeling alone. All of my friends were busy with their own lives, leaving me to face my darkness alone. I was sad, I was alone, I was scared. And then I saw her.

Bethany. Talking with my friends as always. I remember the jealousy. Why did they only care about her? Why were they always there for her? Why were they never there for me? I remember the rage, I remember the darkness and fear inside me taking over. I remember the happiness on her face when she saw me.

I remember when that happiness turned into fear. I remember the blood as I smashed her head against the locker repeatedly. I remember the fear on my friend's face. I remember them trying to hold me back as I stomped her head in with my feet. I remember her barely breathing. I remember the ambulance taking her away. I remember being placed in the detention room until the police and faculty could figure out what to do. I remember the fear of losing my friends to her.

I remember the jealousy of not being happy like. her. I remember my hatred for her. I hated her. I hurt her. I almost killed her. With that memory, I stopped where I stood. I fell to my knees in tears. What had I done? I had let my jealousy, my fear of loneliness take over, and where had that gotten me? I was all alone now. No friends. No future. No hope. I could hear the monster behind me now, but I don't care. I don't deserve to live. live for what I've done. I deserve to die. The monster grabbed my shoulders and turned me around as it lifted me up. I stared at his hollow red eyes as tears flowed down my face.

I'm sorry Bethany. I'm sorry everyone. I deserve this. The monster's eyes began to glow a brilliant orange. His mouth soon followed, filling with that bright brilliant light as he let out his howl. I stared at the lights, mesmerized by their brilliance. When it went black. I woke up in a room with my hands tied to a hook on the ceiling.

It seemed to be a boiler room. If it was the boiler room of the school or some other building I did not know. The room was small, only containing a boiler and a drain on the floor. The drain was stuffed with what looked like flesh and feces. The walls around me are old and disgusting. The wallpaper peels in multiple areas. The room smelled horrible, the smell coming from the feces and rotting flesh in the drain. I looked around and saw other hooks with rotting bodies with their hands tied just like me.

Suddenly in a corner, I saw it. The creature. It noticed me and slowly made its way over. I tried to move as it approached, but it was no use. The creature walked over to me and stood in front of me. I could feel its breath hitting my face. I wasn't scared to die, I wanted to die, why hadn't it killed me? Finally, I found the courage to speak.

What do you want? The creature stared at me before extending its hand and caressing my face with its long fingers. Then it spoke, and its answer was more terrifying than anything I could have imagined. Friends On October 31, 1955, a tragedy unfolded that would go on to haunt a family forever. Marilyn Dayman, a mother of two young children, was out running errands in her small town. Her two-year-old son, Stephen, and her seven-month-old daughter, Pamela, were with her. As was common in those days, Marilyn trusted the neighborhood and felt comfortable leaving her

children outside the store while she quickly ran in to buy bread. She parked the stroller by the door, left Stephen beside it, and stepped inside. However, what she thought would be a brief moment turned into something far more devastating. Inside the store, there was a line, and Marilyn ended up chatting with a couple of neighbors and the baker. By the time she returned outside, both of her children were gone. The stroller, with Pamela inside, was still very much. there, but Stephen was nowhere to be found. In an instant, panic set in.

Marilyn screamed for help, and soon, others joined in the search. The police were called, and the hunt for little Stephen began almost immediately. Volunteers poured in, more than 2,000 of them, including local civilians, police officers, and even military personnel. They scoured every inch of the town, looking for Stephen, but there was no sign of him. At first, the police considered the possibility that Stephen had wandered off on his own, They speculated that he might have been distracted by something, like a butterfly or a stray animal, and had dragged the stroller away before wandering off further. However, Marilyn was adamant.

Stephen wasn't the type of child to wander. He was close to his mother and wouldn't leave her side. Another theory that was explored was the possibility of a kidnapping by a woman who had recently lost her own child and was looking to replace him. But that theory quickly lost traction, especially because if that were the case, the woman would likely have taken both children, not just Stephen. The most terrifying possibility, and the one that police ultimately leaned towards, was that Stephen had been abducted. They issued a public plea for information, describing Stephen in detail, blonde hair,

blue eyes, a birthmark on his calf, and a scar on his chin. Despite this, there were no leads, and no one reported seeing anything unusual. Local residents couldn't provide any useful information. The corner store owner didn't see anything, and neither did the baker, who had served Maryland. It was as if Stephen had vanished into thin air. As time passed, the police expanded their search, but despite their best efforts, there was no trace of Stephen. Then, in the following weeks, a chilling series of ransom notes began to arrive. The first one demanded $3,000 for Stephen's safe return. The second note upped the price to $10,000, and the third even asked for $14,000. However, the ransom demands were inconsistent, and they quickly became

clear that they were a fraud. The police traced the notes to a college student who had seen an opportunity to make some quick money off the grieving family. The student was arrested, but this incident was just one of many attempts to exploit the family's pain. Other false ransom notes followed, claiming that Stephen was being held captive and tortured. Jerry Dayman, Stephen's father, took it particularly hard. The constant fake ransom notes shattered the family even more. Marilyn, desperate to bring her son home, was willing to pay whatever it The stress took a toll on both parents. Jerry became severely depressed and left his job in the Air Force, unable to cope with the loss. Eventually, the daymen's marriage began to unravel,

and they separated in 1957. While some sources claim their divorce was directly related to Stevens' disappearance, others suggest that their strained relationship and Jerry's deepening depression contributed to their breakup. Marilyn eventually moved away to Missouri, where she lived out the rest of her years, passing away at the age of 80. Jerry remarried, had two more children, and lived to the age of 90. But despite the passage of time, Stephen's disappearance haunted them both. In 1957, a development occurred that would reignite the case. A university student reported finding the body of a small child in a rural area near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It had been two years since Stephen had vanished, and the child's body matched Stephen's description,

blonde, blue-eyed, and around the same age. The body was wrapped in a cheap flannel sheet and placed in a cardboard box, which had once contained a crib from J.C. Penny. The condition of the body raised several questions. There were bruises on the child's body, suggesting blunt force trauma to the head. Additionally, the child's hands were wrinkled, indicating that they had been in contact with water before death. In an eerie and disturbing detail, the child's hair and nails had been cut after death. The investigation into this child's identity was given the name, the boy in the box, and the case became a media sensation. Several theories emerged, one of which suggested that the child had been placed in the box by a foster home located nearby. Some of the betting found

that the scene appeared to match the items used by the foster home. Another theory came from a woman named Marza, who claimed that her mother was the killer. According to Marza, her mother had previously adopted a child, a young boy named Jonathan, who was similar in age and appearance to Stephen. In a fit of rage, the woman allegedly killed the child by slamming his head against the floor after he vomited while being bathed. Marza claimed that her mother had then forced her to help dispose of the body in the same rural area. While the details of this theory seemed to match, it couldn't be proven, and Marza's credibility was questionable due to her own mental instability. For years, people speculated that the boy in the box was Stephen, but in 2003,

DNA testing conclusively proved that it wasn't him. The case went cold, with no further leads. Over the years, there were reports of people seeing a woman with a child who resembled Stephen in various locations, but none of these sightings led to anything concrete. It wasn't until 2009 that another twist emerged. A man named John Robert Barnes claimed to be Stephen Damon. According to John, after his mother's death, he discovered that he was not actually her biological son. His mother had confessed to him on her deathbed that he wasn't her real child,

and that he was, in fact, Stephen Damon. John was convinced that the Dayman family was his real family and even went so far as to write to Pamela Daman, Stephen's sister, with detailed comparisons of his own life and Stevens, including photographs and other evidence. At first, the Dayman family was taken aback, unsure whether to believe John's claims. But after taking a DNA test, it was confirmed that John was not Stephen. Despite the results, John continued to insist that he was Stephen, and even appeared on television, repeating his belief that Marilyn was his real mother. He showed off his chin scar and the birthmark on his leg, pointing to similarities between his appearance and Stevens.

But in the end, his claims were nothing more than a delusion. Today, the mystery of Stephen Damon's disappearance remains unsolved. The case continues to intrigue people, and various theories still circulate. Some believe that Stephen was taken by someone he knew, a family friend, a neighbor, or even a relative. Marilyn had always said that Stephen was a mama's boy, and would never have wandered off on his own. It's possible that someone he trusted took him, and perhaps even harmed him. Others continue to wonder if Stephen's disappearance was linked to someone else's desire to take a child, but without more evidence, the case remains a haunting mystery.

As for the Dayman family, they were never able to find closure. Jerry and Marilyn both passed away without ever knowing what happened to their son. Though the case is technically still open, the chances of it ever being solved seem increasingly unlikely. And while the theories and speculation continue, the one certainty is that Stephen's disappearance left an indelible mark on the lives of everyone involved, leaving an unanswered question that still lingers today. We begin with Harold, the infamous one. A story filled with mysteries, unknowns, and, of course, terror. The first news we have about him came from the online platform eBay.

The creator of the ad, Greg MTA, claimed that since he acquired the doll, he had nothing but bad luck. The woman who sold it to him assured him that it was cursed, and not only that, but shortly after buying it, her son lost his life in a terrible accident. However, Greg didn't believe in curses and bought the doll without giving it much thought, heading home unaware that from that moment on, he would experience all kinds of inexperienced. applicable events and tragedies. Greg Mishka was an antique collector. He loved acquiring all sorts of objects from the 1920s to the 1950s, taking them to his small workshop in his house's basement to restore them and then display them throughout his home. However, after acquiring Harold, his basement became a dark and sinister place. When the sun set, voices, cries, and children's laughter would emerge from it. And if he was inside at that moment, the

feeling of discomfort was so intense that he could barely breathe. As I mentioned earlier, Greg didn't believe in curses, so he attributed those first events to suggestion, tiredness, and the sound of the pipes that practically ran throughout the basement. But then came the tragedies, his young, healthy cat died overnight, his fiancé packed her bags without any explanation and left, and he began to suffer more chronic ailments. By this point, Greg could no longer deny the obvious, so he turned on his computer and posted an ad on eBay with the following title, Kirst Dahl, Harold the Infamous. He detailed everything that had happened to him up until that point, stressing that he needed to get rid of it urgently. He made it clear that if someone bid and then regretted

it, there would be no returns. The truth is, the story had a huge impact on users. In fact, the ad received 100,000 visits in less than 24 hours, and although it seems unbelievable, the madness was in the bidding. What started as $10 ended up turning into $700. Unfortunately, the winner didn't pay within the stipulated time, so Harold would become the property of the second bidder, who paid $300 for it. Harold was indeed sold for $300, but a year later, it reappeared on the platform because its new owner couldn't keep it anymore. In the short time she had owned it, it had caused great pain to her family. The woman said that the doll's history was long and difficult to explain because many people who had suffered under

Harold's curse were afraid to give their testimony. However, the information she could gather was as follows, the husband of the first buyer, an apparently healthy man, died of a brain tumor after interacting with the doll for a month. The son of the second buyer died after falling down the stairs, and finally, three out of four members of another buyer's family died mysteriously after Harold entered their lives. The list of victims was practically endless until it reached the hands of that woman, who categorically refused to say exactly what had happened with the doll and only gave discretion to those who had bid on Harold. Moreover, just as you would expect, she did not accept returns. Once again, madness erupted on the platform, everyone wanted to own that doll,

everyone wanted to test its evil, but only one person would succeed, and that person was Anthony Quintana. Anthony Quintana bought the doll along with other supposedly haunted items because his intention was to write a book recounting his experiences. To him, Harold was just another item, he had no hopes for it. Until then, he had experimented with supposed haunted eBay boxes, cursed necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and none of them had presented themselves as truly cursed objects. Still, the woman who sold him Harold warned him not to be deceived by appearances. This doll wasn't just haunted, it carried a curse that could cost him his life. She offered to refund him every cent, but Anthony refused.

He told her not to worry about him, that a deal is a deal, and to send him the doll as soon as possible. When the package arrived, Anthony carefully examined its contents, realizing not only that the doll was in very poor condition but also that it was a 1930s replica made from parts of other collectible dolls. This was intriguing since there seemed to be no connection between the pieces. The face, arms, legs, and torso all came from different dolls, which made it impossible to date or assign a real value to it. Nonetheless, Anthony didn't consider this too important. After observing it for a while, taking some photos, and making notes, he placed an electromagnetic

field meter near it and stayed silent for several minutes. He hoped the meter would show some changes, some peak, indicating that the doll was truly haunted, but the needle didn't move. Therefore, he connected his voice recorder to see if he could capture any electronic voice phenomena. Again, it was a disappointment, no peaks, no EVP, no evidence that the doll was possessed. Still, the lack of results didn't stop him from taking precautions. He put the doll back in its box and placed a cross and a bottle of holy water next to it. Several days later, Anthony had what he thought was a great idea, to take the doll to his friend April, who worked as a psychometrist.

As you can imagine, April thought it was complete madness. How was she going to interact with something that had no life? But she accepted without asking why. She knew Anthony well, and he had some very strange things going on sometimes, so she didn't give it much thought. She didn't think it was weird for her friend to ask her to examine the doll, nor did she think it was strange when he pulled out a voice recorder to record the whole process. The tests lasted about half an hour, and after that, Anthony stopped the recording and played it at full volume. He needed to know if anything had been captured, and indeed, it had.

While April tried to interact with the doll, they could hear an electronic voice demanding silence, as well as the sound of many animals roaring, expressing their indignation. It was so sinister that Anthony didn't know what to do. He was very concerned about the activity surrounding the doll, so he decided to lock it at the back of a wardrobe until he figured out what to do with it. The doll remained hidden for eight years until, in 2013, Anthony had a new idea, to post a photo of Harold on the internet to see if anyone could recognize it and give him more information. An avalanche of stories came to him immediately.

People from all corners of the world contacted Anthony, claiming that as soon as they saw that photo, they suffered dizziness and nausea. One user even claimed to have woken up in the middle of the night feeling as though the doll was watching them from the shadows. The fear generated by simply looking at the doll's photograph went viral, and Darkness Radio quickly became interested in interviewing Anthony Quintana. From there, the doll became a celebrity.

But sometimes, when objects like this becomes so popular, it's not good. As we all know, the more attention a cursed object gets, the more it consumes, and the stronger the curse becomes. That's exactly what happened when the production company from the show, Ghost Seekers, contacted Anthony in 2014. They asked if they could take Herald to the island of the Dolls, a remote island located on the outskirts of Mexico City. Given the history of the place and the energies there, they believed the doll would be able to show itself to the team in full force. Anthony agreed, assuming that Harold wouldn't be a danger for a team of experts. However, he gave them one small warning, the doll's left arm was a bit loose, so if they handled it, they had to do so with care, as it could break at any moment. Harold, one of the world's most haunted dolls, has many stories surrounding it.

An elderly man was the doll's owner for 60 years. He originally bought it for his son, but a few years later, his son died. After his son's death, he and his family noticed that the doll would laugh, cry, sing, and move. They took it to a priest, who said it was possessed. They were told to burn it, but the doll wouldn't catch fire. So, the elderly man sold it at a market, and since then, every owner has experienced paranormal activity with the doll. Unfortunately, as we know, the team on the Ghost Seekers show is not known for being delicate when conducting investigations, nor for treating cursed objects with care.

So, as you can imagine, what happened next? Zach Begans, the lead investigator and host of the show, picked up the doll, and although he didn't break it, he provoked it enough to anger it. In the middle of the show, Zach began to feel intense pain in his left arm, and when he checked it, he found three bruises that looked like children's fingerprints. The team took the doll to a psychic living near the island to tell them what was going on with it. They expected the psychic to say that the spirit of a child was inside, but the truth was much darker. The psychic said that there were many trapped souls inside the doll, including a woman with some sort of mental disorder that caused her to act

aggressively toward anyone trying to harm the doll. Zach Bagan's had clearly not been kind to it. After the show aired, Anthony created his YouTube channel. His goal with the channel was to prove that Harold was truly haunted and, at the same time, to find someone who could give him answers. However, what he couldn't imagine was what happened next, he was bombarded with messages. Many of the people who wrote to him had seen the episode of Ghost Seekers, and claimed to have suffered headaches, dizziness, nausea, and the feeling that the doll was watching them in the dark.

Anthony couldn't believe what was happening. He couldn't process all those testimonies coming from all over the world. Many of you might think these people were just trying to mock him or pull a prank, but all the stories had similarities. They all said they heard voices, crying, and children's laughter at night. They said they felt watched when the sun set, and they claimed to have suffered a series of catastrophic misfortunes. Harold's curse seemed to be able to cross the TV screen and travel from one place to another to harm people, making it a truly dangerous doll. Anthony didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to react to the situation until, among all the messages he received, he came across one from an Australian woman who said she had something very important to tell him.

Apparently, her six-year-old son, Vincent, who had autism, had seen a photo of the doll, drawn it, and told his mother the following words, the children want to see the sunlight, but the black stain won't let them. Throughout that year, Vincent provided Anthony with much more information. He assured him that the doll was possessed by several spirits, among them, Harold, who gave his name to the doll.

As you can hear in the segment I just showed you, there was a spirit with no face, an evil being that kept the three aforementioned spirits trapped inside the doll. Its identity was so mysterious that Anthony, wouldn't know about it until much later, when, after subjecting the doll to tests with several psychics, all of them came to the same conclusion. Yes, guys, that entity was a demon. In Anthony Quintana's words, it took us a while to figure out who or what it was because we weren't looking in the right place. The demon wasn't trapped in the doll, nor was it stalking it.

It was stalking its owner, Anthony Quintana. Anthony is still collecting experiences from people who sent him messages over the internet. A woman who attended an exhibition in 2016 mocked the doll in front of its display case and immediately began coughing and spitting blood. Other visitors to the exhibition said they felt dizzy, pinches, and intense headaches. But as I said before, it is not necessary to make direct contact with Harold to be cursed by it. A clear example of this was two men who, after the Ghost Seekers episode in which Harold appeared, spent a long time mocking it, laughing at its story and its ugly face. Who would have imagined that after laughing at it, both of them would become ill? One of them suffered a larynx rupture, and the other had a diverticulitis

attack. Anyone who looks at a photo of the doll for several minutes report secondary effects such as nightmares, night terrors, or the sensation of being watched from the shadows. But now it's your turn. Would you dare to challenge Harold the infamous? The end. I wake up again with red paint caked under my fingernails. It's thick and sticky, and for a moment, I almost confuse it with blood. That's how it always starts now, the confusion, the haze, and then the dread. This has been happening for weeks. Long, eerie blackouts at night where I lose chunks of time. Then I wake up and there's another painting on my easel that I don't remember creating. I didn't think much of it at first. I laughed it off, even. I figured it was some kind of weird sleepwalking thing.

You know, like those stories you hear where people make sandwiches or drive to Walmart in their sleep. Only my thing was painting. At first, the paintings were just abstract blobs, weird shapes, kind of beautiful in a chaotic way. But then they changed. The first real one hit me hard. A man, face down in a grimy alleyway. His skull was clearly smashed in, and the brushstrokes made it look almost gentle. But his face, twisted in agony. Blood spilled out in dark puddles like oil.

I remember just staring at it for a while, confused. I didn't know who he was, but he felt familiar. Not like a friend or anything. Just, known. I cleaned everything up, put the canvas away in the back of the closet, and told myself it was just a dream bleeding into reality. Stress, maybe. Then I saw the news. Two days later.

Same man. Same alley. Same everything. He'd been killed behind a bar downtown. Blunt force trauma. No suspects. I stared at the TV screen until it blurred. My mouth went dry.

The coincidence was too perfect. But I tried to believe it anyway. I needed to believe it. Because the alternative was just too much. Too dark. Then came the second painting. This time it was a woman. Young.

Curled up on the floor, holding her stomach. Her eyes were wide, frozen in horror. Blood everywhere, seeping from her body. and pooling around her like a dark halo. I stared at that painting for a long time too, wondering what the hell was happening to me. I didn't know her either, but I felt sick looking at her. Like I was violating something sacred.

I didn't paint that, I kept telling myself. Not really. Not consciously. Maybe I'd seen something online and my brain just copied it. But three days later, there she was. on the news a mugshot style photo and then footage of a building taped off

with yellow police lines same position same blood same terror it was her she had been stabbed outside her apartment during a robbery the painting hadn't just captured her image

it had captured her death I freaked I started doing everything I could to stay awake coffee energy drinks cold showers loud music I even set alarms to go off every 15 minutes during the night

but nothing worked I always slipped into that space that dark place in my mind and when I woke up my hands were stained with red and there was always a new painting waiting for me it wasn't just the blood or the horror It was how good the paintings were. Like they were done by someone else entirely.

Someone more skilled. More focused. Every stroke had meaning. Every color was intentional. The art was beautiful in its violence, and that scared me even more. Then came last night. I woke up shivering, surrounded by paintbrushes and torn paper towels. Red smeared across my arms, my cheeks,

my clothes. I felt sick before I even looked at the canvas. And when I did, I dropped to my knees. It was Elliot. My ex. We hadn't ended well. There were fights, ugly texts, blocked numbers. But I'd never wanted anything like this. The painting showed him with his eyes wide open, like he'd seen something he couldn't understand. His throat was sliced clean, from ear to ear. His skin was pale, almost gray. The blood looked so real I could smell it. Something cracked inside me. I crawled away from the easel and just sat on the floor, shaking.

I didn't know what to do. It didn't feel like a dream anymore. It didn't even feel like a nightmare. It felt like a warning. I grabbed my phone with trembling fingers and called him. Elliot. I didn't care how we'd left things. I just needed to hear his voice.

I needed to know he was alive. He didn't answer. I left a voicemail, something frantic and confused. I didn't even know what I said. I just begged him to call me back. Then I waited. Minutes crawled by. Hours.

I paced my apartment, staring at the painting and then turning away. I scrubbed my hands raw trying to get the red paint off. I couldn't sit still. I felt like I was being watched, like something inside me was growing, coiling up like a snake. I finally went to his apartment. I know, I shouldn't have. It was late, and he'd made it clear he didn't want to see me again. But I needed to know.

No one answered the door. No lights. No sound. I pounded on it for what felt like forever before a neighbor poked their head out and gave me a dirty look. I backed off, apologized, and left. But I didn't go home. I sat in my car outside his building until the sky started to lighten. I texted him again.

Nothing. Then the news came on. No report of a murder. No mention of Elliot. Just weather, traffic, politics. I tried to feel relieved, but I couldn't. The painting was too specific. Too real. It wasn't just some subconscious projection. It was him. So now I'm here,

writing this, because I don't know what else to do. I feel like I'm losing my mind, or maybe being taken over by something else. Something that sees things I can't. Something that knows. What if I'm not just painting what will happen? What if I'm painting what I did? That thought terrifies me more than anything. Because I don't remember. doing any of it. I don't remember leaving my apartment. I don't remember holding a weapon. But what if that doesn't matter? What if I'm being used? What if something inside me comes out at night, something that wants to hurt people, and uses my hands to do it? And the painting, that's just the souvenir. I tried locking up my art supplies. I put everything in a storage

unit across town, kept the key in a safe. But the next morning, there was another painting. On a different canvas. Using paint I didn't own. How is that even possible? My friends think I'm just stressed out. They keep telling me to take a break, to go on vacation, to unplug for a while. I want to scream at them. They don't see what I see. They don't wake up covered in paint. They don't see the way the people in my paintings look at me. Yes. Look at me. I swear, the more I paint, the more it feels like they're watching me. Like their eyes follow me around the room. Like they're aware. I've started hearing things too. Soft whispers in the middle of the night. The creak of floorboards when I'm completely still. Once, I found a single, bloody fingerprint on my mirror. I live alone. I'm terrified

of what's going to happen next. Of who's going to show up in the next painting? I started keeping a list. Dates. Names. Images. It reads like a serial killer's notebook. And the worst part is, part of me likes it.

Not the death. Not the horror. But the art. The precision. The beauty and the tragedy. It's like some twisted part of my brain. is waking up at night to express itself. And it's really, really good at it.

But at what cost? This morning, I found a blank canvas propped against the wall. Fresh brushes. New paint. I didn't put them there. I know I didn't. It's like something's inviting me now. Daring me.

I keep thinking about Elliot. I still haven't heard from him. I called his sister. She hasn't either. I might go to the police, but what the hell do I say? Hey, I think I might be killing people in my sleep and painting the crime scenes after. They'll lock me up. Maybe they should.

But what if that doesn't stop it? What if whatever is using me can keep going, even in a padded cell? I've stopped sleeping entirely. Or trying to, anyway. But the hallucinations are worse now. I see people walking through my apartment. People I've painted. They glide past mirrors but don't reflect. They whisper names I don't recognize. Last night, I found a message written in red on my ceiling, paint what you are. I don't know what that means, but I can guess. And I don't like the answer. I think I'm going to destroy everything. The canvases, the brushes, the paints. Maybe even the easel. I don't care if I lose the only thing I've ever been good at. If it means the painting stop, I'll burn it all. But what if that just pisses it off? What if this thing inside me

wants out, and the painting was just step one? If I don't wake up tomorrow, or if someone finds this message and there's another dead body on the news that looks just like the canvas in my closet. Know this, I didn't want this. I never wanted this. I'm sorry. The End. We begin on April 10, 2009. A 12-year-old boy went to his theater class with all the excitement in the world. He loved acting and dreamed of becoming a great star. But in the middle of a rehearsal, he started hearing deafening screams. A girl was begging for help, but none of his classmates flinched. They saw it as something normal, a tasteless joke. But this girl wouldn't stopped screaming. So the boy left the class to see what was happening. That's when he witnessed a

brutal crime through a glass door. And that's where today's disturbing case begins. Asia McGowan was born on August 7, 1988, in Michigan, United States, into a healthy, structured family. We have very little information about her parents or her three siblings, but what we do know is that they always supported her in everything she set out to do. From a young young young age, Asia presented herself to the world as an ambitious, cheerful, and bright girl. She dreamed of becoming a famous actress and dancer. Since childhood, she took different theater and singing courses. At 18, she created her YouTube channel, specifically on March 23, 2006, and from there,

she uploaded all kinds of content related to her passions, parodies, improvisation, singing routines, dancing, and when she went to additions, she also recorded what happened there and how the whole process worked. How to find additions, how to sit there, how to do the tests well, where to stand, where not to. Asia McGowan answered all these questions, giving advice to future actors and dancers. And by 2009, her channel had accumulated 7,000 subscribers, a number that was quite high at the time. And she wasn't just growing in subscribers, she was. also growing as a person. The additions she was attending were paying off. She began to appear as an extra on TV shows, series, and even in movies. In 2009, at 20 years old, she enrolled at the

Mackenzie Fine Arts Center, located within Henry Ford Community College in Dearborn, Michigan. Once there, she progressed very quickly, got along well with teachers and classmates, collaborated in everything she could, and got better at acting every day. She was a beautiful aspiring actress and dancer, and she was going to participate in the talent show so you think you can dance on the Fox network. Statements from Tehran McGowan, Asia's father, everything in her life was going extremely well. She had quite a few friends, was attending additions, and landing small roles. But then she noticed something very strange starting to happen in the comments on her channel.

Since she posted very personal content, sometimes she talked about her way of thinking, her future, what she wanted to achieve, her beliefs, and her religion. Apparently, someone didn't like the way she thought. And that someone was the user Tony 48219. But before we get to know Tony, we have to dig a bit into YouTube in the early 2000s. YouTube's beginnings were a bit murky. It was a platform where anyone could upload all kinds of things of. content, home videos, TV recordings, music, music videos, covers, opinions. It was a completely free world where anyone could grow and even make new friends.

There was also a feature that allowed anyone to respond to a video by creating another one. It was through video responses that many people grew a lot, reflection channels, criticism, comedy, but with so much content and so many users, it wasn't all laughter and fun. communities formed within the platform that could be very dark. Among them was a group of people with rather extreme religious beliefs. One of the best known users at the time in YouTube's darker corners was Venom Fong X, a Christian YouTuber who loved attacking other creators who didn't share his beliefs. This guy was a conservative Christian who defended creationism, always quoted the Bible,

and defended it to the death without reinterpreting anything. What the Bible said was the only truth, and everything else was the Bible said. was sinful and from the, underscore underscore. But the worst part is, we're not talking about an older man. Venom Fong X was a young guy who would get in front of the camera, state his beliefs, imposed them, and mock anyone who didn't think the same. And as incredible as it may seem, he became quite well known, especially for his responses. He replied to every creator he came across, even if they didn't mention him. He attacked atheists, anyone who thought differently from him. And although he had detractors, he also had some fans, among them, the user Tony 48219.

Tony's real name was Anthony Powell. He was born in 1981 in Michigan, United States. There's hardly any information about Tony's personal life, but according to his loved ones, they began to notice a change in his behavior. He started closing himself off, expressing ideas he had never shown before. He suffered from depression, had fits of rage, and sometimes rambled. They tried to get him professional help, but he refused to accept it. Then YouTube came into his life. He began surfing different channels and eventually came across Venom Fongex, with whom he fully agreed. They shared ideas, beliefs, and a worldview, and he immediately became obsessed. He watched all his videos, always commented, always shed.

shared. And soon, Tony became a character in himself. Atheist is going to try to tell me how to be a Christian. I'm not a true Christian. They don't even believe in God. They've never read the Bible. Don't know nothing about the Bible and they're going to try to tell me what a true Christian is. Ain't that. I'm trying to tell you, I'm F asterisk asterisk-a-a-crazy, I'm Sair, I'm ignore, stupid. But these, between 2007 and 2009, Tony was quite active on social media. Seeing that there were people supporting him, he got bolder. He began sending his followers against anyone with different beliefs, calling them soldiers of the devil, demons, soulless people, subhuman monkeys.

His speeches weren't just against atheists but also against women. He said women should be obedient, submissive, and servile, especially he was against African-American women. On one occasion, he dedicated an entire video just to talk about this. In it, he spent all his time accusing them of promiscuity and blaming them for 10,000 abortions daily. He said thousands of horrible things. At the end of the video, he lamented that no woman wanted to be with him. Basically, he despised them because no one wanted anything to do with him. Naturally, many people criticized him for saying these things. They made video responses, insulted him, disrespected him.

But the typical few fools supported him, and with their support, he felt empowered. That's when, in 2009, he came across Asia McGowan's channel. Asia uploaded positive, varied content. She always made jokes, parodies, was very cheerful. But one day she published a personal video in which she answered some questions, among them, she said she was atheist and a strong supporter of women's rights. She didn't disrespect anyone, just gave her point of view. But this information deeply offended Anthony Powell, and he immediately started insulting her.

He left comments on all her videos, disrespected her, harassed her. But she ignored him. That made Tony start creating fake accounts to keep going. The more she ignored him, the more accounts he made. And that wasn't all. He did two things that send chills down your spine. The first was finding out which theater she studied at. Once he had that info, he enrolled in the same course and schedule.

Some sources say he never actually enrolled and just went there to watch her, but either way, it's very disturbing. The second thing he did was create a fake Facebook profile, through which he added Asia and harassed her. He added her, looked at all her statuses, photos, locations, where she went, who she was with. Asia didn't know this profile was Tony, and from time to time, she chatted with him. The man's obsession was terrifying, and Asia couldn't even imagine it.

She just knew that lots of people were insulting her online, and it was destroying her inside. She started thinking YouTube was no longer a place for her. But in reality, many of the people going against her were just one person, Anthony Powell. So she decided to publish a video in which she begged people to please stop harassing her. On April 6, 2009, Asia told the public what she was going through. She asked to be left alone, that she just wanted to have fun, and that she never meant to offend anyone. But instead of calming things down, it had the opposite effect. Tony felt powerful and decided he had to finish what he had started.

YouTube people, it goes off to just about YouTube haters. Yeah, so finally paid attention to you. For the people that just felt like they had to come on my page and hate and think that they were going to get some comments back from me, well, you thought wrong. And I just feel like it's stupid to leave messages on people's pages when you don't even have any videos on your pages, and your page is blank, and you think you just hate on mine. So yeah, when you hate, according to his family, he had a relapse at the start of 2009. His family said it began early in the year, but followers noticed it in March, when he posted

a video saying he wanted to die, wanted to end his life, couldn't go on. Two types of reactions emerged. The first was from a user who immediately called the police after seeing the video and reported it. But the officers didn't take it seriously. The second reaction was from people who encouraged him to do it. They hated Tony, hated his videos, and told him that killing himself would make a everyone happy. But they would soon regret saying that. Because two words gave this man an idea,

to take his own life, but not before taking Asia's life first. On Friday, April 10, 2009, early in the morning, Asia went to the McKenzie Fine Arts Center. She had to rehearse a play with her classmates and was very excited. The group included people of all ages, from young kids to adults in their 40s or older. This is where sources are. don't agree. Some say Tony enrolled in the same classes and the teacher paired them up, which is why they went to an empty classroom together. Others say Asia was alone, stepped away from the group, and was rehearsing by herself. Either way, there was a witness, a 12-year-old boy named Christian Planca. Christian was a talented aspiring actor. He went to

the fine art center every week for theater class and always gave his all. That morning, April 10th, while with the group in the auditorium, he began to hear bangs and screams. Everyone there heard the same thing, but no one got alarmed. For them, it was normal. Maybe someone was rehearsing alone. A prankster. It could be anything. But Christian found it very strange.

He kept hearing bangs, screams, and at one point, this 12-year-old stepped away from the group to check. That's when he saw it. terrible scene through a glass door, a girl screaming and trying to run out of the room. She was begging for help, screaming, trying to escape, and then someone shot her from behind. As she fell to the ground, that person grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her back into the room. I heard a shot and saw someone being dragged into the room where they were, he said. He was in shock. Authorities were called at 12.30 p.m., and by the time they arrived, it was already too late. Apparently, Tony Powell had sneaked in with a shotgun. He shot Asia twice, the first in the

back, the second in the head. Then, he took his own life with the same weapon. Everyone said they couldn't believe something like this had happened, especially not on such a safe campus. But it had happened. And now, people demanded answers, especially Asia's family. Tony's family didn't know how to explain it. They apologized publicly and gave their condolences to the McGowan family. They explained that Tony had serious problems but never wanted help. They insisted on taking him to therapy, but he always refused. Over time, Tony's channel was reported by several users and eventually taken down by YouTube. However, some of his videos still circulate online, not just his videos, but also the responses other users made to him. As soon, as he was. As

for Asia's channel, it was also removed from the platform, but not in the way everyone expected. Apparently, it remained up for years. But on September 29, 2021, someone hacked it and changed the name to Riper Global. When people noticed, they quickly contacted YouTube and demanded action. Someone had stolen Asia's channel, and the platform had to respond. So, on October 3rd, the entire channel was permanently suspended. So now it's your turn. What do you think about this case? Do you think the crime could have been prevented?

The end. I will drive my vehicle into people, and if that proves useless, I'll come out with a knife. Goodbye, everyone. It all began on June 8, 2008, with one of the most shocking crimes in Japan's history. A truck plowed into a crowd of pedestrians in Akihabra, and at first, it looked like a freak accident. The driver had seemingly lost control, crashing into multiple people. Bystanders rushed to help, gathering around to check on the victims. That's when the driver got out of the vehicle and began stabbing everyone in his path.

This is where today's disturbing case begins. Who was Tomohiro Cato? Tomohiro Cato was born on September 28, 1982, in Almory, Japan. He was the eldest of two sons in a well-off family. His father was a senior manager at a bank, and his father was a senior manager at a bank, and his His mother was a homemaker. They lived together in a large suburban house in Almori Prefecture, a neighborhood filled with well-kept homes, luxury, and comfort.

Cato and his brother never lacked anything. From a young age, Cato excelled at everything he did. He was a bright student, participated in numerous activities, and always did them flawlessly. He consistently ranked at the top of his class and shone in sports. When he entered Sukuda Junior High School, his success continued, he became the president of the tennis club and was widely regarded as one of the best athletes in the school. People saw him as energetic, talented, and intelligent. A future engineer, perhaps. It was expected that he would attend the prestigious Hokkaido University and study engineering. But that expectation wasn't his own,

it was his mother's. The dark side of perfection, what no one knew about Tomohiro Kato was that his success came at a price. His mother demanded nothing less than absolute perfection. Before he could submit his homework, she reviewed it thoroughly. If she found even the smallest mistake, she would rip the pages apart and force him to redo it. And it didn't stop there. Reports later revealed that she humiliated and physically abused him. If he refused to finish his meal, she would throw it on the floor and make him eat it. If he couldn't recite multiplication tables fast enough, she would fill a bathtub with cold water and shove his head into it to refresh his memory. Winter was her best weapon. If he came home late

or forgot something, she would lock him outside or force him to stand in the freezing cold for hours. Neighbors saw what was happening, but no one called the police. To them, it might have seemed like discipline. Maybe Cato deserved it. Maybe he was just a difficult child. But the reality was far more horrifying, he was just a boy, only eight or ten years old, enduring unimaginable cruelty. For Cato, this treatment became normal. He believed he was never good enough, never worthy. His mother was right, he was useless. But in his mind, this pressure helped him succeed. With his mother's constant push, he managed to enroll in a prestigious private school in Eastern Amori. The academic standards were even higher there, but Cato continued to stand out. He remained

at the top, excelling in every subject, until he couldn't anymore. The beginning of the end, Cato had spent his entire life thriving on admiration. The better his grades, the more people respected him. But in his new school, things changed. He no longer stood out as much, and some students started picking on him. What began as teasing soon escalated into outright bullying. His concentration plummeted. At home, the punishments got worse. He was locked outside in the freezing cold for longer periods. Letters from his teachers constantly arrived at his house, describing him as lazy, unfocused, and wasting his potential. He couldn't take it anymore. In the year 2000, he failed his university entrance exam. His mother was beyond furious. In 2001, he tried

again. He failed once more. This time, his family didn't forgive him. His mother completely shut him out. His younger brother, on the other hand, was thriving, getting good grades, making friends, even dating. Their mother redirected all her attention to him, leaving Cato in complete isolation. Everything he had ever done was for his mother's approval, and now, she acted as if he didn't exist. Cato spiraled into depression. He felt like society had failed him. The world wanted perfect people, polite, well-mannered, successful individuals who never made mistakes. But he wasn't one of them.

He didn't belong. And it wasn't his fault, it was everyone else's. Still, he tried to fit in. He decided to become a mechanic and enrolled in Neon Automotive College. He worked hard, studied relentlessly, and by April 2005, he landed a temporary job at an auto parts factory in Shizuoka Prefecture. It was his chance at independence. He packed his things, moved into an apartment, and started working. But soon, reality hit.

The breaking point, at first, things went well. But Cato quickly realized that his salary wasn't enough. Bills piled up. Rent was due. He didn't have enough money for food or utilities. Desperate, he reached out to his parents for help. But they wanted nothing to do with him. To them, he was a failure.

A disgrace. The rejection crushed him. By 2006, his debt had spiraled out of control. He had no money, no friends, no purpose. He attempted suicide, ramming his car into a wall at high speed. But he survived. His mother's response. She berated him, not for trying to take his own life, but for

failing even at that. A stroke of luck came in late 2006 when he found a new job at a factory in Susono. His salary was slightly higher, and his co-workers described him as hardworking. He was quiet, but reliable. Over time, he gained some stability, and in 2007, his contract was renewed. But behind closed doors, he was crumbling. He had no social life. No outings, no hobbies, no human connection. He spent all his money on anime, and manga, isolating himself completely. His only form of interaction was through internet forums. But instead of finding comfort, he found criticism.

People dismissed his complaints, told him to work harder, mocked his self-pity. It was the final straw. The Akihabra massacre, on June 5, 2008, Cato's breaking point arrived. He went to work, opened his locker, and found his uniform missing. He immediately assumed his co-workers had stolen it as a cruel joke. enraged, he slammed his locker shut, screamed at his colleagues, and stormed out. He never went back. That same day, he logged on to a forum and wrote,

I have no friends and never will. People ignore me because I'm ugly. I'm worth less than garbage, because at least garbage gets recycled. If I had a girlfriend, none of this would have happened. Two days later, on June 7th, he made his final declaration, I will drive my vehicle into people, and if that proves useless, I'll come out with a Goodbye, everyone. The next morning, he rented a five-ton truck, drove to Akihabra, a busy shopping district, and at exactly 12.33 p.m., he accelerated into a crowd. Seven people were killed.

Ten more were injured. The attack ended when a police officer held him at gunpoint, forcing him to surrender. Justice served. Tomohiro Cato was sentenced to death and executed by hanging on July 26th, 2022. But the debate remains, was justice served? Or was he just another victim of a cruel society? I used to think it was just one of those quirky things. You know how people get fixated on weird internet stuff sometimes. That was Andrew in a nutshell. He'd go down rabbit holes for hours. It wasn't anything new, he'd spent months obsessed with ancient aliens once, and before that, it was the JFK assassination. Deep dives were kind of his thing.

So when he started reading about reptilians, lizard people living among us, I didn't think too much of it. I figured it was just another conspiracy phase. We all need distractions sometimes, right? But looking back, I should have seen the signs. It wasn't like the other times. This one stuck.

It grew. And it started to change him. Fast. It began subtly enough. He'd be up late, headphones in, the glow of his laptop lighting up his face in the dark. At first, I thought he was watching documentaries or scrolling forums like always. But he stopped wanting to go surfing. He cancelled a fishing trip with his brother.

He even missed his mom's birthday dinner, and Andrew never missed a family thing. He started spending all his time online, muttering things under his. breath, scribbling notes in a journal he kept in his nightstand. Then he began looking at me, differently. The kind of look you give someone when you're not sure if they're really who they say they are. At first, it was subtle, his smiles didn't quite reach his eyes, and he flinched when I touched him. But then the question started. Innocent at first. Hey, babe, what was your favorite color when you were a kid, or do you remember having dreams about the desert or snakes? I'd laugh and say, what kind of question is that?

He'd smile like it was nothing, but I could tell he was filing it away. It got darker. He'd stare at me when he thought I wasn't looking. He asked if I ever felt different growing up, like I didn't belong. I remember one night we were lying in bed, and he turned to me and whispered, you know, Roxy, your eyes have always looked a little cold, reptilian, even. He laughed right after, but it wasn't. funny. Not to me. Not with the way he'd been acting. That night, I couldn't sleep. I just laid there

staring at the ceiling, heart pounding. Two weeks later, I woke up and they were gone. Andrew, Emma, and Henry, vanished. Their beds were empty, the car was gone. There wasn't a note. No goodbye. Just, gone. I called everyone. His mom, his brother, friends, even the police. No one had seen him. That's when I noticed his laptop still open on the kitchen table. My hands were shaking when I picked it up. The screen was locked, but I remembered that strange question about the desert.

I typed Desert Dreams. It opened right away. My stomach dropped. There were pages and pages of notes, disorganized and frantic. He'd written about our kids, Emma and Henry, as if they weren't really his. He said they had lizard DNA. That I had passed it to them. That I was some sort of serpent queen.

He was convinced we weren't human. That we were impostors wearing human skin. He talked about purging us. About saving humanity. It was insane. It didn't even sound like him anymore. It was like someone else had taken over his mind. I called the police.

My voice was trembling. I could barely get the words out. They promised they'd look for him, said they'd send someone over. I just kept repeating, he took the kids. He thinks we're not real. He thinks, we're monsters. They found him three days later, in an abandoned ranch house just over the border in Mexico. I got the call while sitting on the floor of Emma's room, holding one of her tiny shoes in my hands.

The officer's voice was quiet. Careful. He told me Andrew had been found alive. But the kids. He didn't have to finish the sentence. I dropped the phone. Screamed so loud I swear I felt the walls shake. My body crumpled.

My babies. Gone. And Andrew, he was still alive. Later, they showed me the video. His confession. He'd recorded it in the ranch, right before the police arrived. He looked dead inside. Cold.

Hollow. He spoke like he was delivering a message to the world, like he was proud of what he'd done. He said he'd saved humanity from the serpent queen's spawn. Said he, had no choice. Emma was too. Just two years old. She had this way of throwing her head back when she laughed, like pure joy couldn't be contained in her tiny body. And Henry, he was only ten months old.

He'd just started standing up on his own, grabbing at everything with those pudgy hands. They were light. They were everything. And he used a spear gun. The words still don't make sense in my head. A spear gun. Something he'd used on first. fishing trips. Something he once showed Henry how to hold, as a joke. He used it on our babies.

I keep playing everything over in my head. Every moment. Every clue I missed. I think about that first time he mentioned reptilians. If I'd pushed back harder. If I'd made him talk to someone, would it have changed anything? Or was he already lost by then? Now, it's just me. Alone in a house that used to be filled with laughter and messes and bedtime stories. Their toys are still everywhere. I can't bring myself to move them. Emma's favorite stuffed elephant still sits on the couch. Henry's onesies are still folded neatly in the drawer.

Sometimes I go into their rooms and just sit on the floor, hoping maybe I'll feel them. Like maybe if I sit still enough, they'll come back. But they don't. They never do. Everyone tells me I should move. That staying in this house is like picking at a wound that won't heal. But I can't. This is where they lived.

This is where they smiled and played. If I leave, it'll feel like I'm letting them go. I haven't really talked to anyone about the details. No one wants to hear them. And honestly, I get it. It's too much. It's too sick. When people ask, I just say it was a tragedy.

I don't tell them the part about the lizard people. About how my husband lost his mind and thought his wife and kids were monsters. About how he turned our lives into a horror story. Sometimes I wonder if he was sick all along and I just never noticed. Or if something online really did mess with his mind that badly. The internet is a dangerous place when you go looking for darkness. and he dove head first into it. The worst part is, I still remember how much I loved him.

Before all this. Before the madness. He was kind. He made me laugh. He brought me flowers on Thursdays just because. He was a good dad. At least, he seemed like one. That's what makes it harder.

If he'd always been a monster, maybe I could make sense of it. But he wasn't. Not until he was. Now I have dreams where I see him standing in the nursery, holding the spear gun. And I scream and scream, but my voice doesn't work. He just stares at me with those empty eyes, like he's already gone. And then I wake up, gasping, clawing at the sheets. I don't know if I'll ever sleep through the night again.

People say time heals. That grief softens. But this kind of grief, it doesn't fade. It burrows. It sinks into your bones and makes a home there. I carry it with me everywhere. In the grocery store when I passed the baby food aisle. In the car when I see a family walking down the street. In the silence that waits for me when I come home. The silence is the worst part. It's loud. It echoes. I sit in this house and it's like, time stopped the day he left. The calendar still shows the month they disappeared. I haven't had the strength to tear the page. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever feel joy again. If I'll ever be able to smile without guilt. People say I should go to therapy. And maybe one day, I will. But right now, all I can do is survive. One breath at a time. And hope, just a tiny flicker of hope, that maybe, one day, I'll wake up and it won't hurt as much.

Maybe the silence won't feel so heavy. Maybe I'll be able to remember Emma's laugh and Henry's chubby little fingers without breaking down. But until then, it's just me. In this house. With the memories. And the silence. Always, the silence. The end.

I'm going to bury before this happens. You may seem very calm, but, in my head I have killed you at least three. times. Today's story begins with a funeral of a 16-year-old girl who had been, assassinated in a terrible way all, world worshipped her and everyone had. His suspicions was then when, a teenager entered through the door and, his mother were dressed in mourning. The two gave the family to the family and, then the mother approached or but the teenager did not sit on a corner with a bent head and it was, unable to go to look out and say goodbye to. Her friend inevitably all, present began to whisper this. Girl was dressed in a sound of, long sleeve that completely

covered its arms and his torso and carried all, hair covering your face maybe not. I wanted to see her cry but witnesses thought I was going like this, very different and is that he tried to hide. Some evidences that were drawn, in your body maybe scratch perhaps, hands perhaps scratched evidence that they showed that this girl was a killer is where the sinister today. The victim of terrible crime was anal. Baez-Alvarez who was born on March 17th of, 1998 being the second of the three children, of the marriage of Ide Alvarez and Hugo, Baez who was dedicated to tailoring. Anil's older brother was called Omar and, Little Sister Aid and all of them.

They were known for being very responsible for the life of this family was, the most normal but unfortunately. At one point the mother became ill of, cancer and after a long fight lost the battle in December 2012 from. Here it turn around a family joins, more and do everything possible to overcome. This loss joined more supported, one another and the three children. children took, new roles collaborated more at home. They made more responsible helped. One another Hugo Baez could not be, more proud of them the three children. They were doing very well in fact.

They worshipped and the same happened with the father. It was a very united family and I, they counted all one another if they have, fought with someone if I had any, any concern will happen what, passed it to each other. Later it will be very important in the, Anil case is known to be a girl, very open was a responsible girl, smiling with a lot of attentive empathy and, according to his father was practically the daughter, perfect everywhere she looked, tenderness was very affectionate, was an angel, it was really very restless. I liked to dance the music the roses was, very special because small was something, also introverted when I was between, many people didn't like, expand but when I was in,

trust with your friends or family, she became very happy was very, playful and with us or say, our family Sundays always, made laughing with his things forever. It was a very popular girl had, many friends and everyone, admired but but among so many people. It has a narrower circle to which, I trusted all secrets and in that circle, there was a girl of the same age called, Arundé Elizabeth Gutierrez just, knowing is said that girls, connected were very often. They saw at all times they were always called, and from time to time they were dedicated post, like this one you see on screen. Publication date of October 14th, 2012 Annall congratulated her friend which, I was turning 15 years, thanks for being so good friend

for, always be at your side for being so, good person and doors out. It seems that the girls were the friends, perfect, but doors inside. It seems that the thing was very different. They were better friends for a time, but according to some people they did not end. To fit your loss rota.com page, irandi on social networks was shown, as a girl very influenced by the, called narco-culturea also known, how I listen to anything showed taste for, the music of L. Chappoda, Harardo Ortiz or Calibur 50. He had even attended some of his, de facto concerts published that it was, with several friends to the the concert that gave 50 caliber at the parties of the 2014 carnival of Guamachal-Cinoloa,

but he also published that there is a March supporting the liberation of the Chapo. Gussmana March also made in Guamachal and February of that same year. All this contrasted a lot with the way of being from Anilwich in networks. Social never expressed any of this. Their musical tastes were different. Things I did had nothing to do with. With this and at least in the form of thinking, the girls were completely different. They studied meetings in repair, Guamachal belonging to the University. Sina Loa Autonomous but although Principal were very friends with the Time where Distanced Durunday formed his. Group of Friends and Anil did the same, brought together

with a group of people and, La Mada's Melissa Carime Manuel and Maria, Jose to which he considered his new, best friend she was like the mother of the group because I was always aware of. Everyone and he scolded us was very mature. It has very precise expressions very, correct at the beginning of 2014 Anil already. He did not get together with the Randi never commented to, your father or brothers who had some problem and if it would have been, said he shared everything with them and in, no time said having fought with. Irandi, however, in social re's this, girl began to behave in a way, very strange as a teenager who was, always used Twitter to put all kinds, of phrases, phrases without, indirect

sense and used to publish. Things like these girls of 15 pregnant women, children of 13 drugs and mom gets upset, because I will risen my ex and buried it in the house garden the fate of the living the, envy these phrases were A, without meaning he took the, them out of a forum, some page of some song and if, simply shared them but in 2014, the thing began to change and its page of. Twitter took a darker nuance and it is that in March 2014 begins to publish. Phrases that sounded like threats I'm going to.

Barry, it may seem very calm but in me, had I've killed you at least three times, and in the end my mind fills me, of ideas less bad than anyone listens to. What do I think tomorrow without failure? Not now or tomorrow but soon you, I assure I say nothing but in my mind already. I cruelly killed you this will kill me in. Seriously nobody knew who were going to. Directed but inevitably arose. Rumors rumors indicated that perhaps, I was upset with Anil had, distanced each one went by their side and, Anil always showed how the girl, perfect good friends, good brothers, a loving father I saw in a big house. Everyone loved her and they were. They supposedly see an

unstable environment. Other people commented that they had, thought but as I have already told you the, the Anil family has no record of, this is how the night for the, tomorrow Arundé contact and told him that they should be, retake the contact to be friends again, and Annell accepted the day they would see, be on Wednesday, March 19th, 2014 and, as it seems throughout that day, everything went well on social networks all, it seemed normal and before seeing they were, published the following on its page of, Twitter in the world there are seven million, people and I like three, and, then he shared that he was playing a mobile game called Tiny Bert, after that the girl bought ice cream, and, Anel's house left which opened the door and invited her to

happen as they did. In the past the girls went to the room of, Anil located on the upper floor and a time there they were talking about. The ice cream took a movie, and at that time Arunday was absent to go to the bathroom but actually went down to the kitchen there he took a knife and then climbed the stairs entered the room of Anil and found it lying in the bed and back to the door since the girl was watching the movie like this, that taking advantage of the carelessness Ironday took out the knife and stabbed her 65 times according to. The autopsy the victim defended himself until the end had defensive injuries and, clearly, infringed the maximum damage to his attacker. Spider-Spider weighs but, unfortunately, it did not survive and thereundee, he had to act quickly

knew that in the, every afternoon he collected his sister in, the school and that if everything was late, the world would ask questions, the brothers, the father, all the world would be attentive to which, if he wanted to get rid, he had to act quickly, used different housecloths to, clean the crime scene, but, there was so much blood that it was, impossible no matter how, He scrubbed the blood and that's when, something very striking happens and according to, some sources Arundé got into the bathroom and washed. He changed his clothes and put an outfit, belonging to him the official sources. They do not mention this point in history, but many others say yes.

It happened is how it occurs. Is that Randy key the door key, of the bathroom and that of Anil and then flee from, the house leaving the two doors of the open pair entry into, even as they were suspected with the step. Of the hours Hugo Baez received a, strange call and is that from a. though. His daughter's school told him that no one. He went to look at it at first. Man did not worry why Anil to. Sometimes they fell asleep with friends, studies with their things with all that. The girl bulls clodily that of, rode to school called it but Annel no, answered it once another one and

this in his mind confirmed his theory if, I wasn't what the mobile is that I was, asleep so he picked up his daughter. Little and together they went home is there. When they discover elements they call, a lot of attention as soon as, house the first door was open and, when walking a little forward, Second door was also inside. From the living room there were very strange elements. Element understand place and, immediately shouted the name of, Anil but this did not respond for, the whole house in the kitchen in the living room and, then they went to his room and there.

They discovered that the door was, closed they hit several times, and, they insisted, but he still, still did not. Answer and when the bathroom went to the bathroom, Puerda was also closed between A, Thing and another forced the doors and A. Once they entered the Annel Room, they discovered their lifeless body and in that, precise moment called the police. From here is when the whole, research in the first place was the, victim Annel's body received 105, stabs which was a very, staff were exercised so much violence, about her that the attacker was thought, or he was a man or there were several, people the strength of the stabs,

shocks the teaching the attacker had, then to be very strong or very strong or have. Much anger inside second. Place was the crime scene. Anel Baez room this scene had, a lot of blood, but it was clear that the aggressor tried to clean it had, Well, cleaned parts, rake parts. Not so much, but there were fingerprints that the aggressor could not clean marks of, hands at points where he couldn't, arrive and therefore these forms had, be his as there are neither doors nor, forced windows the police assumed that, the victim knew the aggressor trusted, in him and let him in which he was, very possible that they will be previously, but on the girls' mobile there was no, nothing no message confirming a, there was no step through your home there was no, nothing at all so they thought that the, meeting was casual from here, they try to look for witnesses and the first, What do you're looking for cameras from? Surveillance but in that area there was no. That is why they asked the neighbors and these.

They give a track that turns a case to the case end. Is that several people on crime? They saw a run from the house to a teenager to a thin girl who, he had long and black hair. This figure did not fit what. They were looking to imagine a man, high strong to two people but never. He went through the head that a girl of. His own age could do that end. From here the fence began to, strengthening first questioned.

Daniel Baez's family and everyone said, who had no end. enemies was a girl, popular very dear with a lot of empathy, very, and no one could want, to harm him anil never counted, have a problem with anyone rather, opposite as well with everyone did not have. Conflicts had no discussions and four, both the police sought the friends of, the girl and all of them said the same, that he was a good person who did not have, problems with anyone but there was a person who was jealous, person who may do hurt him, and this was his former best friend Ironday, Gutierrez said they once had, some friction and that I run there occasionally, published strange things on networks, meaningless phrases twisted things

and there the police got into the page of Anno Bias' Facebook confirming like this, that the girls were friends saw the photos together, support, and according to some sources from there, they went to Randy's profile where they saw, that upon learning of the death of his, friend wrote a publication, saying it very much that I would throw her out of, lest this publication might seem, normal and many people commented, giving your support, but there was also people who in those comments, They currently called all there. Social networks have disappeared, but, several sources highlight this highlight, that this part is completely true, but unfortunately we have no support.

Photographic, however, the interesting. Here it seems that from this post, police arrived on Twitter and there, they found the restraw of phrases that you, I showed previous phrases which, he said he wanted to kill someone, but, more interesting of all is that after the death of Annal Arunday did not stay, quiet and published two more phrases, I am a, God assumes what I did all that was, circumstantial did not show that Randy, he killed on him but then the funeral of the girl and it seemed that Arundy, Yes, had something to do with Andy, accompanied by his mother and immediately, he caught attention was dressed in black, with a long, sleeve-toed slope, covering his arms

and his long, hair covered his face completely, at no time did he approach the coffin, did not talk to anyone sat on a, corner crouched his head looked, loss and all who, at one point a countryman policeman, he approached her and invited her to, accompany him and once at the police station. They asked good questions to first. The girl leaves innocent but with him. Step of time collapsed and counted. A very striking version of the events. First the police saw that.

Under the clothes there were many. Wounds scratch bumps bolts. That showed that Anil defended himself. Until the end he fought for his life and, Arundé ended up injured and secondly, this was the aggressor and it is that month. Back Anil published on Facebook, Very Compromising Photographs A, version says that in the photographs,

Arundae appeared with a boy and in others, were Arundé and Nell herself but B. As it may, Arundé asked to erase them, and Anil ignored Miso began to, angry with her threatening her and Annal follow. Without listening that an outburst, Erunday took his life this argument. According to the girl, the crime triggered, but according to friends and family this does not. It was true Annal was not that kind of, person and said photographs ever. There were both girls were, popular and if the photo had uploaded, people would have shared it, they would have downloaded, widespread, but in this case nobody knew. Nothing even the police investigated everything. This and not even they found. Nothing and that is why some believe that this

murder was carried out by jealousy and envy from here comes the trial. In recent cases we have already seen, seen that laws are not the same for adults and minors and is 16 years old. He made A runday quite easy. Gutierrez because the maximum penalty for a minor in a case like this in Mexico is seven years of internment and this. Internment is not in a prison but rather in a Teenage Center. In 2014 after an hour trial and Elizabeth Gutierrez Media Hera was, found guilty and sentenced to seven years of imprisonment in the center of, internment for addance of Kulia Khan, but nevertheless later the defense presented an appeal and, through this they got the, sentence was annulled and the reason for the cancellation of many shocked and, is that apparently

the process had to be taken in the matches, but it was done. In Kulia Khan this error forced to repeat, Yendi trial once again, sentenced to seven years of seclusion, but, Luck was on his part again and, that with the reforms to the federal law of, minors the girl's sentence ended, being reduced to three and a half years end. Friday, September 22nd, 2017, LA. Girl was evidently freedom. This aroused the outrage of everything. Mexico, but according to justice, though,

judgment had already concluded that. Now is your turn what do you think of the case? And you think the sentence was fair. Friday nights at the bar were usually chaotic, but familiar. That kind of chaos that you grow numb to when you've been working security law, long enough. You've got lines out the door, the smell of beer already thick in the air, base thumping through the walls, and a sea of twenty-somethings trying to forget the week. I had just walked in, hoodie still on over my security shirt, barely clocked in, when the night

decided to go sideways. John, one of the big bouncers I worked with, came striding over. Now, John was the kind of guy who'd prank you every chance he got, so when he leaned in and said, hey, we got reports that some guy at one of the tables is showing off a gun, I straight up laughed in his face. Told him to get lost. But then he grabbed my arm and gave me that dead serious look that wipes the smile off your face. No, man, I'm serious. People said he's flashing a gun to his friends. Suddenly, that joke I'd made a million times about having to handle a firearm situation didn't seem so funny anymore. My stomach dropped. I took a breath and said, All right, we got to tell management right now and figure this out. Within minutes, the whole

staff was on alert. Me, John, the manager, and a bartender made our way toward the table where the alleged gun kid was sitting. I tried to keep it calm. Didn't want to make a scene unless there actually was one. I approached the guy and said, hey man, listen. Listen. I'm a CCW holder myself, and I understand you might be carrying. If that's true, we can't allow that here. Would you mind stepping out and locking it in your car? To my surprise, he was chill.

Notted and said, yeah, I'll go put it away. I felt a wave of relief. We watched him walk out and down the block. Problem solved, right? Thirty minutes passed. comes back, cool as ever. I walk over and ask, hey man, did you put your firearm away? He goes, yeah, I stored it in the bushes over there. Excuse me? In my head I'm screaming. But I kept it together and said, all right, well, since there was a firearm involved, we're going to need to

pat you down, just to be sure you didn't bring it back in. He nods, no protest. John starts patting him down. Everything's fine until John gets to the guy's ankle. He straightens up and glares at him. You think we're stupid? Unlike, what? What's the problem? John looks me dead in the eye. He's got the gun in his sock. Before I can react, the kid starts to back up. The gun slips out, hits the floor with a loud thump. Everything froze. Me and John stare at it like it's a damn bomb. My hand shoots to my back belt loop, where I keep my taser pulse holstered. I pull it, arm it, red dot aimed center chest. Don't move, I said.

John's going to grab the firearm, and we're going to handle this. To his credit, the kid didn't move an inch. John picked up the gun and hustled it to the manager inside. We both shout for them to call the cops. Now the kid just stands there. Zoned out. Not saying much. Not doing much. Just, blank. Manager radios me, holster your taser. He's complying. I do, but stay alert.

We ask him to take off his backpack. If he had a gun in his sock, there could easily be another one in there. He hands it over. No fuss. Meanwhile, one of the bartenders, who happens to be in the National Guard, starts inspecting the weapon we recovered. He ejects the clip, 10 rounds of 9mm. Then he racks the slide. One in the chamber. And the safety? Off. The red that was showing. We were this close to a tragedy. John loses it. Gets in the kid's face, screaming. I try to pull him back, but I'm pissed too. I tell the kid, you make C-Ce CW holders look like clowns. Still, the kid doesn't react.

No fear. No remorse. Just, empty. Like the lights were on but nobody was home. I started to wonder if he was high or something. Turns out I wasn't wrong. While all this was going down, one of the kids' buddies tried to sneak off with the backpack. Smooth, real smooth. Our manager spotted him and yanked it back.

Back in the office, they opened it up. Another firearm. Bag of what looked like Xanax bars. Big bag of coke. Little bottle of weed. So yeah, that kid was dealing. And probably on something heavy. We kept him there for what felt like an eternity, maybe ten minutes, until the cops finally showed.

We yelled at him, full of adrenaline and anger and disbelief. cops took the gun, the drugs, and the kid. Whole place had been watching like it was a show. Some were trying to leave, some just stood around. It amazed me how people didn't instinctively back off. One guy had a loaded gun fall out of his clothes and folks are like, ooh, what's happening over there? We tried to push the crowd back,

but there's only so much you can do when the front entrance is your only entrance and exit. cops threw the kid in the back of the cruiser. He was 19 years old. Just a damn kid. And finally, he broke. Started crying. Found out later he had fired that same gun at a party earlier that night. Got in a fight and pulled the trigger.

By the time he got to us, he was strung out on Xanax and whatever else, just floating through the night with two guns and a backpack full of drugs. me and John talked about it a lot afterward. The way that gun hit the ground. It could have gone off. Could have killed one of us. And we both admitted it, we had no training for that kind of situation. Just instincts and adrenaline.

We did what we could. We did our jobs. But man, I was shook. When the dust settled, I wanted to cry. For days I had nightmares, replaying it. it, thinking about how close we came. Not because I was scared of dying, but because I kept seeing someone else die. A kid. A stupid, drugged out, lost kid who threw his life away. He didn't pull the trigger on us, but he might as well have. And yeah, he'll probably end up in

prison. He made that choice. But it's still tragic. Drugs and poor choices and maybe some mental health issues turned that kid into a walking time bomb. That night taught me a lot. About danger, about how fragile safety is, and about how little were actually prepared for the worst. I always wanted to be a cop, and this was like a trial by fire. But the truth is, we don't get paid enough to be heroes. Still, I'm proud of what we did. We protected the people in that bar. We made it home. I hugged my girlfriend that night. like it was the first time I'd seen her in years. My dog jumped up on the couch and I just sat there, holding him, thinking about how different things could have gone. It wasn't pretty. It

wasn't clean. But we did the right thing. Thanks for sticking through this long post. I know it's heavy. The story needed to be told. I've got other stories, some funny, some weird, some just plain stupid, that I'll probably post soon. But this one, this one stuck with me. And if you take anything from it, let it be this, be aware. Stay sharp. And if you ever feel like life's too much, talk to someone. Don't end up like that kid. The night ended, and we survived. That's what mattered. The end. Heroes who save the store they adopt, a whoerp and a girl people with a good heart, that are now the center of attention but then Brenda Lynn testified and with his history put everything legs above on Saturday July 18th 2009 Catherine decided to go through the store of his brother to visit but

to arrive discovered that this was closed he was a very organized person and delivered his work for what he immediately worried went home called the bell and saw that the door of the entrance was opened the entire plant impeccable ordered low but the upper floor was a bloodbath and is that his whole family had been assinate in a vile and ruthless way it is, where the sinister case of. Today the case is focused on the family. Lin composed of John Lynn better known as 43-year-old Lily her husband Min Lin of 45 and his three children Brenda, 15 years old, Henry of 12 and Terry of knew the marriage. It was known in Sydney, Australia after, that both emigrated from China and the Finnish studies decided to marry and,

forming a family did not have much, money and could not afford, great luxuries but they were very, workers and responsible and those same values were instilled at there. children after aora quite Lynn decided, undertake and opened a little store. In the suburb of emping initially, it was a normal job for, paying invoices had products to, the home for kitchen for the bathroom, food but what happens that Min had. Very charisma was a man, joyful, jovial bromist, and the entire neighborhood was dazzled with. He started winning clientele a lot. People were going to see him and the man had a great time. Great with this work not only, paid the invoices with him but to, same time I really enjoyed. Everyone who knew him said to enter, it was to get in a good mood,

I looked a little a little of. Fallen Min released one of his jokes and, you immediately laughed him, liked the work that did not close, not a single day and customers. They thanked a lot and thanks to their, effort your family could buy a two-story house in North Hepping was the larger house they had ever had,

and they were so comfortable that they invited, live with them to Lily's sister. 39-year-old Irene was in the marriage. Lynn her three children Aunt Irene had, space for all of them and with the step. From the min years saved more money and, bought a house from his parents in Maryland, just 30 minutes from your home-like. You see the family is very close and not only, they live near the grandparents' house,

but also 300M from the house of the sister and brother in Law of Min Kathy and Liam. Bin Chen better known as Robert here, you have to do a small parenthesis and it is, that everything to meet Kathy and Robert. Kathy and Robert arrived in Australia from China in 2002, but its history was, a little different from yours and is that in, China Robert was author, Argoly-eyed, where they wanted to bring three chefs from China but unfortunately they denied the permits so 2005 made their bags and they died to Sydney to be closer from the family on Friday July 17th 200 the whole family went to the house of the grandparents to dinner the whole family exception of the eldest

daughter of the Lynn Brenda which at that time was of coexistence and to pass a whole week away from home with its class of French and therefore that night could not being there however it is possible to say that they all had a great time dinner laughed they had a good time and grandparents. They imitated little Terry and Henry to stay to sleep but Min and Lily. They said it could not be since a day. Next very early they had a badminton competition to children. They insisted they wanted to stay the grandparents. They wanted them to stay but in the end not.

It could be so they said goodbye and everyone. They went to house the next morning Kathy and Robert got up early to clean. His garage had been wanting time, make it redistribute everything to redecorate and they thought that Saturday was the day, indicated to do so they got up. early to make a few products from, cleaning and got to work. But mid-morning Kathy began to receive, customer calls from his brother and is, that apparently many people were, worried about him that day man does not, went up to the blind and many clients.

They were worried since min never. I closed and if something happened to him, he put a, note so immediately Kaz and his, husband left what they were doing and, they went to the store and when they got there, they saw that it was true per descent or a, a lone note not a single warning, and from there, They went home they call anyone, respond and push the door they see that. They are open in the house continue, calling them but once more. Answer and Kathy goes up to the second, plant and since he steps on the landing, count that everything is full of blood. This woman found a total of, for bodies for bodies, bloody distributed

indifferent, rooms and for I immediately grabbed. The phone and called emergencies knows that Brenda is not at home because he is at, excursion but at first glance, nor has you seen Min and is exactly, which tells emergencies that there, his brother's body is not by any, part and while she speaks her husband goes, to grandparents' house to tell them, what has happened when the police arrive. Agents do not give credit was A, bloodbath and tasmer everywhere, they only find four bodies with what, which see you in the first instance they think that. Min has committed crime they think, Min the man whom everyone wanted, crazy but at a certain moment see I, comments that he thinks that his brother can be under the sheets and when they

look there it turns out that he was always in there, seeing that this body was always in, the main bedroom and from. Here the entire investigation begins, faces of the victims were so, disfigured that had to resort to, forensic analysis to identify them and, from here all the details there were no evidence of a raid which suggests that, attacker used a key nothing had been, looted or stolen, and it was clear that the criminal knew the design of the house, where was the automatic switch, where was each victim knew him, all in detail and also according to. Agents entered the house between two and five in the morning it was also finished, who used an impromptomaz to commit, the crimes and also carried, I get a rope at an instant.

As the bodies were so bad, they thought they were shot, but they finally discovered that they died to, because of suffocation and trauma. First to die were Min and Lily, though. Next was Irene and to finish the, murderer went for children who, it should be said that they fought until the end. The entire Lynn family suffered a death. Frightening were strangled beaten, dragged was somewhat impressive but the most shocking thing about everything is the overwhelming because after Estank, particular the subject was, hitting they were already dead and he continued and knew it was a single, attacker because they only found. The footprints of a single person are, person arrived, opened the main door, subbed the stairs and went directly to the rooms in which there were

people but that did leave a mark on the door of the, Brenda room that door was not, open with which I knew that the girl, I wouldn't be there but at the same time that hand footprint could not be investigated, since the subject used, gloves being a proud teenager, I didn't say anything to my father I just stayed, uncomfortable and I thought to do only, it will be a week to see them again, soon until the present day my greatest. Repentance was not hugging him, and tell him that he loved him to thank him, for being an incredibly loving father, and affectionate the crime shocked the whole neighborhood and it seems that Kathy and, Robert acted very quickly on the same day, they called the grandparents informed them, they called school brought Brenda from, return, and in zero

coma took care of the store and try to adopt Brent Lynn. But the story obviously does not end. Here the community demanded answers now, that we are not talking about a family. Any Min Lin was loved by all. Everyone went to their store all. World knew everyone worshipped. This family and they're the. First hypotheses the first is that Min, Lynn killed his family family and then, he removed his life but it turns out that this man was the first to die and also, who received the worst death of all the. Second is that the Chinese mafia could be behind this but the Lin family. I had no background and had no relationship with the mafia and the third. Hypothesis is that the Lynn family would have been the victim of a failed robbery, but, as mentioned, nothing was missing in.

His house and therefore the hypothesis came down really no hypothesis. It seemed to fit, but the police was, 100% according to the murderers or murderers, know the family and distribution. There were neither doors nor doors nor, forced windows so the attacker. I had a key where each one slept and, I knew who would be at home and who, no and taking into account the foot. steps. Attacker was a single person so, inevitably focused on a person Robert Chia, for days after crimes already, when the marriage seemed calmer, police called them to do some, questions, questions supposedly, routine and could observe, very different Kathy behaviors. I was very calm and gave the whole. Information asked even more. I wanted the case to be resolved from, immediate and

if any data that I could contribute could help. This woman had a firm room and it is, that last night with all the family was to raise the house of the, grandparents were all the Lynn with them. children was Irene and in principle everything. It went very well and when he returned home he, Woe his teeth and got into bed not, did nothing more and her husband could. Corroborated however Robert when, he was questioned he was cold and, distant did not want to make visual contact. I didn't want to talk and from time to time.

Confused English with the Cantonese. This subject spoke perfectly in English but was so nervous that, once they escaped four. Cantonese, however, its lounger seemed, also firm the night before the, Crime had dinner with the whole family and, returning home got into bed and, it was awake until two hours that. He left this shower and fell asleep like. I have told you looks like a firm quartet, that his wife could corroborate him without. However, there were time gaps and it is that to the do his wife would already be completely asleep and he could have, raised having killed the LN having, returned home and shower and later, sleep, but if so, it made sense. To kill them

that night since Brenda, I wasn't at home if I wanted to kill everything. The family this made no sense. unless there were hidden intentions, and the simple fact of considering that did, that all alarms were fired by. This the agents are in order to the judge, to install surveillance cameras in, that house for six months to see if, they captured something and the judge was seen, well call marriage interrogate him, again and in the meantime several agents. They go home, they place the cameras, and they go and the marriage remains. Freedom during six months in, who recorded the interior of the house, the authorities were

calling them to, make more questions allegedly, routine and realized that, Robert fell into contradictions one day. He said that when he entered the scene of, crime saw five bodies but weeks. Then he called the police station and justified, saying that he was wrong that he saw, between four or five bodies but not. It was sure everything was very strange like this. That made a very, risky and they called his wife, and they gave very interesting information. They told him that in the crime scene, they found traces of certain shoes.

They told him what size he was and also. Some also told him some. A-6 shoes that were not manufactured from. 2005 and two days after doing. This confession the cameras of your house. They recorded Robert cutting in pieces. Very small a shoe box of the six brand the guy was in the dining room. He took the box he started to cut it and, then he went to the bathroom and threw everything.

For the toilet it was something very suspicious and, in May 2010, a record was made in its house that lasted five days and thanks to that. They found the following to start. They saw that this man had the same. Shoes size found on the scene of crime and secondly they remembered that the most of the morning after the crime he and his, woman cleaned the whole garage. They did thoroughly thus. Police reviewed their place first and saw that in a corner in the cement of Al, there was a stain a stain that. After being analyzed, it revealed that it contained the DNA of at least four

of the fatalities but especially of, little Terry who, according to forensics, died lastly with such, powerful in 2011 officially arrested, to Robert Chia and immediately the family, asked for a bond but this was, denied in February 2012, sail the House of the House of the House of the Lynn family and all. The benefits were for Brenda the eldest daughter almost at the same time in the that this happened Robert Chee asked for a bond and once again the August 20th, 2012 first sight and there it was shown that there are evidence of plenty of against him and then on December 19th of that same year a kind of prior judgment and the subject once requested plus a bond and again it was. Denied from here comes a list of judgments that are postponed.

The sick judge there are setbacks. Change judge in May 8th, 2014. Finally the trial begins and this man, he declares himself not guilty between physical tests not only had the, staying in his garage but also the confession of an inmate who was with, he in jail between 2011 and 2013 that witness recorded conversations with him and in. Some of them Robert confessed the crime I let the night of crime, drug to his wife to thus, sneak out without being seen and what, days before the crime he bought a hammer, to kill them all quickly said, I also knew where to hit, disable a person and then, of the first blow to be able to continue, hitting them without moving counted. Many things, many details, but some of them could not be, recorded since the

prisoner in some. Moments forgot the recorder Robert in. All Time said this was, completely false and that he did not kill. The Lin family but with other witnesses, police created a hypothesis and is that Robert Chia committed the crime, basically for jealousy when it reached. Australia everything went wrong could not open. The restaurant could not prosper could not, win so much money but the Rhine, yes, they were doing the store opened, they earned a lot of money they bought their home, another for grandparents and practically, the whole neighborhood worshiped them, however, the Chia were barely recognized only, they knew them for being a family of men, and that did not even grace, so Robert decided to kill them and, convert their wife into heroes,

heroes who save the store they adopt, a whoerpen a girl people with a good heart, that are now the center of attention, but, then Brenda Lynn testified and with her. History put everything up leg said, before the court that touched her in a manner, inappropriate and that made her feel very, uncomfortable and discussed the time past and, he was traveling with the school and being. Far from home he learned that all his family had died and also, from then on he would live with his uncle and, with their aunt which moved papers, to legally adopt that scared it, but I was so sad that not even, I thought about it and once at home, Uncle the harassment went to more was something daily to, every hour at every moment, and that the house of the

Chia Brenda lived a, hell before these statements. Judge Peter Johnson declared the trial, Zero and the following trial was scheduled for August 5th, 2014 and in the waiting process Brenda's aunt. He sent threatening messages, he told him that. I had to withdraw that Robert never, harassed and having told that. She helped me send me messages, saying that he was innocent that. Police was incriminating it, I hope, that one day I can realize that.

All I did was tell the truth is, better not with, he there were many judge changes, cancellations and finally the subject of, temporarily low probation, but the important thing here is that in December 2016, last trial on January 12, 2017 by and there was a guilty verdict of, murder of his whole family and therefore, he was sentenced to five life imprisonments, which means that he will never return to. Being free justice now understood that the mobile of crime was actually two, envy and at the same time obsession, that I felt towards Brendlin the one who wanted. For him he wanted to possess her and therefore, he killed his whole family stayed with the business and with it the condemnation relieved the

girl since not only did justice, for her family but also for her, but incredible that Kathy seems, until the end he continued supporting his, husband and today is fighting, because that is released is, is, fighting to show that this man is, 100% innocent and makes statements like, the next he is innocent we believe that, it is innocent we continue to fight for this, which now is your turn what do you think of? Case and you think Robert is innocent, he had a low profile, seemed approachable, and always talked about animals. He loved dogs, adopted strays, and even showed off pictures of his pets. But what really captured people's attention was how much he talked about his two kids.

He would tell his victims that his wife abandoned them, leaving him as the sole caregiver. To those who listened, he was a loving father, devoted to his children. A man like that? He could never hurt anyone. And that's exactly what made him so dangerous. For years, a series of crimes shook South Korea to its core. The police searched for a suspect with a criminal record, someone who stole. stood out. But what they didn't expect was that the killer would be the least suspicious person

of all. This is where today's terrifying case begins. Kong Jocen was born on October 10, 1969, in a small, isolated village called Sicken in South Korea. Not much is known about his family, but people say he had a normal, quiet childhood. Everyone described him as having a clean-cut image, someone who seemed sincere. He wasn't an exceptional student, but he did okay. However, after finishing high school, he faced a major dilemma, by tradition, he was expected to stay in the countryside. But that didn't sit right with him. He wanted more, he wanted to travel, find a job, and leave the rural life behind. For a while, he did nothing. No studying, no working, no job hunting. Eventually, he enlisted in the military, where he reached the rank of sub-officer. But during

a vacation, he was caught stealing livestock. That was the end of his military career, he was dismissed immediately. In the following years, Josan hopped from job to job until he finally settled as a truck driver. Around that time, he met his first wife and married her at the age of 22. At first, things seemed great. They had chemistry, got along well, and eventually had two kids. But soon, the neighbors noticed constant arguments. He accused his wife of neglecting their children, and she accused him of the same. Their fights escalated, with shouting matches becoming a daily occurrence. By 1998, when their second child was born, they divorced. After the split, Josin moved to a small city south of Seoul called Baibong Mayen.

Some sources say he took the kids with him because he didn't want them to grow up in the countryside. Others claim his wife simply abandoned them. Either way, after relocating, he met another woman and quickly fell for her. Everything happened way too fast, they met, dated, got engaged, married, and she became pregnant in a short span of time. That's when things spiraled out of control again. Love doesn't fix everything, and for Josin, this was too much.

He had to support two kids, a pregnant wife, and pay all the bills. He took on extra shifts, juggled multiple jobs, barely spent time at home, and rarely saw his children. And before his new wife could give birth, he abandoned her and took off with his kids. After practically walking out on his second wife, Josin bought some land north of Baibomayan. That's when everything took a dark turn. He settled there and started a farming business, raising pigs, cows, chickens, and even bees. To make things more complicated, he developed the habit of rescuing every stray dog he came across.

From the outside, it all looked great. A young, charming man, a hardworking farmer, and an animal lover. People admired him for taking in so many abandoned dogs. But as a farmer, slaughtering animals became a daily task, and soon, it turned into a high-house. hobby. He continued raising livestock, taking care of his farm, adopting dogs, but eventually realized he had too many. So, he started killing them in different ways. The farm seemed to be doing well, and in the early 2000s, he met another woman. The pattern repeated, fast attraction, quick engagement, rushed marriage. But something changed this time, this woman didn't get pregnant.

Before that could happen, she sensed something off about Josin. There was something dark and sinister about him, and out of nowhere, she asked for a divorce. With three divorces under his belt, Josin was fed up. In his mind, women were the problem. His first wife abandoned their children, the second wouldn't let him see his third child, and the third left him for no reason. It all made sense to him, women were to blame. But he wasn't about to admit that to anyone. On the outside, he seemed normal. A good-looking man, friendly, sweet, and charming. And with that image, finding a fourth wife was easy. Her name was Hygiene. Hygiene owned a massage business, and Jocen became a regular client. He was friendly, warm, and gradually learned the trade.

He balanced farm work with helping out at the massage parlor. Eventually, they got married. Witnesses said they were a good match, both hardworking, both independent. Unlike his previous wives, Hygiene didn't want to be a housewife. She wanted to work, earn her own money, and stay self-sufficient. Josin found that appealing. But tragedy struck soon after. On Sunday, October 30, 2005, Hygiene made plans to have tea with her mother. Josin, not wanting her to travel alone, drove her there. After dropping her off, he returned to the farm.

Moments later, the house went up in flames. Neither woman could escape. By the time firefighters arrived, it was too late. The family was devastated. rushed to the scene, but according to witnesses, his reaction was unsettling. He was emotionless, staring blankly, not shedding a single tear. The family suspected foul play and demanded an investigation. However, the police found no evidence of arson.

After six months of inquiry, the case was ruled an accident. Some say Jocen set the fire, others claim it was a tragic mishap. Regardless, something in him snapped after that. He started killing more animals, torturing dogs, pigs, pigs, and chickens. But soon, that wasn't enough. He craved human victims. On September 7, 2006, Josin drove around town looking for his first victim. He spotted high in you, a government worker heading to her office. Knowing his charm worked on women, he pulled up beside her and offered a ride. At first, she refused. But he was persistent, and good-looking. She let her

guard down and got in. The moment she did, he locked the doors, took her phone, and drove to a secluded area. There, he strangled her, cut off her fingertips, and buried her body. Then, he went back to his farm like nothing had happened. For a while, life went on as usual, farming, massage work, and playing the role of the perfect father. But he kept a close eye on the news, waiting to see if the police had any leads. They didn't. He felt untouchable.

And when no one suspected him, he couldn't hold back any longer. On December 14, 2006, he found his next victim in Gunpo, a woman named Bay Yumi, a 45-year-old karaoke hostess. He charmed her, had drinks with her, and after her shift, invited her for a ride. She accepted, thinking he was harmless. But just like before, he drove her to an isolated place, strangled her, and buried her body. With every kill, he felt more powerful, more unstoppable. He loved knowing that his victims never saw him as a threat.

His strategy remained the same, low-profile, friendly, always talking about his kids and his love for animals. On December 24th, he did it again. And then again. By January 7, 2007, he had killed six women. But his spree was about to end. His final mistake. Using his last victim's credit card. Security cameras caught him withdrawing cash.

The police traced the footage, arrested him on January 29, 2009, and he was a second nine, and searched his farm, finding bloody clothes, personal items from victims, and buried remains. He confessed to everything without remorse. On April 22, 2009, he was sentenced to death, later reduced to life in prison. To this day, he remains behind bars, reportedly feeling no guilt for his crimes. Now, what do you think? Did he get what he deserved? Or should his faith have been worse?

Little Nayan suffered a lot of pain, and received intravenous analgesics, 24 hours a day was damaged, permanent on the belly and said, which was incapacitated during the rest of your life. The case begins at 9 in the morning of the December 11th, 2008 in the city of Anson Korea del Ser that was a day, sad rainy and a person not, identified went to the church, maybe to pray like in a morning of, Monday to Friday nobody would go to church, and therefore would be empty, however, getting to the square noticed that several, people were surprised, they listened to shouts and everyone looked at, everywhere I did not understand very well, what? I was happening but following the screams, entered the church and saw that these,

they came from the first floor where he found, an eight-year-old girl lying on the floor, at the doors of a bathroom is little. I was very badly wounded and while I was going, crawling was leaving a trace of. Blood immediately the witness called, emergencies and there began one of the more controversial cases of South Korea. Case of N. Yom Na-jong whose real name is, unknown was a healthy girl and very, intelligent at that time was, the only daughter of a marriage that the father was having a very bad time, worked in a factory and the mother in, a store that was in front of home ways, that the two had work were, unable to reach the end of the month. Invoices were drowning but

so, they did everything possible because Njong no, he realized anything wanted the. Girl was completely happy, but in 2008 the girl's mother discovered that, I was pregnant again and according to, some sources for several months are, she hit her, her husband knew that another, Boca more than feed would be a problem, and I didn't know how I was going to take it without, embargo from doors to outside. If nothing went well, everything was happiness. And Nome did not know about this. Tomorrow of December 11th promised to be,

like any other the mother gets up. Early goes to work and then, it sounds like a rambler and wake up in. The father and girl the father does the, breakfast the girl makes the backpack and, then breakfast with him and goes to. College in Korea is very common that, young children go to school alone,

because supposedly everything is very, vigilate there is a police officer in each corner there are, surveillance cameras and there are well routes. marked so that children can go, alone and also the school of this girl. It was ten minutes from home I didn't have. Loss and parents were very, quiet with this for that at 8.20 minutes the little girl puts the backpack and, it goes through the doorways to do very badly, day and be raining the main street. I was full of people and there the girl. He was safe among adults, but after, he took a side street that was direct, to school a street in which there was no, no one had passed by a million

times and none of these had happened. Nothing just had to go straight to pass a church and then would get to school, but in front of that church he stopped her. An adult man with several questions, man asked him where to, he directed and the girl replied that to her. School below the subject, he asked if he went to that church and Neon. He said he went to another with so many questions. Nome became very nervous and, inevitably bowled his head and, he continued walking but then the subject. He grabbed her in her arms and dragged her towards, the interior of the church specifically. It was taken by the bathrooms located in the first. Floor and from here began though, hell if you are sensitive and you think no, you will be able to endure here I leave you the exact minute you can

jump. This part and said we started the man closed the bathroom under the toilet lid and forced the little girl to sit there once in that position. He tried to do one but, obviously the little girl refused. So when the subject got, Violent hit her bit the cheek, and then strangled her until he left her. Unconscious while I was, unconscious man took the opportunity to, A-bar of her and did it in a way, terrible according to several reports. Girls' internal organs, they began to go out for their parts and the man instead of stopping what, reintraded with his hands and continued. During the entire Neon process, woke up and fainted again was, beef, strangular and after half an hour, though, aggressor gave her dead and there she decided, clean everything by helping a little, water and a ragged the

aggressor cleaned everything or, at least he tried to clean some, footprint some blood stains, and then he left the tap open and marched and it was at that time when N. John crawled on the ground left, bathroom and requested the law agents. They arrived at the scene at 99, colon 10 minutes in the morning and immediately called the ambulance nobody could believe that this eight year old girl was still alive and nobody really expected it to go to survive but it was so strong that inside the ambulance he gave his name complete and your parents phone and at the moment they could call them once in the hospital had to operate it from urgency and before doing so they took DNA samples of your body but to this we will return later from from here we must return to the scene crime since experts in this there were very striking points to start they were very striking points to start they They noticed that the aggressor left the tap, opened so that water in this way, outside falling and eliminating tests end. Second place noticed that there was blood. This subject is re-giving with a.

Rag tried to erase Trace's thing that, implied that I knew perfectly, what he had done and that surely, he had done before he had cleaned the knob, from the door the mirror a part of the wall, but still recovered three, three footprints, fingerprints than two, be compared to the database of the. Police resulted in a name, and a last name the nun aggressor was a, 56-year old man named Kodo Son and, having his name on his face reviewed, the surveillance cameras of the entire area and there they saw how a subject were there, same characteristics kidnapped the. Girl put her in the church and then, I left alone but who this man was in. What a history of

Chun was born on the 18th, October, 1952 but of his childhood birth. We barely have reliable data we know that, abandoned high school and that in 1972. The age of 18 committed his first, crime the theft of a bicycle as it was. Young and the crime was not much. Justice had clemency with him, virtually a pat on the back, and for home but two years later, he committed a little older crime and that extorted the owner of a position. Street this time Justice did not do, a fat eye and condemned him to pass a year and six months in a detention center. Youth in 1977 committed a new robbery end, justice condemned him to eight months from,

prison is arrested court and when, he is released that nobody is going, to stop and already in 1987 at the age of 31. Years a girl from 19 this girl, apparently worked very close to his house and he was watching her continued her. Four weeks and finally the attack was so brutal that the girl took 30 days to recover physically but still Sunnan. It was only sentenced to three years in prison and the reason for this is because he committed the crime under the influence of alcohol and in South Korea this fact reduces you the supposedly condemns when you are drunk you are not aware of what. You cannot control yourself. You don't know what. What do you do and therefore your condemnation according to? Korean law has to be less after. Be released this man.

committing more violent crimes between, which was the assault on a waitress but of course all this did, under the influence of alcohol and convictions he received were always very low in fact so that you make you a idea in 1995 committed a crime that was atrocious but how was the justice turned a blind eye that year a friend was on a ship and while they were drinking said friend supported a politician said he liked his job what did his way of thinking and showed sunan lost his nerves in the middle of a start of anger hit his friend until kill him and how How was there? Justice condemned him to two years from and, spend time in a psychiatric no, had police control did not have. Follow up this man was again, completely free and in your life.

Personal was also a monster according to, the portal Nuevo Periodico.com chosen had, five dogs and some of them when, he was alkalized under, terrible punishments that in, sometimes they ended life of these animals but here comes a, very interesting part and is that the wife of Cotto Sunan defended him until, Final said this man was the husband. that was affectionate attentive, detailed that always behaved very, well with her and that only when I drank, I put in trouble and I am not, exaggerating the woman of this subject, defended cape and sword and today, go on, doing when the police arrived at them, this man's house is said that he, I was sleeping and I didn't even, in flature he didn't try to defend himself, did not say, nothing simply got

carried away and, while they climbed the patrol car, several agents registered their home in, looking for any evidence any, track that links it to crime and four, good luck found two socks, and white sneakers with spots. Blood however Sunan showed in everything. Moment was very quiet and repeating again and again it was. Innocent was a good man who never. I would touch a girl who had changed but it was clearly not so while he. The little gnome defended his innocence. I was going through hell as soon as, the doctors entered into the emergency room, that O' Tilpan his anus or died by bleeding, and they were forced to make a colostomy the little nayant suffered. A lot of pain and received the jessico, intravenous 24 hours a day was, with permanent down

to the belly and said it would be incapacitated during the rest of his life for eight months, was in treatment and every end of, week he was traveling to Seoul, he looked with, doctors made new new tests, treatments and finally an operation. They implanted an artificial year suffered, of stress depression, anxiety and one year. After this attack, according to doctors, he recovered 70 by, which allowed, may the girl go back to school and something. Very striking is that in the hospital though, year 2009 a year after having been, attacked continued to draw his aggressor, but I didn't draw it as a person, normal, but as a man who was being, punished by other adults was seen, being beaten locked up and with the step. Of time the drawing you see in,

screen went viral but to this. Point we will return later as you already. I have said known ten nightmares all. Knights had both physical and, mental but just justice does not. He respected first shortly after. Attacked they put photos in front of. That will identify your aggressor many. We would think that this is normal that it is. Very logical but this identification is. He did with a camera in front and not only, they asked to identify man but, that he would also tell what he had, made in second after, that the prosecutor discovered that there was no, recorded well so afternoon, would undergo medical intervention. The subject was looking for her again lit the chamber and forced him to repeat everything. He smelled up for a good time.

Their well to repeat things, newly operated made her sit, or guided back and repeat the nightmare, read point by point what, had lived and every two by three, I repeated the phrases because, supposedly the camera was not. Recording, well at all times this case was a nonsense DNA samples taken. Neung's body lost. Justice did not stop questioning her. They submitted to psychological stress put him. Photos in front of them repeated the.

Recording asked him to repeat the. History and Koto's son at all times. Denied crime in the first instance, said there was never the scene of. Crime that did not come there that I did not know. Nothing that was drunk that didn't. Remembered what happened but in the third. Audience the accusation showed him the fingerprints and there he changed. The history said it was in the crime scene but he did not attack. The girl said she arrived at

church that wanted to urinate but that bathroom. I was busy and with the passage of several, minutes a man came out and let him pass, and once inside it was found, he raised the girl made her settled and, then he realized that perhaps they will accuse him as he had a history, put very nervous and instead of calling, police fled but the judge insisted on that the actillary footprints were put, at points that did not square and there he. History changed again said, Evidences were manipulated by the Police also said that the blood Found at home was not from En Yong,

but of a guy with whom fought but once again the defense. He examined the samples and showed that the blood in effect was from the girl and what? Chosen replied that the police again, he manipulated everything and this is when he arrives. Another very outrageous part and that is that the defense challenged the video in which the Little Na Jong told what he had,

past thing that forced the accusation to, take it to Jew. His testimony was heartbreaking and all the world was also shocked. accusation brought with him the testimony of, a Dr. Hyn Shin who examined the girl and determined that what had, suffered not a simple but rather a murder attempt showed O's son knew what, what did I knew perfectly that what? I was doing en yon and four, both the conviction should be exemplary, I had to receive life imprisonment to what, justice at least initially, I agreed medically speaking, what Cho did was a murder itself, same after raping her chop left, run the cold water while known,

Unconscious was bleeding on the floor of Bath that means he wanted me She died an adult knows that when You leave a child bleeding profusely On the floor with cold water running the Child is destined to die this case Should be handled as an attempt Murder failed with premeditation

Condemned to chain per But then the defense made a Movement that nobody expected and is that In the middle of the trial they asked Nong if chosen at the time of attack It smelled alcohol and the little one replied that Yes that was when the subject received a Great news and that is to be

condemned to life imprisonment received 12 years in prison since according to justice. I was not fully aware in the crime moment. When the sentence was published the, Nome's parents filed a lawsuit, against prosecution for submitting your daughter to, physical and psychological anguish is not. He respected the protocol at any time and, the girl finally suffered a lot in. 2011 the government paid 13 million, ones to Nome's family in, compensation for all failures, committed but so the population was, outraged were collected from, signatures for the trial to be repeated and for this aggressor to receive was a higher condemn but still the judgment was firm based on this case. Changes were made in the laws of Korea and tried to harden the

sentences but still what happened with. This specific case was unacceptable and there were still worse things that announced the population and it is that in 2020 announced that Koto's son was going to be released and from here protests were made and collected from firms against this. Anson's population will not go in the streets but so on December 13th that same year the man was in. Freedom and worst of all is that he returned, to live in your old house which is, located less than one kilometer from the house of N. John the girl of the girl already converted. In adult he asked for a loan to pay, Codo's son and who left the city, but this offer was rejected like this, that the victim's family is seen, forced to make your bags and get out.

Nome's family was the one who had to, leave and told the press that from, that Codotosun was released and Jung no longer. I could watch TV couldn't watch news. I could not listen to the radio and only, I turned on the TV to watch drawings. We didn't want to flee, but there wasn't. Alternative I mean that the government did nothing but forced the victim to, hide statements from the father of N. Young watching the stir that is writing, Justice announced that they would take action. They said that during the following seven years Kodo Sunan would wear an ankle, electric and that 24 hours a day, some day would be guarded. I would check where I was and occasionally, when a probation agent, I would also make visits for all the. Anson City installed 75

five cameras knew but the population was not convinced the surveillance cameras no avoid sun crimes and a electric and killera would not prevent codo sunen to commit more crimes others korean criminals having tabillera's escape from the country being verilated 24 a s had escaped like this that all that for the was a insult anson's population felt the government made fun of them and that better they could do was take the justice for his hand that was how february twenty twenty one a man who the police. Pado A got into the house of Codo's son, and tried to kill him when the agents. The subject arrived did not regret.

Nothing rather than what. He regretted not having killed him and, supposedly declared my, life makes sense if you punish Chad. Soon and my life will be valuable in any moment was published which weapon used to. Tried to kill him since initially. They wanted to hide this story they wanted. Hide it so that no one else is. The same happened but on the 16th of, December of that same year to repeated the,

operation this time with some changes to 847 minutes in the afternoon a dressed police and knocked on the door of Kodo Sunan told him it was a review routine and the man believed him left him pass closed the door and then ah he took out a hammer and started hitting him Chosen's wife at that time was

at home with which to see what was happening ran out and called the police the press published all the details and immediately internet made its magic they shared drawings photographs supposedly made by little after the terrible attack drawings in those that the girl related mut, being attacked by other adults and, especially one in which this man

was beaten with a hammer is there, when the hypothesis was created that he wanted to avenge this man from the same, how known wanted to do it and, practically all the internet put on, part of this subject many people, they put from A and against the, police against agents, they prevent the attack so now is your, what do you think of a case and you think, the action of A is justified, let me tell you a story that stuck with me. Not because it was dramatic or gory or full of action, but because it was quietly unsettling in a way that lingers. It's about a guy, young, polite, soft-spoken, who ended up in a mental institution after a manslaughter charge. Not your typical criminal case, and not your typical inmate. And the way he got there?

That part is what gets under your skin. So this journalist, just doing his job, goes to this mental institution for an interview. He'd heard about this case, a guy who was declared. not guilty by reason of insanity. That phrase always sounds like a loophole, doesn't it? Like, sure, he did it, but he wasn't thinking straight. The journalist wants to know the story behind the headlines. He gets into this plain little room, typical institutional setup. Metal chairs

Table that's probably been bolted down since the 70s. White walls. One of those big one-way mirrors you always wonder about. He sits down, flips open his notepad, and waits. Then the door opens, and in walks this guy, Alex, let's call him. Not his real name, obviously. And he doesn't look like you'd expect someone who killed a man to look. He's clean.

Shaven. Wearing slacks in a collared shirt, not some hospital-issued jumpsuit. Calm, with this kind of eerie politeness. He says hello like he's meeting someone. for a coffee date, not sitting down to discuss a violent crime. The journalist starts with the basics. Childhood stuff. What he liked as a kid, if he had any friends, what kind of family he came from.

It's almost boring, honestly. Nothing that screams, future killer. No dead pets, no arson, no signs of deep psychological trauma. Just a regular guy with a regular past. Then, about halfway through, the journalist leans in a bit and asks the big one, you were found not guilty by reason of insanity. Sent to this place instead of prison. Why do you think that happened?

Alex lets out a deep sigh. Not annoyed, more like he's been waiting to get this off his chest for years. I was in jail, waiting for my trial, he says. They put me in a cell with this guy who'd done time before. Real rough type. Covered in scars. Told me all kinds of horror stories about prison, guys getting stabbed, fights in the yard, guards who didn't give a damn if you lived or died. I got scared.

Real scared. I didn't want to go to prison, man. He pauses for a second, then continues. So I asked him if there was any way to avoid it. Any trick? Any legal technicality. And he tells me, convince them you're crazy. Plead insanity.

You might end up in a hospital instead. And that's when it clicked. I didn't care where I went, as long as it was in prison. Alex started acting the part. Big time. He talked to walls, screamed in the middle of the night, claimed to hear voices telling him to hurt himself. He picked at his scalp until it bled.

Pulled out clumps of his own hair. Anything that looked convincingly disturbed. The court bought it, he says, not proudly, just matter of fact. Next thing I know, I'm here, he leans back and crosses his arms. Thing is, after about a month, I realized I didn't belong here. I wasn't crazy. I was just scared and pretending. So I told my doctor.

Straight up. Said, hey, listen, I faked it. I'm not insane. I just didn't want to go to prison. The journalist nods, scribbling furiously. And what happened, he asks. Alex chuckles, but it's not funny. Not really. They didn't believe me. The doc just upped my meds. Told me I was getting delusional, that denial is part of the illness. Gave me stronger antipsychotics and booked me for more therapy. It's like the more I tried to act normal, the more they thought I was losing it. He tilts his head, thinking back. So I flipped the script again. I thought, all right, if acting insane got me in, maybe acting sane would get me out.

I followed every rule. Took every pill. Didn't complain. I showered every day, kept my room spotless. Went to therapy, nodded, smiled, journaled like they asked. Played the part of the perfect patient. the journalist asked him, and, Has it worked, Alex let out a sigh that felt like it came from somewhere deep. I've been here for years, he said. If I'd just gone to prison, I'd be out by now. That sentence would have been over. But this place, there's no end date here.

It's up to them when you're better. And the messed up part is, the more you say you're fine, the more they think you're not. You can't win, that part hit hard. The journalist sat back for a moment, probably wondering the same thing any of us would, what would I have done in his place? Interview wrapped up not long after. The journalist thanked him, got up, and headed to talk to Alex's doctor. Just to get a second perspective.

Maybe confirm that the guy was truly better now. He found the doctor in a nearby office, sipping lukewarm coffee and tapping away at a keyboard. typical overworked professional. When asked why Alex was still locked up, the doctor didn't miss a beat. Oh, he seems calm and reformed, sure, the doctor said. But that's the thing. The worse off someone is mentally, the harder they try to act normal. They know what we're looking for.

They study it. Mimic it. And that's the real danger. The journalist left with a strange feeling in his gut. A story, yes. But also a question with no real answer. Was Alex truly sane, a victim of his own trick gone too far? Or was he actually dangerous, just very good at pretending he wasn't?

That question still lingers. The more I thought about Alex's story, the more it nodded me. I mean, here's a guy who basically outsmarted the whole system, and not because he was some brilliant criminal mastermind, but because he was just terrified. Terrified of a place most people would rather not even imagine, the prison system. And what did he do? He flipped the script so hard that the system didn't know what hit it. But the catch was brutal.

Once you're in the asylum, you're trapped in this weird gray zone where nobody really knows when you'll be free. You're not in prison with a sentence that ends at a certain time. You're in a place where your freedom depends on convincing strangers that you're sane enough to be let go, and apparently, that's way harder than it sounds. The first month, Alex told me that the first month was the worst. It was a complete shock to go from a prison cell to a mental hospital room. The smells were different, but the feeling of confinement was the same. Cold walls.

Strange faces. Some people who were clearly suffering, some who seemed lost, and others who looked like they were just waiting for the time to pass. The staff tried to be kind, but kindness in a place. like this was always mixed with a kind of clinical distance. Alex said he had to keep up the act for a while. There were moments when he almost convinced himself that maybe the voices were real. Maybe the paranoia was real.

But deep down, he knew he was faking it. And that realization felt like a weight in his chest, a mix of shame and frustration. He described one particular night when the fear hit him the hardest. His cellmate had been transferred, and he was, was left alone. The silence wasn't peaceful, it was terrifying. The kind of silence that presses down on you, makes your skin crawl. He started picking at his scalp again, blood dripping down his neck. That's when the nurses found him, calm but obviously disturbed. It was that night, he said, that he made the decision to stick with the act, no matter what. Because going back to

prison felt like a fate worse than death. The doctor's office. Later, when I spoke with the doctor, I could see how complicated this situation was. The doctor was professional, empathetic even, but also painfully honest. He explained that mental illness isn't black and white. Sometimes it's about shades of gray, where the line between sane and insane is blurry and constantly shifting. He told me that patients like Alex are the hardest to treat because they are so self-aware. They know exactly what the doctors want to hear, and they deliver it. But that doesn't mean they're cured. It just means they're good at playing the game. The doctor's office was cluttered with patient charts, half-empty coffee cups, and faded posters about mental health. He leaned

forward and said something that stuck with me, people like Alex, their survivors. They adapt. They learn to mimic what, normal, looks like. But inside, they're not. But inside, they're a lot, it's a different story. Sometimes the mind breaks so quietly that no one hears it. And sometimes the mind breaks so cleverly, you think it's fine. The Endless Waiting. One of the things Alex mentioned was the endless waiting. In prison, you count down the days to release.

Here, there is no countdown. Your freedom is in someone else's hands. Your cure is measured in subjective terms. You have to convince people that your... your reality is back in sync with theirs. He told me about the therapy sessions, some were helpful, some were just hoops to jump through. He learned the language of the doctors, the buzzwords that indicated progress, insight, compliance, affect regulation.

He could use those words like tools to build his case. But he always felt like he was performing, not healing. And the medications? They were a double-edged sword. They dulled the anxiety, sure, but they also numbed the mind. Sometimes he wondered if that calm he showed was real or just a side effect of pills. The social aspect, what about other patients? I asked him.

Some are real crazy, he admitted with a shrug. But some are just as lost as me. You learn to keep your head down. Some people here want to get better. Others want to get out. Some don't care anymore, he told me about the friendships that form in places like this, fragile and fleeting. People who understand each other because they're all caught in the same limbo. But those friendships are shadowed by fear and mistrust.

After all, you never know who might snap or what the next crisis might bring. The system's paradox, the more I listened, the more I realized how broken the system was. It's designed to protect society, sure, but what about the people inside? What about someone like Alex who's caught in this paradox, too sane to be truly insane, but too lost to be free? It's a catch, 22, that feels like a trap. Alex's story became more than an interview.

It became a meditation on fear, survival, and what it means to be free. The final reflection, when I left the institution, I couldn't shake the image of Alex, the calm, clean-cut young man who once faked madness, to avoid prison but ended up trapped in a place where sanity is just another performance. I kept asking myself, how many others are out there like him? People caught in the gaps of a system that can't decide what to do with them. Freedom, it turns out, isn't just about doors opening or sentences ending. Sometimes, it's about being seen and believed, and that can be the hardest thing of all.

The end. In December 2013, a story unfolded in Chicago that would leave. leave a haunting memory on all who learned of it. The events began when a young man called 911 early on Christmas morning, reporting a body in his home. At first, the operator believed he was simply in shock. calmly, she directed him to attempt CPR, but he laughed and replied that it was impossible, the deceased had no head. This chilling call marked the beginning of a case that would uncover a tragic web of broken

trust, family disputes, and brutal violence. The man who lost his life in this horrifying incident was Sylvester Diaz Hernandez. Described by his family and friends as hardworking, jovial, and caring, Sylvester was someone who deeply valued his family and spent as much time with them as possible. Originally from Mexico, he moved to Chicago at 17, where he started a new life, built friendships, and eventually met his first wife. They had two children together, and though they divorced, they maintained an amicable co-parenting arrangement. Sylvester was dedicated to his children, striving to give them a stable life even after the divorce.

Over time, he began a new relationship with a woman will call Mary, who had four children of her own. Sylvester embraced her family as his own, and together they built a large, blended family. Tragedy struck in November 2012 when Sylvester's ex-wife passed away due to Lupus. This left Sylvester as the sole caregiver for his two children, but despite financial struggles, he continued working hard to support his family. Things took a dramatic turn in 2013 when Mary's nephew, Alexis Valdez, entered the picture. Alexis, born in 1995, was a young man whose life seemed marked by instability and lack of ambition. Reports about him are mixed, some suggest he was a troubled individual who had fallen out with his own family,

while others claim he simply wanted independence. Whatever the truth, Mary decided to intervene. She discussed with Sylvester the possibility of letting Alexis stay with them under a few conditions. The arrangement was simple but clear, Alexis needed to focus on his studies, find a part-time job to help contribute to household expenses, a symbolic amount, not a full rent, and assist with chores, especially keeping his space tidy. Alexis agreed, and in June 2013, he moved in with his aunt and her family, setting up his belongings in the basement, which was arranged as his own private space.

At first, everything went smoothly. made an effort to keep up appearances, attending classes and seeking part-time work. However, his behavior soon changed. His room became perpetually messy, he began skipping classes, and he brought home nothing in terms of financial contribution. He even clashed frequently with Mary and Sylvester, particularly his aunt. Alexis began treating his new home as if it were his personal playground, refusing to contribute or abide by the rules he had initially accepted. Over six months, tensions boiled as Mary and Sylvester grew increasingly frustrated, their patience worn thin by Alexis's entitlement and disrespect. Finally, in December 2013,

Mary had enough. She confronted Alexis, explaining that their arrangement was over. He had violated their agreement repeatedly, and now he would have to leave. She was firm, he needed to move out immediately. She and Sylvester already had holiday plans, with Mary attending a Christmas party while Sylvester visited relatives. Alexis was told he would be alone in the house, and he needed to use that time to pack up and go. However, Alexis was defiant, insisting he wouldn't leave. He spent the day consuming food and drinking all the beer in the house,

seating over being abandoned on Christmas Eve. In his mind, Mary was selfish, and he deserved to get back at her in some way. Alexis agreed, but before they left, he secretly placed a hammer behind the door, intending to use it later. After they returned, while Sylvester put away the groceries, Alexis saw his chance. He grabbed the hammer and attacked Sylvester from behind. The details of what followed are disturbing and difficult to recount, but Alexis unleashed unimaginable brutality on his uncle, mutilating him in a way that seemed fueled by pent-up rage.

He closed all the blinds, blasted loud music, and proceeded to dismember Sylvester's body. His gruesome act included removing the head and other body parts, a scene that defies any sense of humanity. But Alexis wasn't finished. He took Sylvester's head to Mary's bedroom, placing it on her pillow. This, in his twisted mind, was his Christmas gift to his aunt. His plan was for Mary to return home, find the scene, and fall into terror, at which point he intended to attack her in a similar manner. However, as hours passed, Mary didn't return, and Alexis grew impatient.

Bored and apparently feeling detached from the horror he'd created, he finally decided to call 9-1-1, casually reporting a body in the house. When the operator instructed him to perform CPR, he laughed, saying it was impossible due to the body's condition. Police were initially skeptical, suspecting a prank call, but upon arrival, they were met by Alexis, who was calmly using an iPad on the porch, drenched in blood. When questioned, he openly admitted, he should arrest me before asking questions, I've killed a man, and he's in the basement. Officers took him into custody without incident. The impact of Sylvester's death was devastating to his family. Sylvester's children were left fatherless, losing not only their mother a year earlier but now their father in a horrific,

senseless crime. Friends and family mourned the man who had worked tirelessly to care for his children and had opened his home to a family member in need. Due to the high costs of a proper burial, Sylvester's family set up a GoFundMe to help cover funeral expenses, allowing his children to honor him with a dignified farewell. During his trial, Alexis N. initially pleaded not guilty, but as evidence mounted, he eventually confessed to the murder. He was sentenced to 33 years in prison for first-degree murder in 2017, a penalty some consider insufficient for the horror of his actions. Nonetheless, the sentence marked the degree of closure for Sylvester's grieving family, who must now continue their lives carrying

the burden of his loss. This tragic story serves as a somber reminder of the consequences of unchecked anger, resentment, and lack of accountability. It leaves us with many questions. Could anyone have seen the warning signs in Alexis? Could anything have been done differently? And ultimately, is the sentence he received a just punishment for the damage inflicted on a family simply trying to help a relative in need? These are questions without easy answers, but they force us to reflect on the profound impact of our actions on those around us.

This unsettling story begins on December 24, 2002, in a cozy little house in Johnstown, Pennsylvania. An elderly couple, Marion and Joseph Bittman, were eagerly waiting for their daughter, Jan, and her daughters, Victoria and Elizabeth, to arrive. This holiday season was set to be different, Jan was going through a rough divorce, and the family knew she needed their support. They wanted to make this Christmas extra special for Jan and her two daughters, who were dealing with a tough year. As usual, the plan was for everyone to eat a big meal, stay over at Marion and Joseph's house, and then open presents together on Christmas morning. But as night fell, Marion started to worry. Jan and her daughters were known for being

punctual, so when there was still no sign of them, she feared the worst. A snowstorm was blowing through, so Marion wondered if they might have gotten into an accident. She called around to several hospitals, but none had admitted Jan or her daughters. Now truly panicking, she called 911, asking for a patrol car to check Jan's house and make sure they were okay. However, the dispatcher, attributing the delay to the snowy weather, advised her to wait until the morning before calling back if they still hadn't arrived. The next day came, and there was still no sign of Jan or her daughters. Marion, now beyond worried, dialed 911 again, this time demanding an immediate check on Jan's house at 800, North Union Street, Middletown.

This time, the dispatcher agreed to send a unit. When the police arrived, everything about the house seemed normal, no forced doors, blinds up, and nothing out of place. But when no one answered the door, officers circled to the back and found a broken garage window, indicating someone had broken in. Entering the house, the officers were immediately met with an eerie silence. They moved slowly through the rooms, and as they made their way into the kitchen, they found Jan's lifeless body lying in a pool of blood with a gunshot wound to her head. Alarmed, the officers drew their weapons, fearing there might still be an intruder inside. As they proceeded up the stairs, they heard the faint sound of a baby crying.

Following the cries, they found Victoria's body sprawled on the hallway floor. In the nearby bedroom, Elizabeth lay dead as well. The officers searched everywhere for the crying baby until one noticed that the sound was coming from Victoria's arms. Amazingly, her baby, Madeline, was alive. Though freezing and dehydrated, the baby was saved. As investigators pieced together the events, they discovered that the phone lines had been cut, showing premeditation. The killer had shot Jan first in the kitchen, then moved upstairs, killing Victoria in the hallway and Elizabeth in her room. room. With no fingerprints or obvious clues, they concluded the killer wore gloves and knew the

houses lay out well. Forensic evidence showed that the weapon used was a point-22 caliber pistol. Each victim had been shot in the head, indicating precision, control, and possibly, a personal motive. Naturally, the police turned to family and friends, quickly honing in on Jan's estranged husband, Ernest Weber. Given the nasty divorce, it wasn't a stretch to suspect him, but Ernest had a solid alibi. He claimed he, he said, was at a bar with his brother, Scott, and afterward they went into the mountains to watch deer and coyotes. His brother corroborated the story, so the police had to look elsewhere.

To understand more, let's go back to Jan's early life. Jan Bitman was born on December 8, 1959, in Johnstown, Pennsylvania. She was known for her compassionate nature, leading her to study medicine and specialize in X-ray technology. In her 20s, she met Ernest, and the two seemed like a perfect match. They quickly fell in love, got married, and moved to a spacious home at 800, North Union Street in Middletown, Pennsylvania. Their home was beautiful but a bit large for just the two of them, so before long, they welcomed

two daughters, Victoria, known as Vicky, and Elizabeth, called Gizi. From the outside, the Weber family looked perfect, but behind closed doors, things weren't as rosy. Easy, at 15, was doing well in school, but Vicky, 20, was having trouble with relationships. Her relationship with her boyfriend, Francisco Ramos, was especially chaotic, marked by frequent arguments, breakups, and reconciliations. When Vicky became pregnant, Francisco claimed the child wasn't his, accusing Vicky of cheating. They split up, but a paternity test later proved Francisco was indeed the father.

When Madeline was born, Vicky and Easy finally gathered the courage to tell Jan a dark family secret, they confided that their father, Ernest, had been abusing them for years. They were terrified that little Madeline might suffer the same fate if they stayed silent. Heartbroken, Jan confronted Ernest, threw him out of the house, filed for divorce, and got a restraining order. Ernest was also charged with abuse, and while he was arrested, he was released on bail a few days later, awaiting trial. Devastated and scared, Jan and her daughters changed the locks, with the help of a friend

named Turner Higgins, and prepared for Christmas without earnest. They decided they'd drive up to Johnstown on the 24th, planning for a joyful holiday. On the morning of the 24th, Jan rose early, around 4 a.m., to start her day. After making coffee and some toast, she was startled by a loud noise coming from the garage. She rushed to investigate, but before she could react, someone shot her in the head, killing her instantly. Vicky, awoken by the gunshot, grabbed Madeline and tried to get to her sister's room, but she, too, was shot in the head in the hallway. Easy, hearing the chaos, tried to barricade herself, but the killer broke in and shot her as well. The following morning, when Marion and Joseph realized

their daughter and granddaughters were missing, they contacted authorities again, leading to the tragic discovery. Though Ernest seemed the most likely suspect, his alibi appeared unshakable. Investigators considered other possible suspects, such as Jan's rumored lover, an antique dealer, but he had a solid alibi, being happily married with children. Then they looked at Francisco Ramos, Vicki's ex-boyfriend, who had a troubled relationship with her, but he had a He, too, had an airtight alibi, being an hour away on the night of the murders. Finally, Turner Higgins, who'd recently changed the locks, was investigated due to rumors he was romantically involved with Vicky.

However, Turner was quickly ruled out as well since the killer had entered through a broken window rather than using a key. With no other leads, detectives refocused on Ernest, who indeed had witnesses placing him at a bar. However, no one had seen him or Scott after that until the next morning, raising suspicions. Police obtained warrants to search the homes and cars of both brothers, finding a strange note in Scott's car that said, we were watching deer and coyotes. The police suspected the brothers had colluded to fabricate an alibi, so they brought them in for separate questioning. Ernest refused to cooperate, immediately asking for a lawyer, but Scott cracked under pressure.

Shown crime scene photos and the note, Scott confessed that Ernest had asked for his help that night. Claiming he only wanted to retrieve his dog, Ernest had convinced Scott to drive him to Jan's house, where he got out carrying a bundle of clothes, disappearing into the night for a short while. When he returned, Ernest was visibly agitated and demanded that Scott drive him further into the woods, where he buried something. Scott later showed the police the location,

and they uncovered the bundle containing gloves, blood-stained clothes, and a murder weapon, a point-22 caliber pistol that had belonged to Ernest's uncle. This evidence was damning. Ernest Weber was charged with three counts of first-degree murder. Scott was also charged as an account. accomplice but struck a deal, pleading guilty to third-degree murder and receiving a 12-25-year sentence. In a shocking twist, even while awaiting trial, Ernest allegedly tried to arrange a hit

on Francisco Ramos, hoping to frame him for the murders and make his death look like a suicide. However, his plans fell through when a fellow inmate reported his scheme to the police. During Ernest's trial, Scott testified that Ernest had openly discussed his desire to kill Jan, claiming he wanted revenge. This testimony, along with the forensic evidence, led to Ernest receiving a death sentence. To this day, Ernest insists he's innocent, repeatedly appealing his sentence as he waits on death row. We begin.

On the morning of Friday, July 10, 2020, Baron Lee got up early to go to work. Normally on Fridays, he had the day off since in the afternoon he handed over his son Eric to his ex-wife. It was exchanged day, and for that reason, he would take the whole day off to be with his family.

However, that Friday, a coworker was on leave, so Baron had to cover his shift. Everyone gets up early around 7 a.m., they make breakfast, put on the TV, some music, they are altogether enjoying themselves. But unfortunately, Barron has to leave. He puts on his suit, says goodbye to his wife and his three children, and at 8.30 he walks out the door. In his left hand, he carries a briefcase, and in his right, the car keys, the car is parked right in front. He walks calmly, decisively, relaxed, and out of nowhere, he hears firecrackers. The Fourth of July had just passed, and the sound isn't unusual, it's common that people are still lighting them. But when he

turns around, he realizes they are not firecrackers, they are gunshots, and the shots are aimed at him. I heard a bang. I thought it was fireworks. I looked to the left, didn't see anything. I looked to the right. The second shot was fired, and it hit me in the arm. Everything happened very quickly. The shooter was slim, had his face covered, and wore a white t-shirt. He was moving quickly, nervously, toward him.

Baron had to act fast, dodge, hide. With his right hand, he opened the car, and at that moment, a bullet hit him in the arm. The pain caused him to drop the keys, but at that moment he couldn't stop. With his left hand, he opened the car door, and the shooter shot him in the back of his right leg, causing him to fall to the ground. He was on his knees, trying to get up, and in that struggle, he looked up, receiving a bullet directly in the chest. With the little strength he had left, he got into the car, and once inside, the shooter kept

firing, he shot him in the hip, the left arm, the left leg. He kept shooting until he ran out of bullets. Once he was done, he picked up the casings and disappeared, thinking Baron Lee had died. Several neighbors called 911, and the ambulance arrived immediately. They took him to the hospital, operated on him, and miraculously this man survived. And I say miraculously because no one could believe it, he received a total of nine gunshot wounds and had to undergo various surgeries. The first surgery was to remove the bullets and close the wounds, but even so, three bullets remained inside his body. The following operations were for the right arm, which was completely destroyed, and lastly, a hip replacement. But the case doesn't end here, Barron was saved,

but there was a killer on the streets, so the police had to act as quickly as possible. Baron Lee was born in July 1972 in Thailand. We have no information about his parents, nor do we know if he had siblings. But what is known about his childhood is chilling. When he was only one year old, his family moved to Hawaii. It was a beautiful postcard-like environment, but apparently his life was nothing like that. Two years later, the neighbors called the police because the little boy wouldn't stop screaming, he had been crying for days, and apparently no one was doing anything.

His parents seemed deaf, and the neighbors feared the worst. The police arrived, forced entry into the house, and found a little boy in the bathtub, covered in burns. At that moment, he was barely alive, no strength, no energy, and he was immediately taken to the nearest hospital. He was treated, healed, had to undergo surgery, and it was discovered that the burns had been caused by an iron. But that's not all, the ones responsible, apparently, were his own parents. As expected, they lost custody. And over the next 17 years, Baron passed through 17 foster homes.

His entire childhood and adolescents were complete chaos. He had no peace, no stability, no proper education. And when he reached his teens, he was in and out of juvenile detention centers. He didn't know what to do with his life, what tomorrow would bring, but he was certain he didn't want to keep living like that. So in 1994, at the age of 22, he decided he had to stop. He wanted to find a decent job, move forward, turn the page. He wanted to be a different person, start from zero. And in Hawaii, he couldn't do it. So he made a drastic decision, to invest his meager savings in a plane ticket to Las Vegas.

Everyone thought he was crazy, that it wouldn't go well, that he would return in no time, but magically, everything worked out. He arrived in Las Vegas, got a job as a croupier, and found accommodation at the California Hotel. He made good money, saved, made friends and connections. Over time, he got another job. His life was now starting fresh, far from the problems, the chaos, the anguish. He was happy, doing what he loved. And in 2001, he met the woman who would become his best friend, Didi. Didi, like him, was Thai. However, her life had been very different from his. She had

recently graduated from a Canadian university and moved with her mother to Las Vegas. Didi and Baron met, connected, got along very well, and as I mentioned, they became best friends. Over time, Didi got married and had two children, Sophie and Ian. Barron also got married, he met the woman of his dreams, had a son, and finally had everything he had always dreamed of. But of course, the story doesn't end there, it was just beginning. In late 2008, Barron signed up on various online dating sites, all of them to find love. He registered on one, then another. Things didn't work out, until he met who he was. he believed was the love of his life, Sharon Rose Kelly. Sharon was from Washington and was about

ten years younger than him, but that didn't seem to matter. They connected, liked each other, had chemistry. And in January of the following year, 2009, Sharon went to Las Vegas to meet him. Once in person, they liked each other even more. The relationship went wonderfully. They continued to have chemistry, were enchanted with each other, and a few months later, Sharon moved in with him. She left her life in Washington behind, left everything, and in October 2010, they got married. This couple, on the surface, seemed immensely happy. Everything was great, wonderful, idyllic. And in January 2011, they packed their bags and moved to Washington, where Sharon had her whole family. And here it's important to highlight something, according to various sources,

Sharon was volatile and unpredictable, also rather spoiled. But to Baron, this wasn't a problem, he liked her. Yes, with an uncontrollable character, that's what he liked most about her. In 2014, they welcomed their first child, little Eric Dragon Lee. During the pregnancy, Sharon had issues with her gynecologist. They had disagreements, even though. They had disagreements, even some confrontations, so out of pride, she decided she wouldn't give birth in that hospital, but instead at a maternity center. She arranged it with the center, and when the day came, she gave birth there. The delivery was quick, without problems, and the baby underwent the necessary tests,

blood samples were taken to check for genetic diseases or issues. The samples had to be analyzed, and while waiting for the results, the parents went home with their baby calmly, without problems. But within a few days, Eric became very ill, his skin turned yellow-orange. Worried, they called the maternity center to explain what was happening, and the center told them it was completely normal, that he just needed some indirect sunlight and would feel better. But unfortunately, there was no improvement.

So the couple took little Eric to a hospital, where they were told that the baby was in much worse condition and that the initial advice was a complete mistake. It turns out he was suffering from a severe case of hyperglycemia. When he was born, tests and samples were supposed to be done, well, the samples were never analyzed. The nurse in charge had left them in the car. Had they been properly analyzed, they would have known that the baby had a serious condition, Eric had galactosemia, a hereditary disease caused by an enzyme deficiency.

If the test had been done right from the beginning, doctors would have known the issue, and they would have known that Eric couldn't consume breast milk. But he had been drinking it, for one, two, three, up to eight days, which meant he had been poisoning himself all that time. The damage was now terrible, irreversible. The doctors managed to save his life, but he had suffered severe brain damage. He would never walk, never communicate. And among many other issues, he would have intestinal problems.

From that moment on, he would need very serious. specific care, medication, medical follow-ups, 24-hour monitoring. He would have to be constantly watched and cared for. And apart from all this, the family had another major problem, Sharon couldn't cope. She was diagnosed with postpartum depression, and at that moment, her mind was clouded, she didn't know what to do, how to act. Everything was overwhelming. It was too much for her to process. So Baron took charge of the situation and fought for justice. The maternity center had committed a terrible act of negligence, and of course, they had to pay. Because of the center, Eric had suffered.

He sued, fought, reached a settlement, and obtained compensation of $650,000. And now you might ask, what did he do with the money? Did he keep it for himself? The answer is no. Barron created a trust fund for the child. His care was very expensive, and Barron feared that someday he or his wife might not be there. Eric wouldn't be able to fend for himself. So all the money was put into that fund.

Neither he nor his wife could touch that money, it was solely for the child, for his care. But there was one small clause that draws attention, if Eric died before the age of 30, the beneficiaries could access the trust. However, Barron wasn't really thinking about that. He was thinking about making sure his son lacked nothing, that he was always protected, always well cared for, no matter what happened. So to him, that clause didn't exist. Over time, between Eric's condition and Sharon's postpartum depression, things didn't go well. Barron was the one giving 100%, handling the child's medication, doctors, meals, care.

Sharon was too affected to take charge. Barron didn't judge her, he understood, gave her space. But time passed, and she still didn't react, did practically nothing. And finally, he discovered that she was cheating on him. That was the last straw. So in 2015, Barron did what was best for everyone. The best thing was to break up with Sharon and seek custody. After all, she wasn't prepared.

Barron finished work as usual, came home in the afternoon, and confronted Sharon. He told her he was fed up, that she was uninvolved in that, on top of that, she had been unfaithful. So he packed his bags and said he was leaving with the child. He picked him up in his arms, was heading for the door, and at that moment, Sharon lost control. They started arguing. She began screaming, and a chilling scene unfolded. Barron had the child in his arms, ready to leave, and Sharon grabbed the baby by the arm and started pulling hard, she didn't care if she hurt him. She wanted to take him away. For a few moments, they struggled.

But Barron prioritized the baby, he didn't want to scare him or cause injury. So to avoid that, he gently set him down on the floor. And when neighbors heard all the shouting, they called the police. The officers arrived at the house, asked what happened, and Sharon began to lie. She said Baron had hit her and the child, that he had grabbed a chair, smashed it to pieces, that everything was a mess. It was a lie, none of that had happened. The house was spotless, nothing was out of place. But the woman insisted, Baron was aggressive, violent, that he had attacked them. She was hysterical.

The officers focused on comments. her down. And while that happened, the woman picked up Little Eric and left. It was then that one officer approached Baron and suggested that during the divorce, he should stay away from this woman, because with such accusations, she could allege abuse. Barron took note, went to the police, called a locksmith, changed all the locks in the house, and two hours later, Sharon showed up at the house with two of her friends. She pulled out a key, tried to open the door, and when it didn't work, she called the police. To be continued.

Casually, Shannon shows up at the house with two of her friends. She takes out the key, tries to open the door, and when she can't, she calls the police. The officers arrive and ask what's going on, and once again, she lies. She says she's there because Barron posted intimate photos of her on Facebook. Barron says that's a lie, that he hasn't done such a thing. But Sharon says a friend saw them, that they're on Facebook, that they've been shared and published. Barron asks which friends saw them, who it was, and now Sharon doesn't know what to answer, doesn't know which friend it was. Then she says they've been deleted.

The police talk to Barron, tell him that he can't change the locks, that the house also belongs to her, it's in her name too, and they suggest that for now, the two of them live apart. With the divorce underway, it's best they not be near each other to avoid problems or confrontations, or affecting the child. The police suggest this, and both Baron and Sharon separate. But two weeks later, this woman makes a stunning move. She goes to the police station and files a report. She requests a restraining order against Baron and also a protective custody order, because allegedly, Baron is dangerous, violent with her and the child, and incapable of properly

taking care of him. Until everything is investigated, Baron is evicted from the house. They come looking for him there, kick him out, he packs a small suitcase, and the only thing he has left is his car. He could fight later in court, but in the meantime, the woman kept the house and the child. For two weeks, Baron lives in his car. When the moment comes, he goes to court to contest everything, and that's when he discovers that during this time Sharon made a master move. Because she now had the house, while he only had a car. She claimed she had the means, the home, the safety, that she had everything, she was the perfect candidate for custody. She even said she was afraid Eric would die at the hands of his father because he wouldn't

take proper care of him. The restraining order was lifted because the judge found no evidence. However, custody went to her, and Baron was ordered to pay child support and medical expenses totaling $6,000. $6,000 each month. We're talking about a man with a regular, ordinary job, at that time, he was a car salesman. He earned money, but not enough to pay that amount. Maybe he could manage one month by dipping into his savings, but not the next. Still, the woman claimed the expenses were very high, so the judge set that amount. And that's not all.

He could only see his son twice a week, and each visit was only for two hours. Two hours one day, two hours another. And for those visits, he wasn't allowed to be alone with the child, there had to be a supervisor. During the first visit, the supervisor was stunned. Barron did everything perfectly, care, attention, medication, tone, he loved his son, adored him. It was obvious. He seemed more than capable of parenting. To the supervisor, it didn't make sense.

Apparently, according to some sources, Sharon overheard that the supervisor would inform the judge. So from that moment, she began to obstruct everything. Barron fought hard. He got himself a house and eventually earned unsupervised visitation. But she did everything in her power to block those visits. She created scenes, screamed, and on one occasion even tried to run him over. According to him, he ended up on the hood of the car. And things only got worse.

While Sharon had custody, Eric was sent to the hospital five times, five times where he had to be hospitalized. Naturally, Barron went to visit him, to check how he was. But as soon as Sharon saw him, she called security and told everyone he had a restraining order, that he couldn't be there. He tried seeking help, social workers, support, but every time he came back to the hospital, Sharon caused a scene. It was a nightmare, pure agony. And this story, unfortunately, came to a head. As expected, Barron couldn't pay the child support. it was $6,000 per month. He didn't earn that much, didn't have enough savings. He ended up with a debt of

between $12,000 and $144,000. Because of this, the court threatened to send him to jail. And he knew that in prison, he wouldn't be able to do anything, he couldn't protect his son, couldn't save him, would be completely powerless. So he packed his bags and temporarily fled to Las Vegas. The decision to go to Las Vegas wasn't entirely his. His best friend Dedey suggested it. In Washington, Baron couldn't do anything, he'd be arrested, jailed, unable to keep fighting. There was no point in staying, he couldn't do anything there. So he went to Las Vegas and moved into Didi's house with her and her two kids.

By then, she was divorced too. They began talking, thinking about what to do, and little by little, they felt. fell in love and eventually got married. Now, Barron wasn't alone in this, together, they planned their next steps. They knew they had to wait, that eventually Sharon would make a mistake. And then they'd go back to Washington and fight for custody. Dede was ready to move, and her kids were on board. And the long-awaited opportunity came in May 2017. Child Protective Services called Baron and told him his son was in foster care. What happened to get to that point will chill you to the bone? Apparently, Sharon had hired a home nurse who took care of the child daily,

bathed him, watched him, medicated him. And one day, she noticed the child was very unwell. She told the mother, but Sharon dismissed it. So the nurse called an ambulance. The ambulance arrived and took him to the ER, and there, a horrifying scheme was uncovered. At a previous hospital, Sharon had given the order that her son was not to be resuscitated. She had also ordered a tracheotomy be done without it being necessary. And now at this new hospital, she was asking for the same thing. That made two hospitals with the same issue, both refusing to comply. They shared information, found it suspicious, and called child protective services.

They immediately removed custody from Sharon and placed the child in foster care. They called Baron, the father, and asked if he would take care of his son. He said yes, of course. He packed up with his wife and her children and went to Washington. They did everything for him, bought a beautiful house in Bellevue, and after a long legal battle, in May 2019, Baron finally got custody. The child support payments were reduced from $6,000 to $800,000. a month. Although, unbelievably, Sharon was still allowed weekend visits. That continued until March

2020, when something happened during one of those visits that caused the judge to revoke them. At first, she could visit a loan, without supervision. But something changed, something happened. From then on, visits had to be supervised. That infuriated Sharon. And that brings us to Friday, July 10, 2020. By that point, Barron's life had changed completely. He had a beautiful home in an idyllic neighborhood, was married with three children, he had everything. At 8.30 a.m., he walked out the door to go to work. That's when a person with a covered face opened fire. He was hit nine times. No one understands how he survived. But he did. And when he did, he told the police he knew who was behind it. He didn't recognize the shooter, it was a young, slim man.

Clearly not Sharon. But he was convinced she was behind it. She had wanted him dead for a long time, he had no problems with anyone else but her. And the worst part wasn't that, it was that Sharon wanted him and his son dead. She had tried many times before. If she killed him, next would be the child. In her mind, it all made sense, she wanted the trust fund money. and by then, she couldn't hide it anymore.

My son could have died, Baron said. That's what people don't see. Everyone sees a shooting, a woman upset with her ex-husband, but I wasn't the real target. My son always was, the question now was, who pulled the trigger? And what was their connection to Sharon? Barron and his family lived in a beautiful area of Bellevue, semi-detached houses in a quiet, connected area. It was near trees and greenery, great for walking. But through a tunnel, you could reach a shopping center and a parking lot.

According to a witness, the shooter left through there. Police brought tracking dogs, searched the area, and found surveillance cameras. The footage showed something interesting. An hour and a half before the attack, a maroon pickup truck, specifically a Ford F-150, arrived. A slim young man in a white T-shirt got out. and walked toward Baron's house. He's not seen entering, but he walks into the area. Time passes, the attack happens, and the young man returns, the truck drives off. Police track more cameras, highway, business, and toll cams, follow the entire route and get the

license plate. They learned two things. There were two people in the truck, the driver and the shooter. The shooter wore a white t-shirt, a gold chain, and had his seatbelt improperly fastened, only around his waist, not his chest. That detail would matter later. The driver also appeared young and slim. But the owner of the truck, a man named Arthur Mendez, a family man living in Mount Vernon, Washington, who didn't match the physical description. But his teenage son, Quincy Mendez, 17 years old, did. So the police began 24-7 surveillance on Quincy, following his car. while, they visited Sharon. They told her they were investigating a crime in Bellevue. Her first response. Was it my ex-husband? Did something happen to him?

Is he dead? She didn't ask about Eric, her own child, who could also have been hurt. She assumed the victim was her ex. That raised red flags. They asked her questions. She deflected, claiming a lot of people hated Baron, it could be people from Lerner. Las Vegas, he might be involved in shady stuff. Getting nothing useful, police left. On July 15, 2020, while following Quincy, they saw him pick up another teen wearing a gold chain who buckled his seatbelt only around the waist. They investigated, his name was Joseph G., also 17.

A classmate. Clearly, Joseph was likely the shooter. Police obtained a warrant for his electronic data and found undeniable evidence. Joseph had been researching GPS trackers for months, he even registered an account to monitor one. Police checked Barron's car, and sure enough, there was a tracker underneath. They checked its code. It was registered to Sharon Kelly. It was purchased in 2015, activated two weeks before the attack, and deactivated four days after. Investigating further, police examined the boys' social networks, contacts, and emails,

discovered Sharon had offered Joseph $1,000 to kill her ex-husband. She gave him all the info, including the tracker. Joseph asked Quincy to drive him there, Quincy wouldn't have to do anything, just drive. And Quincy agreed. So, how did they all know each other? Sharon had a younger brother who attended the same high school as these boys, Mount Vernon High School. They were friends.

And Sharon convinced them to commit a crime for her. Barron couldn't believe it. The boys were innocent in his eyes, used and manipulated, with no prior criminal record. Sharon was the mastermind. When the time came, Barron suggested they received lighter sentences. He had forgiven them, they were young, had their whole lives ahead of them. He hoped they could learn and start fresh. He'd had a rough youth, got into trouble, but moved on, and he wanted the same for them.

all make bad decisions, right? If one mistake to find us forever, what hope would we have? Still, the boys had to pay. Joseph G. was found guilty of attempted murder and illegal possession of a firearm, sentenced to 12 years and 8 months in prison. Quincy Mendez pled guilty to first degree assault, eight years and 10 months. During sentencing, Quincy apologized to Baron, his family, and his own, and then said, I thank God every day for saving your life. I couldn't have lived with that guilt. Then came Sharon's turn. Her sentence infuriated everyone.

Initially charged with first-degree attempted murder, she eventually pled guilty to a lesser charge, soliciting second-degree murder, which carries a maximum sentence of 13.75 years. A sentence many saw as absurd. Though, it must be said, she will never have access to the trust fund. So now it's your turn. What do you think of the case? Do you believe the sentences were fair? The end. Joseph Lee Brenner I was born on December 11, 1935,

in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to Judith and Joseph Lee Brenner. From the very beginning, life wasn't kind to him. He entered the world as an unwanted child, and by the time he turned two, his father walked out, leaving him and his mother to fend for themselves. Some sources suggest his parents weren't even married, a big deal back in those days when society was harsh and judgmental about such things. Judith, young and alone, didn't have the support she needed. So, in December 1937, she made the heartbreaking decision to leave Joseph at the St. Vincent orphanage.

For two whole years, little Joseph lived there, blending into the background. The staff didn't have much to say about him other than he was a quiet, well-behaved child. But on October 15, 1939, his life took a dramatic turn when Anna and Stephen Kinger decided to adopt him. The Kingers were Austrian immigrants who couldn't have kids of their own. On the surface, they seemed like a dream family. Stephen owned a thriving shoe store in Kensington, and Anna was a homemaker. They had money, stability, and a seemingly warm and welcoming demeanor. But appearances can be deceiving. The Kingers weren't interested in being parents. What they really wanted was an heir for their business. Stephen lived and breathed

work. The shoe store was his life, and he needed someone to take over when he retired. Joseph was supposed to be that someone. From the moment they brought him home, their focus was on molding him into the perfect successor. At just four years old, Joseph was already being taught the ins and outs of the business, how to serve customers, repair shoes, and keep the shop running. Life outside the shoe store. Forget it. The Kinders didn't care about his education, friends, or even his childhood. To them, anything unrelated to the business was a distraction. And God forbid Joseph ever stepped out of line. When he was just five, he made the mistake of repeating a curse word he heard at school.

Instead of explaining why it was inappropriate, Anna picked up an object and began beating him. Stephen joined in, turning what should have been a teachable moment into a horrifying ordeal. The abuse only escalated over the years. Joseph became their punching bag, enduring beatings with hands, belts, spoons, and even sticks. The punishments went beyond physical violence, they made him kneel on sharp stones, locked him in closets, and forced him to eat disgusting things. One particularly brutal incident involved Anna hitting him in the head with a hammer when he was just eight years old.

Neighbors saw it happen but chose to stay silent. School wasn't any better for Joseph. A girl in his class bullied him relentlessly, physically attacking him and humiliating him. him. One day, she kicked him so hard in the groin that he had to see the school nurse. The examination revealed he had a hernia, likely caused by years of abuse. When the kinders were informed, they twisted the narrative, claiming Joseph must have been doing something inappropriate to provoke the injury. They scheduled surgery for the hernia, and, upon his return, concocted a terrifying story. They told him the doctors had removed a demon from his

private parts, ensuring he would never be evil again. This psychological manipulation planted the seeds of trauma that would haunt him for the rest of his life. That night, Joseph had his first hallucination. He saw a pair of scissors floating in the air behind him, holding his private parts. Convinced it was the demon his parents had described, he believed the vision was real and felt an overwhelming sense of fear and shame. From then on, Joseph became a deeply anxious child, always looking for places to hide. He started avoiding home as much as possible, seeking refuge in parks, abandoned lots, and old

oil tanks near his house. But even these places weren't safe. One day, a group of teenagers found him hiding in one of the tanks and assaulted him. This attack left an indelible mark on Joseph. From that moment on, his perception of intimacy was warped, associating it with violence rather than mutual connection. The trauma reshaped his behavior. No longer the quiet, timid child, Joseph began lashing out.

out. He fought with teachers, parents, and classmates. His defiance led the Kingers to send him to a specialist, who diagnosed him with a low IQ of 84 and behavioral issues like disrespect and impulsivity. Despite the chaos, Joseph discovered a passion for acting during ninth grade. His school put on a production of Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol, and he was cast as Ebenezer Scrooge. For the first time, Joseph felt a spark of joy. Acting became his dream, though he knew the Kingers would never approve. He kept his ambition a secret and threw himself back into the grind of school and the shoe store. To earn a small allowance, Joseph struck a deal with the Kingers. If he completed his chores and worked diligently at the shop, he could use the money to see a movie

every Saturday. The cinema became his escape. But over time, he grew painfully aware of his loneliness. While others attended movies with friends or family, Joseph was always alone. determined to change that, he started paying kids from the neighborhood to join him. It wasn't about friendship, they barely spoke outside the theater, but Joseph craved the semblance of connection. He even resorted to stealing money from the Kingers to fund these outings, enduring their wrath when they inevitably found out. At 15, Joseph's solitary trips to the cinema led him to meet Hilda Bergman, the woman who would become his first wife. They hid it off, and despite the Kingers' objections, Joseph married her at 17.

The couple had two children, whom Joseph named Stephen and Anna, a baffling choice given his history with the Kindgers. Initially, Joseph and Hilda seemed happy. But over time, Joseph began mirroring the abusive behavior he had experienced as a child. Hilda, unwilling to tolerate it, left him and took their kids with her, filing for divorce in 1956. The separation devastated Joseph. His physical and mental health deteriorated, leading to an 11-day hospitalization for stress in

1957. A year later, Joseph remarried. His second wife, Elizabeth Bongard, gave him five more children, Joseph Jr., Mary Jo, Michael, James, and Bonnie. But Joseph's life was far from stable. In 1959, he was found wandering outside a church in a confused state, unable to remember how he got there. Medical examinations revealed troubling signs of anxiety and hostility toward women. Then came the fires. Between 1963 and 1967, a series of suspicious fires destroyed parts of a building Joseph owned. While the first few incidents were ruled accidental, authorities grew suspicious after the fourth fire and filed charges against him for arson. However, due to insufficient evidence, the case was dismissed. Joseph's most shocking downfall came in 1972 when his children accused

him of severe abuse. Joseph Jr., Mary Jo, and Michael, accompanied by a neighbor, reported their father to the police. They described horrifying incidents, being tied to radiators, beaten with hammers, and burned with hot spatulas. Mary Jo recounted how her father humiliated her by beating her in front of the family. A police investigation confirmed their claims, and Joseph was arrested. Medical evaluations revealed he suffered from paranoid schizophrenia, leading to his institutionalization at the Philadelphia State Hospital. The trial for child abuse in August 1972 marked the end of Joseph's turbulent story, or at least, the public part of it. His life, filled with cycles of abuse and trauma, serves as a haunting reminder of how deeply

childhood experiences can shape a person. The story of the Philadelphia State Hospital case is one that drips with layers of tragedy, horror, and incomprehensible actions. What unfolded is a tale so grim it borders on the unimaginable, but it's all real, deeply disturbing, and filled with unanswered questions that linger even today. Back in August of 1972, Joseph Kinger faced trial on charges of child abuse. The evidence was solid, the testimony damning, and the verdict was a resounding guilty. He was sentenced to 11 months in prison. By the time of his sentencing, Kinger had already served seven months behind bars, so he was granted

four months of probation and released immediately. For many, it seemed like justice had been served, albeit briefly. However, the situation took an unexpected turn. By February of the following year, Kinger's three children went to the police and withdrew their accusations. They spoke with attorneys and law enforcement, formally retracting everything. This action cleared Kinger's record, wiped away his past offenses, and meant he wouldn't have to serve any additional jail time or undergo therapy. From this point forward, the real nightmare began. Joey, one of Joseph's sons, admitted later that the accusations were fabricated, leading to his placement in a juvenile detention center.

Within this institution, Joey confided to psychologists about having inappropriate relationships with older men. This detail, as insignificant as it might have seemed then, would later become crucial in piecing together the twisted mosaic of events. The professionals evaluating him described Joey as mentally unstable. Over time, he escaped the detention center. One morning, he appeared at a local newspaper office, seeking help. Joey had bruises, was using crutches, and claimed he'd fallen off a platform,

breaking his leg in three places. But the story didn't add up. Despite his injuries, his father was called to retrieve him. When Joseph arrived, he caused a scene, yelling and berating Joey before taking him back to the center. By 1974, Joseph began experiencing what he believed were divine visions. These weren't ordinary spiritual experiences, they were vivid hallucinations involving a floating head he named Charlie. To him, Charlie was the voice of God, delivering sacred instructions. The messages were chilling and deeply troubling. This voice instructed Joseph that he was chosen to succeed God, but only if he proved his worth through sacrifices, human sacrifices. The targets? Innocent children. Joseph believed he needed to kidnap,

mutilate, and kill these children to fulfill his divine mission. It's one thing to have delusions, it's another to act on them. Joseph shared his mission with Michael, his 13-year-old son. Rather than reacting with horror or seeking help, Michael placed blind trust in his father and volunteered to assist in carrying out these heinous acts. Their first victim was a young boy named Jose Colazo. Joseph and Michael lured him to an abandoned factory under false pretenses. Once inside, the boy was bound, tortured, and brutally murdered. His intimate parts were mutilated, and he was strangled. When the police found Jose's body, they couldn't link the crime to the Kinger family. The lack of any apparent connection between the victim and his victim.

his killers left the authorities without leads, allowing Joseph and Michael to walk away scot-free. Emboldened by their success, the father and son duo turned their attention to their next victim, someone disturbingly close to home, Joey, Joseph's 14-year-old son. Joey had been the one to initially accuse Joseph of abuse, branding him as a terrible father and an abuser. It's also worth noting that Joey was openly homosexual, something that likely triggered Joseph's unresolved traumas from his own abusive childhood.

While some accounts suggest this part of the story was fabricated later, it's plausible that Joseph used these details as a pretext for targeting his son. Joseph and Michael approached Joey under the guise of a photography project. They took him to various locations, photographing flowers, rocks, and cliffs. At one point, they suggested Joey pose near the edge of a cliff and even asked him to jump, requests Joey declined. On July 25, they made another attempt. about a local fire, they invited Joey to join them for more photos, hoping he might injure himself

in the flames. Joey managed to escape unharmed. Then, on August 9th, they tried again. This time, they took him to a building slated for demolition. Once inside, they explored the rooms, taking pictures along the way. They tied Joey up under the pretense of staging photos and then placed him on a set of iron stairs lying in a flooded area. In a horrific act, Joseph and Michael threw the iron stairs, with Joey still tied to them, into the water. The subsequent autopsy painted a grim picture. Joey's body bore evidence of severe trauma, making the exact cause of death difficult to pinpoint.

Joseph claimed Joey drowned, but the finding suggested otherwise. Despite the inconsistencies, Joseph reported Joey missing, portraying him as a troubled runaway involved with bad influences. Two weeks later, Joey's lifeless body was discovered in the building. The violent nature of his death prompted an investigation. Police learned that Joseph had recently taken out a life insurance policy on his children, raising suspicions. However, without concrete evidence, they couldn't arrest him. Interestingly, the insurance company refused to pay out the policy. Realizing the risks of killing close

to home, Joseph and Michael shifted their focus to other cities and states. On November 22, 1974, they traveled to Lindemould, New Jersey, planning to rob houses. After breaking into one and stealing a few items, they craved more than material gain. They wanted chaos, aggression, and a thrill. They targeted another house, this time with someone inside, Joan Carty. Posing as door-to-door salesman, Joseph and Michael convinced Joan to let them in. Once inside, they revealed their true intentions, attacking Joan, tying her up, and subjecting her to unspeakable acts. Joseph assaulted her while Michael watched in silence. Eleven days later, the duo struck again in Susquehanna Township, Pennsylvania.

This time, their victims were five people in one household. They stole $20,000 in cash and jewelry but didn't stop there. They physically assaulted all five victims, inflicting pain and suffering. Before leaving, Joseph gruesomely mutilated one of the victims, further cementing the brutality of their actions. Despite law enforcement efforts, the police had no solid lead. on the perpetrators. This lack of progress only emboldened Joseph and Michael. They attacked another home in Hyattsville, Maryland, assaulting a woman named Pamela Jask. Their reign of terror

continued into the New Year. On January 6, 1975, they targeted Mary Rudolph in Dumont, New Jersey. Two days later, on January 8, they executed what would be their final and most heinous crime. This last crime unfolded in Leonia, New Jersey. Joseph and Michael entered a large high under the same guise of being salesman. Inside, they encountered three family members, whom they immediately overpowered, tied up, and stripped. As the day progressed, more family members arrived, each meeting the same fate. In total, there were eight victims. Among them was Maria Fashing, a 21-year-old nurse. Joseph ordered Maria to perform a degrading act on another victim. When she refused, he killed her in cold blood. The victims were subjected to unimaginable

humiliation and torture. Amidst the chaos, one victim managed to escape and alert the authorities, forcing Joseph and Michael to flee. In their panic, the pair made several mistakes. They had committed the crime without disguises, leaving their faces exposed to witnesses. Their escape was witnessed by neighbors, further aiding the investigation. They fled by bus without making any effort to cover their tracks, and along the way, they discarded incriminating evidence, including bloodstained clothing and the murder weapons. The police swiftly pieced together the evidence and tracked down Joseph Kinger, arresting him on January 17, 1975. That same day, Joseph's youngest son, James, only 11 years old, was also taken into custody.

However, James had no involvement in the crimes and was released. The real accomplice, Michael, was eventually found, but he remained silent during interrogation, likely out of fear and loyalty to his father. Joseph had threatened Michael, telling him, if you say anything, I'll kill you. Joseph Kinger faced charges for three murders. Instead of taking responsibility, he pleaded insanity. In custody, his behavior alternated between normalcy and bizarre outbursts. He spoke of God, spirits, and a floating head, claiming to have lived for a thousand years

and once been a butterfly. In prison, he caused chaos by flooding toilets and pretending to urinate blood. During his trials, he oscillated between calm and disruptive. In one instance, he behaved so erratically that the judge had him removed from the courtroom. Ultimately, on October 13, 1976, Joseph Kinger was sentenced to life in prison. Michael was sent to a juvenile facility, as the court recognized he acted under his father's influence. After serving time, Michael was placed with foster parents and eventually released at 25. He changed his name and relocated to start anew.

Joseph Kinger died of heart failure on March 26, 1996, after spending his final 11 years under strict surveillance due to multiple suicide attempts and supposed delusions. During this time, he gave several interviews, consistently expressing that, if freed, he would continue killing. Now, the question remains, was Joseph Kinger fully aware of his actions, or was he genuinely consumed by his delusions? What do you think? The most logical thing would be to look for a way that, do not get something silent. quiet invisible but this woman decided to burn the body inside the apartment we start in june 2011 ronald forty seven could not being happier was going to marry soon with the love of his life was going to be parents though life could not smile anymore everything was perfect had no complaints

but one morning early got into the car to going to work open the door sat the engine was put on a belt and connected the radio and at that time the announcer listened to pronounce the name and the last name of his fiance all austria was looking for her and his that, looking have been accused of a double. Homicide is where, though, sinister today. Gozari Stival Liz Carranza Zavala more, known as Esti was born on 6, September of, 1978 in Guadalajara, Mexico being one of, the two children of Angela's marriage, Zavala from Spain and Armando, Carranza, a journalist psychologist and, Mexican writer of esoteric themes. They are statements of the estate itself. Mother was very submissive and affectionate while, that his father was more

authoritarian and four. That reason his relationship with him always, it was more tense was a relationship, so bad that he had thoughts, in which she hurt her, physically but these were only, fantasies and at first did not give them much importance at the age of five. His whole family moved to Spain, specifically to the city of Barcelona and, here's several hypotheses arise about the, why this move is that his father had problems with the government. Mexican criticized the government in several occasions and for that reason they had, what to leave and the second is that they did for family reasons but it is like it seems that estetide did not adapt very well to change studied the best schools but unfortunately did not many friends was introverted distant and at first it cost him a lot

however anyone who he knew her said of her that she was very nice nice and charismatic but when you carry the opposite it turned cold and distant elsewhere interesting is that it is always i liked playing to be a mother feed your dolls take them in cartopa cartopa the people at first seemed like more normal but from 10 years This game of yours became a little more, serious and if I constantly asked him, to his mother what will be the appropriate age, to have children and it let him pass. I thought they were still games, his fantasy but seeing that the thing, she was more her father and she stopped her. They made it clear that the only one had, what to do was get your studies end. When his father arrived, forced him to, study economics specifically in the, Autonomous University of Barcelona many. Pages say that she didn't like, the idea and that refused in several occasions, but his father forced him, take out the race, however, However despite that he did not like it is said that estatai, graduated with honors and that all. Professors predicted a brilliant future. For this girl everything I know, proposed it and now his. Objective was to marry and have children and it is.

There when his first relationship arrives, this relationship would be more or less five years and was with this person during, raised to marry and have children but it turns out that the boy was not ready. For this he told him that it was very soon that, I wanted to wait for you hadn't married, immediately and this one who did not want. Wait cut with him another version says, that this boy was violent with her and that for that reason they cut without however the most weight and the one that more is repeated is the one that says that this boy was not ready to commit

and therefore the estedi when cutting with him he started fantasizing to end his life with surprising him at night push it on the stairs breaks from his car all that were no more what fantasy's dreams and this knew that i would never carry it out but also i knew that staying in barcelona no i could wait so he decided to do the suitcases and move to the city of munich in germany at that time i had such only 22 years and once there he began to work as a nanny this job no i was very well paid with which he sought another that was much better than that more would allow him to be in contact with children and that was when he got a i work in a humble ice cream shop located in berlin working on the dia had sober time to think what i wanted in her life and what she wanted was marry and have children as soon as possible i had very clear but unfortunately not

i knew what kind of man would be exposed to that those of 22 years was of course not with which he began to look at older names and it was. Then when a freezer cellar called Holger, Hall's Holger was 15 years older than her, which was a clear indicative that, I would be ready to be a father and get married. I was divorced and also had no, children so the girl flirts with him, and they immediately liked everything was fine, between them and then the subject made him, a small confession and it was, Jayakrishna follower a group, religious based on Hinduism until, here everything was normal was his religion his, beliefs and estatai respected her but, Holger mentioned that in that religion not.

They could have relationships until marriage and that seemed to the woman. Wonderful since it meant that very, soon they were going to marry and indeed that. It was what happened Holger asks, marriage get married together and, then he makes another confession and is that. In his religion he does not believe relationships. Sio is to have children and he and that moment I was not prepared wanted to have, children but not immediately and Citi. He decided to expect his religion their way of thinking and finally end. After all, they had already married what. Having children would not take long to arrive, but time passes and reaches 2006.

And Stievel Carrano still has children. That is when Holger raises a idea that seems crazy and is to leave the, work and move to Austria to found, your own business at the beginning the girl. He is not comfortable with this does not want to leave. I would ties with children friends. What he has done does not want to leave anything. This but Holger offers you something in return, and it is that they go to Austria promises that very soon they will be parents and notice.

not. Think twice leaves the job. Apartment clears of friends makes the suitcases and goes with him to Austria, specifically to the city of Vienna A. Time there they decide to found a ice cream shop. Cafeteria called Schlie Kierreya but four. Doing it has to do a great. Investment put money that is in those. Moments did not have, but Holger yes because of what, that this subject invested 100,000 were a marriage and therefore shared it. Everything in Holger's money was also. They arrive in Vienna ain't if Holger wanted to pay everything and when it happens time and are established. They will allegedly go for the child but the months past the business thriving end. Holger does not put on his part and that's there. When the woman faces too serious, problems the first and the most

obvious is that Holger does not want to be a father. Stress when the subject comes out does not want. Talk about it Eva of the conversation and in second place there is a cluster of things that this woman seems too much. Serious she tends customers. Replenish the materials carries the accounts. the business keeps it clean, unpolluted, open and the store is Carazaw. It was practically everything in Holgerhaw's. 90 was passed for time in, Casa Cadiando playing video games, watching movies sleeping with, friends going to the movies did not do, absolutely nothing and hard work. She did she and something else that also, it hurt a lot is that the money that, she wanted in nonsense, but especially in arms since these, they were his obsession he bought a leaflet,

22 caliber a rifle with telescopic sight, and another long cannon weapon and goes with, They everywhere even to the bathroom end. This his wife took her out of what. Whenever he told him, whenever he threw it on the face, they ended up arguing and he lacked. Very respect and slowly Esty. He began to hate him from time to time, fantasized to kill him, but at the end of the day I thought this man was his,

husband and his only opportunity to be, mother with which she should be patient. In 2007 another man crossed in the, Steval Carranza Road and his name. It was Manfred. Hinterberger once again the subject was, quite older than her and it was also. freezer cellar as well as Holger was also divorced but there was a small difference and it is that

this man had two young children and he also loved children if it was for two children perhaps in the future I wanted a third and therefore it was a good game began to flirt stay out of work to have appointments and little by little they began to have a adventure the relationship between them was going Boba Boba and finally Manfred Lowe proposed to Estetai to divorce that will let Holgen and leave with him and her he accepted without further ado with her husband are Agree signs the papers end. Divorce but then a problem and is that Holger was willing to divorce but neither. He intended to leave or give up.

Money given by the ice cream shop. Apartment in which they lived was from the two and the ice cream shop was paid. Mainly for Holger so. Subject says that he does not leave the house that she will continue working and paying the invoices and he doing nothing can. Sound very exaggerated very movie but it is supposedly what this man happened. He refused to leave and if he wanted him to. Outdrawl had to pay the $100,000.

that he invested in Shli Kia but unfortunately, I did not have them and therefore this subject does not. She intended to leave her work from son to son. Hey the invoices try to see your, lover and when he returns home, discuss the guy with a do nothing hooked to the computer, looking for the fight with her and on 27. April 2008 this couple has the, it would be his last stretch fight again. Labor House and Joel was found in, the room connected to the computer and, doing anything immediately began to, discuss and he said horrible things. According to Estol-chan Carrera that without him no. It would be nothing and that could never be a mother. And TR let that words the subject. The sitting on the desk and continued, navigating internet with Hoker, I found the 22-caliber swing

pistol, so the woman grabbed her and shot her, head from behind from a distance, 20 centimeters shot twice and, then he approached the body more and, he finished off after that he became very nervous. Those shots sounded throughout the neighborhood, so some neighbor would, listen to the gun grabbed the bag, he went out the door and went to the house of. His lover thought that in a few hours in. His house would be dozens of police, but, the next day when he returned there, it seems that nobody had denounced with what, which he decided that what he had to do, it was to get rid of the most logical body. It would be to look for a way that did not call, something quiet attention, invisible but this woman decided to burn. The body inside the apartment echo, alcohol over him

set fire and in. This point passed the first, is that he did not burn completely, originated a great fire and of course not. He calcined and the second is although, he burned completely. Smoke and this alerted the neighbors the, which immediately called the firefighters in a few minutes firefighters. They knocked on the door of their house and the woman put a thousand excuses apologized. He explained that dinner was burned and firefighters noted that this smoke smelled, very bad smelled almost as if something was, rotten to what she quickly. He responded by saying that he was burned, fish that was doing fish and that he burned and incredible that. It seems the firefighters believed her and, where this part of

the story is very chaotic because that does not do everything. Then he kills Holger decides to burn him. Wait a few days ago the next step. Everything is very slow and the body little too. Little is decomposing but, important here is that this woman, finally by a chainsaw end, decides to separate the body into different parties that put cubes from side end, then hide in yore. Freezer let time pass, while cleaning his house and continued, with his life and to prevent people from, suspect began to tell everyone that.

Jorge in the end she came from home she doesn't. He had the 100,000 year that they invested in, that business, but he said, for a advance of 10,000 and with that money you, he went to India to join a commune. From Jaya Kurnah apparently Holger wanted, detach from all the material of the computer mobile technologies, I wanted to approach divinity wanted, be more spiritual and everyone who knew I understood it perfectly what. Estetai had 100% Holger and four, so much no one doubted her according to several. SdT sources had the winged cubes, at home for several months and, finally he realized that no, could continue there that he had to. Holger remains as soon as

possible. Bought cement filled the cubes with. This and took them to his store asked for a taxi went there and the taxi driver, helped with those cubes uploaded them to the car, he lowered them in the store and, then she went down to the basement and, hit it in a room but that, yes, so that it does not lose so much weight. Amboddors already closed the door and put a lock time past and the life of Esty and I well ton stern. Clientel everyone loved her. Work was doing very well and then it arrived, 2010 and asked Manfred to take a step. More they have been together for a long time and it was already. Time to marry and have children but this. I wasn't ready, he told him that he didn't have, thought that he had already married that. I had two children and that I preferred to

open there. Relationship wanted them to continue together that. They continued to see each other, but at the same time, I wanted to meet more people and this did. That estatai began to think that perhaps, I was deceiving her if I think I could see the. Relationship is that there were perhaps other, people and secretly began to spy on mobile phone when it's idba to bathroom. When he fell asleep, he grabbed his, mobile and took a look and this. Form discovered that not only chatted with, other women in applications to flirt, but also 90 by memory. I was occupied by photos of women. Naked studied the situation during several days and in the middle of November, he pointed a bricking course focused, especially in different mixtures, of cement and also

seem that these songs liked it so much that it was bought, a new chainsaw and finally, night arrived on November 21st, 2010 that night this and Manfred. They had relationships and then began to argue to discuss a wedding, about children about open relationships. But Manfred had a great defect and it is, what discussions with, arguments directly disappeared. I was going to take a walk there was a shower. I put in bed and this time, he put in bed and a few minutes later, he fell asleep. And this SD enraged his fantasies. Homicides returned and this time not. I wanted to stop them so he took out the background, Hall 22 and while. Manfred slept him. He hit several shots turned his face to. The wall and began to snore was very,

angry had the gun under the, I took her up her and disparate her. Statements of the estate itself to the next morning the body approached without, Manfred life and asked for forgiveness but, apologies did not mean nothing because of all of calling the police. It spent the following days, undoing the body in the same way, in which he did it with Hewlers with the, chainsaw separated the body in parts, parts that distributed by side cubes and these covered them with cement and with the step of the weeks left everything in the shli-kia basement and here I have something very striking and is that throughout the process estatai broke a nail so he decided mimic and make manic and make manicure in a center of beauty this wanted to do the same as when Holger

disappeared say no I knew anything that had no idea crying put an excuse and simply leaving it aside but F was very different from him was divorced had two children a job in Vienna many, family friends and many people who, I would ask for people who were not going to, believe that I was in a religious commun, located in India and Estetai had to, think quickly showed himself as a girlfriend, afflicted, worried, anguished said that, I didn't understand anything and then recalled that. Long ago Manfred lent him money, to make some reforms in the ice cream shop, the money he lent to him were more or or, minus 10,000 so he told everyone, that returned the money and that, surely with all that went to. Thailand obviously the story does not,

squared anyone but this was a good girl was a nice girl very close more close affectionate and door of she for the gallery made you in bad person also the girl i was always very sad i was low very affected and therefore many manfred's friends turned to help her friends among whom a man named ronaldar was at that time i was forty-seven years old to beginning she just followed the game to this man and continued to be like a sad and desolate but soon they began to like each other and encountered there. First obstacle and he had, couple the relationship between them was going, advancing and finally he left his girlfriend to be with a Estodi who in those moments was 32 years old. They advanced slowly but because, less advanced and then raised, Ronald Mary what he agreed,

they continue together, everything is going well and then. They have a small slide a slide that he leaves her pregnant her dream is about. If he was getting married, he was going to have a son and had found the couple. Perfect but this happiness would not last, forever since we remember that, Basement of him there were two bodies before continuing with the history we have to know another person. Erkin Coxel who owns the hairdresser that was right next to. The Star Lodge and Carenza Urkenau. Enter your business on June 6th. 2011 realized that he has a leak of water and immediately called someone to repair it when the workers.

That to discover the origin of the escape, they had to go down to the foundations of the place specifically a basement that shared this business with the one next door. With the permission of Erkin the workers, they went down there and started looking. The main pipe but for more than the, they were looking for her and then, Steve-Lis-Coranza appeared which no, I stopped insisting what they were, doing they went to them, asked what, they were doing what they were looking for, why he insisted a lot and this, all present called them the, attention had never seen her with that. Expression on the face was trembling, that day was not the person who had, known until then, it was very nice, very nice with everything, the world, and while looking for the pipe,

they realized that this basement smelled, putrefaction the more he sought. Most seeds pipe felt and this aroma, He took them to the door of a room that was closed with a great padlock. As the pipe will not find low, they broke and entered and tied with. More scary scenes of the history and there was a lot of, cubes from which they sprouted. Human parts one of the witnesses. He assured that a leg came out of a cube, and hours later they discovered that those remains belonged to Heller Hall's end. Manfred H. Interberger in the first instance, no one.

I knew who they belonged to but the whispers arose immediately and. Estetai was not idiot so he grabbed everything. What he could and undertook his life. life took a taxi went to the bank emptied his account and then he went to buy a ticket of. Airplane with Paris took another taxi and he went to the airport but on the way. There he listened to the radio that were looking and immediately knew that could move on was recorded in. Internet with all your data name. Surname identification all that was at the airport and the police would have access surely

several patrols already. They were on their way and therefore decided. Deviate asked the taxi driver to, will take Cabasso Carnico north of. Italy and man did so was a journey of about four and a half hours end. Once there he took a bus end. He directed Toll Mitcho where he stayed in a. Hotel paying in cash only stayed. There during one night and in the morning.

Next early thing made checkout, and he took a train in the direction of Udina. For several hours he bagged the city, and finally became friend of a musician. Street called a von Riu from Goodt to. First I couldn't tell him who was like this. That told him a story that more or less could quadrate and asked him for. Please let her stay a couple of days. At home it was a good girl was. Nice, nice and doubt her no.

It made sense but with the passage of ours the name of Stephen is Carranza. It sounded everywhere on the radio in the. Television people commented on it. Neighbors the friends and this girl. It seemed suspicious with which Ivan, he called the police and on June 10th, 2011. This woman was arrested and extradited to. Austria the blonde girl I can't.

Believe, but it was a beautiful person. It is almost impossible that she has been. Little girl was a very beautiful girl. Affection at the trial against this woman. was controversial for minute one Steeville is, two months pregnant and at the beginning of, 2012 even though she was in prison and, pending judgment he managed to marry, its fiancé who secured cape and, soared to be madly in love with her, and that he also wanted to continue by his side and, be the father of his son, but the latter, is like a limbo since in 2012. Contradictory

articles emerged. Some said that at birth the child this, passed to the biological father, but others said that this does not really, it was like that and that the creature passed to the hands, of Steeval's parents who in, those moments lived in Barcelona. This is very contradictory, but with the Tienpo Roland separated from, Stivel made quite statements, strong to the press, so maybe. Root of this the child ended the peers, of it but as it may what we, it matters to us is what comes to, control the trial for double. Homicide began in November of 2012 and in this accusation and defense. They had almost movie arguments. From the minute one she confessed the crimes but the defense claimed that all that happened as a result of, difficult

relationships in, that both victims had been physically and psychologically mistreating and, she who always tried to be a, perfect wife broke out in the worst way. However, the accusation had, other arguments against this woman, this woman has two faces, will try to play someone's role, that behaves well that would never do anything, thus Maitar would show them their other side, that she is a singular murder, cold and unscrupulous not left, deceive prosecutors and psychiatrists, that they treated and they were able to show it as, a ruthless woman who had acted, motivated by selfishness and interests. Economic was diagnosed with,

narcissism dependence and historianism. He called expert said yes. There was a risk, very tall to kill me if something. He didn't like if something was going against, what he thought of his opinion if something. I would surely kill and, that is why on November 22nd, 2012 it was, declared guilty and sentenced to,

life imprisonment, but it is not history. The entire trial ends here was very. Articles were published. Photographs were very talked about Stievelda, His way of thinking about what he did about. That did not do many rumors, many speculations and this woman, enjoyed attention he loved, appear on covers that would speak of, she and interview Arla and motivated by, This is the Center of Attention in, 2014 published a book called My Two, lives the authentic

history of the lady. Of ICE this title attracts attention. For several things the first is because, until that moment no one had called him, ICE Lady herself put on that nickname and the second is that within the, work victimizes herself with phrases, like the following I killed two men, but I also loved them could not tell him, that he could not free from him and in third. Place is a point that calls a lot the attention and is that all benefits. Of this book were destined for their, son everything he earned with the book sales went to your

child, with which she does not profit. Economically after publication, many media wanted to follow him, though, know what I was doing with, who related what was in prison, and discovered that within this era, very problematic got into fights in. Clashes did not respect the rules. and in 2017 seeing that it was uncontrollable, they transferred her to a prison for, men the new prison has 91, inmates some of which also, they were convicted to comply with sentences, of life seal their Steeval, supposedly would have eight agents, watching me, what do you think of the

case and you think this, woman regrets what she did. Thirty years ago, Flight 207 cut through the vast, moonlit sky like a silent arrow over the Atlantic. The Boeing 747 was a massive, yet elegant bird, its powerful engines purring in a rhythm hum that soothed the passengers resting within. The stars twinkled in the velvety blackness above, reflected dimly on the surface of the ocean far below. Inside the cabin, the soft glow of reading lights flickered across the weary faces of travelers who had settled into the comforting monotony of a long-haul flight. The gentle, muted conversations of flight attendants echoed faintly as they moved through the aisles, attending to the occasional call button and collecting trays

from dinner service. Captain Howard Graves sat in the cockpit, framed by the cold glow of the instrument panels lights. At 53, his graying hair was neatly combed beneath his crisp pilot's cap, and his uniform was immaculately pressed, a testament to his decades of professionalism. He had flown thousands of miles across every kind of weather and knew the skies like the back of his hand. His sharp blue eyes, lined with the experience of countless flights, were focused on the controls, his fingers lightly gripping the yoke with the ease of a man who had long ago mastered his craft. The cockpit itself was a sanctuary of order and precision. Every gauge, dial, and switch was in its proper place, illuminated in soft shades of green and amber.

The windshield ahead was a vast canvas of black sky, dotted with distant stars, and below them, the seemingly endless stretch of ocean was cloaked in shadow. To Captain Graves, the cockpit was a familiar, almost sacred space, a place where he was in control, where everything made sense. Next to him, his co-pilot, a young man named Jerry Thompson, sat slumped in his seat, his eyes closed in a light, restless sleep. Jerry was still new to the game, barely 30, with the kind of eager energy Graves had once possessed in his own youth. His uniform was a little too crisp, his shoes too polished, but he was learning. Graves glanced at him, a fleeting smile

tugging at the corners of his lips. He remembered what it was like, the thrill of those early years in the air, before the routine set in and every flight became just another journey from point A to point B. Outside, the world was tranquil. The stars shimmer. and the Atlantic stretched out beneath them like a great, dark mirror. The vastness of it was humbling, no land for miles, just endless water, cold and unforgiving. Yet for all its potential danger, graves found it comforting. The ocean was constant, unchanging. It had always been there, and it always would be.

Much like the sky. He glanced at the clock on the control panel, 312 a.m. The flight had been smooth so far, the weather clear, the winds gentle. They were on schedule, just past the halfway point. Another few hours and they'd be touching down in New York. He could already picture himself standing in the terminal, the first rays of dawn creeping through the airport windows as he sipped a cup of coffee, tired but satisfied with another successful flight under his belt.

But then, something changed. A faint noise, almost imperceptible at first, scratched at the edges of his consciousness. Graves frowned, his brow furrowing as he tilted his head slightly, listening. It was subtle, like the soft rasp of sandpaper on metal, coming from somewhere within the cockpit. He glanced around, his eyes darting across the myriad of instruments, checking the readings. Everything appeared normal. No alarms, no irregularities. The steady hum of the engines remained unchanged.

The noise persisted, growing louder, yet still so quiet that Graves had to strain to hear it. It wasn't mechanical, he was sure of that. didn't have the sharpness of a malfunctioning component or the grind of gears out of sink. This was something else, something softer, more insidious. He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him, and adjusted his headset, wondering if the sound was coming from the radio. But no. The static of the open channel was smooth, undisturbed by any outside interference.

The low chatter of air traffic control in the distance was steady, routine. His gaze flickered to the windshield again. The sky remained calm, the stars twinkling in their usual indifference. The horizon ahead was a smooth, unbroken line where sky met sea in the darkness. Yet something about it felt wrong. The world outside, which had been so familiar just moments ago, now seemed alien, as though a presence lurked just beyond his vision, watching. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the feeling.

He had been flying for hours. Fatigue was starting to play tricks on his mind, that was all. He took a deep breath, the recycled air of the cockpit filling his lungs, and exhaled slowly, willing himself to relax. But the scratching sound continued, growing more persistent, more insistent. Graves glanced at his co-pilot. Jerry remained asleep, blissfully unaware of the creeping unease that was now crawling up Graves' spine. For a moment, Graves considered waking him.

But he hesitated. What would he even say? That he heard something. That he felt something. No, that would be ridiculous. He was the captain. He had to stay calm. He had to maintain control.

But as the noise grew louder and the first shutter passed through the plane, Graves couldn't shake the feeling that something, somewhere, had shifted. Something was out of place. The plane shuddered. It was subtle at first, like the turbulence he had felt countless times before. But this was different. The vibrations grew stronger, as if something beneath the plane was pulling at it, and dragging it down. Graves tightened his grip on the controls, his pulse quickening.

He checked the instruments again. No warnings. No reason for this disturbance. Control, this is Flight 207, we're experiencing some turbulence, Graves said into the radio, his voice steadied despite the growing unease gnawing at his chest. No response. Static crackled through his headset, the familiar hiss filling his ears, but beneath the white noise, something unusual stirred. It was faint, so soft it could easily be dismissed, but there it was. A whisper. Low and distant, like voices murmuring on the edge of a dream, just beyond comprehension. He strained to listen, his pulse quickening, but the words, if they were words at all, remained elusive, as if they were being swept away by an invisible wind.

Graves shook his head, trying to dispel the eerie feeling creeping up his neck. He had been flying for hours. Exhaustion was setting in. That had to be it. Nothing more. The plane lurched again, harder this time, jerking the cabin with a force that sent coffee cups toppling over and passengers gripping their armrests. In the cockpit, Captain Graves' hands flew to the controls just as a soft, ominous beep echoed through the confined space, autopilot disengaged. The nose of the plane dipped suddenly, the massive aircraft heaving downward as gravity pulled it into a stomach-turning descent. Graves' heart skipped a beat, his gut tightening with dread, as he instinctively yanked

back on the yoke. His muscle strained against the resistance, his jaw clenched, sweat forming on his brow as he fought to steady the aircraft. The plane leveled, but the danger hadn't passed. The gauges flickered, numbers jumping wildly across the display as if the instruments themselves were as confused as he was. He scanned the readings, but nothing made sense, altitude fluctuating, airspeed swinging from high to low in seconds. The controls felt sluggish, unresponsive, as if the very plain were

resisting him. Come on, stay with me, Graves muttered through gritted teeth, his pulse pounding in his ears. Beside him, the co-pilot, Jerry Thompson, stirred, his head jerking up from where he had been dozing moments before. His face was pale, his eyes wide and glassy with disorientation. He blinked at the flashing lights on the panel, his hands instinctively moving toward the controls, but his movements were slow, groggy, as if he couldn't quite shake the fog of sleep. What's going on? Jerry asked, his voice rough with confusion. He rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of the chaotic display in front of him.

Alarms were beginning to ping, and the constant vibration of the engines now felt like an ominous tremor. I don't know, Graves replied, his voice tight with frustration. His eyes darted from one gauge to the next, seeking something, anything, that could explain the sudden chaos. But everything was wrong. Instruments that had been steady moments ago were now erratic, and the plane seemed to be resisting him, pushing back against every command he gave it. The engines roared louder, the vibration growing beneath their feet.

Another shutter rippled through the plane, more violent this time. The overhead lights flickered, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the cockpit walls. The air felt colder, the very atmosphere in the cockpit thickening with tension. Graves' breath caught in his throat as a strange sensation settled over, him, something was here, with them. The cockpit felt smaller, darker, as if the walls were closing in. And then, it started again. The whispers. Louder now, pressing against the confines of the space, filling every inch of the cockpit. Graves' fingers tightened on the controls as the soft, disjointed murmurs curled around his ears. This wasn't just the static anymore,

he could hear them clearly. The voices. They were garbled, distorted, but unmistakably human. Words, phrases, carried on a cold wind, their meaning just beyond reach, like fragments of a conversation from a distant, forgotten place. Each whisper twisted through the air, rising and falling in uneven rhythm, as if multiple voices were speaking at once, lost, desperate. Grave stiffened, his spine tingling. His eyes darted to the cockpit door, half expecting to see something, or someone, on the other side.

But it was empty. Just shadows. Yet the voices continued, surrounding me. them, closing in. The co-pilot's breathing had grown shallow, his face pale. His hands trembled as he reached for the radio, but his voice faltered. Did you hear that? Jerry whispered, his eyes darting to Graves, wide with a fear he couldn't yet explain. His hand hovered just above the headset, frozen in place, as if he wasn't sure whether to believe what he was hearing. Graves nodded slowly, his mouth dry. He had heard it. He could still hear it, the whispers, growing louder,

a small space with their haunting cadence. And now, there was no denying it. They were not alone up here. Suddenly, the plane plummeted, a sharp, violent drop that tore both men from their seats, the harnesses biting into their shoulders as they strained to hold them in place. The cockpit exploded with chaos, alarms screamed in rapid succession, a harsh chorus of warnings. The overhead lights flickered wildly, casting frantic shadows across the walls, and for a terrifying moment, the world outside the windows vanished. Complete darkness. As if the night itself had devoured the plain hole, erasing it from the sky. Graves gripped the controls with all his strength, his fingers aching as the yoke resisted

him. It felt as though the aircraft were alive, fighting against his every command, its massive frame weighed down by an invisible force. His heart pounded in his chest, the cold grip of panic tightening around him. The whispers were everywhere now, louder, closer, a suffocated wave of ghostly voices swirling around the cockpit. They drowned out the alarms, their pitch rising to a frantic crescendo, like a multitude of lost souls crying out at once. May Day. May Day. Graves shouted into the radio, his voice breaking with desperation. This is Flight 207. We've lost control, the plane pitched hard to the right, the sudden motion slamming them sideways in their seats. The ocean appeared outside the cockpit window, rushing up at an impossible speed,

the black waves looming closer and closer. The co-pilot let out a strangled scream, his hands white-knuckled as they gripped the armrests, his wide eyes reflecting the chaos around him. Graves wrestled with the controls, his muscles burning with the effort, but the aircraft wouldn't respond. It was too late.

The ocean was upon them, vast and unforgiving, the plane's descent unstoppable. The roar of the engines faded into the background, eclipsed by the final sound that filled the cockpit. It was the voices. A haunting chorus of whispers, rising in unison, as if the very air around them was alive with the cries of the dead. A thousand voices, lost and desperate, calling out from the abyss. A jolt of cold terror shot through Graves' body, his mind finally accepting what his hands could not change,

this was the end. The control yoke slipped from his grasp, and for the first time in his career, he let go. The cockpit windows were filled with nothing but black water now, rushing up to claim them. For a split second, time seemed to stretch, the plane hanging in mid-air as if suspended between worlds, caught between the living and the dead. Outside the cockpit windows, the ocean loomed dark and cold, its surface stretching out endlessly, waiting. It was as if the water itself was alive, beckoning them with its silent, inescapable pull. Graves could see the moonlight glinting off the waves, a pale, ghostly shimmer that flickered like a dying light in the distance. The plane was falling, but in that moment,

it felt almost peaceful. The chaos inside the cockpit faded, the alarms dimming into the background, overtaken by the eerie harmony of the whispers. Graves could feel the weight of every soul that had ever been lost in these skies, hundreds, maybe thousands, of voices, all speaking at once. Pleading. Morning. Desperate to be heard.

There was no sound but the whispers, no noise but the haunted voices, crying out in unison, their words still lost to the wind, but their meaning unmistakable. And then, silence. High above the waves, the stars glittered in the night sky, cold and indifferent to the catastrophe unfolding below. In the aftermath, the airline would issue its statement, attributing the disaster to pilot error, citing a technical malfunction as the cause. Investigations would follow, reports would be filed, and the world would move on. But for those who had been on board, the truth, chilling and unspoken, sank with the wreckage to the depths of the Atlantic, swallowed by the icy waters, just like the whispered voices of the lost souls who haunted that final flight.

Hello, first of all, this story is about my sister. She wanted advice, and believe me, the story is heavy. First of all, thank you very much, now let's begin. I'm 30 years old and I've been married for four. We've been together for 12 in total. We met at a summer course when we were just 18-year-old kids, and everything was so easy with him, at least at the beginning. I came from a really messed up past.

I was abused as a child, for years. That left me with a deep, visceral fear of men. Just talking to one would make me tremble. He was the only one I ever felt safe with. The only one I let touch me, the only one I could be vulnerable with, love, have sex with without feeling dirty. To me, he was the refuge. Well, he was.

Three Years ago, I got pregnant. It was a difficult pregnancy, I almost lost it. Bleeding, hospital stays, daily pain. The gynecologist told me several times to seriously think about whether I wanted to continue. But he, my husband, begged me crying not to go through with it. She's our daughter, please, don't kill her. She's the fruit of our love, and me, like a stupid girl in love, went on. I went on for him.

The girl was born premature, but healthy. Beautiful. A warrior. And I thought that would unite us forever. Until a few months ago, he says to me, like it was nothing. Hey, don't get mad, but, could you do a DNA test? Me, excuse me? A what?

He said it like it was the most normal thing. Like asking your wife for a DNA test was the same as asking her to grab. some bread from the store. Because apparently, the girl doesn't look like him. Because his mom put the idea in his head, a DNA test. After everything I'd been through. After nearly breaking myself in two to give birth to that girl. After trusting him with everything I had. Of course I agreed. With a broken heart, but I agreed. Result, 99.9999% his. Obviously. And the idiot goes and says, I knew it.

I never doubted you. Ha ha ha ha what. Then why? Why the test? To make me feel like garbage. Everything changed after that. And I still have the goodwill to go to therapy with him. And in the session, just like that, he says,

it's just that I don't feel like she's mine. I don't feel a connection. I don't see myself in her. I take care of her, yes, but I don't feel anything, and the worst part, she's the one who's messed up, me. She's the one with the trauma. I'm fine, I just don't feel anything for the baby. That doesn't make me crazy, after that he asked me not to take him to that therapy crap again. That, I'm the crazy one, the raped one.

That there's nothing wrong with him, he just doesn't feel a connection. That it'll pass. It'll pass. My daughter is a temporary headache for him. Since that day, I have the divorce papers ready. The house is mine, inheritance from my grandmother. Both cars are mine. I have an online business that lets me live comfortably. And since he was the genius who asked for the pre-nup back when he was starting in real estate, he has no right to anything. What's mine is mine? Period. But I can't stop thinking. about my daughter. That one day she'll grow up, and she'll ask why her dad treated her like a stranger. Why he doubted she was his, why he didn't see her as his daughter, and what am I going

to tell her? That her dad loved me until I became a mother, that he stopped seeing me as a woman when he saw that I could love unconditionally. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. I don't know if I'm overreacting. But I feel like a part of me died with that DNA test. And another part died when he said I was the crazy one. I just want to know if anyone else would go through the same and also, walk away without looking back. Because right now I'm shattered. But free. And I don't know if that's enough. The end. This is a throwaway post so I can talk about this situation and never have to speak on it again. I, 22F. was in a relationship for nearly three years with my ex, 23M, we met on Bumble but went to the same

high school. At first it started fine, we had the typical bumps in the road of starting a new relationship. I was freshly 19, so I was naive about a lot of things, he was 20 and we ended up having a good bit in common. When we met he was working as a janitor for a school and was sweet as can be. He would come pick me up from work so I didn't have to walk at night, he would compliment me all the time, we had great times together. Early in our relationship I had lost my grandfather, then shortly after we go into a car accident together. I think we sort of trauma bonded because after that we were practically inseparable. Year one felt like we were moving at light speed, I practically lived with him and his family.

Bought him sheets and blankets for his bed, cooked for him and his whole family, started learning Spanish to better communicate with his TIAs and Tios, I bought all his time. toiletries, I slept over a lot so I'd help watch his siblings. As the relationship went on, it was tumultuous. He started working at this restaurant and began drinking a lot. After his 21st birthday, it was like he was constantly drinking. At work, at home, out with friends, on our dates he'd get a drink or make sure to grab alcohol to bring back. I just thought, he just turned 21 this is fine it's normal to go a little crazy. But the drinking didn't end there. He developed a problem, he started cheating on me and lying about who he was texting where he was going. It broke my heart,

but I stayed, I tried to help him, tried to get him to slow down with the partying and drinking. His best friend was also the worst person I've ever met. Side for the fact that he was a white guy who consistently said niga, I'm black and he did it because I hated it, he would constantly have these parties that felt like they were trapped in their high school glory days. Excessive drinking, fights breaking out mostly with the best friend and his girlfriend at the time who he'd be cheating on, people crying and raging over stupid shit like Flip Cup, needless to say I didn't find those parties fun. But my ex lived for them. Anything his best friend was doing he'd want to do. He would drag me to these parties and every time his friend had a party he would want my ex to

stay the night at his grandparent house with him, every single time. Now I ended up putting my foot down, we can't stay over after every party, I wanted to go home, I wanted to cuddle and sleep together after he had his fun and sometimes we did. Sometimes. Or we'd go home and he'd hop on the game and continue to drink himself stupid and say the nastiest things to me you could say to your partner. As our relationship went on and we went through different jobs and phases of our lives my ex always had to be the center of my world, he didn't take an interest in my family or

friends, he never took an interest in my hobbies even when he would praise me for delving into all of his, he started to criticize my weight, the way I dress, tell me how I should fix my hair. The cheating would keep happening and I would forgive him even when I shouldn't have. He didn't get me a birthday gift, an anniversary gift, a Christmas gift after that first year together. Our relationship had some ups but more than enough plummeting downs. It all came to a head at the start of this year when he was out with his friends drinking, I had been telling him I was tired of the bullshit and was close to leaving him for months, and as someone with abandonment and attachment issues this was huge for me, but he called me extremely drunk. Telling the whole bar

about how my body was his and the things we do in bed together, I was horrified. I was with my friends and had put him on speaker so they could see I was T crazy, that he was really like this and I hadn't made it all up in my head. He was so loved and praised by everyone around him that even when he got physically violent with me he spun it so I looked like the villain. My friends were horrified they had been telling me to leave for months. He started threatening to say the N-word, he's Mexican so of course we had had conversations about why that wasn't okay blah, blah, blah, Finally, when I stopped answering his drunken calls, he broke up with me over text. I was so relieved I didn't have to do it.

Even after two full years of abusive behavior I didn't know how to leave. He called me the next morning and begged me to forgive him, and for a while I considered it, we started talking about needing changes this and that, but I had already told my family everything he had done after he broke up with me. I knew if they knew the extent of his actions they would never allow me to be with him. It's been months now, he's begged me for forgiveness and told me he owns up to his mistakes and tells me he wants to marry me, still tries to call me, he left a creepy card outside my apartment door on our anniversary, even though we were broken up. He wrote my mom and myself patronizing letters when he gave all my things back. He has said over and over again that he misses me and needs me in his life.

He stalks my website. Honestly, I'd be scared if it wasn't so sad. I just wanted to share my story though a lot of details are lost because this post is already too long I just wanted to say, girl, if you're out there, and you feel trapped in waiting for the nice guy you met to return to you, he won't change and you deserve better. They only miss you when you're gone. The end. I'm writing this and my hands are shaking, and I don't know where or how to start.

I'm not an internet guy or into posts, I'm a taxi driver just getting by, living day by day, and making a living isn't easy. But what happened to me? I don't know how to describe it. Something stranger than fiction, and more terrifying than any movie I've ever seen in my life. I'm telling this here because... I honestly don't know why. Maybe to warn someone, maybe so someone will believe me, maybe so my conscience can rest a little before, before I don't know what might happen.

I won't say my name or where I am now, because I'm scared. Truly scared. The story began a few days ago, maybe a week, maybe ten days, time has blurred for me. It was an ordinary night like any other. Few customers, hot weather, and you're just struggling to make enough for gas and the car rental. I was parked in a somewhat deserted spot, waiting for any fare to break the boredom. It was nearing one in the morning. Suddenly, I saw someone waving at me from a distance.

He looked a bit strange. Tall and thin, wearing ordinary clothes but they looked like they weren't his, a bit loose on him, and his eyes, his eyes were frighteningly empty. Like he was looking through you, not at you. I thought, come on, any fair will do. I stopped for him. He opened the door next to me and sat down. He didn't even return my greeting. He was quiet for a moment, and I waited for him to tell me where he wanted.

to go. Nothing. I looked at him in the rearview mirror, found him staring straight ahead, completely zoned out. I said to him, sir. Where to? He looked at me slowly, as if turning his neck required immense effort. His voice was low and strange, like someone who hadn't spoken in a long time, drive. I was surprised. Drive, drive where? I need a destination, boss. His eye. His eye. He eyes went back to staring straight ahead. Just drive. Anywhere. I thought to myself, this guy looks like he's high on something, or crazy. But still, money is money. And the customer looked like he'd pay well, maybe he wasn't from around here or was lost. I decided to drive him around a bit until he made up his mind, or maybe he was waiting for a phone call or something.

I turned on the meter and drove. I entered a quiet side. side street. The car moved slowly, and silence filled the space. I'm used to this silence, but with this customer, the silence was heavy. Very heavy. I felt like there was a mountain sitting next to me, not a human being. Every now and then, I'd glance in the mirror and find him in the same state, staring ahead coldly, his eyes unblinking, like a statue. After about ten minutes, while we were on another side street, a bit narrower and brighter than the last one, I suddenly saw him slowly raise his right hand, and point at a man walking on the opposite sidewalk. The man looked completely ordinary, maybe heading home from work, walking with a bag in his

hand. The passenger pointed at him with his index finger, without uttering a word. And suddenly, the man on the sidewalk, fell. Fell flat on his face, all at once, like a stage prop. The bag in his hand burst open, and its contents scattered on the ground. I slammed on the brakes out of shock. The car shuddered to a halt. I looked at the passenger in disbelief, what was that? That man fell. Did you see?

He was completely unfazed. Didn't take his eyes off the fallen man. Soon, I saw people gathering around the man, and the sound of screaming started to rise. Someone yelled, ambulance. Someone call an ambulance. My heart was pounding like a drum. I looked at the passenger again, and saw him lower his hand with utmost calm, then look straight ahead again as if nothing had happened. Sir, do you know that man?

I asked him in a shaky voice. He didn't answer. Sir. I'm talking to you. He cut me off with the same low, terrifying voice. drive. I felt a chill run down my entire body. This wasn't normal. What was wrong with this man? And what was this bizarre coincidence? He points at someone, and they fall. No, this wasn't a coincidence. My mind refused to believe there was a connection, but my gut told me no, something was wrong.

Very wrong. I told myself, man, calm down, maybe the man was sick, maybe the man was sick, maybe he fainted, it's a coincidence, man. I tried hard to convince myself. I stepped on the gas and drove off, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror, watching the spot where the man fell and the crowd gathering around him. We continued driving in an even heavier silence. This time, I couldn't take my eyes off him in the mirror. I watched his every move with fear. He remained perfectly still. Another ten minutes, fifteen minutes. I don't remember. I entered a slightly busy main street. Cars were moving slowly, side by side. Suddenly, he made the same gesture again. He raised his right hand, but this time he pointed at the driver of a transport truck driving next to

us. The driver was a young guy, playing loud music and singing along. The passenger pointed at him. A second, two, the truck next to a suddenly swerved sharply to the right, as if the driver had lost consciousness, and crashed into a car parked on the side of the road. The sound of the crash was incredibly loud, and the whole street came to a standstill. My entire body jolted. I looked at the truck, saw the driver's head slumped over the steering wheel, motionless. People started shouting and running towards the accident. I turned to the passenger, feeling the blood drained.

from my face. You, what did you do? What are you doing? My voice was loud this time, and I couldn't control it. He looked at me with the same coldness. That deadly coldness. And said one sentence, he chose. Chose what? What are you talking about? Do you have something to do with what's happening? He looked straight ahead again. Drive. This time, I was truly scared. Not just anxious or bewildered. This was real fear. This man wasn't a normal human being. There was something demonic about him.

Coincidence doesn't repeat itself twice in exactly the same way. He points, and people fall or have terrible accidents. No. Not fall. I saw the first man, and I saw this driver. They looked dead. I thought about opening the door, throwing myself out of the car and running.

I thought about stopping the car, yelling, and drawing people's attention to him. But fear paralyzed me. Fear of the unknown. Fear of him. If he could do that to people on the street with a gesture, what would he do to me if I disobeyed his command? I kept driving, my hands trembling on the steering wheel. I didn't know where I was going.

I entered streets I didn't recognize, lost like a shawl. ship without a sail. And he sat silently beside me. His silence now had a sound. A threatening sound. A sound that said every second passing with him in this car was bringing me closer to disaster. After a while, I don't know how long, maybe half an hour, maybe more, we were in a dimly lit, working-class neighborhood, the houses packed tightly together. The streets barely wide enough for one car. There was an old woman walking alone on the side of the road, holding a cane and leaning on it. She looked so frail and poor. My heart clenched as I saw him begin to raise his hand again.

I told myself, no. Not her too. She's an old, poor woman. Before he could point, before I could think what to do, I yelled loudly while looking at him in the mirror, watch itch out. Don't you do it? Not this woman. His hand stopped in mid-air for a moment. He looked at me again.

This time, I felt like there was a flicker. I don't know what, maybe surprise. Maybe something else I couldn't decipher in those empty eyes. He asked in that low voice that terrified me, Are you afraid for her? She's an old, poor woman. Have mercy. Why are you doing this?

Who are you anyway? I was speaking quickly, fear making it hard to form coherent sentences. He kept looking at me for a bit. Then, he slowly lowered his hand and went back to looking straight ahead. Drive. I felt myself breathing again, though with difficulty. The old woman continued on her way, oblivious to everything. We passed her.

I kept driving, but this time, I kept circling the same area, not wanting to go far, as if trying to prevent him from finding a new prey. I kept driving around for about another hour. He was silent. And I kept glancing at him and at the street, my heart in my throat. Until I got fed up, tired, and my fear reached its peak. I stopped the car suddenly in a dark, empty spot, turned off the engine, and turned my whole body towards him.

Look, I'm not moving another step until I understand. Who are you? And what are you doing to these people? What's your story exactly? He remained silent for a few moments, staring ahead. I felt like my heart would stop from the tension. Then, he looked at me. But this time, his gaze was different. As if a piece of the masquey war had been removed. I sensed a look of sadness. Or maybe exhaustion. I don't know. He said with a Strange calmness, I see. See what? I see what they've done. I see the mark on them. Mark? What mark is this?

I started to feel like my head would explode from the questions and the horror. Every one of us has a mark. Like a halo. Its color tells what they've done in their life. Done good, or done evil. The words weren't registering. Halos. colors.

This was crazy talk. What are you saying? Are you insane? I'm not insane, he said with the same calmness. I really see it. This halo tells me everything. There are white halos, pure. Those are good, peaceful people.

And there are gray halos, those who sinned and repented, or whose lives are half and half. And there are, black halos. When he said, black, I felt his voice change. There was a tone of, hatred, or perhaps disgust. He continued, these black halos belonged to people who have truly harmed others. People who destroyed others' lives. People who stole, killed, oppressed, people who don't deserve to walk the earth among the good. I swallowed hard.

And those people you pointed at, their halos were black. He nodded slowly. The darkest shades of black. People who did things, you can't imagine. And you, when you point at them, what happens to them? I asked the question knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from him. Their halo goes out. Like a bulb burning out.

And their soul leaves their body. He said it so simply, as if talking about the weather. I felt the world spin around me. This man wasn't just someone seeing strange things. He was judging people and carrying out the sentence himself. An angel of death walking on two legs? A devil? I didn't know.

But what I was sure of was that he was dangerous. Very dangerous. So, so what about me? The words escaped me involuntarily. I don't know why I asked. Maybe morbid curiosity. Maybe terror. He looked at me again. This time, his eyes stayed focused on me for a long time. I felt like he was piercing me with his gaze. Like he was flipping through all the pages of my past life.

I felt a coldness seep into my bones despite the heat outside. You, he repeated the word softly. Yes, me. What color halo do you see on me? I asked, instantly regretting every letter I uttered. A faint but terrifying, smile touched his lips for the first time. It was the ugliest smile I had ever seen in my life. Your halo, he said, leaning slightly towards me, his voice dropping to a whisper. Your halo, is blacker than night. Blacker than the devil's own heart. One of the worst halos I've ever seen in my life.

In that instant, I lost control. All I remember is opening the car door and throwing myself out while it was still stopped. I ran. Ran as fast as I could, without looking back. I could feel his gaze on my back, feel his voice echoing in my ears. Blacker than night. I kept running and running until my legs couldn't carry me anymore. I ducked into unfamiliar streets and alleys until I found myself somewhere very far away.

I took whatever public transport I could find and went to a distant place, a place where no one knows me. I left the car, left everything. I'm sitting now in a cheap hotel room, writing this. Why did he say that to me? Why is my halo, specifically, so black? There's something, something that happened a long time ago. Many years ago. I was still a reckless young man, needing money.

I did something, something terrible. Something I regret every single day of my life. A crime. I was involved in it. A kidnapping, kidnapping a little girl. Things got out of control, and the girl, the girl died. And we, me and the others with me, we got rid of her. Through her body somewhere no one would ever find it.

Nobody knows about this except me and the two guys who were with me. And neither of them will talk. I've lived all these years with this secret, with this guilt. Trying to live normally, trying to forget. But it seems, it seems this guilt leaves a mark that can't be erased. A mark this man was able to see. He knows. That man knows what I did.

And when he told me my halo was blacker than night, he wasn't just threatening me. He was telling me my turn was coming. that he was going to cleanse the world of me too. I don't know what to do. Turn myself in. Would they believe me if I told them about the man with the halos? They'd call me crazy. And if I don't tell them, will I live the rest of my life in this terror?

Waiting any moment to find him in front of me, pointing his finger, and my halo going out. Why did I write all this? Maybe to confess. Maybe so if something happens to me. someone will know the truth. The truth about what I did back then, and the truth about this terrifying man walking our streets, judging people. If any of you see a tall, thin man, with empty eyes, walking alone at night, run. Run and don't let him get close to you. And don't let him see your halo. I don't know what I'll do now. Keep running. Until when?

Can he find me? Could he be looking for me right now as I write to? this. Oh God, protect me. I'm scared. So scared. Someone help me, someone tell me what to do. I feel like my end is near. I feel like he's going to find me. The end. Once again, the story doesn't make any sense. One of the agents asks, would you be willing to take a polygraph test? She dodges the question, stands up, says she's in a hurry, that she has to go, that she'll call them later, and just like that, she walks out the door and leaves. It all started on the afternoon of March 11, 1992. Gilbert Ortiz, 23 years old, went to the backroom of his workplace to have lunch.

He had a sandwich that, according to some coworkers, looked delicious. But he also had a protein shake. He had never tried one of those before, but he was determined to gain muscle mass. Gilbert was a thin guy, no matter what he did, he could never gain weight. So, he figured these shakes might help him. him out. He sat down with his coworkers, pulled out his sandwich, but before eating, he started drinking the shake. Witnesses say he immediately made a weird face and kept saying that the shake was awful. But he was committed to gaining weight, so he drank it anyway. He kept drinking,

gulp after gulp, and as soon as he finished it, he started gagging. He ran to the bathroom and began vomiting. A co-worker heard a loud thud coming from the bathroom and knocked on the door, asking Gilbert if he was okay. No answer. The coworker opened the door and found Gilbert on the floor, convulsing. Everyone was in shock. They immediately called an ambulance. Within minutes, paramedics arrived and rushed in to help him. They placed him on a stretcher and asked him some questions.

First, what did you eat? Gilbert replied, nothing. Second, what did you drink? He answered, that shake. And third, the most important question, who gave you that shake? Gilbert Weekly said, a friend. The paramedics took the shake bottle to analyze its contents, while Gilbert was rushed to the nearest hospital. Once he was admitted, doctors contacted his family and the police.

Initially, the Redwood City Police didn't think much of it. They assumed it was just food poisoning. But they still decided to take a look into Gilbert's life. Gilbert Ortiz was born in Nicaragua in 1968. In 1983, he moved to the United States. After finishing high school, he spent some time in the military. When he returned, he got a job at a repair shop where he did quite well. Five years later, while at a nightclub, he met the woman who would become his wife, Elizabeth Fuentes.

Elizabeth was born in the U.S. in 1969, but her entire family was from Mexico. Shortly after she was born, they moved back there. She spent her entire childhood in her parents' homeland, then returned to the U.S. at 18 and got a job as an office worker. Friends and family said that Gilbert and Elizabeth made a great couple. Time passed, and in 1989, Elizabeth announced she was pregnant. Gilbert proposed, and in 1990, their only son, Jonathan, was born. They got married, and for a while, everything seemed perfect. But financially, things were tight.

Elizabeth often complained about money, saying Gilbert didn't earn enough. He worked hard and, in early 1992, finally got a promotion. This eased the tension a bit, but just a few days after the great news, Gilbert was rushed to the hospital. Nobody knew what was wrong with him, what he had taken, or why he was convulsing. What seemed like simple food poisoning was turning into something far more sinister. By 2.30 p.m., Gilbert was in the hospital. By 10 p.m., his condition had worsened. He went from convulsions to pneumonia. Then his kidneys started failing. Finally, he suffered cardiac arrest and slipped into a coma.

At this point, doctors knew it was time to analyze the contents of that shake. But when they checked Gilbert's hospital room, the bottle was gone. Nobody knew who had taken it, where it was, or how to recover it. They were out of options, so they waited. One or two days after Gilbert slipped into a coma, nearly his entire family was at the hospital, his mother, his sister Brenda, and, of course, his wife, Elizabeth. The three of them took turns being in the hospital room. At one point, they all decided to take a break and went to the waiting area.

But Elizabeth excused herself to make a phone call. She used the hospital phone and was on the call for a while. Then, visibly nervous, she told the others she had to leave. Her mother was babysitting Jonathan, and she wanted to check on him. The family told her it was fine. Elizabeth was gone for two hours. Then, she burst into the emergency room, screaming. She was frantic, hysterical, yelling that a masked man,

had kidnapped her two-year-old son. A nurse and several family members tried to calm her down. After a few minutes, Elizabeth told her story. She said that when she left the hospital, a small boy approached her and asked her to follow him. She walked with the boy for a while until they reached a car. A man wearing a mask got out, holding a knife. He told her he had kidnapped her son and that if she went to the police, he would kill him. Then, he pulled out a paper bag with a bottle inside. He told her it contained the poison in Gilbert's body. He claimed he had poisoned Gilbert but didn't mean to kill him, it was meant for someone else. Gilbert ending up in the hospital was an accident.

But if she went to the police, her son would die. Elizabeth spent two hours with this man before running back to the hospital to tell her story. But let's be real, her story made no sense. Two whole hours were a masked man, and she never checked to see if he actually had her son. It didn't add up. The Ortiz family believed her, but the hospital staff wasn't so sure. One of the nurses made two phone calls. The first was to the Redwood City Police Department.

The second was to the National Poison Control Center to check if Gilbert had been poisoned with insecticide. That's when the real investigation began. From the very start, the police didn't buy Elizabeth's story. It had too many holes. So before interrogating her, they spoke to the Ortiz family. That's when they discovered that, Despite appearances, Gilbert and Elizabeth's marriage had problems.

Everyone described Elizabeth as controlling and possessive. She didn't like that Gilbert spent so much time away from home, working long hours. But at the same time, she wanted him to make more money. Gilbert, on the other hand, felt insecure. Elizabeth liked tall, muscular men, qualities Gilbert didn't have. And at Elizabeth's workplace, there was a guy who fit her tight perfectly. This made Gilbert extremely self-conscious. He wanted to bulk up, but no matter what he did, he couldn't gain weight.

The police decided to interrogate Elizabeth five days after her supposed encounter with the masked man. At first, she seemed calm. For the first hour, she stuck to her story, repeating it word for word. But then, the officers threw a curveball. They told her they had a witness who had seen everything, and their version didn't include a child or a masked man. The witness saw Elizabeth leave the hospital, get into her car, drive away, then returned

pretending to be in a panic. At that moment, Elizabeth broke. She admitted she had lied. But she gave a new excuse, she said she had searched the house for poison because she believed Gilbert had tried to take his own life. She didn't want him to get into trouble, so she made up the story to protect him. But once again, her story didn't make sense. An agent asked, would you take a polygraph test?

She hesitated, stood up, said she was in a hurry, and left. The next day, the police called her home and asked again about the polygraph. She dodged the question. Days passed, and she continued to avoid them. Then, she got a lawyer. So, this story started from a random comment I once dropped online, but it stayed in my head, and I figured, why not share the whole roller coaster in full detail? Buckle up, cause this ride is wild.

I was 16. Just a regular teen with regular teen stuff going on, school, messy emotions, awkward flirting, the works. That year, I started dating this guy I thought was sweet, funny, maybe a little goofy. You know the type. We had a few decent convos, hung out a couple times at school events, and decided to go out on an actual date. Cool, right?

Now here's the thing, I've got a shellfish allergy. Not like the, I might get hives, kind. No. Full-blown, apie pen on standby, throat closing, scary kind of allergy. If a shrimp so much as looks in my direction the wrong way, I'm toast. I'm not exaggerating either. My foster parents, my teachers, pretty much everyone around me knew it. I carried that pen like it was my damn phone.

Anyway, we're talking about where to eat, and he mentions crows. craving seafood. So, I gently bring up my allergy. Not dramatic, just as simple, hey, I can't do seafood, especially shellfish. Super allergic. Like, emergency room level allergic. He nods, says he understands, and we decide on a place that has seafood, sure, but also plenty of non-seafood options. I figured as long as I communicated and the staff was careful, it'd be okay. We We get to the restaurant. Place smells like garlic butter and ocean vibes, delicious for some, death trap for me. I immediately tell the waiter about my allergy.

He takes it seriously, jots it down, assures me they've got protocols. Says the kitchen staff will be super cautious and keep everything separate. Cool. I even double check. Better safe than dying, right? Our food comes out and I get this nice look. salad. Crisp lettuce, a little feta, some cranberries, balsamic on the side, nothing suspicious. I dig in, just chatting away. Everything seems fine. But then, like five minutes in, my throat starts

to itch. Not like a dry cough kind of itch. No, this was that internal, terrifying, something is wrong, feeling. My mouth feels weird. My lips are tingling. I freeze. I know that feeling. I drop my fork. Dig through my bag like a maniac and grab my EpiPen. I inject myself right there at the table. My hands are shaking.

My heart's going nuts. I look at him, my date, and manage to gasp, call an ambulance. Now, he fumbles with his phone, finally calls. I'm sitting there sweating, barely able to talk. panic rising. The EMTs arrive fast. They rush in and I get three more injections on top of the one I'd already used. They load me up and take me to the hospital. Now here's where it goes from scary to downright evil. While I'm laid up in the hospital bed, barely conscious, still fighting for my breath, one of the EMT says something to the nurses that makes everyone go quiet. Turns out,

while I was in the restroom before the food came, my date decided it'd be funny, or whatever twisted logic he had, to chop up tiny pieces of shrimp and toss them into my salad. Yup. You heard that right. He deliberately poisoned me. Why? Well, according to what he told the EMT, he didn't believe I was really allergic. He thought I made it up for attention.

So, in his infinite damassery, he decided to, test me. You know, prove I was faking. Because apparently, going into anaphylactic shock is a fun little experiment. The EMT, horrified, blessed that guy, immediately informed the hospital staff. The hospital staff contacted the police. And boom, now it's not just a medical emergency. It's a potential crime scene. So the police go to his house.

I don't know all the details, but I heard later they question. him and came back to talk to my foster parents. The kid's story started changing faster than a politician's promises. First, he claimed the restaurant must have messed up. Said they probably just didn't clean a knife or something. Classic deflection. But then, when pushed, he went full gas-like mode and told my foster parents that I put the shrimp in myself.

That I was trying to get attention. Yeah. Let that sink in. I supposedly poisoned myself. For drama. In public. On a first date. In a crowded restaurant.

His parents, naturally, backed him up. Swore their baby boy would never do something so awful. Claimed I was making it up, probably trying to ruin his life, or that I was mentally unstable. They were ready to go to war over it. My foster parents, though, had seen me through enough to know better. They believed me, 100%. But they also weren't fans of dragging kids through court, especially if the legal system might just slap him on the wrist. After a lot of discussion, they decided not to press charges.

Said it wasn't worth the emotional trauma. I get why they did that. Doesn't mean it didn't sting. The guy literally could have killed me. But he walked. So what happened to him? Life happened. And karma?

She took notes. Fast forward a few years. I'm out of that town, living my life. And one day, through social media grapevines and mutual friends, I catch wind of some news. Jail. Yup. He finally got his orange jumpsuit moment. Not for what he did to me, unfortunately.

But for a whole stack of white-collar crimes. Turns out, our boy had a habit of stealing. Not petty theft either, he went all in. First, he was part of a fraternal organization, some volunteer group or club thing, and when he got elected secretary, he started siphoning funds. Just small amounts at first. Then more. No one noticed until thousands were missing.

Then he got a job doing accounting stuff for a local business. Guess what? cooked the books. Like, full-on financial fraud. Redirected funds, created fake expenses, hit profits. The works. Boss caught on after a year of inconsistencies. Third time was the charm, and also his downfall. He started working with a company that helped first-time home buyers. You know, young couples, families trying to start over. He used his position to skim off their payments. Tampered with contracts, misreported fees, basically stole money from people who were already struggling. Real charming guy. He never confessed to any of it. Not a shred of remorse. Just denial and blaming others, same as before. Sound familiar? Eventually, investigators built up enough evidence to nail him. He got convicted on multiple counts of fraud. Judge wasn't feeling that day, he got years. Last I heard, he's still serving time. Me? I moved on. Mostly.

I still carry two epipens everywhere I go, just in case. Still flinch a little when someone suggests seafood. And yeah, I have trust issues. But I'm here. Breathing. Laughing. Living. and the boy who tried to prove I was faking it. He's behind bars. So I guess the moral of the story is, believe people when they tell you who they are. And if someone says they have a life-threatening allergy, maybe don't try to prove them wrong with a side of shrimp. The end.

But also, not really. Because people like that guy. They're out there. And stories like mine. They happen more often than you. you'd think. So yeah, stay safe, trust your gut, and if your date starts talking about, testing anyone's limits, run. Like, full sprint. Shoes off, dignity be damned. Thanks for reading. The end. Once there they want to ask you questions, but the woman is still very altered,

and, when nurses approach her, is much more nervous does not want, that touch is screaming does not want, that they heal that the wounds look at her, he wants anyone to approach her and her. Way of acting attracts attention. We start this story See the Light. Night of December 29th, 2017 when River and Georgia police receive a, Disturbing calling apparently a, Man asked them to go home,

immediately because something horrible, had passed when the agents arrive, to the place they meet a scene, very striking and that is the man who, he has called him because he has, problems but because its neighbor is who, the woman has them covered with. Blood had cuts and stabs by,

several areas of the body and was, accompanied by her three-year-old daughter, Agents try to talk to her but is so nervous that it can't do it, is shouting babbling outside and the three-year-old girl cannot say nothing so that the neighbor is the one who speaks for her and tells the police that her name is Sierra Harp and that the little girl that accompanies her as her daughter Angel to look like an altercation that night in your house and the woman grabbed the little girl and fled what the police go to there and discover that if it was not the unique that is badly injured and is that look your partner Rahim Grant is lying down in the middle

of the hallway, and with three bullet wounds. Unfortunately the subject already did without, life and analyzing everything a little. Police want to be clear if it was. Victim of ill, treatment Rahim hit her. She defended he grabbed a gun and, he hit three shots for them the case. I was temporarily closed angel passes, social hands and if it was taken to, hospital, but when they are there they start. Rare things and that is not. Let no nurse touch your body does not want the cuts to look at that the stab do not want to look at. They touch it and another thing that calls the Attention is that Rahim's mother, supposed mistreatment appears in, police station and ask that please not loom. He, Case Rahim Grant was born in Fall Bill, Georgia in, 1989 and I was done with only three and a half years, began to show great interest in, music began playing the battery end, there he went to the microphone was in showtime, at Diapolo at Jopolo, at J.R. Bryson for snapped at Rahimlu, loved music and dreamed with, dedicate yourself to this professionally, he was very striving to become, recording and producer Njcichael.

engineer, musical and at age 20, hip-hop producer known under the red-busy nickname, according to several sources, will be known for having a spirit, free great talent and be very close to. His dear mother Geraldine G.R. Bryson, the, which one could say that it was her manager, she, it helped him find jobs gave him, tips accompanied him everywhere and, not only was his mother but also his best friend over the years Rahim, acted in several stores and also, collaborated with different artists, artists among which was, Ludacris was not a size artist, international worldwide but, so had a fans club in between.

Those fans were a girl, called Sierra Harp, which he met in, 2013 depending on the source consulted. One thing or another happened, but more or less, they all agree on the same and it is, that after a Sierra event, he approached and asked for an autograph. Fletchato was instantaneous and Rajam not, losing sight of him offered him a little. I work a job that basically, it consisted of promoting his tours thing, that the girl was already doing for free. They begin to stay are like more and more, and finally they become a couple. But the problem here according to friends, Rahim is that the boy does not, knew he fell in love with his physique from his, sympathy and how little this girl.

I was showing but it seems that the boy didn't care because in his, mind s was perfect if it was harp. He was born in 1989 in a family. Structured is said that your adolescence, it was somewhat problematic and, it was constantly immersed in fights, but the most striking of all is that. It seems that some of them were, related to children he always, I was a little knife with a knife. Pocket knife told me that, though, they expelled from school for stabbing, someone for a boy's

statements of his, exnicio D.I. Smith, according to some pages, Sierra was very jealous and possessive thing that occasionally forced her, reactive forms that were not the, correct, but at this point we will arrive. Further, go ahead with just a few months, leaving if she was pregnant and, he gave birth to his first and only daughter in, November 2014 the name that, chose for her was Angel and it is said that Rahim could not be happier in. This point must be done a little, subsection, and is that according to some portals, Rajim did not consist of the papers of, Angel Yes, was her biological daughter. It was his father was delighted with this, but for a reason we don't know,

I was in his papers returning to the house. Amata Rahim worshipped his daughter for, above all things and the little, it was his number one priority, but, unfortunately the relationship with Sierra no, it was the best had several fights, in which the woman had, exceeded with him and Rahim, However, I would like it, I couldn't bear it anymore with, which decay on that the best for both. It was breaking but two little ones arrive here. Problems to start if we throw the. Views we will remember that Rahim know. He was on Angel's papers.

It was clear that it was if it was but Rahim. It did not see anywhere although, it was the biological father was not in. The papers and what does this mean that yes. I wanted to claim custody. It would probably cost him a lot and in. Second place and separated from Sierra Angel. I could pay the consequences of. One house to another Rahim would see little only.

Maybe I wouldn't let her see her, but at least. At first a time and what happens here that Sia, he commented that his landlord without Preo noticed though. He threw and there Rahim saw the opportunity, perfect to invite her to live with him. If they were together even if they were not a couple, Rahim would see the little girl would always be, together afternoon nights and the idea. At first it seemed perfect is, so when we arrive at 2017 by, that then Angel was three years old and his. Parents were very busy at Rahimlo. A job offer had come out. Impressive and it was scheduled.

A national tour that was going to last everything. One year and had also given several. Interviews appeared on television in. Newspapers and magazines had. Collaborations all your effort in order. I was being recognized and if it was for his. Part worked in bars and clubs. Night all this sounds quite well.

The two work have independence. Economic can keep your daughter but, if it was, it seems that I did not overcome it not. I exceeded that Rahim didn't want to be. With her he saw her. as the mother of her. Daughter not like a couple, but it was. Unable to turn page the mother of. Rahim feared the worst felt that if it was, it was not clean wheat and how did each know each. Secret of his relationship advised his son and every time that woman treated her. Bad will take your mobile and start recording. I told him to turn on the video, we'll record and leave the phone no.

I. It was important to have everything well recorded. Since if tomorrow this woman, he wants to take his daughter and said he, it was a bad person Rahim could defend if this woman said that Rahim, He had hit her would say otherwise. The insults would have the videos, hit it would have everything and although the boy, I thought this was not necessary. Mother insisted according to people who, he met this boy he was a person, quietly he didn't like, problems, discussions, and did everything, the possible to avoid them but so, he told his mother that he didn't see himself.

Same arriving at age 30 felt, imminently something bad would happen to him and, that would lose life before age. Everyone thought it was simply a, Agarero that was being negative that, I was being dramatic but, mentally over time, they realized that he had reason on the night of December 29th, 2017, specifically at 10.50 minutes, though, Riverdale Atlanta police received a, very sinister called this call, led to the house of the neighbors of, this couple and there they discovered Sierra, Harp intoxicated very altered and with, several stabbed all over your body, woman was so nervous that she couldn't, explain what had happened was, shouting, stuttering and his, three-year-old

daughter was also very, altered I did not understand what was happening. What did these people do there? Why? They looked because their mother was injured, and in the middle of the confusion the neighbor asked, to the police to go to the house of. This woman the agents go there, they open the door and in the middle of the hall between the bathroom and bedroom is locked. Rahim Grant Rahim's lifeless body, this mouth down and in the middle of a puddle, of blood to the naked eye could be seen. Three shots in your body but apart. They didn't see anything else in their own. Crime scene find the knife, with which supposedly if it was harp, It was injured and at the neighbor's house was the gun with which Rahan,

Grant was injured this weapon was, registered in the name of a relative of, Rahim, but this detail according to the police, it does not seem important to call services, social are taken to Angel temporarily, and so it was sent to the hospital once. There they want to ask questions, but the, woman is still very altered, and when the, nurses approach it is shown, much more nervous does not want the, touch is shouting does not want, they heal that the wounds do not want, that nobody approaches her and her shape, of acting attracts attention, however, everything seems quite clear she has, stabs cuts and he three shots. Surely the subject grabbed the knife, and he attacked him and she grabbed the gun and, defended as he could,

there was no more end of. Case, but before giving the folder, final Geraldine grant mother of Rahim, presents at the police station and asks that by, please check everything well because that. Woman if it was harp, Shirley, lying said that the truth of the case, it was a very different one and that if it was not, he was a victim with all, authorities that this woman is beginning. He did not like it to be, obsessed with her son and who stayed, pregnant so that this will not flee. He affirmed that Rahim kept her, economically for a long time and, that once they stopped her, engineer to live together again and, so that he once again pays everything and, not only did he tell this but also said, that if it was mentally unstable, before these words the

police go to, hospital and interrogate if it was tell you that. We suspect from anything that I don't know, worries that he is just a victim and the woman tells what they already imagined, but, to that story adds new details. He said that the night of December 29th, she prepared dinner and while holy, Rahim began to drink and consume. Narcotic Sira asked him please, that he did not do it, but when he consumed, drugs became aggressive and any thing that happened to her with her, but this subject did not listen to her drank, consumed drugs and GR nothing began to, hit the blows little by little they were, climbing and the subject grabbed a knife, and began to stab with all the, struggle sir and Rahim fell to the ground and, without being able to

do much the woman. He extended his arm and removed a gun, that he always behaved on top. Fighting continued struggling and, woman fired a total of seven times and, stay with this point because more. A head will be very important. Until this point the case is still, very clear a mother will always defend, a child even if it is a bad person and, important here were the tests tests, that at the moment they pointed to that it was. He was the victim but then the, Rahim Grant autopsy results, and the whole story goes around and it is, that apparently to Rahim Grant not only, they had shot three times, but they had also stabbed him, stabbed everywhere, especially in the face area, and the shots did not face, but on the back the last shot was, the head area and by the

angle, I looked like a stab, they could seem defensive, but, shots was a betrayal of this, find the police talk again with, Sierra and this account the same story, that he is already a victim who was, assaulting and this time adds too. More people says that his three-year-old daughter, he is witnessing everything and also. It is another woman a woman named Ellis. Jones tells that Ellis was at home, the night of the event and that this woman, he stayed with Rahim while she cooked. The two were on the couch, but when, it all started Ellis left the house. Obviously the agents seek this, woman and she tells you that the night of the crime was at home but explained the agents that at some point if it was Rahim took the back of the house and that

once there they began to discussing this situation bothering her very much but at first I do not it seemed dangerous was just as simple discussion nonsense and what made was grabbing the mobile to send him a message to Rahim and leaving was in this point when Rahim's mother returned to appear on the scene and I ask the police who have there version of the facts that had present your words and advice but especially one that she herself gave to her son that every time that woman assaulted her or the respect will miss the mobile end, we'll record everything so under this premise. He asked the agents to please. They made with their son's phone now, music, truth the primary time the police, presented at the couple's residence, they took several objects to,

analyze them among them is, supposed weapons of the crime the knife and, of course the gun which, remember that he was in the house, of the neighbor but they also took, some belongings and among them, was Rahim's phone and here comes. The interesting thing and is that the device had a password but the police did not, could access there was no way of, giving her but knew that it was the, I knew perfectly so. They made going to police station with an excuse. They told him that they were going to close the case that. He was already a victim and that sim. I just wanted to make some last. Questions and of course the woman. Access to arrives police station sits. They begin to speak and in the middle of the conversation asked him about the. Rahim phone password and her,

without thinking about it without further ado was, then when in front of Sierra they open, the image gallery and discover that. Rahim Grant recorded the last video. Night of his death the footage is very. Confusing Rahim Grant looks with his face. Blood cover full of blood and, full of cuts and says directly, to the mobile that if it was attacking that, he has done nothing that has entered into. Colora as always that is out of.

Control and that does not understand anything that. It is happening. It is seen that Rajam enters the bathroom and that in the background listen to shouts. Shouts that were very clear that they were from. This woman was her voice were her words. and suddenly I listen to Rajin Shat, falls to the ground and it is seen that man is, pleading there the woman is placed on top. He points to him with a weapon begins to, threaten him and tells him that he will kill him.

Rahim repeats on several occasions that, if you kill him she will go to jail and she says, that does not care according to several sources. In this video Rahim asks for a glass of water, but if it was denied to give it to him and then man asks him to give a last, I hug his daughter Angel and there it was, access and see the subject crawling on the floor and trying to address the three-year-old girl and that is when if it was harp they created the two of him last shots basically the woman he took advantage that rim was crawling to execute it to shoot in the head end on the back and thus ensure that this man was going to die the video lasted thirteen minutes and in this one could see that if it was harp we wore shorts this detail may seem nonsense but with those pants you see that

legs do not have a single scratch no they have a cut or stab which shows that this woman was injured. Itself later and something too. Very striking is that little angel. He saw everything as he said if it was angel. He was witnessing everything and with only three years. He saw his mother killed his father. When the police saw the video demanded, so it was and told the truth but she, he kept repeating the same story as, before Rahim the AG I already know, defended and that video was wrong, interpreted from December 2017 to February 2018 Sierra Harp was freedom. They thought he was a victim who was defended but in February it was clear that she was the executioner and for that reason on the 22nd. From that same month the video was arrested, it was overwhelming and

the woman did not. I could keep denying what was so obvious but of course when he would arrive at the trial had to give a explanation that seemed more credible. Notes is my correct mental state if I wouldn't have been drunk there would never be. Lady great Bryson happened, I'm sorry. Much really were the words that was harp dedicated to the, Rahim's mother in the middle of the trial that it was his way of excusing himself to say that. I was simply drunk and for, I was not aware of anything but four. Assumption this was not his only excuse, that the defense had more arguments. They said that S was had a very childhood. In fact, his own uncle went up there. Estrada and defended it said that his parents did not try well that their mother was,

very demanding and that if it reacted like this, it was the fault of his childhood for all this. His lawyer asked the judge who was, was sentenced to only five years in prison. But of course the accusation was not okay and not only called the mother and Rahim's friends but also Sierra Harp's own mother which in front of all declared the following you you give Rahim wherever you were chaos and problems surely they would follow the mother of whether it was said that was a compulsive liar and a manipulative and that for everything there was fact deserved to be punished with the penalty tougher of all and also asked the judge that this woman was sterilized since i was very clear that i was not able to caring for angel had traumatized his three year old daughter and had

shown that it was mentally unstable with which someone like that does not deserve to be a father everything this was recorded appeared in newspapers in television magazines and finally in june two thousand nineteen sierra was declared guilty of painful homicide and aggression with aggravating ones with which it was sentenced to 125 years in prison so now is your turn what do you think of the case and you think this woman regrets what chow did