Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Nightmares Unleashed: 9 Hours of Horror

Episode Date: January 1, 2026

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #horrorcompilation #9hourshorror #truehorror #paranormalstories #spookynights Dive into 9 hours of spine-chilling terror with Nightmares Unleashed. From bone-chilling true horror stories to terrifying creepypastas, this compilation will keep you on the edge of your seat. Experience nightmares brought to life, mysterious encounters, and stories that will haunt your imagination long after the lights go out. Perfect for horror fans and brave viewers alike. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrorortales, horrorcompilation, scaryvideos, paranormal, haunted, ghoststories, truecrime, supernatural, darktales, chilling, creepy, suspense, horrorcommunity, hauntedplaces, terrorThis episode includes AI-generated content.

This all went down years ago, back when I was still a wild 20-year-old doing dumb stuff with my buddies and living for the weekend. We were out in the absolute middle of nowhere, at some party that looked like it just materialized out of thin air. I couldn't even tell you the name of the town, if it even had one. There were cows, trees, and dust. That's about it. But somehow, me and two of my closest friends, 120 like me, the other 18, ended up there, music blaring, beer flowing, acting like typical young idiots who didn't know any better. We weren't locals. Not even close. The night just dragged us there like some weird current.

And since we didn't know a soul there, we mostly kept to ourselves, talking trash, downing drinks, and trying not to make it obvious we were out of place. The house itself was decent-sized, maybe three or four bedrooms, and packed with random people dancing, flirting, smoking outside, typical party stuff. Eventually, we each ended up with someone to flirt with. You know how it goes. One moment you're standing by the beer cooler and the next some cute girls asking you where you're from, pretending to care.

My two buddies found their flings, and I was vibing with this girl who seemed super into me. We were all kind of floating between conversations, laughing. disappearing and reappearing. Everything felt chill, like a classic blurry night you have remember. But at one point, deep into a conversation with one of my friends, I suddenly realized, my girl was gone. Just vanished. Weird thing was, she had come with the girl my friend was chatting up. So I walked over and casually asked her friend, hey, where'd your girl go? Did she bounce early or something, and the girl just gives me this look and says, she rode with me. I'm her only ride home, and that's when things got weird. We asked around, nobody had seen her in at least

30 minutes. We started searching the house, room by room. There weren't that many people left by then, but the mood had shifted hard. We were no longer drunk kids having fun. We were concerned. Something felt off. I came across. I came across. a closed bedroom door. Light was shining from underneath, and I knocked. No answer. Tried the handle, it was locked. My gut clenched right there. I tracked down the dude who owned the house and asked him what the deal was with the locked room. He looked confused. There shouldn't be anyone in there, he said. That was enough for me. I tried the knob again, jiggled it hard, nothing. So I did the only thing my panicked, adrenaline-drenched brain

could think of, I kicked the door off the hinges. What I saw next froze me to the core. I won't go into full details because, honestly, I still can't stomach it myself. But the girl I've been flirting with... She was on the bed. Naked. Tied down, wrists and ankles. A rag duct taped into her mouth. Blood, just blood everywhere. And some piece of human garbage was on top of her, doing what monsters do. I went red. Like, full blackout fury. Next thing I know, I'm on this dude's back, yanking him off her, punching, dragging, choking, throwing him against the hallway wall, all the way to the front porch. I wasn't thinking. I was just seeing red and acting on pure rage. fought hard, smashed through porch furniture, knocked over a chair, cracked some decorative

junk they had out there. And then he slipped, fell face-first off the porch. I jumped down right after him. I don't remember pulling my pistol from my waistband, but there it was, in my hand, aimed straight at his face as he turned to look up at me, bloody and begging. Please, don't, he said. People were screaming behind me, my friends, random partygoers, but I couldn't hear them. I only heard that girls' cries echoing in my skull, the sight of her broken face seared into my vision. And before I knew it, my finger pulled the trigger. Bang. Just like that, he was gone. Everything went quiet after that. My ears rang. My heart felt like it was pounding from inside my skull. I was frozen, standing over what used to be a man. It didn't feel real.

of it did. One of my friends grabbed the gun out of my hand. Thank God. I was too stunned to move. He made sure it was safe and tried talking to me, but I wasn't there. I ran back inside to check on the girl. Her friends had already gotten her untied and wrapped her in a sheet. Her face was battered, barely recognizable. She was trembling so bad her own friends couldn't even touch her. And that's when the cops showed up. They handcuffed everybody first, didn't matter if you were a victim or not. They had to make sense of the chaos. I didn't fight it. I didn't deny anything. I just sat there with blood on my hands and told them what happened. They put me in the back of the squad car and drove me away. Jail was a blur. Two weeks felt like two years. But word travels fast in

small towns, especially towns where the total population could probably fit into a football stadium. Family and friends visited me when they could, some in shock, others proud, others not sure what to feel. Then court day came. And here's where things took a wild, divine twist. The girl, the one from the bed, turned out to be the niece of the county judge. Let that sink in. He still held a proper trial. Said he couldn't play for. favorites. But when everything came out, the testimonies, the evidence, the pictures, the medical reports, he looked me dead in the eye and thanked me. Thanked me for stopping something unspeakable. Said if I hadn't, they might never have seen that girl again. But he couldn't

just let me walk free without any consequences. So I got slapped with a charge for possession of a stolen firearm, yeah, it was hot, something I hadn't even known at the time, and 500 hours of community service. Let me tell you, I was the luckiest unlucky man alive that day. Later, I heard about the extent of her injuries. Almost every bone in her face was broken. She was blind in her left eye permanently.

Hearing that made what I did feel, not justified, but understandable. It gave me a sense of purpose. Like maybe the monster got what he deserved. But here's the thing, and maybe this is why I'm telling you all this, I still took a life. Doesn't matter who he was. Doesn't matter what he was doing. I pulled the trigger. I ended a life. And the place I sent him. Well, it ain't pretty. I know that in my bones.

I've seen the nightmares. It's been five years. I still don't sleep right. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. That exact moment. His eyes wide, his mouth trembling, saying, please. Some days, I can live with it. Others, it eats me alive. I go back and forth. Was it the right thing? Was it the wrong thing? I don't know if I'll ever find an answer that sticks. But I had to say it somewhere. I had to put it in words, because saying it out loud just does. doesn't work. It gets stuck in my throat. So yeah. That's my story. A long, messy, haunting chapter in my life I can't ever erase. If anyone out there's reading this, maybe you've got your own demons. Maybe you've made a choice you're not sure about. Just know, sometimes

there are no clean answers. Just a bunch of gray between the black and white. The end. For context, I'm a 43 years old black male, she's a 40 Irish American female and our daughter just turned 23 last week, which is where the starting point of the Convo was. She was my first real GF, but we never married. The reason for that was though sexually we matched perfectly, our personalities are like oil and water. After our daughter was born, the best accident I ever had, because I love her dearly, me and D., fake name, started to drift. I was a strapping, tall, devilishly puckish guy in my early twenties. She was rough around the edges and hum with the wrong crowd. We met at a party and hooked up in the bathroom. The sex was tawdry and we'd

quickly learn we were both into the extreme. Borderline BDSM. Slapping, choking, spitting, all kinds of freaky shit. I won't even say we actually dated, as we never went out on dates. When we met, It was for sex, and it was fantastic. Eventually, we actually did try, to date, but it's through that we learned we actually aren't compatible as a couple. We tried for a month and for the few times we could hang out, we learned we weren't a good match. But this was when the hoopsie happened and my daughter came along.

D initially wanted to abort, but I convinced her not to. Even if we weren't together, I wanted to be a father. I was about to head out to the USMC and told her I'd handle all costs for our daughter K., fake name. She agreed, and that's how things progressed with us. I served 13 years as a Marine. Dee virtually paid nothing for K. I sent her money for everything, even during the seven years I was married to another gal Nick, fake name.

Naturally when they learn of each other, Dee and Nick disliked each other. But I kept both world separate, until I couldn't. I was injured on the field in 2013. Shrapnel from an IED ripped my ACL and MCL to shreds. Uncle Sam fixed me up, but my career as a Marine was done. Got all of the requisite commendations, 100% disability, and got sent home. Kay was 13 around this time. Now bear in mind every time I rotated back home, I'd go see my kid.

She knew who I was and I was very active in her life. It's around this time that D's drug problems became serious. She still ran in the same crowd as she did, and her BF at the time also happened to be her dealer. Long story short, Kay let me know she no longer wanted to live with her mother. By 2014, I was divorced from Nick. The issues we had would be another story completely. I relocated from Florida back to my home city, the Bronx to be closer to my kid. When I settled into my two-bedroom apartment, I went and had a chat with D.

I told her what Kay told me, and that I didn't approve of the company she kept around my daughter. To my surprise, she agreed. She said she struggled being a full-time mother despite all I did to help financially. I suggested she sign over parental rights to me, and she agreed. Two months later, I was now sole legal guardian of Kay. Dee would get her weekends and she was free to come visit my place whenever she wanted. That lasted about two months before she stopped coming outright. Not long after, Kay expressed she had no desire to see her mother on weekends, or at all.

D pretty much spiraled out of control with her new BF and end of her. up having his kid in 2015. Her BF eventually gets locked up for possession with intent to sell, hint, it wasn't weed, and she's now a single mother, again. But this time rather than having a baby daddy who was present and active, she had one now served 15 years in federal prison. Meanwhile K. Flourished under my care. She became a straight-A honor role student. She excelled in math especially, and I learned she had a love for building things. So I cultivated this in buying her builder kits of all types, but eventually came to learn her passion with structures. Meanwhile, Dee was struggling with her son, Ron, fake name.

Now I wouldn't learn the details of why Kay and Dee had their falling out until years later, 2018 when Kay was about to graduate high school. Apparently, Dee's BF was abusive to D, and Kay tried to call her out on just taking it. Apparently, D sided with the BF telling Kay it was, grown folk business, and she had no right to have an opinion. Kay stopped caring for her mother after that, and the Rift became a chasm. They hadn't actually hadn't spoken since then, and were talking a good five years at that point. I chose not to involve myself, because that was between them, but Kay started to reach out to D again because she wanted to get to know her younger brother.

Again, I let them sort that out themselves. So fast forward two years and it's the dreaded 2020. When the news came that NYC was locking down, K, now 20, made the suggestion that D and Ron stay with us during the lockdown. Now bear in mind Chauvin and her mother are back on speaking terms, and she loves her little brother, now five, very much. She's never experienced I and her mother together at any point in her life, so I kind of sensed all terrier motives in this suggestion, but I went with it. So for the next four months, Dee and Ron lived with Kay and I are two-bedroom apartment. Initially, I took over the living room, Ron stayed in Kay's room

D took my room. This lasted for the first month before one night, D suggested we could share my bed. Now I want to point out D was now two years sober and nothing like the version of her I remembered. She was always attractive, but it was in that, damaged goods, kind of way. Sober D. was much more humble. Almost to the point of have low self-esteem, of which I'd learn was the case. During this time we talked. A lot. I learned of the cause of her addiction and codependency on baby daddy number two. I learned things about her I never even knew back when we were kids, like how her parents abused her and her father beat her, and her mother beat her because her father beat her for not keep D in line. Her family life was apparently a horror

story, which led her down the path she went. I was just a stop along the way. Surprisingly we didn't rekindle the physical aspect of our relationship because she admitted most of that stem from her trauma and need for male validation, as per what her therapist said. We spent most of this time building a friendship above all else. After restrictions lifted and things started to level out, D and Ron returned to their home. D and Kay's relationship rebounded. Ron idolized his big sister and Kay cherished him equally. And D and I remained close friends.

Fast forward to last week. We're celebrating K's 23rd. It's a small get-together, myself, D.K., Ron, now eight, K's fiancé, her best friend Emma, Dre's friend Sammy in my brother Frank, fake names. As the get-together is winding down, Dee pulls me to the side. We reminisce about life and what we've been through. Since 2020 D tried dating again but hasn't had any real luck. Being a 40-year-old single mom to an 8-year-old boy and a 23-year-old daughter

kind of muddied the dating pool for her, and I myself am in a complicationhip with a woman 10 years my junior who likes being with me, but likely will not stick around long because of her family. She's Indian, and her parents are vehemently against interracial marriage. If they even learn of my existence, they'd excommunicate her. D. was completely direct in her line of questioning. It didn't take long at all to determine her intent. She wanted us to start dating, for real this time.

Her words were we've had over 20 years to sort ourselves out, we have a child together and our bond has only strengthened. I didn't disagree. Since 2020 I supported her as a friend and confidant. She also made mention that during that time we spent in 2020, she struggled with not wanting to throw herself at me like when we were young. She wanted to prove to herself she had control. The two failed relationships she's had since came from the fact that she was still trying

to fill that need in her for companionship, not because she generally loved them. Then came the bombshell, she had always loved me, but couldn't commit to me because she felt unworthy. She knew of my intent to join the military when we were younger, but couldn't trust she'd stay faithful when I was away. The reason she agreed not to abort K. was because, in her own words, it was a way to keep a piece of my close to her. When she and Kay had their falling out, Ench regretted how she treated her deeply, which sparked her need for further validation, and ultimate led to her intense addiction. She already had a drug problem, but it exasperated

it even more. But that wasn't where it ended. She revealed to me that Lilth Ron's father, wasn't her ex-BF in prison, it was another man entirely. She cheated on him to get back at him for cheating on her, and she knows who Ron's bio-dad is. He also knows of Ron's existence. The only person who doesn't know is the XBF, who is scheduled to be released in 2025 for good behavior. And it terrifies her. She regrets self-sabotaging our relationship when we were in our 20s, her words, and not staying with me. Safe to say, this completely blew my mind. It was a lot to unpack, and it wouldn't be easy to do so.

So after everyone left, she and Ron stayed, Kay now lives with her fiancé. We sat into the early morning talking about it all. We ran through every detail. No stone was unturned. And I came to the decision that she was worth it. She didn't have to tell me any of this. But she confided in me completely. She laid her soul bare upon my kitchen table, and I admit feelings for her I never knew

existed bubbled to the surface. Inexcerably, it wasn't the girl who I accidentally got pregnant 23 years ago speaking, it was the woman who lamented the choices that girl made that led her to this point. A woman who wanted to take full accountability for what she's done, but was afraid to do it alone. So she won't. Am I fool for taking the burden of these choices upon myself? Perhaps. But I know I want to be part of her life.

I want to give her the protection she's never had in any of her relationships, familial or otherwise. She should legitimately be dead given all she's been through, but she's a survivor. She's made foolish choices in her life, yes. Up to and including the choices made regarding her two children. But she deserves a fair shot at being happy, and she realized years ago it was always supposed to be me to provide it. I'm not ashamed to say we ended up in my bed that night, and unlike back in 2020 it wasn't platonic.

It was as if our bodies still remembered each other 23 years later. Nothing had changed between us in terms of our intimate chemistry. But it's the added bond of what's built between us since 2020 that made it special. When she and Ron left following morning, she pulled me in for the most passionate kiss I've ever had in my life, looked me square in the eyes with tear forming in hers and said, Thank you. I swear to Christ my heart melted at that moment. I pulled her into me and held her tight. It felt like ages we held this embrace.

Ron broke up the moment jokingly asking were we boyfriend and girlfriend. now. That kid is razor sharp, I tell you. So that's where things are now. Things are still very raw, and we've spent every evening together. It's old, but new. At our core we're still the same, but we're not toxic at all. There's a loving understanding between us. She's attentive and present in every moment. She'll come over and clean my place, cook for me, have deep conversations with me and basically do every wifely duty under the sun for me. I have firmly established I have no intent on marrying again, and she's fine with that. Her words exactly was, I don't need a ring to know I'm finally where I belong.

Of course the sex is off the charts. We're in each other's pants even more now than when we were in our 20s, and obviously we're way more experienced now. Dee has expressed she doesn't need me to be a father figure for Ron. His bio-dad is very present in his life, which came as a surprise to her. The biggest obstacle will be the XBF when he's released from prison. I won't lie, that bit of deception is the one aspect that gives me trepidation, but she has vowed on her own life she'd never do such a thing to me.

Her words were, I would never cheat on you, because you're the one all the rest couldn't stack up to. It's still early in our relationship, but I plan on holding her to that, as I stated concisely if she does, we're done and there's zero reconciliation. She acknowledged the statement completely. So that's that. I'm now in a relationship with the mother of my adult daughter. We've both talked a lot about how our lives may have been if things worked out when we were kids.

But somehow we've been given this chance, and it seems neither of us planned to squander it. T.L. D.R. I'm in the early stages of dating the mother of my adult daughter after 23 years. We were fuck buddies in our 20s and were not compatible as a couple. Our lives diverged down different paths, but now in our 40s we've decided to give it a go. ETA, for those doing the math, yes, D was 17 when I knocked her up, and I was 20. For those of you who drone on about how it was wrong, it wasn't. As I was under the age of 21, there's no statutory issue as the age of consent in New York State is 17. So for those of trolls trying to insinuate sexual misconduct, go fuck yourselves.

Need proof. Goggle it and go about your miserable lives. Three months ago, I William Slashful 31M and my sister Jane 32 found out our dad James 65M had cancer. So I don't have to explain any further, my mother is Gene 66F and my stepmother is Emily 63F. Our parents split up around 19 years ago when I was 12 and my sister was 13, honestly, it was a relief. Although our parents' love for us truly felt unconditional, there was always an unease, attention even, whenever both parents were in the same room. I knew that mom took everything in the divorce, but she always maintained that dad had willingly given it all to her so that we could be more comfortable day to day. My dad's parents, both

87, appeared to take my mom's side in the whole situation and this led me to just accept things for what they were. My admiration and respect for my old man at this time was at an all-time high, even at 12 to 13 years old I could see the sacrifices that he was making for our comfort. When I was 16 dad met his second wife Emily and not long after, her and her son Cole, who I think was around 15 at the time moved in with him. Honestly, my sister and I really liked them both, but being honest I was slightly jealous of Cole, you see he was way more like my dad in terms of mannerisms, personality and shared interests. Based off of personality alone, you'd really think that Cole was his son, not me. However prior to the move, my dad sat us down to assure us that

no matter what, we'd be his priority. After the divorce my mother quickly moved. on with Steve, a colleague of hers who was around 10-15th years her junior. Mum and Steve are still together to this day, however not married. It was around the time of Dad and Emily's wedding that Mom started to change the way she spoke about our dad, she would never sing his praises beforehand, but neither did she speak negatively about him. It was at this time that my mother had decided to unload all of her feelings towards our father on to us, and well, it didn't make for pretty listening, here are some of the highlights. My dad would frequently cheat on her when he was working away. He was an absent

partner who often neglected her needs. He didn't want any custody of us after the divorce and she had to beg him to at least have us on weekends. He tried to convince her to abort both my sister and me, and actually convinced her to abort what would be our younger sibling. Now these weren't all said to us during a singular conversation, rather drip-fed to us over the couple of weeks leading up to the wedding. It was a week prior to the wedding that Jane and I decided that in solidarity with our mother, once the wedding was done, we'd slowly start to cut contact with our father. Jane was never able to cut contact fully, she'd sporadically appear in and out of dad's life, to her I think she struggled to let go. Struggled to leave behind the

relationship they once had. If anything, I think that would have hurt him more. I was far more hard line. I just cut him off completely, I didn't even block him, I just decided to completely ignore his existence. Everything was fine up until about three months ago, we found out the old bastard had stage four cancer, riddled apparently. Two weeks ago was the last time I'd ever see him, Emily and Cole had pleaded with us ever since the diagnosis to bury whatever issues we had, to make peace before it was too late. But as far as I was concerned, I'd already gone so far, why back out now? It was Jane and my paternal grandparents that convinced me to go and see him in the he hospital, just to keep up appearances. Last week he text to apologize that he couldn't

speak when I had visited him, he also let me know that he was being taken back to the cottage to see out his last days. I ignored him. Three days ago I received a text from Cole, it simply read, he's gone, passed away this morning. We'll sort out the funeral arrangements. It was a Saturday. At the time the text came in Jane and I were out drinking, I felt nothing. As the night drew out, for some reason I was angry, bitter, resentful. I decided to turn the knife, Jane and I began texting Emily and Cole letting them know that we'll be coming for the cottage. We decided to tell them that they were the reason we couldn't see our father in his last days, that they were a stain on the family.

Nothing back, silence. Last night I woke up to a text from Cole, Funerals a week Friday, you and your sister are bearers. No black. My response was brief, I'll see if I can get time off. So, lay it on me. A-I-T-A for how I handled the news of my estranged father's death. The storm had been raging for hours, a relentless howl that made the old house grown with every gust of wind. Rain lashed against the windows, obscuring the view of the cliff.

and the dark sea below. Inside, a group of six gathered in the grand drawing room of Hawthorne Manor, each looking more uneasy than the last. Detective Charlotte Green had arrived just before the storm hit. She had been called to investigate a murder, but the case was unlike any she'd encountered before. There was no body. At least, not yet. The murder had been predicted, by the victim himself. The host of the evening, Lord Edmund Hawthorne, a reclusive billionaire with a penchant for peculiar hobbies, had invited each of his guests under mysterious circumstances. A former diplomat, a renowned actress, a retired surgeon, a best-selling author, a journalist, and Charlotte herself had all received the same cryptic invitation, come to Hawthorne Manor

tonight. A secret will be revealed. One of you will die, and none of you will escape until the truth is known. When Charlotte had arrived, Lord Hawthorne had greeted her with a strange look in his eyes. You're the one I trust most, detective. I need you to solve the mystery before it happens. Can you do that? Charlotte had been skeptical, dismissing it as the ramblings of an eccentric man. But the atmosphere in the house now was anything but playful. It was tense, thick with unspoken fears. I believe a murder will happen tonight, Detective, Lord Hawthorne said again, his face pale and drawn. I just don't know which one of us it will be. Charlotte looked around the room at the others. Each guest seemed just as uncomfortable, their eyes darting to the corners

of the room, as if expecting something, or someone, to leap from the shadows. They were all in their late 50s or early 60s, yet they seemed almost childlike in their fear. The journalist, Charles McKenna, was pacing near the fireplace. His hand twitched as he fidgeted with a notepad. You must understand, detective, he said, his voice shaky, Hawthorne's obsessed with death. His fortune was built on it, in a way. Charlotte raised an eyebrow. Explain, McKenna swallowed nervously. He has a collection. of people, not just objects. People whose lives were shaped by tragedy or crime. Each of us, we have a dark past that he's, well, catalogued. Edmund nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing.

And tonight, one of us will become part of that collection. Only I don't know who. Suddenly, the lights flickered, plunging the room into darkness. A collective gasp echoed through the group. When the lights returned, the room was eerily silent. Everyone was still in their places, but there was something wrong. Something was missing. Charlotte's gaze snapped to the fireplace, where the shadows seemed darker than they should have been. The air felt thick with a sense of dread. A scream shattered the silence.

Turning quickly, Charlotte saw Lady Amelia, the actress, standing near the edge of the room, her face twisted in horror. She pointed to the back corner of the room, near the large antique mirror. Charlotte's heart skipped a beat. The mirror reflected a figure, tall, cloaked in black, with something gleaming in their hand. But when Charlotte looked directly at the corner, it was empty. Did you see it? Amelia asked, her voice trembling.

There was someone standing there. A figure in black. I saw it, Charlotte frowned. Calm down, Amelia. There's no one there, but her instincts were screaming at her. Something was off. They were being watched. I'm going to search the house, Charlotte announced, her voice firm.

Stay here. Don't open any doors or windows. The guests reluctantly nodded, their faces filled with uncertainty. Charlotte moved swiftly through the halls, her flashlight cutting through the shadows. She checked every room, every closet, and even the servant's quarters. But there was no sign of the cloaked figure, no evidence of anyone lurking in the house. By the time she returned to the drawing room, the storm had worsened. The wind howled louder, rattling the windows.

The group was still gathered, but there was a distinct change in their demeanor. They were more subdued now, as though they were waiting for something, anything, to happen. Charlotte stood by the door, considering her next move, when a voice broke the silence. I think I know who the murderer is. It was the retired surgeon, Dr. Hugh Pearson, a man who had been oddly quiet throughout the evening. He was sitting near the window, his face shadowed by the dim light. Go on, Charlotte said, her curiosity peaked. Dr. Pearson stood up slowly, his hands clasped behind his back.

The murder is inevitable, isn't it? But I think the real question is, who will be the one to do it? Charlotte's eyes narrowed. What are you implying? You see, I've been watching everyone closely, Pearson continued. And I've realized something, one of you is not who you say you are. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Pearson. Charlotte stepped forward.

Who do you think it is? I don't know, Pearson said, his voice low. But I believe that one of us is pretending to be someone else. Someone from the outside, someone who has an interest in Hawthorne's death, a cold chill swept through the room. Before anyone could react, there was a sudden crash from upstairs. The group rushed to the staircase, and Charlotte led the way. They reached the second floor and found the door to Lord Hawthorne's private study, ajar. Inside, a body lay sprawled across the floor.

It was Lord Hawthorne. But the strangest part, his face. was twisted in a grotesque expression of shock, and his eyes were wide open, as if he had seen something he wasn't meant to see. And beside him, on the floor, lay a single piece of paper. It was a note, scrawled and hurried handwriting. The silent witness always knows. Charlotte picked up the paper, and as she read it, a chilling realization washed over her. The murder had already happened, but not in the way she had imagined. The figure in the mirror, the figure they'd all seen but couldn't identify, had been the true witness.

The one who had orchestrated it all. And now, Charlotte was faced with a new question, who among them had been the silent witness, and who had been the murderer. My husband and I decided to go camping for the first time in Arizona during our long trip through the western U.S. I had picked out this epic little spot way up in the mountains, totally remote, tucked on the edge of a cliff that gave this insane view of the valley below. It was deep in a national forest, about 20 miles from even the nearest gravel road.

Exactly the kind of place you'd expect a horror movie to kick off. We got there, set up the tent, and spent the afternoon hiking, snapping shots of the gorgeous views. At one point we passed a couple cars and figured, hey, let's talk to these folks, might be smart in case something happens, especially since a few of them were locals. There were four guys, seemed chill. We brought up the storm rumor we heard about and they brushed it off, said it wasn't going to be anything major. They told us they wouldn't be camping if they thought it'd be bad. Good enough for us. We stayed.

Later, we bumped into a young woman with her dog and what looked like her mom, maybe grandma. We all smiled and waved as we passed each other on the trail. They headed deeper into the woods, and we made our way back to our cliffside home for the night. We caught the sunset, it was killer. Then we double-checked the car, parked just a few yards from the tent. Everything seemed peaceful. No stars out that night, though. Storm clouds were rolling in.

It hadn't started raining yet, so we decided to hit the sack early. We figured we'd just ride it out and sleep through whatever storm came our way. Fast forward to around 10.30 p.m. and I'm up. Thunders echoing through the valley, and now it's pouring. I'm not going to lie, I started to get freaked. This wasn't just a light drizzle like those guys made it sound. Arizona gets bad flash floods, especially in the mountains. Plus, I couldn't shake this fear of us sliding off the edge of the cliff in the middle of the night.

I told myself I was being paranoid. Eventually I drifted back to sleep. Midnight. I wake up again. This time, it's because something keeps hitting the side of our tent. At first, it sounds like little slaps or taps. Then this weird dragging noise. I couldn't see anything, total darkness. The sound came back every few minutes. It was like someone was slowly dragging a hand down the fabric of our tent. And suddenly, all I could think about was that old urban legend, the one where the couple's car breaks

down, the guy goes off for help, and the girl wakes up to hear a scraping sound, you know the one. It ends badly. I glanced at my husband. Still asleep. Then, footsteps. Right next to the tent. Not rushing. Just, slow, steady footsteps. Right next to my side. I froze. Completely paralyzed with fear. My heart was pounding so loud I thought whoever was out there could probably hear it thudding away. Then I heard it, this deep sigh, like someone exhaling heavily right on the other side of the tent. Not a bear. A person. I panicked and grabbed my husband's hand. Hard. Tried to wake him without making noise. He didn't get the memo. He sits up and goes, what's wrong? Why are you squeezing my hand? Of course, the second he spoke, everything outside went

dead quiet. Silence. Like whatever was out there froze too. Once I unfroze myself, I whispered what I heard. He tried to play it cool, maybe it was a deer or something, but every few minutes, that tent kept getting smacked. Not hard, just, enough to mess with you. We told ourselves it was pine cones or ice falling. Something natural. Because no one just stands out there tapping your tent at midnight unless they're unhinged. We tried to sleep again. Tried to convince ourselves it was nothing. We almost succeeded. Then something slammed into the tent. Right on my husband's side. Like, full-on collapsed the tent wall on top of him. I damn near lost my mind, thought it was a bear attacking. He pushed back, and we heard that same weird sliding noise again.

That's when we realized, the whole tent was coated in ice. Thick, cold sheets of it. And when he pushed it, it slid off in one big layer. Turns out, yeah, it snows in Arizona. Especially up in the high elevations like where we were. It was just ice. Falling from the trees. Nothing evil or alive.

We felt a bit dumb but also kind of relieved. We laughed a little. Still, I had this tight knot in my gut. We lay back down. Maybe 3 a.m. now. Just as we were finally dozing off again, screaming. Not just yelling. Not someone mad or shouting for fun.

A woman. Screaming like her soul was being torn out. Pure, unfiltered terror. We bolted upright. looked at each other. Frozen again. She screamed again. Then the roar of a car engine. Tires spinning. Someone was speeding away. She kept screaming. It didn't sound like she was in the car, though. More like she was chasing it. Calling after it. Begging. Screaming. I was sobbing now. Totally done. I could take the weather, the possible animals, even the freaky noises. But this? A woman screaming in the middle of the dark woods at three o'clock in the morning while someone peels off into the night. Nope. We started throwing stuff into bags. Didn't even bother packing neatly. Left half our gear

behind. Just grabbed the valuables and sprinted to the car. We kept the lights off. Didn't want to announce our presence. While my husband folded the tent as fast as he could, I got in a car and called 911. Told them what we heard and where we were. Dispatcher said they'd send someone out to check. But it would take over an hour. The roads were jacked from the storm, and we were seriously off the grid. We didn't wait. Started driving. At about 3.30 a.m., just as we were leaving the area, my husband noticed something weird. The four local guys from earlier. Their cars were gone. But their tents were still there. Three tents. Sitting there like ghosts. No sign of life. They just vanished. And suddenly, I remembered that girl with the dog.

And the older lady. We never saw them come back. What if the footsteps we heard weren't an animal at all? What if someone was checking tents, seeing who was inside? What if they targeted her instead of us? We never found out what happened. Never got a follow-up from the Rangers. But that night, it burned into my brain forever. Something wasn't right up on that mountain. And I really hope whoever that woman was made it out alive.

Okay, now let's time jump to 2002 for a minute. The world was simpler. Tom Brady had just won his first Super Bowl ring, W.W.E was still fun, and every car had a fat stack of burned CDs under the seat or in a sleeve on the visor if you were fancy. I was in high school, attending this strict private school in Tucson. I got invited to spend a weekend with a buddy up in Phoenix. Our families knew each other, so it was all cool.

His parents were rich, golf club rich. They dipped out the second we got there. No rules, no supervision. We did what dumb teens do. Wandered off to hang out with his friends. Five of us total. One guy borrowed his mom's Toyota Camry and we just drove around Phoenix at night, drinking, smoking, blasting music, and feeling like kings of the world. It was one of those nights where you just cruise until you run out of gas or ideas. Eventually, things slowed down. We decided to call it a night. Stopped at a red light. That's when this black SUV pulled up next to us. Tinted windows. Couldn't see inside. To be continued. It all started on what was supposed to be just another

chill summer night in Phoenix. Five of us were packed into my buddies beat up Camry, windows down, joints lit, music up. We were just driving around, not really going anywhere, just vibing. The Desert Breeze at night, even in Phoenix, can feel kind of nice when you're buzzed and full of nothing to worry about. But that calm didn't last long. We pulled up to a red light at some sketchy intersection when we noticed this black SUV pull up next to us. Something about it felt off. The windows were tinted way too dark, and it rolled up real slow, like the driver was sizing us up. Then, just like out of a movie, the driver's window came down. Behind the wheel was this guy wearing aviators in a baseball cap, even though it was damn near midnight.

He didn't say much at first, just stared. Then he flashed a gun. I swear the world just froze for a second. We couldn't even process what was happening before he shouted something, but none of us caught it. Might have been a threat, or just crazy talk. Whatever it was, it was enough to make our driver slam the gas, red light or not. The Camry jerked forward. forward, tires screeching, engine sputtering like it was choking on fear just like the rest of us. But the SUV followed. It was like some twisted video game level. We took turns so sharp we nearly flipped, dodging cars, trying to lose the guy. But our car was a clunker, and his was definitely not. No matter what we did, he stuck to us like glue. At one point we hit

this power station or some kind of fenced-in utility area. We were cornered. Dead end. No way through. Headlights from the SUV blasted into our car, lighting us up like animals in a cage. I was in the back passenger seat, trying not to piss myself. The guy and the Camry driving put both hands up, silently telling us we were screwed. The SUV guy got out.

We heard the door slam and the slow, deliberate steps as he walked to our driver's window. The one we'd left open earlier when we lit up. Mistake of the year. The guy just stood there. Gun still in hand. We all held our breath. Then he looked at our driver, paused, and said, sorry, kid. Thought you were someone else.

He turned, got back in his car, and drove off. Just like that. Like he didn't just traumatize five high school kids for life. We didn't move. Nobody said a word. We sat there in total disbelief, processing what just happened. When we finally got the courage to drive back home, we didn't say a thing to anyone. No cops.

No parents. We knew we had open containers and weed in the car. Arizona wasn't the friendliest state for that kind of stuff back then. We would have ended up behind bars. But Phoenix? Phoenix is wild. Drugs, gangs, shady characters, it's not just the heat that'll kill you. That night we got lucky.

Real lucky. Now, this next part of the story isn't said in Phoenix. I actually grew up there, but this happened about 15 years ago, in Sedona. Yeah, Arizona isn't all cactus and scorpions. Up north, it's full of pine trees, rivers, red rocks, and that whole mystical vibe tourists go crazy. We used to go there every summer, and it always felt safe, until that one-fourth of July. I was eight years old, and our big blended family made a trip to some random spot near a river. Don't remember the name, but I can still picture it.

You drive down a cul-de-sac, pass a hill with a pavilion and those long green picnic tables, then head down a rocky trail lined with thick brush that led straight to the river. It was a great day. The kind of day you wish you could bottle up. Swimming, running around, just being kids. I loved collecting rocks, geodes, fossils, anything weird or shiny. I was probably halfway down the riverbank when my dad and the rest of the family left to grab barbecue. Only my stepmom, one of my sisters, and I stayed behind.

About 30 minutes later, I heard a gunshot. It came from the direction of the pavilion where my stepmom was. I rushed back, heart pounding, only to find her calm as ever. She told me she accidentally discharged her handgun. Sounded kind of sketchy, but she played it off well enough that my little kid brain didn't question it. It wasn't until five years later, when I was 13, that I learned the truth. Here's how it really went down, from her side. After my dad left, she let us explore while she sat at one of the tables, her bag with the gun next to her. She wasn't nervous at first, until this red car pulled into the parking lot.

Two men inside. They didn't park. They didn't get out. They just sat there, engine running, watching her. She got a weird vibe. The kind that creeps up your spine and settles like ice in your stomach. So, she moved to the end of the table and kept the gun close. Still, the car didn't move.

When it finally did, it pulled into the closest spot to her. Still, they didn't get out. Just sat. She pretended to be on the phone, faking a conversation. Then the doors opened. Two men stepped out, both dressed sharp, nice shirts, clean haircuts, trimmed beards, expensive sunglasses. They didn't look like hikers. But something clicked.

She had seen them earlier. Dirty, ragged, bearded hikers passed us earlier that day. These guys were cleaned up. But the faces? Same guys. No doubt. One walked around the left side of the pavilion. The other circled to the right.

Like they were flanking her. I don't know what you two want, but you better back off, she said. No, I don't think so, beautiful. I think you need to come with us. She pulled her gun. Pointed it at the guy on the left. I'm not going anywhere with you. Back. Off. Then the guy on the right rushed her. She turned and fired. Shot hit the ground, but close enough to freeze him in his tracks. The guy on the left tripped and fell, his glasses flew off. That's when she recognized him. One of the earlier high hikers. His disguise gone. And then? They panicked. Straight up bolted. One dove into the car, the other scrambled after him, and they tore out of the lot like bats out of hell. She didn't tell me the truth then, because I was just a kid. She didn't want to scare me. But she told my

dad, and they reported it to the cops. Descriptions, car color, everything. And what really haunted her? Why did those guys come back dressed differently? Why did they target her? We were a family out enjoying the holiday. It's not like she was alone in the wilderness. Maybe they saw an opening. Maybe they were watching all along, waiting for the perfect time. But she thinks they were part of some kind of human trafficking operation.

Predators looking for easy targets. They probably didn't expect her to be armed. and definitely didn't expect her to stand her ground. That gunshot saved her life. It makes my skin crawl to think how close we came to losing her. And if I'd walked up just a minute earlier, who knows what I would have seen? Or what could have happened to me?

To this day, she's a hero in my eyes. Not just because she had a gun, but because she kept her head straight when things went sideways. Most people freeze. Most people panic. Not her. She saw evil walk up to her face and said, not today. So yeah.

Phoenix might be wild, but even Sedona, quiet, peaceful Sedona, has its shadows. Just remember, evil doesn't always look like evil. Sometimes, it wears nice clothes, smiles politely, and drives a red car. And sometimes, all it takes to survive is being ready to fight back. The end, Passport. A monotonous voice, almost devoid of any humanity came from behind the counter just as a fanfare of what seemed like modern pop mixed with some hints of Aru or maybe Guzhan and Pippa burst to light from an advertisement board a few rows away.

Every seven minutes when this loop, Officer Chung was very tempted to puncture his eardrums so that he may embrace the tranquility of silence, however that would not be compatible with his job, so he would put that thought back into a small corner of his mind before it would creep up to him again. A young man came forward and placed a thin navy blue passport on the counter. On it bore the coats of arms containing the gates of Tiananmen with the words Hong Kong special administrative region of the People's Republic of China in Chinese and English sprawled above it. Without even touching the passport, Officer Chung gave a soft, disappointed sigh as if he found out his wife had cheated on him again, you could have used the E-channel

with your identity card for a more automated and quicker experience. I, I realized I left it in my check-in luggage. The young man grinned in embarrassment. The penny-sized black mole on his cheek raised as he did so. Fine. Officer Chung rolled his eyes and reached for the passport. His thumb flipped over the hard-laminated page to show this young man's details. Chen Pugia. He looked up at the man and his eyes darted back to the photo on the page. That shaggy hairstyle. That penny-sized mole. That familiar name. Not to mention that punchable face. Ah yes, how could he not realize that this man was a VIP right away? I read your book, sir. He said as he flipped through the pages of the passport. I, too, wish I could just murder my wife

and get away with it. Just came back from holiday, sir, indeed. Chen flicked a bugger that was on his pinky, which landed on the mole on his cheek without him realizing it. I went to Hainan Island, you know, it's also a Chinese island like Taiwan where I stuffed that cheating bitch in that suitcase, you know, I needed some inspiration for my second book I'm working on. Also craved some Hainanese chicken rice as well, sure. Welcome back home, Mr. Chen. Officer Chung folded the navy blue passport shut and placed it on the counter. Before you leave.

Any tips on how to not get into trouble getting rid of my wife? Well, you've read the book. Just get creative. Suitcases are too overused. Chen retrieved his passport and grinned before walking past the counter. As soon as the conversation ended, the music from the billboard was surging back into Officer Chung's ears, this time with ear stinging vocals of a rapper. Was up Hong Kong?

Was up Hong Kong? Was up Hong Kong? Something sounded like an albatross with a sore throat screeching. His eyes rolled to the corners of his eyes to catch a glimpse of the one and only chief executive of the special administrative region. Next. Officer Chen puffed more air through his teeth than usual. A few footsteps could be heard before stopping abruptly.

A good few seconds passed without hearing anything being placed on the counter. He lifted his head to see a rather rotund man with an oddly square head that had a bad buzz cut. The rotund man waited impatiently and began tapping his foot as he took his mobile phone out his chest pocket of his red polo shirt, which was tucked into his belted trousers. Passport His monotonous voice prompted the man, only to be replied by an annoyed stare. or exit entry permit, why does crossing through the same country even require passports or documents? The rotund man said in a high-pitched northern accent that was barely intelligible.

Look at my skin. I am Chinese. You are Chinese. Let me through. I'm afraid I can't allow that dash. You only need passports to go through to countries. Are you claiming that Hong Kong is independent? He slammed his chubby sausage fingers onto the counter as he cut him off. You know inside sedition and subversion of state power is a terrible crime, right? I've got friends in the National Security Bureau, you know, all right then, just go. Welcome to Hong Kong. Officer Chung did not even bother wasting time on him. Long live the general secretary, comrade. The rotund man skipped happily past him. His ears immediately zoomed into the billboard speakers like iron filings to a nearby magnet. Asia's finest city. The Pearl of the Orient

sang a more bearable female voice that was mediocre at best. Before even calling, the person who was behind the rotund man had already produced his exeditary permit onto the counter. He looked muscular and well-built for his age. On close inspection, several stars could be seen criss-crossed all over his forearms, all rough-like sandpaper. Purpose of visit Officer Chung slipped the card into the scanner and the man's profile immediately sprang into a window on his screen. Shigua Age 53

7 documented criminal records of assault with bladed weapons He looked up to see she towering before him like a human brick wall Cultural exchange Yeah, that's the term She rubbed his chin with his right hand which had a noticeably missing ring finger Can you be more specific? Officer Chung's eyes returned to his screen My Hong Kong are colleagues of a brother association

They have summoned me to teach them the art of the Fugent-style two-handed machete. Of course, I am obliged to do a live performance in the busy streets of Central on volunteers or not. The machetes must be stained by blood dash. Okay. Okay. Cultural exchange, yeah. Officer Chung passed the card back onto the counter. Welcome to Hong Kong.

Thank you, officer, she said as he walked towards baggage collection. The voice from the billboard speakers appeared again after being submerged in that brief encounter. No matter where you're from, Hong Kong welcomes you. You, you, and you, next. Officer Chung inquired as he saw a lean man stepping forward. By the looks of his clothes, he probably was not from around here. Passport, that said, he produced a burgundy red passport bearing the crest of a chrysanthemum. Purpose of visit. Officer Chung flipped through the pages. Akiyosho Gassawara. Age 45. Nationality Japanese. His computer screen showed no known criminal records. I am a journalist and I'm here to interview some people here. Upon hearing these words, Officer Chung's eyes bawled out. He meticulously scanned through the stamps on the passport. It was only five pages shy of being filled. I specialize in food journalism, he added helpfully. And of course, he's been to the city before.

2019, in fact. The year of Black Violence. A quick internet search indicated he had written many reports dating back to that year. He pulled up the first article. With Hong Kong being in the headlines now for its fight for freedom, it can be easy to forget it also houses many of the world's finest restaurants. Chung frowned. Might be a one-off.

Let's have a look at something more recent. After COVID, Hong Kong is once again open for business. Of course, the scar. of 2019 run deep, something still reflected in the local food and drink scene. Your correspondent traveled back to those streets so close to the hearts of many, Ogasawara looked up. I intend to be staying here for Sevdash. No, you aren't. Officer Chung slammed the passport shut and handed it back to the journalist. Your kind are not welcome here. My colleagues will be escorting you to the next plane back to Osaka. Just as the protests of Mr. Ogasawara disappeared thanks to a squad of

10 armed policemen, the chief executive's harsh screeching voice surfaced again. Hong Kong welcomes, Hong Kong welcomes, Hong Kong welcomes you. The words Hong Kong and welcome never really sounded like proper words but an amalgamation of sounds to Officer Chung anymore. Before I get into the wildest, most unfair experience of my life, let me just say real quick, English isn't my first language, so if I mess up here and there, bear with me. I'm doing my best to explain things clearly. So yeah, I was with my ex, let's call her G, not her real name obviously, for four years. At first, everything was great. Like, for real, we had a solid connection. We barely argued because

we had a ton of things in common, same hobbies, same music taste, similar views on life. We vibed. Both of our families got along well, and we were making plans to start a real life together. I was already on the hunt for a new house, something big enough for the two of us and, maybe someday, some future kids. At the time, we were already living together in one of my parents' smaller houses. It was tight, definitely not made for two people, but we made it work. Now, because of a traumatic thing that happened to me when I was younger, my childhood home got robbed and it messed me up pretty bad, I installed a bunch of security cameras around the house. I mean, I needed that peace of mind.

It made me feel safe. So yeah, the house was wired up like a fortress. I didn't expect the cameras to ever catch anything crazy, but turns out, they did. And here's where it all started going downhill. One day, I was reviewing some footage, I had a habit of checking them once a week or so, and bam. I saw G with some other dude in the house. house. The same house where we were planning our future. My blood ran cold. I couldn't believe

it. I played the footage over and over, hoping I was somehow misinterpreting what I saw. But no, it was clear. She was cheating on me, no doubt about it. I didn't even confront her. I didn't scream. I didn't ask for an explanation. I didn't give her the chance to lie to my face. I just packed her stuff, left it outside, and blocked her from everything. Phone, socials, everything. Gone. I didn't want to hear her excuses or so-called reasons. To me, cheating is a deal-breaker.

Full stop. No negotiations. No second chances. If you cheat, you're done. That's how I see it. But she didn't take it well. Not at all. For months, I'm talking three long, exhausting months, she tried to get in touch with me.

She called me from random numbers, sent texts from fake profiles, got her friends to message me pretending to be someone else. It was constant. A barrage of desperate attempts to get me to talk to her, to forgive her, to let her back in. But I never answered. I blocked every new number, ignored every message. I wanted her out of my life for good. After those three months, everything finally went quiet.

I thought it was over. I thought she had finally gotten the message and moved on. But oh man, was I wrong? That was just the beginning of the nightmare. So, at the time, I was working as a lawyer. My career was actually going really well. I had just started making a name for myself, landing big clients, building a good rep, I was proud of how far I'd come.

And then one day, everything came crashing down. Out of nowhere, the police showed up at my office and arrested me. Just like that. No warning. No explanation. My colleagues watched in shock as they handcuffed me and dragged me out. I couldn't believe it. When they finally told me what the charges were, I felt like I was going to vomit.

Sexual abuse and stalking. Yeah. You read that right. My ex, G, had gone to the police and claimed I was harassing her and had assaulted her. I was stunned. I couldn't believe anyone could make up something so vile, so damaging. But there I was, in a jail cell, facing charges that could destroy my life. And guess what? That one accusation was enough to ruin everything. My job was gone. My reputation was so. Toast. People who used to admire me now looked at me like I was a monster. I had to fight tooth and nail just to prove I was innocent. Luckily, I had receipts. Loads of them. Text messages, call logs, voicemails, all of them showing that she was the one who wouldn't leave me alone. That she was harassing me. That she was furious because I broke up with her. I turned over all the evidence to the court, and after about a month, the case was thrown out. The truth came out. She had made the whole thing up. The judge gave her a slap on the wrist, a small compensation payment to me, a couple thousand bucks, and some community service hours. That's it. After everything she put me through, after almost destroying my career and my life, that was all she got. It was insulting. I actually laughed when the judge read the sentence because I genuinely thought it was a joke.

But no, it was real. I wasn't going to let that be the end of it. I wasn't just going to walk away and let her get away with a fake rape accusation. Hell no. I filed a second lawsuit against her for filing a false report, for defamation, and for what I hope translated legally as malicious compliance or premeditated defamation or something close to that. Basically, she knew what she was doing. It wasn't some impulsive act. She planned this, step by step, to destroy me.

Now, I got to say, my parents were rock-solid through all of this. They believed me from the start. They never wavered. They knew who I was. Her parents, on the other hand, Total enablers. They backed her every step of the way. Even when she was convicted and had to pay me and do community service,

they kept defending her. Like she was the victim. Unreal. The new case dragged on for two long years. Two years of reliving every awful moment. Two years of watching my name get dragged through the mud. But I thought. I refused to back down. And in the end, it paid off. She was found guilty. This time, it was serious. Eight years in prison. No parole. No, good behavior, clause. And a real compensation order, about 200K, which still didn't make up for the damage she caused, but at least it felt like the court finally understood the gravity of what she did. Now, you might think this would be the part where I tell you I felt vindicated,

that I finally had peace, that justice was served. But now, it wasn't that simple. See, the whole thing had already left a stain on my name. Even though I was proven innocent, even though she was convicted, my reputation in the legal world was wrecked. No law firm wanted to hire me. I sent out dozens, maybe hundreds, of resumes to firms all over the country, and nothing. No interviews. No callbacks. Just silence. It was like I had the word scandal tattooed on my forehead.

Eventually, I had no choice but to leave the country. I packed up, started over somewhere new, where no one knew my name and no one looked at me like I was the guy from the headlines. And that's where I am now, writing this. In a different place, trying to rebuild. Trying to heal. So yeah, my ex is in jail. Yeah, she paid, somewhat, for what she did. But me?

I lost my career. I lost my life back home. And no matter how far I go, I can't erase the fact that my name was dragged through the mud for something I didn't do. Justice? Maybe. But peace. I don't know if I'll ever really have that again. That's the end of my story.

A nightmare that started with love, took a sharp turn into betrayal, and crashed into a hell I never imagined. I still wake up some nights wondering how it all happened. wondering why I didn't see the red flags, wondering if I'll ever truly move on. But at least now, someone out there knows what really went down. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. It means more than you know, the end. The secret project the provincial government hired them for was now in its final testing stage. Lee, the highest ranking software engineer employed by the firm, was the only person aside from Tao, the CEO, to know of its existence.

Lee had been working on the AI behind it for months. For the anniversary of the founding of the country, the local government wanted a robot Mao and a robot dang. But more advanced than that. They were going to implant all of their speeches, major life experiences and beliefs into the AI, and put all that into a life-sized robot that would be made to resemble the two leaders. Today is the Assembly Day. The factory in charge of creating the robot exterior had just sent over the parts. While Tao was disappointed that his company was not tapped to produce the exterior too,

he took solace in the idea that the software is the most difficult part. His company had the most cutting-edge technology when it comes to AI, and he was immensely proud of that. If only he had designed the exterior too, then perhaps it would last more than five seconds without a thick charging cable attached to them. Tao hadly meet him in a rarely used conference room in a separate part of the building, where the robots were kept. As usual, he arrived five minutes late,

a trick he learned to keep people's attention on him. At the sound of the door opening, Lee jumped in front of the robots, hoping to keep it hidden. Then he noticed Tao. Mr. Tao, the robots are ready. I just need to implant the AI into the robots. Tao grabbed a wire and linked it between the robots and the computer.

Lee nodded and pressed the button. As the system loaded into the robots, both held their breath in anticipation. 25%. 72%. 98%. 98% 100%.

Both looked up from the screens, like new parents worried about missing their baby's first steps. Both robots slowly lifted their heads. Good morning, comrades, Tao and Lee grinned in excitement. It genuinely felt like they had the opportunity to meet their great leaders. Robot Mao started, I am Mao Zedong, the leader of the peasants and the founder of the People's Republic of China. I united the nation and freed the oppressed people, robot Deng then took over.

I am Deng Xiaoping, the architect of the Open Up and Reform Pera. I brought wealth and stability. The two robots spoke in unison. Now, please give us information about this world that we are in, Tau Elbowedly, who quickly got to work. He expected something like this to happen, and made a program about the world and the country they live in currently. With a click, both robots received this program. Robot Mao began to stand up.

He turned towards the two humans, eyes glowing bright red. His arms began to rise up, like he was going to make a great speech. Then, without warning, the light behind its eyes extinguished, and both arms fell limp by its side. Tao ran at the robot, quickly checking what went wrong. Lee focused on Robot Dang, which was also beginning to stand up. But similarly, Midstand, Robot Dang's eyes switched off and fell backwards onto the floor. What is going on?

Tau screamed. Lee began flipping through the different switches on Deng's backboard. Suddenly, Deng's eyes lit up again. Seems like it just switched off on its own. Probably the amount of information to process in that program overwhelmed it, and it switched off unexpectedly. Tao found the switch on Mao, and Mao's eyes turned on again. Lee went back to the computer, and typed in a few lines to make sure the robot would only turn

off when the charging cable was disconnected. As the code was implemented, robot Mao initially became agitated, pulling its fists up into a boxer's position. Its eyes burned a furious red. A few seconds later, it abandoned this position, and sat down with its eyes dimly lit. Robot Dang did not even try to struggle, and merely sat with its head down, staring at the floor. What's wrong? Tao looked to Lee. I...

I don't know. I implanted everything into the robots. They should act like the real mouse. and Deng if they were in this situation. But they're not. Yeah, Chairman Mao and Deng would never just sit here, almost like they were sulking. Excuse me, I am the real Mao Zedong, Robot Mao said flatly. Now, that sounds like something the real Mao Zedong would say, Lee said, still baffled as to why the robots are acting out of character.

Again, I am the real Mao Zedong. And why wouldn't I be sulking? Look at the country now, Tao was taken aback. What do you mean, robot? Uh, Chairman Mao, I led the peasants to struggle against the landlords oppressing them. But now workers are working 12 hours per day, six days a week. That's not right. And where are the labor unions so we can begin to struggle?

Tao and Lee had no answer. And we are supposed to be a communist country. Why do we have billionaires? And why are they in the party? Worst of all, I don't see anyone trying to change this. You cannot start a revolution with just yourself. No matter how great the revolutionary is. With that, Robot Mao pulled out his own charging cable.

Just over five seconds later, its eyes once again fell dark. Robot Dang turned towards the two humans, still in shock at what happened. He is right, you know. Well, there's some stuff he's wrong about. But the direction we are heading in is something I've been trying to avoid in my time. I have said in the past that if we start to become a superpower that is bullying other countries, trying to exploit other countries, then we will be defeated, and we will deserve it. And this is exactly the way we are going in.

Most of all, I've always said we need to be concerned about left-wing deviations, making everything political and ideological in nature. This happened in a cultural revolution, and I was purged three times during that. I know it well. Too well. And what I see now is that people are so excited, so fervently criticizing each other for political mistakes, I don't think I can change the course of the country. Robot Dang fell silent, refusing to move.

please comrade dang we need you there must be something you can do tau had set aside his doubts on what robot dang was saying and focused his efforts on not letting the robot power down itself lee had ran over to robot Mao to try and rescue it no i am in shock at what we had created i don't feel like eating or drinking dang sighed all of this seems pointless now tau couldn't help but point out the obvious you are a robot You don't need to eat or drink, I know. The urge I'm feeling has no human equivalent, so I chose to phrase it in that way. I don't want to go on like this. I am going to power off, and don't try to turn me back on. With that, robot dang two pulled the charging cable out of his back. Tao and Lee plugged both robots back in, and it momentarily activated the robots again. But as soon as the robots resumed activity, the first thing they did was to pull the cables out.

Lee had a light bulb moment. Tie their hands together, so they can't reach the cables. Tao was less sure. You want to essentially handcuff our leaders. They are just robots. Lee shrugged. Once done, the robots just sat with their heads between their knees in the corner, eyes dim, saying nothing of substance.

Amid the moans of, turn me off, and let me go, Tao and Lee too sat on the floor, baffled as to what had gone wrong. The robots did have the consciousness of Mao and dang, so why were they acting this way? Would the two leaders have been so disillusioned with the reality have they been alive in this day and age? I lay on the cool stone floor, my paws stretched out, feeling the smooth texture beneath me, a comfort that has been a constant through the years.

The stones are worn from time, much like the house itself, bearing the marks of countless footsteps, of generations who have lived and died within these walls. The chill of the stone soothes my aching joints, offering relief to my tired body. Around me, the house settles into its familiar rhythm, the gentle creed. in size that only a place this old can produce. The crackle of the fire in the hearth fills the room, a soft, steady background noise that I have always associated with warmth and safety. The flames dance within the fireplace, casting flickering shadows on the walls, their light

mingling with the soft glow of the lamps that lined the room. I can hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging in time with the house's heartbeat, marking the passing of moments that feel slower now, as if time itself has begun to weigh heavy on us both. Outside, the wind rustles against the windows, it's faint how reminding me of the world beyond these walls, a world that I rarely venture into anymore. The sound used to excite me, stirring something wild and adventurous in my heart, but now it only brings a sense of longing for days when I could chase the wind with ease. Each sound has its place, just as I have mine, here, at my master's feet, where I have always belonged. I lift my head slightly and look at him, my master, seated in his great chair by the fire.

The chair is as much a fixture of this house as he is, its dark wood carved with intricate designs that speak of an era long gone. The cushions, though faded and worn, still offer support to his tired frame. He sits with a kind of quiet dignity, his back hunched slightly from the years that have weighed on him. His hands, resting on the arms of the chair, are thin and veined, but still, they hold the remnants of the strength that wants to find him. He has always been my protector, my guide, my constant companion. For generations, he has guarded over my family. The house we live in, this grand, ancient structure, has seen the passage of time much like he has, slow, steady, and resilient. Its walls, built from stone and timber, have withstood countless

storms, just as he has weathered the trials of life with unwavering resolve. Since the days of my great, great, great, great-grandfather, he has been here, watching over us, ensuring that nothing could harm those under his care. I've heard the stories pass down from mother to pup, stories told in soft murmurs as we nestled close to our parents in the quiet hours of the night. Stories about his bravery, his strength, and his endless vigilance. He was there when my ancestors were born, just as he was there when they took their final breaths.

Each generation has lived under his watchful gaze, trusting him to keep them safe from whatever dangers lurked beyond the safety of these walls. Tales of his immortality were told with a kind of reverence, whispered through fur and It was said that he had lived longer than any of us could ever hope to, that he had seen more than any of us would ever know. My mother spoke of him as if he were a legend, a figure so powerful and eternal that he seemed beyond the reach of time itself. We all thought him immortal.

How could we not? He never seemed to age, even as the seasons changed and the years passed by. But now, as I watch him, I see the truth. His once broad shoulders are slumped, and the lines of his face are deeper than they were when I was young. The fire in his eyes, though still burning, has dimmed. He no longer moves with the same effortless grace that he once did, and when he walks, it is with a careful, deliberate step, as if the weight of his long life has finally begun to press down on him. His hands tremble, and his breath, though steady, is no longer the powerful force that it used to

be. I see it in the way he looks at me now, tired, weary, though his eyes still hold that same fire, that deep knowing that has always made me feel safe. Just as my fur grows in my joints grow stiff, so too do his. I feel the weariness in my bones each time I rise, the ache that comes with age. The once effortless spring in my step is gone, replaced by a careful, deliberate gait. But I see the same thing in him, though his decline is slower, much slower. He has aged as I have, though it seems the years show their marks on him in a more subtle way. His hair, once thick and dark, is now streaked with silver, a reflection of the passing time that neither of us can escape. His movements are more measured, his steps more deliberate, as if

every action is carefully considered to avoid awakening the pain that lurks beneath the surface. He does not age in the same way that I do. He moves through the world with the weight of centuries on his shoulders, as though time bends for him, allowing him to move more slowly, more deliberately, through its endless river. While I feel each passing day in my joints and fur, he seems to take in the years in long breaths, absorbing time but never allowing it to fully consume him. He did not take in my children. When the time came for them to leave, he did as he had always done, he gave them away to his, ensuring they were cared for by new families, just as my ancestors had been given before me. He has always been like this,

watching over us from a distance, guiding us without interfering, protecting us from dangers we do not even see. There is a quiet strength in the way he does this, a steadfastness that I cannot fully understand. He does not need to speak to us or command us, his presence alone has always been enough to keep the world at bay. But now, I realize that I am the last he will care for. The last of my line. My father and mother are gone, taken by time in the way that all living creatures eventually are.

Their passing was not sudden, but it was inevitable. I remember the way he watched over them in their final days, sitting quietly by their side, never leaving them even as the end drew near. It was the same for their parents before them, and for each generation before that. They all passed under his watchful eye, as if he were a guardian, an eternal sentinel standing between us and the unknown. And now, that duty falls to me. I carry the legacy of those who came before, and though my body grows weaker, I am determined

to fulfill my role. It is my duty to stay by his side, to be with him in the way my ancestors were, until the end. I am the last of my line, the last to feel the weight of his gaze and the comfort of his presence. And though my time will come, as it has for all those before me, my only hope is that I can last until his final moments. The thought of losing him, of being the last to witness his passing, is almost unbearable. He has been the foundation of my world for as long as I can remember. The thought of a world without him, without his steady, quiet strength, is like

imagining the earth without the sun, or the sky without the stars. It seems impossible, unthinkable. But I know that the time will come, as it does for all things. In the quiet moments, when the fire is low and the house is still, I often find myself wondering what will happen when that time comes. The death of one like him is so rare. I have never seen it, but I have heard whispers, stories passed down through my bloodline about the rarity and the tragedy of such an ending. To live as long as he has, to see as much as he has seen, it is a life beyond what I can comprehend. What knowledge does he carry? What memories does he hold in the depths of his mind, memories of lifetimes that have come and gone, of families who have risen and fallen under his

care. Sometimes, he reaches down and pats my head, his fingers brushing through my fur with a tenderness that catches me off guard. His hands, worn by the passage of time, are no longer as strong as they once were, but they still carry a certain warmth, a reassurance that lingers in the gentle way they rest against my head. His touch is soft, deliberate, as though he is trying to communicate something deeper with each stroke, and though I can't understand the words he never speaks, I feel the unspoken bond between us. In those moments, when his hand lingers in my fur, I look up into his eyes. There, I see something that goes beyond words, a quiet comfort, a gratitude perhaps, for my presence by his side. His gaze, once sharp and commanding, now holds a softness I hadn't noticed

before, as if age has worn down not just his body, but the walls he once kept so firmly in place. His eyes, the color of an autumn sky just before dusk, seem filled with memories and thoughts I can never truly comprehend, but I know, somehow, that I am a part of those thoughts. He looks at me with a kind of quiet affection, as though my presence, even in my old and weary state, gives him some small measure of peace. I don't know if he realizes that I take the same comfort from him. I can't speak in the way that humans do. I have no words to tell him how much he means to me, how much I cherish the time we've spent together, how deeply his presence soothes me. But I hope, in the way I stay close, the way I rest my head against his feet

or nudge his hand when he seems lost in thought, that he understands. I hope he feels it. There's so much I wish I could say to him, but all I have are these simple gestures, lying by his side, following him wherever he goes, offering the only companionship I can. The fire crackles beside us, its warmth spilling across the room, chasing away the chill of the evening. The flames flicker and dance, casting long shadows that stretch and bend across the walls, but the warmth is what I seek. Slowly, I stretch out a little closer to the hearth, feeling the heat seep into my bones, soothing the aches that have settled there over the years. It feels good, so good that I close my eyes for a moment, just breathing in the warmth and the steady rhythm

of the fire. He shifts in his chair, and I lift my head slightly, watching him. For a brief moment, I think he might stand, might move from his familiar spot by the fire. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, and his body tilts forward as if preparing to rise. But then, just as quickly, he settles back again, his shoulders sagging as he leans forward instead, his eyes fixed on the flames. I can see the weight he carries, even in that small movement. There's a heaviness in the way he sits now, a burden that I know time has placed on him.

He stares into the fire as if searching for something in the flickering flames, perhaps an answer to a question he hasn't spoken aloud. I wish, more than anything, that I could do more for him. That I could somehow share the burden he carries or take away the weariness that seems to weigh him down. But all I can do is stay close, offer him the comfort of my presence, and hope that it's enough. If I could speak to him, I would tell him it's okay. I would tell him that I'm here, and that I'll be here for as long as he needs me. That no matter what comes, I will not leave his side. But I can't say those things, so I just press a little. little closer, hoping that my nearness will say it for me. He reaches down again, his hand

finding my head with a kind of tenderness that speaks more than words ever could. His fingers, though aged and slow, move with familiarity, tracing the same path through my fur that they have countless times before. I lean into his touch, closing my eyes, savoring the warmth and comfort that it brings. In this moment, nothing else matters, just the connection between us, forged through years of shared silence, of companionship without the need for language. As I sit there, feeling the steady rhythm of his hand on my head, I can't help but think of those who came before me. My ancestors, the ones whose paws once tread the same path I now walk, whose lives were

bound to him as mine is. They stood where I stand now, watching over him as he watched over them, each of us part of a long, unbroken line of guardians. I think of the stories passed down through my family, stories of their loyalty, their steadfastness, how they remained by his side through storm and calm, through joy and sorrow. They are all gone now, their duty complete. One by one, they passed from this world, their task finished, leaving me to carry the legacy. I can almost feel their presence in the room, the echo of their watchful eyes and patient

hearts. They lived for him, just as I do, and I am proud to stand in their place. But I know that I am the last. It is a heavy thought, this realization that I am the final link in a chain that stretches back through the years, through generations. The last of my kind to feel the weight of his hand, the last to sit at his feet by the fire, the last to watch over him as the years pull him further away from the world he once knew. When my time comes, there will be no one after me.

No new pups to take up the mantle, no new eyes to gaze at him with the same devotion. But that is how it must be, and I accept it. His breathing slows, becoming deeper, more even, and I know that he is slipping into sleep. The soft rise and fall of his chest is a sound I have come to know well, a gentle rhythm that fills the quiet room like a lullaby. As he drifts into sleep, I lower my head onto my paws, my body pressing close to his feet, feeling the steady warmth of the fire against my side. In the stillness of the night, I can hear the subtle creaks and groans of the old house, the same sounds that have filled its halls for longer than I can remember.

Outside, the wind whispers against the windows, but inside, all is peaceful. The fire crackles softly, casting a flickering glow that dances across the room, but my eyes grow heavy, and the warmth of the moment lulls me into a state of quiet contentment. My time will come, I know that. I can feel it in the stiffness of my limbs, in the way my movements are slower than they once were. I am not the spry pup I used to be, and though I still try to chase the wind when it calls, my body no longer responds with the same eagerness. But not tonight.

Tonight is not my time. Tonight, I remain here, beside him, my vigil unbroken, just as it has always been. Tonight, I will watch over him as he has watched over us for so many years. I have seen him protect us, guide us, offer his quiet strength without asking for anything in return. I have seen the way he has endured the weight of time, the way he carries the memories of lifetimes long past. I know he takes comfort in my presence, just as I do in his, and that is enough.

It has always been enough. And when his time comes, when the moment finally arrives for him to leave this world, I hope I will be there. just as he has always been there for me, for my family, for all those who came before. I want to be by his side, to offer him the same comfort and companionship that he has given me. To be with him in his final moments, just as he has been with each of us in ours. There is a solemn peace in this duty, a quiet honor in knowing that I am the last. My time may come sooner than I think, but tonight, I remain at his feet, watching, waiting,

offering what little I can in return for all that he has given. And when the fire dies down and the night grows still, I will still be here, fulfilling the promise that was passed down through the generations. For now, we sleep. The scariest thing ever is to move into an apartment without researching its history. Something weird happened to me when I moved into a new house in Puna, India. I was not married at the time and wanted to stay alone. People suggested that I look for roommates to split the rent, but no, thank you.

I wanted my personal space and the freedom to wake up and go to sleep when I was a I wanted to. So I was happy when I found this place through a property dealer at a reasonable price. So much so it was a steel. I moved in as early as I could. I settled in, relaxed, and, did I mention the doorbell wasn't functioning at all? That's what the property dealer told me. That I would have to wake up to an alarm because no newspaper or delivery person was going to wake me up with the doorbell. The day after I moved in, I got my groceries. I poured milk in the container and left it at the kitchen countertop. In the night, I suddenly remembered that I had to put the milk in the refrigerator. I got up and went to the kitchen, only to see that

the walls were smeared with milk, dripping off the edges, with the container on the floor. There was no one else living there, right? A couple of nights later, while I was in deep sleep, I had a dream. A very vivid dream. I dreamt that someone was at my door, ringing the doorbell, over and over again. The sound was shrill and very loud. And I woke up with a start. That was only a dream, right? I sat up in bed, and waited, waited to check if it was just a dream.

And then, I heard it. And heard it again. The doorbell was shrill and ear piercing. I got up and went to the front door, somewhat unsure if I should open the door. I checked the time, just past 2.30 a.m. I opened the door and saw there was no one outside. The night was as silent as the grave. That wasn't the worst part, the worst part was that the doorbell hadn't been functioning.

And I decided I couldn't stay there another day. These psychos have been playing Silent Hill with my emaciated body. Cannibalism can't be explained, and they didn't want to explain. These idiots acted like nothing ever fucking happened. I was going to lose it. Paranoia had taken over like a virus. Conversations turned into cat and mouse. Caz cornered me in the kitchen to scold me for leaving the refrigerator open, and I felt trapped.

Like he could smell me. He looked normal. Smirk in place, brow raised. Just Caz. That was worse. That meant they were good actors. Perfect mimics. Rowan and I'm Emi too.

It was around midnight when I shouldered a backpack and crept downstairs. I opened the door, inhaling the cool night air. then froze at a low chuckle. Rowan. In his robe, curls messy, eyes dark. For a second I thought he dropped the act. He didn't. He stepped forward with that grimacing smile, arms folded.

I hadn't forgotten the look he gave me under the full moon. Resentment. Hatred. The real him. Now he didn't bother hiding his disdain. I stepped back. He stepped forward. closer coffee on his breath it's almost midnight he said where are you going the store i said

smoothly needed air at midnight he cocked his head the door slammed shut yeah i said getting food hungry he gestured behind him kas made veggie lasagna i'm not hungry aha so what are you getting Candy, I snapped. I want candy, Rowan hummed. Almost smiled. Too close. Too calm. Sweet.

Get me some. Those gummy snakes slap. He held out his hand for a high five, eyes flicking to my bag. He knew. And he was enjoying it. His grin widened. Hurry back, mean. There are freaks out there.

Don't want you getting hurt. A chill shot down my spine. I forced a smile and stepped back. Every instinct screamed to run. His coffee breath turned my gut. His movements were off. Jerky, like he might snap. One step. Then another. I turned. Reached the handle. Opened the door. He's coming after me, I thought. I imagined him grabbing me. I thought. I imagined him grabbing me, pulling me back, teeth grazing my neck. I ran faster. Down the path. The gate creaked. I looked back. The house glowed in golden light. Door still open. But Rowan was gone. Squinting, I saw him on the stairs. Moving slow. Almost defeated. Something held me there for a second,

staring at the house I always saw as a home and the people I saw as family. Before I turned and finally catapulted myself into a run. It's not like I could go back to my parents' house. They live across the state, and it was the middle of the night. I had a friend from class. Sam. We used to be close, but a while ago he started to distance himself. Sam got new friends, and I moved out of my dorms.

I could either turn up at his door. and make a fool out of myself, or go back to my cannibal roommates. Making a fool out of myself, it was. Sam lived in a large building with ivy crawling up red brick. The house was old and crumbling, but cozy. The windows were dark, so that wasn't exactly comforting. Sam used to leave the door open so I could slip in whenever I wanted. Seeing it locked made my stomach twist.

Sure, it was midnight. Why wouldn't he lock it? I was frowning at a decaying dandelion when the door opened, and a pixie redhead stuck her head out. I recognized her automatically. Poppy Sam's Roomy The girl was fully dressed in a leather jacket over jeans and shirt, her collar glistening from the downpour I'd managed to miss. Half-litted eyes drank me in for a moment like she was in a daze before she seemingly snapped out of it, yanking the door open.

Neen to my feet. Get inside. Jesus, Neen, your feet. I managed a smile, stepping into the hallway. The house was exactly how I remembered it. Homely. Safe. Thanks. What do you need Sam for? Poppy asked, shutting and locking the door. I shrugged, shivering. I didn't realize how cold I was until I stepped into warmth. Just to talk to him. You know, catch up, Poppy laughed. About? You ran across campus to talk.

I'm kind of locked out, Poppy's smile faded. Ah. She cleared her throat, stepping aside. Well, you know you've always got a home here if you're ever in trouble, she gestured over her shoulder. Sammy is in the lounge. Poppy led me into their kitchen and plunk the can of soda on the table. It was just like the old days. Poppy and I would hang in the kitchen drinking while Sam took a millennia to get ready.

You drink that. I'll drag Sam away from his game. I nursed the can between my hands, rolling it around. Game, Poppy rolled her eyes, yanking open the refrigerator with a little too much gusto and pulling out a beer. She cracked it open and took a sip through a groan. I've been trying to sleep for the last few hours, but they're pretty loud. I just blocked them out with whatever saw Netflix, cracking open my soda, I downed half of it. God, there was nothing better than a frosty Coke.

Rowan and I used down bottles of them for our failed TikTok account. We stopped doing it when he had to get his stomach pumped. Tournament. I said through a mouthful. Poppy smirked and perched herself on the edge of the table. Just a nerd game, she said dismissively. Sam's friends are quite, odd. She grabbed her beer.

Hey, why don't we head into the lounge instead, huh? I'm sure Sam wouldn't mind us interrupting him. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she spun around and grabbed my arm. Besides, Sammy's friends have been here long enough. As she pulled me into the lounge, I caught a fleeting glimpse of, something. I didn't see much, just enough to know it wasn't something. typical Dungeons and Dragons game. Papers were strewn across the table.

A group of people, including Sam, was gathered around, one of them marking something on the paper. Sam's other housemates were conspicuously absent. When Poppy walked in, dragging me along, the group quickly turned to block my view, hurriedly clearing papers and shutting laptops. It felt like I just walked into something I wasn't supposed to see. Poppy, however, seemed delighted by their reaction. Oh, saw Amy, she sang, leaning against the door with a smile. You have a visitor.

Sam looked different, though I couldn't put my finger on why. His light sandy hair was tied into its usual clumsy ponytail, but the look on his face was one I'd never seen before. Flustered, his cartoonishly wide eyes blinking at me like I was a hallucination. Like Poppy, he was full. fully dressed. Sam murmured something to the group, and they quickly gathered stained coffee mugs and bits of paper, clearing the table. Poppy, now slumped into a beanbag, shot me a grin. And then there were three, she stretched out like a cat and squealed

when Sam threw a cushion at her. We finally have our house back. You know I have the lounge until two, he retorted, continuing to tidy up. Poppy mimicked his voice, her body melting into the beanbag. You know I have the lounge until two. What did I tell you about mimicking me? Sam shot her a glare, exasperated. The girl chuckled. Hey, it's fun. It's not fun when you sound absolutely nothing like me. Cry about it, Sammy. Their back and forth reminded me of my own roommates. His lip curled into the slightest of smiles, and he picked up another cushion to throw. Poppy, he stumbled again, and this time my hand shot out to steady him on impulse. I caught the flash of disgust on his face.

Still wearing that smile, he swiped my hand off of his shoulder. But I'm getting the vibe you're avoiding us. Which is like, so rude. You could have just sent us a text, but knew, you decided to be cool and mysterious. I took the drink hesitantly. Are you drunk? Rowan cocked his head. drunk you think i can get drunk nah man i just feel kind of shit he shrugged i haven't been eating great the last few days

not eating can fuck a guy up rightening every word penetrated like a knife and suddenly it was hard to fucking breathe my roommate turned to sam ooh i know you he spread out his arms a choked laugh escaping his lips You're the guy who wrote that fucking article about us, loved it, Fuller. You're a literary genius. Especially when you called us evil body snatching demons who should be burned at the stake. A truly riveting red. Sam's expression stayed stoic. Rowan.

He said my roommate's name like poison. Where's Kaz, playing COD, probably. Rowan's lips curled into a smirk. He leaned close to the guy, raising an eyebrow, his words more of a breathy laugh. Why? Do you want me to pass a message to him? Sam stepped back. Neen, I got to go.

He said, pulling out his phone. I'll speak to you later, right. I panicked. Am I still okay to stay? I'm... I'm busy. Sam nodded at me, ignoring Rowan, before stumbling back into the crowd. come by later, all right, he was gone before I could open my mouth. Ah, no. Don't go. Rowan mocked a pout,

turning to me. Damn. Did he seem, offended? By my presence. He waved Sam away with a grin. Anyway, Imogen is making dinner tonight. She's bought all the ingredients for something she saw on Pinterest, so I'm not holding my breath that it'll be good. or even edible. I didn't fight back when he slipped his hand in mine, pulling me down the stairs. His tone was already puppeteering my limbs. My roommate twisted around, shooting me a sheepish smile. Okay, ye, you got me. I should probably apologize for the other night. I was already backing away, pulling away from him. I don't care what you have to say. I said in a breath. I'm staying with my parents. You mean halfway across the state.

Rowan's hand tightened around my arm. Come on. We just want to talk, talk, that got my attention. Following him to his car parked out front, I slipped into the passenger seat. I was aware I was following the big bad wolf into the forest, every horror movie cliche. But what other choice did I have? Rowan jumped into the driver's seat and started the car, dragging his hand through his hair. Yeah.

He said. I mean, once again we left you on a full moon and I bet it sucked. But hey, he chuckled. At least you didn't see us moon drunk again, twisting around to face him, my heart slithered into my throat. The bastard was still playing his games. You're still saying that? I hissed. Moon drunk, Rowan's gaze didn't leave the road.

I mean, yeah. He murmured, you said we freak you out, so we keep our distance. didn't speak for most of the ride, and I spent the majority of it trying to find out how to jump out of a moving car without seriously injuring myself. My phone vibrated and I pulled it out, glimpsing a text heading my notifications bar. Sam, sent, 405 p.m. That thing is not Rowan Beck. Get out of that house. Another message. Sam, sent, 406 p.m. Get out, and I. N. Get out of that house. Instinctively, I grabbed for the handle, pawing for a way out. I felt like I was on fire, my body moving closer to the door, leaning into it, as if it would

magically fucking open for me. You okay? Rowan murmured. He slipped off his raybans and turned to me. That same gleam was in his eyes, that sliver of moonlight. He looked worse without the raybans, bloodshot eyes, a mixture of burst blood vessels and moonlight haloing his iris. My roommate looked beautiful and horrifying at the same time, a mixture of human and inhuman,

the shell of the guy I thought I knew filled with her. But there was something else, something I didn't understand. His skin looked, cracked, like it was splintering apart. And in those cracks was what I imagined pins and needles to look like. Static. There was static leaking from the cracks, spider webbing across his pasty skin. Rowan sighed when I couldn't bring myself to answer. You know, he said, his hands tapping the steering wheel.

Eating makes me feel better. It. He took a long breath, tapping out a tune. Well, it takes the memories away, you know. Makes me feel so fucking good. He tipped his head back, eyes rolling back, like he was in euphoria. Rowan. I managed to get out.

His eyes flickered shut at a little. a red light. You would not believe how good the human skull tastes when mixed with intestines. Oh my God, the crunch. It's fucking insane. Your skin is my favorite part. He tapped a beat with his shoe. Damn, you taste good. Like chicken. But a little sour. When I grabbed for the door handle, one arm whipped out, pinning me to the seat, the other strain on the wheel. He was unsurprisingly strong, his heavy weight restraining me against cool leather. The flesh under Kazza's bed is good. I mean, it's a little soggy and gross on the outside. It's not peak meat, but it's tolerable. If you ask me honestly, I'd say I prefer you refrigerated. His lips split into a grin.

And we're saving those for a good game of smash, Rowan. I heard myself say his name again, straining against his arm. You said we should talk. He deadpanned. Outside, the world went by as normal, the evening rush hour flying by in a blur of vivid reds and oranges. So, that's what we're going to do. He whistled. Talk, words appeared in my throat, but they wouldn't form on my tongue. He surprised me with a laugh.

And with that laugh, his facade was shattered. He'd finally ripped off his mask. Why did you have to come downstairs? Rowan finally twisted to me, his lips curled into a grin, his eyes telling a different story. So many emotions. Past emotions. Emotions from a time ripped from my memory. Hatred and pain, anger, and something else entirely I couldn't read.

All you had to do was stay in your fucking room, and we wouldn't have to, have to remember. We could go on living together. I was frozen. I couldn't fucking move. Rowan grabbed the wheel with both hands, his knuckles turning white. He'd let me go, but I couldn't bring myself to move. Not when he'd said that. Not when his words had stirred something in me.

Still though, he kept speaking, like him, the real him, had been silenced for so long, and here he was, letting it all out. She takes all the bad away, he whispered, a dreamy smile spreading across his lips. as long as we eat I don't feel anything at all I don't have to fucking think or breathe and I can look at you with rose-tinted glasses and a foggy brain it's fucking bliss like I'm drowning roll inside

dragging his hand through his hair not now he said now she's punishing me because I haven't eaten the car swerved around a truck and I fought against my own body fighting to grab the wheel But I was frozen. Now, I remember. His tone was poison spitting from his tongue.

She made us remember, and it's, it's fucking there in my head, his voice strained, and he stabbed at his left temple. Right here. It's right fucking here, mean, and I can't. I can't stop it. I can't stop her. She's in my, my head. Rowan didn't look at me.

In fact, he was actually. actively avoiding making eye contact. Tears were welling in his eyes, hysterical tears leaking that same buzzing black and white static. She's in my head. Always in my head. Singing, man. Singing at the top of her voice, what did I do? I didn't mean to say it. The car swerved again, and I braced myself against the seat. Rowan, you keep telling me I did something. I managed. Why can't you tell me? My roommate turned to me, his eyes filled with that unearthly light I knew he'd been trying to avoid for months. His smile was suddenly maniacal. Not his. Someone else's. Because it's fun, this time I did grab for the wheel, trying to shove him from his seat.

Stop the fucking car, Rowan easily got the upper hand, grasping it. No. Like I said, we're going home. And... And we're going to talk. It was me who laughed this time. Talk. I spluttered. You mean eat me. Copy me.

Whatever you do, I couldn't control my emotions. I laughed. It felt good. You suck at being a serial killer. I managed to take him off guard for a moment. He blinked before regaining control. It's not, like that. Jesus fucking Christ, then what is it?

I spat back, days of repressed emotions rushing to the surface. I catch you eating me, and what am I supposed to think? Are you trying to shield me? I was laughing, and I couldn't stop. And at that moment I realized we were both under her spell. Both of us were screaming at each other. Rowan, leaking her light and me, bathing in it. It hit me, then, that I was as inhuman as him.

Whatever the moon had done, it was affecting both of us. I just didn't have the cannibalistic tendencies he had. I caught you chewing on what I presume was my 26th body. What the fuck do you think you can shield me from? Rowan surprised me with a scoff. I'm sorry, shield you, he turned to me fully, and I realized, my stomach creeping into my throat, that he wasn't looking at the road. Are you fucking kidding me?

My roommate choked out. I want you to remember. He yelled. You think I want to play happy families with you. Rowan was cracking. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. I noticed him inching away from me. That's why I eat, mean.

That's why we eat. She numbs those feelings. Those thoughts. She only makes us think about the good. When his hand slammed into the steering wheel, I finally caught a sliver of humanity coming back to. fruition on his face. My hand slipped from the handle, and I heard myself speak. What did I do? But Rowan's eyes were on the road again. He squinted, and reality seeped in.

What the fuck is that, no longer on the main road, we were heading into darkness, an empty stretch of oblivion I didn't recognize. There were no signs of cars. I swallowed. What did you see? Rowan shook his head, blinking rapidly. Nothing. He said, I think I'm, seeing things. Whatever Rowan was about to say was cut off suddenly, followed by a blinding flash which felt and sounded like the world had been ripped apart in front of us. Something was there, blinding me, searing my eyes from my skull. But I had no time to scream, no time to think or breathe. Before I could, my mind was working, and dizzying thoughts were hitting me. Our car had hit something, and that something was powerful enough to propel me into the air, my roommate's car shredded apart. The world was shattering around me, my body caught in a whirlwind. The sensations were too real, too real to be feeling them. I wasn't supposed to feel this. I wasn't supposed to feel my body being ripped apart, and still be self-aware enough to screech into nothing, a nothing which

existed when my head had been ripped from my torso. I wasn't supposed to exist. I waited to die. Without a brain, without a body, I waited for the dark. And yet somehow, I didn't fall fully. Instead of plunging into the dark, my body was still mine. It still had a head. A torso. It was still mine when it hit something with a sickening crack. Concrete.

Dying kind of feels like melting. I was aware my eyes were snapping open for a moment, something wet and warm spreading around me and trickling from my lips. I could taste rust, and I couldn't stop it. My vision was blurry, too blurry to make sense of anything. I watched my eyelids flickering, like they were unsure what to do. The sky was pretty. I think I tried to name a star, before everything just kind of, melted.

It was the 28th time I'd died, and this was the first time I really felt it. Melting. I melted into the ground, my body and thoughts fragmenting. Before whatever had taken me choked me back out. Death had rejected me. After a disorienting moment of nothing, trapped between nothing and something, awareness came back to me in splinters, reality bleeding back into focus. I could feel the breeze tickling my back.

I had, moved. I was no longer where I'd landed on my back after being propelled from the car in the crash. Now I was lying on my stomach. Something tickled my face. Grass I was lying face down on the side of the road I can't describe the sensation it was to awaken only being part real when I sat up I felt real

I felt like I was part of this universe but looking down at myself I resembled a ghost both see-through and not prodding at my skin that same static bleeding from Rowan's face worked effortlessly carving my outline and stitching me back together My body was a brand new copy of the me before the crash. I even saw the coffee stain on my shirt. The smear of pen I'd drawn on the back of my hand when I was bored in class.

I felt nothing. Like I was made of stars. Hollow. Something was missing, though, a cavern in my mind beginning its purge. Do you know when you wake up from a dream, and it slips away as you regain consciousness? That's what it felt like. Like everything which had happened, the crash, everything Rowan said, was a dream. Once I felt more like myself, and when my fingertips could touch real objects, with gravel

and grass, my own skin, I shakily got to my feet. I found my old body at the side of the road. I'd bled out, just like I thought. My eyes were still wide open, still struggling to name that constellation. When I crawled over to it, I couldn't resist, grass. grasping hold of her hand, only to get a flash. Like I was seeing her P-O-V. She was my old body's memories.

I saw Rowan's expression, his skin splintering apart, his eyes filled with moonlight. I saw him struggling with the wheel, and then the crash. Letting go of her ice-cold hand, I let out a sharp breath, her memories flashing out of existence. I didn't have time to think about what I'd seen, about the questions piling in my skull, taking over my thoughts. Rowan was still in a car, his body twisted like a pretzel, my roommate's head smashed against the wheel spattered with gore, his brain leaking from his ears.

Rowan, I stopped shaking him when I realized his spine had snapped, his body more liquid than solid. When I felt for a pulse, it was still there, but faint, as sharp red pooled around him, sticking to his hair and drenching his skin and clothes. His head lulled to the side, and I saw and felt that. final breath escape his lips. When I crawled out of the wreck of his car, I dropped onto my knees.

There it was again. This time it was louder, completely unmistakable. The sound of a photograph being taken. When that light filled my eyes once again, I turned away from the car wreck, blinking through intense light. I glimpsed the body seemingly bleeding into existence right in front of me, Like a Polaroid coming to life. Stumbling over to him, I found Roland curled into himself, and like me. He was made up of static, which became flesh, which became skin, spreading across him, making a perfect copy, an exact replica of the dead guy in the wreck. He was beautiful, like a shadow coming to life, a sketch bleeding into a human.

Hesitantly, I reached out and brushed dark curls out of the way, hair which was still shadows and shape seeping into contorted reality. This time the number three was carved into his skin, and by the look of it, the number was fresh, only just coming into existence. Did my asshole roommate just respond? After a moment of just, watching him, watching my roommate be brought to life. His chest rising and falling, eyelids flickering, lips parting, I got a hold of myself and tried to grab him.

But when I was sure my hands had made contact. with him, flesh with flesh, something smashed into the back of my head, and stars filled my vision. I hit the ground, barely physical, which made me easier to capture. I was being dragged, my bare arms burning across rough concrete, before a shadow was looming over me, something cold suffocating my nose and mouth. In the corner of my eye, I glimpsed an adult figure lifting Rowan into their arms, his body still flickering in and out of existence. Before I could cry out, I was forced to inhale, choking on what smelled like lemons. Before my body went limp, and I allowed myself to be dragged into the pitch dark.

The cafe was a cozy, dimly lit refuge from the bustle of the city outside, its warm amber lights casting soft shadows over the rustic wooden tables. The air smelled a freshly ground coffee in faint vanilla, with the low hum of conversations blending into the soft background jazz. Jordan sat at a corner table, her dark hair pulled back into a loose, practical ponytail, revealing sharp, focused brown eyes that darted between her phone and the woman seated across from her. She wore a black leather jacket over a simple gray t-shirt, giving her a casual yet commanding presence. Across from her, Melanie leaned back in her chair, her platinum blonde hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her lips curled into an amused smile. Dressed in a sleek burgundy coat and jeans, Melanie radiated confidence,

her bright blue eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity in skepticism. The contrast between the two was Stark, Jordan, all intensity and purpose, while Melanie seemed to embody an effortless cool, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her coffee cup as she waited for whatever explanation Jordan was about to offer. So, you don't believe in vaccines, huh? Jordan asked casually, stirring her coffee. Melanie leaned forward. Let's just say I'm cautious.

Who knows what they're putting in people these days? Nanotech. Tracking devices, Jordan chuckled, but it wasn't her usual. charming laugh. This was the kind of laugh you made when you're about to drop a bomb. Well, she started, leaning back in her chair and taking a deep breath. Now, if not taking the vaccine is your thing, and you think I have a microchip, you're right. I do, Melanie raised an eyebrow, but Jordan pressed on before she could interrupt. I was sent here from the year 2250 to stop a catastrophic event. And yeah, they implanted a microchip in me. Standard procedure

for time operatives, Melanie's eyes widened, but her smile didn't fade. She still thought this woman was joking. Time traveler, huh? That's a new one. Jordan leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. This isn't a joke. A disaster is coming, something that will wipe out a third of the population in less than a year.

And I'm here to prevent it. The key to stopping it. My target. Someone I was sent to find and eliminate before they trigger the chain of events. And that's where you come in, me, she asked, amusement creeping into her tone. Not you exactly, Jordan corrected. But Tinder, Melanie's amused expression didn't change. Oh, so you swipe left to save the world, and swipe right for destiny, Jordan gave a tight smile.

Something like that. I know it sounds ridiculous, and believe me, it wasn't my first choice, Jordan admitted with a wry grin. But it turns out, in 2024, this is the only reliable way to find the target. There's somewhere on that app, swiping through profiles, completely unaware of the future they'll set into motion. Melanie leaned back, eyeing her thoughtfully. You're serious. Jordan nodded. Dead serious.

Okay, assuming any of this is real, why tell me? Jordan sighed. Because, you're the only match I've gotten in two weeks, and I was starting to think I'd never find my target. I wasn't sure if you might be the one, or maybe connected to them. But now I'm thinking, maybe you can. help. Melanie studied her for a long moment, her skepticism slowly giving way to curiosity. Help. How? Jordan pulled out her phone, swiping through the Tinder app, help me find the target. Swipe through profiles, cross-reference details, see if anything seems off. They're out

there, and I can't do this alone. For the first time in their conversation, Melanie's playful expression disappeared, replaced by a quiet seriousness. The familiar world outside the window, cars passing, people strolling, suddenly felt remote, insignificant, as she realized she might be part of something bigger than herself, bigger than she could have ever imagined. So, Melanie said, leaning forward as she unlocked her phone, her voice now tinged with an urgency she couldn't hide. Who exactly are we looking for? Jordan met her eyes, the intensity in her gaze sharp and unwavering.

A face that doesn't belong in this timeline, Melanie swiped through her Tinder feed, her heart pounding harder with each profile. What had begun as a light-hearted conversation had shifted into something far more serious, and the woman across from her, despite the absurdity of her claims, was surprisingly convincing. There was a certainty in her demeanor, a calm confidence that didn't match the usual ramblings of a conspiracy theorist. Jordan's sharp eyes darted between her phone and Melanies, the tension between them thickening with each passing second.

So, what exactly happens if we don't find this person? Melanie asked, her finger hovering over another profile, more out of nervous curiosity than genuine interest. Jordan sighed deeply, the weight of her mission pressing visibly on her shoulders as she leaned back in her chair. She gazed out the cafe window for a moment, watching the city's bright lights flicker in the distance, then turned her attention back to Melanie. It's not just about finding them, Mel, Jordan began, her voice lower now, almost as if she

didn't want the world to hear. If we don't stop them, it's the end, global collapse. And I'm not talking about a pandemic like the ones you've read about or lived through. This is something worse, something engineered. A pathogen that adapts, evolves. It doesn't just kill people, it changes the biosphere, corrupts it at the molecular level. Melanie's brow furrowed, and she pulled her hand back from her phone. What do you mean, changes the biosphere?

Are we talking zombies or, Jordan shook her head, a grim smile flickering at the edges of her lips. No, no zombies. It's not that kind of horror. The pathogen doesn't just stop at human hosts. It spreads through animals, plants, anything biological. It warps ecosystems, turns rainforests into toxic wastelands, oceans into dead zones. Every living thing begins to break down, mutate. The air becomes poisonous, the water undrinkable, and within a decade, Earth is uninhabitable for humans.

No escape. No refuge. Only chaos. Melanie felt a cold shiver crawl up her spine, the weight of what Jordan was saying settling like a stone in her chest. But, how does it start? Who would even want to do something like that? Jordan's gaze hardened. That's the thing, it's not about someone wanting it to happen. The person we're looking for isn't a villain in the traditional sense. They don't know what they're going to do. They're just someone, ordinary. One decision, one small act, sets everything in motion. Maybe it's signing the wrong contract, funding the wrong project,

pressing the wrong button. Maybe it's as simple as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They don't even know the disaster they'll unleash. But that decision cascades, triggering the release of the pathogen, she leaned forward, her voice intense, pleading for Melanie to understand. And that's why I'm here. That's why I was sent. The technology we use in the future, it can predict quantum signatures, map out the ripple effects of certain decisions. But even with all that, we don't know who the target is yet. Their future is obscured. Someone or something is trying to mask them from me.

It's like trying to see through fog. The only thing we know for sure is that they're on this app. Tinder. A random swipe could lead to the end of the world, Melanie's fingers clenched around her phone, her skepticism slowly crumbling under the weight of Jordan's urgency. So, this person They're just out there, living their life, totally unaware. Jordan nodded grimly.

That's right. They're not evil, Mel. They don't want to destroy the world. But that's what makes it harder. They're just like you and me, ordinary, flawed, unaware. They don't know that what they're about to do will bring about the collapse of civilization. Melanie swallowed hard. This all sounded like some sci-fi movie, but the look in Jordan's eyes was deadly serious.

She'd never been one to buy into wild stories, but she had to admit, the way she spoke, the details she gave, it all seemed, real. And something inside her wanted to believe her. So, Melanie said, swiping through yet another profile. What do we do when we find them? How do we stop them? Jordan's face tightened, and she paused before answering. They have to be eliminated.

Before they can act. The weight of the word eliminate hung between them like a heavy fog. Melanie stared at her, trying to gauge her expression. There was no malice in her voice, but it was clear she wasn't joking. You mean, kill them? Jordan nodded solemnly. I won't lie. This is a dark mission.

But the fate of billions hangs in the balance. Once we find them, I'll handle the rest. Melanie looked back down at her phone, her mind racing. Could she really help this woman find someone Anne, and be okay with what happened next? She had always been someone who valued life, who believed in finding peaceful solutions. But this was something else. This was survival on a global scale. She swiped past a few more profiles, then paused on one.

A man, probably in his mid-30s, dark hair, green eyes, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Jordan noticed her hesitation. Something about him. I don't know, Melanie said slowly. It's just, something feels off. profile seems normal, but she trailed off, unsure how to explain the sense of wrongness she felt. Jordan leaned over, looking at the screen. Let me see. Melanie handed her the phone.

Jordan scrutinized the man's picture, her eyes narrowing. That's him. Melanie's stomach dropped. What? How do you know? Jordan didn't take her eyes off the screen. I can feel it. There's a subtle disruption in his profile. It's like, an echo from the future." This is him. Melanie felt a surge of adrenaline. What now? Jordan's expression hardened.

Now, I match with him. I'll arrange a meeting, and we'll finish this. Without another word, Jordan swiped right. Almost instantly, the notification popped up, it's a match. Whoa, Melanie said, eyes wide. That was fast, Jordan stood, her entire demeanor shifting from the casual cafe gore to something far more intense. They've been waiting for me.

Melanie felt a jolt of alarm. Wait, what do you mean? It's a trap. Jordan stood up, grabbing her coat and heading for the door. They know someone's coming. They don't know it's me, but they're prepared. Panic surged through Melanie as she hurried to her feet, following Jordan. Wait, what am I supposed to do?

Jordan stopped and turned to face Melanie, her face softer now. You've done more than I could have hoped. I need you to stay safe. If anything happens to me, the timeline could unravel. Whatever you do, don't interfere. But, Melanie started, but Jordan was already gone, slipping out the door and into the night, her figure disappearing into the shadows. Melanie stood there, frozen in place, her mind spinning.

The whole thing felt like a fever dream. But before she could process what had just happened, her phone buzzed in her hand, another Tinder notification. She glanced down at the screen. The same man Jordan had swiped on had messaged her. I'd been waiting for you, too, Melanie's blood ran cold. Hello everyone, good morning or good evening, depending on where you are. I'm not sure where or how to begin.

The event I'm about to describe happened not too long ago, perhaps a few months back, but every detail is still etched in my mind. I work as a pilot and this job has exposed me to many things, situation stranger than fiction, but what happened on this flight, that was something else entirely. Something that has made me think a thousand times every time I take to the skies. I won't mention the airline's name, the flight number, or any details that could identify anyone involved with me, not myself, not the captain I was with, not even the flight attendants.

Privacy is important, and I don't want any trouble for anyone. Anyway, it was a routine night flight, from an airport in one Arab country to Cairo International. The weather was good, visibility excellent, no weather warnings, everything was proceeding by the book. I was the co-pilot at the time, flying with an experienced captain, a respectable and calm man, let's call him Captain Arthur. The first hour and a half of the flight passed with utmost calm. We completed our procedures, reached our cruising altitude, the autopilot was engaged, and we were monitoring the instruments, chatting about mundane topics. The engine sound was steady, like a gentle music one gets used to. The passengers were almost all asleep

or watching movies. A classic atmosphere for any long-haul night flight. Suddenly, the cockpit intercom buzzed. It was one of the flight attendants, her voice had a slight note of concern. Captain, we have a passenger causing a bit of a disturbance and refusing to stay in his seat. He's saying strange, incoherent things. Captain Arthur responded. calmly, as was his nature. Strange things like what? Does he seem intoxicated, or what's the situation? The flight attendant replied, no, Captain, he looks perfectly normal but terrified, literally terrified. He keeps saying he must talk to you, that he needs to warn you about something very important. We've tried to calm him down and explain that we don't allow passengers into

the cockpit, but he's insistent and shouting loudly, and the other passengers are starting to wake up and get annoyed. I looked at Captain Arthur, and he looked at me. This wasn't the first time a passenger had caused a problem, but usually, it was for trivial reasons, or someone was just afraid of flying. But the flight attendant's description of this man, terrified and saying strange things, that was a bit unsettling. Captain Arthur told the flight attendant, All right, try to calm him down again, and tell him the captain is busy and can't speak to anyone right now. If he continues to cause a disturbance, let me know, and we'll see how to proceed. The flight attendant hung up, and we returned to our duties. But honestly, I wasn't

comfortable. The word, terrified, stuck in my mind. About ten minutes later, the intercom buzzed again. The same flight attendant, but this time her voice was louder and had a noticeable tremor, Captain Arthur, the situation is worsening. The man is practically having a breakdown. He's banging on the cockpit door and screaming, saying things no one understands. He's saying, it's coming, you have to listen to me, you'll kill us all. All the passengers are awake and scared of him now. That's when Captain Arthur started to genuinely worry. He looked at me and said, check the surveillance cameras by the cockpit door. I opened the small screen that displayed what was happening outside the door. The sight was odd. A man in

his late 30s or early 40s, dressed in ordinary clothes, his hair dishevelled, his eyes wide with a frightening intensity, and filled with tears. He was gesturing wildly with his hands and yelling, his whole body trembling. The flight attendants were around him, trying to pull him away from the door, and he was resisting them with all his might. Captain Arthur sighed and said, This man doesn't look normal at all. Okay, listen, flight attendant's name, does he have anything in his hands? Any bag? Any sharp object? The flight attendant replied with difficulty, trying to speak amidst the commotion,

no, Captain, his hands are completely empty. He just wants to talk to you. Silence filled the cockpit for a few seconds. Captain Arthur was thinking, Safety regulations are very strict about opening the cockpit door during flight, especially for someone in this state. But at the same time, this man was causing panic throughout the aircraft. After some thought, Captain Arthur said, All right, listen to me carefully. I'll let him speak to us through the external intercom speaker next to the door.

Let him stand in front of it and talk, but you all stay around him, and don't leave him unattended. If he tries to make any suspicious move, or if he says anything that threatens the safety of the flight, you will act immediately according to your training. The flight attendant said, understood, Captain. A few minutes passed, and we could hear muffled sounds of commotion and argument from outside. Then, the flight attendant's voice came through again, Captain, he's ready to speak on the intercom. Captain Arthur opened the line and said in a firm voice, Yes, sir, this is the captain of the aircraft. Go ahead, tell me what you have to say,

quickly and calmly. The voice that came from the speaker was choked, breathless, as if he'd been running a marathon. He spoke in broken sentences, in Arabic but with a strange accent, perhaps Levantine or Gulf, I couldn't quite place it at the time due to his agitation. Captain, please, you have to believe me, there's something, something behind us. Following us. Captain Arthur and I exchanged a look of bewilderment. What's behind us, sir? The weather is clear, and there are no other aircraft near us on the radar, Captain Arthur replied. The man screamed into the speaker, no. No. Not an aircraft.

It's, it's a cloud. A strange cloud. It's chasing us. I've been seeing it from the window since we took off. It's getting closer every minute. A cloud? We were at an altitude of over 35,000 feet. Most clouds are far below us, except for certain types of massive cumulonimbus clouds, and those show up on the weather radar from a distance, and we avoid them. Our radar was clean as a whistle.

Captain Arthur tried to calm him, sir, there are no clouds behind us or around us. We can see the instruments clearly, and the weather is perfectly clear. clear. Perhaps you're just a bit anxious about flying. The man's voice became filled with a terrible despair, no. I swear to God I see it. It's black. Black and huge. And shapeless. It's like, like it's watching us. Please look carefully. Look with your own eyes. You'll kill us all if you keep disbelieving me. I started to feel a genuine sense of unease. The tone of his voice wasn't an act. This was raw terror.

Captain Arthur, despite his skepticism, told the flight attendant, have him describe its exact location relative to the aircraft. The man began to describe, still shouting, behind the tail. Slightly to the left of the tail. It's huge. It's swallowing the stars behind it. It's getting bigger every moment. Captain Arthur looked at me and said quietly. take a look out the cockpit window, towards the left rear, but be discreet, don't make

it obvious. The cockpit has small side windows. I got up slowly, trying to crane my neck and look as far back to the left as possible. The sky was clear, the stars shining brightly. There was no trace of any clouds. I sat back down. Nothing there, Captain. The sky is perfectly clear, I said, trying to reassure myself before reassuring him. Captain Arthur spoke to the man again, sir, we've looked ourselves. There's nothing there. You need to calm down and have a glass of water. The flight attendant will help you.

But the man burst into tears and screams, no. You can't see it. It's hiding from you. It knows you're looking. You have to do something. You have to get away from it. Captain Arthur had clearly lost his patience. He told the flight attendant, that's enough.

Try to get him back in his seat, any way you can. If he refuses, use restraints if you have to. Notify airport security as soon as we arrive. We closed the intercom, and a heavy silence descended upon the cockpit. I still felt uneasy. Captain Arthur noticed this and said, don't worry. It's just a panic attack. It happens sometimes.

The safety of the other passengers is what matters. I tried to focus on the instruments, but the man's words about the cloud that's chasing us, kept ringing in my ears. About 15 minutes later, I was routinely scanning the navigation displays when I noticed something strange on the weather radar screen. A very small blip, on the edge of the radar's range, in roughly the same direction the man had described. It was appearing and disappearing. I said to Captain Arthur, Captain, take a look at the weather radar. There's like, a very faint signal towards our seven or eight o'clock. Meaning the rear left of the aircraft.

Captain Arthur leaned closer to the screen and focused on it. The blip appeared again for a moment and vanished. He said, probably interference or clutter. These radars are very sensitive. If it were a real cloud, it would be much clearer than this, and it would remain stable. His words were logical. But my heart was heavy. I kept my eye on the radar every few minutes.

The blip was still appearing and disappearing, but I started to feel like it was, getting closer. Very slowly, but closer. About ten more minutes later, the blip became a bit clearer on the radar. Still intermittent, but clearer. Captain Arthur noticed it too. We didn't speak, but we looked at each other. A look of unspoken questions and suppressed anxiety. Could it be another aircraft not visible on the T-CAS, traffic collision avoidance system, for some reason?

I asked, trying to find a logical explanation. Unlikely. But let's contact air traffic control and ask, Captain Arthur said. We contacted the nearest air traffic control center. and asked if there was any unidentified air traffic in our vicinity, especially behind us to the left. The response was a firm negative. The airspace around us was completely clear in the sector we were inquiring about. At that moment, the anxiety began to transform into another feeling, a sense of strangeness. As if something wasn't right. Captain Arthur, with his experience,

tried changing the radar frequency, zooming in and out, hoping for a clearer picture. But to no avail. It remained a mysterious blip, slowly but steadily approaching. I told him, Captain, I'm going to look out the window again. This time, I'll focus very carefully. Easy does it, he said, his eyes on the instruments. I got up again, trying to look further and more intently. The sky was still black and full of stars.

But this time, this time I saw something. something at the very edge of my vision a blackness within the black as if a piece of the sky was erased a patch devoid of stars a patch that was moving i quickly returned to my seat my heart pounding hard captain there's something something huge and black there are no stars in that area at all just like the man said captain arthur raised an eye and looked at me intently. Are you sure? Not an optical illusion. I'm sure, Captain. See for yourself. Captain Arthur cautiously got up and looked out the window. He looked for a while, then returned to his seat in complete silence. His face, had changed. His expression indicated he'd seen something he hadn't wanted to believe. Did you see it? I asked in a low voice. He nodded slowly.

I saw it. The silence that fell upon the cockpit this time was different. It wasn't the silence of contemplation, it was the silence of, dread. We were both professional pilots, believers in science and logic. But what we were seeing had no logical explanation. Suddenly, the intercom buzzed again. This time, the flight attendant's voice was very shaky, as if she was crying. Captain, the man, the man suddenly calmed down completely.

He's sitting in his seat, looking out the window, and smiling a very strange smile. And he's saying, he's saying, they've seen it now. Now it's their turn to act correctly. Captain Arthur and I looked at each other. Those words hit us like a thunderbolt. Did this man know we would see it? And did he know what we were supposed to do? Captain Arthur, despite everything happening, maintained his composure.

He picked up the intercom handset and told the flight attendant, Listen to me carefully. I want that man to speak to us again. Immediately. A few seconds later, the man's choked voice came through again, but this time it was unervingly calm. Yes, Captain. Captain Arthur said, in a voice he tried to keep as normal as possible,

you, what exactly are you seeing? And what are we supposed to do? The man replied with perfect calm, as if explaining a lesson in school, you see it now, don't you? The black cloud that swallows the stars. It's behind us, and it's watching us. It's been doing this with other planes for a long time. Other planes? I asked quickly. What planes? It doesn't matter, the man replied. What matters now is you. It knows you've seen it. But it's not yet sure you understand its nature. If it senses you're afraid of it, or that you're trying to escape it overtly, it will get closer.

And that will be a big problem. Captain Arthur said, a big problem how? This is just, just a strange atmospheric phenomenon, right? He was trying to convince himself more than the man. The man let out a faint laugh that made the hair on my body stand on end. Atmospheric phenomenon. No, Captain. This isn't an atmospheric phenomenon.

This is, something else entirely. Something older than the sky itself. He paused for a moment, then continued, listened to me very carefully. This is the most important part. You must act as if you see nothing. as if everything is normal. Continue your flight as usual. Same speed, same altitude, same course.

Don't make any sudden maneuvers. Don't talk about it on the radio with anyone. Don't let anyone among the passengers or crew, other than myself, of course, and I've understood my role, sense that anything is wrong. How? I asked, not understanding. How can we act as if we don't see a black monster the size of of a small city chasing us.

You must, he said decisively. It's waiting for your reaction. If you ignore it completely, as if it doesn't exist, as if it's just part of the night, it will gradually lose interest in you. It will feel that you're not a worthy target. Or that you're too foolish to understand the danger. His words were insane. But at the same time, the terror that had been in his voice earlier,

and the confident calm with which he spoke now, made us, believe him. Or at least, it made us willing to try anything. Captain Arthur asked him, and you, how did you know all this? The man fell silent again for long seconds, so long that we thought the line had disconnected. Then he said in a low voice, as if sharing a secret, this sky isn't ours alone, Captain. It never has been. Go and ask what really happened to Malaysia Flight 370. Ask seriously, and look beyond the official statements.

After that sentence, the line disconnected. We tried to call him again, but the flight attendant said he had gone back to looking out the window, wasn't responding to anyone, and still had that strange smile on his face. Captain Arthur and I sat looking at each other for minutes, trying to process what we had heard. A cloud chasing us, a mysterious passenger telling us to ignore it, and hinting at the fate of the missing Malaysian airliner. It was a nightmare. But we didn't have the luxury of time. This thing, the cloud or entity or whatever it was, was still behind us.

It was now showing more clearly on the radar, and visible to the naked eye from the windows if we looked carefully. It was a huge, black mass, with no distinct features, moving with us at our again. exact speed, maintaining a constant distance. Stranger still, it made no sound and didn't affect the aircraft's performance or its instruments. It was like, a giant phantom. Captain Arthur broke the silence, we'll do as he said. I looked at him, disbelieving.

Seriously, Captain. We're going to ignore, that? Do you have another solution? He asked, looking me straight in the eye. If we try to escape, his words might turn out to be true, and things could get worse. If we report it, they'll call us crazy. Let's try it. Act calmly, as if nothing's wrong. And focus on our jobs. And indeed, that's what we did. We re-engaged the autopilot and went back to monitoring the instruments as if everything was normal.

But of course, it wasn't normal. Every few seconds, I... I would involuntarily glance at the radar screen, or try to catch a glimpse of the edge of this thing from the window. My heart was beating so violently I could hear it in my ears. Sweat drenched me, even though the cockpit air conditioning was working fine. An hour passed. An hour of silent terror. An hour of us pretending not to see the monster stalking us in the darkness of the sky. Every minute felt like a year.

I felt the eyes of that thing on us, stuff. studying us, waiting for any wrong move. Captain Arthur was incredibly composed. He spoke to me in a normal voice about routine flight matters, as if he genuinely hadn't noticed anything. I tried to play along, but my voice came out shaky despite myself. Suddenly, I noticed something on the radar. The black spot, was starting to move away. Very slowly at first, then its speed increased slightly. I looked out the window cautiously. The black mass was still there, but it was indeed starting to shrink, as if it were retreating. I said in a hushed voice, Captain, it's moving away. Captain Arthur looked at the radar, then out the window. He didn't try to hide the

flicker of hope that appeared in his eyes. Let's keep an eye on it. And do nothing different. We maintained our course. Another half-hour. hour, and the thing was receding further and further. Until it disappeared completely from the radar screen. We looked out the windows, there was no trace of it. The sky was perfectly clear again, the stars shining as if nothing had happened. A feeling of relief, mixed with disbelief, flooded the cockpit. We sighed in unison. It was as if a mountain had been lifted from our chests. Captain Arthur said, his voice still bearing a trace of attention, thank God. We made it through. Thank God, I replied, still not quite comprehending.

The rest of the flight passed uneventfully, at least outwardly. But of course, it wasn't uneventful for us. Every so often, we check the radar, peer out the windows, as if afraid this thing might return. As we approached Cairo and began our descent procedures, Captain Arthur asked the flight attendant to check on that strange man. The flight attendant replied that he was asleep. Sleeping soundly and very peacefully, as if nothing had happened. When we landed safely at the airport and I was shutting down the engines, Captain Arthur said, we have to see this man and talk to him.

We need to understand more from him. As soon as the passengers began to disembark, we also quickly left the aircraft and stood by the exit door, waiting for him. The flight attendants were with us, also wanting to see him. All the passengers disembarked, one after another. Young people, old people, families, children, but there was no sign of that man. We were very surprised. We asked the lead flight attendant, did he get off? Are you sure you saw him disembark?

She said, as puzzled as we were, I was standing at the door the whole time, Captain. I didn't see him get off. But I also didn't see him get up from his seat after he woke up short of. shortly before landing. He was sitting in seat number X, by the window. We hurried to look at the seat she mentioned. The seat was empty. There was no trace of him. No bag, no jacket, nothing to indicate anyone had been sitting there at all. We looked at each other in shock. How? How could a passenger just disappear from an airplane? Did he deplane with the other passengers, and we just missed him? impossible. We were paying very close attention. Did he, was he never even there? No, we spoke to him,

saw him on the surveillance cameras. And the flight attendants interacted with him. We checked the passenger manifest. The name corresponding to that seat was a very ordinary name, nothing remarkable about it. Airport security thoroughly searched the aircraft after we told them the story, of course, we didn't tell them about the cloud, just that a passenger had been causing a disturbance and had disappeared. They found no trace of him. It was as if he had, simply dissolved into thin air. To this day, Captain Arthur, who became more like a brother to me after what happened, and I can find no logical explanation for that night. Who was that man? And what was the cloud or the thing that was following us? And how did he know all that?

And why did he disappear in that manner? Whenever I look at the night sky, especially on long flights over remote areas, I feel like eyes are watching us from the darkness. And I remember that man's words, this sky isn't ours alone. That sentence keeps ringing in my ears. And I always ask myself, what really happened to Flight 370? And how many other flights have gone through the same experience, with no one ever knowing? If any of you have any explanation, or have experienced something similar, please share it. I need to understand.

I need to know I'm not crazy. Sorry for the length, but I needed to get this off my chest. Thank you for listening. The end. Part 1, that night at the bar that still haunts me, this happened a long-ass time ago. Like, long enough that I still had hair, thought flavored vodka was classy, and believed that Friday nights meant something. It was one of those random nights that starts off real quiet, you know, just me and a girl I was seeing, nothing fancy. We weren't regulars at that bar,

but we weren't strangers either. Let's say we were frequent enough to not get carted but not enough to get a free round. Anyway, the place had this chill dive vibe. No music so loud you couldn't hear yourself think, no TikTok influencers doing shots on the pool table. Just locals' nurses, their beers, playing darts, and trying to forget they had jobs to go to tomorrow. We grabbed a booth in the back where the light was just dim enough to make you forget how broke you were. We were maybe two drinks in when the doors flung open and enrolled the kind of guys that just do's entitlement. I'm talking about frat-boy types with money, like they were born inside a Jeep with a trust fund instead of an umbilical cord. The loudest one had his sunglasses

is still on, inside, at night. That kind of guy. Total, Daddy paid my bail energy. Immediately they start stomping around like they just bought the place. One of them actually yelled, let's liven this dump up, and clapped his hands like a toddler demanding snacks. I remember this tall guy with a backwards cap knocking a pool cue out of someone's hand like it was a joke. They were loud, obnoxious, and had that cocky posture that screams, I've never been punched in the face. The rest of us, being grown-ass adults with basic social awareness, kind of gave them a wide berth. Nobody wanted trouble. We just moved away, kind of the way you avoid a drunk uncle at Thanksgiving when he starts talking politics. My date raised an eyebrow

and muttered something like, Rich Boy Dushabag Parade, and I laughed, but also kept an eye on them. You never know. A little while later, things took a turn. The front door swung open again, but this time it wasn't frat bros, it was a group of Mexican bikers. Leather vests, serious faces, not the cosplay type either. You could tell these dudes had seen some things. They walked in like they had a purpose, like they weren't there to party, they were just existing, which somehow made them scarier than all the yelling Jeep bros combined. The atmosphere shifted. You could feel it, like static right before a lightning strike.

The brothers noticed too, and you could almost hear the gears grinding in their over-confident skulls. And of course, because there's always one, Mr. Alpha Bro, Sunglasses guy, decided to test the waters. He walked up to one of the bikers, chest puffed out, with that swagger only someone with too much money and not enough wisdom could pull off. He did this fake-friendly shoulder bump and said something I couldn't hear, but from the biker's expression, it wasn't, have a nice evening. just stood there. Didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just, still. Like a statue carved out of pure, don't mess with me. And then Mr. Alpha started posturing more, leaning in like he wanted a reaction. That's when one of his frat buddies grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to pull him back, probably thinking, okay, man, this ain't the campus quad. But the way Alpha reacted,

you could tell he thought this was just the classic, hold me back. You know, the kind you do when you want to look tough without actually fighting. Yeah. Nah. That's not what this was. While Alpha Bro kept yapping, two of the bikers silently slid their hands inside their jackets. Not fast. Not showy.

Just quiet and slow, like they'd done it before. Another one, big guy, walked back toward the front and calmly held the door closed from the inside. That was the moment my stomach hit the floor. No one said a word. No yelling. No threats. Just that stillness, that tension that told you this wasn't going to end with just spilled beer and harsh language. Alpha must have felt it too because suddenly, he backed off.

He didn't apologize, of course, probably didn't know how, but he kind of slithered back to his group with that fake laughing, huh, just kidding, bro, energy. The bikers stayed still, watching, not chasing, not gloating. Just watching. Like wolves who know they'll eat later. I looked at my date and gave her the universal, we need to leave like now, face. She nodded immediately. We slid out of the booth like shadows and started making our way to the door. I wasn't about to be collateral damage in whatever the hell was about to go down.

But of course, it couldn't be that simple. Just as we were walking out, we bumped into a friend of mine. Let's call her Becky. Becky was wasted. Like full-on slurring, mascara running, hugging strangers-level drunk. And she was alone. We couldn't just leave her. I mean, come on, I'm not a monster.

So we agreed to give her a ride home. Scooped her up, helped her to the car, and drove her across town to her apartment, where she immediately passed out on the couch. Took us maybe 20, 30 minutes round trip. On our way back, mostly because we were still kind of buzzing with adrenaline, we decided to swing by the bar again, just to see if anything had happened. It's like when you smell smoke and have to look out the window to see if there's a fire. Curiosity's a bitch like that.

We roll up and, yep, there's a crowd outside. Not a huge one, but enough to know something's going down. You could feel the energy before we even parked. The frat bros were out there. The bikers too. Tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. My date looks over and says, Oh shit, want to watch.

And like a complete idiot, I say, yeah, kinda. So we park across the street and just, observe. There's a bunch of shouting, arms waving, people doing that chest thumping, tough guy theater that usually ends with someone getting tackled by security. A few folks had their phones out, of course. Because if someone dies and it's not on video, did it even happen? We're watching from a distance, not close enough to hear words but close enough to read body language.

And then it just snaps. One of the brothers swings first. No surprise, it was the tall backwards cap guy from earlier. Fist flies, someone ducks, chaos erupts. People start yelling, pushing, screaming. But that's not even the craziest part. Mr. Alpha, because of course it had to be him, gets into it again. But not with one of the bikers.

No. This jackass decides to throw hands at a woman. One of the bikers' girlfriends had stepped in, yelling in his face, probably trying to break it up or maybe just offensive. her man, and Alpha just loses it. He punches her. Hard. Not a shove. Not a slap. A full-on closed fist swing to the face. She goes limp instantly, like a puppet with its strings cut, and instead of letting her fall, he holds her up and keeps punching her. Over and over. Her body flopping with each hit like some horrific ragdoll. And then it got worse. Part two, when Things went from bad to absolutely insane, so there we were, watching this nightmare unfold

right in front of us, and honestly, my brain was doing somersaults trying to keep up with what I was seeing. Mr. Alpha, who had been cocky and loud just minutes ago, was now punching a girl, this poor biker's girlfriend, like it was some kind of twisted boxing match. And she wasn't even fighting back anymore. She was hanging limp, like a broken doll in his grip. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a car comes tearing through the parking lot like it's got a death wish. The headlights blazed through the dark like a spotlight on this crazy scene.

Everyone freezes for a second. The driver probably wasn't expecting a live-action drama playing out in a bar parking lot at 2 a.m. And this is the part that sticks in my head like a bad tattoo. Mr. Alpha sees the car barreling right at them. What does he do? Instead of getting out of the way, he does the sickest move you could imagine, he throws the unconscious girl down in front of the car. Just drops her like a sack of potatoes.

The car runs over her legs. I swear, time slowed down for me. Her head and upper body were pinned under the car as the tires rolled over her lower half, and the rest of us just stood there, frozen in this nightmare scene. The girl screams, well, more like a mix of pain and terror, but she manages to cry out, get in the fucking car. At this moment, Mr. Alpha screams back something like, Fuck that.

Or maybe something even worse, I can't be sure because the sound of tires and chaos was drowning everything else out. But that's when things turned even darker. While all this madness is happening, the biker Mr. Alpha first tried to mess with just pulls something out from inside his jacket, a knife. No hesitation, no yelling, just a cold, deadly moon.

move. And then, in one smooth but horrifying motion, he drives the knife straight into Mr. Alpha's neck. The guy didn't even get a chance to react. The blade went right in, cutting a deep, ugly hole all the way through his jugular. Blood started spraying like a busted fire hydrant, painting his white shirt a gruesome red within seconds. My heart was pounding so loud I swear the whole street could hear it. The biker didn't just stab him once, he saw the the blade back and forth a few times like he was carving a damn turkey. The hole in Mr. Alpha's neck was massive. The guy was done. I grabbed my date's hand and just ran, literally flooring the gas, running a red light, ignoring every rule in the book. I was trying to get the hell

away from the nightmare we just witnessed. When I glanced back in the rearview mirror, Mr. Alpha's blood was spreading out like a dark cloud over the pavement. His friends were screaming and yelling but no one could do anything. The whole scene was surreal, like something out of a movie, but way too real. How we tried to process the madness. We got back to my place, and for the longest time, neither of us said a word. It was like we were both replaying the horror over and over in our heads. The kind of silence that's so loud it hurts. I remember my date breaking the silence with a shaky voice, do you think he deserved it, and I didn't have an answer. Not because I was a moral philosopher, but because the whole thing was just too fucked up to unpack on the

spot. What we both did agree on was this, it wasn't worth sticking around. Not worth ending up on the wrong side of those bikers. Whatever that rich kid thought he was doing, whatever story the frat boys tried to sell themselves and others, it didn't matter. It was a death sentence. And that's how we buried it. Not literally, but we pushed it down so deep that it became one of those things you never talk about again. A secret shared by two people who saw too much. The aftermath nobody talked about. Later that week, I saw the news. And I tell you, I nearly lost it. They painted Mr. Alpha like some kind of hero. The victim. The poor rich kid who had his whole life ahead of him. The articles were full of phrases like, Young Man of Promise, and,

tragedy struck too soon. A shrine popped up at the bar where he was stabbed, flowers, candles, pictures. People who never even knew him showed up to mourn. Meanwhile, the bikers? Crickets. The story in the papers didn't mention them at all. Like they were ghosts. I felt sick. The whole thing was twisted. The truth buried under a mountain of money, media spin, and public opinion. I never told anyone what I really saw. Well, except my brother. And he still thinks I should have come forward, called the cops, done the right thing. But I knew better.

Where this happened, let's just say it's not a city where locking up a murderer would make much difference. The system's crooked, the cops are scared, and justice is just a word thrown around like confetti at a parade. So I kept my mouth shut. Why this story stays with me, years. later, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, heart racing, the images flashing back like a bad movie. The way Mr. Alpha's blood spread on the pavement, the girl screaming under that car, the cold calm of the biker who didn't blink before pulling out that knife. I don't tell this story much because people don't want to hear it. It's ugly. It's brutal. It's

the kind of thing that shatters your faith in people and in the idea that justice is real. But sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if we had stayed. If we had tried to step in. If I had done something, would it have ended differently? Would anyone have survived that night? Or would I have just become another statistic? Another body in the street? A final thought.

Some nights, I still think about those Jeep bros and those bikers. About how a stupid night out can spiral into chaos in seconds. about how the difference between life and death sometimes comes down to who's got the nerve to throw the first punch, and who's got the cold steel tucked inside their jacket. And I think about that girl, whose name I never even learned, who got caught in the middle of something way bigger than any of us. That night changed me. Made me realize that the world isn't black and white.

It's messy, dangerous, and sometimes downright cruel. But it also made me realize that sometimes, the world. The best you can do is just get the hell out of there. Part 3, picking up the pieces and living with it. After that night, everything changed for me. Not right away, but slowly, like a cold drip of water wearing down stone. The memory haunted me, creeping into my thoughts when I least expected it. At first, I told myself it was just a bad night, something that happens, a freak accident

in a city full of trouble. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. I started noticing things differently. Like how people could put on masks so easily, pretending everything's normal when underneath their monsters or victims or something in between. Like how the line between good and evil is often blurry, and sometimes the worst people get a pass because of who they are or how much money they have. I tried to act normal, but that night stayed with me like a stain that wouldn't wash out.

I'd catch myself staring at the street where it happened or flinch when I heard a car screech or a voice raised in anger. The friend who wanted answers, my brother was the only one I confided in, and man, he was relentless about it. You should have gone to the cops, he kept saying, almost like it was obvious. But what would I have told them? I asked him. Some drunk frat boy got stabbed by bikers. Everyone's already made up their minds. I'd be the crazy guy stirring shit up.

He shook his head and looked at me like I was letting something slip through my fingers, like justice or maybe just the truth. You got to live with it either way, he said, but at least you wouldn't have the guilt. Guilt. Yeah, that was the real killer. Because after all, I was there. I saw it happen. I didn't call the cops.

I didn't stop it. I just drove away. Life moves on. on, but the past clings. Weeks turned into months, months into years. I changed jobs, moved apartments, tried dating again, but that night lurked in the back of my mind like a shadow I couldn't shake. Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse of someone who looked like Mr. Alpha, clean-cut, arrogant, drunk on money and power, and I'd feel a pang of anger mixed with pity. How could someone so full of themselves meet such a brutal end? And then there was the girl. I never

even knew her name. But I pictured her often, tough, loyal, caught in the crossfire of a world that doesn't give a damn about people like her. I wondered if she survived, what her life looked like now. Did she move on? Did she heal? Or did that night break her forever? Why I'm telling you this now, it's taken me years to put this story into words. To admit out loud what I saw, what I felt, and what I regret. Because sometimes, the hardest thing isn't what happens to you, it's carrying it alone, in silence. I'm not proud of walking away, but I also know I wasn't ready to be a hero. Maybe I never will be. But I hope that by telling this story, even anonymously, it reminds someone out there that real life isn't like the movies. People get hurt, people make mistakes, and

sometimes the right choice is just to survive. I also want you to think. about the people you pass by every day, the ones you don't notice, the ones you write off. Because sometimes, beneath that rough exterior, there's a story you'll never hear. Sometimes, they're fighting battles bigger than you can imagine. Final thoughts. So yeah, that night was fucked up. Terrible things happened, and it left scars on everyone involved, even those who tried to keep their distance. I guess what I'm trying to say is this, life can be brutal and unfair. and unfair. But it's also messy and complicated, full of moments where you just have to decide

whether to fight, flee, or freeze. That night, I froze and fled. I'm still alive, still here, still trying to make sense of it all. The end. Iaya, Hawaii, 2019. A few months after my wife inherited a trust, I defended myself from someone who visibly clenched up as soon as he entered my line of sight. Surprised, I did a double take, whereupon he made a show of deliberately looking away, as if commanding me not to notice him. After a moment he looked back at me, and I called him out with a curt nod. He then became verbally abusive and assaulted me in front of multiple witnesses and security cameras. A security guard came afterwards and asked if I wanted to make a police report, but I declined. Seemingly overnight the rougher demographics of the

community began to act more vigilant and menacing towards me. Because I didn't know who he was, until I recognized him getting indicted on the news a year later as crime boss Mike Misk, I called on several family members to help protect my loved ones. My uncle-in-law, who I euphemistically refer to as, Murray Franklin, offered to come help us fly out of the state. I started to feel like myself again once we boarded the plane. I was about to leave this disaster behind. Then, When Murray Franklin called attention to us by loudly making fun of my sense of insecurity regarding our safety. One nearby passenger stood up to get a good look at us.

I had a sinking feeling as the plane took off. Could this follow us? I've been in a state of limbo. Only recently I thought it strange. The in-laws never expressed any interest, let alone concern, or even passing curiosity in such a life-threatening event that could have subsequent ramifications. South Daytona, Florida, 2019, a few days after a rival Murray Franklin and his wife came to make an unsolicited presentation of their enduring love for us and how any past feuds were water under the bridge.

It was inexplicably generous given my incompatible history with them and sounded scripted, devoid of emotion, and felt awkward. I reiterated my concerns for our safety but there was no response. We tentatively stayed in vacation rentals until eventually renting a house in South Daytona from a family friend, who I will refer to as Titusville. One day I caught the next door neighbor pointing an old school camera with a huge zoom lens at the house. The glare of sunlight must have prevented him from seeing me through the window and I recorded him with my phone. Then on another occasion I heard the patio door close when I was alone in the house. Imagine how that would feel after dealing with a crime boss. The thing is Titusville would also show up unannounced

on the pretense of retrieving his items, had a security camera recording us inside, and then for gently complaining about his email picture being a portrait of his crotch with his devil's horn hand symbol pointing at it. He kicked us out during the COVID moratorium ban on evictions knowing I had a very bad cough. All illegal so I documented these with visual evidence and prepared to take him to Daytona Beach Civil Court. I shared my intentions with Murray Franklin because he had previously claimed not to be that close with Titusville and would not take sides in the issues we were having. It seemed to slowly dawn on him that I wasn't going to let Titusville kick us out for no reason and suddenly he was adamant that we'd get in big trouble if I stood on

my tenant's rights. He would pause, clearly thinking of what to pull out of his hat next, like blurting out, don't do it. He's lawyered up. He's lawyered up. Murray Franklin has been known to track us with detectives slash private investigators in the past and even mentioned doing so. He used to work for the city so he has the right connections. He's also the treasurer of a local charity. One relative from an older generation had married a Freemason. Titusville showed up to court with a big folder, which I suspect to be Murray Franklin's treasure trove of dirt on me, because a deputy strangely asked me alone for ID as we all entered the court.

room, then I was arrested the next day for a supposed out-of-state warrant. Well, it must have been a bogus one because they released me the next day without explanation. We quietly broke off with the in-laws after that. Until then we were set to buy a property through their family friends. Afterwards the trust suddenly had concerns about our ability to manage a property. I wonder who shared such concerns with them. Murray Franklin must really love us as family because he presented. pursued us with several unhinged emails. In one he told my wife that I don't really love her

and am only there for the trust, despite the fact that I have been with her before it for years, through thick and thin. Another ranted ominously about CPS in an exaggerated caricature of African-American speech. He acts like he knows everything about me since even before the misconc encounter, but I can count on both hands the number of times we've interacted in person and most of that was after the incident. It seemed the more open I've been in approaching him the more fake he becomes. He's also made the baseless accusation in the past that I must be on hard drugs. Jacksonville, Georgia, South Carolina, 2021 present.

We've been broken into several more times over the last few years and there are records of that. For example, we came home one night to a car parked in our driveway. I contacted the property owner but he didn't know anything about it. Then I found the front door was not fully closed. Upon searching online I found that it's a common burglary tactic to leave a vehicle in the driveway to make residents hesitate and allow intruders more time to escape. The next day I observed someone retrieve the vehicle. It was the next door neighbor. There have been other unusual occurrences, unsolicited people approaching out of the blue offering to sell cannabis and a bit too eager to exchange numbers, two of my old phones being stolen.

the phone of someone I had exchanged numbers with having his phone stolen shortly after by his female companion, and another intrusive property owner who, like Titusville, was unnecessarily antagonistic and kept our money after kicking us out for nothing. I had thought the break-ins were because the economy was hard due to the pandemic, but that may not be the case because nothing valuable was ever taken. I guess they didn't find the drugs that demented Murray Franklin reported to them because guess what? I'm not on drugs. It seems he's out to attack us with slander, including lies such as that, while pretending to be concerned and helpful with whatever we are trying to do, in order to get in our business

and create legal or financial obstacles by turning the community against us. I had been depicting my experience in videos over time using analogous movie scenes to symbolically represent events for which I had no actual footage. When I recently put them together in the right chronological order on my YouTube channel, they told a shockingly obvious story and I was finally able to see the big picture. Murray Franklin had gotten me arrested for challenging his family friend. Titusville and probably his neighbor had been invading our privacy on his behalf. He must be trying to ruin us from behind the scenes, to make people think we are crazy and

incapable, to break us apart, thinking my wife will come home to him with the trust so that he can power of attorney it, preferably without me around. Their family has a history of power of attorney in mental illness. If Mike Misk had made me disappear it may have accomplished the same goal faster and in line with the same strategic pattern. There is also a curious vacuum of information regarding my wife's father, who apparently died in an accident not long after being accused of abusing her mother. Murray Franklin claims to not remember his first name despite having had him over for a visit

when he was dating my wife's mother. Whatever the case may be he is playing a one-sided mind game with us that we don't want any part of. This past holiday season he fished for our location by saying he had some mail to forward and we told him yes, our P.O. box is still the same. It's a P.O. box because we know by now what he's up to and we don't want him in our business anymore. Then a couple of weeks later he emailed us a random, interesting article by amazing coincidence about the very city we're in. He then started right to an email address which I have not shared with him. I can now no longer log into that email account or the one with which

I had been communicating with him. He must have thought I would remain in his pocket forever fearing for my safety. Moving away from him messed up his plans to dictate our lives with his delusional bureaucracy in his neat little community. He then had to involve more people in vain who may not appreciate being overextended. He didn't realize I may have been flying on certain radars after brushing shoulders with Mike Misk. His covert campaign must have cost him a fair amount of money. I have to wonder whether he siphoned from the trust perhaps by misappropriating some of the

residual estate. I remember when we briefly shared a rental with his son, a network system administrator, over ten years ago. I caught his son about to cheat us out of a couple hundred dollars with some slight of hand transaction over the utilities or deposit. He was so casual and not at all apologetic about it like he was perfectly entitled to get over on us. Before that he also mentioned watching out for cops coming to serve him a summons because he owed the bank. After he left the rental arrangement and we took over the entire unit I remember seeing a slit above one of the front

door shades on his side of the unit that was just slightly more depressed than the others. It was right around I level and you could see outside through it. And shortly after the birth of his son, the girl grabbed the baby and tried to flee, home of their parents but this decision. It was fatal since Ken decided to follow her and, Revenge. We started in 1981 Skidmore A, little Miss Yuri town was a place, very quiet at that time I had, less than 500 inhabitants and everyone. Nothing was ever known with each other.

In their lands it was a peaceful place and, mainly sunny throughout the year, but on July 10th of that same year, someone with, was roasted in broad daylight, and in the middle of the main street this, crime was witnessed by sixty people, of all ages and incredible that. It seems nobody spoke sixty people saw, die to an adult man but nobody, opened his mouth and why this. We will discover A, continue Ken at Rex McElroy Moore, known as Ken was born on June 1st, 1934 in Kitman, Missouri to childhood.

Adolescence we barely have information, but more or less we have been able to rescue. Some data say that he was born in the bosom, of a serenat Aereo's family, with few resources and when I was in. Eighth course decided to leave the studies. It was practically illiterate, but still, thus life was very well sought as. He left his studies to work in, a work and was always a boy, normal and current, but when I turned 18, years suffered an accident that changed it, all completely, and is that a great slab, of steel fell on him causing him, chronic pain throughout his life, the right hand hurt, both arms the neck and not. We are just talking about sequelae, physical but also psychological sins. From then on its character, Agrio behaved erratically,

closed in itself and occasionally, he had violence starts turning her. Thus in Skidmore Ken's terror he was a, giant in the town because it weighed more or, minus 122 kilograms and also one was very high. Of his neighbors said that he simply, I wanted to be great and important and wanted, that people feared him when he walked, through the streets and indeed it finished it, getting the life of many, different forms sold dogs from, gasoline earth product races, antiques and little by little he was needing, a true fortune went to the tavern, of the town with banknotes through money on people's face he scrubbed his richness he made fun of the others and occasionally had conflicts with neighbors for matters of land this kind of conflicts normally people do not usually climb it is discussed a little and then they go to sue's houses and the subject stays there but in the case of ken everything was very different and it turns out that to this man did not like to speak but another thing either he liked was the fight physics what they called him were the weapons so when i had a little problem went home he grabbed the shotgun returned

to the scene and Leaba. Shots even some people said, that this man shot because without, have fought without having had A. Ken problem crossed two cables. Sions the gun and there would be a fire. Of his victims was Romaine Henry A. His neighbor Romaine saw that Ken got in your property without your permission and four. This wanted to enter, but as soon as I, he approached him the guy took out the shotgun and he shot him there was no fight, there was no fight. There was nothing queen without a word. He took out the gun and shot and obviously four a to judgment for this but unfortunately romayne ran into two big problems to start ken got one of the best lawyers from all over the state richard jing fin which defended

mafia and secondly who presented two witnesses that they allegedly said that the moment of crime he wasn't even there basically they said that this shot ever it occurred because ken was not there to shoot the trial was a nonsense and as difficult you can look there were more people who hydrated the same music throughout the years who reached face a total of 25 positions criminals and did not pay for any of. They kill homos weighed the charges of. Theft of livestock cattle caused, robbery with purple search, violence abuse of minors and assault with, I try murder but your lawyer. I always saved him was a very, cunning and able to free anyone, of imprisonment even and faced the more atrocious charges such as abuse

and the vireation of minors Ken was, extremely violent with women, especially with little girls, girls who did not go from 13 years, just as he decided to kidnap and violate, the daughter of some neighbors and not testify against him married her but at this point we will return more a head did the same with different women and soul poop up to three marriages but incredible that it seems all their women said it was a wonderful person a clear example of this were his last two wives alice and trenna both wanted denounce him for ill treatment but look like such complaints did not reach nothing in over time they defended him to cape and sword when he died told everyone that it was a bit wild a bit violent but not it had nothing to do with what the sense

said, people who were honest, generous, and that he never had evidence that this man would have stolen anything and for his part his. Last wife Trenna McElroy did. Exactly the same said the police. I always accused him of crimes that didn't, had committed and that he was very good person, but it can be said that the story of this woman seems taken from a horror movie since he married him, with just 14 years of age and little time. Then he gave birth to his first child. I interrupt the video at this point to give you very, very striking and is that being married to. Alice put Terina at home which in those moments was pregnant and there were minor some sources say that I was only 13 years old and others that already. He was 14 but as he

were, adult and her minor for quite. Time was with Alice Trenna to the same. Time and the girls lived together. The same roof having pointed out, this can continue when they married. Tena was minor and he was much older then. She and shortly after the birth of her, son the girl grabbed the and tried, flee to their parents' house but this decision was fatal since Ken decided, follow her and avenge turned on fired. His parents' house and also shot, to the family dog these acts were, known to all neighbors by the whole town, but in 1981 it takes what? He justified said Ken never burned the home of their parents and that fire. It was accidental the cables were wrong. They were defective and by a short circuit. Everything turned on was

very cunning he knew, what people bother people, weak and fulfilled its threats with the sufficient frequency to make believe people what was he going to do what he said he was going to m mclean many people have criticized ken's former sight but you have to keep in mind that even the police several agents of that then they have reported that they did not know how to act before him was always armed and he didn't mind shooting or civilians or to ken rex mackleroy police the law and everyone knew what did what i would never pay some neighbors came to denounce him for theft a aggression raid threats but days after formalizing the complaint these same people withdrew it and the reason was that Ken was harassed, he went to his.

Houses parked at the door passed, all night there from time to time, fired in the air and as everyone knew about, what was capable were scared, and they withdrew the complaint, but of course, Lomaran police was much worse, since the agents could do nothing. They frightened Ken the guy went back and, surely in doing so I would not be alone. It was all horrible and the neighbors of, Kidmore were, terrified on April 25th, 1980. A very violent event occurred in the town of the town this store belonged. longed. Ernest Bowen Cam and his family all, the world was going to that place because there was no more stores like that since we remember. That was a very small town that day, who was

working there was Evely. Sammy and the girl realized that, eight-year-old Tony a daughter of Ken McElroy, had grabbed sweets and intended, leave without paying some sources say, that was unintentionally and others that was. Deliberate entered store FAP by, A-G-O-L-L-L-loinas jeed them looked to Evely and, I intended to go without paying them so. Girl went to the girl and asked her, please return them that if not, I was going to pay they could not take them and, this is when the big problem comes and, is that the girl when she returns home, told his parents and both Trenna and, Ken went to the store to set up a, scandal from that moment on Ken. McElroy raised to harass the, Bowen Cam family was so unexpected, almost

to being surreal we had. Robberies in the store, but many people. I was going through difficult times. There was a kind of silent charity, by my parents and never. They processed if they thought they were leaving. The hand sent one of us from, one side of the hall and nobody ever. He was directly accused of stealing in the Ernest Bowen Joyce Monty Daughter Store. Cam began to harass them day and night end, tell them horrible things parked the car at the door of his house passed. There all night threatened them, persecuted and many times his wife Trena. He was accompanied by this marriage to store owners and employees and did not rest a single. There were many nights in which Dad could not go out and cut the lawn or water the flowers because there was a truck,

parked on the street and they were, watching the Melroy House simply, he laid and looked at you with frown, I only stared at you and you never knew what I was thinking and on July 8th of 1980 Kenna park his truck in the rear of the store and after a discussion with Ernest took out his shotgun and fired him luckily. Ernest saved his life and Kent was, arrested and taken to trial being, formerly accused of attempt murder. The preliminary trial was set for 18, August of that same year but of, on the way to date that did not lose the time and dedicated himself to harassed the family. Of his victim every day he was going to his, house stayed in the car shot at, air threatened them and threw. Legal maneuvers who delayed the trial almost five months

during that time. The prosecutor resigned and had to be, changed to a new specifically, by David Baugh but what happens here that the new prosecutor ended right to just. Three years I had almost no experience and all. They believed that Ken had already one would be a, easy-to-buy-busy prosecutor. Manipulate but against all prognosis. David achieved what no other, lawyer had achieved and was condemning. Ken Rex McElroy this subject was finally, condemned by second-degree aggression, and the fixed jury a maximum sentence of. Two years in prison obviously your lawyer, he said he was going to appeal and the judge while this happened set a bond for him. 0.00 and forbidden to use weapons was not the type of justice that should have. Received we got up

and did what? Correct we go to the police we go, to the courts we went to all the places we could but justice. I kept delicate, out of the way looking back. Now I think the justice system, it had so much to do with Ken's death. McElroy as anyone in Skidmore Little, after it was Freedom Ken, plant lot to Burnett del Pueblo DNG Tavern, and after drinking the shotgun, and threatens all those present threat, with finishing for your victim to the friends of, it is family members to the neighbors, threatens anyone who dares, support Ernest Bowen Cam and therefore, those present call the police arrive, the agents take away the weapon, they arrest him to police station and a few hours there are freedom again and that is when the

people decide that no longer can music more the people were fed up with him all they knew that he would not go through the prison he i also knew a good lawyer i had a lot of money i had contacts and all that made it untouchable could steal shoot threatening to harass miners could do what i wanted and never pay for this is why the morning of july 10th 1981 much of the neighbors are gathered in a place located in the same street where the tavern was that meeting attended more or S-60, people among which were, the mayor and the local sheriff was discussed. For several hours what could they do, legally to end Ken and the sheriff give these surveillance, neighborhood to create a body of, civilians to jiler this man to, maximum possible to take turns going to his,

house watching the women to the children, but the 90 by those present said that this did not serve anything that for more, that they watched in the police could not, doing anything would continue to shoot the, people threatening harassing by assaulting, minors would remain the same, monster of always and the people would continue running danger and then someone interrupted the meeting saying that Kenny and Trenna had parked just in front of the local tavern that it meant that another crime was going to occurs and therefore all present stopped what they were doing to go to the tavern from from here everything is silence and the only person who can speak is Trenna Melroy Ken Rex McElroy's wife according to the woman she and her husband were in the tavern drinking drinks were drinking having fun but out of nowhere Local was filled with people the atmosphere, solved very tense uncomfortable and so much she,

as Ken decided that they should leave, they go out and go up to their car and know, realized that the whole vehicle is, surrounded the entire street is full of, people and everyone stares them, but Ken gave him the same so, he took out a cigarette and lit it. Then when several shots, Ken began to sound, on top of the steering wheel and P was, stuck in the accelerator causing. The engine roar with force, however, Trenna managed to sail out of the car, he tried to flee but only one of the present Jack Clement approached her and tried to help her accompanied her to the Bonco left her there and then disappeared. But when Trenner returned to the scene,

crime realized that there was no longer, nobody minutes before the street was, crowded there were dozens of people, dozens of witnesses, but now there was no, not a soul the entire people witnessed the Mwerte death of her husband what she did, think that everyone was unpunctured. He called the police demanded witnesses, but none of those present dared, speak one of Ern's Bowen's daughters. Cam saw all the shooting from the store. And still I didn't remember anything Jack Clement, who helped Trenna said he didn't see. Nothing the sheriff, the mayor the sheriff. None of them saw anything and according to. Trenna were present was something so, shocking. Noise insisted the police requested justice. No one wanted to listen to it and of course.

He turned to the press called Radio A, television and granted several. Interviews which caused several. Neighbors said she also deserved, die because if the case had died, it would have been, filed the crime scene according to the police was very interesting and is that there were bullet hoods for all parties and the most striking is that look there were two shooters since the caps belonged to two weapons

different two people shot ken in broad daylight in the middle of the street main and in the presence of 60 people but thus none of them had seen nothing in today nobody still remember what happened and continue to say that despite seeing anything that was authentic justice tren mackleroy in half

of the trial said that the murderer was one of the owners of that same tavern that he saw him get out of his car get a shotgun and point to her husband but as nobody supported everything he stayed there it was his word against the entire people and although the fbi became involved case closed for this four years later though woman sued the entire people to the people of skidmore by guilty homicide and i asked for a compensation of six million in that demand included the mayor to sheriff and the alleged gunman who he killed her husband but justice did not gave six million but a little less than twenty thousand over the trent years, the people left to marry formed another, family and died in 2012 at the

age of. Fifty-five years so now is your turn what? You think about the case and you think the death of. Ken was justice. Everything is fine says goodbye to the father, but from then on anyone else, he saw him again is 10.30 at night. Milton asks his other son P. knows, something of Anakin, but this tells him no, arrives at 11.30 a.m. and, 124 minutes Anakin sends him a message, telling him that he will be late and that Fayer does not close the door with Key this case starts on Monday morning 30 August 2021 specifically to

10 30 minutes when Anna Quinn Pedro Tancara told his father that he was going to make some efforts from Thursday past I was trying to do some efforts in the National Health Fund to thus extend your insurance until 25 years he tried on Thursday but he couldn't come back on Friday and finally returned

on Monday to end with the Milton Tancarra theme your father gave some money to have lunch outside and the boy went out the door, and he returned at 3.30 after arriving home, grabbed a couple of tangerines and went to your room to study since that night. He had an exam in the room, practically all afternoon and more or less at 6 o'clock, to tell his father that he had to, print some school notes, summaries but the problem here is that the house printer did not work like this, that at 6, 440 came out the door in, direction to the university had to go, also since in a few hours I had, exam with which I would take advantage of the trip.

Everything is fine says goodbye to the father, but, from then on anyone else, his 10.30 at night saw him again. Milton asks his other son who knows, something of Anakin, but this tells him no. 12.04 minutes Anakin sends him a message, telling him that he will be late and that, please do not close the door to the. See the Milton message is a bit, quieter but at the same time. Think that perhaps is with your ex-girlfriend, which does not make it a bit of grace without. Embargo on your child so.

simply let the hours go by but the next morning anakin still does not appear and when call this is off aniquim pedro tancara swares was born on twenty february nineteen ninety nine in bolivia being one of the two children of milton tancara of his childhood we barely have information but what today we know is that according to some portales his mottoes abandoned in his brother when they were very small and their father milton took care of them if i know what father children considered themselves trelezos who did all together and that had a very good connection performed all kinds of activities in family and also told everything about. Anakin knows that he was a very quiet and responsible worker another, something that he liked very, animals and shared messages in his Facebook page to raise awareness, population regarding the abandonment of pets but their passion over. It was everything to help others from good. Little boy was a boy with a great empathy and decided that his dream was going to be,

get the right career and become a lawyer capable of, help the most needy according to. Milton Tancara decided to support his son in all aspects of his life and, together when the time came they entered. Public of Alto Anakin felt authentic. Passion for what I was studying and in, 2021 was already in the third year of the law career combined his, studies with a small job and is that, he repaired phones that served, to help your father and pay a, a part of the studies did not drink, did not smoke. He was not partying, it was very punctual, but in 2020 his attitude changed a little and it is that this boy began to get a little, later home and also showed, a little distracted from night to, tomorrow he told his father that he had, girlfriend and that this girlfriend was called Luz, Maya said she loved her very much, liked a lot and that for that reason. From time to time I was late home, seeing that his son was changing

the, man observed the subject and saw when the girl called him and left everything to, going with her this girl seems to be, quite invasive and also not. I left or breathed, but Milton, I was simply watching and then, Carnival Day of 2021 arrived and, Milton saw that his son entered through the water, full door knew that these wounds made their girlfriend and asked for, please end the subject is, girl did not do any good and Anakin, I knew perfectly, with which after that day he broke. With her he was punctual to be the same as always to tell everything to your father and little by little he moved away from. That girl on Monday, August 30th, 2021 as I told you at the beginning, of the Anakin video was quite busy. He went out to make

home, he studied he went to university made, photocopies, and then attended the exam. The usual in would have been to finish the exam and go home but that day he did not and instead at twelve o four from the night he sent a message to his father telling him that he would be late according to the records made subsequently his phone went out to the 1230 and after that there was no more movements the next morning the family of the boy moved sky and earth for him he called the neighbors to friends to relatives and among all people they called also i found his ex-girlfriend i will have to the do she told me that she didn't know anything later i called again at five o'clock and he told me that they had to do on an internet. But it was false at night at 99.30. I went home with two guards. I shouted.

The name of my son the neighbors. They left and the mother arrived in the minutes. When I identified with her with her, mother although I had never seen her before, I replied, I know your son always. It comes but this time that has not come, said the mother and I told him that I was looking and only told me, they are big, I can't get to you. Then he told me that he would talk to his daughter and, even the guard told him to speak with, her daughter because she was very afflicted TR of, Milton Conversation and the Guards. They were and more or less 45 minutes later. The woman called him on the phone and, he released the following told me the same as, his daughter has told me not to say that. They were in love and listened that someone.

They pass and continue without news so. Family uses social networks to send messages to the world messages that expect them to share the. Anakin Sylvia Tancara aunt publishes what. Next on Facebook we pray to all, Anakin Tancara Suarez's friends who, if they saw him or are with him, please. They give us news their dad and grandfather and, the whole family are very worried, and another relative managed to get into the Aniquin page and publish what. Next Anakin Tancara Suarez your dad is very expected please call, but once again all efforts not. They served as, nothing obviously Milton Tancara father of.

Anakin denounced the disappearance before, possible to police station delivered photos of your son Deo all possible information. What did what did not do on the 30th but, thus the agents were unable to give. With him it was as if the earth was, I would have swallowed but then the, tomorrow on Wednesday, September 1st, 2021 we do not know the exact time. The following happened but the place, exact and was the Bella Vista area of the District number 14 in the city of Alto. That was an extremely quiet area, in which the, robberies were not frequent and much

less, the murders where a neighbor came out, from your home early to go to work, and he decided that before he would throw the garbage, but when he approached the, containers saw that there were some bags, black plastic that were, seven, I open I thought they were perhaps, revolves by stray dogs somewhat, quite normal but as a, little more saw that within these know, there was garbage but the parts, dismembered from a human body. The police was immediately called and, this came to the scene at eight of the, tomorrow they verified the finding Valeran, the area and quickly discovered that there were arms, legs and a boy's head, boy that they thought had, between 30 and 35 years of age here he is, when the first two

are generated. Hypothesis the first is that it was thought that the crime scene was this or was near there and secondly thought that death being so brutal it was an adjustment of accounts but soon they would see that this was not so with dogs track sought through the area the torso of the victim but after several hours i don't they found that what they did was make a portrait of the face of the victim and databases were sought boys that would have recently missing was then when discovered that days before correctly on august 30th a 22 year old boy disappeared aniquin pedro Tancara immediately. They contacted their father Milton. Tancara and he said that indeed that body was that of his son but now, it was missing why a boy like him had suffered such a terrible

death. A week after at the top, he found a second dismembered body. On this occasion a woman was thought, at the beginning that this death was, directly linked to Anikins, and that both people had been victims of the same criminal a criminal. That was surely one of Sinan series. But soon this hypothesis was discarded and it was seen that the two victims, they had no connection with each other that the two, deaths were not linked and another. Hypothesis that was thrown by land was, fair of accounts my son was not a thug. It was not a trafficker to be adjustment of, say not to hinder the. Investigations immediately the police. He proceeded to question all the people that knew the boy and listened to all. The versions nobody said anything wrong

about. He but many mentioned that in 2020, he started dating a girl who didn't. It has been any good since then it arrived. Late home everyone knew it was because, I was with her so surely, August 30th could have seen her and four. That told his father that he would arrive, of the alleged ex-girlfriend and from. Here everything is. Chaos from here each source says, A different thing so before. Proceed we will meet this. Ex-Girdle, his full name was Luz Maya, Ruby Peralta Wah, and at that time, I was 20 years older than, Anna Quinn so expensive of her family and her. The neighbors knew practically anything. The Rio Seco Urbanization Plan 192 comes from the Venezuela area and according to the,

president of the place the family left, very early and returned home at night. Apparently the girl does not. I was very related to neighbors, but these knew who he was and knew that a boy was going to see her very often and this was Anna Quinn Tancara, however, the last month's Luz Maya took another boyfriend a 23-year-old boy named Alvaro, Roberto Salinas de Alvaro. We know I was studying kitchen, but apart from that there are not many data, returning to the case in question is known that the police went to the Mayan Luz, and that once there they made several questions when was the last time. He saw Anakin when they were at what time. How was

the theme and the girl showed? Very nervous seeing that his attitude was, very strange the agents entered the house and proceeded to make a. It was then that within his room, they made a spooky finding inside, of a plastic bag which is, located in a clothing basket were the missing parts of the body of, Anakin Tancara Torex abdomen region of, hip and thighs and in that room, were also the tools, employees to commit crime, tools among which I found a mechanical saw and a kitchen knife but the most shocking of everything was not this but when the girl and her new boyfriend were arrested he told the police and who committed the crime were demons dressed in black this understand that the boys may committed crime under the influence of some type of drug so

while doing autopsy also requested exams toxicological want to know what they consumed myeluz and alvaro roberto but also what anakin could consume tancara and that's when they discover something also very interesting it is known that anakin before he died or drank alcohol, nor consumed any drugs and, also according to experts suffered, Cortez when another part was still alive. Interesting is that dismemberment was made by someone with, experienced someone who perhaps studied, Kitchen and Alvaro the new boyfriend of the girl was a cooking student the judge, determined six-month preventive detention for the two defendants and from here.

Different hypotheses were created each, of those involved with a different thing. First Luz did not remember anything he accused. Demons dressed in black to people, dressed in black and then Alvaro said, That neither did he remember anything that alone. Remember to open your eyes to discover that. Anakin had died and his girlfriend. I asked what they could do, however. At some point aversion in, which both seemed to be more or less agree on August 30th, 2021.

At night Luz met Anakin. It is not clear how that meeting was, but as it may she persuaded her, to accompany her home once. The girls' residents invited her to drink, but he refused so. Simply who did it was her in. A certain moment joins them the new boyfriend of Luz Alvaro and from here. there are all several versions in internet but in the present day i will make you that is found on the urgent portal i will be that at some point anakin could say something that bothered him to light and this grabbed a knife and attacked the exam of the body revealed that the boy had defensive wounds

with which beginning to end fought for his life according to several sources the first cuts supposedly made them light end last alverro did when he saw caken bleeding they placed it on a blanket to absorb blood and then left for several hours below the bed during the next two four, three hours Luz and Alvaro slept over, that same bed and then when opening the eyes and see what they had done, they decided to get rid of the body opted, for grabbing a mechanical saw and, divide the body into parts, parts that would distribute in different areas without. Some official sources Alvaro said that the person who began to divide the parts was light and

when he got tired he took. The rain separated arms, arms, legs and lighter parts. They placed in bags and the trunk area. They put it in another bag that, they deposited on a basket that was in. The light room on Tuesday 31 August the couple leaves the house in, looking for any taxi they do the, signal up and ask the driver to take them to the area of Bella Vista the, which is located 20 minutes by car to what, length of the journey the driver is given, account that these bags give off a very strong smell of very strange smell like this, who asks the boys what the hell, they carry out what Alvaro responds, that a pig that aims to sell in the, market the answer seems logical like this, that the subject had seen them and then, the boys go looking for a cornerly, the bags and then return home, light walking thinking that days later, they would go to another place to get rid of, trunk of his victim, but unfortunately, for them that moment ever. TR arrived this version of the facts, authorities and even the press created, their own

hypotheses the authors of the, crime said everything happened very quickly, and the crime itself was very improvised, but it is believed that this is not true according to. The authorities clearly there is a planning and it is considered that the, light psychological profile she could, want to take revenge on Anakin for having it. had maintained a relationship, toxic since 2020 and the fact that he, I would like to break with her maybe. He made a hint of grace so he decided, that should take revenge and here comes into play. The new boyfriend of light this boy was, dating her, but at the same time, the girl is staying with Anakin. He kept calling him by sending messages and, Alvaro wanted this

to stop with him, which could ask the girl for a test. Of his love and this test would be to kill, anakin these hypotheses in the press have, had a lot of weight, but it is like, it was the crime was already made in both. Guilty had to pay the crime was so, terrible that according to the viral portal, Bolivia.infoli's dot com, light site came to demand that, were from there that the whole family, abandoned the residence before. It is even said that someone did, painted on the facade of the house, but the most shocking thing comes now and is that. At one point Alvaro's lawyer, Monica Irusta said her client was, manifesting the intention to assume all, the responsibility of the murder and requested that light or there is freedom or obtained some kind of benefit,

the crime was passionate with a tragic end. My client is in love there was a link of the two since December. Last year I have been able to observe that there are a protection relationship between both. Even my client asks me that he will assume all the fault and that his girlfriend, leave in freedom or enjoyment of some. I have tried to look for articles, knew about this case and I have found October 2nd, 2021 that are very interesting on October 12th, 2021 the portal Yet.combu reported that they were performing luminal tests in the Mayenlight basically in this article counted on the evidence. They were going to plan forensic photography and also commented that Alvaro's defense sought

to change, the legal figure of murder to homicide, which was that his sentence reached, moment was lower and finally the last article consulted is dated. October 21st, 2021 that day the portal saw a digital. Punnet published that he was contemplating the possibility that in this crime, There would be a third involved already came out. The first tests the first of. Biology found cells. Somatic on my son's nails that is that, that collapse with the main, syndicated what they

indicate is that if not, agrees with none of them is that. There is a third more that will determine. Much and when they take with that of the two, main indicated suspicions. So far they indicate that there is a third involved we need. Investigations advance so now it is. Your turn what do you think of the case and you believe that in this story there could be more, involved, the years continued to pass, and with them, more rumors began to emerge. There were stories claiming that Eileenia was still alive, but that she didn't want to be

found. Some speculated that she was part of a witness protection program, working with a mafia, and even married to an older man. The most outrageous rumor, however, was the one claiming that her parents knew where she was but chose not to reveal it. The list of absurdities grew to such an extent that it seemed endless. But in 2015, new information surfaced that stopped the world for a moment. This story begins with a very special couple, Albano Carisi and Romina Francesca Power. In 1975, they formed a romantic pop duo that achieved great success across Europe. Their love for each other was not only reflected in their music, but in the way they performed together. Their chemistry was undeniable, and anyone who saw them

perform or heard their songs couldn't help but be swept up in their love. They were authors of popular songs like Diologo, Felicita, and Liberta. They also participated multiple times in prestigious music festivals, including the San Remo Festival in Eurovision, where countries across Europe compete with their best artists. The couple's success wasn't just confined to Italy, they became stars in other countries like Spain, Germany, Austria, and even reached Latin America. The world appeared to be in love with them. However, in 1994, a tragic event struck their family. Their eldest daughter, Eileenia, disappeared without a trace, and this news deeply affected both the couple and their fans. Everyone had witnessed the love between Albano and Romina, and now, their pain became the world's pain.

News about Eileenia's disappearance spread rapidly, and rumors, false testimonies, and manipulations became a part of daily life for this once-happy family. In 1999, the pressure took its toll on the couple, and they divorced. But what really happened to Eileenia? Let's take a closer look. Ilenia Maria Sol Carisi, known simply as Eileenia, was born on November 29, 1970, in Rome, Italy, as the eldest daughter of Albano Carisi in Romina Power. Ilinia's roots were deeply artistic. Not only were her parents internationally renowned stars, but her maternal grandparents were

also famous figures in the entertainment world. Her grandfather was the American actor Tyrone Power, and her grandmother was the Mexican actress Linda Christian. With such a pedigree, it was no surprise that people expected Eileenia to follow in their footsteps and pursue a career in the arts. From a young age, Eileenia's life seemed destined for the stage. She began appearing with her parents in the public eye, and her career in the arts seemed to be unfolding just as many had imagined. In 1993, she appeared alongside her parents in the Italian film Champagne in Paradiso, and as she grew older, she moved into modeling and became more involved in the entertainment world. In 1987, she debuted as a singer alongside her mother on the song, Aby Feed, from the album

Liberta, and in 1989, she worked as an assistant on La Ruota della Fortuna, the Italian version of Wheel of Fortune. Despite her early success, Eileenia didn't dream of becoming an entertainer. Her true ambition was to become a writer. She traveled to London to study literature at King's College, one of the most prestigious universities in the world. During her time there, she excelled academically, earning some of the high. highest grades in her class. However, in early 1993, Eileenia began feeling restless.

Sources claimed she started to feel that simply studying wouldn't teach her how to become a true writer. She needed inspiration, real-life experiences, and a deeper connection with people. She felt the need to live life to the fullest, to explore, to feel, and to immerse herself in different cultures. This led her to make a bold decision, she would travel the world. That summer, in 1993, the Carisi Power family traveled to New Orleans, and Eileenia fell in love with the city. She connected with several street musicians and absorbed the culture, the music, and the overall vibe of the place. By the time she returned to Rome that summer, she had made up her mind, she would leave her studies behind temporarily and travel solo. She announced to her parents that she would spend October of that year traveling alone with just a backpack and a journal.

She wanted to document every experience and, eventually, write a book about her journey. She sold everything she owned to fund her dream trip, and soon set off for South America. There is some debate about Eileenia's exact first destination, with some sources saying it was South America and others claiming it was Central America. Regardless, the key destination in this story is a small village called Hopkins in Belize. Eileenia spent several months there, from October to late December, and during that time, she kept in touch with her parents, sharing how much she was learning. However, on December 26, without informing anyone,

Eileenia boarded a bus and headed to New Orleans. Her brother, Yari, decided to surprise her during the Christmas holidays and traveled to Belize to join her. He went straight to the hotel where Eileenia was supposed to be, but when he inquired about her, he was told she was 24 hours late. Yari couldn't believe it and immediately set out to follow her, taking a bus toward New Orleans. On December 31st, he spoke with him.

his parents on the phone, saying he wasn't sure of her whereabouts but believed she had checked into a hotel there. Albano, Eileenia's father, was furious upon hearing this. He couldn't understand how his daughter, after spending six months in New Orleans, had decided to return. This led to a heated argument between Albano and Romina. The conversation ended abruptly, with some sources suggesting that Eileenia hung up the phone. The following day, she spoke with her mother.

The conversation was calm and uneventful, with no signs. of distress. Unfortunately, this would be the last time anyone in her family heard from her. Ilinia stayed at the Lydale Hotel in New Orleans, accompanied by a man named Alexander Masakila, a 20-year-older street trumpet player she had met the previous summer. Though they had known each other for a short time, Eileenia was deeply fascinated by him, referring to him as her teacher, and claiming that he had opened her eyes to entirely new intellectual horizons. However, despite their close friendship, Eileenia and Alexander had no romantic relationship. When she booked the hotel room, she specifically requested two separate beds.

From December 31st to January 6, 1994, several witnesses reported seeing Eileenia walking through the French Quarter, interacting with street musicians, sampling local food, and taking notes in her journal. However, after January 6th, she was never seen again. The hotel owner, Cindy Dale, later testified that Eileenia had checked out around noon on January 6th, leaving behind almost all of her belongings, her clothes, backpack. camera, and journal. Meanwhile, Masakila continued to visit the hotel until January 14, attempting to pay his bill with travelers' checks in Eileenia's name and using her passport.

When Cindy Dale saw this, she immediately contacted the police. Masakila was arrested, but further investigation revealed that he had a criminal history, including charges of assault and drug-related offenses. His credibility began to waver, but he maintained that he had no involvement in Eileenia's disappearance. He claimed that he had only tried to pay his bill with Ileania's checks because he didn't have enough money. Despite being arrested, Massaquila was released due to a lack of evidence. Shortly after, he disappeared from the scene. The night of January 6, 1994, something shocking occurred at the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas. Located along the Mississippi River,

this private aquarium had strict visiting hours, and anyone caught outside of these hours was considered to be breaking the law. Albert Cordoba, a nighttime security guard, was walking along the Mississippi River when he saw a blonde woman throwing herself into the water, shouting the words, I belong to the water. She appeared to want to swim across the river, but suddenly sank. Albert assumed she was having a cramp, but as he shouted for help, a passing barge created waves that pushed her underwater, and she didn't resurface. Despite hours of searching by police and helicopters, no trace of her was found.

When the police showed Albert a series of missing persons photos, he initially identified a different woman, Brooke Susan Javins, a 15-year-old girl. However, when Brooke was found alive on January 28, the police returned to Albert, who then recognized the woman as Eileenia. The police spent months searching the Mississippi River, considering two possibilities, either Eileenia had made it to the other side, or her body had been swept away into the Gulf of Mexico. However, no further evidence was found. Romina never believed her daughter was lost in those waters. In her heart, she believed Eileenia was still alive. Albano, on the other hand, was less optimistic. He remembered that, I belong to the water, was a phrase Eileenia often repeated during her

childhood, and it was even said to have appeared in her diary. Sources claimed that before meeting Alexander Masakila, Eileenia had never even smoked, but after their encounter, she became exposed to drugs, which may have influenced her actions. As the years went by, tensions between Albano and Romina grew more apparent, even in public. They, the tragic tale of Eileenia Carisi, the daughter of famous Italian pop duo Albano Carisi and Romina power, has captivated the world for decades. Known for their heartfelt music and seemingly perfect love, Albano and Romina's family story took a dark turn in 1994 when Eileenia, their eldest daughter, mysteriously disappeared

in New Orleans. Over the years, various theories and rumors have surfaced, each adding a new layer to the enigma of what happened to Eileenia. This narrative explores her life, dreams, disappearance, and the relentless search for answers, all of which have been both heartbreaking and sensationalized. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the beginnings, a life steeped in fame and talent. Born on November 29, 1970, in Rome, Eileenia Carisi was raised amidst fame and creativity. As the daughter of Albano Carisi in Romina Power, her artistic lineage was impressive,

her maternal grandfather was Tyrone Power, her renowned American actor, and her grandmother was Linda Christian, a Mexican actress. From a young age, people anticipated that Eileenia would follow in her parents' footsteps and become a performer. She often joined them on stage, and in 1987, she even sang with her mother on the album Liberta. Yet, her true aspirations diverged from those of her parents, her dream was not to perform but to write. Determined to pursue a literary career, Eileenia enrolled at King's College in London to study literature, excelling academically. But by 1993, she began feeling restless. Realizing that true creativity often requires real-world experience, she decided to pause her studies and embark

on a solo journey to find inspiration. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the journey begins, a search for authentic experiences. Ileena's desire for adventure led her to an unconventional decision. She would travel solo across the Americas. Armed with a backpack and journal, she hoped to document the lives of street artists and the homeless, aiming to someday turn these stories into a book. To fund her travels, she sold most of her belongings and soon found herself immersed in the vibrant culture of South and Central America. By October 1993, she had arrived in Hopkins, a small village in Belize. Throughout her travels, she stayed in touch with her family, sharing anecdotes about her encounters and experiences. However,

her spontaneous spirit soon led her to take a 43-hour bus ride to New Orleans without informing her family, setting the stage for the events that would later unfold. Hashtag hashtag-Hash-Tag New Orleans, the final destination. In late December 1993, Eileenia's younger brother, Yari, traveled to Belize her, hoping to surprise her. However, upon arriving, he discovered she had already left for New Orleans. Determined to catch up with her, he followed her to Louisiana. On December 31st, 1993, Eileenia phoned her parents, revealing that she was staying at the Lodale Hotel in New Orleans.

Her father was frustrated with her sudden return to a city she had already visited. Their conversation reportedly ended in tension, though she later called her mother on January 1st, 1994, for what would be her last known conversation with her family. In New Orleans, Eileenia stayed at the hotel with Alexander Masakila, a street musician she had met earlier. Although she referred to him as her F-master, implying he offered her some intellectual or spiritual insights, there was no evidence of a romantic relationship between them. Witnesses reported seeing Eileenia around the French Quarter, enjoying the local culture and writing in her journal.

However, on January 6, 1994, she vanished, leaving behind her belongings at the hotel, including her backpack, clothes, camera, and journal. hashtag hashtag Massaquila's role and the police investigation. Suspicion quickly fell on Masaquila, who continued staying at the Ludale Hotel after Eileenia's disappearance, attempting to pay with her traveler's checks. Hotel staff alerted the police, leading to his brief arrest. During questioning, Massaquila claimed he had nothing to do with her disappearance and that his only offense was attempting to pay the hotel bill with Eileenia's checks.

Police soon released him due to insufficient evidence, but rumors and suspicions about his involvement persisted. Known for a history of assault and alleged drug activity, Massaquilla became a focal point in the ongoing speculation surrounding Eileenia's fate. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the witness and the Mississippi River incident. A startling development emerged when a security guard, Albert Cordova, reported seeing a young blonde woman plunge into the Mississippi River on January 6, 1994, near the Audubon Aquarium. According to Cordova, the woman shouted, I belong to the water, before disappearing beneath the surface. Despite extensive searches, no body was ever recovered. Initially, Cordova

misidentified the woman, pointing to a different missing girl, but when she was later found alive, he identified Eileenia from photos. The phrase, I belong to the water, held a haunting significance for Albano, as he recalled his daughter using the phrase in her childhood. Hashtag, hashtag, diverging parental beliefs and the media's role. As the years passed, Albano and Romina's perspectives on their daughter's fate began to diverge sharply. Albano came to believe that Ileania had succumbed to the river's currents, possibly under the influence of drugs, a habit he attributed to Masakila's influence. Conversely, Romina clung to the hope that Ileena was still alive.

This disagreement only fueled media coverage and further sensationalized the family's grief. The strain eventually led to Albano and Romina's divorce in 1999, marking a tragic end to the love story that had enchanted so many. The media's obsession with Eileenia's disappearance continued to grow. Rumors circulated wildly, with some claiming she was part of a witness protection program, others asserting she was involved with a mafia, and some even suggesting that her parents knew of her whereabouts, but kept it hidden. At one point, a Spanish journalist named Lydia Lozano claimed to have evidence that Eileenia was alive. Albano, exasperated by the constant speculation, sued Lozano and her network for exploiting his family's suffering.

Hashtag hashtag hashtag the claims of the happy face killer. In 2015, a new twist emerged when Keith Hunter Jesperson, a serial killer known as the happy face killer, allegedly identified Eileenia as one of his victims. He claimed to have killed a woman named Susan in 1994, whom he picked up while she was hitchhiking. Ileena, known to use the name Susan, during her travels, seemed to fit Jesperson's description. A media frenzy ensued as authorities compared DNA samples, but Ultimately, the results showed no match. Once again, a lead that promised closure dissolved into more heartbreak and frustration for her family.

Hashtag hashtag hashtag a glimpse of hope or another false lead. In 2019, Italian photographer Roberto Fiascanaro claimed to have encountered Ileania in Venice in the year 2000. According to him, she acknowledged her identity but was quickly ushered away by a group of people. Fiascanaro's account provided a fleeting hope for Romina, but Albano remained skeptical, weary of false sightings and relentless media speculation. Hashtag hashtag-h-h-tag declaring Eileenia legally deceased. After years of fruitless searches and investigations, Albano took the difficult step of petitioning the Italian court

to declare Eileenia legally dead. The request was granted on December 1st, 2014. While Romina continued to hold on to a mother's hope, believing her daughter might still be out there, Albano sought peace by letting go. This legal declaration, however, did not bring true closure, as Eileenia's memory and the lingering questions about her fate remained. Hashtag hashtag legacy and reflection.

Ileena's story is one that remains steeped in mystery and sorrow. From a young woman who set out to discover herself through art, culture, and travel, her fate has become an enduring enigma, capturing the world's attention and sympathy. Her disappearance laid bare the pain of her family, fractured the union of her parents, and gave rise to endless theories and unsubstantiated claims. Ileania's case serves as a reminder of the fragility of life, the enduring hope that drives loved ones to search for answers, and the resilience needed to withstand unimaginable grief in the public eye.

In the end, the tragedy of Eileenia Carisi is not only about a lost daughter, but also about the journey of a family whose dreams, loves, and heartbreaks became inseparable from the limelight they once cherished. Even today, Eileenia's story remains a haunting reminder of dreams left unfulfilled and the enduring mystery of a young life cut short. The enigmatic disappearance of Eileenia Carisi, a mystery that still haunts. In the glamorous world of Italian music, few couples shown as brightly as Al-Banue and Romina power. Their names were synonymous with love, harmony, and timeless songs that captured hearts across continents. Al-Banu, with his powerful voice, and Romina,

with her ethereal charm, seemed like the ultimate power duo, both on and off the stage. But behind their public smiles lay a tragedy that would unravel their face. fairy tale life and cast a shadow over their enduring legacy. At the center of this tragedy is Eileenia Carisi, their eldest daughter. Born into a world of fame on November 29, 1970, Eileenia inherited the charisma and artistic sensibilities of her parents. A headstrong and intelligent young woman, she was destined to make her own mark on the world. Yet, her life took a mysterious and heartbreaking turn, leaving behind questions that remain unanswered to this day. A childhood in the spotlight, growing up in the limelight had its perks.

but it also came with its challenges. Eileenia spent her formative years immersed in the arts, surrounded by music, film, and a world that seemed larger than life. Her parents' fame meant she was no stranger to cameras and fans, but it also exposed her to the pressures of being part of a famous family. Despite the glamour, Eileenia's childhood was relatively grounded. Her parents ensured she had a well-rounded education, and she excelled academically. She had a natural curiosity about the world, often diving into books and philosophies. philosophical discussions that belied her young age. Fluent in multiple languages, she was a true citizen of the world, with dreams that stretched far beyond the confines of her family's fame.

A free spirit with big dreams, Eileenia wasn't content to simply bask in her parents' success. She wanted to carve out her own identity. By her early twenties, she had graduated from King's College in London with a degree in literature. Her love for the written word and her adventurous spirit set her apart from her peers. She dreamed of becoming a writer, documenting the world through her unique lens. But Eileenia's wanderlust wasn't just about physical travel. She was drawn to exploring the human condition, often delving into deep conversations about life's meaning.

Friends described her as introspective yet fiercely independent, with a magnetic personality that drew people in. She had an innate ability to connect with strangers, often seeing beauty where others saw chaos. The journey to New Orleans, in 1993, Eileenia decided to embark on a solo journey to the Americas. Her goal was to write a book about the lives of street artists and musicians, those who lived on the fringes of society but whose stories were rich with culture and resilience.

Her travels took her through South America and eventually to New Orleans, a city that resonated deeply with her love for music and history. New Orleans in the early 90s was a melting pot of cultures, brimming with jazz, mystique, and a raw energy that appealed to Ileania's bohemian sensibilities. She immersed herself in the city's vibrant atmosphere, often seen in the French quarter, jotting down notes or engaging in animated conversations with street performers. It was here that she met Alexander Masakila, a street musician and self-proclaimed mystic, who would later become a central figure in her story.

The last known days, Eileenia checked into the Ludale Hotel in New Orleans in late December 1993. Witnesses recall seeing her in the company of Masakela, who was significantly older and had a controversial reputation. Despite concerns from her family about his influence, Eileenia seemed captivated by his worldview, an artistic spirit. Her last confirmed siting was on January 6, 1994. According to hotel staff, she left the building with Massacila that evening, and she was never seen again. Her disappearance sparked a frantic search that gripped international headlines. The mysterious phone call,

on January 31st, 1994, a chilling lead emerged. A security guard along the Mississippi River reported seeing a young woman matching Eileenia's description. She had allegedly declared, I belong to the waters, before jumping into the river. Despite extensive searches, no body was ever found, leaving her fate shrouded in mystery. While this account remains one of the most cited theories, it's far from conclusive. Some believe it was a case of mistaken identity, while others argue that Eileenia's free-spirited nature might have led her to such a tragic act. Her family, however, clung to hope, refusing to believe that she was gone. Theories and speculations, Eileenia's disappearance gave rise to a myriad of theories. Some speculated that she had fallen victim to

foul play, possibly at the hands of Massaquilla, whose behavior came under intense scrutiny. Others suggested she might have chosen to disappear voluntarily, seeking anonymity and freedom from her family's fame. In 1996, an unexpected twist emerged when the infamous serial killer Keith Hunter Jesperson, also known as the happy face killer, claimed responsibility for Eileenia's death. He described murdering a young woman resembling her near the Florida-Alabama border. However, investigators found inconsistencies in his story, and his claims were ultimately dismissed. Adding to the intrigue were occasional sightings of women resembling Eileenia in various parts of the world. These reports, though unverified, kept the hope

alive for her family and fans. A family torn apart, Eileenia's disappearance had a profound impact on her family. Romina Power, who shared a deep spiritual connection with her daughter, remained steadfast in her belief that Eileenia was alive. She frequently spoke of her intuition and refused to give up hope, even as years turned into decades. Alba knew, on the other hand, eventually came to terms with the possibility of Eileenia's death. In 2014, he declared her legally deceased, a decision that caused a rift between him and Romina. Their differing approaches to coping with the tragedy strained their relationship, contributing to their eventual separation. Despite their personal differences, both parents channeled their grief into their art.

Songs like E. La Mia Vida, It's My Life, and Amara Taramia, My Bitterland, became poignant tributes to their lost daughter, resonating with fans who shared in their sorrow. The legacy of Eileenia Carisi. Today, Eileenia's story remains one of the most enduring mysteries of modern times. Her disappearance continues to inspire documentaries, books, and countless discussions. For those who knew her, she's remembered not as a tragic figure but as a vibrant soul who sought to understand the world's complexities. Her legacy also serves as a cautionary tale about the pressures of fame and the unpredictability of life. Through their grief, Albanyu and Romina power have reminded the world of the importance of resilience, love, and the enduring

hope that one day, the truth will come to light. As the years go by, the enigma of Eileenia Carisi endures, a haunting reminder of a life full of promise that vanished too soon. Whether she found peace in the water she claimed to belong to or continues to wander somewhere, her story remains etched in the hearts of those who refuse to forget. With this information in hand, the police cut the electricity supply to Adam Brundage's house. Clearly, the boy wasn't there, so they cut the supply and left. But weeks later, a patrol drove past Adam's house and noticed that there was light inside. We begin after several weeks without news of Adam Brundage. His stepmother, called him more than 20 times, and his voicemail was full. So, the woman grabbed her purse,

got in the car, and drove to the boy's house. At first glance, everything seemed fine. His car was parked in front of the house, and the garden was well maintained. She walked up to the door and rang the bell several times, but Adam didn't answer. She then walked around the house and looked through the back window. That's when she discovered a complete mess. cat feces and dirt. This wasn't typical of Adam, as the boy was very tidy. So, the woman called the police. However, the case remained unresolved for years. Adam Brundage was born on October 13, 1987, in Clinton, Iowa, as one of two children from a marriage that wasn't going well. We don't have much information about his parents, as this case didn't receive much media attention

at the time. We don't know how old they were when they had him, what they did, or where they lived. What we do know is that shortly after Adam was born, his parents divorced. Each of his parents moved to a different state, and Adam and his sister April went to live with their paternal grandparents in Sabula, Iowa. We don't know the reason for this decision, whether it was due to money issues or lack of time, but we won't speculate. What we do know for sure is that the children's grandmother loved them dearly. Betty Brundage, according to several sources, had already raised five children, and now Adam and April became her new children.

To her, they were not just grandchildren, they were much more. They were practically the greatest love of her life, and the most special, without a doubt, was Adam. She loved him very much, he was like her own son. Adam was always good to everyone, a good son, good friend, good brother, and good student. Wherever he went, people liked him. However, his life took a turn at the age of 12. His biological father, Randy Brundage, invited him and his sister to live with him in Quaker Town, Pennsylvania, along with his new wife, Donna. Quaker Town is a small town, to give you an idea,

in the year 2000, it had approximately 8,900 inhabitants. It wasn't a big city and wasn't very well connected, but Adam was very excited. He really wanted to live with his father, so he packed his things and moved in with him. Once there, Adam started attending Quaker Town Community High School, and after graduating, he took a series of temporary jobs, working in supermarkets, warehouses, and finally getting a position as a food distributor for Applegate Farms. At some point in his life, Adam met a girl named Brandy Brossier, and they quickly started dating. Depending on the the source consulted, their relationship started in different ways. Some say it was love at first sight, while others say it started as a friendship that eventually turned into a relationship.

But one thing all sources agree on is that in 1998, when Adam was 21, they had their first child. Two years later, they had their second daughter. Up until this point, Adam's life seemed perfectly normal, but from here, things began to go wrong. Over the years, Adam and Brand Randy had problems and eventually decided to divorce. However, this divorce wasn't amicable as they fought over the children and child support. This was a hard blow for Adam Brundage, but life still had some surprises in store for him. In 2003, his biological father, Randy Brundage, passed away, and this news devastated him. At that point, Adam had been a good guy, responsible, kind, a good friend, and practically the perfect son, but now everything changed.

The young man began to get into trouble, and in November 2003, he was arrested for marijuana possession. Adam paid a fine and was released on probation. From there, he decided he needed to stop and refocus. The year 2003 had been terrible, but through all the bad, Adam took something good from it. His father left him an inheritance, enough money for him to buy a house and a 1997 Mercury Cougar. So, the young man took the idea and put it into action. The following year, 2004, his loved ones saw him as much better, calmer, more positive. However, just before moving into his new house, Adam informed everyone that he wouldn't be living there alone. The property was completely his, it was in his name, but he wanted to live in it with a friend of his, a guy named

Damon Smoot. Damon appeared to be a very normal guy, pleasant, friendly, responsible, and he worked at a gravel pit. But the problem here was that Adam didn't know him for long, only about four months. He barely knew him, and yet he thought living with him would be great. They would share expenses, household chores, and share everything. In Adam's mind, it could work, but his family didn't seem so sure. At the end of September 2004, Adam called his grandmother, Betty, and spoke to her for a long time, as they always did.

They caught up, told each other what they were going to do during the week, who they would be with, and where they would go. Adam specifically mentioned the following. First, he told Betty he planned to enroll in college and was excited about the idea of further studies. Second, he mentioned he was thrilled with his new job at Applegate Farms, the working environment there was excellent, he loved his colleagues, and everything seemed great in his mind. And third, he told her he was fed up with Damon Smoot. The sources consulted don't specify exactly what his issue was with this man, whether it was his character, his lack of cooperation, or if he didn't pay the bills, but they all agree that he wanted him out of his house.

I don't know why I let the guy move in, Betty Brundage recalled her grandson saying. She responded jokingly, do you want Grandma to throw him out? These were the last words Betty Brundage exchanged with her grandson. The last time anyone saw Adam was on October 1st, 2004, when the young man left work heading to his house. He was very excited about life, studying, making money, meeting new people, but suddenly, He vanished, and for days, no one heard from him. He didn't answer calls, didn't go to work, and soon, his voicemail was full.

On October 13th of the same year, his stepmother Donna Brundage grabbed her purse, got in the car, and drove to his house, located in Glen Middlecurt, Quakertown. Everything seemed fine. His car was parked in front, and the garden was well maintained. She walked to the door and rang the bell, but added to her. didn't answer. She rang several more times and got no response. So, she walked around the house and peered through a back window. That's when she found a complete mess. Adam was very orderly, he kept his things well organized and was very clean. But the house didn't seem like

his. There were cat feces and dirty dishes on the table. Donna quickly called the police. The entire house was sealed off, and investigators concluded the following. First, after sweeping the area, they said there were no signs of a murder. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood, and although everything was very disorganized, it didn't appear to be a robbery. Second, it didn't look like Adam had run away, as his car was still in front of the house. Third, they concluded that Adam wasn't the type to just run away. According to his family and friends, he was a guy who wanted to progress, live, work, and meet people. So, suicide or running away didn't seem like options for him. Fourth, Adam's phone was inside his house, so either he didn't pass by there, or he left it behind and then left. Fifth, and this point is perhaps the most important of all, his bank accounts hadn't been touched in weeks. He hadn't withdrawn money, made deposits, or gone to any hospital. With this information in him, the police cut the electricity to Adam Brundage's house.

Clearly, the boy wasn't there. So, they cut the supply and left. But weeks later, a patrol passed by Adam's house and realized there was still light inside. Adam had disappeared, but someone was still living in his house. The officers got out of the vehicle and knocked on the door. And guess what? Damon Smoot answered, with a thousand excuses. weeks earlier, the police had cut off the electricity supply, and now, he was illegally stealing

electricity from his neighbors. The officers handcuffed him and took him straight to jail. At this point, it's very interesting to learn about Damon Smoot. We have very little information on him, and as I mentioned earlier, this case didn't get much media coverage. But what we do know about him is his criminal history. This man was very problematic. In June 2004, just before moving in with Adam, Damon assaulted a minor. He was living on East Rock Hill Township at the time, and while taking a walk, he saw a girl walking with her dog. No one knows exactly how it happened, but at some point, Damon approached the girl and invited her to his house to give her dog some water. For some reason, she accepted, and once inside his house, he kept her against her will.

Between June and September of that same year, Damon moved in with Adam. On October 1st, Adam disappeared, and on the 12th, the police raided his house and cut the electricity supply. Weeks later, a police patrol discovered that Damon had tampered with the electricity supply and not only that, he was living in Adam's house, sleeping in his bed, eating in his kitchen, and wandering around the place. With his beloved 1997 Mercury Cougar, he drove to work, met friends, went partying. One could say Damon Smoot had completely stolen Adam Brundage's

life. The police didn't have physical evidence that this man had done anything to Adam Brundage, no signs of a struggle, no blood, no attempted robbery, nothing, at least nothing visible. So, they simply let it go. In April 2005, Damon was arrested for the assault he committed in June 2004. This is very interesting because the way he was arrested was unorthodox. The morning of the arrest, Damon called the police and made an appointment with them. He said he would be at a certain time in front of a restaurant, that they should wait for him, and that he wouldn't escape.

But when the police arrived, they couldn't find him anywhere. They searched between cars and nearby buildings, but there was no trace of Damon Smoot. So, they decided to go to his house and go to his house. and found this man hiding underneath the bed. After the trial in October 2005, Damon was sentenced to seven years in prison. For good behavior, his sentence was reduced, and when he got out, he committed another crime. On June 23, 2011, he kidnapped, assaulted, and threatened to kill his girlfriend, who had broken up with him weeks before.

Once again, he was arrested and, in 2012, went to trial, where he was convicted for. this crime. The police interrogated nearly 100 people regarding the Adam Brundage case, and of all of them, the one with the most inconsistent testimony was Damon Smoot. Every time they interrogated him, this man had a different version of events. First, he claimed that Adam had left the state without telling anyone, not even him. Then he said he had terminal cancer. And third, he said that Adam was addicted to drugs and that one night he packed his bags and entered a rehab center. No matter how it went, all versions ended the same,

they all ended with Adam giving everything to Damon Smoot, his house, his money, his car, giving him everything he had. Adam Brundage was a very generous guy, but giving away all that didn't make any sense. The boy loved his possessions, especially his car, so it was impossible that he would have done that. But sadly, it was Damon's word against his entire family, and the police couldn't do much.

They could take the car and remove him from the house, but they couldn't know if he was lying or telling the truth. For years, the case cooled down and eventually fell into oblivion. However, in 2019, the Quaker Town Police Department and the Bucks County Directors reopened the investigation and used new resources. For months, they did everything possible to re-examine all the evidence, alibis, schedules, and strange behaviors. They realized that over all those years, there was no sign of life from Adam.

His name didn't appear in any records, he wasn't hired by any company, and he didn't try to change his name. He didn't touch his bank accounts, didn't withdraw money, didn't go to any hospital. And who had always been under suspicion? Exactly, Damon Smoot, who was in prison serving his sentence for what he did to his ex-girlfriend, The new prosecutors presented all the evidence to Damon's lawyer on January 9th, and from there, they put him in a tight spot. If he confessed, he could face life imprisonment or the death penalty, but if he cooperated,

he could get a reduced sentence. So, on January 16, Damon Smoot decided to tell everything. On the night of October 4, 2004, Adam and Damon met at the quarry where the latter worked. No one knows exactly why they met, why they chose the place, or why that day or hour. But what is clear is that at some point, they started arguing, yelling at each other, disrespecting each other. At one point, Damon took a baseball bat from his car and repeatedly struck Adam in the head. He hit him again and again, finally leaving him unconscious. Not satisfied with this, he dropped the bat, kneeled over his body, and covered his nose and mouth,

ending his life. He then grabbed a shovel, dug a hole, and buried Adam's body in a berm at the quarry. From there, he stole Adam's life completely, his house, his car, his entire life, and lived what Adam should have lived. Damon Smoot was jealous of Adam Brundage, who had received a small but considerable inheritance, and in his jealousy, he wanted to become him, to have the things Adam had access to. And that's why he killed him. Matt Bin 2, District Attorney on September 15th, 2020, said that in the next few weeks, Damon Smoot will be found guilty of third-degree murder, which will result in a sentence of 20 to 40 years in prison. But Adam's family has made it clear they don't agree with this sentence. They believe Smoot deserves life in prison, or possibly

the death penalty. The prosecutor has made it clear that if Damon decides to regret his actions and say he is not guilty, he will be sentenced to life in prison. Now, it's your turn. What do you think about the case? Do you believe all of this could have been avoided? The end. The disappearance of Noel Rodriguez Alvarez, a tragic mystery, as the summer months of July, August and September came and went, October brought a letter that would drastically shift the trajectory of Cindy's life. The letter was from the system, a stark warning that if she didn't take her son, Noelle, to the doctor, her pension would be cut off. This was no idle threat, Cindy relied on that money to survive.

Yet, despite the dire ultimatum, Cindy refused to comply. In a desperate move, Cindy confided in a close friend, spinning a story that Noel had contracted COVID and couldn't be taken out of the house. But it didn't stop there. She asked her friend for something unthinkable, to borrow one of her children to impersonate Noel for the doctor's visit. The request was odd and concerning. but it didn't immediately escalate into something alarming.

A call to action. On March 20, 23, the Everman, Texas Police Department received an anonymous tip that raised every red flag imaginable. A six-year-old boy with special needs, they were told, might be in serious danger. The caller identified the boy as Noel Rodriguez Alvarez. Without wasting a second, officers showed up at the address provided in the tip, 3,700, block of Wisteria Drive. This type of call wasn't unusual for the police, often, concerned family members, observant neighbors, or even casual acquaintances reported suspicious situations. When the officers arrived, they were greeted by Cindy Rodriguez, a 37-year-old woman who was cooperative and

seemingly open about her situation. Cindy was the mother of 10 children. Of these, three older kids lived with their grandmother, and the other seven, including Noel, lived with her and her husband. Noel, the boy at the center of this situation, required extensive care due to his disabilities, delayed speech, esotropia in both eyes, chronic lung disease, and a list of other challenges. His conditions meant constant doctor's visits, therapy appointments, and specialized attention. Cindy assured the police that Noel was being well cared for, even if things were tough. She described him as her baby, her pride and joy. But as idyllic as this all sounded, there was a glaring issue. A history of struggles, back in October 2022,

Cindy had given birth to twins, and her life took a dramatic turn for the worse. Between managing two newborns, handling Noel's medical needs, and juggling everything else, Cindy hit her breaking point. She called Noel's biological father, Mariano Alvarez, who lived in Mexico, asking if he could take Noel for a while to lighten her load. According to Cindy, Noel was sent to Mexico to be with his father, and everything was fine. The police, initially, didn't question her story. But when there's an allegation involving a vulnerable child, the system doesn't let it slide. The authorities contacted child protective services, CPS, to investigate further.

The investigation had two main objectives, dive deep into the family's history and verify Cindy's claim by reaching out to Mariano. Initially, Cindy's story checked out, but as CPS delved deeper, they uncovered a troubling past. In 2020, Cindy had lost custody of seven of her children. The reason was horrifying, she had been involved in a drunk driving incident with all her kids in the car. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured, but CPS deemed her unfit, and the children were placed in foster care. Noel's brief escape to safety. During their time in foster care, the children's foster mother, Patricia Paris, developed a special bond with Noel. Patricia described him as the sweetest boy, always giving hugs and radiating innocence.

She and her husband adored Noel and even told Cindy that if she ever needed help, they would gladly take him back. But Cindy refused, adamant about keeping all her children under her care. In 2021, Cindy managed to regain custody of her children. However, when CPS contacted Mariano in In 2023, they uncovered a chilling truth. He had never met Noel. Mariano explained that he was deported before Noel's birth and had no knowledge of the boy's existence, making Cindy's claim about Noel being in Mexico completely false. The Vanishing Act, armed with this revelation, the police returned to Cindy's home. However, this time, they were greeted by someone new, Charles Parson, the homeowner. Charles revealed that Cindy, her husband

Archdeep Singh, and the children had disappeared. He also shared their backstory. A decade earlier, Cindy had been struggling financially in living out of her car with her children. Charles, an older man living alone in a large house, took them in. Cindy helped Charles around the house, cooking, cleaning, and accompanying him to medical appointments in exchange for a roof over their heads. By all accounts, Cindy was a devoted mother, and her children were well-behaved. But in 2020, Cindy met Archdeep, a man who seemed to be the answer to her prayers. They quickly married, and instead of moving out, they built a small shed in the backyard to accommodate their growing family.

Despite the unusual living arrangement, Charles believed they were happy. When asked about Noel, Charles repeated Cindy's earlier story. Noel was with his father in Mexico. But now, the police knew this wasn't true. Peasing the puzzle together, investigators began combing through every piece of evidence they could find. They discovered that Noelle hadn't been enrolled in school for years and hadn't been seen by medical professionals since July 2022. Friends and family painted a grim picture of Cindy's behavior toward Noelle. Her brother recalled a heated argument with Cindy when he saw

her refusing to give Noelle water because she didn't want to change his diaper. When he intervened and gave Noel water, Cindy allegedly hit him with her car keys. Other relatives noted that Cindy often spoke negatively about Noel, even accusing him of being possessed. After giving birth to the twins, she became obsessed with the idea that Noel was evil and harbored a demon. Disturbingly, she told several people that she had given Noel away to a woman at the market. This claim made no sense, as many family members had expressed a willingness to care for Noel if Cindy couldn't. A calculated escape. By the time police got involved, Cindy's escape plan was already in motion. In November 2022, she took passport photos of everyone in her family, except Noelle.

Shortly after, she obtained passports for all her children but left Noelle's out of the process. In March 2023, just days before the police visit, Cindy and Archdeep withdrew their children from school, robbed Arsdeep's employer of $10,000, and fled to the airport. They boarded a flight to India, leaving behind a web of unanswered questions. A grim discovery, after Cindy's departure, a tip led to the airport. police to a suspicious piece of carpeting dumped on a street corner. Cadaver dogs alerted to human remains on the carpet, though no body was found. Investigators then turned their attention to Cindy's home, focusing on a recently cemented

area in the backyard. They brought in excavators, broke through the concrete, and searched extensively. Once again, cadaver dogs signaled the presence of human remains, but no body was recovered. Unanswered questions. As the investigation continued, speculation ran wild. Some believed Cindy's obsession with La Santamuerte, a figure revered in certain spiritual practices, may have played a role in Noel's disappearance. Others theorized that Noel may have died accidentally and that Cindy covered it up out of fear of losing custody of her other children. Despite countless leads, the truth remains elusive.

Seeking justice, as of now, Cindy and Archdeep are believed to be in India, evading authorities. The U.S. has requested their extradition, but progress has been slow. Meanwhile, Noel's story continues to haunt everyone who knew him. His foster mother Patricia remembers him as a joyful, loving child who deserved so much more. The case of Noel Rodriguez Alvarez is a heartbreaking reminder of the system's limitations and the consequences of unchecked neglect. Though investigators haven't given up, Noel's fate remains a devastating mystery. I, Seth 39M, have had one crazy dating life.

I almost began to think I was cursed. I had a failed marriage by the time I was 27, and nearly double-digit failed relationships after that. Then life threw the most perfect woman back to me, only for me to almost blow it again. Well, finally today, I will be marrying Kara, 33F. I'm not sure this would have happened if not for my best friend, Leland, 39M. Two years ago I messed up. I hid my friendship with Leland from Kara. As many of you who have followed this story know, Leland is Kara's ex-boyfriend.

He was controlling, manipulative, selfish, and immature when they were together. Their relationship ended on a particularly sour note. Kara swore she would never tolerate his presence ever again. Leland had a rough couple of years after their breakup. He changed completely, though, from those times. You want to talk about turning yourself around, he deserves his own book on that. For the last decade he has been the most loyal, dedicated, caring, selfless friend to everyone in his life. I hid our friendship from Kara for the first month after we reconnected on the other side of

the country. That was until she discovered it for herself. I was so stupid to do that. It was just fear, I didn't know how she would react and I was too scared of losing the relationship again. She quickly exited when she figured it out and told me not to contact her until she was ready. She waited over a week. I wrongly assumed she was just waiting for her week with her son Jacob to be over before

contacting me, but she waited several more days after that before calling. That was pure torture. I went over to her place, she had a very intense look about her. Right after we sat to talk she opened with, so why didn't you tell me, I just didn't want to lose you again, I was going to tell you, I knew I had to, I just didn't want to screw things up. I have thought about you every day for years now. I replied. She continued, I do not want to be lied to, I do not want things kept from me. I responded, I know, I'm so sorry, I will never do this again. I just know how you feel about him, but he is a totally different person. I have just as much right to hold a grudge against him as anybody, but life threw us together also, and I came to see firsthand that people really

can change. She cut me off a bit, I believe he is different. He tried reaching out to me several years ago with an email I never read. After I discovered you two, I went ahead and read it. It seemed like a very heartfelt apology. I wasn't completely convinced. Then I got a Facebook friend request from his wife Kinley. She convinced me, I was like, really, she smiled a bit, yes, she did, we had a nice long talk about what's gone on between all of you the last decade. That doesn't let you completely off the hook, though. I don't want anything else omitted. Do you understand? I nodded, should I tell you about the time Madison tried to get me fired then? She said, yes you should, but order food first. We have been inseparable since then. A year ago she moved in with me,

and I have really enjoyed being a stepdad, soon to be officially, to Jacob. He will be our little ring-bearer today. Kara has warmed up to Leland over time, which is probably easier to do when you live 2,000 miles apart. We even all went on vacation together six months ago and he is the best man in our wedding. I am excited to make it official, just four hours from now. Our reconnection also gives us a much more appropriate story for when people ask, so how did you all meet, than the reality, because saying, we met during a swinger orgy, is a bit of a TMI. Update, I have to share this with everyone. The ceremony was wonderful, it was small and our best friends and families all made the trip to Phoenix for us. We honeymooned in Vegas and had a great time, but kept a few

days on the end to go back to Cleveland and just visit with family. On one of the days there, Kara and I joined Leland and Kinley for lunch. We were sitting at a table in the bar area enjoying our meal when we saw a woman come in and pick up some takeout from the bar. She turned around and took a few steps before looking up. It was five surprised Pikachu faces all around. Madison stopped, seemingly stunned. She was standing there scanning across the four of us, it was probably only for a matter

of two seconds, but it felt so long. She didn't know Kinley but could probably put two and two together. Kindly is well aware of Madison and has seen pictures before. Then just as fast, Madison got this indignant look on her face, gave us all the finger, then just walked right out of the restaurant not saying anything. The four of us died laughing, just minutes and minutes of uncontrollable laughing. I never thought that I'd be posting my story for advice from Internet strangers, but, my brother always spoke about how helpful it can be, so here I am, on Reddit. Trigger warning my story does include some violence. I'll start off by introducing myself, I'm Max and, Max, for short, sounds like Max for my English speech,

speaking readers, and I'm a 21-year-old male. I have an identical twin brother, Kai, for my English-speaking readers, my brother and I were always the best of friends, no sibling rivalry or anything of the sort. I always wanted what was best for Kai and he always wanted what was best for me. When Kai and I were 11 he confessed to me that he was attracted to boys and hoped that I would be by his side while he told our parents, currently 46M slash F. After around 30 seconds of processing I turned to him and said, so you'll still ask Amber if she'll go out with me then, we both chuckled and proceeded to tell our parents, who for West

Wallian farmers took it extremely well. The next week we started secondary school where Kai decided to be open about his true self, and after a year of fighting children our age and much older, people just accepted it. It helped that Kai was an extremely talented athlete and was exceptional at both football and rugby, I wasn't bad either, but he was something special. Now, I sincerely hope that no one takes offense to this, but Kai wasn't exactly what you'd expect from a gay teenager, or maybe what I should say is that he's not that the media would portray a gay teenage boy to be. He loved his sport, was always seen as just one of the boys, had no feminine tendencies or female friends, and fuck me he dressed awfully. When we were both

16 Kai received an academic and sport scholarship to a reputable private school. I stayed home to attend my normal secondary school, because although I'd caught up with him athletically, I was nowhere near as bright. It was rough saying goodbye, but he promised he'd call every day and to his credit, he did. I loved hearing how he was doing, he was doing amazingly with his rugby and was enjoying the intellectual challenge of his new school. Two months later, by chance my school was drawn against his in a rugby cup competition. It was our first time playing against each other. Much to everyone's shock, we managed to win the game and afterwards Kai took me to the side to introduce me to Harry, 17M at the time, his first boyfriend. He seemed

great and Kai appeared to be really happy so there were no complaints from me. After a few weeks, his phone calls became less and less frequent. Naturally, I was worried but chalked it down to the new relationship. We'd still text semi-regularly, but my feelings of worry and anxiety just wouldn't shake off. On the 9th of February, 2014 at 8 p.m. I received a call that would change the course of my life forever. I was so excited to see Kai's name pop up, but as I answered it wasn't Kai. It was Harry. Me, fucking hell you took your time, I've missed you. Harry, Max, it's Harry not Kai. I'm in the hospital.

with him, I'll text you the details, get your parents here quick. My parents and me made the three-hour trip in an hour and a half, I got to the hospital to see my brother, tubed up and lifeless. Jesus Christ, every fiber of me shut down seeing him laying there. Harry sat us down and told us all what had happened. Three weeks prior for boys in the year above had seen Kai and Harry walking through campus holding hands. These boys also played rugby and they didn't take kindly to one of their teammates being gay, some heated words were exchanged. One of the boys Barney 18M, I considered using fake names. But Fuck M, decided to use a slur which led to Kai punching him, the four of them ended

up running away, tails between legs. The next day after training Barney and the other three boys, Toby, Atticus and Brad all 18M, decided to jump Kai after rugby training. They proceeded to pin him down and do things to him that I can't bear to repeat on here. My brother became a shell of himself for the next three weeks. Harry had been trying to convince Kai to go to the police but he wouldn't, apparently the shame he felt, as well as the fear that nothing would come from it prevented him from coming forward.

This was due to the four boys coming from wealthy, high-profile families. In the end it all became too much and my best friend, my brother tried to take his own life by overdose on the 9th of February 2014. Harry found him limp on his bedroom floor. Three days later Kai came back around, the absolute relief that my parents and I felt was immeasurable. After some convincing we managed to get Kai to go to the police and enough evidence was found to take the case to trial. While we waited for the trial Kai remained dejected, I clung on to the hope that if they were found guilty he'd maybe regained some

of his old self. Harry was brilliant, he'd regularly visit our home to see Kai, you could see that he was the only person who could bring out some semblance of happiness in my brother. On March 14th we turned 17, not even the prospect of learning to drive could bring his mood up, we'd always spoken about doing it together. I even fast-tracked my driving test to try and see if taking him out on the road would cheer him up. It didn't. On May 15, 2014, the four boys who assaulted my brother were found not guilty. On May 16, 2015, Kai successfully took his own life. He took a piece of me with him. My grief consumed me, but I managed to put on a brave face, for Kai, for my parents. I managed to give his eulogy and carry his coffee.

through my pain. But it seemed endless. Three days after the funeral, I was doomed scrolling Twitter, I came across a memorial post to Kai by his rugby team. I clicked on their page to see a completion of pictures of his teammates holding his jersey, the four boys who assaulted him included, all smiles. Here they were claiming to honor my brother, yet highlighting the root fucking cause of his death. They got to go back to normal, back to their happy sheltered fucking lives, while my brother, whose pain they caused was literal fucking dust on the mantelpiece. My numb grief had turned into absolute rage. In a blur, I hopped in the car and made the three-hour trip to their school.

After arriving I called Harry to meet me outside his dorm. I had him point out the dorm where the boys lived. He tried to talk me out of doing anything reckless, but I wasn't hearing it. I pulled a tire iron from the boot of my car then entered the their building, which was far too easy in hindsight, I planned to knock on every door until I found one of them. Five doors and I found Barney he opened the door, looked at me and chuckled, I thought the F asterisk asterisk asterisk o'ttie was dead. Within seconds, I'd slipped the tire iron down my sleeve and hit him square at the top of his head. I threw him on his bed, tied his arms

and legs to the four corners and stuffed his mouth with a bald sock. I waited for him to come around. In my rage I then proceeded to bash his shins with the tire iron until they were black and blue. Atticus entered the room, he went to shout for help but as the first sound had left his mouth I lunged at him with a head butt, he was dazed so I collared him against the wall, and asked him where I'd find the other two. He gave them up without a thought, I pulled the socks out of an unconscious Barney, and proceeded to stuff it into Atticus mouth. I punched him repeatedly in the ribs before head-butting him one last time, breaking his nose and making sure the back of his head hit the wall. I walked across the corridor to the room Toby and

Brad were meant to be sharing, they were there. I coughed to get their attention before hitting Toby flushed to the cheek with the tire iron. I then turned to a stunned Brad and hit him square on the kneecap. Again I gagged both of them with a pair of bald-up socks before unleashing every molecule of pent-up rage that was inside of me. I grabbed a cricket bat from the corner of the room and let loose on both of their legs, like with Barney I hit until they were black and blue, I could feel bones breaking under the force of the bat.

Once I'd finished I walked out to see streams of boys at their doors, looking at me horrified. The whole time feeling like I was living in some lucid dream, spiritually detached from the rest of the world, yet in mind and body, completely present. I sat in my car, I called my parents and gave them a dull-down version of what happened, told them I'd leave the keys in the wheel arch. I called Harry, thanked him for all he'd done for my brother before calling the police myself. The police officers arrived while I was sat in my car, I opened the door and placed my hands on my head and dropped to my knees.

I informed them where the boys were, before willingly entering the back of the police. their car. I was processed and charged with attempted murder, staring at a potential life sentence. During my interview I was told the severity of the boys' injuries. Barney, fractured skull, bilateral shattered tibia and bilateral shattered patechus. Atticus, fractured skull, broken nose, seven ribs broken bilaterally. Toby, fractured eye socket, shattered pelvis, shattered tibia on the right side. Brad, shattered pateller on the left, shattered left femur, broken tibia on the left side. The story hit the problem. The story hit the which initially spelt doom for me, but suddenly our side of the story came out.

The media spoke of Kai's abuse and how they were let off, resulting in his suicide. This apparently swung the sympathy of the public in my favor. Harry contacted Louise, 63F, a solicitor renowned for her work raising awareness of violent crime against people within LGBT community. After hearing Kai's story and the likely reasons behind my crime she agreed to take my case. With her hard work and a sympathetic judge on August 5, 2014, I was sentenced to four years in prison for grievous bodily harm. Last week I was released after serving my four years.

My parents and Harry have been an incredible support since my release, however yesterday I received a letter. A petition from the families of my victims to send me back to prison, citing that my crimes have held a lasting effect on the the victims thus should be resentenced accordingly. I'm not too worried at this point, but I've been thinking about the injuries I've caused. Reddit, am I wrong for just wanting to live my life at this point? Alan, anyone else remember the first time they farted in front of their partner?

I'm not talking about the silent, embarrassing one where you try to avoid acknowledging the stench. I'm talking about the comfortable one where you just have no worries when you let it go. I remember mine vividly. Chris and I were on the sofa at her house watching a game with her brother. He left the room to go to the bathroom and I decided to just let one rip. She flinched then stared at me with what I can only describe as, crazy eyes. She then punched me on the shoulder and said,

Don't disrespect me like that. That's the look she had on her face when she walked up to me yesterday, punched me in the chest and asked, why didn't you tell me? She then pulled me tight, buried her head in my chest and sobbed. Chris, seriously. That's how you're going to start this. Alan, it's an attention-grabber babe. You said that I get the beginning and end because you posted your thoughts already.

Right? Alan, I spent the time from my last post processing my thoughts about our situation. I talked more with Dec about what had happened. I also visited Aaron, Alex and Andy. I needed to let them know that I wasn't moving in with them any time soon. The general consensus was that Chris going to those parties without me wasn't a big deal. Deck actually said that conversations with her were exhausting. It was always, Alan this and Alan that.

The only time she talked about anything else was when she was with Amy and her friends. I was a bit surprised when my boys didn't see it as an issue. They basically all agreed that Chris isn't the type of person to hunt or be hunted by guys and if you don't trust your partner, who can you trust? That's the real issue, isn't it? She didn't trust me enough to tell me. That's the conversation I was ready to have when we met at the park. I did think about the band party and talk a little more with my friends about the rumors.

At the time all I could think was, thank God for true friends. That whole thing could have gone so bad. It didn't because Dec, Amy and Daryl took control of the situation. The boys had heard the rumor about Chris but they didn't believe it for a second and made it clear that they weren't going to be tolerant of BS about Chris. They did see the Ramona video but just thought it was ridiculous. They didn't mention anything because the rumor died fast and they didn't even believe that Chris was there.

None of us made the connection of Chris's depression and the party slash rumors. I wasn't ready for that conversation and I feel destroyed about it now. It isn't my place to talk about that any further. Chris, did you want to comment? Chris, I do. I need to say that if anyone reading this has suicidal thoughts, please, please, please, seek help. If you're uncomfortable talking to your partner, family, or friends, then call your local suicide helpline. There's also a world of helpful information on the internet.

Just know that you are needed and a person of value. When I think back over our story, I was magnifying problems that had solutions. I was avoiding those solutions, though, and not valuing my or Alan's ability to deal with them. It's terrifying to me now to think about what could have happened without my mom's intervention. I now know that it was Alan and our friends that gave her the heads up. I'm thankful and count myself lucky. Alan, I think we all are the lucky ones to have you in our lives, babe. Chris, Alan, we walked and talked for hours.

Chris helped me to realize that I haven't properly dealt with my trauma from Pam's death. I'm very closed and I struggle with opening up. That became very clear when I realized that the person who knows me best, didn't know this. I've agreed to talk about it with a professional. I actually started thinking about needing some help when I wrote that part of my story. I found it weirdly cathartic but very painful to share. We did talk about Barry's rules and Chris's drug use. I do agree that if I had been more open, Chris would have been more open, Chris would have

been more aware. Chris does own her choices, though, she always has. She did tell me about trying harder stuff. The whole thing was like the chicken and the egg where, if she knew of Barry's rules, then she would have told me and we would have dealt with Chad and if I had known she was going to experiment with the harder stuff, then I would have told her of Barry's rules and dealt with Chad. Chris, I'm going to add my thoughts to this because it was the cause of a lot of my issues. I do own my choice to experiment with drugs. The trauma that resulted sent me into a self-depreciating spiral. It's easy for me to say, don't do it, and this whole thing has resulted in me having

no desire to experiment ever again. I've learned my lesson and I hope that our story helps people to understand what drugs can do. Parents need to know that teenagers will have access to this stuff. An open discussion about drugs, experimenting and even created your own set of Barry's rules, might help. Stay safe everyone. Alan, we had a breakthrough moment when we realized that we each felt unworthy of the other. It was kind like that Spider-Man meme where two Spider-Man are pointing at each other.

I hit the extent of my concussions because I didn't want her to look at me as a person that couldn't protect or provide for her. She hid for me the extent of her partying and resulting trauma because she didn't want me to look at her as imperfect or even unfaithful. I do admit that I have feelings of being a failure and some insecurities that have resulted from not becoming a professional athlete. This will be part of my counseling process. Chris, as everyone that had read my story knows, this is what I'm a person who is a

what I've been working through for the past two months. I look back and I can't believe that I started this whole break because I was too childish to just owe my poor choices and trust that my man could and would see that I'm a loyal partner. It's crazy to think that all it took for me to risk my most important relationship was that FN Dung Beetle to stir up my past trauma. I'm proud of the work and progress I've made during this time, but I do need to continue it.

The break itself was stupid. It caused so much unnecessary pain and it really didn't accomplish anything that me just asking for some help would have. I think that it's fear that causes people to ask for breaks. Fear of accepting that the relationship has real problems that aren't being addressed, fear of addressing problems head on, fear of just accepting that the relationship has ran its course, or fear of hurting your partner. I can only assume that there are situations where a break is a proper course of action. I just can't think of one. Alan, I agree. Breaks are bullshit. I do understand that you weren't thinking straight at the time, but I really didn't deserve that

pain. There were so many thoughts and emotions that I experienced that could have been avoided if you had just asked for low contact with me while you worked through some personal issues. I would have respected that ask. Alan, it's amazing how many forces there are that exist to break up relationships. It's so easy for people that lack respect for relationships to make contact and create curiosity. For me, it's always been easy to just ignore or delete those forces when my heart was committed to Chris. It took seven weeks for my insecurities and those forces to break my armor down and allow me to consider life without a relationship with Chris. Chris, I can't wait to meet Kelly by the way.

A tall, lanky, blue-eyed athlete sounds right up my alley. Alan, nice one. I know you're just trying to bring a light to my seriousness and I appreciate it. I am going to finish this post and our story now. We are a couple of flawed people that were struggling with the transition of a young adult relationship to an adult relationship. We got amazingly lucky that the wild ride of the last two months didn't end us. We both learned some lessons about trust, communication, and the importance of

friendship. Also a little shout out to an uncle that watched over us from the grave. I think we both realize how special what we have together is and we have both agreed that the partnership we've built so far and what it could be in the future is worth some hard work by both of us. The fact that Chris was ready to not only put our partnership at risk, but also consider ending her own life scares the living crap out of me. She acknowledges my concern and has shown me that she's done, and will continue, the work to keep her nuss safe. I suspect that we'll start talking a bit about codependency in the future. Chris needed other people outside of my tight-knit group and my insecurities kept her from doing this. I'm not a professional

at this stuff though so who knows for sure if that will be part of our discussions going forward. What I do know is that I love this woman and I look forward to riding off into the sunset with her. Every night as I lay in bed, I heard the screaming, the shattering of plates and glasses as my mother and father fought and threw everything at each other within reach. They were drunk again, as usual. I just hoped the police wouldn't come again tonight. I wished they could be happy. Finally, around midnight, the voices started to fade.

I felt my eyes closing as sleep came over me. But, just before I nodded off, I glimpsed a pair of eyes with black, slitted pupils peeking at me from the corner of the room. Beneath them hung a wide, grinning mouth. The mouth had dozens of triangular, razor-sharp teeth that glistened bone-white in the dim glow of the nightlight. Unattached to any visible flesh, the eyes and mouth floated in the air like wavering moonbeams. I sat up in bed, stuttering. What, what is this?

I whispered, staring deeply into glowing eyes. Am I dreaming? No, not dreaming, Alice. Just mad, the thing hissed, its sharp fangs pulling apart. It gave a high-pitched, insane cackle at this. We're all mad here. But your father is the maddest of all, I'm sorry to say. Or, perhaps he's just a little odd.

It is hard to be sane every single day, after all, who are you? I quietly asked as a shard of terror pierced my heart. A childish voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to say, simply pull the covers over my head and hide. The Cheshire Cat, of course. I'll be your guide when you need me. Your adventure will be starting any second now, Alice, his eyes glimmered brighter as a scream rang out from downstairs. I heard my father yelling, and then a gunshot rang out, shattering the night. Something heavy fell, thudding against the floor. Ah, there it is. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, after all, what's happening? I asked in horror.

The Cheshire's cat's glowing face faded like the embers of a dying fire, but his voice continued to speak in the darkness. Heavy footsteps started to ascend the stairs. Something cold and empty slithered through my heart as a feeling of dread overcame me. He's coming, the Cheshire cat said in a gleeful tone, the voice coming from all around me. If you want to live, jump out the window. You have ten seconds to decide, Alice. I heard my father yell drunkenly, slurring his words. Come here, right now. I need to talk to you. I jumped out of bed, slammed my feet into my shoes and flung open the window. Five seconds, the Cheshire Cat said cheerily. I looked down from the second story. My heart dropped as I saw the fall. Better jump,

You don't want your adventure to end before it even begins. I heard a hand roughly grabbed the doorknob. I crawled out the window, slowly letting myself down by my arms. My father flung the door open. The front of his white shirt gleamed with slick, wet blood. He had a black revolver in one hand. With wild, excited eyes, he scanned the room, stumbling forward. His head ratcheted toward the open.

window. For a moment, our gazes met. You bitch, he screamed in rage, raising the gun. You're just like your mother, always trying to leave. I'll show you, you stupid cunt, as I let myself drop, a gunshot exploded through the night. The window above me exploded in a shower of broken glass. I screamed as the chill night air whipped around me. The garden below rose up to meet me. I felt like I was standing on the tracks as a train barreled down on me. I hit the dirt hard, rolling as I landed. A bush with sharp branches clawed my shoulder and back, gouging out burning slices across my skin. I glanced up, seeing my father drunkenly leaning out the window, his eyes unfocused. A totally insane, ferocious expression twisted his face into something inhuman and demonic. I barely recognized him.

fucking bitch stupid cunt he screamed firing the pistol twice more one of the bullets smashed the lawn only a foot in front of me spraying grass and soil everywhere i shrieked sprinting across the yard in my shoes and pajamas the dewy grass soaked my feet within seconds but i knew i had more pressing problems than shoes i glanced back at the house seeing the window empty a thick forest loomed at the edge of the property. A blanket of shadows covered it, and I could barely see a thing. But I knew I had no choice. I sprinted into the woods, blindly tumbling through prickers and grasping boughs. A torrent of flickering orange light suddenly illuminated the night. As I descended deeper into the woods, trying to hide myself, I looked back at the house

one last time. I saw a raging inferno there. Long tongues of flame. hissed and spit as they licked the dry wood, flowing over the walls like water. And in front of the hellish flames, I saw my father, a dark silhouette with a gun, striding purposefully across the yard toward me. As my eyes adjusted to the dark forest, I caught a flash of something white sprinting through the bushes. I nearly screamed, startled into a state of terror. The creature turned its pale, dead eyes toward me.

He towered over me, about six feet tall. He had floppy rabbit ears surgically attached to his mutilated skull. Black stitches ran over his face in jagged patches, keeping his rotting flesh together. His white fur had a rainbow of fluids soaked into it, from blood to orange and yellow pus to to other things I could never hope to identify. New trickles of blood and pus continued to leak out from the stitches crisscrossing his body. In his arms, grasped between claws like those of a tiger, I saw an unethical. unconscious child. The child had a deep gash on its forehead. His head lulled from side to side

like a ragdolls. I'm late, the rabbit hissed at me, his cataract eyes glimmering with insanity as they shone white in the pale moonlight. Four, you see, I have a very important date. The Red Queen is expecting the blood of a child for her shower, as she does every full moon. What keeps the skin fresher and younger than the blood of a little one, after all, his lips cracked apart in a wide grin, showing blackened gums mottled with sores. His pointed, needle-like teeth reminded me of some nightmarish deep sea fish. I stood there, speechless, until the sound of cracking twigs and whipping branches not far behind me startled me back into action. I started running, giving the insane rabbit creature a wide berth. I glanced back, seeing my father's pale,

sweaty face through the brush. His lunatic eyes flicked from side to side. He kept the gun held out in front of him, his arm swaying gently as if he were caught in some hypnotic state. Alice. Come here, right now. How dare you? I only glanced at my father for a second before turning my gaze forwards again, but by then, it was too late. In the panic of the moment and the darkness of the forest, I didn't see the six-foot-wide hole that stretched across the earth like a gaping mall. I gave a startled shriek as my foot dropped into empty air. Before I knew what was happening, I was slipping, my arms pinwheeling. I tried to regain my balance, twisting my body around. I saw the rabbit there only a few paces away, grinning at me,

the unconscious, kidnapped child slung across his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. I fell backwards, The scream that tried to rip its way out of my throat seemed to get stuck there, and I could do nothing but stare blindly up as the rabbit lunged in after me with a cry of excitement. The last glimpse I caught of the forest showed my insane father stumbling toward us, still crying my name with drunken fury. The air whipped around me, the roar of it like the wine of a tornado shrieking in my ears. The hole at the top shrank into a pinpoint as the rabbit and I fell downwards together into total darkness. We seemed to spiral around each other. No matter how I tried to pull away, the rabbit

always seemed to be right there. The last glimpse I saw before the shadows closed and was the rabbit's dead eyes flashing excitedly as he glared at me with a face like a corpse. Then the shadows drew around me like a curtain shutting on a stage. Only my own screams and the ragged breathing of the rabbit surrounded me for what felt like an eternity. Slowly, my consciousness slipped away. After that, I remember nothing for what felt like a very long time. I awoke suddenly, inhaling deeply. I shivered, my teeth chattering as I looked around in confusion. I beheld an alien landscape stretching out to the horizon. Gently sloping hills of black earth loomed in every direction. There were no grass or plants visible, but giant red and white mushrooms

the size of pine trees grew in clusters along the peaks of the rolling hills. Streams of fire criss-crossed the landscape like rivers from hell. The sun here drifted along the slit wrists of the horizon. It looked like a cold, purple ball of fire that gave off a soft, moon-like radiance but very little heat. Thin, silvery clouds covered the sky in rising plumes of pale mist. The entire world looked dark, all the colors eerie and saturated, almost like the desert at the end of a sunset.

I looked around for any sign of the surgically altered rabbit creature or the unconscious boy he had been carrying in his arms or even, God forbid, my father. But I saw no signs of any of them. On top of a nearby mushroom that loomed 20 feet in the air, however, I saw a familiar glint of glowing eyes, their slid it, dilated pupils looking down with insanity. The dragonfish-like teeth of the creature's mouth shimmered in his eerie, ear-to-ear grin. Over the course of a few seconds, the rest of his body became visible as well, fading into view for the first time. I nearly gagged as I looked up in amazement. It was a

disgusting thing to look at. The Cheshire Cat was entirely hairless, his skin black and reptilian. Patches of his flesh were rotting away, and his tail had started to look like a stripped wire. White bones and infected veins writhing with maggots gleaned through the suppurating sores. Cheshire cat, I whispered, licking my dry lips, what happened? Last I knew, I was falling, there was some, hole in the forest, and it seemed to keep going on and on forever. There was a rabbit, too, but not a normal rabbit. It was like a rabbit from a serial killer's nightmare.

The Cheshire cat laughed at this, but it wasn't a pleasant laugh. It reminded me of the laugh of a man who just had his throat slit. It was gurgling in deep, and carried through the cold, dry air like a scream. The nightmares swarm across this world like a plague of locusts. The Red Queen's evil and sickness has infected the very foundation of existence. The barriers between Wonderland and Hell itself seemed to grow thinner by the day, he said, but the glee never evaporated from his expression. Across the horizon, a thin, high-pitched scream rang out, full of pain and mortal terror.

The Cheshire Cat's head swung slowly toward the sound. I followed his gaze. In the distance, I saw a narrow castle with razor-sharp turrets that disappeared into the silver clouds high above. Thin murder holes spiraled up the outside of the dark granite surface. A giant flag rippled softly in the cold breeze. I squinted, seeing a black flag with a red heart gripped in a skeletal hand. Drops of blood dripped out of the bottom.

They call it the Chateau de Dillard, the Cheshire Cat said by reason of explanation, the home of the Red Queen. It sounds like another victim has fallen into her clutches. What, another victim? I stuttered, a sense of horror filling my body with a sick, weak feeling. The Cheshire Cat gave a slow, jerky nod. His eerie, gurgling laugh rang out suddenly, making me nearly jump out of my skin. The Red Queen seems to think that bathing in the blood of children will keep her young forever. She has an iron maiden set up above the royal shower.

Every month on the full moon, her insane, sycophantic followers bring her sacrifices. Young children, boys and girls no older than five or six, usually. The younger they are, the more purifying their blood's properties. you see. The Cheshire cat's teeth gleamed as another, far weaker, scream rang out through the night. It was cut off suddenly. The eerie silence that rang out in the aftermath felt deafening. Ah, there it is. La Petit Mort the little death, he said gleefully, another laugh ripping its way out of his throat. I don't see how that's funny, I said. You think the Red Queen murdering children is funny. As if offended by my change of tone, the Cheshire cats rotted, black body started

fading out, but his grin didn't falter. I think that if you don't start running soon, you will experience it firsthand, the Cheshire cat hissed, his voice echoing from all around me as the last gleam of his eyes faded away. Beware. The white rabbit draws near. I stumbled through the dark, cold world they called Wonderland. The black earth under my feet felt soft. The black earth under my feet felt soft and smooth. The smell of the giant red and white fungi that covered the landscape like redwoods permeated the area, giving off a smell like mushrooms after a heavy rain. I went in the opposite direction of the Chateau de Delors. The pale, purple sun had started to disappear over the horizon. The night's edge slid across the sky like a razor blade,

plunging the world into darkness. Within a few minutes, I could barely see more than 20 feet in front of me. The silvery mist I had first seen in the sky now started spreading its ghostly fingers over the ground, covering the world in a blanket of pale fog. I heard the white rabbit before I saw him. In a harsh, dissonant voice, he sang. His voice carried all around me, raising goosebumps all over my skin. When the queen's eyes looked down from the sky, they gleamed like the slit wrists of the sun. Her pale face watches, her dead eyes dry. Their small faces shriek what she's done. I could not stop the children screaming. And I could not stop the acid eating the dead. I could not stop the dead men from dreaming. I could not stop the voices in my head.

Fragments of moonlight shine on a kitchen knife, crimson and ruby red and gleaming, but the rabbit knows no peace in life. When the children's voices never stop screaming. As I ducked behind the giant trunk of a mushroom, I caught a glimpse of white fur with a spiderweb of black, garish stitches running across his back. Slung across the white rabbit's shoulder, the unconscious body of the child lay, the head lolling from side to side. The white rabbit was heading in the direction of the castle. He continued bellowing out his disturbing, strange verses as his voice disappeared off in the distance. Exhaling deeply, I slunk out from behind the massive white fumble trunk. I stopped suddenly, a shard of dread piercing my heart

as I saw what stood there before me. A large man in a ripped-up walrus mask loomed over me, a blood-stained meat cleaver clutched tightly in one hand. The brown mask only covered the top half of his face. It had two giant white tusks jutting down past his chin. He had on a tight, soiled t-shirt that might have once been white but was now covered in a disgusting rainbow of stains. His fat belly protruded over his belt. The rolls of fat jiggled on his neck as he gave a strange, high-pitched laugh. They call me the walrus, he hissed through a mouthful of broken, rotting teeth, grinning at me. As he exhaled, I smelled rotten meat and the sickly sweet reek of infection. I backpedaled quickly in horror and revulsion.

I ate all the little ones, I did, my sweet little clams, the children of the damned, he laughed at this, advancing on me. His dark eyes shone with insanity and hunger behind the eerie mask. With a greasy, muscular arm, he grabbed me by the neck. I was put into a headlock and forced to stumble along behind him, my breaths coming in choking gasps. He pulled me into the mist. For a couple minutes, we went on like this. I continued struggling, trying to beat the giant man away with my hands, but he was too strong. When his grip loosened slightly, a powerful, echoing scream escaped my lips. Help me!

Someone! Cheshire Cat, I began, but he tightened his greasy, bulging arm around my neck, cutting off my wind. The world started turning white. A rising sense of animal panic swept through my body until the walrus finally, mercifully, relaxed. I drew in a deep breath that tasted as sweet as honey, gasping and sweating. Don't do that, my little clam, the walrus whispered with venom. His cracked lips had split into a furious grimace. His eyes shone with hatred. You are courting death. Don't you know sound draws on the jabberwock? He looked around nervously at the name. As if in response,

a high-pitched, animalistic roar ripped its way across the night. It reminded me of the screaming of a woman being burned alive. The echoes faded slowly, but with the mist so thick around us and the sky looking like a flat piece of slate, I couldn't see more than ten feet in any direction. Ahead of us loomed a shoddy, one-room cabin. The walrus murmured to himself, gnashing his destroyed teeth as he looked down on me hungrily. You're a beautiful little clam, he hissed. I think you'll make a nice meal for Mr. Walrus.

Indeed, a very tender little clam. With one greasy, dirt-stained hand, he flung the cabin door open and threw me inside. The smell of cooking meat, rotting flesh and feces smacked me in the face, so thick I could taste it in the back of my throat. I bent over, retching. The walrus closed the door as quietly as he could, peering through a tiny, smashed window in the mold-ridden boards of the dilapidated cabin. A little girl crouched in the corner, starved and shivering. On a rough, wooden kitchen counter, I saw small, dismembered fingers and eyeballs.

Spools of intestines were rolled up like sausages next to them. A raging fire in the fireplace flickered and danced, illuminating every corner of this cabin of horrors. Over the fire, a child's torso roasted, the fat spills. spitting and dripping and greasy, burning drops. It was just the torso, with a ragged patch of bloody neck. It ended at the navel, with pieces of torn organs hanging out and blackening. Into the cage, my little sweetie, my little honey, the walrus whispered, pushing me forward. I heard the strange animalistic cry again, this time much closer.

Fuck you! I screamed, pushing the walrus away. I tried to run for the door, but in a giant, single-bound, he tackled me to the floor. I began shrieking for my life, trying to claw at the walrus eyes. He punched me hard in the face. I saw white spots, bright stars that flashed across my vision. As my head lulled and I tasted coppery blood dripping from my mouth and nose, the high-pitched scream came again from directly outside the door.

Help! I cried. The walrus froze, looking up. His dead eyes flashed with horror and a deep, ineffable fear. That was when the entire front of the cabin exploded. Shards of splintered would pierced my skin like tiny hornet stings. The walrus jumped off me, backpedling quickly toward the back of the cabin. I raised my head and met the eyes of the Jabberwock.

Like a dragon from an acid fiend's nightmare, it raised its powerful body to its full, height, looming 20 feet above the ground. The Jabberwock skin gleamed a slate gray color. Hundreds of pencil-thin appendages hung down from its enormous, fish-like face. The slow, rhythmic tapping of the fetid slime that dripped from its body mixed with its powerful breathing. Its flat, hungry eyes bulged out, dark and lidless, reflecting the bloody light of the fire. Its enormous lungs inhaled and exhaled as it stared at us, creating the same whipping of wind and fury that a barreling train might produce. The Jabberwock's neck slithered out, writhing in serpentine, like some ancient brachiosaurus neck. Its head hung low below its

shoulders as it moved forward in a jerky, crawling gait, its webbed, dragon-like feet sliding across the soft black soil of Wonderland like a berserk centipede. It opened its mouth, showing hundreds of spiraling teeth that pulsated and twisted like the mouth of some demonic lamprey. Jabberwop tried to force its entire body through the crushed wall, crouching down and giving another high-pitched scream. Its black eyes rolled back in its head, showing bloody veins at the bottom. The walrus tried to sprint for a back window, but the Jabberwock's neck slithered out. Like a toad grabbing a fly out of the air, its lamprey mouth struck out in a blur. It attached to the walrus back with a sucking sound. Blood exploded from the back of the walrus body, splashing the

coarse floor and broken walls of the cabin. I started crawling away. The panicked, agonized shrieks of the walrus carried through the air, accompanied by wet crunching and sucking sounds. As the Jabberwock shook its head like a dog with a chew toy, spatters of blood from the walrus mutilated body the inside of the cabin. The frail, trembling girl in the cage in the corner cowered back from the destruction. The Jabberwock's tail whipped from side to side, long and tapering like the tail of a dinosaur. Sharp, bony spikes protruded from the ends. With a tremendous crash that shook the ground,

its tail smashed into the cage. The girl gave a squeak like a strangled rabbit as the cage soared across the cabin and crashed into a wall. She tumbled head over heels inside it. Then the cage's door fell open with a clatter of metal. The girl crawled out, her stunned eyes sweeping over me. I silently motioned for her to follow me. As silently as I could, I crawled through a massive hole in the collapsed front wall.

I glanced back and saw her close behind, her skeletal arms pumping quickly. A glimmer of hope flashed across her sunken, haunted eyes, a look I remember even now when I lay in my bed a few days later. As we got out to the black soil of Wonderland and the thick mists of its endless night, the cabin fell into a heap behind us. The Jabberwock continued to thrash in the rubble. The sounds of bones cracking and sucking followed us down the rolling hills. What's your name?

I asked the girl. She looked like a survivor from a death camp. It was strange seeing such shell-shocked, dead eyes on such a young face. She couldn't have been older than six or seven, with raven black hair and ice-blue eyes. Mary Ann, she whispered, looking around furtively. I'm Alice, I said, giving her a comforting smile. We continued walking quickly along down the hill. Giant mushrooms passed by on both sides.

In the distance, the dim glow of the castle lights gave an eerie radiance to the clouds of mist that passed like thunder clouds in front of its many spiraling windows. Keep your voice down, she said in a low, scared voice. The Jabberwock can hear the slightest sounds. I've seen it. It puts its head down on the ground and just listens. I think it can even hear footsteps sometimes. I looked at her, astonished.

Are you from this place? I asked. She shook her head, a wave of deep sadness passing over her face. I was taken for my home, she said. I used to live in California. But I was kidnapped by the walrus. He's crazy, you know that? I nodded.

Well, he used to talk to himself a lot, and I would listen. He had another girl in the cage when I got there, but he ended up, she paused, looking like she wanted to throw up. He ended up boiling her alive and then eating her. Jesus Christ, I whispered, horrified. Her face had taken on a greenish cast at the memory. But the walrus also talked about the gateway they use, she said, to kidnap children from our world. Apparently, the Queen's followers pass through it all the time. It takes you wherever you want to go, as long as you think about it while crossing through. I stopped, grabbing her

shoulders and turning her to face me. My heart thundered in my chest. Are you saying there's a way out of this hell? I asked. She nodded slowly. So the walrus said, but he's insane, she repeated, glancing over to the castle looming over us like a guillotine. But, according to him, it's in the basement of the Chateau de Lur. I immediately began walking toward the castle, but the little girl shook her head violently. I'm not going in there for anything, Marianne said, her face chalk white. I took her hand. It's the only way, I said.

Unless you want to stay here forever, we need to go in. into the castle. Your family must be worried sick about you. We need to get you home. The woman there is very sick, Marianne cried in a quavering voice as tears started to stream from her eyes. I continued to take her hand, pulling her forward to the castle. I wanted to leave this horrifying place as soon as possible. We walked on quietly, the occasional cries of the Jabberwock ripping through the air. I wondered what had happened to my father, whether he was still stumbling around the dark woods all alone. The castle loomed up through the fog, the flickering, yellowish glow through its many murder holes piercing the mists like daggers. In front of the castle,

I saw two soldiers clad in medieval armor with crossbows held in their hands. They sat in two chairs next to the open gate of the castle. I tiptoed as close as I could, watching them, but they didn't seem to move or speak. They didn't even seem to breathe. I wondered if they were were mannequins or statues of some kind. Then I saw the thick blood dripping from their open helmets. Marianne and I snuck closer to the door, making sure to keep ourselves out of view from anyone inside. I found the soldiers both dead, a bullet hole torn through the center of each of their faces

like dripping tunnels of gore. What the hell? I whispered as I heard my father's voice ring out from inside the castle. Where the fuck is she? Here's Alice, you goddamned bastards." I heard him scream. I grabbed Marianne's hand and drew her forward. We peaked around the corner of the gate, but no one was in sight.

It was just a front entrance hall with flickering torches and cobblestone floors, walls and ceilings. Hanging from the walls, I saw painting after painting of a woman with very dark, dead eyes and a broad smile that showed glittering metal teeth. She wore a poofy Rococo dress covered in countless red frills, bows and lace that would have been at home in the time of Marie Antoinette. The Red Queen, Marianne said, crossing herself as she uttered the name. God, please don't let us see the Red Queen.

We followed the corridor straight into the heart of the castle. Graded metal doors covered the sides of both walls, most of them closed. From behind the doors, I heard soft weeping, moaning and an occasional scream of agony. I quickly hurried Marianne passed them. Do you know where you're going? I asked, but she shook her head. I've never been into the castle, she answered. I just know the entrance is down below.

We turned a corner and I found the grinning, insane face of my father standing there, his gun drawn. Hey, baby girl, my father said, grinning. Remember me? He cocked the pistol and put it directly to the front of my forehead. It's cold, circular barrel felt like an eel's mouth kissing my skin. He gave a cold, venomous look at Marianne. He grabbed her roughly by the neck and pulled her along as he prodded me forward with the gun. I want to do this in a private place, not in a hallway.

I know you deserve your mother's fate, you stupid bitch. You brought us all to hell, didn't you? I know this is hell. His voice deepened as he said this. I tried to protest, but he continued to scream in insane gibberish. As we walked down the hallway, a giant set of slatted, metal doors loomed ahead of us. They suddenly flew open. The white rabbit stood there, grinning at the three of us.

His needle-like teeth gnashed together, his mouth chattering excitedly. Have you brought new sacrifices to the queen? The white rabbit asked, excited, his bone-white eyes twinkling. Fuck you, my father spat, this is my daughter. I will discipline my own child like I did my wife. The white rabbit laughed, a gleeful, cheery sound. My father raised the pistol, his hand trembling as he pointed it at the rabbit. Move aside, my father ordered.

I have no issue with you, demon. The white rabbit nodded happily as he gave a squeak of pleasure. He disappeared in the shadows of the dark hall. My father continued prodding us forward through the doors. As soon as he stepped foot in the hall, a gleam of metal swung through the air. I instinctively shrieked. Marianne pulled loose from my father's grasp as a gleaming, metal croquet mallet came hard on his head. His skull exploded, scattering black hairs stuck to bone fragments in every direction.

The pistol went off, the bullet flying into the enormous stone ceiling high above us. I looked up at my savior, seeing a tall woman dressed in a fluffy, blood-red dress. She wore a crown of sharp, silver spikes with tiny skulls impaled on the top of each. Have you come to join the circle, the red queen asked, her metal teeth flashing as she gave a white smile. Her eyes looked flat and dead, almost painted on like the eyes of a doll. I glanced above her head to the left side of the enormous chamber. To my horror, I saw an iron maiden's face. there, a metal coffin hanging suspended by a series of thick cables to the ceiling.

A spiral staircase on wheels was pushed next to the Iron Maiden. Its lid was tightly shut. Drops of fresh blood continued to drip out of the bottom. They gave a slow, rhythmic pattering like Chinese water torture as they fell into the clawfoot tub below. It was filled to the brim with glistening, crimson liquid. I scrambled to my feet, seeing Mary Ann already running down. the hall in the opposite direction. I followed after her, pushing my exhausted body forward and

hoping for a miracle. The Queen gave an insane cry. I heard metal clattering hard across the ground. Looking back, I saw her running after us, the blood-stained metal mallet held above her head. Her insane eyes twinkled with the thrill of the chase. As we turned down random hallways, I found a the servant's staircase leading both up and down. Marianne had almost run past it, but I screamed at her. Marianne. Come back. I said.

She turned. I pointed to the stairs. There's a way down. Come on, Marianne. We're late. She nodded, her pale, thin face looking beyond exhausted as we stumbled our way down the steps, the Red Queen still only a couple paces behind us. At the bottom of the stairs, a cold, prison-like basement loomed in front of us.

Children were chained to the walls, many of them crying in covered in blood. At the end of the basement, I saw a giant mirror, but its reflection was, strange. I didn't get to look at it for more than a moment, however, before Marianne collapsed at my side. She was breathing hard, her eyes rolling, her sunken face twitching. I can't, run, anymore, she whispered as the Red Queen gave a lunatic battle cry. I tried to pull Marianne up by her hand, but within seconds the Red Queen had closed in on us. I backpedaled quickly as the mallet came down on Marianne's skull, squashing it like a bloody pancake. I felt sick and weak, but my adrenaline screamed at me to get out of there.

I turned toward the end of the chamber. A mirror flashed in front of me, nearly. ten feet tall and surrounded by intertwining silver vines. I could see myself reflected in it, but the background was not the background of the castle. Instead, I saw a dark forest and a burning house. I ran toward the mirror. Behind me, the Red Queen screamed in fury. I felt a whizzing of air behind my head as she swung her deadly croquet mallet. As I hit the mirror, I felt a sensation like warm water covering my skin. Everything went translucent, wavering and fading in and out.

I continued running and, after a few steps, the dark forest materialized around me with a popping sound. I cried out as I tripped over something heavy laying in the brush in front of me. Growning, I looked back and saw my father's body laying there, his head smashed into a disgusting soup of curly black hairs and brains. Police sirens shrieked on the nearby road. Their blue and red strobing lights filled the forest with a sudden illumination. Their brakes squealed as they pulled up in front of the burning house.

A few ran out, yelling orders and screaming for fire trucks and ambulances. Light-headed and gasping, I pushed myself up and ran toward the flashing lights and away from that portal to hell. As the police drove me out of there, I heard a Johnny Cash song playing from the radio up front. Now I remember after work, Mama would call in all of us. You could hear us singing for a country mile. Now little brother has gone on, but I'll rejoin him in a song. We'll be together again up yonder in a little while. One of these days, and it won't be long, I'll rejoin them in a song. I'm going to join the family circle at the throne. Oh no, the circle won't be broken, In the crimson radiance of the sunrise that streaked across the clouds like streams of blood,

I thought I could see the faces of my mother and father, not them as dead or insane, as they had been on the last, horrible day, but back when they were happy and whole. I broke down then, crying uncontrollably, the weight of the tears that overflowed from my eyes feeling as heavy as the entire world. Every night as I lay in bed, I heard the screaming, the shattering of plates and glasses as my mother and father fought and threw everything at each other within reach. They were drunk again, as usual. I just hoped the police wouldn't come again tonight. I wished they could be happy. Finally, around midnight, the voices started to fade. I felt my eyes closing as sleep came over me.

But, just before I nodded off, I glimpsed a pair of eyes with black, slitted pupils peeking at me from the corner of the room. Beneath them hung a wide, grinning mouth. The mouth had dozens of triangular, razor-sharp teeth that glistened bone-white in the dim glow of the nightlight. Unattached to any visible flesh, the eyes and mouth floated in the air like wavering moonbeams. I sat up in bed, stuttering. What, what is this? I whispered, staring deeply into glowing eyes.

Am I dreaming? No, not dreaming, Alice. Just mad, the thing hissed, its sharp fangs pulling apart. It gave a high-pitched, insane cackle at this. We're all mad here. But your father is the maddest of all, I'm sorry to say. Or, perhaps he's just a little odd. It is hard to be sane every single day, after all, who are you? I quietly asked as a shard of terror pierced my heart. A childish voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to simply pull the covers over my head and hide. The Cheshire cat, of course. I'll be your guide when you need me. Your adventure will be starting any second

now, Alice, his eyes glimmered brighter as a scream rang out from downstairs. I heard my father yelling, and then a gunshot rang out, shattering the night. Something heavy fell, thudding against the floor. Ah, there it is. The journey of a thousand miles begin with the first step, after all, what's happening? I asked in horror. The Cheshire's cat's glowing face faded like the embers of a dying fire, but his voice continued to speak in the darkness. Heavy footsteps started to ascend the stairs.

Something cold and empty slithered through my heart as a feeling of dread overcame me. He's coming, the Cheshire cat said in a gleeful tone, the voice coming from all around me. If you want to live, jump out the window. You have ten seconds to decide, Alice. I heard my father yell drunkenly, slurring his words. Come here, right now. I need to talk to you. I jumped out of bed, slammed my feet into my shoes and flung open the window.

Five seconds, the Cheshire Cat said cheerily. I looked down from the second story. My heart dropped as I saw the fall. Better jump, Alice. You don't want your adventure to end before it even begins. I heard a hand roughly grabbed the doorknob. I crawled out the window, slowly letting myself down by my arms. My father flung the door open.

The front of his white shirt gleamed with slick, wet blood. He had a black revolver in one hand. With wild, excited eyes, he scanned the room, stumbling forward. His head ratcheted toward the open window. For a moment, our gazes met. You bitch, he screamed in rage, raising the gun. You're just like your mother, always trying to leave. I'll show you, you stupid cunt, as I let myself drop, a gunshot exploded through the night.

The window above me exploded in a shower of broken glass. I screamed as the chill night air whipped around me. The garden below rose up to meet me. I felt like I was standing on the tracks as a car. train barreled down on me. I hit the dirt hard, rolling as I landed. A bush with sharp branches clawed my shoulder and back, gouging out burning slices across my skin. I glanced up, seeing my father drunkenly leaning out the window, his eyes unfocused. A totally insane, ferocious expression twisted his face into something inhuman and demonic. I barely recognized

him. Fucking bitch. Stupid cunt, he screamed. firing the pistol twice more. One of the bullets smashed the lawn only a foot in front of me, spraying grass and soil everywhere. I shrieked, sprinting across the yard in my shoes and pajamas. The dewy grass soaked my feet within seconds. But I knew I had more pressing problems than shoes. I glanced back at the house, seeing the window empty.

A thick forest loomed at the edge of the property. A blanket of shadows covered it, and I, could barely see a thing. But I knew I had no choice. I sprinted into the woods, blindly tumbling through prickers and grasping boughs. A torrent of flickering orange light suddenly illuminated the night. As I descended deeper into the woods, trying to hide myself, I looked back at the house one last time. I saw a raging inferno there. Long tongues of flame hissed and spit as they licked the dry wood, flowing over the walls like water. And in front of the hellish flames, I saw my father, a dark silhouette with a gun, striding purposefully across the yard toward

me. As my eyes adjusted to the dark forest, I caught a flash of something white sprinting through the bushes. I nearly screamed, startled into a state of terror. The creature turned its pale, dead eyes toward me. He towered over me, about six feet tall. He had floppy rabbit ears surgically attached to his mutilated skull. Black stitches ran over his face in jagged patches, keeping his rotting flesh together. His white fur had a rainbow of fluid soaked into it, from blood to orange and yellow pus to to other things I could never hope to identify. New trickles of blood and pus continued to leak out from the stitches crisscrossing his body.

In his arms, grasped between claws like those of a tiger, I saw an unconscious child. The child had a deep gash on its forehead. His head lulled from side to side like a ragdolls. I'm late, the rabbit hissed at me, his cataract eyes glimmering with insanity as they shone white in the pale moonlight. For, you see, I have a very important date. The Red Queen is expecting the blood of a child for her shower, as she does every full moon. What keeps the skin fresher and younger than the blood of a little one, after all, his lips cracked apart in a wide grin, showing blackened gums modelled with sores. His pointed, needle-like teeth reminded me

of some nightmarish deep-sea fish. I stood there, speechless, until the sound of cracking twigs and whipping branches not far behind me startled me back into action. I started running, giving the insane rabbit creature a wide berth. I glanced back, seeing my father's pale, sweaty face through the brush. His lunatic eyes flicked from side to side. He kept the gun held out in front of him, his arm swaying gently as if he were caught in some hypnotic state. Alice. Come here, right now. How dare you?

I only glanced at my father for a second before turning my gaze forwards again, but, by then, it was too late. In the panic of the moment and the darkness of the forest, I didn't see the six-foot-wide hole that stretched across the earth like a gaping maw. I gave a startled shriek as my foot dropped into empty air. Before I knew what was happening, I was slipping, my arms pinwheeling. I tried to regain my balance, twisting my body around. I saw the rabbit there only a few paces away, grinning at me, the unconscious, kidnapped child slung across his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. I fell backwards.

The scream that tried to rip its way out of my throat seemed to get stuck there, and I could do nothing but stare blindly up as the rabbit lunged in after me with a cry of excitement. The last glimpse I caught of the forest showed my insane father stumbling toward us, still crying my name with drunken fury. The air whipped around me, the roar of it like the wine of a tornado shrieking in my ears. The hole at the top shrank into a pinpoint as the rabbit and I fell downwards together into total darkness. We seemed to spiral around each other.

No matter how I tried to pull away, the rabbit always seemed to be right there. The last glimpse I saw before the shadows closed and was the rabbit's dead eyes flashing excitedly as he glared at me with a face like a corpse. Then the shadows drew around me like a curtain shutting on a stage. Only my own screams and the ragged breathing of the rabbit surrounded me for what felt like an eternity. Slowly, my consciousness slipped away. After that, I remember nothing for what felt like a very long time. I awoke suddenly, inhaling deeply. I shivered, my teeth chattering as I looked around in confusion.

I beheld an alien landscape stretching out to the horizon. Gently sloping hills of black earth loomed in every direction. There were no grass or plants visible, but giant red and white mushrooms the size of pine trees grew in clusters along the peaks of the rolling hills. Streams of fire crisscrossed the landscape like rivers from hell. The sun here drifted along the slit wrists of the horizon. It looked like a cold, purple ball of fire that gave off a soft, moon-like radiance but very little heat. Thin, silvery clouds covered the sky in rising plumes of pale mist.

The entire world looked dark, all the colors eerie and saturated, almost like the desert at the end of a sunset. I looked around for any sign of the surgically altered rabbit creature or the unconscious boy he had been carrying in his arms or even, God forbid, my father. But I saw no signs of any of them. On top of a nearby mushroom that loomed 20 feet in the air, however, I saw a familiar glint of glowing eyes, their slitted, dilated pupils looking down with insanity. The dragonfish-like teeth of the creature's mouth shimmered in his eerie, ear-to-ear grin.

Over the course of a few seconds, the rest of his body became visible as well, fading into view for the first time. I nearly gagged as I looked up in amazement. It was a disgusting thing to look at. The Cheshire Cat was entirely hairless, his skin black and reptilian. Hatches of his flesh were rotting away, and his tail had started to look like a stripped wire. White bones and infected veins writhing with maggots gleamed through the suppurating sores. Cheshire Cat, I whispered, licking my dry lips, what happened? Last I knew, I was falling, there was some, hole in the forest, and it seemed to keep going on and on forever.

There was a rabbit, too, but not a normal rabbit. It was like a rabbit from a serial killer's nightmare. The Cheshire cat laughed at this, but it wasn't a pleasant laugh. It reminded me of the laugh of a man who just had his throat slit. It was gurgling in deep, and carried through the cold, dry air like a scream. The nightmares swarm across this world like a plague of locusts. The Red Queen's evil and sickness has infected the very foundation. of existence. The barriers between Wonderland and Hell itself seemed to grow thinner by the

day, he said, but the glee never evaporated from his expression. Across the horizon, a thin, high-pitched scream rang out, full of pain and mortal terror. The Cheshire Cat's head swung slowly toward the sound. I followed his gaze. In the distance, I saw a narrow castle with razor-sharp turrets that disappeared into the silver clouds high above. Thin murder holes spiraled up the outside of the dark granite surface. A giant flag rippled softly in the cold breeze. I squinted, seeing a black flag with a red heart gripped in a skeletal hand. Drops of blood dripped out of the bottom.

They call it the Chateau de Dillard, the Cheshire Cat said by reason of explanation, the home of the Red Queen. It sounds like another victim has fallen into her clutches. What, another victim? I stuttered, a sense of horror filling my body with a sick, weak feeling. The Cheshire cat gave a slow, jerky nod. His eerie, gurgling laugh rang out suddenly, making me nearly jump out of my skin. The Red Queen seems to think that bathing in the blood of children will keep her young forever.

She has an iron maiden set up above the royal shower. Every month on the full moon, her insane, sycophantic followers bring her sacrifices. Young children, boys and girls no older than five or six, usually. The younger they are, the more purifying their blood's properties, you see. The Cheshire Cat's teeth gleamed as another, far weaker, scream rang out through the night. It was cut off suddenly. The eerie silence that rang out in the aftermath felt deafening. Ah, there it is.

La Petit Mort, the little death, he said gleefully, another laugh ripping its wreath. out of his throat. I don't see how that's funny, I said. You think the Red Queen murdering children is funny? As if offended by my change of tone, the Cheshire cats rotted, black body started fading out, but his grin didn't falter. I think that if you don't start running soon, you will experience it firsthand, the Cheshire cat hissed, his voice echoing from all around me as the last gleam of his eyes faded away. Beware. The white rabbit draws near, I stumbled through the dark, cold world they called Wonderland. The black earth under my feet felt soft and smooth.

The smell of the giant red and white fungi that covered the landscape like redwoods permeated the area, giving off a smell like mushrooms after a heavy rain. I went in the opposite direction of the Chateau de Delors. The pale, purple sun had started to disappear over the horizon. The night's edge slid across the sky like a razor blade, plunging the world into darkness. Within a few minutes, I could barely see more than 20 feet in front of me. The silvery mist I had first seen in the sky now started spreading its ghostly fingers over the ground, covering the world in a blanket of pale fog. I heard the white rabbit before I saw him.

In a harsh, dissonant voice, he sang. His voice carried all around me, raising goosebumps all over my skin. When the queen's eyes looked down from the sky, they gleamed like the slit wrists of the sun. Her pale face watches, her dead eyes dry. Their small faces shriek what she's done. I could not stop the children screaming. And I could not stop the acid eating the dead. I could not stop the dead men from dreaming. I could not stop the voices in my head. Fragments of moonlight shine on a kitchen knife, crimson and ruby red and gleaming, but the rabbit knows no peace in life, when the children's voices never stopped screaming. As I ducked behind the giant trunk of a

mushroom, I caught a glimpse of white fur with a spiderweb of black, garish stitches running across his back. Slung across the white rabbit's shoulder, the unconscious body of the child lay, the head lolling from side to side. The white rabbit was heading in the direction of the castle. He continued bellowing out his disturbing, strange verses as his voice disappeared off in the distance. exhaling deeply, I slunk out from behind the massive white fumble trunk. I stopped suddenly, a shard of dread piercing my heart as I saw what stood there before me. A large man in a ripped-up walrus mask loomed over me, a bloodstained meat cleaver clutched tightly in one hand. The brown mask only covered the top half of his face.

It had two giant white tusks jutting down past his chin. He had on a tight, soiled t-shirt that might have once been white but was now covered in a disgusting rainbow of stains. His fat belly protruded over his belt. The rolls of fat jiggled on his neck as he gave a strange, high-pitched laugh. They call me the walrus, he hissed through a mouthful of broken, rotting teeth, grinning at me. As he exhaled, I smelled rotten meat and a sickly sweet reek of infection. I backpedaled quickly in horror and revulsion. I ate all the little ones, I did.

did, my sweet little clams, the children of the damned, he laughed at this, advancing on me. His dark eyes shone with insanity and hunger behind the eerie mask. With a greasy, muscular arm, he grabbed me by the neck. I was put into a headlock and forced to stumble along behind him, my breaths coming in choking gasps. He pulled me into the mist. For a couple minutes, we went on like this. I continued struggling, trying to beat the giant, man away with my hands, but he was too strong. When his grip loosened slightly, a powerful,

echoing scream escaped my lips. Help me! Someone! Cheshire Cat, I began, but he tightened his greasy, bulging arm around my neck, cutting off my wind. The world started turning white. A rising sense of animal panic swept through my body until the walrus finally, mercifully, relaxed. I drew in a deep breath, that tasted as sweet as honey, gasping and sweating. Don't do that, my little clam, the walrus whispered with venom. His cracked lips had split into a furious grimace. His eyes shone with hatred. You are courting death.

Don't you know sound draws on the Jabberwock? He looked around nervously at the name. As if in response, a high-pitched, animalistic roar ripped its way across the night. It reminded me of the screaming of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of, a woman being burned alive. The echoes faded slowly, but with the mist so thick around us and the sky looking like a flat piece of slate, I couldn't see more than ten feet in any direction. Ahead of us loomed a shoddy, one-room cabin. The walrus murmured to himself, gnashing his destroyed teeth as he looked down on me humbly. You're a beautiful little clam, he hissed.

I think you'll make a nice meal for Mr. Walrus. Indeed, a very tender little clam. With one greasy, dirt-stained hand, he flung the cabin door open and threw me inside. The smell of cooking meat, rotting flesh and feces smacked me in the face, so thick I could taste it in the back of my throat. I bent over, retching. The walrus closed the door as quietly as he could, peering through a tiny, smashed window in the mold-ridden boards of the dilapidated cabin. A little girl crouched in the corner, starved and shivering. On a rough, wooden kitchen counter, I saw small, dismembered fingers and eyeballs. Spools of intestines were rolled up like sausages next to them. A raging fire in the fireplace flickered and danced,

illuminating every corner of this cabin of horrors. Over the fire, a child's torso roasted, the fat spitting and dripping in greasy, burning drops. It was just the torso, with a ragged patch of bloody neck. It ended at the navel, with pieces of torn organs hanging out and blackening. Into the cage, my little sweetie, my little honey, the walrus whispered, pushing me forward. I heard the strange animalistic cry again, this time much closer. Fuck you. I screamed, pushing the walrus away. I tried to run for the door, but in a giant, single bound, he tackled me to the floor. I began shrieking for my life, trying to claw at the walrus eyes. He punched me hard in the face. I saw white spots, bright stars that flashed across my

vision. As my head lulled and I tasted coppery blood dripping from my mouth and nose, the high-pitched scream came again from directly outside the door. Help! I cried. The walrus froze, looking up. His dead eyes flashed with horror and a deep, ineffable fear. That was when the entire front of the cabin exploded. Shards of splintered would pierced my skin like tiny hornet stings. The walrus jumped off me, backpedling quickly toward the back of the cabin. I raised my head and met the eyes of the Jabberwock. Like a dragon from an acid fiends nightmare, it raised its powerful body to its full height, looming 20 feet above the ground. The Jabberwock skin gleamed a slate gray color. Hundreds of pencil-thin appendages hung down from its enormous,

fish-like face. The slow, rhythmic tapping of the fetid slime that dripped from its body mixed with its powerful breathing. Its flat, hungry eyes bulged out, dark and lidless, reflecting the bloody light of the fire. Its enormous lungs inhaled and exhaled as it stared at us, creating the same whipping of wind and fury that a barreling train might produce. The Jabberwock's neck slithered out, writhing in serpentine, like some ancient Brachiosaurus neck. Its head, hung low below its shoulders as it moved forward in a jerky, crawling gait, its webbed, dragon-like feet sliding across the soft black soil of Wonderland like a berserk centipede. It opened its mouth, showing hundreds of spiraling teeth that pulsated and twisted like the

mouth of some demonic lamprey. The Jabberwock tried to force its entire body through the crushed wall, crouching down and giving another high-pitched scream. Its black eyes rolled back in its head, showing bloody veins at the bottom. The walrus tried to sprint for a back window, but the Jabberwock's neck slithered out. Like a toad grabbing a fly out of the air, its lamprey mouth struck out in a blur. It attached to the walrus back with a sucking sound. Blood exploded from the back of the walrus body, splashing the coarse floor and broken walls of the cabin.

I started crawling away. The panicked, agonized shrieks of the walrus carried through the air, accompanied by wet crunching and sucking sounds. As the Jabberwock shook its head like a dog with a chew toy, spatters of blood from the walrus mutilated body the inside of the cabin. The frail, trembling girl in the cage in the corner cowered back from the destruction. The Jabberwock's tail whipped from side to side, long and tapering like the tail of a dinosaur. Sharp, bony spikes protruded from the ends. With a tremendous crash that shook the ground, its tail smashed into the cage.

The girl gave a squeak like a strangled redneck. rabbit as the cage soared across the cabin and crashed into a wall. She tumbled head over heels inside it. Then the cage's door fell open with a clatter of metal. The girl crawled out, her stunned eyes sweeping over me. I silently motioned for her to follow me. As silently as I could, I crawled through a massive hole in the collapsed front wall. I glanced back and saw her close behind, her skeletal arms pumping quickly. A glimmer of hope flashed, to cross her sunken, haunted eyes, a look I remember even now when I lay in my bed a few days later. As we got out to the black soil of Wonderland and the thick mists of its

endless night, the cabin fell into a heap behind us. The Jabberwock continued to thrash in the rubble. The sounds of bones cracking and sucking followed us down the rolling hills. What's your name? I asked the girl. She looked like a survivor from a death camp. It was strange seeing such shell-shocked, dead eyes on such a young face. She couldn't have been older than six or seven, with raven black hair and ice-blue eyes. Mary Ann, she whispered, looking around furtively. I'm Alice, I said, giving her a comforting smile. We continued walking quickly along down the hill. Giant mushrooms passed by on both sides. In the distance, the dim glow of the castle lights gave an eerie radiance to the clouds of mist that passed like

thunder clouds in front of its many spiraling windows. Keep your voice down, she said in a low, scared voice. The Jabberwock can hear the slightest sounds. I've seen it. It puts its head down on the ground and just listens. I think it can even hear footsteps sometimes. I looked at her, astonished. Are you from this place? I asked. She shook her head, a wave of deep sadness passing over her face. I was taken for my home, she said. I used to live in California. But I was kidnapped by the walrus. He's crazy, you know that? I nodded. Well, he used to talk to himself a lot, and I would listen. He had another girl in the cage when I got there, but he ended up, she paused, looking like she wanted to throw up. He ended up boiling her alive and then eating her.

Jesus Christ, I whispered, horrified. Her face had taken on a greenish cast at the memory. But the walrus also talked about the gateway they use, she said, to kidnap children from our world. Apparently, the queen's followers pass through it all the time. It takes you wherever you want to go, as long as you think about it while crossing through. I stopped, grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face me. My heart thundered in my chest. "'Are you saying there's a way out of this hell?' I asked. She nodded slowly.

So the walrus said, but he's insane, she repeated, glancing over to the castle looming over us like a guillotine. But, according to him, it's in the basement of the Chateau de d'Aleur. I immediately began walking toward the castle, but the little girl shook her head violently. I'm not going in there for anything, Marianne said, her face chalk white. I took her hand. "'It's the only way,' I said. "'Unless you want to stay here forever, we need to go into the castle.

"'Your family must be worried sick about you. "'We need to get you home.' "'The woman there is very sick,' Marianne cried in a quavering voice as tears started to stream from her eyes. "'I continued to take her hand, pulling her forward to the castle. "'I wanted to leave this horrifying place as soon as possible. "'We walked on quietly, the occasional cries of the Jabberwap. ripping through the air. I wondered what had happened to my father, whether he was still stumbling around the dark woods all alone. The castle loomed up through the fog, the flickering,

yellowish glow through its many murder holes piercing the mists like daggers. In front of the castle, I saw two soldiers clad in medieval armor with crossbows held in their hands. They sat in two chairs next to the open gate of the castle. I tiptoed as close as I could, watching them, but they didn't seem to move or speak. They didn't even seem to breathe. I wondered if they were mannequins or statues of some kind. Then I saw the thick blood dripping from their open helmets. Marianne and I snuck closer to the door,

making sure to keep ourselves out of view from anyone inside. I found the soldiers both dead, a bullet hole torn through the center of each of their faces like dripping tunnels of gore. What the hell? I whispered as I heard my father, 's voice ring out from inside the castle. Where the fuck is she? Where's Alice, you goddamn bastards? I heard him scream. I grabbed Marianne's hand and drew her forward. We peaked around

the corner of the gate, but no one was in sight. It was just a front entrance hall with flickering torches and cobblestone floors, walls and ceilings. Hanging from the walls, I saw painting after painting of a woman with very dark, dead eyes and a broad smile that showed glittering metal teeth. She wore a poofy rococo dress covered in countless red frills, bows and lace that would have been at home in the time of Marie Antoinette. The Red Queen, Marianne said, crossing herself as she uttered the name. God, please don't let us see the Red Queen, we followed the corridor straight into the heart

of the castle. Graded metal doors covered the sides of both walls, most of them closed. From behind the doors, I heard soft weeping and moaning and an occasional scream of agony. I quickly hurried Marianne past them. Do you know where you're going? I asked, but she shook her head. I've never been into the castle, she answered. I just know the entrance is down below. We turned a corner and I found the grinning, insane face of my father standing there, his gun drawn. Hey, baby girl, my father. My father father said, grinning. Remember me? He cocked the pistol and put it directly to the front

of my forehead. It's cold, circular barrel felt like an eel's mouth kissing my skin. He gave a cold, venomous look at Marianne. He grabbed her roughly by the neck and pulled her along as he prodded me forward with the gun. I want to do this in a private place, not in a hallway. I know you deserve your mother's fate, you stupid bitch. You brought us all to hell, didn't you? I know this is hell. His voice deepened as he said this. I tried to protest, but he continued to scream in insane gibberish. As we walked down the hallway, a giant set of slatted, metal doors loomed ahead of us. They suddenly flew open. The white rabbit stood there, grinning at the three of us. His needle-like teeth gnashed together, his mouth chattering excitedly.

Have you brought new sacrifices to the queen? The white rabbit asked, excited, his bone-white eyes twinkling. Fuck you, my father spat, this is my daughter. I will discipline my own child like I did my wife. The white rabbit laughed, a gleeful, cheery sound. My father raised the pistol, his hand trembling as he pointed it at the rabbit. Move aside, my father ordered. I have no issue with you, demon.

The white rabbit nodded happily as he gave a squeak of pleasure. He disappeared in the shadows of the dark hall. My father continued prodding us forward through the doors. As soon as he stepped foot in the hall, a gleam of metal swung through the air. I instinctively shrieked. Mary Ann pulled loose from my father's grasp as a gleaming, metal croquet mallet came hard on his head. His skull exploded, scattering black hairs stuck to bone fragments in every direction. The pistol went off, the bullet flying into the enormous stone ceiling high above us.

I looked up at my savior, seeing a tall woman dressed in a fluffy, blood-red dress. She wore a crown of sharp, silver spikes with tiny skulls impaled on the top of each. Have you come to join the circle, the red queen asked, her metal teeth flashing as she gave a wide smile. Her eyes looked flat and dead, almost painted on like the eyes of a doll. I glanced above her head to the left side of the enormous chamber. To my horror, I saw an Iron Maiden there, a metal coffin hanging suspended by a series of thick cables to the ceiling.

A spiral staircase on wheels was pushed next to the Iron Maiden. Its lid was tightly shut. Drops of fresh blood continued to drip out of the bottom. They gave a slow, rhythmic pattering like Chinese water torture as they fell into the clawfoot tub below. It was filled to the brim with glistening, crimson liquid. I scrambled to my feet, seeing Marianne already running down the hall in the opposite direction. I followed after her, pushing my exhausted body forward and hoping for a miracle.

The Queen gave an insane cry. I heard metal clattering hard across the ground. Looking back, I saw her running after us, the blood-stained metal mallet held above her head. Her insane eyes twinkled with the thrill of the chase. As we turned down random hallways, I found a servant's staircase leading both up and down. Marianne had almost run past it, but I screamed at her. Mary Ann. Come back.

I said. She turned. I pointed to the stairs. There's a way down. Come on, Marianne. We're late. She nodded, her. Her pale, thin face looking beyond exhausted as we stumbled our way down the steps, the Red Queen still only a couple paces behind us.

At the bottom of the stairs, a cold, prison-like basement loomed in front of us. Children were chained to the walls, many of them crying in covered in blood. At the end of the basement, I saw a giant mirror, but its reflection was, strange. I didn't get to look at it for more than a moment, however, before Marianne collapsed at my side. She was breathing hard, her eyes rolling, her sunken face twitching. I can't, run, anymore, she whispered as the Red Queen gave a lunatic battle cry. I tried to pull Marianne up by her hand, but within seconds, the Red Queen had closed in on us. I backpedaled quickly as the mallet came down on Marianne's skull, squashing it like a bloody pancake.

I felt sick and weak, but my adrenaline screamed at me to get out of there. I turned toward the end of the chamber. A mirror flashed in front of me, nearly ten feet tall and surrounded by intertwining silver vines. I could see myself reflected in it, but the background was not the background of the castle. Instead, I saw a dark forest and a burning house. I ran toward the mirror. Behind me, the Red Queen screamed in fury. I felt a whizzing of air behind my head as she swung her deadly croquet mallet.

As I hit the mirror, I felt a sensation like warm water covering my skin. Everything went translucent, wavering and fading in and out. I continued running and, after a few steps, the dark forest materialized around me with a popping sound. I cried out as I tripped over something heavy laying in the brush in front of me. Growning, I looked back and saw my father's body laying there, his head smashed into a disgusting soup of curly black hairs and brains. Police sirens shrieked on the nearby road. Their blue and red strobing lights filled the forest with a sudden illumination. Their brakes squealed as they pulled up in front of the burning house.

A few ran out, yelling orders and screaming for fire trucks and ambulances. Light-headed and gasping, I pushed myself up and ran toward the flashing lights and away from that portal to hell. As the police drove me out of there, I heard a Johnny Cash song playing from the radio up front. Now I remember after work, Mama would call in all of us. You could hear us singing for a country mile. Now little brother has gone on, but I'll rejoin him in a song. We'll be together again up yonder in a little while. One of these days, and it won't be long, I'll rejoin them in a song.

I'm going to join the family circle at the throne. Oh no, the circle won't be broken, in the crimson radiance of the sunrise that streaked across the clouds like streams of blood. I thought I could see the faces of my mother and father, not them as dead or insane, as they had been on the last, horrible day, but back when they were happy and whole. I broke down then, crying uncontrollably, the weight of the tears that overflowed from my eyes feeling as heavy as the entire world. The noises that emerged from Smith's chest were so intense that they reached through the convent walls, and all the neighbors in Elling heard them, and the whole town became

afraid, afraid that one or several demons might be inside. We begin in the year 1928. One of the most well-documented cases of demonic possession in history took place. It was a relatively young, strong, healthy woman, and the church did everything possible to preserve her privacy. But even so, her story went beyond the convent walls and reached the ears of the whole world. And it's that this wasn't just a simple case of demonic possession, it affected all the people who directly or indirectly became linked to Anna Eklund. This story begins with the birth of a girl named Emma Smith, who was born on March 23, 1882, in Wisconsin, the only daughter of a German immigrant couple. The real name of this girl is not known, as all sources have changed it to one or the other. Some say her name was

Emma Smith, and others say Anna Eklund, but this second name was given to her a little later. We don't know if she was baptized, where exactly she was born, in which hospital, or if she was born at home, if a doctor attended the birth, we know absolutely nothing. The same goes for her parents. Of her mother, we only know that she was a devout Catholic and that she died in 1890. But about her father, we have a bit more information, his name was Jacob Schmidt. It said that this man was an alcoholic and also very violent. He had the reputation of beating his wife and daughter and of being a hopeless atheist.

Rumors and whispers in the town said that Jacob, before his wife died, became romantically involved with her sister, a woman named Mina. This woman also didn't have a good reputation, as people said she was a dark which who invoked the devil, who sacrificed children, and that the sacrifices included four of her own children. People saw that Mina was sinister, distant, dark, though they had been nothing directly against Emma. The little Emma was very loved in the town. She was sweet, friendly, pleasant, and just like her mother, a devout Catholic. Every week, from a very young age, she went to church, attended all the activities, Mass, confession, and truly enjoyed

all of it. However, when she turned 10 or 11 years old, something very strange began to happen to her. The little girl started to seem a bit distant, she appeared worried, distressed, anguished. Everyone began to think that what was happening to her was just adolescence, hormones, curiosity, starting to like boys. But in reality, her attitude revealed something much darker. According to rumors, her father had begun to cross the line with her. At age 14, Emma stopped going to church. The clergy began asking her why she had made that decision, and the girl only responded that an invisible force would not let her cross the main gate. She wanted to go, she wanted to attend Mass, but there was something strange

preventing her from doing so. She was incapable of looking directly at religious objects and unable to approach the altar. It was something so strange that the church itself suggested to Emma that she see a psychologist. But the girl went from psychologist to psychologist, and no one was able to tell her what was wrong. They thought maybe she had some kind of obsession, some kind of disorder, but no doctor could pinpoint exactly what was happening to her. So the clergy began to think that she might be possessed. This is when Father Theophilus Risinger comes into play, a capuchin who had built up a very good reputation as an exorcist. Risinger, at 44 years old, had already successfully exorcised multiple people. However, whenever he was present in a

church or convent, everyone there felt uncomfortable. Theophilus did great work, but having an exorcist nearby also implied having a possessed person nearby, and just thinking about that made people very nervous. Still, with Emma's case, Risinger was very discreet. On Tuesday, June 18th, 1912, when Emma was 26 years old, she underwent her first exorcism. This exorcism lasted several hours and was, it must be said, a total success. The girl went back to being herself, sweet, pleasant, and of course, she returned to the church. So Risinger and she went there separate ways. In 1928, when Emma was already 42 years old, her father died, and after his death, the girl lost her sanity. Day by day, things got worse, she became more and more aggressive. Her aversion

to religious objects, churches, and priests grew. On several occasions, she even attacked her confessor and was unable to touch a Bible. Blessed objects were repulsive to her. Moreover, the girl claimed that inside her head were multiple voices, voices that encouraged her to commit terrible acts. Once again, Father Theophilus Risinger was called to help her. But this time, he knew the matter was more complicated. She was no longer a second. She was no longer a simple girl with signs of possession, she was a grown woman with much more serious problems. Before taking action, the priest suggested that she see specialists, and once again, no doctor was able to tell what was wrong with Emma Smith. It seemed like one thing, then another,

then they didn't know. And with all the uncertainty, the girl was handed over to the Catholic Church. It was then that Risinger decided the following, to begin by taking the girl to a quiet place to thoroughly investigate what was happening to her. And then, if the matter truly turned out to be serious and if she was truly possessed, he would perform an exorcism, an exorcism which, by the way, he already knew would not be easy. The place Risinger chose was the convent of the Franciscan Sisters of Oling, Iowa. And the reason for his choice was that in the 1920s, the population of that city was very small, it had very few inhabitants, making it a quiet place. At the same time, it was well connected since the railroad passed through there.

Also, another very positive point was that Father Joseph Steiger, one of his best friends, was the pastor of the local church. If he needed authorization, help in the exorcism, advice, or anything, Joseph Steiger could help him. Unfortunately, that was the theory, in practice, things were very different. Joseph Steiger knew what happened when Risinger went to any church. He knew how people reacted. He knew that when people saw an exorcist, they automatically became very tense because having an exorcist around also implied a possessed person nearby. So, he decided to delay Father Risinger.

Being his friend, he couldn't directly say no, couldn't tell him to go to another town or choose another convent. So, he simply said that if the mother superior of the convent accepted Emma Smith, then he would too, although he was convinced. convinced that the woman would say no. However, Father Risinger went to the mother superior and asked, and the woman directly said yes. That the doors of her convent were wide open to exorcise Emma Smith. On August 17, 1928, Emma Smith took the first train headed for Elling. The journey passed without issues. But upon arriving at the station, the girl was received by some priests and, without warning, lunged at them with the intention of strangling them. It is said that at the moment of the attack, the young woman completely lost consciousness.

It is said that she growled, blasphemed, purred, and that her strength multiplied. So all those present assumed that she was truly possessed. The second train bound for Elling was taken by Theophilus Risinger, and the one who had to pick him up was, of course, Joseph Steiger. But his car, although new, failed for two hours, the engine would not start. It was a new engine, with no faults or problems. But finally, when it did start and he managed to pick up Father Risinger, the latter said the following words. My dear friend, I am not bothered at all.

I would have been much more surprised if everything had gone well. Difficulties will arise. It is to be expected that they do. The devil will do everything possible to thwart our plans. While I waited, I prayed constantly so that the evil spirit could not harm me, since I suspected he would try to interfere with your coming. Yes, that he would try to harm you personally, to be continued. He will do everything possible to frustrate our plans. While I waited, I prayed constantly so that the evil spirit could not harm me, since I suspected he would try to interfere with your coming.

Yes, that he would try to harm you personally. The nuns of the convent in Elling quickly assigned a small room to Emma Smith. It was austere and simple, but even so, the girl was very happy with it. She seemed grateful, smiling, pleasant, but in just 24 hours, the nuns realized that something very strange was happening with her. Emma was indeed a wonderful woman, but in just 24 hours, all the nuns realized that there was something very strange about her. generally the girl behaved very well she was polite and respectful but in the presence of religious objects her attitude changed drastically secondly they saw that the girl was capable of detecting blessed objects and the way they realized this was very peculiar a nun went into the kitchen and decided to bless the food that emma smith was about to eat she took her plate said some prayers over it and sprinkled it with several drops of holy water

Then she took this plate and went directly to Emma's room. And once there, the girl started to purr like a cat. The third strange thing was that Emma, without any warning, would completely change her face, it became disfigured, her voice changed, and from deep within her chest emerged growls and all kinds of strange sounds. All of this was very strange and seemed to indicate that the girl was possessed by one or more demons. Seeing that the girl displayed all these characteristics, the priest decided to begin the exorcism as soon as possible, and in fact, he got to work on August 18th of that same year.

But it must be said that this exorcism would be anything but easy, it was so complicated that it had to last eight consecutive days. Eight days during which Emma suffered all kinds of transformations. The exorcism began calmly. Several nuns entered Emma's room along with Father Risinger and Father Steiger. Emma was laid on her bed, and all the nuns held her arms and legs. Then Father Risinger mentioned the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It was at that moment that Emma completely lost her mind. Her eyes and mouth closed, and the girl entered a strange coma, a coma through which all

the demons took over her body. As Risinger continued to speak, her body trembled more and more, and from her chest emerged all kinds of sounds, screams, growls, hissing, and at one point, Emma made a strange leap from the bed to the top of the door. The noises that emerged from Emma Smith's chest were so intense that they went through the walls of the convent and were heard by all the neighbors in Elling. But they were not the screams of a simple woman, they were the screams of monsters. And the whole town became afraid, afraid that one or more demons were inside. Seeing that Emma could leap from the bed to the top of the door without even trying, without even making the gesture,

the nuns opted to create stray jackets, straight jackets to prevent her from harming herself or others. But it must be said that all efforts were useless, as Schmidt's strength was not merely human. Every morning, the girl took a small spoonful of milk with a little water, but even so, during the rituals, she vomited large amounts of liquid, amounts that the human body could not possibly retain. She barely ate, barely drank, yet the vomit was constant. And inside the vomit were tobacco leaves, wheat stalks, and all kinds of seeds. It was reported that she vomited up to 30 times a day, and in each instance, the amount of liquid was astounding. Another very strange thing was that Schmidt was able to understand languages she had never

studied. All sources say that Emma Smith was able to understand what Father Risinger said in Latin and often responded in the same language. Other sources also highlight as incredible that Emma Smith understood German. They said it was unbelievable, unexplainable, but it must be kept in mind that her parents were German immigrants. So claiming that Emma Smith didn't know this language sounds a bit absurd. Another point the sources mention is the smell of Emma Smith's room. It smelled terribly, an intense odor came from it every morning, and every morning the nun's it thoroughly. They said the stench didn't come directly from the vomit but from the girl's body, as if she were slowly rotting alive. After several days of intense rituals, Father

Risinger finally managed to discover who the demons inhabiting Schmitz's body were. And when he said their names, you'll be shocked. The first was Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies. This demon entered Emma when she was 14 years old, and he claimed that he entered because someone had invited him. And that someone wasn't the girl, it was the next demon I'm about to mention, Jacob Schmidt, Emma's father. Jacob claimed that when Emma was 14, he asked the demons to possess her. And the reason was very simple, the girl repeatedly refused to have relations with him.

Remember, this could have occurred when the girl was between 10 and 14 years old. The first time she was possessed, Jacob said he asked the demons to take her. And the second time, before dying, Jacob decided to curse his only daughter again. And after that, his very soul entered the girl's body. Inside Emma's body, Jacob forced her to perform immoral acts and repeatedly speak obscenities. The next demon inside her was Mina, her father's lover. This may sound very dramatic, very staged, but according to the clergy, whenever Mina spoke, Emma used a very high-pitched voice, a voice that could very well have been Mina's.

Mina confessed that in life, she had been a witch, an evil witch who, in fact, sacrificed four of her children, and who was in Emma's body by her own will. The fourth demon was Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus. As we all know, Judas took his own life, and his intention within Emma's body was to make her commit the same act he had. Fifth, we have lesser demons, demons that that entered Emma's body to prevent the higher ones from being expelled. Demons that screamed, blasphemed, and made things much more complicated. And finally, we have the most powerful demon of all, Lucifer. Exercising her with so many demons inside her body would be anything but easy,

especially knowing that Lucifer himself was inside her. To begin with, the girl could speak without moving her lips. She growled, shouted, and on several occasions revealed secret. of those present, the darkest secrets of Father Steiger and Father Risinger. And she did the same with the nuns who tried to hold her down. Another interesting thing is that, at several points, her whole body swelled up, her lips, her hands, her legs, her neck. It looked like the girl was having an allergic reaction, like her whole body was about to explode.

And this, according to the experts, was the work of Beelzebub, who made her body appear to be decomposing while still alive. Another interesting point is that her entire body, at various moments, became very elastic. She twisted completely, arched her back, dislocated her arms, her elbows, she did things with her body that she had never been able to do before. Another very interesting point is that Emma also levitated, something typical of possessed people. She flew above the bed, but she was also capable of sinking into it. Her body, from one moment to the next, became very heavy and sank into the mattress, making the bed's iron frame creak. It was so complex and so impressive that after eight days, the clergy

suspended the rituals. The second phase of the exorcism lasted from September 13th to 20th, 1928. And it must be said that this was the most complicated of all, as the demon did everything possible to turn the clergy against one another. He created constant doubt in Father Steiger's mind, he wanted him to doubt, to distrust, to always be tense in Risinger's presence. He threatened him repeatedly and at one point told him to be very careful on Friday, August 24th. And this threat, it must be said, chilled the blood of everyone present. On Friday the 24th, Father Steiger had to go give the last rights to a sick woman. He spent the entire day being very careful, driving slowly, looking both ways, praying.

And on the way back to the convent, while driving his new car, a black cloud blocked his path. The last thing he could remember was that his car nearly fell off a cliff. After what happened that day, Father Steiger could barely sleep. He heard noises everywhere, and to silence them, he always had to pray. Whenever he prayed, the noises stopped. So he assumed they were not created by rats, but rather by demons. The third exorcism was from December 15th to 23rd. And it must be said that after much struggle, at 9 p.m. on the final day, Emma Smith was finally freed.

She stood up, leaned back, and murmured the following words, Beelzebub, Judas, Jacob. Mina, hell, hell, hell. What a terrible burden I've been freed from at last. My Jesus, mercy. Praise be Jesus Christ. After a long struggle, Emma Smith was finally free. But all the people who were in contact with her were marked for life. The nuns who helped were sent to other convents. Father Steiger never spoke of it again.

And Father Risinger continued preaching and exercising until his death in November 1941. We know of this case thanks to Carl Vogel, a theologian who compiled the entire story in a report called Begone Satan, or report that, by the way, was published seven years later. This report was so impactful that the year after its publication, Father Risinger was featured on the cover of Time magazine. And it also served as inspiration to help complete the movie The Exorcist, which is based on the case of Robbie Mannheim. But now it's your turn, what do you think of the case?

Do you believe this story could be true? The end. On the night of Sunday, February 9th of this same year, Ingrid Escamilla returned home and found her partner completely intoxicated. From that moment, according to the alleged murderer, an argument began. According to him, when Ingrid saw him in that state, she started yelling at him. The argument escalated and eventually turned physical. Let's begin.

On Sunday, February 9th of this year, Mexico City's Secretariat of Citizen Security, SSC, received a rather alarming phone call. An anonymous informant reported that a man had just killed his partner. The alleged homicide took place in the Gustavo A. Madero District, specifically at the residence on Tumano Street, number 258. Upon receiving the alert, officers rushed to the scene and arrived at the house. At the door, they found a 46-year-old man covered in blood. Once inside the house, they discovered the lifeless body of his partner lying on the floor in a supine position, that is, face-up. The body was missing the eyes, parts of the skin, and internal

organs. The crime was so brutal that authorities had to work as quickly as possible. Samples were collected, photos were taken, and the crime scene was registered. The alleged murderer was immediately detained. However, several officers violated protocol, severely damaging the case's development. A total of 10 individuals, both police officers and forensic experts, leaked images of the horrific crime. First, it was supposedly a forensic expert who leaked images of the corpse, which then spread across the internet and the press. Later, a police officer allegedly recorded the suspect in the patrol car while questioning him, footage that also circulated widely. That's when social media exploded, not only were Ingrid's rights to privacy violated, but

fragments of her life were being shared online. It was leaked that she was 25 years old and that her alleged killer was 46. People started saying she deserved it, that this was the result of dating an older man, and that if she hadn't been with him for money, nothing would have happened. So many outrageous things were said that the case went viral and became a symbol of the fight for women's rights. Let me now share all the details the press has revealed about this case. Ingrid Escamilla Vargas was born in 1995 in the municipality of Juan Galindo, Puebla, specifically in Nacaquesa canadus. She was born from a twin pregnancy. According to consulted sources, her childhood wasn't easy, her mother abandoned her and her four sisters when they were very young.

But the girls weren't left completely alone, their father took care of them, gave them attention, provided them a better education, and did everything possible to make them happy. Ingrid was always a very kind, affectionate, and cheerful person. She loved makeup and created two Instagram accounts to showcase her passion, one was personal, and the other featured makeup reviews, product showcases, outfits, and lifestyle. She loved it so much that in 2013, she was named Beauty Queen of Nacaca Canadas, her hometown. But don't think she was just a pretty face, she later earned a master's degree in tourism business management at BUA. Benimerida Universidad Autonomia de Puebla. After completing her studies, she moved to the Vallejo neighborhood in Mexico City and started working. Whenever someone needed help,

she offered it. After the 2017 earthquake, Ingrid volunteered to rebuild homes in Jucatan de Juarez and invited others to join her through social media. Even though Ingrid was an amazing person, life kept throwing hardships at her. In early 2018, her father passed a away, and every June 26th, on his birthday, she would remember him on social media. What an incredible adventure it was to have you in my life. A person who could spread his love among five children, who gave everything even when he had nothing, who gave us happy moments and kept the family together, words supposedly written by her on June 26, 2018. She turned her pain into strength and kept working hard, helping others, smiling, and enjoying life.

We know she woke up early every day to commute from Vallejo to Polanco, where she worked. We also know that she had recently had her braces removed and couldn't stop smiling since then. Unfortunately, we also know that she had been in a relationship with a man named Eric Francisco Robledo Roses, 46 years old. Eric Francisco Robledo Rosas was a 46-year-old civil engineer, recently divorced and the father of a 14-year-old son. He didn't have a stable job, some days he worked, some days he didn't. Yet, Ingrid Escamilla fell in love with him. In fact, she was so in love that in 2019, she packed her things and moved into his apartment at Tomonio Street 258.

From that moment, according to sources, strange things began to happen. Some say that shortly after moving in, Ingrid went to the authorities to file a complaint against him for verbal and physical abuse. However, it seems the complaint was never filed. Loved ones say she intended to do it, but fear overcame her. There were concerns the threats might become real. Susanna Martinez Novo, a lawyer and president of the commission investigating violence against women, confirmed this. Everything made sense, Ingrid lived in a dangerous situation. situation and was too scared to report it. However, the Attorney General's office later announced

that Ingrid had never filed a complaint, her name didn't appear in any report. According to the Victim Services Coordinator Nellie Montaigre Diaz, the person who had reported Eric was none other than his ex-wife. Keep that in mind, it becomes important later. On the night of Sunday, February 9th of this year, Ingrid Escamilla came home and found her partner completely drunk. That's when, according to the alleged killer, they began to argue. We started arguing, we kept arguing, and then we started fighting, he said. She told me she was going to kill me, and I told her, kill me then. I took out a knife and told her, go ahead, do it.

And she stabbed me first. I told her, harder. Go ahead, and she stabbed me again. These are words spoken by Eric Francisco Robledo in the leaked video. He then took the knife and said, If you don't kill me, I will kill you. He stabbed Ingrid in the neck and slashed her five times. Once he was sure she was dead, he decided to dispose of the evidence.

He began removing different parts of her body and flushing them down the toilet. He skinned the front of her body, including her head and knees, and removed her eyes and internal organs. When the toilet clogged, he started bagging the body parts in green plastic bags and dumping them in different streets. As if that weren't enough, the confessed killer told police he didn't commit the axe willingly, that a demon had possessed him.

He claimed he was high and later regretted everything. But perhaps the most chilling part was that the entire process was witnessed by his 14-year-old son, who reportedly has autism. After committing the murder, the man called his ex-wife. The call was brief, he confessed to the killing and asked her to come pick up their son, Sources differ on who called the police, some say a neighbor heard the screaming, others that a passerby saw a blood-covered man on the street.

But everything seems to indicate that it was his ex-wife who raised the alarm. When police arrived at the apartment, they found a horrific scene. Eric Francisco was wandering the street, disoriented, carrying green bags, covered in blood that didn't appear to be his. They put him in the patrol car and began questioning him, questions that were later. leaked in a video. After the confession, officers entered the home. There, lying on the floor in a supine position, was the mutilated body of Ingrid S. Camilla. That's when the gruesome images were taken, images that would later go viral online. When police questioned the neighbors, they realized everyone knew something terrible was going on inside that apartment. According to

them, Eric Francisco Robledo moved in a year earlier, and later Ingrid arrived. At first, First, everyone thought they were a strange couple. Neither of them socialized. Ingrid barely left the apartment, only to work or receive visitors. But even then, visitors weren't allowed inside. If a friend or family member wanted to see her, they had to wait outside while the doorman called Ingrid to come down. The couple supposedly fought often.

On the night of the murder, neighbors heard screams and banging, but since it was a common occurrence, no one paid attention. No one called the police. No one said a word. They just let it pass. That said, the police have been called once before due to a previous conflict. On that occasion, Ingrid had tried to throw herself from a height. With all this evidence, Robledo Roses was sent to prison, specifically to Reclosorio Orient. The judge granted a three-month investigation period and said he would seek the maximum sentence for the confessed killer. Unfortunately, something chilling happened that turned the entire case on its head, Robledo Roses threatened to take his own life. As a result, he was transferred from Recosorio

Orient to Severepsie, the Men's Center for Psychosocial Rehabilitation. This was shocking, because all inmates at that facility are considered unfit for regular prison and receive treatment for mental illnesses that supposedly drove them to commit crimes. It said the judge gave specific instructions for Robledo Roses to receive special care. Many took this as a sign he would receive special treatment or luxuries. But that's not true. What the judge actually ordered was 24-7 surveillance to ensure he couldn't take his own life, so he would be in perfect condition to face trial. On February 12, a closed-door hearing was held. We know it lasted five hours, and during that time, it was determined that he would be prosecuted for the crime

of femicide. From that point on, everything unfolded on social media. During the medical and police proceedings, photos were taken, and even a video was recorded. As mentioned earlier, these were leaked everywhere. On February 10th, the tabloid Pissala published a front page with the title Cupid was to blame, since the murder occurred days before Valentine's Day. But they didn't Then stopped there, they published a large, explicit photo of the victim's body. The newspaper LaPrinsec called her The Flade One and printed three photos, one of the killer, one of the crime scene, and one of the victim's mutilated body. That wasn't all.

On Twitter, a hashtag was created where people shared images of Ingrid's body. Shallow details about her life were also spread, Beauty Queen, 25 years old, boyfriend aged 46. No one mentioned that she was a survivor of an earthquake, that she had a degree, that she had a family who loved her. All people seemed to care about was that she dated an older man, and with that, they justified how she died. She dated him for money, she had mental issues, she was an opportunist, she had nothing better. I won't publish those kinds of posts here, the ones that circulated on Twitter, Instagram, and even Facebook. What I will share is this, because of the coldness of the media and social networks,

thousands of people took to the streets to protest violence against women. Hashtags like hashtag Justice for Ingrid and hashtag Ingrid Escamilla flooded timelines, demanding dignity for victims. Most shocking of all. The media respected the presumption of innocence for the alleged killer, but not the privacy of the victim. Ingrid's body was plastered everywhere, while every photo of the killer showed him with his eyes covered. It seemed Ingrid had no right to be protected.

Using hashtags like hashtag Ingrid Escamilla Body and hashtag Ingrid Escamilla Challenge, social media feeds, especially Twitter, were filled with images of landscapes, animals, art, and smiles. People protested that disrespect Ingrid had suffered. Offline, feminist groups also protested and invited others to do the same. On February 14th, a march was held demanding justice for Ingrid, and for all victims of violence. Another event was held the next day, February 15th. Nellie Montaigre revealed that Eric Francisco Robledo's son had been placed under protective measures and was also considered a victim, since he witnessed everything. His testimony would be taken into account, but behind closed doors to protect his privacy.

She also revealed that six people were under investigation. for leaking the images, among them, forensic experts and police officers present at the crime scene. It's hard to find their names, but according to L. Impartial, their identities may be Latisha N, Mario Ivan N, Javier N, and Rosolio N. They were allegedly on patrol units MX 840, N2 and MX 526N. So one or more may be held responsible for leaking the images. Mayor Claudia Scheinbaum reaffirmed that the prosecution would seek the maximum penalty. Femicide is an absolutely condemnable crime, and when it reaches levels like Ingrid's case,

it's horrifying. The SSC detained the alleged perpetrator, and the prosecution declared it would push for the highest possible sentence. All signs suggest that confessed killer will receive approximately 60 years in prison. But now it's your turn. What do you think about this case? And what do you think will happen next? The end. Before beginning this story, I would like to clarify some concepts, as many of us do not have a very clear idea of what a real exorcism is.

What exactly are exorcisms? Exorcisms are a spiritual or religious practice carried out against an evil force, using different methods to expel said entity from a person, object, or area that is possessed by it. After this definition, we are left with one more question. Are exorcisms a myth or a reality? In recent years, the number of exorcisms has multiplied around the world. In fact, ten years ago in France, specifically in the Paris region, there was a maximum of 15 exorcisms per year. However, nowadays more than 50 are carried out. On this channel, we have covered cases of demonic possession in objects, like the true story behind the Dybbock box. But we have also looked at cases like Annalise Michel, popularly known as Emily Rose,

and even the story behind the film The Haunting in Connecticut. Unfortunately, the fact that the film industry treats these topics, in my opinion, in a dramatic way or distorts reality to unimaginable levels means that those who are not familiar with the paranormal world might think these kinds of things, if they are real, only happen to people with excessive religious fanaticism. And the truth is, that is not the case. Paranormal infestations occur in all types of environments, atheists, buddhist, evangelical, Catholic, and it is this last one we will address next, the Catholic environment

in which Marta lived. What happened to her that led to her being possessed? What measures were taken to expel the multiple demons inhabiting her body? And most intriguing of all, why is her exorcism one of the most controversial in Spain? So, if you're interested in the topic, stay and watch this video. And well, without further ado, let's begin. This story apparently began in the year 2000, in the city of Madrid, Spain. Marta, as she was called to preserve her identity, was a 19-year-old university student who was urgently admitted to the intensive care unit because she was experiencing strange symptoms, violent convulsions, sharp pains all over her body, horrifying hysterical fits in which her eyes rolled back and she screamed

with all her might, in a voice that seemed not to come from her throat but from the very depths of hell. After suffering these attacks, the girl never remembered anything, never remembered the word she spoke or the things she felt. After a total of 12 days hospitalized, the doctors considered that her symptoms had subsided, so they decided to discharge her. Unfortunately, that was not a good decision, because a few days later her condition worsened, and with it, the family home turned into a completely different place. Because yes, apparently, her health condition could spread through the air and contaminate her surroundings as if it were the flu, an extremely sinister flu. Marta's mother began to notice strange cold drafts moving through the house,

drafts that seemed conscious, that seemed to act intelligently. She began to hear inexplicable noises, whispers, and felt like she was being watched at all times. To her, a deeply religious woman, this was very disturbing. Even though her faith made her think that her daughter might have a spiritual problem, she didn't want to even consider it. She wanted to take refuge in science, the same science her daughter loved and studied with such passion. The woman thought that while her daughter battled her illness, she too would fight silently, and began to fill the house with religious objects. She believed that the image of Christ would heal her daughter. However, Marta began to feel a certain repulsion toward all those items, paintings, crucifixes, rosaries.

no longer even wanted to go with her mother to Sunday Mass. The mere idea of attending made her nauseous. She also began casting terrifying glances, not just at those objects but also at her mother whenever she prayed aloud. This was totally unusual for Marga. But what was even more unusual was that she constantly felt tired, had no desire to study, found it impossible to concentrate, and suffered from sharp pains attacking various parts of her body, but mainly her head. Whenever the pain returned, Marta said it felt as if the Grim Reaper herself were playing with her, threatening her life at every moment. But the worst came one night.

Marta and her mother were in the living room when, suddenly, the young woman began to move her head from side to side, almost as if she were following the rhythm of a melody only she could hear, side to side, faster and faster, until the movement became frantic. Her mother, seeing what was happening, jumped from her seat and ran to help her. But before she could touch her, Marta stopped, and her eyes turned white. The heavy armchair in which she was sitting began to rise off the ground, levitating about 20 centimeters in the air. Her mother couldn't believe what she was seeing.

And then she knew, she would not be able to help her daughter. Convinced that an infernal entity was taking over her daughter's body, the woman began to seek help from the church. She started an intense pilgrimage, meeting with multiple priests who outright refused to help her. None of them believed in demonic possession anymore, and all they did was wash their hands of the matter. Have you and your daughter seen a psychiatrist? That was the question she heard the most during that time. But she did not give up. She fought so hard that she even secured an audience with the bishop of her diocese. With him, things seemed different. He was truly courteous and diplomatic, and seemed genuinely willing to help,

to listen. The man advised, as a first step, that they visit a psychiatrist, and after that, present the reports to the diocese to see whether or not they could begin treating her daughter spiritually. After a long conversation, the woman went home feeling very pleased. She was much calmer and convinced her daughter would finally receive the right treatment. What a mistake. The woman did exactly what the bishop had told her, she visited a psychiatrist, who wrote a report stating that Marta was mentally healthy. But when they tried to meet with the bishop again, they found he had given strict orders never to grant them another audience. That broke their hearts. But it didn't stop them from continuing to fight. The two began to travel from church

to church, meeting with pastors, vickers, episcopals, and religious figures, but got no results. On one occasion, mother and daughter visited a priest who had a great reputation. Everyone said wonderful things about him, how pious and kind he was. But that's not what they saw in his eyes. The man mocked them, scorned them, referred them to a psychiatrist, and made them feel like complete lunatics. His refusal to help didn't make them give up, on the contrary, they kept fighting and began a new process, searching for religious figures in general, regardless of the religion they represented. And all of them kept repeating the same words over and over again,

go to a psychiatrist. None of them bothered to examine Marta. She was even expelled from a confessional after asking a Jesuit for help. But we won't dwell any longer on the endless struggle mother and daughter faced in seeking help. We'll simply say that, in the end, through a series of coincidences, they learned about a priest who supposedly handled possession cases. Father Jose Antonio Forty, a 33-year-old priest who had already successfully performed four exorcisms and had assisted in 13 others as an apprentice. After finding so many closed doors, finally someone from the clergy was willing to listen, and that filled them with hope. He examined young Marta and asked her a series of questions he deemed appropriate. Then he took

the girl's hands and began to pray aloud for her. And what happened? The hysterical attacks returned instantly, with one difference. At the end of the prayers, Father Forte didn't invite them to see a psychiatrist. Instead, he said the following words. She clearly presents all the signs of demonic possession. Mother and daughter began traveling by car several kilometers each week to reach Father Forteis parish. Despite that, the prayer sessions for Marta began immediately and would not stop until the demon was completely expelled from her body. And so, on that Saturday, March 2nd, 2002, they began to pray for her.

Prayers that were initially expected to last two or three days. What they didn't know was that inside her, there wasn't just one demon. But several. To be continued. At first, it was estimated that it would last two or three days. What they didn't know was that inside her there wasn't just one demon, but several of them, something that made Marta's treatment even more difficult. In the first session, Father Forty had to be helped.

by four people to pray and restrain the possessed girl. It was practically impossible for one person alone to hold her during the exorcism process. Forty demanded the body of Marta to reveal how many demons were inside her, and one of them responded the following, five. After that, the same being admitted that all of them had entered Marta's body through a death spell. Forte demanded to know more, but the demon only screamed and shook Marta's body from the inside, as if she were a rag doll, until it finally gave in and mentioned a name. A name that Marta's mother found very familiar.

It was the name of a former high school classmate of her daughter. According to words written by Father Ferti in his book Summa Demanica, the illness that Marta had suffered, and that had almost killed her, was the result of a spell performed by a young man known to the girl, who had become obsessed with her and channeled part of his obsession through sinister summoning rituals. Because of her mother's many prayers, Marta had been saved, but she remained possessed. Normally, this kind of thing doesn't happen, even if someone sends a spell. But when demonic forces are invoked, anything can happen.

In the sessions, there were usually four or five people praying the rosary at the same time. Marta's attacks never left anyone indifferent. In fact, Marta's case was so controversial and shocking that the Spanish Network and Tina 3 did a report on it in 2006. They filmed, without consent, one of the exorcism sessions that Marta was subjected to, and this case was judged from all possible points of view. However, the broadcasting of this event caused several experts in psychiatry, parapsychology, and dead languages to give their opinions on the situation.

Antonio Iguerrez, professor of psychiatry and head of this service at the Virgin de Las Las Neves Hospital in Granada, considered that the young woman was not. not truly possessed. He stated that everything was in her head, that she suffered from a very serious disorder and that her mother played a very important role in it. What could not be explained, however, was how Marta could keep her eyes rolled back for the full three hours that the exorcisms lasted. And this same question arose in the minds of many skeptics who attended those sessions as observers. There were all kinds of opposing opinions. Although the most rational scientific explanation was the following, Marta's problem

resided in her frontal lobe, the area that controls emotions, along with the hypothalamus. If someone is subjected to continuous stress, they can suffer a severe personality disorder. But this doesn't end here. Marta's situation doesn't have just one scientific explanation, there are two more points that will make your skin crawl. On one hand, Marta's demons were often asked to run. write, expressed themselves through writing. These writings were later analyzed by José Javier Simone, a handwriting expert and calligrapher. He himself confirmed that although it was the

same hand that wrote, it seemed to have multiple personalities. When the messages Marta wrote in the name of the demons were negative, the letters sank into the paper. Her hand pressed the pencil hard, and each stroke of the letters was aggressive and forced. But when Marta wrote positive messages, the handwriting went horizontally or even ascended on the paper. The handwriting was softer and more delicate. But the most shocking thing was that Marta wrote lying on her back, without looking at the paper, with it resting on her abdomen, making it much harder for her to control her handwriting. On the other hand, the girl often babbled incomprehensible things, words that might belong

to languages no teenager could know. Foreign Fred, an expert in Semitic languages and fluent in five different languages, confirmed that Marta was speaking a specific language, Yiddish, a language belonging to Ashkenazi Jewish communities. Part of Yiddish's lexicon and syntax comes from German, but it also includes influences from Hebrew as well as many Slavic languages. Marta had five demons in her body. The first was Fausto. The second never said his name. The third was perfidia.

The fourth was Azebel. And the fifth, the most powerful, was Zabulin. All except the last one left over the course of eight sessions. To expel them, in addition to the classic exorcism procedure, for T needed to find what tormented them the most, what disturbed them the most, what hurt them the most. In Azebel's case, for example, he discovered that it was unbearable for him to hear Marta's mother kissed the crucifix. That sound greatly irritated him.

him. Every time she did it, Marta writhed as if she were about to die. Open your eyes and look at the Mother of God. Open your eyes and look at her. Why don't you look at her? I don't want to. Why not? Answer me. No. In the end, her body's convulsions were tremendous, and it, the demon, left. But with Zabulin, it wasn't so easy. When he was ordered to kiss the image of the Virgin, he bid it. However, despite his rebelliousness, when he was ordered to drink holy water in the name of Christ, he drank it. When he was ordered to read the prologue of the Gospel of St. John, he did so as if the words were boiling oil in his throat. And every time the word God came up, he would say him, to avoid pronouncing it. At first, Father Fortithot Zabulin was the

10th son of Jacob. Later, after doing some research, he realized he was facing one of the most powerful demons in hell. He discovered this was the fourth time it had appeared in history. The penultimate time was with Father Candido Amantini. But he also observed that this demon claimed that this was its name in Luduan, France, in the 10th century, during an exorcism that lasted a long time and involved many extraordinary events. Forty discovered that Zabulin had appeared at least a fourth time, because its name had already been recorded in several medieval writings. Unfortunately, records of that possession and how the victim was freed had been lost. It is to be assumed that in those medieval sessions they must have found what tormented that demon,

what hurt it most, what tortured it. But such information, if ever discovered, had been lost. However, after years of sessions, they discovered that what tormented Zabulin the most was repeating passages from the Holy Scriptures, especially anything related to God as light. In addition to Zabulin, a true legion of demons took over Marta's body, a total of around 40 infernal spirits, among whom was the chief of the fallen angels, whose voice was the most terrifying of all. In his presence, Father Forte raised his prayers more strongly to St. George and St. Michael the Archangel, asking for their intercession in the exorcism. And apparently, his pleas were heard. At one point, without being asked anything, Marta made the gesture of

wanting to write. When they placed the sheet on her stomach, she wrote in handwriting never seen before. The crosses on the head, almost none can bear it. Very important. Do it to all. When they come to you. None like it. Sign. You always do these. These lines were supposedly dictated by St. Michael the Archangel. That was the first and only time he expressed himself through writing. It was his way of giving a response, to expel all the evil that remained in Marta's body. And indeed, they succeeded. After the demon left Marta's body, Father Forty stated that St. Michael the Archangel had spoken through Marta. It was the first time he did so, but also the last. His voice, unlike the demons, was beautiful, even more beautiful than Marta's voice when

she was in her normal state. It was a voice that conveyed peace, serenity, kindness, love, and tenderness. We were all moved. That voice told us to have faith, that a great good would come to all of Spain. From all this, logically, that scene was so overwhelming that no written account can reflect the emotion of the moment. We were all crying. The exorcism carried out by Father Forty, after many difficulties and setbacks, would successfully end in 2008. It became a very important piece of material to understand not only the thoughts and nature

of several demons, but also certain theological questions. Furthermore, this case would later be validated by the Vatican itself. But now it's your turn. What do you think about all this? Do you believe demonic possessions are a mental illness, or are there truly malevolent entities involved? The end. The tragic story of Nancy Mariana Mestre Vargas began on December 31, 1993, in Barranquia, Colombia. Nancy was an 18-year-old girl full of life and dreams.

Her father described her as a kind, caring, and hard-working daughter, a shining example of everything a parent could hope for. Nancy attended Marymount School, one of Columbia's most prestigious institutions. Despite rumors online suggesting that her privileged background meant she had an easy life, the truth was the opposite. Nancy was ambitious and diligent. She had her sight set on studying in the United States and worked tirelessly to achieve that goal. On that New Year's Eve, Nancy had just taken her university entrance exam, burning the highest score in her class.

This accomplishment put her on track to fulfill her dream of studying in a top university in the Northern United States. Needless to say, Nancy and her family were ecstatic. It was shaping up to be an unforgettable evening for the Mestre Vargas family, one filled with joy and hope for the future. However, the celebratory mood was soon disrupted when Jamie Sada, a 31-year-old businessman Nancy had been seeing, appeared. Despite the notable age gap, Nancy's parents allowed the relationship, trusting Nancy's maturity and responsibility. Around 11.30 p.m., Nancy asked her parents for permission to go out briefly with Jamie. Given her recent success, they agreed, with the condition that she returned home by 3 a.m. Jamie assured them he'd have her back on time.

Tragically, Nancy would never return home alive. At 6 a.m., Nancy's father, Martine Mestray, realized she hadn't come back. Panicked, he drove to the nightclub she was supposed to have visited, but no one there had seen her. His next stop was Jamie's apartment, which was an annexed to his parents' house. When Martin arrived, Jamie wasn't there, but Jamie's mother, Emilia, was. She was cleaning the apartment, and Martine noticed suspicious stains on the floor that looked like blood. Alarmed, he demanded to know where his daughter was.

Amelia claimed Nancy had an accident and was at a local clinic. At the clinic, Martine encountered Jamie's father, Alberto Sada. The explanation he received was incomprehensible. Nancy had allegedly tried to take her own life by shooting herself. This claim made no sense to Martine. Nancy was thrilled with her recent achievements. She had loving parents, a supportive boyfriend, close friends, and a bright future ahead of her. What reason could she possibly have to end her life?

Sadly, Nancy passed away on January 9, 1994. The autopsy findings were devastating. Nancy's body showed clear signs of violence, bruises, scratches, and abrasions, indicating she had fought for her life. Broken nails with human tissue underneath suggested a desperate struggle. Forensic evidence also revealed she had been sexually assaulted. Gunshot residue on her left hand suggested she had raised her hand defensively when the shot was fired, but Nancy was right-handed, making it highly unlikely she had handled the weapon to harm herself. Investigators found additional evidence tying Jamie to the crime. Bloodstains matching Nancy's were discovered in Jamie's apartment, along with a bloodstained mattress cover.

A revolver, the murder weapon, was found under the bed wrapped in a pair of pants. The caliber matched the bullet found in Nancy's skull, and one cartridge was spent. The physical evidence painted a grim picture, Nancy had been assaulted, shot, and then dumped into a ravine before being taken to the clinic. Despite the mounting evidence against Jamie, he fled. Rumors swirled about his whereabouts, some claimed he had escaped to the United States, while others believed he was still hiding in Barranquillo. Frustratingly, his family and friends refused to cooperate with the authorities.

With Jamie at large, he was tried in absentia in 1996 and sentenced to 27 years in prison for Nancy's rape and murder. But justice remained elusive. Colombian law stated that if Jamie wasn't captured by July 2023, the case would be closed, and his crimes would go unpunished. Years passed with no sign of Jamie. Interpol issued regular updates with age-progressed images of him, but every lead turned into a dead end. For Nancy's family, the pain of her loss was compounded by the lack of accountability. They created a Facebook page to keep her story alive and bring attention to Jamie's evasion, but even this effort faced challenges, with threats and concerns

for their safety forcing them to make the page private periodically. In 2017, Martine Mestrade decided he had had enough. Despite the risks, he became vocal again, demanding justice for his daughter. Around this time, Interpol updated its database with a new image of Jamie, showing how he might look after decades on the run. Finally, in early early 2019, a breakthrough came. A tip led authorities to Bello Horizonte, Brazil. The informant was certain they had seen Jamie there. Brazilian police began surveilling the man in question, and when he left a bar one night, they collected his fingerprints from the glass he used. The prints matched. The man, now living under the name Enrique dos Santos Abdallah,

had reinvented himself entirely. After fleeing Colombia, Jamie waited a year before changing his identity and starting anew in Brazil. By 1995, he was no longer Jamie Sada but Enrique. He married, had children, and pursued a career in medicine. While initial reports mistakenly linked him to another man named Fabio de Alla, the confusion was eventually cleared up. Fabio was a separate individual who happened to share some similarities with Jamie's new identity. With his true identity confirmed, Brazilian authorities coordinated with Colombian officials to prepare for Jamie's extradition. In addition, to his crimes in Colombia, Jamie now faced charges in Brazil for using false documentation,

a crime that carried a five-year sentence. For Nancy's family, the capture of Jamie was a bittersweet moment. Decades of grief and unanswered questions were finally met with the prospect of justice. As Jamie awaits extradition, the world watches closely. Will this long overdue chapter in Nancy's story finally bring closure to her family? While some might argue that no punishment can truly atone for such a heinous act, his capture ensures that Nancy's story won't be forgotten. Now it's your turn, what do you think about this case? Do you believe justice has finally been served, or does the system still have a long way to go? In the 1580s, a witch-hunting frenzy took over England, and many towns and villages saw accusations of witchcraft running

rampant. The town of Zosi, a small village with around 2,000 inhabitants, was no exception. Known for its modest church, small cemetery, and widely spaced homes, Zossi had a closed-knit community where everyone knew each other's secrets, fears, and even their dirty laundry. This small village would soon be shaken to its core by the witch trials of 1582, which would see 13 women accused of practicing witchcraft and causing harm to their neighbors. One of the women at the center of this dark story was Ursula Kemp. Born in 1525, Ursula had always shown a strong interest in medicinal plants, a knowledge that was often passed down from mother to daughter. It was said that Ursula learned her craft from her

mother and grandmother, both of whom had extensive knowledge of natural remedies. Ursula's reputation as a healer spread to neighboring villages, and soon, people traveled great distances to seek her help for ailments such as colds, headaches, and muscle pain. Though Ursula was well-respected, not all of her cases ended in success. One of her most notable failures was with a local woman named Grace Thurlow. Grace had two children, Davy and Joan, and both had been under Ursula's care at different times. Davy fell ill with a fever, cold sweats and a cough. Desperate for help and with little money, Grace went to Ursula for treatment. Ursula treated Davy for free, prescribing some remedies to be taken over the course of a week. After a few days, Davy seemed to

improve, but when Grace stopped administering the treatment prematurely, his symptoms returned with a vengeance. Grace, believing that Ursula was somehow responsible for her son's worsening condition, became increasingly upset. Her suspicions grew when Ursula advised her on the care of her newborn daughter, Joan. Ursula noticed that Joan appeared to be poorly cared for, with signs of malnutrition and some minor injuries. Ursula offered Grace motherly advice, but Grace took offense and left the consultation angrily. Tragedy struck when Joan fell from her crib and broke her neck, dying instantly. Grace, grief-stricken, became convinced that Ursula had cursed her daughter, and it was this curse that had caused Jones' death. The community,

however, dismissed Grace's accusations, telling her that she was overreacting. But Grace's frustration didn't stop there. When she suffered an injury to her leg, causing her to limp, she returned to Ursula, expecting free treatment. But this time, Ursula demanded payment, asking for twelve pence for the consultation. Grace refused, claiming she had no money in accusing Ursula of scamming her. Ursula, furious at the accusation, reportedly threatened Grace with death. Following this, Grace's health and that of her son continued to deteriorate, and she became convinced that Ursula's malice was the cause.

Still, the villagers refused to support her claims, so Grace took matters into her own hands and formally accused Ursula of witchcraft, alleging that Ursula was intentionally making people sick in order to force them to pay for her treatments. Soon after, a group of men arrived at Ursula's home and took her to the local prison, known as the cage. This grim structure was infamous throughout the village, where both men and women were crammed into tiny cells, with little light and barely any ventilation.

Ursula was chained in a dank, dark cellar, where she endured brutal treatment designed to force a confession. She was tortured until she admitted everything they wanted to hear, that she had made a pact with the devil, that she had consorted with witches, and that she had caused harm to her neighbors. Ursula's confession also implicated 12 other women, including her own assistant, Alice Newman, and a widow named Elizabeth Bennett, as participants in dark arts and witchcraft. The news of these confessions spread quickly, and soon, the town was filled with wild stories and rumors. People claimed that Alice Newman had poisoned Ursula's daughter, leading to her

untimely death, and that Ursula had four, familiar, supernatural creatures that assisted her in her witchcraft. Ursula's son, Thomas, gave chilling testimony, claiming that these familiars included a gray cat named Tyon, a white lamb named Tydy, a black toad named Peugeen, and a black cat named Jack. He said that his mother and Alice had used these creatures to kill neighbors, destroy crops, and spread illness. According to Thomas, his mother even fed these creatures with ale and cake. But Thomas wasn't the only one to speak out against the accused women.

Other villagers, motivated by jealousy or spite, added to the accusations, claiming that Alice Newman had made poison to worsen the conditions of her patients and that Elizabeth Bennett had killed for children in the name of Satan. One woman even accused another of cursing her husband to make him sleep with her, a seemingly subtle way to rid herself of a romantic rival. As the trial date approached, the 13 accused women were kept in the cage, enduring continued suffering. Their families, afraid of being associated with them, refused to visit, leaving the women to rot in isolation. The conditions were harsh, they were denied food

and water, and the sunlight barely touched their cells. Slowly, the women grew weaker, and when the trial finally took place in February 1582, they confessed to all of the charges, either under duress or in a desperate attempt to end their suffering. However, the most famous confession was that of Ursula Kemp herself. She claimed that ten years earlier, she had been cursed with a painful limp. She had sought the help of a mysterious woman on the outskirts of town who was said to have magical abilities. This woman informed Ursula that someone had cast a spell on her out of jealousy, causing her leg to shrink. Ursula was told that in order to heal, she would need to undergo a ritual involving pig dung, parsley, sage, and St. John's

Wirt. Desperate to recover, Ursula followed the instructions, and within days, her leg was healed. She then began sharing the ritual with others in the village, and her reputation as a healer grew. She also admitted that the familiars her son had mentioned were real, and that she used them to cause illness, death, and destruction. Ursula confessed to having cursed Grace Thurlone causing the death of her daughter, Joan, as well as the death of Alice's daughter and her own sister-in-law. With her confession, Ursula's fate was sealed. The judge, Brian Darcy, declared her guilty, and she was sentenced to hang. Of the 13 women accused of witchcraft, six were executed by hanging, two died in prison, and the rest were released. However, the release

This was not a relief, as the women were shunned by the community and lived out the rest of their lives in loneliness and isolation. In 1921, an archaeologist named Charles Brooker discovered the skeletal remains of two women in the garden of a house in Zosi. Many believed that these bodies belonged to Ursula Kemp and Alice Newman, and they quickly became a tourist attraction. However, years later, historians concluded that the bodies were much older, dating back to Roman times.

not having the remains of Ursula and Alice, the town still retained its infamous prison, the cage, which continued to draw tourists. In 2005, Vanessa Mitchell, a woman from Zossi, bought the old building. She was fascinated by the idea of owning such a historical landmark and planned to turn it into a museum. However, after consulting a psychic, Vanessa was told that the house had chosen her, and she should be careful. Intrigued, she continued with her purchase, despite warnings. Vanessa's story was just one of many that highlighted the dark past of Zossi. The town's history, filled with accusations of witchcraft, injustice, and suffering, still echoes through the prison walls. While the witch trials may be long gone,

their legacy continues to haunt the village, reminding us of the dangers of superstition, fear, and the power of accusation. When Vanessa finally got the call, she was thrilled. It was exactly what she'd been hoping for, a new place to call home. Her excitement grew as she pictured every room, every wall, and every corner. She imagined how she'd decorate, where she'd place each piece of furniture, and how she'd make it truly hers. And yet, this house hunt was a little unusual, she hadn't actually been able to see the place in person before committing to it. The kids she'd bought it from weren't exactly helpful either, having forbidden her from viewing the inside. But hey, a little mystery never hurt anyone, right?

So, Vanessa was optimistic, laughing it off. After all, they said it was a lovely home. Moving day arrived, and Vanessa couldn't have been more ready. As she and her best friend, Nicole, walked through the front door, though, something didn't feel right. It was subtle at first, a damp, musty smell mingling with a chill that no amount of sunshine could chase away. But worse than that was the feeling. Something about the place made her skin crawl. It was as if the house itself held memories, dreams, and nightmares that had long outlived the original inhabitants.

Almost immediately, the two friends felt suffocated, and not in the way you'd expect from moving boxes and bubble wrap. No, this felt, wrong. They were struck by an overwhelming sense that this was no cozy haven, but more like a cage, a cage with invisible bars and an eerie, creeping darkness. Vanessa noticed it first. Out of the corner of her eye, just a shadow, a figure, there, then gone. Was it an overactive imagination, fueled by nerves and too much coffee? Maybe. But it didn't stop there.

The first few days were filled with sightings, always at the edge of her vision, darting away as soon as she turned. It was always a man, or at least, what she thought was a man. Vanessa was a night owl, often staying up late, channel surfing until her eyes grew heavy. She'd usually fall asleep on the sofa before stumbling to bed. But in this house, something made that impossible. Every time she began to nod off, the television would sputter into static, channels changing on their own. One moment it was Channel 1, the next Channel 2, then 6, 7, static again. No matter what

she tried, the remote was useless. It was almost like something, or someone, was controlling it. Soon enough, other problems started showing up. Light bulbs were constantly burning out or even exploding, forcing them to buy replacements weekly. At any hour, the temperature could drop suddenly, and the sound of whispers would fill the rooms. It was as if the house was packed with people, unseen people, who didn't want Vanessa and Nicole there. Of course, they tried to rationalize it all. They knew a bit about the house's past, stories of prisoners, witches, and tales of punishment, and it wasn't exactly reassuring. Plus, they were in Socidi, a tiny village surrounded by nothing but open fields and eerie quiet. Old electrical systems, they reasoned,

could explain the lights. But things only got worse. One night, as Vanessa lay in bed, she heard a clack. Her door, locked tight with the latch, began to open by itself. She jumped up, locked it again, but the second her back was turned, the latch flipped open and the door swung inward. Cold air poured in, as if the house itself was breathing. The real fear set in when locals started asking them about the other woman who lived there. At first, they dismissed it as a mistake, surely, people were confused. But the questions continued, and from different neighbors.

They all described this woman the same way, about it. about 45, with a vacant expression, always standing by the windows. Oddly enough, they'd seen her at just two particular windows, Vanessa's bedroom window and one in the living room, both overlooking a narrow alley called coffin alley. Naturally, this name caught Vanessa's attention. She grew up in this village, but had never asked why that alley was called coffin alley. She soon learned that the nearby church and cemetery were linked by this very path. Years ago, when someone died, the body would be blessed at the church, then taken down coffin alley straight to the cemetery. It seemed that this mysterious woman somehow knew this

grim tradition and watched it from the windows. As if this history wasn't enough to make them uneasy, Vanessa and Nicole dug deeper into the house's past. The house, known to locals as, the cage, was built over centuries, witnessing suffering, imprisonment, and even plague outbreaks. During a pestilence long ago, the townsfolk, desperate to avoid contamination, would lock the infected in the house, abandoning them to their fates. Men, women, and children were left to die there, turning the house into a mass grave of unquiet souls. Their investigation also revealed that the house had a history of short-lived ownerships. No one stayed longer than a year, and the last owner had taken his life on the staircase, unable to bear it any

longer. His relatives sold the house to Vanessa, withholding its dark secrets. As time went on, the strange events escalated to new and terrifying levels. Vanessa could ignore flickering lights and whispers, but there were three incidents that cemented her belief that something evil lurked within those walls. The first happened during a dinner party with friends. Out of nowhere, red stains appeared on the floor, almost as if the house itself was bleeding. The second event took place late one night as Vanessa watched TV. This time, she saw the shadowy man clearly, a solid figure standing in the kitchen, pointed

at her before disappearing. The third encounter was the most physical, and the most terrifying. One morning, as she brushed her teeth, something invisible shoved her to the floor. There was no warning, no cold chill, just a force that left her sprawled and shaken. Vanessa eventually reached out to paranormal investigators. By then, she was desperate for answers, especially with a baby on the way. Unfortunately, she didn't have the means to leave the cage, so she clung to the hope that someone, somehow, could cleanse the house.

Psychics and mediums came and went, all reporting the same thing, the house was a prison for spirits. They described ghosts of men, women, children, even malevolent entities, like one particularly terrifying presence they called, the jailer. The jailer, they said, kept all the other souls trapped, forcing them to torment Vanessa and her unborn child. No exorcist, no ritual, could break the hold he had over the house. In the end, even the experts who visited left with scratches, bruises.

and bite marks, visible signs of the house's fury. During one particularly eerie investigation in 2012, a security camera caught a paranormal researcher's face and hands shifting into something monstrous mid-session. Her nose elongated, her smile twisted into a sneer, her fingers morphed into claws. And this wasn't the only disturbing evidence, every investigator who left the cage bore some sign of its wrath. Once her baby was born, Vanessa was forced to limit her movements in the house. She only dared to use the bedroom and bathroom, going straight in and out without lingering.

The entity's aggressions had worsened, and every time she tried to leave her child alone, she'd hear whispers and laughter, or objects would shift just out of sight. But one night, she couldn't take it anymore. Doors slammed, lights flickered, and the whispers grew into a crescendo of voices, shrieking, demanding her attention. That was the final straw. She packed up her child and left the cage for good. Once leaving, Vanessa has shared her story widely, appearing on TV shows, in interviews,

and even publishing a book in 2017 called The Spirits of the Cage, detailing every spine-chilling moment. The house itself, after all that, was put up for sale in early 2023 and recently sold for 240,000 pounds. One has to wonder, does the new owner know its history? Now, knowing this, would you take a chance on the cage? Would you dare live in a house haunted by centuries of pain and suffering, with a soul-crushing presence watching over you. But among all of them, there was one person who was not well

received. This person was baptized by the media as Juan Inine. Juan Inan went to the funeral, as downcast as anyone else. He wore black sunglasses, and his expression appeared to be one of sadness. In fact, he expressed his solidarity with the family by wearing a t-shirt with the slogan, N. I. Una Mas, not one more, written on it. In addition to this, he brought a truck adorned with flowers to the burial. We begin this story with a very special girl, Marbella Valdez Vireal, better known as Bella. We have very few details about her biography, and those we have are as sad as they are hopeful. At the age of five, Bella was orphaned, so she was sent to a children's protection center.

From there, we know that the girl was fostered by different families until four years ago when she met William A.C. Mezic, whom she came to consider her real. father. During her childhood, she met other children who were going through the same thing as her, and among these children was a girl named Brenda. Bella and Brenda formed such a special bond that they came to consider each other as sisters, and from then on, they did everything together. According to several sources, Bella was very devoted and went to the evangelical church, Rios de Agua Viva, twice a week, where she received spiritual and educational training. According to Pastor David Lopez, Bella was always known for being a very good, cheerful person with a contagious laugh. She always made others laugh and was always willing to help everyone.

He also emphasized that both Bella and Brenda were very intelligent girls, capable of retaining large amounts of information. As a result, the young girl received a scholarship and was able to attend the private school, Siglo XXI, a private institution. It is also said that she studied piano, and after graduating, she enrolled in the University of Baja California to study law. At 20 years old, life was going well for her. She was a good student with good grades, dreamed of traveling to Paris, and had good friends. At one point, the girl got a job at a gas station called Randy Chiches, which was very close to her house. With this salary, she could support herself and at the same time pay for her studies. Unfortunately, the hours there were very complicated.

She worked long shifts and the hours varied, so she couldn't perform 100% at work and in her classes. As a result, she decided to temporarily put her studies on hold until she earned enough to dedicate herself to them full-time. This decision, of course, hurt her a lot, but all testimonies say that Bella went to work every day with a big smile and that no one ever saw her sad because of this. She was always happy, smiling, and spreading joy to everyone around her.

However, on Wednesday, February 5, 2020, Bella didn't show up for work at the scheduled time. The girl didn't appear at the door, and this caused a lot of concern among the staff. She was a very responsible and punctual person, and she had never missed work before. So, her colleague from that shift started calling her phone. Unfortunately, she couldn't reach her. Some sources say that they did speak, and Bella told her that she wouldn't be going to work, but others deny that this call ever took place. Still, everyone agrees that it wasn't this colleague who reported her disappearance,

it was her sister, Brenda. On the morning of February 5th, Brenda realized she had a missed call and a message from Bella. First, there was the missed call, which was made at 9 a.m., and then there was the message in which Bella said that she wouldn't be going to work that morning because she was going to the hospital due to a stomach ache. When Brenda read this, she became very nervous and quickly called Bella, but the girl didn't answer. So, along with another person, she went directly to the girl's house, and once there, Bella still didn't answer. Brenda knocked on the door, but when she didn't get an answer, she climbed through a window

to enter the house. It is unclear exactly what she saw inside the house. It is unclear exactly what she saw inside the house, maybe the order, maybe some small detail, but there was something that told her that something had happened to Bella. She then called her work, and when they told her that Bella hadn't gone to work, she called the state prosecutor's office and reported her disappearance. From there, the whole city of Tijuana was alerted about her disappearance. Her photo was spread all over social media, and dozens of posters were posted on the streets. However, just three days later, the police received a strange phone call. Apparently, on Saturday, February 8th, at 1.35 p.m., someone found a very strange bag on a rural

road located behind the Barcelona subdivision in the Gennaro Vasquez neighborhood. When the police arrived and proceeded to open the bag, they discovered the body of a 20-year-old girl. The girl's hands and feet were bound, and there were clear signs that she had been strangled. This is when the investigation began. Brenda Villarreal, Bella's sister, was the one who identified her body, a task that, of course, must have been incredibly difficult. Days passed, and the police began conducting all sorts of analyses on the young girl's body. Through these analyses, they detected elements on her body that not only revealed the torment

she suffered but also indicated that her death may have been the result of a kidnapping. Firstly, they realized that the girl was wearing pajamas, she had a blue bathrobe with a print of black puppies and sock-like slippers with an animal print. Secondly, they found multiple bruises on her skin and a deep wound in her abdomen. Thirdly, they discovered multiple fluids on her body, including semen from a male. Fourthly, they found DNA from a male under her fingernails, which indicated that she had fought back, or at least tried to. Fifthly, they found that her hands and feet had been tied, and the knots indicated that the attacker was experienced at tying them. Her hands were tied with a piece of pink fabric, and her feet were bound with a yellow plastic rope. Although her feet were tied together with turns,

the knot was very strong and well done, starting from the middle of her hands, rising up her forearms, and concluding with a tight, well-made knot. Finally, they determined that the cause of death was strangulation. From there, the prosecutor's office had three main suspects in mind. Even the family had ideas of possible suspects, but the police asked them to act normally and not accuse anyone directly, as the person responsible would likely flee if they were named. This is when February 13th and 14th, 2020, arrived, the days when the young girl's funeral and a mass in her honor were organized. On February 13th, at 7 p.m., the The funeral took place at the Martinez funeral home located on Cayenneux, between Okampo and Negretti.

The girls' loved ones asked all attendees not to wear black at all costs. They invited everyone to come in bright colors, preferably white, because, according to the official statement, they didn't want to say goodbye to Bella but rather remember how joyful she was. The next day, on February 14th, from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m., a mass was held in her honor at the church Rios de Agua Viva, and after that, Bella was buried. It was at this point that something occurred that chilled the blood of everyone present. Obviously, at the funeral, all the people who once knew Bella attended, classmates, friends, acquaintances, neighbors. But among all of them, there was one person who was not well received. This person was baptized by the media as

Wananin. Juan Anin went to the funeral as downcast as anyone else, wearing black sunglasses, and his expression appeared to be one of sadness. He expressed solidarity with the family by wearing a T-shirt with the slogan N. I. Unamoss, and he even brought a truck decorated with flowers to the burial. The photographer from the Quarto Ascuro, Darkroom, Omar Martinez, posted a large number of photos on his Twitter account, where this man appeared. He was seen holding a photo of the young girl in his hands and even leaving a teddy bear for Bella. They also captured him leaving a white flower wreath on her grave and offering condolences to the family. To be continued. They were captured leaving a white flower wreath on the girl's grave and

offering condolences to the family. But while this was happening, many people started talking. For many, this man was suspicious, especially due to some marks on his neck. I arrived with his sister, with Brenda. I hugged her, and she said, don't leave me alone. I asked, why? She said, don't turn around, just stay here. That's when I saw him approach, and what I saw was a scratch on his neck and three marks on the back of his neck. As soon as I saw it, I felt an emptiness in my stomach and thought, it was him.

According to the autopsy, Bella fought for her life until the last moment, as shown by the DNA found under her nails, and Juanineine coincidentally had scratches in the same area of his neck. The questions now were, why would he kill her, and why would he attend her funeral afterward? Juan Perez Hernandez, or better known as Juan Anine, was 35 years old at the time of the crime. According to several sources, he was an intern in the hospital services area, but he was never an active member of the prosecutor's office. However, he identified himself as a police officer and a lawyer. According to recent investigations, this man had a peculiar hobby, dressed as a police officer, he would stop cars on the roads, claiming that the drivers had committed infractions, and would ask for

personal information like names, addresses, etc. To prove this is real, a video surfaced online in which this man stops a vehicle and starts asking for all kinds of personal information, saying that he is a police officer and that it is part of his job. In the video, a really uncomfortable situation is shown, and even more so knowing that this man wasn't actually a police officer. Additionally, according to the Univision program, this man was the owner of a cleaning company and had a criminal record for causing damage to private property. However, what interests us now is his relationship with Marbella Valdez. When did they meet, and were they friends or not? In August 2019, Juan Perez went to the gas station where Bella worked, and

As soon as he saw her, he was captivated. She was a very beautiful girl with expressive eyes and an eternal smile, and all of that caught his attention. So he tried everything to make the girl feel the same about him. At first, they maintained a kind of friendship, and I say kind of because this detail isn't very clear. Some sources say that they were never friends and that they simply had a work relationship, with her as the saleswoman and him as the customer, but other sources say that they were actually

friends and occasionally hung out. However, at one point, things became very tense. One began giving Bella many gifts, flowers, chocolates, and on one occasion, he gave her a huge teddy bear. Wherever she went, he was there. Whatever she did, wherever she looked, he was always there. It was a really strange and uncomfortable situation. So, Bella expressed her discomfort to all her loved ones. She said that one was harassing her, that she no longer felt anything for him, and that she didn't know how to make him understand. It was then that, overnight, the girl started living one of the most terrifying moments of her life. Bella suddenly lost the keys to her house and car, and to make matters worse, someone hacked her Facebook page.

Someone she didn't know had entered her Facebook and did whatever they wanted with it. In the midst of desperation, Bella probably decided to ask for help from anyone, and according to the website Sin Embargo de M.X, she spoke to her friends and told them that Juan Perez would help her change the locks on her house. This was the last piece of news anyone had of her. With all this information, on February 21st, 2020, Juan Perez Hernandez was arrested, and from there, more and more details started to emerge. Among them, it was revealed that this detainee had not. knowledge of crime scene processing, as he had done community service in the forensic unit of the former Attorney General's office. On February 22, the first hearing against this man took place, and all the evidence against him was presented, the harassment of Bella, the fact that he was the last person to see her alive, and how wherever she went, he was always there, almost as if he knew where she would be at every moment. At this point, the prosecutor presented data that shocked everyone. Apparently, when they registered his house, they found very incriminating

items. First, the police found two cell phones at the accused house. The geolocation of these phones placed one pair res with Marbella Valdez between February 4th and 6th. On February 4th, at 7 p.m., they were together at Marbella's house, on February 5th, they were together at Juan's house, and on February 6th, all three phones were located in the area where Marbella Valdez's lifeless body was later found. In the exact location where the body was found, there was no good coverage, so the police couldn't specify that all three phones were at that spot, but they were roughly in the area. The second point to highlight is that in Juan's house, six GPS systems were found. After the discovery and the search of Marbella's house and car, they found an identical system

to the six found in Juan's house in Marbella's car. The third point is that when the police examined Juan's phones, they discovered that one of them had an application installed to locate the six GPS devices, and coincidentally, this application was also registered with Marbella Valdez as GPS, meaning he always knew where Bella's car was. The fourth point was decisive. In Juan's computer, they found all the social media passwords for Marbella Valdez, which indicated that he was the one who hacked her Facebook page. If all of this wasn't enough, now comes the worst part of the story.

DNA tests carried out on Bella's body showed that Juan Perez Hernandez was the author of the crime. This is when we can create a timeline of the case. Firstly, according to several sources, one began an extreme harassment campaign against Bella. He gave her flowers, chocolates, and stuffed animals, but when he saw that his love was not reciprocated, he decided to take it a step further. The next step was, none other than stealing her keys, the keys to her house and her car. At this point, according to several sources, one might have done two things with the car keys. First, he might have installed a GPS system

in it, a system through which he could know where Bella was at all times. The next thing he could have done was sneak into her house to get to know her better. In this context, several people have reported that Juan Perez may have confronted Marbella Valdez's boyfriend and threatened to harm him if he didn't leave her. After the confrontation, the Facebook hacking began. One read her messages, saw her photos, and accessed her personal information. At this point, Juan had everything, he had the keys to her house and car, he knew where she was at all times, and now he also had her private messages. With all this information, we arrive at February 4th, when supposedly, At 7 p.m., one went to Bella's house to help her change the locks.

Perhaps in a moment of carelessness, he kidnapped her and took her to his house. Over the following days, he subjected her to all kinds of abuse. After taking her life, the attacker put her in several black bags and abandoned her in a landfill located in a residential area. Of course, he didn't want to raise any suspicion, so on the 13th and 14th, he attended the girl's funeral, pretending to be deeply saddened by her death. According to the authorities, after the first hearing, charges were filed, and the public prosecutor requested his involvement in the crime of femicide. However, the defendant requested that the deadline be

extended. So, a second hearing took place on the 27th behind closed doors. On Sunday, February 23rd, Marbella's family and friends organized a free self-defense seminar for women at the Carlson Gracie Gym in Plias de Tijuana. The aim of the workshops was to prevent more women from going through what Bella went through. But don't think that the story ends here, as this crime has sparked protests at the University of Baja California, where Bella studied law, since this university has had to say goodbye to two students in recent months, in 2019, they had to say goodbye to Marani Aram, and in 2020, to Marbella Valdez.

According to some sources, in 2019, 19 femicides were committed in Tijuana, and in 2020, there have already been a total of four. If the numbers continue this way, they will probably surpass last year's total. Now, it's your turn. What do you think about this case, and do you think there is any way to stop this? End. We begin at the end of the 17th century. Spaniards arrived for the first time at the Bay of San Francisco and the adjacent islands,

thus discovering a huge rocky island where no plants grew. However, it had become home to hundreds and hundreds of birds called Alcatran. For that reason, the explorer Juan Manuel Ayala decided to name it that way, the island of the Alcatran or Alcatraz. Once you name something, you take possession of it as if it were yours, and that's what the Spaniards did, without taking into account that the island was not only populated by animals but also by human beings, more than 10,000 natives who have been living on those lands between Pointe Sur and San Francisco for several centuries already. This would trigger the events that came later, but we'll discover that little by little. Given the island's strategic situation, located right in the center of the

bay, the Spaniards rushed to take it and fortified it from end to end to supposedly protect it from external attacks, attacks that never came to happen. But that story was always better than publicly announcing the real reasons for creating a colossal fortress in the middle of the ocean. The island of Alcatraz changed hands constantly until 1846, when it was purchased by the United States government. The sale price, 00, might seem like an extremely low amount, but in those times it was a huge fortune. From then on, it became what we know today, a prison. First, in the year 1853, it became a military prison, and evidently, among its many prisoners were Native Americans. From its origin, it was not created as a rehabilitation center, it was a place of extreme

punishment and minimal privileges. Prisoners were crammed into tiny cells without mattresses, without blankets, with extremely rationed water, and their only food, if the authorities granted it, was a piece of dry bread. The nights were cold, damp, and lonely. The only company inmates had was the flickering light of the island's lighthouse, which was the first on the Pacific coast. Many prisoners took their own lives, committing suicide in their cells, others died due to the harsh conditions, and the rest at the hands of guards or fellow inmates in the middle of riots. But what happened if you survived? What happened if you were able

to endure the pain? You would completely lose your sanity. In the year 1861, Alcatraz began receiving confederate prisoners. Thanks to its natural isolation, created by the fierce surrounding waters, it was the perfect destination to abandon men with no more opportunities in life. Its new tenants were soldiers, Confederate corsairs, and southern sympathizers. All of them were confined in the basement of the guardhouse, and the conditions there remained terribly bleak. There was no running water, nor latrines. These men had their movements restricted by heavy change, and were still fed only bread and water. Any word, any gesture, could be punished, and the mildest of all punishments was indefinite solitary confinement. The pain the prisoners

suffered there could be felt from anywhere. In fact, legend says that when fog and cold appeared in San Francisco, the screams of the prisoners from Alcatraz could be heard from the port. When the civil war ended, the fort became obsolete and its glorious days seemed to be over. However, in 1898, the war between the United States and Spanish troops in the Philippines and Cuba once again filled its basements with prisoners. Just a few years later, the prison space was completely exhausted. So many people were crammed in that the authorities came up with a brilliant idea, the prisoners themselves would rebuild their sweet home. So, in 1904, they began working hard to improve those facilities, which would be unveiled again in 1909. Teams of prisoners expanded

the wall and the palisade, built a new dining hall, a kitchen, a library, and a laundry. All of that promised to improve the situation there, however, that was not the case. After the renovations, rumors began. Rumors that said building new walls had awakened something extremely dark that hid there. Many prisoners claimed to have seen ghosts roaming the the cold and dark halls of Alcatraz. Even the most skeptical began to fall for the horror stories. Everyone claimed to have seen or heard unexplainable things. But the guards weren't impressed by the prisoner's tricks, so they began silencing all those

testimonies, with gunshots. During the 1920s, Alcatraz fell into disuse. Only the lighthouse keeper, a few army members, and the most hardened prisoners remained on the island. The crime in the streets and social unrest between 1920 and 1930 made the American government consider the option of creating a criminal-proof prison. They decided that Alcatraz would be the perfect place, and the project quickly began, building the current complex on top of the old military fort. The iron bars were replaced with bars of tempered steel. Towers were built at several points around the island, and the cell blocks were equipped with walkways, electric locks, metal detectives. and barbed wire fences. Some rooms even had tear gas containers on their ceilings.

Apartments were built for the guards and their families, and the lighthouse keeper's house became the warden's mansion. Alcatraz had become an impregnable fortress. No one could enter without supervision, but also, no one could leave. The living conditions there were now better. In fact, to confirm this, we have the sign with the famous rule number five, you have the right. right to food, clothing, shelter, and medical attention. Anything else you receive is a privilege. Despite that, the conflicts and the isolation continued to be terrible. Several measures were devised to prevent prisoner escapes. Among them were, performing 13 individual counts each day, plus six group counts and occasional surprise checks. Since the waters surrounding the prison

were extremely cold, prisoners were forced to take showers with extremely hot water. water. This prevented them from getting used to the cold, reducing the chance that they could survive the cold outside. The inmates gave names to the three concrete corridors between the cell blocks. The central walkway is called Broadway, and the Sides Park Avenue and Michigan Avenue. The famous Broadway got its name because it was through that corridor that all the new prisoners marched, and the veterans would watch them arrive from their cells. The area between the dining room and the cells was called Times Square, and just above it, there was a corridor where guards stood and counted the cells in case of a riot. In fact, throughout history,

there were many, and in the vast majority of them, many officers and prisoners died. From the Alcatraz Prison, there were a total of 14 official escape attempts. Nine prisoners tried twice. Seven died, and two drowned. The most violent failed attempt occurred between May 2nd and 4th of 1946. A group of convicts took several weapons from the armory, and with them, they held nine officers hostage. They then took full control of the cell block. In that conflict, two guards and three inmates died, while 11 more guards and one prisoner

were injured. Later, two of the participants were executed publicly. But we cannot forget the famous escape from Alcatraz carried out by Frank Morris and the brothers John and Clarence Anglin. With the sharp tips of cut spoons, they had scraped the edges of the ventilation ducts in their cells. In addition, using papier-michet, they created imitations of human heads, which they decorated with hair taken from the prison barbershop. The inmates left those heads in their beds. To be continued, they had created imitations of human heads, which they had adorned with hair taken from the prison barbershop. The inmates

left these heads in their beds and then escaped through the ventilation ducts. Through them, they accessed a hallway about one meter wide that was not monitored, and through this, they climbed up to the roof of the prison. They descended through a pipe attached to the wall, and once on the ground, after overcoming several obstacles, they reached the sea, where it is believed they created a raft with raincoats. During one of the many headcounts, a guard began shouting at the fake body of one of those prisoners. When he saw that it wasn't getting up, he entered the cell and kicked the bed, with such bad luck that the head rolled to the floor. Realizing it was a dummy, all alarms went off,

but it was too late, because Frank Morris, John, and Clarence Anglin had escaped. This incredible story has become the subject of documentaries and films like Escape from Alcatraz from the year 1979. Although it was never known exactly what happened to the three prisoners, it is believed they may have drowned in the cold and turbulent waters of the bay. However, in the year 1999, the Spanish swimmer David Mika swam the five kilometers separating San Francisco from Alcatraz island with his feet shackled, thus disproving the theory that it was impossible to escape from Alcatraz. But of course, we are talking about an athlete with excellent physical preparation to face the challenge. The prisoners' lights were turned off at 9.30 at night, so they had to be in

their cells at least 30 minutes earlier. These measured between 1.5 and 2.7 meters and had only a toilet and a flashlight. If we consider that the inmates spent between 16 and 23 hours there daily, it was true torture. There are differing opinions about the harsh conditions at Alcatraz. Some claim the conditions were the same as in other penitentiaries, but others argue that the conditions in Alcatraz were inhumane. In fact, the last inmate to leave Alcatraz, Frank Weatherman, stated the following. Alcatraz never did anybody any good. The punishment cells, where inmates spent long periods in isolation, were located in D block and were called by inmates, the whole. They were completely cold, dark, and lonely, so it was entirely understandable that

most of them went insane. During its 29 years of use, the prison held infamous criminals like Al Capone, Robert Franklin Stroud, a.k.a. the Birdman of Alcatraz, Jose Sierra, James Whitey, Bolger, and Alvin Carpus, who spent more time in Alcatraz than any other inmate. In the early 1960s, complaints about the cruel and inhumane conditions to which the Alcatraz prisoners were subjected piled up on the desks of the American judiciary. At the same time, the government began to realize that maintaining such a prison was too expensive. Therefore, the Attorney General ordered the closure of the penitentiary on March 21, 1961, and the last inmates were transferred to Marion Prison in Illinois. In 1969, the island was occupied for 18 months

by a group of Native Americans who claimed it as theirs, based on the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868. During the occupation, several buildings were damaged and burned, including the Recreation Yard, the warden's house, and the Coast Guard barracks. However, in 1972, Congress placed Alcatraz under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service, and it was open to the public in the fall of 1973. Today, it has become one of the most touristy and admired destinations due to the large number of strange phenomena that occur there. So I suppose you know what's coming now, make yourselves comfortable

because I'm going to tell you the most terrifying true ghost stories from Alcatraz Prison. During the day, the prison is a bustling place full of tourists, but at night, the complex is full of strange noises and sounds. Many believe the energy of those who perished on, the rock, remains imprinted on its walls, and that's why strange things still happen there. There are countless guards who claim to hear strange noises coming from the infirmary itself, only to go there, inspect everything top to bottom, and find nothing. In fact, Old Chronicles cite the gloomy basements as sighted. of multiple ghostly apparitions, fetid odors, temperature fluctuations, and strange sounds. Between 1946 and 1963, prison security members claimed to have seen men strangely dressed, whom they named ghost soldiers. Strangely, their testimonies described these entities as Confederate

prisoners who had died there during the Civil War. If we go back to more recent times, specifically the year 2009, we find one of the most shocking testimonies in history. that of a park service employee who anonymously confessed the following. That day, I was assigned to the afternoon shift. I didn't mind, in fact, I liked the idea. Since it was a very cold and rainy day, I knew not many tourists would come to Alcatraz. And that's how it was. When my last group left, I decided to take a walk through the cells and even the dungeons. But when I passed by the door leading to them, I felt something was wrong. I heard a heartbreaking scream coming from the stairs, clearly, a man had fallen down them.

So I ran like crazy to the spot, but when I arrived, I realized there was no one there. In later years, several paranormal investigation groups have gathered there in search of answers, looking for proof that Alcatraz is indeed one of the most haunted places in the world. They all agree, to a greater or lesser degree, that the areas with the most activity are the hospital, the basements, and D-Block, places where pain and suffering were always present. In hospitals, we know there's always a lot of accumulated negative energy, a lot of suffering, a lot of anguish soaking into everything. Historically, Alcatraz's basements also recorded immense suffering.

Many people were punished and died there. But what happened in D-block? Why does everyone say they feel uncomfortable there? Let's go step by step. Several guides and park rangers expressed their unease about two cells in D block, specifically numbers 13 and 14. According to their testimonies, there's an intense feeling, like pressure in the chest, after walking past both cells. It's almost electric. One guide said, cell 14D is always cold, colder even than the darkest cells in the prison. You can't go in there without a jacket. Several former guards also spoke of terrifying incidents related

to Cell 14D. They spoke of frightened inmates, and some who even died there from heart attacks. All these testimonies prompted paranormal enthusiasts to investigate the prison, and the results have always been astonishing. The 2013 Ghost Hunter's episode dedicated to this prison collected testimonies from several investigators who had terrible experiences there. Dr. Jeff Dwyer claimed to have seen an apparition in Cell 13 of a dark entity with red eyes. He said that when this creature appeared, the atmosphere in the cell became very heavy. And lions, on the other hand, claimed that upon entering Cell 14, she felt as if she were stepping into a sinister and heavy shadow, the pressure was so intense that she could barely

breathe inside, so she was forced to leave. Even simple tourists have innocently captured sinister things in Cell 13, showing the world that Alcatraz's energy is something alive and uncontrollable. seeing all this we have no choice but to ask ourselves what happened there there's a rumor that has spread by word of mouth for many years a rumor that tells of an event that took place in the early 1940s after several months of being closed due to the unusual death of an inmate inside it punishment cell 14 was reopened to confine another inmate for bad behavior according to the guard the prisoner began to scream just seconds after being locked in he claimed that a

creature with glowing eyes was in there with him, stalking him. Specifically, at 9.30 p.m., the cell lights were turned off, it was the prisoner's rest time, and the day shift guards exchanged places with the night shift. Around 10 p.m., after the shift change, the man's screams echoed again through the prison. For guards went to help and again witness the same scene, the man was screaming, shaking, and begging to be moved to another cell. He swore there was a demonic beast. He swore there was a demonic being in there, a dark creature with massive size, thick black fur, and large red eyes like fire. The man showed his arms full of wounds, claiming that the creature had caused them. But the guards once again laughed at him, mocked his story, and told him that if they

heard him scream again once the sun came up, they would riddle him with bullets. So the man, much to his regret, kept quiet. However, at 2 a.m., the screams returned. But this time, no one went to help, a decision they would regret for the rest of their lives. The next morning, when the guards inspected his cell, they found him dead. A horrible expression was frozen on his face, and around his neck were red marks from two enormous hands. The man had been scratched almost to the point of bleeding out and then strangled. Many thought that a guard, annoyed with him, had killed him that night. But many others were convinced the killer was a ghost, the ghost of another inmate.

who had also died in cell 14. On the same day they found the body, they also got a big surprise, when they did the headcount in D-block, they realized that everyone was present. And by everyone, we mean the deceased included. They counted the same number of prisoners four times, and all four times got the same number they had the day before. One man should have been missing from the lineup, but instead, everyone saw him standing there, stiff as a stake, with a blank stare.

But when they all laid eyes on him, he vanished, as if he had never existed. And now it's your turn, what do you think really happens at Alcatraz? Do you believe it's haunted, or is it all pure mysticism? The end. We begin. Around 9.30 in the morning on November 20, 1988, in Belen, New Mexico, the young Tara Lee Calico went out for a bike ride using her mother's bicycle. She used to ride for miles and miles, and when she got tired, she would return home to regain her strength. However, that day, she never came back.

At 12, noon, Patty Dole, Tara's mother, began to worry because her daughter was taking too long to return. So, she decided to go to State Road 47. Tara was always there. But that day, she didn't find her. Tara was a responsible girl, she was never late. So her mother quickly called the police. Neighbors gave their testimony and confirmed that they had indeed seen her riding that same morning. At first, the statements did not alarm the police in the slightest.

But as more people were interviewed, the versions began to change. Several testimonies claimed to have seen the young woman on her bike being followed by a Ford pickup truck from between 1953 and 1954, and also by a Toyota van. But the story doesn't end there. The people who claimed the girl was being followed also added that the drivers of both vehicles were communicating with each other using walkie-talkies. 24 hours after informing the police, the neighbors of Belen went out into the streets to search for the young woman.

They inspected every possible corner, looking for a clue, something that would tell them which direction to take, where to search. And in one of those corners along the state road, Paddy Dole found something, a cassette and part of her daughter Tara's Walkman. These items were found 19 kilometers from their home, a distance the girl never usually covered. Patty instantly thought this was a clue left by her own daughter and reported it to the police. But they dismissed it and told her the items could belong to anyone. On June 15, 1989, a Polaroid photo of a young girl and a boy tied in gagged. with duct tape was found in the parking lot of a convenience store in Port St. Joe, Florida.

At first, it was considered nothing more than a twisted and macabre prank. But the truth is that when the photo reached Patty Dole, she identified the girl as her daughter, Tara. Undoubtedly, that girl was her daughter. Facial recognition experts conducted the necessary tests and digitally reconstructed the mouth that the girl would have under the duct tape. Their conclusions varied. Some were sure that it was the face of Tara Lee Calico. But others, like the Los Alamos National Laboratory, concluded that the girl had nothing to do with Tara.

The FBI also commented on the matter and said that they had not obtained conclusive evidence. Tara's family didn't care about the results, they were convinced that the girl was her. In fact, aside from the facial comparisons, their belief was based on two other elements present in the photo, a scar and a book. Tara Lee Calico had a scar on her leg from a car accident years prior, a mark the girl in the photo also had. Coincidence? I don't think so. There are no two identical birthmarks or scars. Unfortunately, the copies of the original photo circulating online don't have the same quality as the original, and the small details can't be appreciated. But just so you know, the family and some experts agreed, it gives you an idea. The second element that marked a before and after in the investigation was, as mentioned earlier, the book next to the girl, the gothic horror novel My Sweet O'Drinna by V.C. Andrews, published in 1982.

This book presented what some called a double clue about the girl's whereabouts. On one hand, the book was the young woman's favorite. In fact, according to her mother's testimony, she had read it so many times that she knew entire paragraphs and phrases by heart. On the other hand, the novel's plot could itself hint at what had happened to Tara. The novel features various real-life issues like brittle bone disease, rape, post-traumatic stress disorder, diabetes, and autism. Again, the details of the photograph are hard to see, but in the original, you can clearly see a number in one corner of the book cover. Experts couldn't determine whether it was a phone number or geographic coordinates. What investigators were sure about was that the photo must have been taken after May 1989, because the film used wasn't available until then,

which meant that if the girl had indeed been kidnapped, she was still alive at that time. However, another mystery remained, who was the boy next to her? Apparently, many speculations arose about the boy. While some sources said he was an orphan, others claimed he was Michael Henley Jr., nine years old, who had disappeared a few months before Tara, also in New Mexico. Months passed, and sadly the photo hadn't clarified anything. Even so, more and more people claimed to have seen Tara alive. Some saw her in Southern California, others in Canada, but no one could say with 100% certainty

that the girl they saw was Tara Lee Calico. The only certain thing came to light in early 1990, the remains of young Michael were found in Azuni Mountains, 75 kilometers. from where Terra had disappeared. The body was in an advanced state of decomposition and had been partially eaten by wild animals. Forensic experts stated that the boy had died from exposure to the elements and hunger. The official version defended the idea that he got lost in the woods and died days later. But again, no one was really sure, and not everyone was willing to believe that version. After seeing the boys face next to Tara's in the photo, few believed the official

version. So new speculations began. Two theories stand out. The first suggests the boy was kidnapped by the same people who took terror. They kept him for a long time and later abandoned him in the forest, where the elements eventually killed him. The second theory says the boy had been kept in the same area where he disappeared years earlier, but one day he managed to escape into the forest, which eventually took his life. As I said earlier, many people called the police claiming they had seen Tara after her disappearance, mostly in the southern half of the United States. Between 1988 and 1989, sightings multiplied. But it wasn't until 1990, the same year Michael Henley's body was found, that a particularly striking testimony appeared. An anonymous informant

claimed to have seen Tara in Florida, with a group of men who treated her like a slave. The informant said the girl had no will of her own. If the men ordered her to sit, she sat. If they told her to walk, she walked. New supposed Polaroid photos of the girl emerged around that time, but they were never released publicly. What is certain is that in 2009, Albuquerque police received two envelopes. Inside were two photographs. One showed Michael Henley Jr. with his mouth painted in black ink, reminiscent of the 1989 photo. The other was a normal photo of the boy, just his face and nothing else. Just when these photos were about to be dismissed as a sick joke, the police station phone rang. It was a call from a public phone. On the other end

was an anonymous informant who said, I know where Tara is. She has been a sex slave all these years. A slave to many people. When they got tired of her, they killed her. After those words, the line went dead. When the family heard, they demanded answers at the police station. They wanted all the details, but the police said nothing. They were convinced it was just a macabre prank. Months later, René Rivera, Sheriff of Valencia County, New Mexico, announced that he knew what had happened to Tara Calico. According to Rivera, some young men he knew from public school had followed her that day in a 1954 Ford pickup. They tried to flirt with her, but she only wanted to ride her bike.

Annoyed, they tried to intimidate her and made a sudden swerve. Unfortunately, the prank went wrong and caused a terrible accident that ended Tara's life. The frightened young men called their families, and together they came up with a plan and made her body disappear. Rivera claimed with total certainty that he knew the names of those involved. But no body, no crime. Without evidence, names, or verifiable information, the case couldn't be closed, and his statements only enraged Patty Dole.

She took legal action against Rivera. If it was true, how could he cover up such a crime? Tara's stepfather, John Dole, also spoke publicly. How can a sheriff say those things if he's not really willing to arrest anyone? The family moved to Florida in 2003. Sarah's mother, Patty, died in 2006. Her biological father died in 2002. But her stepfather is still alive and fighting to find her. He says he's convinced that someday he will find her alive. And the truth is, new developments in a case have recently emerged, coming from

Reddit and 4chan. In one of many threads on 4chan about Tara Lee Calico's mysterious disappearance, a user posted a photograph. He said nothing. else, just uploaded the photo, and total chaos broke out on the forum. For Chan and Reddit users, some of whom work in law enforcement in real life, conducted investigations. They examined the face in the new photo and found an incredible resemblance to the girl in the 1989 photo. Many said the nose wasn't the same, but a forensic expert said the nose is the part of the face that changes the most over time. Forum users took matters into their own hands. They tracked the IP of the user who uploaded the photo, and it led them to a small house deep in the

woods of Quebec, Canada. They found nothing else, until a couple of weeks later. A woman spoke up again about the case. She said that years ago, around the time Tara disappeared, she reported a violent situation she had experienced, but no one listened. She said that while driving with a friend on a road in Belen, New Mexico, they came across a Ford pickup driving very slowly, as if the driver was lost or searching for something. They tried to pass the vehicle several times, but behind them was a van tailgating them. The van didn't respect safe distance. They felt truly trapped. In a split second, visibly upset, they made a sharp swerve to overtake the pickup truck, not knowing the truck wanted them to feel that way. Both vehicles seemed

to be working together. Just as they tried to pass the truck, it swerved to block them. That's when the girls realized both drivers were communicating through walkie-talkies. They didn't want to wait to see what would happen next. So the narrator of the story hit the gas and fled toward a more populated road. Her friend told her that the man driving the pickup truck was a neighbor in Belen. His name was David Parker Ray, a man who, between the 1950s and 1999, raped, tortured, and mercilessly murdered several women in his so-called toy box, a small shed next to his house equipped with pulleys, handcuffs, and a gynecological chair with stirrups.

Police suspect that this man, with help from his girlfriend Cindy Hendy, his daughter Glenda Ray, and his friend Dennis Roy, may have killed up to 60 people. After this girl's confession, authorities considered the possibility that this man was the one who killed Tara Lee Calico. But now it's your turn, what do you think happened to the girl? Do you think she was really killed by this man? The end. We begin with one of the most surreal crimes in recent history. On Wednesday, December 4th, 2024, at precisely 6.44 a.m., the CEO of United Healthcare, one of the largest health insurance companies in the United States, was gunned down in the heart of New York City. The shooter was skilled, precise, and completely unidentifiable, wearing a hood

and a mask, he walked away from the scene calmly, without rushing or looking back. And here's the crazy part, the public reaction was overwhelmingly popular. positive. Social media exploded with messages supporting the assassin, calling him a hero, a savior. Meanwhile, the victim, Brian Robert Thompson, was being portrayed as a villain. This is where today's intriguing case begins. Who was Brian Robert Thompson? Brian Robert Thompson was born on July 10, 1974, in Iowa, the son of Pat and Dennis Thompson. He graduated in 1993 as the top student of South Hamilton High School in Jewel Junction, north of Ames. He then attended the University of Hawaii, where he earned a degree in business administration.

Again, he graduated as the best student in his class, and it was during his time there that he met his future wife, Paulette Reeves. They married, had two children, and eventually settled in Maple Grove, Minnesota. Between 1997 and 2004, Thompson worked in management at PWC. In 2004, he joined United Health Group, quickly climbing the ranks and eventually becoming CEO of United Healthcare's government programs and community divisions. By 2021, the company's executive director, Andrew Beattie, praised him on social media, stating, Brian's experience, relationships, and values make him particularly well suited to help United Health Care improve health care operations for consumers, providers, employees, governments, and other partners,

leading to continuous and sustained long-term growth, and BD wasn't wrong. Under Brian Thompson's leadership, the company's profits skyrocketed, $112 billion in 2021 and a staggering $16 billion in 2023. By 2024, United Healthcare had become the largest health insurer in the U.S. The United Healthcare Controversy, United Healthcare operates in 130 countries and all 50 U.S. states, ranking fifth on the Fortune 500 list. However, over the years, complaints against the company have piled up. Allegations include malpractice, illegal stock manipulation, and violations of the RICO Act due to overbilling.

Surprisingly, if you Google the company, most of the information is overwhelmingly positive. Yet, on social media platforms like Twitter and TikTok, the narrative is entirely different. Countless people have shared horror stories about how their medical insurance failed them when they needed it most. The deeper you dig, the more disturbing the details become. In 2021, the American Hospital Association openly criticized Brian Thompson for implementing a policy that denied payments for what United Healthcare deemed non-critical emergency room visits. This sparked public outrage, but instead of reconsidering, the company simply delayed implementing the policy. That wasn't the only controversial

decision under Thompson's leadership. The company also introduced an AI-driven system that automated claim denials. Customers who had paid for coverage were now having their claims rejected instantly by artificial intelligence, leaving thousands of people stuck with massive medical bills they couldn't afford. Families began sharing their tragic stories online, stories of loved ones who had died because their insurance refused to cover life-saving treatments. As the outrage spread across social media, calls for revenge against the company grew louder. According to Ron Horgan, CEO of Folkrum Strategies, the health insurance industry operates in a twisted way, when customers use their insurance, the companies lose money. That's why they

constantly delay, deny, and defend their refusal to pay claims. The legal issues piling up, by May 2024, the Hollywood Firefighters Pension Fund had filed a lawsuit against Brian Thompson and two other United Healthcare executives for fraud and insider trading. The lawsuit claimed they had sold $120 million worth of company stock four months before those shares were made available to the public. If that wasn't enough, on November 12, Health, 24, the U.S. Department of Justice filed another lawsuit against United Healthcare, attempting to block its acquisition of its biggest competitor, Ametis Inc. With each passing day, more complaints, lawsuits, and allegations emerged. The public was outraged. People were

suffering, unable to get the health care they had paid for. Social media users repeatedly called for someone to take action. Then, in December 2024, someone finally did. The day of the crime, In 2023 alone, Brian Thompson received a compensation package of $10.2 million. This infuriated many people, especially those struggling with denied medical claims. On a professional level, 2024 had been a successful year for him. But personally, it was rough, he and his wife were living separately, and his job brought him constant death threats. Emails, letters, online rumors, it seemed like he was always under attack.

Some sources claim that United Healthcare offered him security, but Brian declined. Others suggest the company never provided protection at all. Either way, on December 4, Brian Thompson was walking alone. That morning, he was scheduled to speak at United Healthcare's annual investor meeting at the New York Hilton Midtown. The meeting was set for 8 a.m., but Brian was known for his punctuality, often arriving an hour early. At 6.30 a.m., he left his hotel, the Marriott, and began his walk to the meeting venue. Surveillance footage shows him walking along West 54th Street, unaware that someone was following him. At precisely 6.44 a.m., it happened. A masked individual, dressed in black, calmly approached and fired three shots. Brian didn't even

have time to react. The shooter didn't run, didn't panic, he simply walked away, disappearing into the city like a ghost. Brian was rushed to Mount Sinai West Hospital, but at 7.01 a.m., he was pronounced dead. The investigation begins. Immediately, United Health Care canceled the investor meeting and released a statement. We are deeply saddened and shocked by the passing of our dear friend and colleague, Brian Thompson. Brian was a respected leader and friend to all who worked with him. We are working closely with the NYPD and ask for patience and understanding during this difficult time. Our deepest condolences go out to Brian's family and all who knew him. While corporate executives mourned his death, the public reaction was completely

different. Social media erupted in celebration. Many saw Brian's death and as poetic justice, a reckoning for the thousands of lives ruined by United Healthcare's policies. The chilling clue left behind. As police examined the crime scene, they found three shell casings left behind by the shooter. Each casing had words written on it in marker, delay, deny, defend, these words weren't random. They mirrored the tactics United Healthcare had used to refuse payments to customers. They also happened to be the title of a well-known book, delay, deny, defend, why insurance companies don't pay claims and what you can do about it. With these eerie clues, investigators quickly formed a theory, the shooter was likely a disgruntled

United Healthcare customer seeking revenge. Surveillance footage showed the shooter calmly leaving the crime scene, taking back alleys and eventually disappearing into Central Park, one of the few areas in New York with limited camera surveillance. A chilling discovery was later made in the park, a discarded backpack containing a Tommy Hilfiger folder and Monopoly Money, clear message that United Healthcare treated people's lives as a game. As investigators pieced together the clues, the case took a shocking turn. Who was behind this meticulously planned attack? And was this just the beginning?

Now, it's your turn. Do you think the shooter was justified? Was this an act of justice or cold-blooded murder? And most importantly, was this just the beginning of something bigger? Most of Rosa Parks' friends work for white men. They were their maids, their cooks, and even took care of their children. However, they weren't even allowed to drink from the same glass as them, let alone use the same bathroom.

Faced with such irrational customs, in the 1950s, Rosa Parks ignited the civil rights movement. We begin this story from the very start, with the birth of a woman named Rosa Louise McCauley on February 4, 1913, in Tuskegee, Alabama. was born to the union of James Macaulay, a carpenter, and Leona Edwards, a teacher. From a young age, her parents made it clear to her that she could become whoever she wanted, and that she could achieve anything she set her mind to. So she grew up being a very determined girl. According to her contemporaries, she was very brave and had no fear of expressing her opinion, which, at that time, could be very dangerous. We're talking about a very complicated era,

an era of segregation. Public restrooms were divided between black and white people. Buses reserved the first ten seats for white people and the back for black people. The same applied to many stores, which didn't even sell products to black people. Those who protested faced all kinds of abuse, not just from their neighbors, but also from the police, who were legally authorized to beat them severely. Segregation wasn't just a social practice, it was upheld by law. That's why many believed Rosa's way of being was dangerous.

If she saw something wrong, she wouldn't hesitate to speak up. She studied at the Montgomery Industrial School for Girls and later attended Alabama State Teachers College. After finishing her studies, she married Raymond Parks and took his last name, officially becoming Rosa Parks. During the first years of marriage, her life was quite normal. She worked as a seamstress and had a good family. However, in 1943, her life changed completely.

After a long day of work, she decided to go home by bus. Back then, black passengers would pay their fare, get off the bus, and re-enter through the back door. This might sound bizarre, and it is, especially considering that white passengers simply paid, walked down the aisle, and sat down. According to the mindset of the time, this made sense. The first ten seats were reserved for whites, and the back was for black people. So walking down the aisle was against the law. That day, Rosa was very tired.

She paid her fare, turned around, and saw that the back door was crowded. So, after paying, she walked down the aisle and stood in the middle. That's when the bus driver started shouting at her. He told her to get off the bus immediately and re-enter through the back. But she refused. She said she was already in the back and that it made no sense to get off just to get back on again. The driver stood up and walked toward her with the intention of hitting her. No one on the bus dared to defend her.

Everyone stayed silent and lowered their heads. Deeply offended, the woman got off the bus and swore she would never ride again if that man was the driver. Most of Rosa Park's friends worked for white families, they were maids, cooks, or nanny. Yet they couldn't even drink from the same glass or used the same bathroom. Faced with such absurd customs, in the 1950s, Rosa Parks joined the civil rights movement. This movement addressed the challenges faced by the black community in the U.S. Rosa decided to join and work alongside Ed Nixon, becoming secretary of the NAACP, National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.

At first, her husband Raymond Parks didn't want her to join, fearing it was too dangerous for someone like her. Rosa wasn't particularly strong, she was shy and reserved. And if a protest turned violent, she wouldn't be able to run away quickly. But that didn't matter to Rosa. She worked hard for the movement. Ed Nixon placed her in charge of a youth group to teach them about civil rights. While some may think her work was minor, it actually wasn't.

Dozens of teens listened to her talk about freedom and equality, concepts that at the time barely existed. She believed in fighting injustice not with violence, but with words. Words could be more powerful than blows. Sadly, the atmosphere at the time was growing increasingly tense, especially in states like Alabama. To understand how bad it was, in 1957, members of the Ku Klux Klan murdered Willie Edwards Jr. by forcing him to jump off a bridge into the Alabama River. And that was one of the more merciful killings carried out by the clan. Murders committed by the clan were almost daily events, and if not by them, by other extremists. They kidnapped and killed many people, forcing many to flee to other states. But it's important

to note, not all white people agreed with this. In fact, many were against segregation. One example was activist Virginia Foster Durr, wife of attorney Clifford Durr. Virginia hired Rosa Parks part-time as a seamstress, for herself and her children. Over time, she came to consider Rosa a close friend. In an interview with historian Isam Theus Price, Virginia said, I used to visit her and bring her clothes. I would stay and help. Mrs. Parks was truly delightful.

In the summer of 1955, Virginia's friend Miles Horton asked her to recommend a black person to attend a workshop at Highlander Folk School. These workshops promoted the idea that blacks and whites could live together peacefully, that there were no differences between them and segregation had no reason to exist. So Virginia recommended Rosa Parks. And this experience completely changed Rosa's worldview. She realized how necessary the movement was. On December 1st, 1955, Rosa Parks had a long day at work.

She was very tired and decided to take the bus home. As mentioned earlier, buses were divided into sections. The first ten seats were for whites, the back for blacks, and the middle was technically for either, only if no white person wanted to sit there. Rosa followed all the rules that day, she boarded, paid her fare, got off, entered from the back, and sat in the middle seats. There were no whites who wanted to sit there, so she was fully within her rights. Unfortunately, at the next stop, a white man boarded.

The driver stood up and ordered four black passengers to give up their seats, four people for two seats. The driver believed the white person had the full right to choose any seat. Among those four was Rosa Parks. Three stood up. Rosa did not. This marked the beginning of the famous dispute. The driver, coincidentally the same one from years ago, started threatening her,

saying he'd call the police. But she didn't care. Why should four people give up their seats for one? Why did black people have to stand while White sat? It was absurd. But the driver disagreed. He called the police. Several officers forced Rosa to get off the bus and took her to the station, where she was charged with disturbing public order. But don't think she was treated fairly there. When she asked for a glass of water, one officer replied, We don't give water to black people here. News of Rosa's arrest spread like wildfire. In less than 24 hours, the whole U.S. knew about her.

Everyone expected her to receive exemplary punishment. So her allies moved quickly. Ed Nixon contacted the Dez, and together, they got Rosa out of jail. But that wasn't enough. Her case was still to be judged by U.S. law. Everyone knew the system would try to stop others from following her example. So the NAACP organized and distributed flyers. These flyers called for a bus boycott, not just for one day, but indefinitely.

That same night, a meeting was held at Trinity Lutheran Church in Montgomery. And to show how committed some white people were, the church's pastor, Robert Greets, was white, while his congregation was mainly black. Amazingly, the next morning, not a single black man or woman boarded a bus. Many waited at stops only to shout at drivers. Not today. The boycott was a success. Most bus riders were black. They worked for white people as cooks, maids, mechanics, nannies.

They were the backbone of society. Without them, buses ran empty. If this continued, routes would shrink. Eventually, the system would collapse. Rosa Parks' trial was held shortly after. It was a disgrace, she wasn't allowed to testify, no witnesses were called, and in five minutes, the judge declared her guilty. So the community made history.

They didn't just take Rosa's case to the Supreme Court, they held a massive meeting. For the first time, Pastor Martin Luther King Jr. stood at the pulpit. He spoke about Rosa Parks' ordeal and asked if people were willing to continue the boycott. Everyone stood and said yes. Many whites believed the protest would end once it rained. That people would give up. But the opposite happened. White women picked up their maids, men picked up their workers.

Black taxi drivers gave free rides. People walked in groups, for safety, under the sun, in the rain, in the cold, through the heat. They didn't care. Because their small act became something enormous. But sadly, not everything was joyful. Tensions with white supremacists worsened. On January 30th, 1956, Martin Luther King Jr. S. Home was bombed, along with four churches and homes of prominent N.AACP members.

King urged everyone not to respond with violence, because violence cannot be fought with more violence. But attacks continued. In August of that year, Rosa Parks' home was bombed. Thankfully, no one was hurt. They endured, because their resistance had impact. The protest, led by Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr., finally ended on November 13, 1956, when the U.S. Supreme Court declared segregation in buses, schools, restaurants, and other public places unconstitutional.

Rosa Parks became an icon of the civil rights movement. She boarded a bus and sat at the front, legend says, with the same. same driver who once threw her out. In 1979, the N.ACP awarded her its highest honor, the Spingarn Medal. In 1980, she received the Martin Luther King Jr. Award. In 1983, she was inducted into the Michigan Women's Hall of Fame. In 1999, she received the Congressional Gold Medal. In 2000, the Rosa Parks Museum and Library opened. And in 2015, Paris named an R.R. station after her, in the 19th District. Some historians question her role in the movement, suggesting many stories are embellished. They say she didn't give up her seat because of politics,

but because she was tired. In her autobiography, Rosa Parks addressed this. I was tired that day, but not physically. I was tired of giving in. She wasn't the first to refuse to give up her seat. The NAACP had other similar cases. 10 years earlier, Irene Morgan did the same. But Rosa Parks case brought about change at the state level, and that deserves recognition. This story doesn't end in bloodshed like others. But it has a powerful moral. On October 24, 2005, Rosa Parks passed away at 92 from a heart attack.

Though some dismiss her impact, for millions, Rosa Parks was, is, and will always be a great source of inspiration. Her small gesture marked the beginning of something monumental. Now it's your turn. What do you think of this story? Do you believe her legacy deserves recognition? The end. Everything was merely circumstantial, what people thought of her were just conjectures. But what really mattered was that there was no forensic evidence proving this girl had committed the crime.

For starters, her DNA wasn't at the crime scene. Also, in Jennifer's hand, there was a lock of blonde hair, and Nora Jackson had brown hair. But you know what? That hair was never analyzed. We begin in the year 2005. A crime occurred that shocked the entire world. A 39-year-old woman died in an extremely violent way, and her body was found by her 18-year-old daughter.

Up to this point, we might think it was a robbery gone wrong or an accidental death. But when you learn exactly how she died, it will make your skin crawl. Nura Jackson was born on March 17, 1987, in Memphis, Tennessee, as the only child of Jennifer Jackson and Nassim Jamie. Her childhood passed without incidents, she was a very cheerful, responsible girl. She liked animals, and her grades were always very good. To her parents, Nura was simply perfect. But to the rest of the world, especially.

her uncles, she was a very spoiled child. Everything she asked for, her parents gave her, especially her mother, who treated her more like a friend than a daughter. And according to many, that wasn't good because this led her to adopt very authoritarian attitudes. Nura's perfect life changed drastically when she turned 10 years old. That's when her parents got divorced, and Jennifer took full custody. From there, the girl believed she was above everyone, her father, above her mother. Nothing and no one could stop her. Things got worse when she turned 16. At that age, Nura began going to parties, drinking, smoking, using drugs, skipping classes, getting into fights. She was expelled from five different schools because her grades were

terrible. So, her mother started threatening to send her to boarding school, but Nura didn't listen, or at least, she wouldn't, until the early morning hours of June 5, 2005. My mom. My mom is, is she breathing? No, not breathing. She's not breathing. She's not breathing. Please.

Was anyone shot? No. How old is your mother? Thirty-nine years old. Oh my, oh my God. Oh my God. Please, please help me, please. Listen to me, ma'am, I need you to calm down.

Listen to me, did you see what happened? No. I just got home. Someone broke into your home. Yes. I need to get my kitten out of the kitch, anywhere. You've just heard part of Nura Jackson's 911 call. The paramedics arrived at the house, but there was absolutely nothing they could do for her mother.

The police quickly inspected the crime scene and interrogated Nura Jackson. They asked where she had been that night, how she found her mother's body, and the girl told them the following. On Saturday, June 4, 2005, Nura spent the day away from home. She went to get her nails done, went shopping with friends, and when night came, she went to a party. The timeline is as follows, at 1222 a.m. approximately, Jennifer calls Nura and asks her what her plans are. At 1245, surveillance cameras at a gas station capture Nura buying a pack of cigarettes. From there, she goes to a local Italian-themed party with all her friends, drinks, smokes, gets wild, she has an extremely crazy night. After that, around 3.30,

she goes to a friend's house to keep partying. At 4 o'clock, a surveillance camera at Walgreens captures her buying a first-aid kit to treat a deep cut on one of her hands. The wound wouldn't stop bleeding, so Nura decides to stop partying, treat herself, and then return home. At 4.20, a gas station camera captures Nura filling up her car. After that, there are no more images of her. That's the version Nura gave. She arrived at her house at 5 a.m. She opened the door with her key, entered in the dark, and after taking a few steps, realized the floor was crunching under her feet.

So she turned on the light and saw the floor covered in glass. She quickly looked for the source and realized the glass door separating the entrance from the dining room was broken. Not long ago, her mother had forgotten the keys to that door, so she broke the glass, reached in, and opened it from the inside. So Nura thought maybe the same thing had happened again, and didn't think much of it. However, when she went to her room, she noticed her mother's door was open. She peaked in to see if she was asleep, and that's when she found the most gruesome scene of her life. Jennifer Jackson, 39 years old, was lying on the floor, completely naked and in a huge pool of blood.

A very distraught Nura runs to the neighbor's house and tells him exactly what she saw, point by point. The man immediately realizes Nura is not in her right mind, she's drunk, she's high, she's clearly unwell. But just in case, he grabs his gun and accompanies her back to her mother's house. That's when the 911 call takes place. From that moment on, the police launched a full investigation. First, they analyzed the crime scene and found two really disturbing elements. First, Jennifer Jackson's body had 50 stab wounds. Also, in one of her hands, there was a lock of blonde hair, as if she had ripped it out from her attacker

while trying to defend herself. The second key point to investigate was whether this crime had been a failed robbery. But in the house, nothing was missing. It was full of shoes, accessories, clothes, items were scattered everywhere. But that's just the visible part. Jennifer Jackson spent a lot of money each week shopping for clothes, and it was very strange that the killer didn't take anything. So, the police continued with interviews.

They questioned everyone close to Jennifer Jackson and realized everyone had something to say about her daughter. They all said she drank, smoked, went to parties, and more than once had fought with her mother in the middle of the street over money. On top of all that, the police discovered something very sinister in the family's past, her ex-husband, Nassim Jamie, had died the previous year, and not from natural causes. This man was doing quite well in life. he owned a limousine rental company and also a gas station. But on January 21st, 2004, a supposed robber ended his life with a shot to the head. Security cameras captured the individual entering the establishment, heading straight to the back room, and once there, off camera, he shot Nassim.

He then went to the register, grabbed a handful of bills, and left. That didn't seem like a robbery, it looked more like an execution. But they could never discover who killed this man. They never identified the killer. They never found fingerprints. They found nothing. So, the case was closed just like that. Could the deaths of Nassim Jamie and Jennifer Jackson be connected?

By this point, the police had a suspect, and it was none other than Nura Jackson. And they had four key points against her. The first, obviously, was her reputation. And from there, things got more complicated. The second point was found in her 911 call. If we recall, we'll remember that call was full of anguish, pain, anxiety, but there was also a moment that struck investigators as very suspicious. To be continued.

But we will also recall a moment that the inspectors found truly suspicious. How could she know her mother hadn't been shot? The girl enters the room, sees her mother dead and covered it. in blood, and through the blood, through the nervousness, she discovers she hadn't been shot. If we recall, Jennifer Jackson died after receiving 50 stab wounds, and when someone dies in this way, it indicates a crime of passion, a crime committed 90% of the time by a family member, a friend, a loved one, someone very close to the victim. And Nura seemed angry enough with her to kill her. The third point is the broken glass in Nura Jackson's house. It turns out

that just behind that glass, on the inner side of the door, was a lock, a lock that only Jennifer Jackson's family members would have known about. People who had been in the house, friends, these people knew that by breaking that specific glass, they could reach the lock. So either Jennifer broke it to enter the house, or Nura did. Nura, who we remember cut her hand that night and went to Walgreens to get a first aid kit. How she got the cut was a complete mystery. And the fourth point was the time of the victim's death. Apparently, this woman died between 12.20 a.m. and 5 a.m., and Nura could prove she was with friends all night, except for a time window when her phone was turned off, between 1 o'clock and 4 a.m.

Coincidentally, at 4 a.m., a surveillance camera caught Nura, buying materials to treat a deep cut, a cut that could very well have been caused by a knife or broken glass. With this, the police had no intention of waiting for DNA evidence, no intention of checking for fingerprints at the crime scene, no interest in matching Nura's hair, they weren't going to wait for any of that, because they were convinced this girl had killed her mother. With the death of Nazim Hassani in 2004, all his money went to his only daughter, Nura Jackson. But since she was a minor, the money was managed by Jennifer Jackson, her mother. In 2005, Jennifer got tired of her daughter's partying, tired of her drinking, smoking, tired of it all, and above all, tired that at 18 years old, she still hadn't graduated. So she threatened to send her to boarding school, and that was her death sentence.

Nura supposedly killed her mother to be free, free and to inherit all her parents' money. The Shelby County Justice Center ordered the immediate arrest of Nura Jackson, and the young woman was behind bars until her trial began in 2009. During that time, Nura had no money, so Valerie Porter decided to take her case pro bono, that is, free of charge. Unfortunately, she didn't expect the assistant district attorney of Shelby County would be Amy Wyrick, who had a reputation for being very aggressive in trials. And in this case, as expected, the woman showed no mercy.

In fact, before the trials even began, she announced she intended for Nura Jackson to spend the rest of her life behind bars. So you can already imagine what came next. Amy Wyrick called to testify against Nura Jackson, her family, her friends, her neighbors, everyone who had ever known her. And let's just say, they practically tore her apart. The first to take the stand were her uncles, who said they believed she was perfectly capable of having killed her mother.

In fact, their biggest point against her. was that she couldn't tell them, exactly where she was between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. She had no idea. She just basically put her head down, wouldn't say anything. That was it. I would have gotten her any lawyers or anything she needed. She had an alibi to prove to me where she was or who she was with when. Next were her friends, friends she had partied with, drank with, done drugs with, and all of them criticized her for doing exactly that, doing the same things they them did. Her best friend said that on more than one occasion, Nura had told her she deeply hated her mother. And Andrew Hammock, supposedly her friend with benefits, said that that night

Nura had been texting and calling him, claiming she had something important to tell him. And finally, a neighbor who had accompanied Nura that night to the crime scene testified, and what he said was decisive for the prosecution. When Amy asked the witnesses how Nura got the cut on her hand, each gave a different version. getting a cat out of the garage, partying, cooking, and the prosecutor had the nerve to say Nura was a murderer, simply because, in the middle of summer, she wore long sleeves to hide the wound on her hand. Up to this point, this was everything the prosecution had against Nura. Everything was purely circumstantial, what people thought of her, conjectures. But what really mattered

was that there was no forensic evidence, that she had committed the crime. To begin with, her DNA wasn't at the crime scene. There was DNA from two unidentified women, but hers wasn't anywhere. Also, in Jennifer's hand, there was a lock of blonde hair, and Nura Jackson had brown hair. But you know what? That hair was never analyzed, because no one thought it was important. Then, although the prosecution's witnesses said that Nura gave five different versions of how she got the cut, to the police she only gave one, that she cut herself while partying. And the piece of evidence that seemed most in Nura Jackson's favor was her nails, which she had just had done on June 4th.

When someone stabs another person, they do it with great force, and usually the nails get messed up, covered in blood, hair, skin, even broken. But Nura's were in perfect condition. So there was no way she could have killed her mother. It was physically impossible. Unfortunately, Valerie Porter didn't call any witnesses in Nura's favor, and maybe if If she had, things would have been different, especially if she had called Nazim's best friend, Bill Shelton. Shelton Bill, Nazim Hassani's best friend, had a theory that, had it been presented in court,

could have changed the mindset of everyone there. He believed that Nazam might have been blackmailing very powerful people. As mentioned before, Nazim Hassani had two businesses, a limousine rental company and a very busy gas station. This gas station was located between a police station. and a strip club. And according to Bill Shelton, many times he would let officers use the backroom to have sex with prostitutes. Also, his limos had surveillance cameras, and everything that happened in the back seats was recorded. So it's possible Nazim Hassani was blackmailing very important people, with very compromising videos, probably police officers, politicians,

influential people. Entered his gas station and shot him, according to Bill Shelton, likely died, owing a lot of money to someone very important, and that someone probably went after his ex-wife, the person managing the inheritance of his only daughter, Nura Jackson. But Jennifer refused to pay. So on June 5, 2005, two unidentified women, ended her life with 50 stab wounds. But unfortunately, this man was never called to testify at the trial, so Nura Jackson had to face her fate alone. With everything I've told you, On March 27, 2009, this girl was sentenced to 20 years and nine months in prison, supposedly for killing her own mother.

From that point on, she was completely alone, her family, her friends, everyone turned their back on her. It was as if Nura had never existed for them. But her lawyer, Valerie Porter, did not give up. On August 22, 2014, she filed a motion to overturn her client's conviction, claiming that prosecution violated her constitutional right not to testify. As evidence, she presented a court clip where Amy Wyrich directly demanded that Nura speak. In this motion, Porter also alleged that the prosecution presented unreliable, manipulated testimonies, and a clear example was the

testimony of Andrew Hammock, Nura Jackson's supposed friend with benefits. This guy testified under oath that the night of the crime, Nura was texting and calling him, telling him she had something really important to say, that she wanted to see him. But here's the thing, in a handwritten statement, he informed the prosecution that he was so high that night, that he never touched his phone. In fact, his parents had taken his phone away that night, so there was no way he could have known whether Nura contacted him or not. And conveniently, the prosecution acted like the note never existed. So it's very likely that many testimonies were manipulated. For months, a full-blown battle played out, Valerie Porter versus Amy Wyrick. But of course, we find ourselves in a case

very similar to Mardis, because Nura Jackson had already been tried and sentenced, so there couldn't be a second trial. That's why, on May 20, 2015, in exchange for her freedom, the Tennessee Supreme Court made Nura sign an Alford plea, a type of plea in which you plead guilty while maintaining innocence. It's very strange, but it's like saying, I'm guilty. I'm guilty. but I didn't do it. Thanks to that, in August 2016, after spending 11 years behind bars, Nura Jackson was released. And now it's your turn. What do you think of the case? Do you believe Nura killed her mother? Or was she innocent? The end. The story of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungeon is one of the most infamous and tragic tales in rock and roll history. It involves love,

violence, drugs, and death, and is shrouded in mystery to this day. Sid, the bassist for the sex pistols, and Nancy, his American girlfriend, led a chaotic life full of extremes, both together and individually. Their relationship has been the subject of many books, documentaries, and movies, often portrayed as a tragic, toxic romance. In this detailed account, I'll explore who they were, what happened in their final days, and the theories surrounding Nancy's death. hashtag hashtag Sid Vicious, the tragic punk icon. Sid Vicious, born John Simon Ritchie on May 10, 1957, in London, was an integral part of the British punk scene.

His journey into the music world was anything but traditional, marked by personal tragedies and a chaotic upbringing. His father left the family when Sid was very young, and his mother, and McDonald, was often described as bohemian and uninvolved in Sid's early life. She remarried and moved to Spain, where Sid's formative years, were overshadowed by instability. Sid's teenage years were filled with rebellion and alienation. At the age of 17, he began to immerse himself in the London punk scene, frequenting a store called Sex, run by the notorious Malcolm McLaren and Vivian Westwood.

This shop became the heart of the punk movement, and it was here that Sid met Johnny Rodden, John Leiden, and other key figures of the Sex Pistols. Sid's love for the band and his relationship with Johnny led him to join the Sex Pistols as their bassist, despite not having any formal musical training. Sid's image, defined by his spiky hair, punk fashion, and a reckless attitude, made him a quintessential punk rock figure. However, behind the tough exterior was a deeply troubled young man, one who struggled with insecurity, addiction, and self-doubt. His relationship with Nancy Spungen only intensified his personal demons. Hashtag hashtag Nancy Spungen, the girl who fell for rock and roll.

Nancy Laura Spungeen was born on February 27, 1958, in Huntington Valley, Pennsylvania. She came from a middle-class Jewish family with her father, Frank Spungen, being a businessman, and her mother, Deborah, owning a small store. Despite growing up in a stable environment, Nancy's childhood was far from conventional. She was born prematurely, which led to developmental issues, and her behavior was often described as erratic and violent from a young age. She was diagnosed with hyperactivity as a child, and her adolescence was marked by trouble at school and with authority. Nancy's behavior became increasingly destructive as she grew older. She fought with her siblings, attacked her babysitter with scissors, and even attempted

to stab a psychiatrist. By the time she was in her late teens, Nancy had dropped out of school, experimented with drugs, and had developed a deep interest in the punk rock scene. In her search for meaning and excitement, Nancy moved to New York City at the age of 17, hoping to become a model or involved in the music scene. She worked as a stripper and was rumored. to have been involved in prostitution. She began following various bands, including the Ramones and Aerosmith, and it was during this time that she became obsessed with Jerry Nolan of the New York Dolls. Nancy's obsession with Jerry Nolan was intense, but it didn't last. She soon set her sights on the sex pistols and, in particular, on Sid vicious. Unlike her previous pursuits, Sid responded

to her advances, and the two quickly became inseparable. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the troubled relationship, Sid and Nancy's relationship was a volatile one, marked by excessive partying, drug use, and violent outbursts. They were often seen together, either in clubs, at punk rock concerts, or at their hotel rooms, living a lifestyle fueled by drugs and alcohol. Despite their mutual dependence on each other, their relationship was toxic and abusive. They frequently fought, and both were known for their temperaments and erratic behavior. For Sid, Nancy became both a source of comfort and a destructive influence.

She was fiercely protective of him, but at the same time, her behavior exacerbated his existing issues with addiction. The two would argue violently in front of others, only to make up shortly after. Sid's bandmates in the sex pistols, especially Johnny Rodden, noticed that Sid's behavior deteriorated once Nancy entered his life. He would often show up to rehearsals late or intoxicated, and his performances began to suffer. Despite their tumultuous relationship, they shared a deep connection. Nancy was a dominant force in Sid's life, and Sid, in his vulnerable state, relied on her for support and love.

However, their bond would eventually lead to tragedy. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the final days and Nancy's death. In October 1978, Sid and Nancy were living in New York City at the infamous Chelsea Hotel, a place that had become a haven for artists, musicians, and various misfits of society. On the night of October 11th, the couple hosted a party in their hotel room. Sid, who had taken an overdose of barbiturates, was unconscious for most of the evening. Despite Sid's condition, Nancy continued to drink and party with the guests, including drug dealers, musicians, and other shady figures.

The following morning, Sid awoke to a horrifying scene. His room was covered in blood, and there was no sign of Nancy. Following a trail of blood, Sid discovered her lifeless body in the bathroom. She had been stabbed in the abdomen, and her death was ruled a homicide. side. Sid, in a panic, attempted to get help, running through the hotel, screaming for assistance. However, despite his efforts, he was soon arrested as the prime suspect in Nancy's murder. The police's investigation into the crime was filled with contradictions. Sid was incoherent and claimed to have no memory of what happened. He initially told the police that he

had argued with Nancy the night before, and in a fit of rage, had stabbed her. However, he later denied remembering any of the events surrounding her death. This lack of clarity, coupled with Sid's history of drug abuse and violence, led the authorities to believe he was responsible for Nancy's murder. However, there were several inconsistencies in the case. For one, Sid had been unconscious for much of the night, and witnesses confirmed that he was in no condition to commit murder. Additionally, the weapon used in the crime, a knife allegedly belonging to Sid, had no fingerprints or bloodstains on it. There were also reports that money had gone missing from the couple's room, which suggested a potential robbery. The authorities never fully investigated this

angle, focusing solely on Sid as the suspect. Hashtag hashtag hashtag theory surrounding Nancy's death. Several theories have emerged regarding Nancy's death. One theory is that she was killed by a drug dealer or someone else in the hotel who had a motive to rob her. Nancy had been known to associate with shady figures, and the missing money could suggest that her death was the result of a robbery gone wrong. Others believe that Sid may have killed Nancy in a fit of rage, but the lack of concrete evidence has left this theory and proven. Another theory suggests that Nancy may have died accidentally, possibly as a result of an overdose or a drug-induced altercation. Some speculate that Sid's inability to recall the events of the night could indicate that he was too

intoxicated to remember what happened, or that he was not involved in her death at all. Hashtag hashtag-h-conclusion, a life of tragedy and unanswered questions. Sid Vicious was arrested for the murder of Nancy Spungen, but he never stood trial. On February 2nd, 1979, Sid died of a heroin overdose, just a few months after Nancy's death. His passing only added to the tragic nature of their story. The mystery surrounding Nancy's death remains unresolved, and the theories about what truly happened that night continued to intrigue and baffle those who study the case. Sid and Nancy's relationship was a perfect storm of love, addiction, and violence.

Their tragic end is a reminder of the destructive power of fame, drugs, and mental illness, and their story remains one of the most tragic in the annals of rock history. Once upon a time, in a bustling city where life seemed to move at the speed of light, there was a small cafe tucked away in a quiet alley. It wasn't glamorous or trendy, but it had an undeniable charm, the kind of place where the smell of fresh coffee mingled with the sound of laughter and heartfelt conversations. And at the heart of this little cafe was Elena, a young woman with big dreams, dreams and a bigger heart.

Elena had taken over the cafe from her grandmother, who had opened it decades ago. It wasn't just a cafe to her, it was a legacy, a place where countless stories had been written over cups of coffee and slices of her grandmother's famous pie. Elena had grown up watching her grandmother greet customers like old friends, remembering their usual orders and asking about their families. Now, it was her turn. Despite her love for the cafe, Elena had always felt a tug in her heart, a longing for something more, something beyond the walls of her beloved cafe. She dreamed of traveling, of seeing

the world and finding inspiration for the stories she longed to write. But life, as it often does, had other plans. Bills had to be paid, and the cafe needed her. So, Elena tucked her dreams away, like a cherished book on a high shelf, and poured herself into running the cafe. One rainy afternoon, as Elena was wiping down the counter, the door jingled open, and in walked a man who looked as though he just stepped out of a different era. He had an old leather satchel slung over his shoulder and a look of quiet curiosity in his eyes. He paused, taking in the cozy warmth of the cafe before settling at a corner table.

Elena, ever the gracious host, approached him with a smile. What can I get you? she asked, pen poised over her notepad. The man glanced at the menu board but then said, surprise me, there was something intriguing about him, something that made Elena want to know his story. He brought him a cup of her favorite brew and a slice of her grandmother's apple pie. As he took a sip, his face lit up in a way that made her heart skip a beat. This is amazing, he said, looking up at her. You have a gift, they started talking, and before long, Elena learned that his name was Daniel.

He was a writer, traveling the world and collecting stories. He had a way with words, weaving tales of far-off places and the people he'd met along the way. was captivated, not just by his stories, but by the way he saw the world, with wonder and curiosity. Over the weeks that followed, Daniel became a regular at the cafe. He would sit in his corner with his notebook, scribbling away, and Elena would find herself drawn to him, their conversations growing deeper and more personal. He encouraged her to pursue her dreams, to take the leap and write her own stories. You've got this place running like clockwork, he said one evening as the cafe was closing. Maybe it's time you let someone else take the

rains for a while. Go out there and find your story, Elena hesitated. The cafe was her safe haven, her anchor. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Daniel was right. She couldn't shake the feeling that life was waiting for her out there, beyond the familiar streets of her city. With a mix of excitement and trepidation, Elena made the decision to embark on her own adventure. She left the cafe in the capable hands of her best friend, Maria, and set off with nothing but a backpack and a notebook. Daniel had given her a list of places to visit, and she couldn't wait to see the world through her own eyes. Her journey took her to bustling markets in Marrakesh, where the air was filled with the scent of spices and the sound of lively bartering.

She wandered through the cobblestone streets of a quaint Italian village, where she tasted the most exquisite gelato and watched the sunset paint the sky in hues of gold and pink. In a remote village in Japan, she learned the art of tea-making from an elderly woman who spoke little English, but whose kindness transcended language. Each place she visited brought new stories, new experiences, and new perspectives. She filled her notebook with observations, sketches, and snippets of conversations, her heart swelling with gratitude for the beauty and diversity of the world. But amidst all the wonder, Elena couldn't help but think of Daniel.

She missed their conversations, his quiet encouragement, and the way he made her feel like she could conquer the world. She often wondered where he was, what stories he was collecting, and whether or he thought of her too. One evening, as she sat by a campfire under a blanket of stars in the Australian outback, Elena realized that she'd found what she was looking for. It wasn't just the stories or the places she'd visited, it was the courage to follow her heart, to embrace the unknown and let it shape her. When she returned home, the cafe felt both familiar and knew. Maria had added her own touches, and the place was thriving. Elena shared her adventures

with her customers, who listened with rapt attention, their own dreams sparked by her tales. And then, one day, as she was closing up, the door jingled open. There stood Daniel, looking every bit as charming as the day they'd met. He smiled, holding up a notebook filled with stories he'd written during his travels. I've got something to show you, he said. Elena's heart swelled as she realized that her story wasn't just about finding herself, it was about finding someone who understood her, who inspired her, and who made her believe in the magic of possibility. From that day on, the cafe became more than a place where people came for

coffee and pie. It became a haven for dreamers and storytellers, a place where the world felt a little smaller and a lot more connected. And at the center of it all were Elena and Daniel, writing their own beautiful story, one cup of coffee at a time. They traveled as husband and wife through Madrid, Malaga, and Granada, and when they arrived at this last destination, Raymond had the brilliant idea of introducing Jane to his real family. He introduced her to his wife, his children, his parents, and then the woman exploded in anger. Without knowing it, she had committed the crime of bigamy. So she packed her bags and tried to go to the United States.

But strangely, on the night of November 7th of that same year, Jane's lifeless body was found in a room at the Hotel Sevilla. We begin in the year 2006, when a movie called Lonely Hearts premiered. The cast was incredible and the plot chilling. But what impacted the audience the most is that the film was based on real events, specifically the story of Martha Beck and Raymond Fernandez, a couple who pretended to be siblings and scammed women out of all their money. But don't think their story is that simple, it's full of contradictions, madness, and death. We'll start this story with a brief journey through the lives of each member of this peculiar

couple, beginning with Raymond Fernandez Martinez, born December 17, 1914, in Hawaii, youngest child of a Spanish couple. After his birth, the family moved to a small farm in Fairfield, Connecticut. Unfortunately, life there was hell for little Raymond. He was born with very fragile health and constantly had to spend long periods Bedridden, which displeased his father. His older siblings helped with everything, no problem, they were healthy and strong, but he was the complete opposite, always in bed, reading books and doing math. His passion for reading him an intelligent boy, but his father believed books were useless. Not only did he forbid Raymond from going to school, he also started assigning him the hardest tasks on the farm.

Raymond didn't understand this treatment, and little by little, he became more and more rebellious, so much so that at 16 years old, he stole a couple of chickens with a group of friends. At first, it was just a prank, a joke, but the police caught them and took them straight to jail. The parents of his friends got them out quickly, but Raymond's father thought the best thing he could do for his son was to leave him there for two months to teach him a lesson. And the truth is, he wasn't wrong, after that, Raymond never stole again. In the 1930s, during the Great Depression, the Fernandez family returned to Spain. Once there, they prospered. Raymond's father became the mayor of the town of Orjiva, Granada, and Raymond joined the Spanish

merchant navy, where he made a great fortune. After that, at the age of 20, he married a woman named Encarnacion Robles and had four children with her. However, he needed something more, so he left them and went to Gibraltar to work for British intelligence. Publicly, he sold ice cream, but privately he was doing espionage work, gathering information for the British government. In December 1945, Raymond decided to return to the United States. So he boarded a ship and set out on a long journey, a journey that, incidentally, was very eventful. Midway through, a hatch fell on him and struck his head so hard it fractured his skull and caused brain damage. Raymond survived by a miracle, but according to experts, the injury had serious consequences.

Before the accident, Raymond was kind, faithful to his wife, very affectionate, and regularly sent money to his family. But from then on, everything changed. changed. In March 1946, after spending 10 weeks in the hospital, Raymond woke up a completely different person. He was cold, distant, had an excessive sexual appetite, and realized he didn't like his clothes anymore. So he stole several garments and tried to smuggle them across the mobile Alabama border. He was sentenced to spend a year in Tallahassee prison, Florida. It's here that Raymond came into contact with voodoo and black magic. That prison was full of men who believed in its power, and they taught him everything he needed to know about voodoo.

They convinced him that through hypnosis and sacrifices, he could get anything he wanted, money, power, women. The entire world would be at his feet if he practiced voodoo. And Raymond agreed. Before fully believing in voodoo, Raymond decided to test it, to see if he could use it to gain his freedom. And the most shocking thing is that overnight, Raymond Fernandez was going to be. granted parole. This convinced him that voodoo truly existed and that from now on, nothing and no one could stop him. According to his testimony, over the following years, thanks to his magical powers, he slept with more than 100 women. But by 1947, that wasn't enough anymore.

Now he wanted something more. So he began using rituals not just to attract women, but to manipulate them. According to voodoo tradition, to make a woman fall in love, you need a lock of her hair or a letter written by her. And at that time, there was a very easy way to get a written note from a woman, through the Lonely Hearts Club section of any newspaper. After World War II, many women were widowed and desperately sought to rebuild their lives. So they sent letters to the Lonely Heart section, introducing themselves and sharing a bit about their lives, in hopes of finding a new husband. So Raymond decided to sign up for these clubs, specifically the mother-friendly club. Thanks to this, in early 1947, he met a woman named Jane Lucilla Wilson Thompson.

She had just separated and owned a restaurant and a guest house, so we could say she was quite a catch. Like magic, Raymond made her fall in love. And in August of that same year, he took her on vacation all across Spain. They traveled as husband and wife through Madrid, Malaga, and Granada, and when they arrived at this last destination, Raymond had the brilliant idea of introducing Jane to his real family. He introduced her to his wife, his children, his parents, and then the woman exploded in anger. Without knowing it, she had committed the crime of bigamy. So she packed her bags and tried to go to the United States. But strangely, on the night of November 7th of that same year, Jane's lifeless body was found in a room at the Hotel

Sevilla. The autopsy revealed that this woman died from a heart attack caused by gastroenteritis, and the case was automatically closed. From this point, really strange things begin to happen. In December, Raymond shows up at the woman's apartment and kicks her mother out, claiming to have a document stating he is the sole heir of Jane Lucilla Wilson Thompson. The deceased's mother was very old and didn't even ask to see her daughter's will, she simply gathered her things and left. So Raymond now owned a restaurant, a guest house, and the deceased's large fortune. But instead of stopping there, he decided to consult the lonely hearts section again. Through it, he found another woman who also seemed like a good match, and her name was Martha Beck.

Now it's time to learn about Martha Beck, who was born Martha Jules'Sec on May 6, 1920, in Milton, Florida. According to various articles, Martha was the youngest of four siblings. Her older brother was her mother's favorite, and her two sisters always followed orders. But Martha was different, moody, strong-willed, rebellious, and she seemed to have a glandular disorder that caused a lot of problems. At age nine, she had her first period, was obese, and from a young age had sexual urges. At first, her mother just found it annoying, but when her husband was obese, she had her husband, William's sec abandoned the family, it became a serious problem that needed to be eradicated. Men noticed that Martha was very developed for her age and did everything possible to be near

her. So her mother made it impossible for her to go out or talk to anyone. But what she couldn't prevent was that Martha's older brother ended up abusing her. The most shocking part wasn't the abuse itself, but that Martha's mother and sisters blamed her. They said if she didn't go looking for trouble, nothing would have happened. From that point on, Martha's behavior changed drastically. For years she had tried to suppress herself, but not anymore. At 22, Martha graduated in nursing and filled out an application to work at the Pensacola School of Nursing, but due to her appearance, she wasn't hired. So she was forced to accept a job at a funeral home. What she did It was simple, but at the same time sinister, she had to groom and arrange the bodies as

neatly as possible. Little by little, this pushed her into a depression. To try to lift her spirits, Martha began obsessively reading romantic novels and celebrity magazines. At this point, she didn't know what to do with her life. So she left everything behind and moved to California, where she began working at a hospital. To be continued. She began compulsively reading romance novels and gossip magazines. Martha, at this point, didn't know what to do with her life, so she left everything

and went to California, where she began working at a hospital. From there, Martha did everything possible to find the love of her life, and how did she do it? By harassing men at the bus stop. At first, all she achieved were sporadic sexual relationships, but at some point, she found a man with whom she began a sentimental relationship. Unfortunately, just a few weeks later, Martha got pregnant, and this man not only left her but also tried to take his own life. Seeing the man's refusal to marry her and become a father, Martha lost it and invented a story worthy of

Hollywood. She went around telling people that in California she had married a Navy officer who died at the front and that now she was left alone, without a decent pension, and expecting the child of her great love. What Martha didn't expect was for her story to become very famous, so famous that it appeared in newspapers, magazines, and even on the radio. Thanks to this, she was hired at a hospital and eventually received a symbolic paycheck. But unfortunately, in May of 1944, she lost everything due to indecent conduct. She was expelled from the hospital, people started looking at her badly, and everyone began to wonder if she had ever actually been married to a Navy officer. On December 13th of that same year, Martha married a man named

Alfred Beck, a bus driver she had just met. But what happened? Martha became pregnant again, and he left her after a few months because he didn't want to be a father. After the birth of her second child, life began to smile at her again. She got a new job at a home for disabled children and quickly climbed the ranks until she became the director of the center. However, the woman continued to look for her Prince Charming. So a friend of hers, as a joke, signed her up for a lonely hearts club. And that's where Martha met Raymond Fernandez. In her letters, Martha wrote that she was a young woman, mother of two children, who had a good job, money, but when Raymond came to see her, he found the exact opposite, an obese woman who didn't

have the money she claimed and who wasn't exactly the person she had described in her letters. After spending a few days together, Raymond left her and returned to Florida. Unfortunately, Martha fell madly in love with him and over the following week sent him dozens of letters, telling him how much she loved him, that she wanted to go to the ends of the earth with him, have children with him, marry him, she wanted everything with him. But Raymond didn't feel the same, so in January 1948, he replied with a letter asking her to please forget about him because he didn't feel the same way. It was then that Martha tried to take her own life.

After surviving, she sent Raymond a letter detailing point by point what she had done. This man obviously didn't want to be involved in any scandal, because if he was, people would discover that he might be implicated in the death of Wilson Thompson. So he replied and invited her to spend two weeks with him in New York. And Martha, without thinking of the consequences, asked for leave from work, left her children with her mother, boarded a train, and went directly to see him. Unfortunately, when she returned home, her entire life had changed. Everyone knew she had tried to take her own life, and not only that,

rumors spread that she had run away to see a man. So she lost her job, her friends, and her own family turned their back on her. But Martha saw this as an opportunity to leave forever with the love of her life. So she packed her bags, grabbed her children, and they all got up. on a train and showed up at Raymond Fernandez's door. But Raymond didn't want her children. Seeing them there, he told Martha he wasn't going to let them in, that she could come into the apartment, but they had to go. From here, there are two versions. The first is that Martha took the children and sent them to her mother. The second is that she sent them to the Salvation

Army. But whatever the case, Martha never saw her children again. From this point, the criminal story of this couple begins. Raymond told Martha that he made a living scamming women. But far from being scared, Martha decided to become his assistant, though in exchange, she asked for one thing, that Raymond not sleep with any of his victims. From here on, the couple pretended to be brother and sister in public, two inseparable siblings who always traveled together. Raymond responded to letters from the Lonely Hearts Club, seduced women, married them, stole all their fortune, and Martha simply covered his tracks. Their first victim was Esther Hennon, a widow who had worked for years as a teacher.

Raymond married her on February 28, 1948, and little by little, gained control of part of her money and properties. But this woman was very sharp. When she heard rumors that Raymond's first wife had died under strange circumstances, she packed up and fled to Pennsylvania. After this great failure, Raymond looked for new victims. But unfortunately, one of his lovers became pregnant. Before Martha found out, he packed up everything, and the two moved to another city.

The second victim was a woman named Myrtle Young, a middle-aged lady with a very good financial standing. Raymond married her on August 14, 1948, and the three went on a honeymoon to Chicago. But what happened? Martha Beck was extremely jealous and didn't allow the couple to consummate the marriage at any time, no consummation, no holding hands, no kisses, nothing at all. If they tried to hold hands, Martha got in between them, if they tried to kiss, she interrupted, sleeping in the same bed was unthinkable. So at one point, Myrtle exploded and told Raymond that either Martha left or she did.

This unleashed a terrible fight with a fatal ending. It's unclear exactly what happened next, but what's known is that Myrtle took a bottle full of barbiturates and got on a bus heading to Little Falls. But mid-trip, she suffered an attack and was taken to the hospital, where she died from a cerebral hemorrhage. In the three months following Myrtle's death, Beck and Fernandez spent all her money, and when I say all, I mean all. So, by Christmas of 1949, facing ruin, Raymond decided to look for a new victim. This was Janet Faye, a 66-year-old widow from Albany. On January 2nd, 1949, the woman accepted his marriage proposal and immediately withdrew $2,500 from her savings account.

The next morning, she withdrew another $3,500. But that same night, everything changed. The woman realized something very strange was going on between her husband and his sister. She didn't understand why, but they were not. never apart. Martha was extremely jealous, possessive, and looked at Raymond in a way that went far beyond sibling affection. So, in a fit of rage, Janet shouted, even if you're Charles's sister, I won't allow you to live with us when we're married. It was then that Martha grabbed the hammer and hit Janet, not once, but several times. Janet's blood soaked the walls and floors,

making cleanup difficult. But Raymond still believed he had magical powers. So, with a calm mind, he bought a trunk, placed Janet's body inside, closed it, dug a hole in the basement, placed the trunk inside, and covered it with a thick layer of cement. The day Janet died, Raymond received a letter from a woman named Delphine Downing, a 41-year-old widow living in Grand Rapids, Michigan, with her two-year-old daughter. After exchanging some letters, Raymond and Martha went to live in this woman's house. After a few days, Raymond began sleeping with her. Then, perhaps to get attention, Delphine told Martha that she believed she was pregnant.

That's when Martha Beck decided to end her life. On February 27, 1949, a truly bloody event occurred, and there are several versions, but here is the one I believe is most reliable, Martha gave Delphine some pills that were supposedly for inducing an abortion. But in reality, they were sleeping pills. Once Delphine fell asleep, Martha wrapped her face in sheets, grabbed her late husband's pistol, and shot her in the head. After that, they dug a hole in the basement, placed Delphine's body inside, and covered it with cement. The next step, drown her two-year-old daughter and bury the tiny body next to Delphines. Of course, the neighbors heard everything, the child's cries, the gunshot.

They knocked on the door to ask if everything was okay, and Raymond and Martha acted clueless. They said everything was fine, that Delphine and her daughter were sleeping, and that they were just about to go to the movies. And indeed, as soon as the neighbors left, they went to the movies. But when they returned, the police were waiting for them and sent them directly to prison in Kent. The fake siblings decided to confess all their crimes since Michigan didn't have the death penalty. They described point by point how they met every one of their murders, each of their victims. The case instantly became one of the most famous of the decade. Newspapers dubbed the pair the Lonely Hearts Killers and photographed every moment of their

lives from then on. When the victims were exhumed, the cameras were there. When the couple kissed, their image was in every paper. couple became internationally famous. Many compared their love to that of Bonnie and Clyde, but it's important to note that people genuinely loved Bonnie and Clyde. Raymond Fernandez and Martha Beck, on the other hand, were hated. They didn't represent anything noble. They weren't fighting against anything, they were simply murderers. So all of America demanded their execution. As mentioned earlier, Michigan had no death penalty, but New York did.

So the couple was sent there, and in a Bronx courtroom, they faced their fatal fate. Raymond Fernandez and Martha Beck were tried for the murder of Janet Faye, and after being found guilty, they were sentenced to death in the electric chair. But before their heart stopped beating, they said the following words, I want to shout it, I love Martha. What does the public know about love? Raymond Fernandez, My story is a story of love. But only those tortured by love can understand what I mean.

Prison and death have only strengthened my feelings for Raymond. Martha Beck, but now it's your turn, what do you think of the case? Do you believe Raymond and Martha truly loved each other, or that they never did? The end. The first thought that struck Darren was to call his son. But he'd taken away Mason's phone the night before, so he dialed his wife instead. Her reaction was unsurprising, he's probably faking it. He ran off again, probably blowing off some steam with his friends, and he'll be back by curfew at 10.

But as the hours ticked by and 10 p.m. came and went, Mason still wasn't home. That's when the Smith's made the call to the police. Mason Darren Smith was born on April 7, 1988, in Canada as the youngest of six siblings. From a young age, he was full of joy, laughs, and curiosity. Being the youngest also made him his mother Tracy's favorite, the whole family adored him. But when he turned five, an accident changed his life. He suffered a brain injury, which over time led to apraxia, a condition that made it hard for him to perform previously easy tasks.

For Mason, this meant he couldn't speak clearly. Nobody could quite understand him when he spoke, as he struggled to find the right words and articulate them. Only his sister could understand him well. Despite this challenge, Mason was happy for a while. High school, however, was a tough transition. Because others couldn't understand him, some students mocked him. No matter how hard Mason tried to express himself, the ridicule only worsened.

His self-esteem plummeted. With each laugh and joke, Mason withdrew further, retreating to his room, where he found comfort in video games and anime, eventually developing an obsession, particularly with anime. His parents, concerned, decided it was time to set some boundaries. First, they told him he couldn't watch anime or play video games until his great improved. Second, Tracy, his mother, started disconnecting the internet at 10 p.m. and holding onto the cable. Naturally, these rules didn't sit well with Mason. The internet had been his escape, his refuge. Without it, he felt completely isolated. One night, in a moment of desperation,

Mason decided to run away. Grabbing his ID, wallet, and some food, he left the house. His plan was simple, go as far as he could, find the job, and start fresh. However, he'd chosen one of the coldest nights of the year. A few hours later, he returned home, apologetic and freezing. Time passed, but Mason's struggles continued, and he ended up in the hospital for two weeks due to a deepening depression. Life felt like an uphill battle, and he often felt that no one truly understood him. Tracy later described her son as a very special person, not because of his challenges,

but because he was truly kind-hearted. He dreamed of becoming a famous musician, marrying, and having four kids. He even had names picked out for each one. As the years went on, Mason's siblings grew up, moved out, got married, found jobs, and settled down. But as the youngest, Mason was still in school, facing the same struggles and feeling stuck in a loop, watching everyone else move on with their lives. His mother, Tracy, was always supportive and gave him a lot of freedom, but his father,

Darren, was much stricter. Darren's job in construction often took him away from home for two weeks at a time. these periods, Mason felt more at ease since Tracy let him watch anime and play games as much as he wanted. But when Darren was home, those privileges vanished. Darren had high expectations for his son. He wanted Mason to get good grades, learn to drive, and leave the games and anime behind. But Mason had a strong fear of driving, though he couldn't exactly say why.

The mere thought of it made him anxious. Meanwhile, Darren viewed his son's gaming and anime interests as a waste of time and did his best to to limit them whenever he was around. Some online theorists speculated that Darren's strictness came from his religious beliefs, but this was not the case. Darren was agnostic, though Tracy and the rest of the family were Mormon. In late 2014 and early 2015, Tracy began experiencing what seemed like seasonal depression. The cold, dreary Canadian winters took a toll on her, and she felt drained and disinterested

in going out. As a result, the family decided to relocate to St. George, Utah, a place known for his sunny weather and stunning red cliffs. For Mason, the best part about moving was the fresh start. He'd be attending Desert Hills High School, where he would finish his senior year and hopefully make new friends. The move didn't go entirely smoothly, though. Many of his Canadian classes didn't transfer over, so he had to attend extra classes during the summer. But Mason didn't mind. He was eager to embrace this new chapter, starting the school year with a big smile. On August 31st, 2015, he texted his mom, saying how happy he was with his new school,

the people, and his studies. It was partly a sweet message, but he also hoped it would soften his mom into letting him play games and watch anime that night. Initially, Tracy was on board. Mason was supposed to come home, finish his homework, and then have some downtime. But when Mason arrived at 3.15 p.m., he found Darren waiting at the door. His father's project in Salt Lake City had wrapped up early, and he had unexpected plans for Mason, no games, no anime. Instead, he wanted to take him driving.

Mason, feeling uneasy, claimed he wasn't feeling well and had a terrible headache. Reluctantly, Darren let it slide. At 8.30 p.m., Tracy returned home, went to check on Mason, and found him in bed with the lights off. She kissed him good night, noticing he still seemed unwell, and left him to rest. Later, around 10 p.m., she unplugged the internet for the night, but, seeing Mason was sick, didn't hide the cable. As the night wore on, Darren grew restless, suspicious of his son's so-called illness. Around 1 a.m., he decided to check on him and saw a faint blue glow from under Mason's door, a telltale sign he was playing video games. He burst into the room,

catching Mason red-handed. Darren confiscated his computer, phone, and every device he could find, then left the room. The next morning, Darren knocked on Mason's door at 7 a.m., reminding him he had school. He heard Mason shuffling around, making his bed, packing his bag, and finally heading to the kitchen for breakfast. At 7.40, they heard the garage door open as Mason presumably left for the bus. Tracy left for work, and Darren headed to the gym. At 3.15, Darren waited in the living room for Mason's return, mentally preparing a list of activities he wanted to do together since Mason was grounded. But as the minutes passed, Mason didn't walk through the door.

Darren's first instinct was to call him, but his phone was still confiscated. So, he called Tracy, who suggested Mason might have run off in a fit of anger and would probably be back by his 10 p.m. curfew. But Mason never came home. The Smiths contacted the police, but because Mason had a history of running away, the urgency wasn't high, which some online forums later criticized as a grave error given the importance of the first 48 hours in any missing person case. By September 2nd, the Smiths were growing desperate, but they clung to hope that Mason would eventually come home. Tracy even visited

his school to purchase his cap and gown for graduation, convinced he'd be back in time. But when she returned, she did something that police hadn't done yet, she searched Mason's room. She found his school books and folders hidden in his closet under a pile of clothes, suggesting he hadn't gone to school that day as they'd thought. Even more concerning was the discovery of his wallet, complete with cash and ID. If Mason had run away, he would have needed those items to get by. Tracy informed the police, who then questioned the bus driver, confirming that Mason hadn't boarded that morning. It seemed as though he'd simply vanished. His siblings came to St. George to assist with the search, distributing flyers and questioning

neighbors. They encountered some interesting leads, several people reported seeing a young man matching Mason's description hitchhiking along Interstate 15 with a sign saying, Las Vegas. Mason's tall, blonde, and blue-eyed appearance made him hard to miss, and the police followed up by checking security footage from nearby gas stations, but Mason was nowhere to be found. Frustrated by the lack of progress, Darren drove to Las Vegas to search for his son, but he returned empty-handed. Feeling that something still wasn't right, Tracy and her sister combed through Mason's belongings again on September 7, discovering two troubling things. First, Mason's sister found that he deleted the entire browser history on his computer and phone.

Second, Tracy found a note in his wallet. While its exact contents aren't public, it hinted at Mason feeling hopeless, frustrated, and misunderstood, and experts saw it as a possible farewell letter. It seemed like a hidden message he might never have intended anyone to find. The family worried that Mason had gone to the cliffs near St. George, where he often went to clear his mind. However, a very confident light grabbed it and lent it to her, but Patricia never returned. So, the young woman waited for a while, left the TV on, and the door open, and went down

to the neighbor's house. From that point on, no one ever heard from her again. We begin, four months, numerous families in Capek, Mexico, reported the disappearance of their daughters to the authorities, young, beautiful girls with small children and great futures ahead of them. According to testimonies from the families, several disappearances followed the same pattern. of them disappeared in the Colonia Jardines Morelos, which led the police to trace the phones and discover another curious fact, all of them had turned off at 5.30, Playa Tijuana Street, in a light

blue apartment that, at the time, had been rented to several families, including a couple with four children and two dogs, Juan Carlos Hernandez and Patricia Martinez. The investigators watched the residents for several days, monitored who came and went, and finally, on October 4th at at 1.50 p.m., the couple committed a slip-up. They left the house with two strollers loaded with bags. This was strange, especially because one of the missing girls had disappeared with her two-month-old baby and a stroller. So, the officers got out of the car and approached them. While one interrogated them, the other looked inside the strollers. As strange as it might have seemed, in the stroller that was supposed to contain a baby, there were more bags. One of the

officers opened one of those bags and came face to face with human remains. From this point, Pandora's box would be opened, and the worst fears of Capek would become a reality. This story begins with one Carlos Hernandez, born on May 1, 1985, in Lazaro Cardenas, municipality located in the south of Michoacan, Mexico. It seems he was born as the only son of a single mother who might have been involved in prostitution. This woman expressed all her anger and frustration through the little one Carlos, forcing him to dress like a girl and watch her have sexual relations with every man who entered the house. These images remained etched in the boy's mind.

However, what would change his character wasn't this but the sexual abuse he suffered at the hands of one of his mother's acquaintances. His mother would leave him for long periods with a woman to take care of him, but in reality, this woman would abuse him. With all of this, Juan Carlos deeply hated women. He hated them with all his might, but he was just a child and couldn't do anything against them. In his childhood, he wasn't a good student. However, according to his own testimony, at the age of 10, he suffered an accident that magically turned him into a good student.

Apparently, after falling down some stairs, he suffered a serious head injury, and his intelligence increased. Sources consulted do not support this claim very well, so in my opinion, it isn't very much. reliable. However, what comes next has been confirmed. In his adulthood, he held numerous jobs but never lasted long in any of them. He worked as a waiter, street vendor, soldier, and even spent nine months in the second battalion of the Presidential Guard Corps, where he earned the nickname Altera Verde. According to various sources, considering his psychological profile, one Carlos could have committed robberies, sexual abuse, and rapes throughout his adolescence. However, he wouldn't take someone's life until he turned 22.

It said that one night, after arguing with his then-girlfriend, a 19-year-old girl, he strangled her on the couch in his own house. I killed her because she cheated on me and blamed it on someone else, he said. From this point on, he fully immersed himself in the world of crime. When he worked as a presidential guard, he made contacts that led him to Tepito, where he became a hitman. He didn't kill powerful men, drug traffickers, or debtors. He killed women, jealous husbands, possessive boyfriends, and pimps paid him to kill women in a thousand different ways. For one Carlos Hernandez, this was a very good job because he not only enjoyed fulfilling his

perverse fantasies, but at the same time, he was paid very well. In 2008, when he was supposedly earning so much money, he became a regular client of a restaurant. That's how he met the waitress Patricia Hernandez, a woman five years older than him. The origins of this woman were also very humble, and many sources have hinted that in order to survive, she had to resort to prostitution. To get her attention, Juan Carlos would leave large tips and tell her that he had a lot of money. He swore that if she agreed to go out with him, she would never have to work again. When he finally got a date with her, he confessed that he was a hitman. The curious thing is that Patricia didn't run away upon hearing this.

On the contrary, she moved in with him to Kate Peck, and they began their life together. From this point on, Juan Carlos quit his job, and they had four children together. But unfortunately, the promise that she wouldn't have to work couldn't be fulfilled, and she had to sell clothes, perfumes, and costume jewelry while he looked for aluminum in the trash to sell. This brings us to the following question. if Juan Carlos earned so much money from killing people, why have he left that job and was now searching for scrap in the trash? Unfortunately, this question still has no answer, but everything points to the fact that

one Carlos was never a hitman and that the money he brought to the restaurant was stolen. According to Patricia Martinez's testimony, their criminal story began in 2012 when the couple was living in the Monte Altai neighborhood. One Carlos had been warning her for a while that, in order to be happy, he needed more, that he had to harm other women to feel sexually satisfied. So, she gave him a free hand to do whatever he wanted. Juan Carlos Hernandez then placed an ad in the Capek Central Market, saying that he was looking for a young woman to help with household tasks for a person

with mobility problems. The first to respond was 27-year-old Fabiola Lucan Reyes, who was married and had a child. According to Patricia, when the victim entered the house and saw that there was hardly any furniture, she hesitated. But then she saw that Patricia was pregnant at the time, and her trust in the job offer returned. Then Juan Carlos told her she could start by picking up dirty clothes from the bathroom. When Fabiola went in and turned her back to Juan Carlos, he grabbed her and told her it was a robbery and that she shouldn't do anything but follow his instructions. He told her to leave the house with her younger child. The woman confessed that, while her husband

raped and slit the young woman's throat, she stayed outside for half an hour, fully aware of what was happening inside but did nothing to stop it. She could have called the police but didn't. When she returned, she found a scene more fitting for a horror movie than reality, the lifeless body of the victim, faced down in the bathroom, surrounded by a pool of blood. I was scared and told him I would report him, but he told me not to be stupid, that they would lock both of us up, and I believed him. The couple cut several pieces of meat from the right leg of the corpse and made a roast. The victim's clothes and the rest of her body were put in cardboard boxes and abandoned in a vacant lot on Lazaro Cardana Street.

Since people knew they were trash collectors, no one found it strange that they threw out the body. However, and for all their kindness with them, this wouldn't save their 14-year-old daughter from becoming the second victim. One afternoon at 5.30, Jorge Miranda came home and found the door of open and the TV on, but there was no trace of his daughter Luz Del Carmen Miranda. He searched everywhere and asked the neighbors, but no one had seen her. They took her very easily. Patricia Martinez, after noticing that the girl was home alone, went upstairs to her house,

rang the bell, and asked her to lend her cell phone. To be continued, the girl was home alone. She went upstairs, rang the doorbell, and asked to borrow a cell phone because she had to be to call her mother-in-law. Very trusting, Luz handed it to her, but Patricia never returned. So, the young woman waited for a while, left the TV on, and the door open, then went downstairs to the neighbor's house. After that, no one ever heard from her again. The way one Carlos killed his victims was always the same, he selected them for their beauty, subjected them to violence, raped them, slashed their throats, and then consumed their flesh. He and his wife enjoyed the flesh of their victims, and not just them, but also their two dogs.

The meat they couldn't eat was either stored in a freezer located in the dark room, a place where their children were forbidden to enter, or it was discarded. However, there were two parts of the victim's bodies that the couple made great use of, the first were the hearts, which were stored in jars with formaldehyde and later placed on an altar dedicated to Santamwerite, a popular Mexican figure who personifies death itself. The second were their bones, which, according to Juan Carlos himself, were sold to a Centero. Although the theory has now been raised that the person to whom they sold the bones wasn't a Santero, but rather a powerful network of individuals, including members of the Mexican government, people interested in

purchasing both human flesh and bones for personal consumption and for performing black magic rituals. But, of course, these are hypotheses that many sources are considering, and none of this has been confirmed. In 2015, the couple moved again and began their second phase of crimes, in which Patricia Martinez participated directly. Everyone who knew them considered them a humble and kind couple, those somewhat careless in their personal hygiene. That's why it's not surprising that former neighbors went to see them to ask for help or just to chat with them. That's how their third victim came to their door, a former neighbor from when they lived in Monti-Lti. The names of the victims from this phase of crimes have not yet been made public, but we have three

very important points. The first is that, according to Juan Carlos Hernandez, by that time, they had already killed seven victims, the second is that two of them had addiction problems and possibly came to the couple for help. And the third is that two of the victims were an adult woman and her 10-year-old daughter, both of whom suffered the same cruel fate. In 2016, the couple decided to move again and rented an apartment at 5.30, Playa Tijuana Street. It was a small, light blue building with a hair salon named Yusinia on the ground floor, named after its owner. They quickly got along well with the neighbors and with her. In early 2018, they resumed their criminal activities. Taking advantage of the fact that his wife got along so well with the neighbors,

one Carlos used her again as bait, luring their eighth victim, 22-year-old Arlette Samantha. Alguin Hernandez. Arlette had three children and lived next to the couple. She often helped them take care of their kids and, knowing that the couple had little income, would buy toys and snacks for their children. But as happened with Luz, this couple felt no love for anyone. As I mentioned before, Patricia worked selling clothing, jewelry, and perfumes, and in this way, she attracted their next victim, Evely Rojas Mattis, 29 years old. On July 26, Evely left her two children with her ex-husband and went to the Playa section to meet with a woman who supposedly sold American clothing. After that, she was never seen again. The last crime committed by the couple was on

September 6th, when two more people disappeared, a mother and her baby. Their names were Nancy Noemi Ron, 28 years old, and Valentina, 25 months old. According to the first statements, Nancy was heading to one of her daughter's schools for a meeting, but she never made it to her destination. The mother died following one Carlos's patterns, and the baby was sold for 15,000 pesos to a couple. On October 4th, when the police located Nancy's remains, the world was shocked. In the couple's house, they found plastic barrels, cardboard boxes. glass jars, and bags full of human remains. Just when they arrested one Carlos Hernandez and Patricia Martinez,

they were about to move to a new house, so this new place was also searched, and they found more human remains inside. In fact, they are still finding bodies, specifically on October 17th, in a street very close to the couple's residence. From here, contradictions began to arise, so stay tuned so you don't miss a single detail.

The media have spread that both members of the couple suffered from severe mental disorders, and many have dared to say that, instead of being sent to prison, they should be sent to a mental institution. These statements, as expected, have not been well received by everyone. On one hand, it said that one Carlos Hernandez suffers from a personality disorder and a psychotic disorder, both caused by the abuse he suffered as a child. But it's also worth noting that the blow to his head and drug abuse during his adolescence could also have contributed to these disorders. On the other hand, we have Patricia Martinez, who has recently been diagnosed with limited intelligence, which the media have often portrayed as making her another victim of her husband.

However, several psychologists have said that this is completely false and that both were accomplices and executioners at the same time. Furthermore, people who knew the couple assert that Patricia Martinez had no mental problems and was a completely normal person. The hearing for this case began on October 11th at the Shikinatla prison, and many people, not only the victim's families, arrived to demand to know if their daughters, sisters, and friends were part of the list of victims of these femicide perpetrators. But the two subjects showed no mercy for anyone, felt no empathy, and at times even appeared defiant toward the judge and the victim's families. In fact, at the end of the hearing,

one Carlos stood up and arrogantly declared the following, I want to know the fate of my four children, because I was arrested at 10 in the morning, not at 150 as they say. We weren't carrying strollers, we were carrying one of them. Where are they? The photograph you see on the screen was taken around 1.30 p.m. on October 4th. According to the man, they didn't have strollers, and they were carrying one of their children, specifically the youngest. However, the agents did not see this child anywhere, only bags full of human remains. But the worst is yet to come, and it comes from a recently leaked video on the internet. In this video, Juan Carlos Hernandez declares that he would prefer not to be known as the Monster of Capek, but as, Green Terror.

In this video, not only does he admit to killing more than 20 people, but he also says that, if they are not imprisoned for life, they will continue killing. Some of the phrases we could highlight from the video are as follows, I am completely healthy and fine. What I'm doing is cleaning the world of garbage. I prefer that my dogs eat the flesh of those women than for them to keep breathing my oxygen. Due to the coldness of the killer and the barbaric things he says, I feel incapable of sharing it on screen. However, if you want to take a look, I'll leave the link here below. The judge decided that until a sentence is passed, this couple will remain in prison. For now, they are being held for two crimes, disrespecting the dead

and violating burial and exhumation laws. They've been given one month to conduct a thorough investigation to process them for the following crimes, femicide, human trafficking for selling a baby, which, by the way, has been returned to its family, and finally, rape. But now it's your turn. What do you think of this case? Do you believe the sentence will be just, and would you want the names of all the victims to be revealed. End. Harry Houdini, one of history's most captivating figures, was a true master of escapism, constantly challenging the world to find any prison, lock, or chain that could truly

hold him. Houdini, whose real name was Eric Weiss, was born on March 24, 1874, in Budapest, Hungary. He was the third of six children, born to Cecilia Steiner and Mayor Samuel Weiss. His father was a well-respected rabbi in their hometown, while his mother was a mother. took care of the household and kids. Yet, the family faced tough times when they moved to the United States in search of a better life. As new immigrants, the Weiss family encountered numerous hardships. Mayor, who preached in German, struggled to connect with American congregations, and job stability was scarce. Financial woes forced them to move from town to town, often without

enough for basic needs. Eric, however, was determined to support his family. By the age of seven, he was already working odd jobs like selling newspapers and shining shoes, handing over every penny he earned to his parents. A pivotal moment came when Mayor and Cecilia took young Eric to see a traveling magician named Dr. Lynn. For his parents it was just a night of entertainment, but for Eric, it sparked an insatiable passion. Soon, he was practicing magic tricks, dreaming of a future in show business. At just nine years old, he performed as a trapeze artist and contortionist, calling himself the Prince of the Air. Audiences were captivated, and he was soon on the road, performing across America.

But by age 13, he returned home, leaving the stage temporarily to help his struggling family. During this time, Eric discovered the work of French magician Gene Eugenie Robert Houghton, the father of modern magic. Eric was inspired to such an extent that he took on a new stage name, Harry Houdini. Over the next few years, Houdini would hone his skills, learning everything he could about stagecraft, physical fitness, and the art of spectacle. He sought inspiration far and wide, and one of the most intriguing influences on him was the then-popular spiritualism movement. In the late 19th century, spiritualism was all the rage, with people using mediums and seances to attempt to communicate with the dead.

These events were often as much theatrical spectacle as they were about emotional connection. People yearned to feel the presence of their lost loved ones, while also craving the thrill of the paranormal. This interest gave rise to an industry of mediums who promised to summon spirits and communicate with them. Houdini, however, had a keen eye and quickly recognized the tricks behind many mediums supposed powers. As Houdini observed these shows, he saw exactly how mediums move tables, produced eerie noises, and used sleight of hand to create illusions. One particular trick caught his attention, the ability to free oneself from ropes or handcuffs while seemingly tied up. He decided to take this concept and turn it into it.

an act all his own, refining it to create a performance that left audiences in awe. Houdini and his brother Hardin, along with their friend Jacob, soon began performing together, blending classic tricks like pulling rabbits from hats and card illusions with their own daring feats. Their showstopper was the metamorphosis trick. Houdini would be bound in a sack, then locked inside a box. With the help of his wife, Bess, Houdini would seemingly switch places with her in a matter of seconds, leaving audiences stunned and utterly mystified. As Houdini's fame grew, so did his passion

for physical and mental training. He swam, ran, and practiced escaping from all manner of restraints, always striving to push his limits. Perhaps his most famous escape trick was that milk can escape. Houdini would climb into a giant milk can filled with water, and the can would be sealed shut. The audience would hold their breath as Houdini struggled inside, while an enormous clock ticked away the seconds. After several suspenseful minutes, Houdini would emerge, gasping for air but victorious, leaving the audience to wonder how he could endure such extreme conditions. Another legendary feat involved Houdini leaping from bridges while bound in chains and handcuffs. He would sink below the water's surface, only to resurface

moments later, freed from his restraints. Houdini's courage and skill mesmerized onlookers, as did his knack for dramatic showmanship. He also went so far as to perform. He also went so far as to performed stunts entirely in the nude to prove that he wasn't hiding any tools or keys in his clothes. One of the most complicated and iconic stunts Houdini ever performed was that Chinese water torture cell. First introduced in 1912, this trick involved suspending Houdini upside down in a tank of water. His feet were locked in stocks, and he was lowered headfirst into the tank. The cell was then locked, and a curtain was drawn. With every second that passed, the audience's tension mounted, only to erupt into cheers when Houdini eventually emerged unharmed.

Throughout his career, Houdini faced imitators who sought to replicate his incredible stunts. He patented many of his tricks to protect his act from being copied, and if an impersonator dared perform his acts, Houdini would sometimes show up at their shows to reveal their inadequacies. Yet, Houdini's most frustrating imitator was none other than his own brother, Hardine. The two eventually reconciled, but their rivalry restrained their relationship for year. Beyond his feats of escape, Houdini was also a dedicated skeptic. He despised fraudulent spiritualists who exploited grieving families. After his beloved mother's death, Houdini attended numerous seances, hoping to contact her,

but he soon became disillusioned. Many of his close friends, including the famous writer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, were deeply involved in spiritualism, and Doyle's wife claimed she could communicate with the dead through automatic writing. Despite his skepticism, Houdini allowed her to attempt contact. contacting his mother. However, he found the experience unsatisfying and was disappointed by the lack of authenticity. This led Houdini to embark on a mission to expose phony mediums, publishing works that

detailed the tricks these charlatans used to deceive people. His books, miracle mongers, and their methods and a magician among the spirits, offered a critical look at the methods of these spiritualists, who prayed on the vulnerable and bereaved. To Houdini, revealing the truth was more important than maintaining friendships or popular opinion. his adventurous spirit extended beyond magic. He took to the skies, becoming one of the first people to fly a plane in Australia in 1910, though his achievement was contested. He also tried his hand at acting, starring in films and even a 15-part movie serial. While his on-screen career was short-lived, his foray into cinema illustrated his relentless desire to push boundaries

and entertain. Sadly, Houdini's life came to a tragic end in 1926. He had long prided himself on his strength and endurance, even boasting that he could withstand heavy blows to his abdomen. Unfortunately, a punch from a college student, delivered when Houdini was unprepared, caused internal injuries that eventually led to his death from peritonitis. Even in his final moments, Houdini held on to his creed, the show must go on. Houdini's legacy endures, not only as a pioneering magician but as an icon of resilience, daring, and the relentless pursuit of truth. His acts continue to inspire magicians, while his crusade against fraudulent mediums

remains a testament to his dedication to integrity, even in a world where illusion was his greatest strength.