Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Shadows of Fear: 9-Hour Compilation

Episode Date: January 14, 2026

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #shadowsoffear #horrorcompilation #longhorrorstories #nightmarefuel This nine-hour horror compilation brings together chilling stories where shadows hide unspeakable horrors. Each tale builds relentless suspense, exploring haunted places, unexplained phenomena, and psychological terror. Perfect for listeners who crave long-form horror, immersive storytelling, and sleepless nights horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, shadowsoffear, horrorcompilation, longhorror, paranormalstories, nosleepstories, terrifyingtales, darkhorror, psychologicalterror, ghoststories, supernaturalhorror, scarynarratives, nightlistening, nightmarefuel, extremehorrorThis episode includes AI-generated content.

All right, so here's a story that's been floating around in our family, something my mom told me not too long ago. It's about this guy named Jimmy, he's my mom's friend's brother, and he's about 74 now. Picture a wiry old dude with thick glasses, always in a flannel shirt, and probably still talks like it's the 60s. Anyway, Jimmy's story is kind of a mix between a nostalgic childhood memory and a frustrating modern-day tragedy. It's about baseball cards, forgotten treasures, and how sometimes life just sucker punches you when you think you're about to get lucky. So back when Jimmy was a kid, like maybe early 1950s or so, he was seriously into baseball. Not just playing or watching it, but collecting cards like it was a full-time job. He had a whole system going.

He wasn't the kind of kid who just tossed cards around or traded them for bubble gum. Nah, Jimmy was organized. He kept everything pristine, sorted by teams, players, stats, the whole shebang. And he didn't just leave them lying around. Nope, he had this secret stash spot in his room. Jimmy's bedroom was above the garage, kind of separate from the rest of the house, which gave him some privacy. In the back of his closet, beneath a loose wooden floorboard, like something out of a treasure hunt movie, he had this hidden compartment where he stored all his cards.

That's where his collection lived, save from his nosy little brothers and sisters. He thought he was a genius. And honestly, he kind of was. Then life happened. Jimmy grew up, went off to college, and left that little hiding place behind. The thing is, he never actually went back to get the cards. Like most people, he got busy with school, then work, then life. The cards.

They faded into the background, just one of those things he figured he'd grab eventually but never did. To top it off, his parents sold the house while he was away, and no one ever told the new owners about the secret treasure under the floor. Years turned into decades. Jimmy moved out of state, got older, and basically forgot about his whole collection. Until one day, he was scrolling through an article or maybe watching the news, and there was this piece about how insanely valuable old baseball cards had become. We're talking thousands,

even millions, depending on the condition and the player. Jimmy started thinking, wait a second. I had some of those. Didn't I have a Mickey Mantle rookie card? Or was it a Hank Aaron? The memories were foggy, but the itch was real. So he starts wondering, what if the cards were still there? What if, somehow, no one ever found? How many? them. He did a little digging and found out that his old house had changed hands a bunch of times since his parents sold it. Different families lived there over the years, and the odds were slim that no one had ever pulled up that floorboard. But hey, it was possible, right? Fast forward a few years, Jimmy ends up back in his hometown for a visit. He's catching up with an old buddy

over lunch, and the topic comes up. Jimmy tells him about the cards and the hiding spot, and his friend's eyes light up. Turns out, he actually knows the current owners of Jimmy's childhood home. What are the odds, right? The friend encourages him to go knock on their door, share the story, and just see what happens. So that's exactly what Jimmy does. He pulls up to his old house, heart racing like he's 10 years old again about to sneak a cookie before dinner. He walks up, Knox, and this middle-aged couple answers. Real friendly folks. Jimmy explains who he is, tells them about the cards, and how he used to live there and hid

them under the closet floorboard when he was a kid. They're intrigued. And since they know Jimmy's friend and everything checks out, they invite him in. Now imagine this, Jimmy's standing in his old room, which feels way smaller than he remembers. He walks over to the closet like muscle memory is taking over. kneels down, finds the exact spot, and gently pulls up the floorboard. And there it is. The box.

Dusty, a little beat up, but unmistakably the same box he stashed away all those years ago. His hands are shaking as he pulls it out. They all sit down together and start looking through the cards. And it's like a time machine. Old school Yankees, Dodgers, Cubs, legends in mint condition. Some cards are slightly yellowed with age, but otherwise. Still in amazing shape. Jimmy is practically glowing.

The couple seems just as amazed. For a brief moment, it feels like this is going to be one of those wholesome full circle stories. But then things take a turn. When they finish going through the cards, the couple looks at Jimmy and tells him, politely but firmly, that since the cards were left behind and the house now belongs to them, technically the cards do too. Jimmy's jaw hits the floor. He's like, are you serious?

I just found my childhood collection. You guys wouldn't even know it existed if I hadn't said anything. He tries to reason with them, asks if maybe they can split the value or let him have some of the cards that meant the most to him. But no dice. They won't budge. They say they'll think about it, but a day later they call Jimmy and tell him flat out, they're keeping the entire collection. Jimmy leaves empty-handed, heartbroken, and honestly pretty bitter.

He solved the mystery, all right. Found the hidden treasure. But he didn't get to keep it. It was like getting a winning lottery ticket and having someone else legally cashed in. A punch to the gut, honestly. Now, here's where it gets even more frustrating. My mom told me that her friend, Jimmy's sister, was so upset about it. it that she started making some calls, trying to figure out who this couple was and if anything

could be done. She didn't get far, but she did learn that the couple had been struggling financially. Like, losing sleep trying to pay the mortgage kind of struggling. So maybe, just maybe, they saw those cards as a lifeline. A gift from fate. But still, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. And the worst part? No one ever found out how much. the cards were worth. Jimmy never got them appraised, and the couple never spoke about them again, at least not publicly. For all we know, they could have been worth six figures. Or maybe even more. So now here's the question everyone keeps asking, what would you have done if you were Jimmy? Would you have knocked on the door at all? If you were the couple, would you have given the cards

back? Even if you needed the money badly? It's one of those weird moral gray areas. It's one of those weird moral gray areas that just messes with your head. Personally, I think I would have offered Jimmy at least a few cards, maybe worked out a deal where we split the profit if we sold them. I mean, yeah, legally they're mine if they're in my house, but come on, this guy literally hid them there as a child and remember the exact spot 50-something years later. That's got to count for something. But hey, that's just me. Some people see dollar signs and forget all about decency. Others cling to what they think is fair. And then there are people like Jimmy, holding onto memories, chasing a piece of the past,

only to get hit with a harsh dose of reality. Either way, it makes for one hell of a story. The end. I was about 13 when it all started. Back in the early 2010s, I was that awkward kid who thought uploading low-quality YouTube videos was peak content creation. My videos were cringy, chaotic, and mostly, pointless, but I loved them anyway. It made me feel like I had something to offer, even if it was

just a weird, blurry video of me rambling about movies or random emo stuff. One day, I uploaded a video and got a comment not long after. It was simple, hey, you're beautiful. Now, if I could go back, I'd slap younger me and say, don't engage. But back then, That comment hit me like a lightning bolt. I'd been bullied most of my life and never once thought of myself as even remotely attractive. So of course, I responded. Thanks so much. I replied, feeling oddly flattered.

Curiosity led me to click on his profile. His channel was filled with horror claimations. Graphic ones, full of blood, violence, and disturbing scenes that looked like they came straight out of a night. But I was into horror movies and considered myself a bit of an artsy weirdo, so I was intrigued. He commented again, asking for my Instagram handle. I gave it to him without thinking. That was the moment everything changed. We started talking every single day.

He was about four years older than me. That didn't feel like a big deal at the time, but it matters more when you look back with clearer eyes. We bonded over horror, art, true crime, all the dark stuff that seemed cool when you were a misfit emo teen with no meds and too many intrusive thoughts. But he was always, off. Like, unsettling in subtle ways. He'd go on about how much he hated the kids at his school and talked about serial killers like they were celebrities. He admired them, idolized them, even.

He said things like, I wish I could do what they did, and made jokes about it. causing a massacre. His claimation videos were graphic, beyond anything I could have imagined. They depicted sexual violence, mutilation, torture. Looking back, I don't know why I kept replying. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe I saw myself in him. He told me he was bullied too, that he had no friends. He said he thought he was a psychopath or maybe a sociopath. I didn't flinch. I guess I was desperate to feel connected to someone, even if they were a little, or a lot, unhinged. We stayed friends for nearly five years. Every day, messaging, sending memes, talking about our depressing lives and love for all things spooky.

I had romantic relationships in real life, and I told him we could never be more than friends. He lived in eastern Canada, I was in the Midwest U.S. He said he loved me anyway. Not in a healthy way, but in the way someone mentally ill and obsessed thinks they love someone. In late 2018, I got a pet gerbil. I was obsessed with her. I told him all about her, showed him picks, went on and on about how much I adored rodents. I didn't think anything of it when he replied normally.

Then on February 7, 2019, he asked me a weird question, what's your reaction to animals being killed? I told him I was pretty desensitized. My sister used to show me all these disturbing best-gore videos when I was younger. He said he was desensitized to everything. I shrugged it off. Then came May 19, 2019. That's the day that still haunts me. He went to a pet smart, bought three hamsters, and brought them home.

He made a video. Not a cute pet video, no, he filmed himself to me. torturing and murdering those hamsters. He microwaved them, sliced them, filmed it all, edited it, and posted the video on various sites, Reddit, YouTube, Instagram, Twitter. Anywhere he could. At first, I didn't believe it. People were commenting on his posts, calling him a monster, leaving hate messages. I thought it was a hoax. He sent me the video himself. deleted it right after, but I saw the thumbnail. The image of tiny bodies drenched in blood burned into my brain.

He sent screenshots too, deleted them quickly, but not before I saw enough. Did I block him? Cut him off. Nope. Not immediately. I wish I had. But I didn't. I called the police that same day.

Reported everything. But I kept messaging. him for a while. Part of it was fear. I didn't know what he'd do if I ghosted him. He knew my name, my city, even what I looked like. And I had no one else. No friends. No support. So I kept the line open. Over time, we talked less and less. The final message was on April 4th, 2020. It took a while for me to piece it all together. Someone from Kiwi Farmy. who had tracked the case reached out to me. They pointed out some chilling things.

1. He only got those hamsters after I got my gerbil and he knew I adored rodents. 2. He asked me about animal deaths a few months before he did it. 3. He messaged me 10 days before the crime, saying he was adopting hamsters. 4. On the day of, he told me again, sent me a cute video of them in his lap. I responded, they're adorable. And days later, he butchered them. That's not coincidence. People who read our messages said he was obsessed with me.

Reading back, I'm horrified at what I allowed him to say. He flirted, in this really warped, predatory way. Called me, sexy and beautiful, constantly. Drew pictures of me. Told me he loved me. I was his only friend. Some people believe he did it to hurt me, to get my attention, to show his twisted idea of love. He couldn't stand the fact that I had a boyfriend in real life.

Maybe he wanted me to feel pain. Maybe he thought he was showing me devotion by destroying something I cared about, something like the animals I loved. That's the sickest part. It was personal. He was eventually charged in May 2020 and sentenced in August 2021. He got 18 months conditional, can't be online unsupervised, can't go near pet stores. They diagnosed him with severe autism and said he had the emotional maturity of a 12-year-old. Which, to be honest, doesn't make me feel safer.

Sometimes, I still message the Instagram account. I type out full paragraphs, telling him how much he messed me up. How scared I am. How angry I am. I know he probably won't see them, but some twisted part of me wants him to know. Maybe when his sentence is up, he'll respond. Maybe not. I want closure, but I'm terrified of it.

I saw his face again for the first time in a year recently and had a panic attack. My doctor says I have PTSD because of him. I believe it. He knows where I live. He knows my name. He knows how to hurt living things. And yet, in this weird messed up way, I still miss him. Not the things he did, but the connection.

The idea of someone knowing me that well. It's messed up, I know. I've never really told the full story before. Posting this here is my way of letting it out. There's more I could say, so many things I left out. If anyone wants to ask questions or talk, just comment. It's hard to believe I let someone like that into my life. Even harder to accept that I stayed, long after I saw the darkness.

But I was young, lonely, and desperate for someone, anyone, to see me. And he did. He saw me. Just not in the way I hoped. Thanks for reading this far. The end. I think it's safe to say most of us have gotten that same old lecture from our parents at some point or another.

Don't marry young. Keep it in your pants. Don't get pregnant. You know the spiel. Well, turns out, the smartest thing we can do is actually listen. Because they were right. But before we get to that, let's rewind a bit. Here's a good spot.

I was 18 years old and convinced I had an entire world of nothing but never-ending beauty and wonder ahead of me. L.O.L. How terribly fucking mistaken I was. Sure, I was beautiful. talented, even. But intelligence? Yeah. Sadly, not a quality I possessed. And neither was good taste in men. Anthony and I met senior year, about six months before graduation. We'd both already picked out colleges and gotten accepted. But in those short seven months, we fell head over heels and love. It was a whirlwind, and neither of us could imagine being apart. Did I mention I wasn't smart?

Just want to make sure that part sticks. Because instead of chasing my own dreams, I kissed them goodbye. Gave up the college I was desperate to attend, packed up my life, and moved four states away to be with him. He, of course, got to chase his dreams. Go figure. About a year and a half after settling into our new home, he proposed. I was elated.

Said yes without a second thought. At first, things were great. But it didn't take long before the crack started showing. He grew controlling. Told me to quit my part-time barista job, one I actually loved. Said he didn't like the thought of me, serving coffee to old perverts all day, then it was my makeup. Said he didn't want other men looking at me. Told me to be more conservative.

Eventually, I was dressing in baggy jeans and his oversized t-shirts, hiding my figure completely. He even installed some app on my phone to monitor what I was doing. One night, I'd finally had enough. I told him it was over, stormed out of the house, and got into my car, only to find that it wouldn't start. No matter how many times I turned the key, it just sputtered. I was livid. I climbed back out and stormed up to the front door, only to see him sitting at the kitchen table, laughing. He never admitted what he did to my car, but whatever it was, it ended up totaled. Things escalated after that.

The day he put his hands on me for the first time, something inside me snapped. I might have been naive, but I wasn't about to be that woman. The one who sticks around and lets a man treat her like a punching bag. I packed what little I had left, he'd already destroyed most of my stuff, and walked out. But if you're hoping that's where it ended, I hate to disappoint you. Anthony wasn't the type to just let go. Especially not of me.

It was around 2 a.m. Dark as hell outside. I had three duffel bags slung over my shoulders and was wearing flip-flops and pajamas and pajamas shorts. Out of nowhere, he came sprinting up behind me, tackled me to the ground, and pressed a knife to my throat. You know that cliche in horror. stories, it made my blood run cold. Yeah. I always thought that was dramatic too. Until that moment,

my entire body locked up. I couldn't scream, couldn't move. That look in his eyes. I knew if I made a sound, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me. With one hand still holding the knife and the other wrapped in my hair, he yanked me to my feet and hissed, stay quiet and I won't hurt you. He started walking me back toward the house. I was shaking so hard my teeth were clacking. And then, as if he wasn't already terrifying enough, he leaned close and snarled, what's the matter, bitch? Cold. Maybe if you wore some decent clothes for once, you nasty whore. The words didn't break me. I was used to that kind of verbal garbage. What broke me was realizing how real this had become. How dangerous he truly was. We were about 30 feet from the driveway when a pair of headlights cut through the dark.

Anthony tensed. He shoved the knife in his pocket and yanked me closer. Act fucking natural or you die. Here's a fun fact, no matter how casual you try to look, when you've got three duffel bags slung over your shoulder and a deranged man leading you by the hair, people are going to notice. A truck turned the corner and slowed beside us. Anthony started to panic. What the fuck, what the fuck, he whispered. Don't say a word. Let me handle this. The truck stopped, headlights dimmed. A burly, gray-haired man rolled down his window. Everything all right, miss, he asked, completely ignoring Anthony. Anthony jumped in. She's fine. Ain't shit to see here, old man. Get lost, the man glared at him. You're only as old as you feel, motherfucker. And I'm feeling pretty lucky tonight. Then his tone softened as he looked back at me. Now, like I was saying, you all right, ma'am, before I could answer, Anthony lost it. He pulled the knife and charged the truck, pointing it at the driver. I'll fucking

kill you, you son of a bitch. You don't know who the fuck you're messing with. The man didn't even flinch. Let's not get our panties in a twist. He rolled the window up almost all the way. Put that thing down before you hurt yourself, son. Anthony didn't notice the guy reaching into his glove box. But I did. Anthony started pounding on the window, ranting. Get out of the goddamn truck, pussy. Come on, motherfucker. The man calmly unbuckled his seat belt and shifted into the passenger seat. For a second, I thought maybe he was scared. He wasn't.

Pop. The sound exploded in my ears. Glass shattered. And Anthony dropped. Just like that. A bloody heap on the sidewalk. I stumbled back, falling over my bags and scraping my elbows on the pavement. My heart felt like it was about to punch through my ribs.

What the fuck? I whispered, my voice cracking. What the fuck? The passenger door opened, and the man stepped out. He was huge, at least six feet four inches, solid muscle, gray ponytail, and a beard straight out of duck dynasty. He kept a safe distance and extended a hand. You need help up, miss, that was it.

That's all he had to say. I couldn't even answer. I was frozen. My lips parted, but no sound came out. He studied me closely. He hurt you, didn't he? He paused, searching for the right words. I promise.

I'm not going to hurt you. And he damn sure ain't going to hurt nobody no more. In that moment, all I could think about was my parents. So long ago, Anthony had forced me to cut them off. I just wanted my mom. My daddy. I was only 20. Still a kid.

And I was facing things no 20-year-old girl should ever have to face. I lost it. My steely exterior crumbled, and in an instant, I was a mess of snod and tears. The man stepped back slightly and dropped his hand, clearly unsure. I must have looked horrifying, eyes wide with shock, mascara streaming like black paint, but after a moment, he stepped closer. He knelt down there in the grass and july. gently placed a hand on my shoulder. Come on, miss. Let me take you somewhere and get you cleaned up.

His eyes flicked toward Anthony's body. The blood had already pooled beneath him. Besides, I know we're out in the sticks, but we probably need to get the hell out of Dodge. Suddenly, it all felt real. Anthony wasn't just dead. He'd been murdered. I couldn't report it. This man had saved me. What else could I do? I let him help me up. One SEC, he said, before walking around to the passenger's side and sweeping all the glass shards out onto the road. When he was finished, he grabbed the towel from the backseat and laid it down. Smoothing out the towel, he turned to me. Here you go, miss. I walked around the truck and climbed in, still shivering. He settled into the driver's seat, then reached into the backseat once more.

You look like you need this, he said, handing me a folded throw blanket. Thank you, I said quietly, taking it from him and unfolding it. He blasted the heat and the engine roar to life. We drove east about 30 minutes, into the next town, and stopped at a quiet little motel. He put the truck in park, turned off the engine, and looked over at me. I'm guessing you don't have any money. I'm sure he took all that. I nodded, sniffling.

Without another word, he stepped out of the truck and disappeared inside the building. I waited ten minutes before he came back, holding a key card. He handed it to me. Room 47. Get yourself a shower and a good night's sleep, he said with a gentle smile. My mind was spinning. Who was this guy? Why was he doing this for me?

I had to ask. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, thinking. I'm nobody special, miss. Just a man in the right place at the right time. He chuckled softly. Well, depending on who you ask. I suppose some folks might say it was just the opposite. I managed a weak smile.

Thanks, I said, taking the key card. Don't mention it, I climbed out and shut the door behind me. The headlights lit my path across the parking lot. I turned back for one last look. He threw a hand out the window in a final, friendly wave, then drove off into the night. I never saw that man again. Never found out his name. The next morning, I turned on the 6 o'clock news.

Man found shot to death in Runner Ridge. Wife still missing, panic surged through me. What if they thought I did it? I'd been so desperate to escape that I hadn't stopped to think. They might actually blame me. I paced the motel room, heart racing, trying to figure out what to do. Finally, I decided. With shaking hands, I dug my phone from one of the duffel bags and dialed 911.

Operator, 911, what's your emergency? Me, crying hysterically, I'm at a motel in Carver. I came here to get away from my husband. He was beating me, I just needed to get out for the night, you know. But I turned on the news, and it said he's been shot. Please tell me it's not true, please, God. Operator, ma'am, I can barely understand you. Breathe.

Who's been shot? I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to sound like I was holding it together. Me, my husband. We had a huge fight last night. He got violent and I left, but now the news says he's dead. Operator, what's his name? Me, Anthony Baldwin. Please, please tell me it's not real.

Operator, Mrs. Baldwin, I think you need to come down to the station. Panic flared again, but I kept my voice as calm as I could. Me, I don't have a ride. He destroyed my car. Operator, how did you get to the motel, 40 miles away? Shit. Me, my mother gave me a ride. Mental note, call mom.

Fast. Operator, all right. What's your exact location? We'll send a cruiser. I gave her the motel address and hung up, still crying like my heart was broken. Forty-five minutes later, a sheriff knocked on the door. I rode with him to the station, answered all the questions, still sobbing. I told him about the fight, how Anthony had grabbed me, how I'd run, how he'd run, how he

He chased me with a knife. I said I called my mom, and she pulled up just in time. He'd threatened us both, but we left him standing on the roadside. After that, I had no idea what happened. With all the bruises and bald patches on my scalp, it wasn't hard to sell. He took notes the whole time, nodding occasionally. When I finished, he scratched his head and gave me a long look. Ma'am, what you've been through is awful.

I'm sorry, I gave him a faint smile and nodded. We're not ruling anything out, he said carefully. But I will say this, an older man called in the shooting. Said he was a neighbor. Said he was getting ready for work around five this morning when he heard a gunshot. Looked out the window and saw a red Buick tearing off down the road. Said Anthony was lying there in a pool of blood. Reckon it shook him up pretty bad, but he wanted to make sure.

you was all right, so he drove down to your place, but you was already gone. If that's the case, that puts you 40 miles away when the shooting took place, he paused, chewing the cap of his pen. He called anonymously, never gave his name, said he didn't want to get drawn into it. I guess that makes sense. But the thing is, we've questioned all your neighbors, Mrs. Baldwin. Ain't a one of them that old man? Then he looked me dead. in the eye. Man. I don't think you killed your husband.

But I think you know who did. I froze, picturing the gray-haired man who'd risked everything to save me. I met the sheriff's gaze and straightened my back, lifting my chin. Sir. I was forty miles away in a motel room. Because my husband had just beat the hell out of me. I don't know who killed him. I shot him a glare from across the table, motioning towards my bruised up arms.

whoever did it, did me a fucking solid. Now, if you don't mind, sir. I'd really like to put this shit behind me, he nodded slowly inside. Very well, then, he said, snapping his notebook shut. We'll be in touch, that was almost 20 years ago. Nothing ever came of it. The case went cold fast. The anonymous caller was never identified.

But I know who he was. I have long since moved on with my life. A few years later, I met a good man. I can't stress how good it feels to wake up every day beside a man who loves me for me. I finally got to chase my own dreams. I've gotten an amazing career and three lovely children. I managed to mend my relationship with my parents. Daddy passed away a few years back, but Mama is still kicking and in good spirits.

Can't say I expected much less. She's always been a fighter. My life has been sprinkled with ups and downs, but all in all, I've been blessed. And I owe it all to a quiet old man in a pickup truck who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, depending on who you ask. If you ask me, I suppose I'd say it was just the opposite. The end. A few years ago, I decided to take a vacation.

in a small coastal town in the north of Spain. The place was quiet and picturesque, perfect for disconnecting from the hustle and bustle of the city. I rented an old stone house that, according to the owner, had more than 200 years of history. The first night, while exploring the house, I found a door at the end of a narrow hallway. It was an old, worn-out door, locked with a rusty padlock. When I asked the owner about the door, he told me it had never been opened in all the years the house have been in his family. It's better left shut, he warned. Curiosity started to grow inside me, and each night I would walk past the door, wondering what might be behind it. One night, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed a flashlight and some tools,

and set out to open the padlock. After a few minutes of effort, the padlock finally gave way. I cautiously opened the door and found a steep staircase descending into a double. dark basement. I went down slowly, feeling the cold, damp air surround me. At the bottom, I discovered a large, empty room, with stone walls covered in dust and cobwebs. In the center of the room, there was an old wooden chest, locked with another padlock. I felt a mix of excitement and fear as I approached the chest. I managed to open the padlock and lifted the lid. Inside, I found a collection of old, dusty objects, ancient books, yellowed photographs, and a small music box. When I opened the music box, a sad and melancholic melody began to play. As the music filled

the room, I felt a presence behind me. I turned around quickly and saw a dark figure in the doorway. The figure had indistinguishable features and seemed to be wrapped in shadows. I felt an intense cold and a sense of despair. The figure began to slowly move toward me, and the music from the box grew more unsettling. I ran toward the stairs and climbed up as fast as I could, slamming the door shut behind me. I spent the rest of the night unable to sleep, with the image of the dark figure etched in my mind. The next morning, I told the house's owner what had happened.

He looked at me gravely and told me that, according to local legend, the house had been the home of a family that mysteriously disappeared centuries ago. The basement door had been sealed to prevent the restless spirit of one of the family members from escaping. Since then, I've learned to respect warnings and old stories. Even today, every time I hear a sad melody, I can't help but remember that night in the stone house and the dark figure that slowly approached from the threshold of the forbidden door. I decided to investigate more about the missing family and went to the local library in search of information. I found old newspaper articles describing how the entire family had vanished without a

trace, and only a few belongings have been found in the basement. One afternoon, while walking through the village, I met an old woman who seemed to know a lot about the house's history. She invited me into her home and told me a much more terrifying version of the legend, the family had made a dark pact with unknown forces, seeking power and wealth. However, something went terribly wrong, and the family was condemned to an eternal existence in the basement. Intrigued and determined to uncover the truth, I returned to the basement one last time, armed with protective amulets and an old spellbook the old woman had given me. When I opened the door, the dark figure appeared again, but this time, whispers filled the air,

revealing fragments of the family's tragic story. I recited the spell's words with determination as the figure writhed and fought against the forces trying to release it. Just when it seemed like the spell wasn't going to work, a flash of light filled the room, and the figure let out a terrifying scream before vanishing completely. The house felt lighter and warmer, as if a dark burden had been lifted. I returned to the house's owner and told him what had happened. Grateful, he decided to leave the basement door open, but now the room was free of any dark presence.

Despite everything, I will never forget the experience or the dark figure that once haunted me. Now I know that some doors must remain closed, and that there are secrets better left buried. The end. On the surface, the Lisk family looked like the picture-perfect American household. They lived in a quiet neighborhood in Martin, Ohio. A spacious country home, a big yard, hunting trips, and church every Sunday, they seemed like a family straight out of a feel-good movie. Billy Lisk worked in a waste treatment plant, while his wife, Susan, had an office job.

Together, they raised three children, Devin and Derek, Susan's sons from a previous relationship, and William, Billy's son from his past marriage. To the outside world, they were friendly neighbors, a loving couple, and devoted parents. But behind closed doors, their reality was far from perfect. William Lisk Jr., the youngest, was different from the rest of the family. From a young age, he had a rebellious streak. He was aggressive, constantly getting into fights at school, disrespecting teachers, and even clashing with his own family.

But his father always made excuses for him. He's just a kid, Billy would say. He's mischievous, but he doesn't mean any harm. However, as William grew older, his problems became more serious. By his teenage years, he had multiple run-ins with the law, and his outbursts became harder to ignore. When William was 15, his parents divorced. Shortly after, Billy met Susan, and the two quickly fell in love.

At first, William didn't care. He assumed it was just a passing fling. But when Billy and Susan got married in 2001, everything changed. William hated Susan. He resented her presence in the home and despised her two sons. From day one, he made it clear that he would never accept this new family dynamic. He was openly hostile toward Susan, constantly disrespecting her, picking fights with Devin and Derek, and even lashing out at his father.

The tension in the household escalated to a moment. a dangerous level. In 2002, Billy called the police after William threatened to harm himself. This was the first major sign that things were spiraling out of control, but it wouldn't be the last. By 2004, things had gone from bad to worse. At 17, William physically attacked Susan, hitting her so hard in the chest that she was left dazed. This time, Billy had no choice but to call the authorities. William was arrested and charged with criminal assault. Billy and Susan hoped that this would be a wake-up call for their son, that he would finally realize his actions had consequences. But instead of learning his lesson, William became more resentful,

angrier. His hatred toward Susan only deepened. Just two months after the first attack, he escalated again, throwing a coffee mug at her head, stealing the car keys, and driving off with her vehicle. Susan had reached her breaking point. She filed charges against him, hoping it would put an end to his terror. But then came a revelation. A psychological evaluation deemed William unfit for trial. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and the case was dropped. Suddenly, it wasn't just about a troubled teenager. He was now a mentally ill young man with violent tendencies.

He was unpredictable. Dangerous. A ticking time bomb. Billy and Susan knew they couldn't handle him on their own. In an attempt to get him help, they sent him to a mental health facility on the shores of Lake Erie. For the first time in years, the LISC household felt peaceful. William was no longer there to provoke fights, and the constant fear and anxiety that loomed over the home had disappeared.

But inside the treatment center, William was out of control. He resisted treatment, refused to take his medication, and constantly caused trouble. He picked fights with other patients, attempted to run away, and showed no signs of improvement. Eventually, his time at the facility ended. The doctors decided he was stable enough to return home. But when he came back, he brought terror with him. It was a crisp autumn night in 2004 when Susan was taking a relaxing bath. She had no idea that William was lurking outside the bathroom door.

Without warning, he burst in and lunged at her, attempting to kill her. There had been no argument that night, no trigger for his attack, just pure, unexplainable rage. That was the moment Billy realized he could no longer justify his son's actions. William was dangerous, and he could no longer live under their roof. At 18, William was legally an adult. Billy made the painful decision to kick him out. William managed to find a job, rent a small apartment on the same street, and, for a while, things seemed to settle.

But he continued to visit his father's house, picking fights with Susan and his stepbrothers. The cycle never really ended. For the next few years, William claimed he was seeing a psychiatrist and taking his medication. He reassured his family that he was getting better. But in reality, his condition was deteriorating. His therapy sessions were inconsistent, and his medication was poorly managed. His mental state was unpredictable. In 2007, his psychiatrist deemed him a threat to himself and others and had him committed to a hospital.

Billy was terrified. Despite everything, William was still his son. He visited him every day, but each visit was more painful than the last. William looked lost, distant, like a shell of his former self. He was being isolated from other patients, and Billy became convinced that the hospital was making him worse. So, against Susan's better judgment, Billy decided to bring him home. They followed all the medical instructions, monitored his medication, and did everything by the book. But even then, things weren't right.

Not long after William moved back in, neighbors began noticing something disturbing. Pets were going missing. Rumors spread that William was taking the animals into the woods and torturing them. The Lisk family became outcasts in their own community. People stopped talking to them. Even at church, they were given the cold shoulder. The tension in the neighborhood was palpable. Billy, desperate to keep his son out of the hospital, decided to send him to their hunting cabin in Carroll County.

The plan was simple, William would stay there alone, away from people, and Billy would visit him every day to check in, bring food, and keep him company. But isolation didn't help. On the morning of October 31st, 2010, Devin Griffin, Susan's youngest son, came home after spending the night at his father's house. It was around 9.30 a.m. He walked in, went upstairs, changed clothes, and got ready for church. He was excited. The plan was to attend the service, then spend the day with his family watching horror movies. It was Halloween, after all.

But as he walked downstairs, something felt off. The house was eerily quiet. He expected to see his mom and stepdad in a living room, but instead, he found William sitting on the couch, oddly cheerful. William greeted Devon in a way he never had before, pleasant, friendly, almost too nice. Devon didn't know what to make of it. But he didn't have time to dwell on it. He left for church, unaware of the horror that had already taken place in that house.

When he returned that afternoon, his parents still weren't answering. He figured they must have been out running errands. He played video games in his room, lost track of time, and only later realized something was wrong. His parents still hadn't come downstairs. That's when he decided to check their room. What he found was straight out of a nightmare. His mother and stepfather lay in bed, covered with blankets, completely still.

At first, he thought they were just sleeping. But something was off. Their heads were fully covered, and his mother's foot was sticking out. He called out their names. No response. He reached out and shook them. Nothing. Then, he pulled back the blanket.

And he screamed. We don't know the reason for this, but everything seems to indicate that they knew this girl's routine perfectly. They knew the parents weren't home, and they knew the siblings wouldn't show up either. But unfortunately, what they didn't count on was that within minutes, the doorbell would ring. Let's begin. This case begins in early 2014, specifically in the municipality of San Fernando, Tamalipas. At that time, according to AAM Ahmed, a journalist from the New York Times, it was a very dark period.

The Zetas have been engaged for years in a brutal battle against the Gulf cartel, and this dispute stained the streets with blood. Many restaurants had to close due to fear of shootings, and many innocent people were kidnapped to fulfill three missions. The first was to obtain ransom money, the money collected financed the war. The second was to recruit more members for the fight. And the third was purely for fun, for the pleasure of harming others. Many people, like Luis Rodriguez, were forced to pack up and leave for other places, such as Ciudad, Victoria. Unfortunately, others couldn't do so, and among them was his younger sister, Karen Alejandra Salinas Rodriguez. Karen, at the time, was 16 years old and finishing her studies.

She didn't want to leave the city until she finished, and also wanted to help her mother, who had several jobs. One of those was working as a nanny in Texas, she would spend three weeks there, and the rest of the time she worked at the family business, a small shop called rodeo boots. Life in general was going pretty well, but on January 23rd, 2014, tragedy struck. got into the family car and headed for the highway. She left her street, merged onto the road, but soon noticed something very strange. Two trucks stopped on either side of the car and instantly blocked her path. In a split second, several heavily armed men got out of the vehicles. They forced her to open the doors, the girl was so scared that she obeyed, and the men proceeded

to kidnap her. Here comes a very interesting point, the kidnappers didn't take her just anywhere. They took her home. They got into her car, drove to her house, and once there, tied her to a chair and waited. We don't know why, but everything seems to indicate that they knew this girl's routine perfectly. They knew the parents weren't home, and they knew the siblings wouldn't show up either. But unfortunately, what they didn't count on was that a few minutes later, the doorbell would ring. It turns out that day, the family's mechanic had to check the car, inspect something, fix it, and the kidnappers had no idea. So when they saw him, they got nervous and kidnapped him

too. In the weeks following the kidnapping, the criminals contacted Karen's family and, of course, asked for ransom. The mechanic wasn't of interest to them, so a few days later, they let him go and focused on what they really wanted. They called the girl's family and promised to release her in exchange for a large sum of money. Nervously, the family went to the bank and took out a loan. On the day of payment, everything was supposed to happen quickly, they would leave the money at a specific location and then go to another to pick up Karen. But after leaving the money and going to find Karen, they couldn't find her. The kidnappers didn't keep their side of the deal.

At this point, something else very striking happens. A few days later, Miriam, Karen's mother, and Azalea, her older sister, went to eat at a grilled meat restaurant. They were very nervous and distressed. As soon as they walked in, they saw a girl they knew perfectly, Elvia Yuleta Betancourt. They had known this girl forever, since she was a child. They trusted her and had great affection for her. So they greeted her and asked about Karen, if she knew anything, if she had seen her, if she had any clues. But Elvia said she knew nothing, she didn't even know she had been kidnapped. And keep this in mind, because it'll come up again later.

Time passed and there was no news about Karen, she hadn't been released, and they hadn't called again. So Miriam Elizabeth Rodriguez Martinez, Karen's mother, took a step forward. She had paid the ransom, hadn't called the police, had done everything right, and still didn't know anything about Karen. So she gathered her courage and asked for a meeting with a member of the Zetas cartel. They arranged to meet at a restaurant called El Jun. She arrived alone, sat at a table, and shortly after, a tall, thin young man came in and sat in front of her.

Miriam memorized every detail, his eyebrows, his lips, his clothes, his hair, and especially focused on the walkie-talkie he carried, which kept going off. It beeped, voices came through, distorted, beeped again, it kept going off. And of course, she memorized everything. They talked for a while, and the boy told her he didn't know anything about Karen, that the Zetas had nothing to do with this. But if she wanted him to investigate, she had to pay him. At that time, 2000, which was complete madness. But even so, Miriam agreed. They kept talking, the boy gave her his number, and suddenly, the Waki-talkie went off again. The voice on the other end called him by name, Sama. Days went by in Miriam.

heard nothing from Sama. She texted him, called him, and he ignored her. Then, the kidnappers called again, this time asking for $500 more, $500 to see Karen. At this point, it seemed like a sick joke. She paid once, then again, and again, and no matter what she did, her daughter didn't come home. Weeks turned into months, and the family tensions were so intense that Miriam divorced her husband. Totally desperate, she packed her bags and moved in with her older daughter, Azalea. And once there, she made a decision, she would not rest until everyone involved in Karen's kidnapping was punished. It doesn't matter if they kill me. I died the day they killed my daughter. I want to finish this. I will take down the people who hurt my daughter, and they can do

whatever they want to me. Miriam Rodriguez saw that the police wouldn't help her. She had had a name and a physical description, so with that information, she decided to start her own investigation. She went to the mechanic who was kidnapped with her daughter and gave him details. She talked about the boy, that he was tall, thin, spoke like this and that. And the man immediately said he knew him, he said that Sama was among the boys who kidnapped Karen, and thus, he was not innocent. Karen, like any teenager, had social media. If they knew her routine and schedule, they must have seen her there, seen her photos, her interests, her friends. So the mother dug deep into her Facebook profile, looked at photos, tags, likes, comments,

friends, and found the profile of a boy identical to Samma, a boy who even had the same name. She dug into his profile and saw that he had a girlfriend, had photos with her, they looked very happy, and found out that the girl worked at an ice cream shop in Ciudad, Victoria. At the At this point, she had two options. One, call the police, give them the information, hand over everything, and hope they did something. Or two, investigate on her own. There were hundreds of missing people, families looking for loved ones, and the police did nothing. So this woman got in her car and went straight to see you dad, Victoria. Once there, she stood guard 24-7 at the door of the ice cream shop. She memorized the girlfriend's schedule, when she arrived.

arrived, when she left, who she saw, and waited for the boy to show up to pick her up. When this happened, the woman got out of the car and followed him home, noting down the address. And from here began the second phase of her plan. She cut her hair, dyed it red, and decided to become a surveyor. She had worked at the health department years before and still had her old uniform. So she wore it, grabbed a clipboard, and went door to door, asking people questions. Simple surveys, name, surname, address, very basic questions. And with that, she got information about Sama.

She went to the police station and filed a report, but no one wanted to help. Incredibly, no one wanted to do anything. But this woman didn't give up. She kept insisting until a federal police officer felt empathy and decided to help her. Together, they pressured the government, and when they finally obtained an arrest warrant, Sama escaped. This woman wasn't going to give up that easily. She kept investigating, and managed to locate many more members of the group that kidnapped her daughter, using the same method she used to find Sama. But what she didn't know was that, by sheer coincidence, this boy would cross her path

again. As I told you at the beginning of the story, Luis, Miriam's oldest son, had left San Fernando. According to the New York Times, he moved to Ciudad, Victoria, where he started his own business. On September 15, 2014, while closing his shop, he saw a young man staring at the storefront. He was tall, thin, and his features looked very familiar. So Luis grabbed his phone and called his mother. He described the guy point by point, and Miriam immediately recognized him. That boy was Sama. So she told her son to call the police.

Luis did, and to avoid losing him, he followed him. He followed him through the streets, through corners, and finally, Sama was arrested. Once at the police station, the boy gave up other names, among them was Christian Jose Zapata Gonzalez, 18 years old. Christian was immediately arrested and interrogated. Under pressure, he revealed the exact place where the kidnapping group took their victim, killed them and buried them. I'm willing to take you to the ranch where they were killed, where the bodies should still be buried. It was an abandoned, dirty, neglected ranch. And there

they found many disturbing elements, evidence of a shootout, a pit with skeletal remains, a rope hanging from a tree, and belongings from many people, belongings that included Miriam's car seat cushion and the scarf Karen was wearing the day she disappeared. According to the forensics team, at first, Karen's remains were not in that mass grave. But Miriam was convinced otherwise, and finally, a year later, her suspicions were confirmed. There they found a fragment of femur that belonged to Karen. On the way home, after walking every inch of the abandoned ranch, Miriam decided to stop and regain some strength at a grilled meat restaurant, the same one where she had eaten with her daughter Azalea days after Karen's disappearance. She went in, ordered food,

and suddenly a light bulb went off in her head. There were two things that caught her attention. First, this restaurant was very close to the abandoned ranch. In fact, it was just a few meters from the dirt road that led to it. And second, thinking back, she remembered that all of San Fernando knew Karen had been kidnapped. The whole family, the neighbors, the friends, acquaintances, everyone knew. But when she had eaten at that restaurant months earlier, there was one person who had no idea, and that was Elvia Yuleta Betancourt. What if that woman had been watching the ranch?

What if she knew Karen was inside? Elvia, as I mentioned before, was a family friend. They'd known her since she was a child, and now she was involved. Miriam would not show mercy. As soon as she got home, Miriam searched for information and discovered that Elvia was dating one of Karen's kidnappers, a kidnapper that Miriam herself had sent to prison. So she got to work and made a new plan. She kept watch at the prison where the kidnapper was locked up, day and night, to see if Elvia would show up. It was then discovered that some of the calls made by the kidnappers have been made from Elvia's house. Many would think that at this point, Miriam should have given up.

She had already captured many people, discovered names, addresses, she had done a lot for this case. But deep inside, she felt her mission wasn't over. Many of the people involved had either died, were in prison, or were trying to rebuild their lives. And that last part, she couldn't allow. One of the people trying to start fresh was a young man named Enrique Joel Rubio Flores, who had supposedly become a born-again Christian. Investigating his family history, Miriam arrived at the town where his grandmother lived. She met with the woman, talked to her, and learned what church.

he was attending. She waited there, and when she saw him enter, she called the police. Another person trying to rebuild her life was a girl who was working as a nanny in Ciudad, Victoria. Once again, Miriam followed her, watched her, and in April 2017, ran after her to stop her from escaping. Fortunately, the girl was arrested. But during the chase, Miriam fractured her ankle, and had to use crutches for quite some time. On New York, March 22, 2017, a month before Miriam's injury, almost two dozen prisoners escaped from Ciudad Victoria Prison. Among them were several men involved in Karen's death, men whom Miriam had personally helped put behind bars, and who were probably now seeking revenge. Miriam asked the police for

protection, but sadly, they did very little. They placed a couple of patrols around her home and workplace, but nothing else. So many people begged her to give up, but she didn't. She was going to continue, even if it cost her her life. On May 10th at 1021 p.m., a white Nissan pickup truck began to follow Miriam after she left work and headed home. According to the prosecution, inside the vehicle were four men, Alfredo Missile L. N. Edwin Allen N. Eric Leon L. N. Juan Manuel Alvarado, two of the four were escaped inmates, whose mission was to kill her. Miriam arrived home at 10.36 p.m., got out of the car, walked toward her door, and just as she was about to reach it, one of the men got out of the vehicle and fired 12 shots in her direction. Then he returned to

the truck, and all four fled the scene. When the ambulance arrived, there was little they could do. Miriam died from her wounds at the hospital. The activist's death caused a huge impact. in society. International human rights organizations demanded that the Mexican government take action. And thanks to public pressure, the police moved quickly to find the perpetrators. On May 14th, for days after the crime, state agents arrested Alfredo Misail N, who, according to records, owned the car that followed Miriam. He was arrested, interrogated, and the man confessed two things. And second, he gave the nicknames, not the real names, of the the others involved, without the real names, police couldn't do much. But they got very lucky.

On May 18th of the same year, in a police operation unrelated to Miriam's murder, five suspects were arrested. Among them was Edwin Allen N. A.K.A. L. Flaco. Once in prison, he refused to speak, said he had nothing to do with the crime. But still, he confessed that between May 9th and 11th, he had been in San Fernando. Currently, this man has been sentenced to 41 years and three months in prison in a prison in Nuevo Leon, Mexico. But sadly, this sentence has nothing to do with Miriam's murder. On October 14, 2017, Juan Manuel Alvarado was shot and killed during a police raid.

And the year later, on October 12, 2018, Eric Leonel N, aka L.U.S. underscore, was cast Both he and Alfredo Miss ILN were sentenced to 10 and 15 years in prison, respectively. For obvious reasons, this case is still considered unsolved. We don't know for sure who organized all of this, who ordered Karen's kidnapping, who ordered Miriam's death. But what we do know is that in life, this woman helped dozens of families rise up against the system, gave them the strength to fight injustice, and to find the missing loved ones the government refuses to look for. And her son Luis took over the group she founded, a collective

made up of many local families whose loved ones have gone missing. So now it's your turn. What do you think of the case? Do you think it will ever be solved? The end. Suppressed emotions, the moans were growing louder. Steve opened his eyes. The room was perfectly illuminated by the bright sunlight. Steve's face lit up. A new day, he thought. New possibilities, new challenges, new anime to watch, a whole new world to be conquered. The moans grew louder. He clenched his fists hard. He hated hearing others have sex, especially his wife with another man. It also ruined his sleep. I wish I could fuck someone like that someday, he thought as he walked towards the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, took a hot shower and then looked at himself in the mirror. He was

unsatisfied. All he saw was a weak and scrawny beta male. He was pasty white with skinny limbs, a patchy beard and brown hair. According to him, his body was completely flawed and everywhere he looked, he saw only imperfections. I wish I was taller and sexier, just like Jason. Then, he put on his formals and stepped out of the room. The moans coming from from the adjacent room, diminished as he descended the stairs. Downstairs, Kyle was laying in the couch, with his phone in his hands, watching his favorite streamer playing Fortnite. Good morning, Kyle. Good morning stepdad.

Steve was slightly irritated by being called stepdad, even though technically, he was one. Aren't you going to school today? Nah. I'm not feeling like it, but Kyle listen to me. You have to go to school and study as much as you can to dash. Shut up. You're not my real dad. So quit bossing me around.

I'm your father. You should respect me. Don't you want to be like me when you grow up? No. I don't want anybody else to fuck my wife and pretend that I'm happy, replied Kyle not even lifting his head from the screen. Steve's face turned red with anger. He wanted to knock some sense into him.

But something prevented him from doing that. The thought that he was about to. to beat someone else's kid. Hey boys, Grace, still covered in her silky green robe, walked towards the two. Her hips swayed from side to side as she walked. She had an hourglass figure with a thin waist and proportionally big hips. She had a symmetric face with thin lips which she accentuated with matte rose lipstick. Even though she had a pretty face, she wore makeup every single day to cope with her body dysmorphia.

Her raven black hair with the blue undertones reached up to her butts. Steve longed for her. He always wanted to sniff her panties, but he never tried because he was terrified of the consequences he had to face if he was ever caught. Even though he didn't love her and probably hated her, he still lusted after her. Grace sat on the couch beside her son and asked, Good morning, Stevie. Have you prepared breakfast for me? No, I overslept.

Oh, for fuck's sake, Stevie. You're good for nothing, Steve was losing it. He felt like hitting her too. Even though she was his wife, he felt like he was going to beat someone else's wife. He kept his head down as she rebuked him. Grace grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table in front of her. Hey, Stevie, can you be a good boy and peel this for me? She threw the apple at Steve.

He couldn't catch it. The apple hit his chest and fell in. on the ground. Steve leaned down furiously, trying to grab the rolling apple. It rolled under the couch. His hand followed the apple. It disappeared into the shadows. To get a clear sight, he moved his head closer. Come on you filthy dog, I'm starving, she muttered as she stamped her foot on his back. She was pushing him down with her foot. His white shirt was stained with the dirt from her foot. Seeing all this, Kyle started laughing at the helpless man. All this infuriated Steve.

He saw the red apple. Beside the apple was a used syringe. It was probably Jason's. What's taking so long? Your pathetic Stevie. No exclusive Jason Grace sex preview for a month, Steve grabbed the syringe. Grace's offensive remarks, coupled with Kyle's giggles, made him mad.

His eyes were blinded by rage. He had enough. He was tired of the constant abuse. Oblivious to all this, Grace continued to berate him. He clenched his fist hard. He wanted to shut her up once and for all. He had reached his tipping point. Just then, he heard a thundering voice.

Hey, honey, Steve dropped the syringe, took the apple and stood up. A guy walked towards them. He was genetically gifted with a tall and muscular body, wide shoulders, basically he was a behemoth of a man. His tan skin combined with his chiseled jawline that looked as if they were sculpted by the gods themselves, gave him the alpha male appearance. He was not an alpha male among males. He was an alpha male among other alpha males. His manly face and strong body was further accentuated by the way he walked. With each step, he exuded confidence. His body was tattooed.

Most of his tattoos have almost faded away except for the tattoo of a bull on his chest. He was Jason. Good morning Kyle. Good morning, Dad. Aren't you going to school today? Nah, I don't want to. Fair enough. So what's for breakfast?

Oh well, Stevie overslept and so. No breakfast. What? Cuck didn't make breakfast, he asked furiously. Steve trembled at his voice. He looked up at the tall man. His knees wobbled at the side of the mountain of a man. Steve stammered, I'm sorry.

Maybe I can fix some dash. Just give me your fucking credit card. Okay, Jason, Steve handed his credit card to Jason. Jason sat on the couch. On the couch, Kyle was sitting with both his parents by his side. A perfect family. Steve glared at them with envy. What am I doing here, he thought.

Now go and work for us, C-U-C-K. Remember you have three tummies to feed, right on my way. Steve always wanted to be like Jason. But he always felt was not genetically gifted like him. But he was grateful not to get on Jason's bad side. He feared Jason, who could bench more than 250 pounds without breaking a sweat. He didn't want to get crushed by Jason's huge, muscular arms. There's no way he was going to fight Jason.

It would be terrifying. Nobody would ever pick a fight if they knew they were going to lose. He wished he was stronger. Steve walked towards his car parked in the driveway. Opposite to his house, he saw his neighbor, Billy, a fat, bald man in his 40s, wearing a red floral shirt and a fedora hat, sitting on a chair in his lawn reading the newspaper. He saw a dark-skinned muscular man getting out of his shirt. of his truck and walking towards Billy. The man waved at Billy and walked into his house where his

wife was waiting. Another cuck, just like me, thought Steve. Steve reached his office. He was a software developer, though not a very good one. His job was to make sure the UI of the apps they developed looked great. But Steve was not much of a creative person, or so he thought. Hence, his designs were mostly generic. But his boss didn't complain, as long as they were making profit. Steve has been in the rat race ever since he graduated. He was a really brilliant student. Now, along with the other rats, he was pointlessly pursuing something that never exists, happiness.

Steve had two work friends, Carl and Kevin. Carl is an absolute cuck, more or less similar to Steve. But unlike Steve, Carl didn't have any kids, and also really loved his wife no matter what she put him through. On the other hand, Kevin was a self-improvement enthusiast. Kevin used to work with Steve about three years ago and at that time, he started his self-improvement journey. After one year, he quit his job in hopes of becoming a successful self-improvement YouTuber so that he can make a decent amount of money and be satisfied by spreading the idea of bettering one's life each day to the masses. A few months ago, he committed suicide as he struggled to make both ends meet. Today, he saw that Carl was actually happy. His face was overflowing with joy. It was a rare

sight to see in this depressing world. Steve had always thought that Carl only pretended to be happy and was actually depressed and frustrated, just like him. Carl walked up to Steve and said, You won't believe what happened today morning. What? My wife finally agreed. to start an only fan's account. Oh, you must be really happy right now. Yeah, I'm. I've been bugging her for days and finally, she gave in. Now I get to film her having sex with other guys and also get paid for doing it. I'm the happiest man alive right now. Good for you, Carl. Steve mustered up some courage and asked, Carl, do you really think your wife having sex with other people is good for your relationship? Does it truly make you happy? I'm not trying to

to break your beliefs. I'm just curious. Well, Steve, I had the same doubts when my wife first said that she liked having sex with other men. But let me tell you something. Your wife is your life. She is someone you should love with your life. So, it is important that you support her and her beliefs in any way possible. You should satisfy her each and every need. If your wife wants to fuck someone else, let her. Nowadays, you can even get paid for doing that. But it's not about the money, it's about the love you two share. Don't be selfish and oppress her needs.

Give her the freedom she deserves. Seeing her happy makes me happy and it further strengthens our relationship. That's all I've to say, Steve found the answer to be unsatisfactory. He faked a smile and walked away. But Steve, why did you ask me that? Your wife already fucks someone else. You don't like him. If you don't, just think about it this way.

He is fucking your wife on your behalf. It's like a business deal. You pay him and he does the work for you, but still, you are the one reaping the benefits. It's because you don't have the time and energy to waste by fucking her. That's why he is there. He fucks her, but still, she is your wife. He's just nothing more than a middleman. Just a slave, he's not the slave.

I am, Steve muttered to himself as he walked away. Steve takes a break from work, just after lunch, when he watches anime. He really liked them, especially the female characters. He would often daydream about being the main character with hundreds of girlfriends in some random anime and this would distract him from doing his job. He really wished his dreams became reality. Steve always complained that his life was missing the grand adventure. It was a concept he assimilated from watching anime and movies throughout his life.

The concept is this, something happens, you set out on an adventure, you discover friends along the way, you may find a partner, you fight some bad guys, you rescue everyone, you save the world, you get some reward or find some treasure, you marry your partner, tell your kids the same story, the end. Steve complained that he was tired of being normal. He wished he had some superpower, something extraordinary that made him stand out from the rest, something that made his life worth living. But he was average and boring just like everyone he knew and his life was also boring and predictable.

There was nothing new. Each day was the same. His job really paid well. But none of the money was for his own use. That money paid mainly for good. Grace's extravagant purchases and for Jason's medicines. Almost all of what's left will be spent by Kyle on in-app purchases and whatever is left will be for Steve's personal use.

But unlike his contemporaries, Steve didn't waste it on only fans or on cryptocurrencies. He was saving them up for a trip to Japan, where all his fantasies lived. Hey, Steve. We could use some help on the company website. I'll look right into it, boss. That's what we pay you for. to work as hard as you can to make our company the number one in the world. Anyway, enjoy your weekend.

Steve's shift was over. The evening sky was looking photogenic. Steve had nowhere else to be during the evening. So, he was returning home. He started his car and was driving down the highway. Suddenly, he heard a loud thump followed by a flapping noise. He stopped the car and got out. It was a flat tire.

He didn't know who to call, because there was nobody in his contacts who would genuinely help him. Steve knew that he won't be able to change the tire on his own. Moreover, there was no spare tire. Luckily enough, he saw an advertisement for an auto repair garage just a few meters ahead. How convenient, while he was walking to the garage, he saw a nearby park. Since it was evening, most people have already left and most of the, Most of the benches were unoccupied. Something triggered inside Steve when he saw the park.

He felt like experiencing the nature and the evening sky because his phone's battery was about to die and he literally had nothing to do. He somehow had to kill time. So when he reached the garage, he also opted to change the brake fluid. With some personal time in his hands, Steve sat on a bench. A cold breeze hugged him, telling him how much she missed him or so he thought. Steve was at peace.

Just then, a burly old man sat next to him. He was wearing a dark green sweater jacket that contrasted well with his brown wrinkled skin. His gray hair was almost perfectly concealed by the hat he was wearing. Steve had never been good at talking to strangers. He couldn't keep proper eye contact and always talked nonsense. Moreover, very few strangers approached him because he always had an antisocial. aura. He repelled everyone. That's why he was surprised when Grace told him that she loved him and wanted to marry him. But he was less surprised when he found out that Grace has been

sleeping with someone else, Jason, his high school bully. Hence, he believed that people befriended him only to take advantage of him. So he avoided people and they avoided him. You got a lighter, the old man asked as he gently placed a cigar in between his lips. Sorry I don't smoke, I didn't ask if you smoke or not. I just want a goddamn lighter, Steve, who was at peace, was quickly irritated by this old man. He thought of all the bad stuff that happened today. He was not going to let this stranger ruin his moment of peace. I don't have a fucking lighter, the cold breeze returned.

Steve placed his hands inside his pockets. He felt something hard and cold in his left pocket. It was a lighter. He didn't know where it came from. Probably Jason's. He took it out. Hey. Um...

I actually have a lighter, Steve said holding out the lighter to the old man. The old man glanced sideways at him. What? The look made Steve uncomfortable. He tried to put the lighter back into his pocket saying, Well, if you don't want it, then, the old man grabbed a part of the lighter. Steve pulled harder and said, you know how much harmful cigarette smoking is. This is not a cigarette.

It's a cigar. That's even worse than a cigarette. Inhalation is harmful too, you know. The old man yanked the lighter out of Steve's hands effortlessly. Steve felt pretty weak. He wished he was stronger. So what's your name? Ask the old man while lighting the cigar.

Why should I tell you? I am not asking your name and address to kidnap your kids or to steal something. I'm not capable of doing that. I'm just a harmless, homeless, penniless old man, a homeless guy smoking a Cuban cigar. Yeah, right, you don't know about the stuff we find in the trash. It's like the saying goes, one man's trash is another man's cash, treasure, you mean. But I don't know who is dumb enough to waste a Cuban cigar. Maybe he was someone like you. After buying a pack, he realized he didn't want to smoke anymore and threw it away, whatever. Anyway, my name is Steve. Nice to meet you, Steve.

So why are you here, flat tire, don't you think the repair garage being nearby is rather too convenient? Yeah, but dash, maybe these mechanics are the ones who places nails and shards of glass on the road. They are the ones who creates the problem and they are the ones who provides the solutions. It is kind of philanthropic if you think about it. But still, selling the solutions to the problems you create is unjustifiable. Can't trust anybody these days, maybe. It actually sounds a bit absurd. So, what's bugging you, son? You look depressed. What do you mean? I'm perfectly all right. Steve, I've seen many people during my lifetime and I can say with confidence that something is bothering you. You look like shit, you are not taking much care of

yourself or the way you present yourself to others. I can sense many suppressed emotions and pent up frustrations in you. It's as if you are living in a tragedy but still calling and believing it to be a comedy. It's like you are not living a life, you are living a lie. Steve was startled. He had never ever been caught off guard. Now he was afraid. The old man sitting there next to him had him perfectly figured out. Yet, Steve wondered how he was able to do it, you must be mistaken. I'm, still suppressing I see, there was no way Steve was going to tell him about everything he had been through. But Steve had never had a heart to heart with anyone for so long that he felt like sitting there and talking about his problems to this stranger all

day long. He had never felt even this close to his therapist, which is why he stopped it. Steve had to speak. He wanted to open up and let it all out, like his therapist asked him to do. He had remained silent for far too long. Memories he always wanted to forget started flooding his mind. Memories he never wanted. Maybe he was suppressing his emotions. When I was nine, my dad left us.

Oh. Rough start there. That asshole probably married someone else, did the same thing and so. on. I don't know about that. The only thing I know is that my mom was promiscuous. What do you mean? My mom had sexual relationships with other men. One day, Dad caught her having sex with the neighbor. They fought a bit. Nobody listened to my cries. Then, he walked out. He didn't even bother to look at me. What happened after that? Did you get a stepdad? I lived with my mom for seven years. It probably changed me, but she didn't change a bit.

My mom kept on having sex with strangers. Sometimes, it might be plumber, electrician, neighbor. I don't want to go further. One day I told her to stop as my classmates constantly made fun of her describing her as a whore. No son would be proud to hear that. Some kept on bullying me. But I was too weak to fight them. So, I begged her to stop.

But she never stopped. She always kept on telling me that a woman has her own needs. Somehow, she made just enough money doing odd jobs to feed us both and to educate me. When I was about 15, she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. She died on my 16th birthday. Usually I love stories about how single parents struggle to raise their kids. But yours is just tragic. that's because mine is not a story.

It's what really happened. You know, usually the relationship you see between your parents when you grow up will be directly reflected in your relationships. So how's your family holding up? How did he know I was married, thought Steve? He saw the old man looking at his left hand. The wedding ring. The word C-U-C-K engraved on it has almost faded completely. It reflected the evening sun rays brilliantly.

Did he see it? Nah, he looks old and probably has cataract or something. There is no way he saw it. Why am I wasting my time overthinking, he thought. Well, they're fine, he lied. Let me give you one final advice before you leave. I'm all ears. Always question your beliefs.

What do you mean? Always question your beliefs. Question your identity. Constantly ask yourself who you are, what you do and what you are trying to accomplish. Sometimes, you won't find any answers and sometimes, you will. There can even be times when you realize that you are not the person you thought yourself to be. You might be really far from being the person you've always wanted to be. Risk everything.

Lose everything and then, regain it all back. Life is a dynamic process of discovering, forgetting, and rediscovering who you really are. That's what makes life interesting and worth living. Finding your purpose is the true joy of living. Weird advice, thought Steve. He looked confused. Don't worry. You'll understand it when the time is right.

The old man smiled at Steve. Steve stood up and said that he had to go. Wow. Steve felt at peace at having completed a proper conversation. He was greatly relieved in exploring and sharing a tragic part of his life. His body felt light. He felt like he could jump really high. He jumped.

Maybe this is what being light-hearted is like, he thought. However, as he walked towards the garage, he realized something. He told the old man much about his life and he didn't even know the old man's name. But, I've not told him everything, Steve whispered to himself. He felt proud of having kept a secret. The old man smiled, looking at the footprint on Steve's white shirt. He had noticed it earlier when Steve was sitting alone on the bench. That was the main reason he sat next to him.

The ring only added to his suspicion. He knew much more than what Steve verbally communicated. Where is the world heading to, he thought. The night was cold and dark. Steve reached home. But unlike other husbands, he didn't say, honey, I'm home, or anything like that. It was because there was nobody in the house anticipated. his arrival. They all had their own lives to live. They didn't bother him. They didn't care if he was

alive or not. They wanted only his money and nothing else. Even Kyle wanted only his money. Steve was slowly but painfully realizing this ugly truth. Still, he was too afraid to tell them to leave and too weak to fight them. He was living in his own personalized hell. He lived in his house surrounded by the things he loved and the people he hated. This house is a hell, he thought. There was nobody in the living room. Kyle was probably in his room jerking off to some pirated porn videos. Kyle started watching porn even before he was even a teenager, thanks to the internet and caring parents. Steve had caught Kyle watching porn numerous times, but he never urged him to stop because he thought that was his way of letting it all out. Steve didn't read.

really like porn because it was illogical and too normal for him, but he approved of hentai especially ones with tentacles and other weird fetishes. Steve expected to hear some humping noises from upstairs, but strangely enough there was an eerie silence. He laid down on the couch, turned on the TV and started watching some anime. After about five minutes, the humping sound started and he was unable to hear anything from the TV. He was too tired and lazy to grab his headphones.

Good thing anime is subbed, he thought. However the humping noise combined with heavy breathing ruined his experience. Sometime after, he fell asleep on the couch. Meanwhile, upstairs Jason and Grace were busy making love. After some rounds, both of them got tired. Grace was looking at herself in the mirror and Jason was on his phone, looking at the Instagram profile of a hot supermodel named Melissa and texting her. Babe.

Do I look fat in this dress? asked Grace. I don't know. Take off your dress and I can say for sure. No, I'm serious. You don't. Thanks for saying that, babe. Jason kept on texting Melissa.

Grace laid down beside him. He locked his phone and kept it on the table. Babe. Do you know something? What is it? You are not like the other alpha males. What do you mean? When we first met, you acted all alpha-like and dominant. But as I continued to live with you and know you better, I've realized that you are a big softie. Stop saying that. All I'm saying

that is either way, I still love you and only you. This was what Jason feared. He was afraid to commit to any relationship. Now it was happening to him. Maybe it was time to quit and move on to the next relationship. Maybe Melissa. She looks hard. She looks hard. with her amazing figure. Jason was confused. He always changed his girlfriend just like his phone. When he has too much sex with them and get tired of their body, he cheats on them and later breaks up with them. That was his concept, use and throw. But something was different here. She was different. Her innocent smile, her charming eyes. She was not like the others he dated. She was like a new girlfriend each day. It's not that her personality changed each day, but he was discovering new parts of her each day.

That journey excited him. Grace held his hand. Maybe it was time to commit. Maybe it was time for the Alpha to retire. Maybe it was time to settle down. Hell, he even had a teenage son. Time did fly fast. Where can he run off to now?

Melissa can fuck off. had better people to spend his time with. At first, it began as a typical hot-wife relationship. Jason remembered the first time he was introduced to Grace, many years ago. But to him, it still felt like yesterday. This is Jason, one of Billy's friends and my old high school buddy. Buddy. Huh, thought Jason. She was instantly attracted by his charismatic face and his manly aura. It was strikingly different from Steve's. She was drawn into him. Her eyes, they pulled him in as well. Slowly, over the years, the two of them fell in love and there was only one person standing in between them, Steve.

I love you too, Grace, he said kissing her on her forehead. She blushed. This house is a heaven, she thought. Steve opened his eyes. This time, there were no moans, only birds chirping. He overslept and missed breakfast. He didn't make breakfast on the weekends, Grace did. He went to brush his teeth. For some weird reason, the words of the old man kept ringing in his ears. Always question your beliefs, he looked at himself in the mirror. Was he as unattractive as he thought he was?

Was he as weak as he thought he was? Maybe there were things about himself that he hated. But most of them were things that could be changed. If he went to the gym, lifted weights, ate healthy and slept well, he too would have a good physique. His skinny limbs and body would become muscular if he trained them regularly. He started focusing more on the things that could be changed and not the permanent stuff. He felt confident in his body and what he was capable of achieving. His mindset changed.

The lens through which he viewed the world changed. Everything seemed possible to him. With these kind of thoughts, he took a cold shower. The water was freezing cold. First he rinsed his hands. He was afraid to rinse his whole body. It was so cold. In a sudden impulse, he leaned forward.

Pain. That was what he felt first. His body accustomed to only hot showers was subjected to freezing cold water. It was unbearable at first. Then, he started enjoying it. He was shivering, but he liked the feeling of cold water flowing over his body. It cooled his body and soothed his mind. He was energized by the cold shower.

He put on some clean clothes and looked at himself in the mirror again. He smiled. He was really thirsty. He came to the kitchen to drink some water. Grace was washing the dishes with her back face to him. Her tight dress barely contained her big butt. Her hair beautifully curled down her back. It was like she was inviting him.

Steve looked around. Both Jason and Kyle were nowhere to be found. Jason must have gone to the gym, he thought. Her scent was really strong. It was stronger than her panties probably. Steve, who was still a virgin, was enticed by the sight and the scent. He took a step forward. He immediately imagined Jason's angry face.

He was scared. He hesitated to take another step. Then he realized, this is my wife. What if she doesn't like it? He remembered the day Grace proposed to him. Her sweet smile and cheerful attitude. That was probably the happiest day of his life. Then he remembered the wedding day.

So vivid. It's just like Carl said. Jason only fucks her. He doesn't love her. Neither does she love him back. But I love her and she loves me back. Sometimes you got a risk big to win big. He continued to move forward.

What if Jason gets angry? What if he fights Jason? What if he is too weak? What if he loses? Always question your beliefs. Steve asked himself, Do you want to be a cuck with a miserable, depressing life or do you want to be someone who is brave,

strong and happy leading an adventurous life just like an animated protagonist? I want to be an anime protagonist with a grand adventure. He ran towards her and hugged her from the back. Her warm body was really comfortable. Her but dug deep into his groin. This excited him. Grace was shocked. She was thunderstruck and stood still.

Suddenly, there was a thundering voice. Honey, I'm home. I just happened to, what the fuck is going on here? To be continued. According to the police, It was her way of saying that this family had killed her, that they were to blame, and that, in reality, it wasn't just a suicide, it was murder. The beginning, everything started in mid-2003 when Laurie Eric Kennedy, a 35-year-old woman, moved

to Dallas, Texas. She was open-minded, quick-witted, and full of life. However, she didn't know anyone in town. One thing about Laurie, though, was that she was deeply religious. Soon after moving, she started attending Mass at a local church, always said, sitting right at the front to make sure she caught every word of the sermons. It wasn't long before she caught the attention of John Blakely Roth, better known as Blake. Blake came from one of the wealthiest families in the area.

His parents owned a bank and a real estate company, and his grandparents had made a fortune in the oil boom of the 1930s. But getting back to the couple, Blake and Laurie hit it off immediately. Their chemistry was undeniable. Within just one week, they had gone on multiple dates, and by the second week, Blake was ready introduce Laurie to his entire family. He organized a grand family gathering, inviting his parents, his brother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. But here's where things got interesting, nobody in his family liked Laurie. An unwelcome addition to the family. From the very first

meeting, Laurie gave off a strange vibe. When Blake's parents started asking simple questions, where was she from? Who were her parents? What had brought her to Dallas? She avoided answering. The only piece of information they managed to get out of her was that she was an only child and that her entire family was dead. Another odd detail. She had never attended high school. Instead, she had skipped straight to college, earning a degree in business. Blake's family was skeptical.

Blake was a good man, honest, kind, but also incredibly gullible. If he wasn't careful, he could end up marrying the wrong person and losing everything. His parents quickly laid down two options. He could date Laurie casually, go to the movies, have fun, enjoy his time, but marriage was off the table. If he was serious about her, he needed to do some digging. Find out who she really was, who her parents were, where she had studied. Blake chose the second option.

He was in love, and he needed to know more. He started by asking Laurie for childhood pictures, old documents, anything that would give him a glimpse into her past. But Laurie refused. She claimed she had burned all her old photos because she had been. she didn't want to remember her past. Everything about her was mysterious, and her reluctance only made Blake's family more suspicious. Despite their concerns, Blake was determined to marry her. His family had no choice but to accept it. But what happened next frustrated them even more.

A wedding without witnesses, the Roth family had a strong reputation in Dallas. If Blake was getting married, it had to be a big event, newspaper announcements, TV coverage, the wedding of the year. But Laurie refused. She didn't want anyone to know. She wanted something small, private, without many guests. And so, in January 2004, the couple eloped. They married in complete secrecy at a small church outside Dallas. Their only witness.

The priest. Not Blake's parents, not his brother, not his friends, nobody else was there. Once again, his family was outraged. Even after the wedding, Blake's mother wanted to make it public, talk to the newspaper, share the news on the radio. But Laurie shut it down immediately, which only worsened her relationship with her new in-laws. Shortly after getting married, Blake announced that he and Lori were moving to Leonard, Texas, a tiny town about an hour away from Dallas with only 2,000 residents. This decision confused his family. Why would he leave a bustling city for a place so isolated?

To them, the answer was clear, Lori was manipulating him. She wanted to isolate him from his family and friends, to control him completely. And as time passed, their suspicions only grew stronger. Strange behavior in Leonard, the couple bought a large house in Leonard, and it didn't take long for the neighbors to notice something unusual. Blake was friendly and outgoing, always greeting people with a smile. But Laurie was the opposite, she avoided people, crossed the street to avoid saying hello, and kept the curtains drawn at all times.

Not long after settling in, they tried to have a child, but Laurie suffered multiple miscarriages. Blake's family, rather than being supportive, blamed her for it. Finally, in 2008, Laurie gave birth to a daughter. For a brief moment, she changed, she became warmer, more open, even friendly. She baked, made tea, and tried to be more social. But just as quickly as she changed, she reverted. She became overprotective and jealous, refusing to let anyone near her daughter. No one could hold her, talk to her, her child was untouchable.

Once again, Blake's family started pushing him to reconsider his marriage. The pressure worked. Blake began feeling distance from Lori, and their marriage started to crumble. They tried couples' therapy, but instead of seeing a psychologist, they turned to a priest. And the therapy was strange, Blake didn't go alone. He attended the sessions with his twin brother, David, who constantly spoke on his behalf. David criticized Lori, demanded divorce, and made the situation even worse. Finally, in 2010, Blake packed his bags and left for his parents' house.

From there, he filed for divorce. A shocking end, this is when everything spiraled out of control. Laurie started sending threatening emails to Blake's family, particularly his parents. She accused them of manipulating Blake, of trying to take her daughter away, of ruining her life. And then, on Christmas Eve of 2010, Laurie drove from Leonard to Dallas. She parked outside her in-law's house, sat in a driver's seat, pulled out a gun, and shot herself in the head. The police said it was her way of blaming the Roth family for her death, that, in a way, they had killed her. But the Roffs didn't discover her body until the next morning, when Blake's father stepped outside to grab the newspaper.

When he saw the car, he immediately called the police, not because he knew she was dead, but because he feared she was there to kill them all. When officers arrived, they were stunned. Not only had Laurie taken her own life, but inside the car, she left two letters, one for Blake and another for her daughter, to be read when she turned 18. The contents of these letters have never been made public. According to the police, they were the writings of a deeply disturbed person, full of contradictions, delusions, and nonsensical ramblings. Laurie's funeral was held on January 3, 2011.

The police tried to find any living relatives, but she had none. The only attendees were Blake's friends and family. Lori, it seemed, had truly been alone. But the Rofs weren't satisfied. They believed she had been hiding something, possibly a dark criminal past. They wanted answers. And so, they hired a private investigator. We begin in early October 2015.

A married couple from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, decided they were going to get divorced. The woman claimed her now ex-husband was never on a with her, that she always felt there was a wall between them, one that could never be broken. He had problems with alcohol, insomnia, problems with his mind, with the way he thought. There was something stopping him from moving forward, something that didn't allow him to be happy. And at that point, she couldn't take it anymore. For years she begged him to talk, to open up to her, but this man couldn't do it. And she was tired.

He insisted, he didn't want to break up. He wanted to stay with her. He said she was the love of his life. And he swore that, at last, he would be honest with her. That was when he confessed that thirty-three years ago, he took the life of a teenager, and ever since, he hadn't been able to sleep. When she heard this, the woman was frozen. At first, she didn't believe it.

She thought it was a lie. But then, seeing him so serious, she picked up the phone and called the police. She told them what he had said. But the officers didn't seem to believe her. Nothing was investigated. No one moved. The case just sat there. And that same day, when he was alone, the man called a crisis line, a suicide prevention line, and once again confessed the crime. But this time, he said he wanted to live. He really didn't know what to do, whether to confess, to move on, to stay silent. Life wasn't clear to him. But he was sure he couldn't go on living this way. He didn't know whether to go out in a blaze of glory or in silence. Still not satisfied, on Sunday, October 11th, he picked up the phone and called a television program.

He literally said the following, I want to confess to a crime. So, on October 13th, without hesitation, he showed up at a police station. He walked in, approached the counter, and confessed that he had been. killed someone 30 years ago. But when he gave the information to the officers, the case didn't ring any bells. Many years had passed. The name of the victim wasn't familiar. But still, he told the whole story and said he was confessing because the ghost of his victim wouldn't let him rest, and that his life since then had been a living hell. This is where today's intriguing case begins. Carrie and Jopek was born on August 17, 1968, in Milwaukee, was a

Wisconsin, the oldest of two daughters born to Carolyn and Robert Jopek. We don't have much information about her childhood with her parents, although we know that custody was granted to her mother, who remarried when Carrie was just nine years old. At age 13, she was a lovely, energetic, carefree girl. She loved to draw, paint, sing, make clay figures. According to her younger sister, she was a role model and a truly generous person. The only bad thing about her, so to speak, was that she was bossy and stubborn. She was entering adolescence, and it was beginning to show.

She started talking back, ignoring rules, skipping homework, coming home late. She constantly argued with her parents, especially with her stepfather, Fred, because she wouldn't tolerate him giving her orders. She'd tell him he wasn't her father, that he had no right to punish her or tell her what to do. But at the end of the day, Carrie had a good heart. Within hours, she would ask for forgiveness. She knew when she had gone too far. She knew when she had misbehaved.

And when she calmed down, she would go to her parents and say she was sorry. By 1982, Carrie lived with her family on Middle Street, a quiet place, where, as is often the case in these stories, nothing ever happened. It was a safe street. The neighbors all knew each other. A lifelong neighborhood. It was literally a low-traffic road with two rows of houses. The front yards didn't even have fences, anyone could walk through. And the fences in the back weren't high either. You could jump them, see the neighbor, chat with them. It was one of those typical movie neighborhoods, green lawns, everything tidy, grass well trimmed. The perfect place to raise a family. Carrie's life couldn't have been. more normal, more peaceful. And that's how we arrived at Tuesday, March 16, 1982. Being a school day, Carrie and her younger sister Maggie had class, and the school was literally right next to their house. At the time, at age 13, Carrie was in seventh grade at Kosciuszko Middle School. According to her classmates, she was a good student, polite, responsible, punctual. But that day, something strange happened.

She woke up early with her little sister, had breakfast, and walked to school. According to classmates, she seemed cheerful that morning, focused in class, chatting with her friends. Carrie responded by hitting him. This scene was witnessed by several teachers, who intervened, separated them, and punished them. But Carrie was very upset, furious, yelling, indignant. She wouldn't calm down. She remained very angry. So the teacher decided she had to be expelled.

At that moment, the girl apologized profusely, lowered her voice, said it wouldn't happen again. But the teacher was firm, he filled out the expulsion slip, handed it to her, and told her to grab her backpack and go home, she wouldn't be attending school for the rest of the week. Carrie didn't want to hear it. She kept apologizing, begging him to take it back, repeating that it wouldn't happen again. Seeing this, the teacher assumed she wouldn't deliver the slip to her mother. So he picked up the phone and called Carolyn Jopek directly. She was shocked. The girl had no choice but to comply.

She took the slip, grabbed her backpack, walked out the door, and according to witnesses, she left with her head down. Carolyn Jopek was angry. Just a little paint, and her daughter went wild. And of course, she wanted answers. She didn't understand why Carrie reacted that way. It was just a bit of paint. A stained shirt, nothing more.

There was no reason to hit anyone or scream. It was a stain, an insignificant stain. So the woman stood at the front door of their home, arms crossed. From school to home was a two-minute walk, no more. She waited two, three, five minutes, ten, twenty. But her daughter never came. came through the door. So she opened the door and looked out.

Looked one way, looked the other, no sign of Carrie. She stepped off the porch and looked again. Still, nothing. So the woman thought Carrie was hiding, thinking about how to explain what happened, scared of being punished. So Carolyn went back inside. School ended at 3 p.m. She figured maybe her daughter would wait for her best friend Robin, who lived right across the street.

At 3 o'clock, she got up from the couch, opened the door, and went to Robin's house. The little girl came out, and when asked, she said she hadn't seen Carrie. The last time they talked was at 1.30 p.m., and she hadn't heard from her since. Carolyn again thought her daughter was just hiding nearby, that sooner or later she'd return home. But hours passed, and Carrie didn't show up. It was 4.00, then 5.000. then 6-00, and Fred, the stepfather, came home from work. Carolyn told him what was happening, that their daughter was nowhere to be found. So they knocked on every neighbor's door.

They rallied the entire neighborhood. Dozens of people searched all the streets, rang all the doorbells, checked every bus stop, and went to the school. But night fell, and still no trace of Carrie. And the most important thing, this girl was just third. 13 years old. Yes, 13. She was starting to talk back, becoming rebellious, but at the end of the day, she was still afraid of the dark. Carrie and Jopek was incapable of spending a night away from home. It was impossible, unthinkable. And that's why, the next morning, Carolyn reported

her missing. Unfortunately, the police didn't treat the case for what it really was, a missing child. They saw it as a rebellious preteen, someone who had run away, who was too proud, who was probably out partying with friends. So the case wasn't treated as urgent, and the three key points weren't reviewed. The school was right next to the house, and no one saw her on the way back. Everyone knew her. It was a small area. Someone had to have seen her. But no one said anything.

If Carrie had run away, she would have told her best friend Robin. They were neighbors. They told each other everything. But that day, she didn't say a word. The girl wasn't like that. She had begged not to be expelled, asked for forgiveness, and according to witnesses, she even cried. With that attitude, she wouldn't hide.

She'd come home and beg a thousand times for forgiveness. But the girl had disappeared. When the family emphasized these three points, the police began to search, though not with much enthusiasm. Their first theory was that she was with someone in the family, someone she trusted. And that someone could have been her biological father, Rob. They called him, asked if he knew anything about Carrie. But Robert was shocked. He hadn't seen his daughter in a long time, and now he was being told she was missing. Of course, he moved heaven and earth. He went to the

neighborhood, demanded answers, began searching for his daughter. Robert clearly had nothing to do with it. So the police returned to square one, the school. At 1 p.m., the girl had the fight. She got splattered with paint, fought back, and a teacher expelled her. She was given a slip, her mom was called, and at 1.30 p.m., supposedly, Carrie left the school. Her house was two minutes away, no more. And in that short walk, she disappeared. So, who saw her? Who could have taken her? They had to know her. But after asking around, it turned out that no one had seen anything. The case was completely stalled. So the parents decided to make as much noise as possible. They printed flyers and handed them out in the neighborhood, all over Milwaukee,

and even sent them to local newspapers. And still, no one knew anything. No one called. That's when the police began floating hypotheses. The first, she had run away. The second, she had an older, secret boyfriend who had taken her. And the third, someone had kidnapped or was hiding her, and that someone was in the family. They looked at her surroundings, older men, teens, and focused on her stepfather, Fred.

Fred had married her mother four years ago and had recently had problems with Carrie. She had become rebellious, disrespectful, got into trouble, and threw it in his face that he wasn't her biological father. So for the police, he had done something to her, maybe accidentally killed her, maybe abused her, maybe he was just a bad person. But Fred had no criminal record. He told police he loved Carrie like a daughter, that he would never hurt her. that despite her rebellion, she was still his little girl.

But the officers didn't want to hear it. They had no other suspects, no one else on the list. So for them, Fred was the culprit. They started following him, interrogating him constantly. And soon after, they discovered he was renovating the backyard, leveling the ground, putting in paving stones. And in the police's mind, there's a body under there. He buried the body. He covered everything.

So they got a ground penetrating radar and checked the whole area. But after extensive searching, they found nothing. The case was stalled. Over the years, many people called the police with possible sightings. Said they saw her holding hands with a boy, at a mall, at a store. Carrie's mother Carolyn thought she saw her once. They kept distributing flyers, calling radio stations, TV, newspapers. But the weeks went by, and no information came in.

So the police decided to return to Carrie's inner circle, her parents, neighbors, friends. And they found someone who stood out. And that someone was none other than the older brother of her best friend, Johnny Mant, 17 years old. To be continued. They found someone who really stood out, and that someone was none other than the older brother of her best friend, Johnny Mant, 17 years old. Johnny was, let's say, her platonic love. He was an older boy, the brother of her best friend, her neighbor, and on top of that, the typical, bad boy. He was rebellious and troubled, always getting into trouble.

He smoked, stole from stores, drank, talked back, skipped class, and the whole neighborhood said he sold marijuana. Carrie never publicly admitted that she liked Johnny, but according to her parents, it was obvious, and Johnny knew it perfectly well. Two weeks earlier, Carrie had come home saying that Johnny had flirted with her, that she rejected him, that she didn't go along with it. But her mother knew she was crazy about him. Being older, troubled, and a neighbor, obviously, her parents didn't like him.

With that background, the police formed a theory. The day of the incident, Carrie passed in front of Johnny's house. She looked sad, holding the disciplinary slip in her hand, head down, and Johnny came out to see what was going on. He talked to her, invited her in, and Carrie went along. But once inside, Johnny wanted to go further. And when she said no, he killed her. With this hypothesis, police went to the manned house, rang the doorbell, and Johnny came out. They took him to the station, where they interrogated him. But the boy denied the accusations. According to him, Carrie was too young.

she was his sister's friend, just a little girl. He never saw her that way, and he would never even think of touching her. However, Johnny's alibi wasn't solid, he said he was home alone that day, and no one could confirm it. At the time, there was a rumor going around the neighborhood, that on the day of the crime, there had been a party at Johnny's house. There were drugs, alcohol, and everyone there was underage. The rule of the party was, no looking out the windows, Keep it all secret, stay quiet. And if those rumors were true, maybe Carrie ended up at that party, and sadly never made it out. The police looked for witnesses, spoke with Johnny's friends and people his age, but everyone

said the party wasn't real. Just a senseless rumor. No one heard anything. And the public lost interest. The posters were still all over the streets, but unfortunately, no one looked at them anymore. It was as if Carrie and Jopeck had never existed. No one talked about her. No one mentioned the case.

And the story remained that way until Friday, September 2, 1983, when a family on that same street hired a contractor to build a pool in their backyard. Each source says something different. Some say the work was for a pool, others, like a documentary, say it was to tear down the back porch, which covered the entire yard. The man's name was Conrad. He arrived at the house, took measurements, gave an estimate. Weeks later, they finalized the design, and that Friday, he got to work. First, he had to level the ground, clean it up, then find the spot for the pool. The first point of work was the lower area of the porch, a zone with uneven soil.

He began digging, removing sand, and in one of those moments, he hit something hard. something that looked like a bone. He kept digging, uncovering more, and discovered that under the porch, there was a lifeless body. Immediately, the man called the police, and within minutes, the entire street was sealed off. It filled with officers, journalists, cameras, and onlookers. All the neighbors came to see what was happening. And the phrase most heard in that moment was, it was obvious. Because the house belonged to the Mant family, the last name of Carrie and Jopec's best friend, and the same last name as Johnny Mant, the boy she liked. According to witnesses, when Johnny heard this, he started vomiting.

He looked anguished, pale, he vomited uncontrollably, felt dizzy. It could have been the shock of the moment, from not understanding, or maybe it was guilt. Fear. Of course, the police went for him. They brought him to the station and interrogated him again. But the boy repeated the same story, that he didn't talk to her, that he didn't bring her home, that he knew nothing, that he had no idea how her body ended up there. What they had against him was circumstantial.

They hoped the autopsy would reveal something more. But again, the body didn't give them much. Because of death, two vertebrae, C1 and C2, in the neck. were broken. But the forensic doctor couldn't determine how. It could have been someone stepping on her neck, a heavy blow, or a fall down the stairs. Due to the decomposition, they couldn't tell if Carrie had been raped. The body revealed nothing more. So agents went back to the crime scene. Who was there? Who said what? What did the neighbors hear? Again, people talked about the secret party, the alleged party Johnny had thrown that day. Maybe he didn't kill Carrie.

Maybe he never even saw her. But maybe someone at that party did. Still, Johnny denied the party, and again, his friends said it never happened. Then, a neighbor on Mitchell Street stepped forward. He called the police and said that the day the body was found, a teenager made a scene. The scene couldn't have been more surreal. Everything was packed with people, journalists, police. There was tape everywhere, and in the middle, there was a boy, kneeling on the ground, praying. According to him, he was praying. But he had never been friends with Carrie, and even less so with Johnny Mant. He was just another neighbor from the area, he lived two houses down. So his reaction didn't make sense. This person gave the police his name in age. They went looking for him.

His name was Jose Ferreira, and at the time, he was 17 years old. As mentioned, Jose lived in the same neighborhood, right across from Carrie's house, next to the Mant House. But his name didn't appear in the case file. Yes, he was a neighbor, but he had no ties to the victim. No friends in common. No shared school activities. Nothing between them. Yet this boy had been seen crying.

That behavior was truly strange. Police asked him about it, and Jose seemed very sincere. Maybe they weren't friends, maybe they barely knew each other, but Carrie was his neighbor, they lived door to door. He saw her every morning. Her disappearance had been traumatic for him, and her death, even more so. So, that day, he just went to pray for her soul. Nothing more.

Again, police asked about Johnny's. parties. Jose didn't know anything. He had no idea. But something important. Jose said that if Johnny did have a party, he wouldn't have been invited, because after all, they weren't friends. Not a single lead came in. Police began to believe the case would never be solved. They focused on Johnny, that he was rebellious, a bad kid, did drugs, drank alcohol. And then came Sunday, October 11th, That day, journalist Justin Adams, working at the WSNTV news department, was in the newsroom responding to emails and calls. Among them, he received one that made his skin crawl. The phone rang, he picked up. It seemed like a regular call, routine. But on the other end, a man said

the following, I want to confess. At first, Justin thought it was a joke, meaningless. But he let him talk, maybe it could be a good article. Then the man began to describe, in painstaking detail, the murder of Carrie and Jopek. Justin still didn't believe him. And what came next seemed even more far-fetched. The man claimed that Carrie's ghost had haunted him for the last 30 years, that either he told everything, or he'd end his life, because the haunting was unbearable. When the call ended, Justin felt sick to his stomach.

He still didn't think it was true, but called back. the police anyway. And once again, the officers didn't believe it. It was an anonymous call. Could have been a prank. Could have been nonsense. They weren't going to investigate it. But two days later, the man walked into the police station, and once again told the same story, that he had killed Carrie and Jopek, and that he couldn't go on. It had been 30 years. The case was almost forgotten. The officers at the station didn't even know the case. case. Carrie's name didn't ring a bell. So they split into teams. One team investigated the name, the date, the information he gave them, and another stayed with the man. The detective who sat

alone with him was none other than Jim Hensley. They entered the interrogation room, sat down. Jim's first question, what's your name? The man answered, Jose Ferreira. The same teenager who had once knelt and prayed at the man's door. Jose confessed that on the day of the murder, there was a party at the man's house. A secret party. No one was to talk about it, and the reason was simple. They were all minors, and they were all doing drugs. And if they wanted more parties, they had to keep the secret.

Jose wasn't Johnny's friend. He wasn't invited, but he managed to sneak in anyway. He followed the rules, made no noise. At some point, he saw Carrie walking in front of the house. He had been in love with her for a long time. The girl somehow realized there was something going on inside. The door was always open, there was trust. She looked sad, defeated, with a paper in her hand.

She didn't know who to talk to, and when she saw Jose alone, she approached. She asked if he had any alcohol, because older kids had told her it helped calm nerves. Jose said no, but he did have marijuana, which did the same. same. He gave her some. They stepped away from the group, headed toward the basement door. And this is where it gets interesting. That basement was known as a hookup spot during Johnny's parties. Supposedly, everything happened there. But we don't know if Carrie knew that. What's clear is that she was desperate, sad, anxious, unsure of what to do. And seeing her like that, Jose invited her to go down to the basement, since it was quieter there.

They opened the door, she went first, and began to descend. But it was very dark. And remember, Carrie was afraid of the dark. Halfway down the stairs, she panicked. She turned around and said, I don't think this is a good idea, but Jose insisted. Carrie wanted to leave, she was scared. She didn't want to be there. Jose began to struggle with her.

He grabbed her arms. He pushed her. They argued. And in the middle of that struggle, he shoved her. She tumbled down the stairs. She hit her head on a metal railing, and landed at the foot of the stairs. At that moment, Jose could have called someone, asked for help. But he thought Carrie was just unconscious, and when she woke up, she'd never want to see him again.

He had a chance, and he blew it. The girl he liked. After that, wouldn't even want to look at him. He decided it was the perfect moment to get rid of her. He went down the stairs, approached her, touched her, but realized she wasn't breathing. From there, he planned his escape. He thought about leaving the body there and running. But if they found her, they'd know it was him.

So he came up with a plan to hide the body. From the basement, he could access the backyard. There was a small door. He slipped through it, got a shovel, and dug a shallow hole. hole beneath the back porch. From inside the house, that area couldn't be seen, so the other kids at the party wouldn't notice. He finished the hole, returned inside, grabbed the body, and buried her. And supposedly, no one noticed. But his conscience weighed on him. When the streets filled with Carrie's posters, Jose decided to help. He knocked on doors, joined the family,

passed out flyers, stood by them. From that point, his mind was at peace. But a year later, the body was discovered. And from then on, Carrie's ghost started haunting him. He felt her presence, saw her everywhere, in dreams, nightmares, shadows. He felt intense chills, heard voices. He was convinced the ghost of Carrie was haunting him. And to stop seeing and feeling her, he turned to alcohol. Over the years, the ghost grew stronger, more intense, affecting every part of his life, every relationship. Because he couldn't talk about it. Couldn't say what was happening. Couldn't explain what he had lived, what he felt. If he did, people would call the police. And in 2015, his wife asked for a divorce, because,

she said, there was a wall between them. That's when Jose confessed everything, to her. To an emergency line. To a TV journalist. And finally, on October 13th, he went to the police and confessed the entire crime, saying, I can't take it anymore. I can't undo what happened. I'm sorry, from the deepest pain in my heart. I'm truly sorry, some believe Jose's guilt led him to suffer mental disorders, hallucinations, voices, night terrors, constant nightmares. Some think the ghost was all in his mind. But what matters is that this man finally went to prison. Judge Jeffrey Conn gave him the maximum sentence, five years for attempted sexual assault, and two more years for false imprisonment. Many believe this sentence is unfair. But now it's your turn. What do you think about the case?

Do you believe justice was served, or that the sentence makes no sense? The end. You ever stumble across someone online who gives you that uneasy, that deep chill the moment they say, hi. Yeah, that's what this story's all about. Not a ghost, not a demon, just a real-life person with a soul so twisted it makes monsters seem tame. I was 17 when it happened. Bored, lonely, and too trusting for my own good. The kind of age where you think you're invincible behind the screen. So, like every night that summer, I was hanging out in this sketchy chance, chat room that was mostly full of bored teens like me. Or at least, that's what I thought.

There was this user, went by the name, Jacks underscore Raw, who popped into the room with this oddly intense energy. You know how some people just feel, too interested. That was Jack's. Said he was 19, had a thing for horror movies and late-night chats, and he lived a couple towns away. Sounded normal enough, right? Except it wasn't.

Not at all. From the start, Jax wasn't like the others. Most people joked around, sent stupid memes, flirted, or complained about parents. Jacks, though, he'd drop lines like, Do you ever wonder how long someone would scream if you cut off their fingers one by one? The first time he said something like that, I laughed awkwardly, thinking it was a bad joke. He said, I'm kidding, unless you're into that. That should have been my first red flag.

right? But stupid me thought he was just edgy. He started messaging me privately every day. Morning. Afternoon. Middle of the night. His tone shifted constantly, sometimes sweet, sometimes cold, sometimes like he was sizing me up for something I couldn't understand. He'd ask what I was wearing, then what I'd do if I saw someone bleeding out. It was like whiplash, going from flirty to full on disturbing in seconds. He started sending me weird stuff too. Pictures, not of himself, but things like knives arranged in spirals, abandoned buildings, burned dolls. Once he sent a video.

I didn't even finish watching it, but it looked like some kind of snuff film. The frame was shaky, dark, and it showed a figure crawling through the dirt, screaming. I slammed my laptop shut and felt like throwing up. I told him to back off. Blocked him. Left the chat room. Deleted my account. Two days later, I got an email from an address I didn't recognize, I underscore miss underscore you underscore lamb.

The message just said, you looked cute when you watched the video. You looked scared. I like that. I remember my whole body went cold. How the hell did he know what I looked like? I hadn't shared pictures. Not one. Then I remembered, weeks back, during one of those late-night calls, he asked if I had a webcam.

I said yeah, and he told me to turn it on. I did, for like two minutes, thinking it was harmless. He didn't even show his face. Just his voice, raspy and slow, like he was savoring every word. So he had access to my cam. I don't know if he recorded me, watched me, or both. But the idea that he could see me while I sat there, terrified, made my skin crawl. Things escalated from there.

Notes started showing up at my house. Just folded pieces of paper left on our porch, in our mailbox, once even slipped under the garage door. All of them in that same unsettling tone. I like the way your room smells when you're asleep. You shouldn't close your blinds. You have pretty lips when you sleep. your mom leaves the house every day at 812. You're all alone.

That's dangerous, I told my mom. She didn't take it seriously at first. Thought it was a sick prank from some loser at school. But when she found one of the notes tucked into the backseat of her car, my backpack next to it, untouched, she freaked out. We went to the cops, but they couldn't do much. No fingerprints, no cameras, no way to track him. They told us to keep our doors locked and maybe consider staying with relatives.

So we stayed with my aunt for a while. New place, tighter security. I deleted every online account, wiped my devices, got a new number. But I still felt watched. Like he could find me again if he really wanted. Weeks passed. No messages. No notes.

I started to breathe easier. Maybe it was over. Then, one night, I was scrolling through a new social media profile I'd made under a fake name. Just browsing. I saw a comment on a random post, Lams always forget the sound of the knife. Until it's too late, no name. No account attached. Just the comment.

That night, I had a dream. I was standing in a field, blood-soaked grass under my feet, and I could. could hear someone breathing behind me. I turned, and he was there, Jacks. But he wasn't a person anymore. Just this, thing. All shadow and smile. He said, you left the door open again, I woke up screaming. My bedroom door was ajar. I always closed it. That night broke something in me. I stopped sleeping. Stopped eating right. I couldn't trust any question. quiet moment, any noise outside, even my own reflection. I'd stare at my webcam, half expecting it to blink. My mom thought I needed therapy. Maybe I did. But what I needed was to not be

hunted by some faceless psycho who knew how to vanish. Eventually, we moved. New state. New everything. I got therapy. Got stronger. Built walls. Embolemore. Embo. Embo. Embo. Embo. Emboerer. Emboer. Emboes. Emboer. Emboes. Emboes. Emboeal Emotional ones, not just digital. For years, nothing happened. I finished school, thought into art, started sketching the face I remembered. The one I never really saw clearly, but could feel in my bones. I drew him over and over. Sharp cheekbones, empty eyes, a grin that looked like it was stitched on with rusted wire.

My therapist said it was a form of exposure therapy. I called it survival. I thought maybe he was gone for good. Maybe I was just another toy he broke and tossed aside. Then last year, I got a package. No return address. I knew that handwriting immediately. Inside, wrapped in wax paper, was a small bone.

Human or not, I don't know. I didn't want to know. And beneath it was a sticky note. You still scream pretty. That's when I knew it never really ended. He wasn't done. Just waiting. Watching.

Playing. The cops again couldn't do much. No fingerprints. No DNA. Nothing. They said I should be careful, maybe consider protective measures. I laughed. What the hell else had I been doing for ten years?

So yeah, that's my story. My real-life horror show. No demons. No. Haunted dolls. Just a person, a sick, smart, patient person who decided I was interesting, who may still be out there, looking for another way in. Another crack in my armor. I don't go on chat rooms anymore. Don't even like video calls. I cover my webcam with duct tape, double lock every door, check the windows five times a night. You'd call it paranoia. I call it living. And here's the

I'm telling you all this not because I need sympathy. I don't. I need you to be smarter than I was. Because people like Jacks. They don't disappear. They just wait for the next click. The next curious teen. The next lamb.

And they never, ever forget how you scream. The end. After hanging the phone everything was panic, and confusion did not know what to do to whom. Call how not. They called the police their son could die and if they called also I could die. Today's story begins on 22nd, February, 1973 when Carlos Vicente Vegas Perez. From then on, school was a good child, notes was responsible and also, he behaved very well

when he asked, Your mother a little money to. Buying a comic this accepted Sotta, Manetero gave him the money and saw him leave, by the door in the direction of a kiosk, which was located 800M from home. Journey was easy and fast and Carlos, I had done 1,000. times but the minutes. They passed and the child did not return the mother, began to get very nervous but thought, that perhaps had entertained so. Seven-thirty more or less came the child's father, and there the woman told everything that no, knew anything about him who went for a comic, that had not returned so that the subject, he went out the door and went to look for him,

asked in a kiosk around, several stores to the area of the area, but no one absolutely no one had, seen spent hours and family, Cigio without news but at 10.30, minutes of the night the phone of the House began to sound and on the other side, there was a man who said that the little, this man had been kidnapped, to the family 150,000 boulevars in return, of the child's life and repeated in several occasions that if they called the police, the boy would lose his life is there, when the sinister case of, today Carlos Bacente Vegas Perez was born in, 1959 being the third son of Trina Perez Machado marriage and Martin Vegas Pacheco or renowned. Professor and architect was the author of the Polar Tori de Caracas, Venezuela and member of

the commission of urbanism according to some pages Carlos. He was a very responsible boy and also involved the studies was healthy, liked sports and it was basically a normal child grew up in London, England and studied practically all primary when it had been played with the friends and dedicated dead hours to, reading comics that was his great. Passion to immerse yourself in comics end. Imagine being the protagonist of. These your life was apparently perfect. It came from a good family from a family with money had friends. Good notes had a great time. I felt very welcomed in London but in 1972 everything changed and is that their parents for work reasons told him that they should. Return to Venezuela some sources say that

supposedly would be only a year end. In Venezuela they would spend a year end. Then Carlos Vescente would return to London but others say this was not. So Venezuela, was definitive but what is clear is that when returning to Caracas they settled in. A good area went to the district low, more of the viewpoint specifically a fifth, called to Garobo and once installed. It is said that little Carlos Vicente, he highlighted again in the studies, new friends adapted very quickly, and from there everything was, music. Great on February 22nd, 1973 Carlos was very happy with. College went with his backpack he was on his way, home came there and as soon as he enters, asked for money from his mother to buy, a comic like he

took good grades and, he wore well the woman did not refuse, looked for the purse, he gave them to Carlos and the boy went out for, the door and a kiosk went. It was at 800m the kiosk was, in the Santa Marta end, supposedly had no loss had gone, a thousand times there and none of them. I had lost and this point calls a lot. Attention was a very safe area a, a, easy road without dangers but the hours. Sources consulted went through the door. Carlos still did not return at 7.30 minutes. Martin Vegas returned to Casa del Labor and, Trina told him that there was no trace of the little boy who knew anything about him. I hope that I did not know what to do and there the man went to the street and asked everyone. The stores asked in a kiosk, neighbors to the security people of the zone, but nobody absolutely nobody. I knew anything about him and then at 1030 minutes of the night the phone of the house begins to sound and who responds is the home employee on the other side of the telephone there is a subject who does not want, Talk to her and that demands talking to. Carlos's father tells him that he has.

Information about the child who is urgent. Talk to him to put it. Immediately on the phone and when the, subject responds, released the worst. News they have given in his life and is, that a group of kidnappers took, to his son and in exchange for his life were, asking for 150,000 boulevars according to some. Pages the demands did not end here. And they also asked the following in, first place the money should be, delivered to old bills and not with, serials in a row and said tickets.

They should be 50 and 100 and in second. Place if they want the child to follow. They could not call the authorities after hanging the phone all. It was panic and confusion did not know what. Make to call how to take the subject. If their son did not call the police, I could die and if I could also, die for it after much arguing. They decided that they should.

Call on Friday 23 advanced with great, tension and reach nine punctual. The kidnappers called for the second, once this time to give more. Indications but this is when it arrives. something very interesting and that is nothing more. De Calgar the kidnapper releases the father the following question what has. After this question, Martin puts it, very nervous because he thinks that maybe,

they know that the police are involved and, maybe the kidnappers have, aware of everything but when they begin to. Talking seems that they don't really know. Nothing the meeting would take place on Monday. Day 26 at 11 at night in the square, La Castellana in Caracas and from. There the indications were very simple.

They wanted Trina Perez mother of the child, outside the meeting that had a briefcase with the money that reached the sit-sight and once they're waiting, a blue car would arrive on the foci three times and there the woman should, approaching the occupants would go down, they would take the briefcase and then would say goodbye and with this said the, kidnapper hung the phone by. Good luck the police are already at hand to. Work and with this call they deduced several things to start the kidnapper that spoke seemed to have some education. It didn't seem like low neighborhoods and this. I implied, that did not belong to any group criminal in second place and that calls a lot of attention 150,000 boulevars.

The family of Carlos Vicente had enough money and, asking so little for meaning which, implied that these kidnappers might owe money from, sale of drugs and the amount that they had to be just that and this takes that point that perhaps they knew little Conan to the family, they knew the little one and knew that everything. The police will go well, the police gather, check everything works to locate the kidnappers and finally arrives on Monday. Day, six that night the exchange but at three in the afternoon the family receives a third call this it is to tell them that there was a change of plans trina peres would not go to the plaza the castilian at eleven at night would go to the restaurant don sancho ida rossal and once there i would wait for a fourth called the woman

goes there with her briefcase takes a table asks for food and local phone starts sounding gets up answers and the kidnapper says there is a change of plan says that the woman has not gone alone that she sees that. It is accompanied that there are people and that, go home and then tell you what. Doing the woman goes home sounds to, telephone and this time they tell him that the 10, and 30 minutes of that same day I left everything. Money in a garbage container, located at the Soda Soda del Mirador, from the Plaza France to Altamira was something, very specific, very concrete, and the woman, except grabs the briefcase goes to the place, indicated leaves it in the container, but, when they return home they call again in there, they tell him that in that

area there were many, patrols and could not approach like this, that give it new instructions, which the police seems very, it is clear that this group does not, you have any idea of nothing. Kidnapping experience do not know what, do they have no training. They are like headless chickens changing. Locations now, but not now you go, here now I regret, and finally, what they do is ask the following, they tell the woman to raise her car that, target the briefcase and that this a taxi so much, she as the taxi driver have to get to, La Castellana Square and once they're there, Woman should park the car leave the keys and the briefcase has to get off the vehicle to get into the taxi and then return home and if everything. It is going well the next day Carlos will return,

home with which Trina Perez abays without, music, plus the police have more and more. Of course the kidnappers are inexperienced. They have education and know very well the, the streets and neighborhoods of the area and they should clearly money from some sale of drug so, agents begin to investigate, sellers from that area to people, that he trafficked that he bought. Everyone is questioning but, this occurs in a cautious way they pass 24, hours and the child there is no trace there is no, kidnapping call there is no, signals of the child and at this point they decide, call the, the Vegas Perez case received a, unprecedented coverage in Venezuela, appeared in the press on the radio in the, television and media such as L Universal

L, national last news or the world. They echo all this and that is when, testimonies arise about the facts and, among them the story of, Lucia Figuera Lucia lived in a ranch, located in the area of Mitana and said the Friday the 23rd of the morning is listened to something very strange well entrance. The night in that area did not happen. Cars was very quiet, very silent but she heard the engine of, a car like not a normal looked through the window and said that in the distance very close. From a ravine there was a stopped car and, they listened to voices there were shouts, indications the engine and finally heard a dry blow as if those people would have thrown something for the, Barranco and after that they go up to,

vehicle and leave on March 1st. That same year a conference is made. Press and this conference attends a uncle of the child would talk to the. Press would count what I knew but before, that this happened the conference, annulled that that same day he found, the child's body in a ravine, located near the Carr car car car the teams on the outskirts of Caracas in the autopsy practiced by doctors, Armando Dominguez and Jack Castro. It ended that the boy died. Same day of the kidnapping and the cause of the. Death had been monoxide suffocation. Carbon the body also presented. Some wounds but all that was, post-mortem and according to experts seemed, occur when the other fell through the baronco.

Very striking thing is that in organism, there was a sedative any of the, components of which no years ago, they sold this once again reinforced the police hypothesis and is that kidnappers had no idea of anything, and also the new information allows, create a chronology of the facts to. Three in the afternoon of February 22nd, Carlos Vicente leaves his house and before. To get to the Santa Commercial Zone, Marta a group of people kidnap. They give a sedative uploaded to a car. They carry out Caracas and in a certain moment how they have no ropes decide,

put it in the trunk but what happens that? Do not calculate that there can be suffocated and, in a short time the child dies like not. They know what to do they throw it through the ravine. And from there they continue with the plan by, that on Friday 23 when they call four, second time to the family the first. They do is ask the following what has. They do not ask why they know what. The police are behind but because, they want to know if the family has,

aware that the child is dead without. However, the father knows anything about the subject and, they relax, and the subsequent days the police are, focuses on the family's environment, possible known friends' enemies. Ex-employed employees is very clear that, who took the child knew him and, then they discovered something and is that days, before kidnapping the family made a party and had a small incident and it is, that apparently did not invite a group, of young people but to know that they were friends, of the eldest son Federico Vegas, investigating a little more it turns out to. All friends were involved in, drug issues or were involved or, they were in the past and the same. Federico was also and therefore the, Chico was put in the spotlight. They

questioned them a little but. They supposedly ruled it out and from. From here he stopped and accused the. Following boys Omar Can Lugo, aka, the Chinese considered the material author of the, Alfredo Perro Pietri crime was considered, intellectual author of the kidnapping and two. From there were the following, Guys Gonzalo Raphael KPI aka Fafa, Jose Luis Branger, Krova, aka Caramelito Branger Julio Morales Javier, Wall Walls and finally Diego, Risks Cula the interesting thing here is that all of them have between 28 and 24 years of, age and also belong to families, illustrious of Caracas family of, important surnames and a lot of money. The motive of the crime was economical and is that the boys owed money for, drug issues

should just, 150,000 boulevars were all, involved but not all were, punished in the same way of all, boys who caught the most attention. It was the Chinese since it supposedly had, more weight in the matter and supposedly, it was the one who gave the sedative to Carlos. Vicente the boys were in the prison just a few months, but then the, superior court of justice began to, withdraw the charges of some of the, involved by alleged failures, substantial in the process supposedly, the wealthiest families paid, a certain amount of money and the boys. They were free, but there were two families that could not do it and these were, those of Omar Kano Lugo, aka El Chino and Gonzalo Raphael KPI Ajax Fafo these. Boys were in prison for a while,

more but this did not do it on the subject, of kidnapping but rather for possession, of drugs 40 years after the fact. He did an interview with Omar Lugo Kano, aka the Chinese and the Long These. They asked really shocking questions, but among all of them I would like to highlight, the next the interviewer in a certain moment he asked so many years of, how do you see the case now to what? He responded good today. Little knows little about. the matter little. I remember that I remember it and a lot. A. M. Mia Fafa Pha made us a file for drugs and pay Kana for. All others look there stop me. Along with Nikamidi Zuluaga Pocatera A, he took two kilograms of cocaine 30 kilograms of marijuana and 200,000 boulevars in, fake tickets a gun and a

jeep. Stolen the man was convicted and confessed, however, only paid two months. The judge who revokes the car of, detention is the same that confirms it to me, to me without the PTJ having, found not even a of, without me having declared or signed, we were nothing in the game. The boys who were released, they immediately left the country and their public opinion broke out that. This case was a clear example of the corruption of the country and that if you have, money justice turns a blind eye, but they would say what they said this case. It seemed closed so now is your, what do you think of the case and you think? The outcome is fair, summer 2016. Michelle Hadley, 29 years old, had just come back home after a great date. Everything had gone smoothly, and she was feeling hopeful about the start

of a potential relationship. She parked her car, stepped out, and made her way to the front door. Just as she was about to cross the threshold, several police officers swarmed her. In seconds, they had her in handcuffs, stuffed her into a patrol car, and stormed into her house. They took her phone, her laptop, everything. Michelle had no clue what was happening. Why am I being arrested? What's going on, she kept asking. But no one gave her an answer. Minutes passed, and her anxiety skyrocketed. By the time she was behind bars, someone finally let it slip,

she was being accused of multiple crimes. If found guilty, she could be sentenced to life in prison. That was the moment Michelle Hadley's nightmare began. Michelle Susan Hadley was born on December 20, 1986, in Upland, California. She was the eldest of two daughters in a deeply conservative. Catholic family. Church was not just a Sunday ritual for them, it was a way of life. They lived modestly, avoided unnecessary luxuries, and followed a strict moral code. There are conflicting reports about her parents' jobs, some sources claim they ran a family business, while others

say they worked in a factory. Either way, Michelle had a pretty normal childhood. She was friendly but reserved, social enough to have a good circle of friends. One thing about her stood out, she loved sports. Basketball, swimming, track and field, she did it all. And thanks to her skills in track, she earned a scholarship. She graduated from Claremont High School and later attended Dickinson College in Pennsylvania, where she earned a degree in medieval and early modern studies with a specialization in art history and women's studies. But her thirst for knowledge didn't stop there, she pursued a master's in business administration at Chapman University. Michelle was the textbook definition of a golden child.

She never drank, never smoked, never partied. She had a spotless academic record, a promising career ahead of her, and made sure her parents were proud. She had only ever had one boyfriend in high school, and when she was 22, she married him. It was exactly what everyone expected from two devout young adults who took their faith seriously. But only a few years later, they got divorced, and Michelle threw herself back into her studies and career.

Between 2011 and 2014, she worked as a marketing and proposal support manager at York Risk Services Group. She was making good money, got along well with her colleagues, and enjoyed her job. Everything was on track. But then, at the end of 2013, she met a man who would change her life forever, Ian Diaz. Ian worked for the U.S. Marshal Service. He was older than her, 36 to her 27. He seemed calm, collected, and ambitious, qualities Michelle admired. The attraction was instant, and within weeks, they were dating.

However, from the start, there were red flags. Michelle described the relationship as addictive, he was affectionate, generous, and devoted, yet at the same time, cold and distant. There was something mysterious about him, an unpredictability that drew her in. But then there were moments that should have made her run. On their second date, Ian declared that he was in love with her. That he had never felt this way before. When Michelle, caught up in the whirlwind, believed him.

By the end of 2014, he took her to New York for her birthday. On New Year's Eve, with the city lights twinkling around them, he proposed with a diamond ring. Michelle said yes. Their fairy tale quickly turned into a nightmare. They moved in together, got married, and almost immediately, Ian's behavior became more controlling. At home, he wanted Michelle to dress modestly, but in public, he insisted she show more skin.

Top tops, low-cut shirts, long nails, a belly button piercing, he wanted her to fit his idea of a perfect woman. At first, his demands were framed as suggestions. But over time, they became non-negotiable. Then he took it a step further. Ian convinced Michelle to quit her well-paying job and take a lower-paying position at a Disney resort, simply because it suited his vision for her. She was hesitant at first, but he begged, pleaded, and guilt tripped her until she gave in.

That was just the beginning. Soon, she noticed strange things, e-mails she hadn't read were marked as opened, messages disappeared, her social media accounts were being tampered with. It was as if someone was tracking her every move. And then, one night, Ian made a chilling request, he wanted Michelle to sleep with other men while he watched. At first, she flat out refused. But he didn't let it go. He kept bringing it up, planting the idea, making it sound normal, exciting even. On Valentine's Day 2015, Michelle was sick, heavily medicated, and vulnerable.

That night, she gave in. Less than 24 hours later, a stranger was in their home, ready to sleep with her while Ian filmed the entire thing. What made it worse? Ian didn't even ask a friend, he went on Craigslist and posted an ad for a random man to sleep with his wife on camera. Michelle felt disgusting afterward. She begged Ian to delete the video. His response. No one put a gun to your head.

That should have been her cue to leave. Instead, she convinced herself that she had to make the marriage work. By summer 2015, the couple bought a house together in Anaheim. Michelle put in extra money for the down payment, $1,4002 to be exact. The house was in both their names, and they agreed to split the mortgage. But once they moved in, Ian's control escalated. He started verbally abusing her, flying into rages over the smallest things. One night, while driving on the highway, they got into an argument.

Ian pulled over and forced Michelle out of the car, leaving her stranded. Another time, he physically attacked her, pinning her down and screaming in her face. That was the final straw. She packed her bags and left. But Ian wasn't done with her. What followed was a bitter battle over the house. Michelle wanted her $14,000 back. Ian refused.

He insisted she continued paying the mortgage, even though. though she wasn't living there. When she fought back, he filed for a restraining order. It was denied, which only made him angrier. At the same time, Michelle started noticing police cars following her. Ian had connections, was he using them to intimidate her? She told people she was scared of him. Her fears were dismissed. In early 2016, Ian moved on. He met a woman online, Angela Connell. Within a month, they were engaged. By May, Angela Angela announced she was pregnant, with twins. But then, something weird happened.

Angela started receiving terrifying emails. They were filled with biblical references, threats of death, and disturbing images. The sender. A mysterious account named Jason Ray. Then things took a darker turn. Me and my girlfriend have been together for about a year and a half now. At first things were perfect, I couldn't have wished for a better girl, she was sweet, affectionate, loving, caring and cooks me breakfast every morning.

And she was also quite attractive, she could be a model for Victoria's Secret if she wanted. All of these was like a blessing to me, because unlike her, I am quite unattractive a little chubby even, I don't have a charming personality to swoon her off her feet, I guess she just liked me because I was funny. I guess my personality is the only thing I had going for me. I loved her with all my heart and I can tell she loves me too. I try to do my best to be as sweet and affectionate to her as she is to me. But lately I have been noticing strange behavior from her. She has been avoiding my text messages and she's been going out more frequently than she used to.

Normally I would be fine with this, maybe she has something busy going on or maybe she just really liked spending time with her friends. But her change of schedule wasn't the only strange thing I've noticed about her, she was now less affectionate than before, she was now easily annoyed and she stopped cooking breakfast for me, which was fine, I could cook my own breakfast, but her refusing to be lovey-dovey with me or her sudden coldest around me is what really caught me. And she's also been on her phone more than she used too, previously she wouldn't spend much time on her phone, maybe scrolling through TikTok or Instagram here and there texting her friends and loved ones, but she would mostly just spend time with me than be in social media, but now that has changed, she would be on her phone texting almost 24-7, she would be on her

phone while eating, in bed or etc. Now I'm not the kind of boyfriend to check a girlfriend's phone, I respect her privacy, so I just let her be and hoped that her sweet and caring demeanor would come back. But a week of waiting turned into a month, then two months, her behavior only began to Wozran by the day. A thought lingered behind me, a thought that she was texting another guy, But no, she wouldn't do that, right? Right? This thought haunted me, I was having a hard time focusing on my work knowing that there was a slight chance that the love of my life could be cheating on me.

Then one day I decided to check, I had enough of this, if she was cheating on me then I at least wanted to know then keep lying to myself knowing deep down that it's a high possibility. So one rainy afternoon, she was huddled in her blanket in our bedroom as usual, texting someone on her phone, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner, then I heard something. Yeah, I'm here in the house with him, she was talking to someone via phone call, this was different, I tried not to listen and but into her conversation, but curiosity got the better of me, and I wanted to know if she really was cheating on me, I wanted to at least live my life in peace. So I pressed my ears against the wall of our bedroom, it was clear that she was trying to lower her voice so I

couldn't hear her, I kept my ear pressed against the wall, at that moment I was thinking to myself, should I really be doing this? I felt guilty, I was invading her privacy, but I just wanted to know if she really was cheating on me, so I kept my ear pressed against the wall, she still spoke in a low whisper, but our walls were thin so I could make out a mumble here and there. And as the conversation went on, my heart started to slowly break and fall piece by piece, she was being giddy and sweet with this stranger on her phone, and I knew it wasn't just her friend because she was calling this stranger name such as, babe, honey, or love. My heart broke and I wanted to weep and cry, but I had to keep going, I had to keep listening, the longer the conversation dragged on,

the more devastated I became. They were planning to go hang out some time on Friday, she was being as sweet to the person in the phone call as she used to be with me, I could tell the person at the other end was talking bad about me, and she was still being defensive about me, even saying stuff as, well, at least his sweet, or, well, his kind to me, but. It was basically the only good thing I heard from this conversation. Then after some time she hung up the call, but before that she told the guy at the phone, I love you, see ya.

That was five days ago. I wanted to confront her about it, but I don't know how. She went out last Friday and I wanted to stop her, but I couldn't find the courage in me to call her out. I've been crying and weeping hard when she wasn't around. I've been going to the kitchen at night and crying there so she wouldn't hear me, but of course she noticed and asked me about it. I just told her I was crying about my grandpa who died about a month ago. I know, it sounds stupid, but it was the only thing I could come up with.

As I'm writing this I'm trying my best not to weep and cry, but it's difficult. A couple tears had already escaped my eyes as I write this. I don't know what to do or how to confront her about it, I've thought about what I should do if I did find out that she was cheating on me. The obvious answer would be to break up with her, but I can't, she's too kind, sweet and pretty, well at least she used to, for me to leave her. Maybe things will be fine if I give her a second chance and we could go back to our lovie-dovey relationship. But if I did give her a second chance, would she take advantage of it and cheat on me again? I don't know and I'm having a mental breakdown just thinking about it. So I turn to you, internet people.

I've seen and heard wise relationship advice is being given out in here, and most of the time they work. So please, what do I do? Apple White had a lot of time to think, to rethink everything. He perfected his beliefs and came to consider himself the reincarnation of Christ. That's why, upon being released, he decided it was time for Heaven's Gate to be more than just words. We begin on March 26, 1997. The whole world was shaken, as there was no newspaper, radio station, or television program that wasn't talking about the Heaven's Gate cult. And the reason will bring you true nightmares, that day, the bodies of 39 of its members

were found lifeless in Rancho Santa Fe, north of San Diego. All the bodies had $5.75 in their pockets, were dressed the same, wore plastic bags on their heads, and due to the terrible heat in San Diego, were already in a state of decomposition. The most sinister part of all is that their deaths were not caused by a shooting or a murder kidnapping but by what the police called a mass suicide. The 39 people had taken their lives to leave this world and reunite with the divine, as their spiritual guide had told them to. When the police found out, they couldn't believe it, not only because of how bizarre the situation

was, but because Heaven's Gate had a rule that suicide was strictly forbidden. So, to understand exactly what happened, we first need to know what exactly this organization was. The Heaven's Gate cult was created by a man named Marshall Herf Applewhite, who was born on May 17, 1931, in Spurr, Texas. He was the son of a Presbyterian pastor and, from a young age, wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. But soon, he realized he did. He did, he was the son of a presbyterian pastor and, from a young age, But soon, he realized he didn't have the same gift of speech as his father. Frustrated, he studied at several universities and eventually ended up in the military. After that, he led several choirs and became head of the music department at the University of

St. Thomas in Houston. From here, life was going well, he got married, had two children, and his students loved him. But in 1966, he got divorced, and this event threatened his entire career. His wife claimed she divorced him because he was homosexual and had had many affairs with men during their marriage. Applewhite, at this point, feared for his job. The last thing he wanted was for this story to become public. If his co-workers or bosses found out, he could be fired immediately, as homosexuality was still considered a mental disorder at that time. He spent some time sorting out his thoughts, and when he finally pulled himself together, he returned to work.

But four years later, he was fired, and his record was forever stained because the reason for his dismissal was that he had an affair with a student. That same year, to top it all off, his father passed away. Applewhite fell into a deep depression. Life no longer made sense, he was struggling with his sexual identity, he was divorced, he had lost his father, he no longer had a job, and to make matters worse, he had started hearing voices, voices that told him what to do and work. So in 1971, he voluntarily admitted himself into a psychiatric facility. Life at the center was extremely routine, wake up early, take medication, do activities, eat, and therapy. But in 1972, everything changed when he met who he considered his soulmate, Bonnie Nettles,

a nurse assigned to help him with his depressive episodes. According to various articles, the two never had a romantic relationship, they considered each other soulmates in a platonic sense. They believed they knew each other from another life and had a shared mission in the present one. Bonnie Nettles was a woman obsessed with the New Testament. She read the Bible compulsively and prayed constantly. In 1949, she got married and had four children, to whom she passed on her love for God. But in the early 70s, her obsession went too far, she began telling everyone she could hear the voice of a 19th century monk named Brother Francis, who constantly told her what to do. The monk encouraged her to live an austere life,

so Nettles began surrounding herself with people who believed in astrology and theosophy, and started researching the occult. In early 1972, she started visiting Psychics Daily. One of them supposedly predicted that in a few months, she would meet a man who would change her life forever. That same year, Nettles met Applewhite. The connection between them and their shared beliefs was immediate. They quickly believed they were on earth to represent God. They decided that the voices they heard wanted them to found a new religion, the true religion, whose principles were directly taken from the New Testament and combined with new technologies. To build their beliefs, they drew from the TV series Star Trek in the foundations of Uphology of that time. People's thinking

was changing, so they sought to create a religion by and for those willing to evolve, to reach a higher state, closer to the divine, which for them was not in the heavens, but in outer space. They believed that to reach the divine, people had to go to space directly, and this is where the foundations of the Heaven's Gate cult began. Applewhite and Nettles firmly believed the planet was about to be recycled and that the only way to survive was to board a spaceship and travel through space toward the next level. Up to this point, their beliefs, though strange, were not dangerous. So they were allowed to travel all over the U.S., handing out flyers, giving talks, and preaching

non-stop about the, true religion. And, incredibly, dozens of people believed them. However, trouble didn't take long to appear, because this peculiar couple believed they were above earthly laws. They were superior beings on earth to spread a divine message. So committing crimes became their daily bread. In 1975, Applewhite was arrested and spent six months in jail for not returning a rental car. During that time, Applewhite had a lot of time to think.

And rather than rethink everything, he perfected his beliefs and came to consider himself the reincarnation of Christ. That's why, upon being released, he decided it was time for Heaven's Gate to be more than just words. So the couple went back to giving talks and traveling across the U.S. in search of disciples, whom they called the crew. They introduced themselves to the public by saying they were conducting an experiment, and that all those who joined would be taken to the next level as a reward. Amazingly, over 100 people accepted. And what exactly did the experiment involve? The following points, give up all your possessions, say goodbye to your family without explanation,

live an austere life without material pleasures, live in community with the crew, if you embraced these points, you were automatically fit to access the next level. When you died, your body would travel into outer space and you would gain all the knowledge and wisdom to draw closer to the divine. But, taking your own life was strictly prohibited, as doing so meant abandoning your companions. And that wasn't allowed. In the following weeks, all the followers complied without question, they saw, sold their cars and houses, said goodbye to their parents and siblings.

Once everything was in place, a final meeting was organized in a hotel in Walport, Oregon. After that, no one ever heard from them again. That very night, CBS Evening News reported the disappearance of more than 20 people, 20 people whose families said were connected to a cult associated with euphology. From this point on, Applewhite and Nettles led the crew across the country. They slept in tents and sleeping bags, living as nomads so the police wouldn't find them. In this way, Heaven's Gate could continue manipulating mines without the government doing anything to stop it.

For years, the families and former members of Heaven's Gate did everything they could to get their loved ones back, spreading photos, speaking to the media. But Applewhite and Nettles knew they couldn't recruit miners. So all those who disappeared were between 18 and 62 years old, adults who knew that exactly what they were doing. Reporting their disappearances was pointless. Eventually, the public pressure forced Heaven's Gate to allow its members to see their families once or twice a year. One clear example is the story of a man named David, who said, it was like, this is what I've been waiting for. Stimulating the attachments to our families and our former lives detracts

us from our mission. If I were a monk or a priest in a cloister, they only see their families once a year or less. So we don't feel we're doing anything extraordinary. Applewhite and Nettle structured their religion in such a way that members believed they were defending absolute truth, and that loved ones were obstacles to reaching the next level. Your family might try to manipulate you, tell you you were crazy, try to make you leave Heaven's Gate. And when that happened, you had to let them go and return to the crew, because they were

the only ones who knew the truth. However, in early 1985, Heaven's Gate received a major blow. Bonnie Nettles died from liver cancer. This left Applewhite devastated and confused about his beliefs. According to their religion, upon death, the body would disappear and travel through space to the next level. But Bonnie's body remained, it began decomposing. So Applewhite completely rewrote Heaven's Gates' beliefs. He told the crew the body was just a shell,

a shell to prepare on earth, until their souls were ready to leave for the next level. No one knew when or how, but the moment would come, and they had to be ready for a long journey. In the early 1990s, the group did everything they could to promote themselves in UFO circles, distributing flyers, giving more talks. By 1995, their name was back in the media. The reason? On July 23rd of that year, Comet Halebop was discovered. Scientists were excited, saying it would be a very bright comet that would pass close to Earth, a once-in-a-lifetime event.

So Heaven's Gate spread the rumor that the brightness was because the comet was accompanied by a giant spaceship. Not only that, that spaceship would take them to the next level. By then, Heaven's Gate had stopped being a nomadic community and became sedentary. They rented an 850-square-meters mansion in a luxury housing development in Rancho Santa Fe, San Diego. To give you an idea of Heaven's Gates income at the time, the rent was $7,000 a month, money they earned through a tech company they created called Higher Source, offering web design and IT consulting. Between March 19th and 20th, 1997, Marshall Applewhite recorded himself talking about what was about

to happen. He said a spaceship was traveling with Hailbop, and the only way to reach it was for the whole crew to die, all at the same time, so their souls could ascend. They had to leave behind their bodies to start the journey. And with that, he began the final act. From March 24th to 26th, 1997, Heaven's Gate members followed through. On March 24, 15 members dressed in black sweatshirts, Nike Decades sneakers, and wore patches reading Heaven's Gateway Team, a Star Trek reference.

They placed $5.75 in their pockets, took barbiturates mixed with applesauce, chocolate cake and vodka, put plastic bags over their heads, and lay down on bunks while others covered them with purple shrouds. They waited for death. On March 25, another 15 repeated the process. Finally, on March 26, the last nine joined them. What's most shocking is that those who died on March 24th were helped by those who died on March 25th, and those who died on the 25th were helped by the nine who died on the 26th.

They all helped each other die. We know this because Applewhite was the third to last to die, and the final two, both women, didn't have plastic bags. They helped Applewhite die and then no one was left to help them. Among the victims was Thomas Nichols, brother of actress Nichelle Nichols, who played Uhura in Star Trek. This case was widely covered by the media, not only because of the brutality but also because some members who didn't die at that time later took their lives in suicide pact. But from my point of view, there's one theory that makes the case even more chilling, it said that Marshall Applewhite, in the last years of his life, believed he had terminal cancer. Considering that he had previously been diagnosed with severe depression and suicidal tendencies,

it's possible he planned his own death, but since suicide was forbidden, he changed the entire belief system to justify dying, and taking the entire crew with him. But now it's your turn. What do you think about this case? Do you believe their souls actually reached the next level? And the most important question, why do you think they really carried out the final act? The End The Art of Living, a Journey Through Life's Quarks and Wonders. Introduction, Life is a roller coaster, and no two rides are the same.

We all experience highs, lows, twists, and turns that shape who we are. Some moments make us laugh until our stomach's hurt, while others challenge us in ways we never expected. This is the beauty of life, It's unpredictable, messy, and, at times, absolutely wonderful. Chapter 1, The Magic of Everyday Moments, Have you ever stopped to appreciate the small things in life? The smell of fresh coffee in the morning, the sound of rain hitting the roof, or the warmth of a cozy blanket on a chilly night. These are the little things that make life special. Too often, we're caught up in the rush of daily responsibilities that we forget to enjoy the present.

Taking a moment to appreciate the beauty around us can completely change our outlook. Chapter 2, The Humor in Life's Mishaps. Let's be honest, life is full of embarrassing moments. Tripping over your own feet in public, sending a text to the wrong person, or realizing you've been walking around all day with your shirt inside out. Instead of cringing in embarrassment, why not laugh? These moments remind us that nobody is perfect, and sometimes, the best thing we can do is embrace the chaos. Chapter 3, lessons learned the hard way. Some lessons in life are easy to learn, while others require a few bumps and bruises. Maybe you learn the hard way that cooking bacon shirtless is a terrible idea. Or that trusting your GPS blindly can lead to some interesting detourers. These experiences, while frustrating at the time, shape us into wiser, and slightly more cautious, individuals.

Chapter 4, The Power of Kindness. A simple act of kindness can brighten someone's day more than we realize. Holding the door open, giving a genuine compliment, or just listening to someone who needs to talk, these small gestures can make a huge difference. Kindness has a ripple effect, and you never know how much your actions can impact someone else. Chapter 5, The Adventure of Trying New Things, Ever Wanted to Take Up a Hobby but thought, Nah, I'd be terrible at it. The truth is, nobody starts out as an expert.

Whether it's learning to play an instrument, painting, or attempting to cook a new recipe, and setting off the smoke alarm in the process, trying something new is always an adventure. And hey, even if you fail spectacularly, at least you'll have a great story to tell. Chapter 6, The Weird and Wonderful World of People, People are fascinating. Some have strange habits, some have bizarre talents, and others have stories that can leave you speechless. Meeting new people and learning about their unique perspectives is one of life's greatest joys. Everyone has something interesting to share, you just have to be willing to listen. Chapter 7, The Beauty of Nature.

Nature has a way of putting things into perspective. Whether it's watching a sunset, hiking through a forest, or simply sitting by the ocean and listening to the waves, there's something incredibly calming about being in nature. It reminds us that the world is much bigger than our daily worries. Chapter 8 The Art of Doing Nothing In a world that glorifies being busy, taking time to do absolutely nothing feels almost rebellious. But sometimes, the best thing you can do for yourself is to slow down. Sit in silence, daydream, or just stare at the ceiling. It's in these moments of stillness that some of the best ideas come to life. Chapter 9, The Joy of Food, Food is one of life's greatest pleasures.

Whether it's a home-cooked meal, a guilty pleasure snack, or an exotic dish from a faraway land, food has the power to bring people together and create unforgettable memories. And let's be real, there's nothing quite like that first bite of pizza after a long day. Chapter 10, the unpredictability of life, no matter how much we plan, life has a way of surprising U.S. Sometimes, things don't go the way we expect, but that's not always a bad thing. Some of the best moments come from unexpected twists and turns. Learning to embrace uncertainty can lead to some of life's most incredible experiences. Conclusion, life is a journey, and every day is a new chapter.

There will be laughter, tears, victories, and setbacks, but through it all, it's important to enjoy the ride. Appreciate the little things, embrace the chaos, and never stop exploring the wonders of this crazy, beautiful world. What's his plan? What's he going to do? I don't think we'll make it to trial without him doing something to hurt me in some way. I don't think we've seen the last of him. On July 25, 2010, 26-year-old nurse Jane Cloth was getting ready for work. She changed her clothes, said goodbye to her parents and her baby, got into her car, and headed to Victoria Hospital in Blackpool. Her shift was supposed to start at 8.30 a.m., but Jane was always early. In fact,

this time, she arrived at exactly 8 a.m. She parked her car, stepped out, locked it, took a few steps, and was attacked in the darkness. According to authorities, Jane was stabbed 71 times. The attacker initially stabbed her multiple times, then, believing she was dead, turned to leave. But as he turned, he saw Jane was still alive. So he ran back and finished the job before fleeing the scene. When Jane was found, she was rushed to the same emergency room where she worked. But unfortunately, there was nothing they could do. A few hours later, she was declared dead.

And that's where the terrifying case of Jane Cloth truly begins. Jane Cloth was born in 1984 in Nelson, Lancashire, the eldest child. of Penny and John Cloth. We don't know exactly how many siblings she had or where she studied, but we do know one thing, Jane was the golden child. The perfect daughter any parent would wish for. She was obedient, responsible, friendly, and kind. She had lots of friends, never caused trouble, and was truly the ideal young woman. Her only flaw. She trusted people too easily. To Jane, everyone was a friend. She never thought badly of anyone.

Ever since she was a little girl, she had dreamed of being a nurse, just like her mother. She shaped her entire education around that goal. In high school, she focused on science courses, then continued her studies in nursing. Her life revolved around her future career. But she still managed to have a social life. She had friends, dated a few people, and went out partying occasionally. Overall, Jane had a completely normal life. According to Medium.com, Jane finally graduated from nursing school at 22.

Soon after, she landed a job in the intensive care unit at Victoria Hospital in Blackpool. We don't know if she did her internship there, but as soon as she started working, she became friends with everyone, doctors, nurses, even patients. People adored Jane Cloth. In fact, everyone who met her described her as, the perfect nurse. She was always cheerful, full of energy, and eager to help. She never seemed to get tired. She was the ideal employee, the perfect friend. She became a role model for everyone, including Jonathan Bass. Jonathan Bass, 27, was an ambulance technician. He had a complicated life. He worked

two jobs, one in the ambulance service and another as a part-time nightclub bouncer. He loved sports, running, and bodybuilding. He had big dreams and aspirations. And he was always cracking jokes, even in stressful moments. Jane loved that about him. For four months, Jane and Jonathan secretly dated. They went out for drinks, had dinners together, took long walks, and saw movies. Then, those four months, Jane finally told her co-workers about their relationship. She expected them to be happy for her. But the reaction she got was quite the opposite. Everyone warned her, Jonathan was not a good match. To Jane, Jonathan seemed perfect. He was active, ambitious, and funny. But according to her colleagues, he was something else entirely. They found him

unprofessional, clumsy, and awkward. They thought he made inappropriate jokes and acted strangely. Unfortunately, Jane believed she knew him better than anyone else. She thought people only saw his surface-level personality and didn't understand the real Jonathan. So she ignored the warnings and continued dating him. Then, one day, Jonathan revealed a dark secret, he was married. For two years, he had been married to a woman named Yvonne. They had two kids together.

But according to him, the marriage was already over. They were taking things slowly for the sake of the children. Supposedly, Yvonne had cheated on him multiple times, and he just couldn't take it anymore. They were in the process of separating, handling paperwork, and trying to remain friends for the kids. Jane believed him. After all, why would he lie? He admitted he was married. He admitted he had kids.

meant he was being honest, right? After ten months of dating, Jane and Jonathan decided to move in together. But before that, Jane introduced him to her parents. And that's where things got weird. Jane's parents did not like Jonathan. There was something off about him. Something they couldn't quite put their finger on. But Jane was happy, so they accepted him. Jane always saw the best in people. And Jonathan took full advantage of that. We didn't like him from the first time Jane brought him home, her parents later said. He told us some ridiculous story about his grandmother in London leaving him a huge inheritance. It didn't make sense. Jane's family knew about Jonathan's jobs. They knew he worked two jobs, struggled financially, and barely had any free time. So how did he

supposedly come from a wealthy family. Why did he work so hard if he had money? Why did he always complain about financial troubles? It didn't add up. But Jonathan insisted. He bragged about his wealthy grandmother. He showed off his car, which, by the way, wasn't even that impressive, according to sources. And something else bothered Jane's parents, his behavior towards their daughter. He wasn't outright abusive. He didn't insult or push her. But he controlled her. Whenever she got a phone call, he wanted to know who it was.

If she received a message, he demanded to see it. He never left her side. Jane, unfortunately, mistook this for love. She thought it meant he cared deeply for her. And because she was happy, her parents didn't intervene. Once Jane and Jonathan moved and together in 2008, things started changing. Jane became distant. She used to be outgoing and talkative, but now, days and even weeks passed without her calling

or texting her family. At work, she wasn't as energetic. She seemed drained, like she had lost her spark. She also changed her appearance. Nurses usually keep their hair tied back for hygiene reasons, but Jane started wearing hers loose, covering her face. She covered her neck with scarves. It wasn't practical, but no one questioned her.

Meanwhile, Jonathan began spreading rumors. He told people Jane was a liar. That she made up stories, lost her temper easily, and even pushed him. At the hospital, opinions were divided. Some believed him. Some didn't. Some sensed something was wrong. And Jonathan did the same thing with Jane's family.

He went to her parents, saying she wasn't well. that she was unstable, that she had issues. Her family didn't believe him. We were extremely worried. But we knew we couldn't force her. She had to leave him on her own. We told her our home was always open if she ever wanted to come back. They had no idea that Jane was running out of time. Jane always knew that if she ever wanted to come back home, our door would always be open. But life has a way of throwing unexpected twists, and this story took a complete turn one day when a co-worker noticed something troubling about Jane. She had bruises. We don't know exactly where they were, her face, her neck, but what we do know is that this

colleague was the first person Jane confided in about what was really going on. According to several sources, Jane told her that when Jonathan got angry, he would push her, sometimes hit her. He had called her fat, accused her of not taking care of herself like before, and constantly accused her of lying, about who she was talking to, who she was texting. Sometimes, he even followed her. If she met up with friends, he would just appear out of nowhere. If she took a walk, he'd be behind her. No matter what she did or where she went, Jonathan was always there.

And even though she loved him deeply, she just couldn't take it anymore. In January 2009, Jane announced to her loved ones that she was pregnant. She thought having a baby might bring Jonathan back to who he used to be. And for a while, it seemed to work. He didn't hit her, at least not at first. But by the time she was seven months pregnant, things got worse. Much worse. In Jonathan's mind, Jane belonged to him now.

He could do whatever he wanted. He could hit her, push her, control her. And he did. Again and again. Then, in October 2009, Jane gave birth, and everything stopped. Jonathan was kind. He took care of the baby, treated Jane well, and wasn't aggressive at all. For six weeks, she thought things had truly changed.

But then, as suddenly as it stopped, it all started again. Jonathan's violence returned, and this time, he didn't even try to hide it, not even in front of their baby. Jane had had enough. The next day, while Jonathan was at work, she packed up everything and left. She went back to her parents' house, where she was finally safe. At least, that's what we thought. At that moment, Jane didn't tell us everything.

She stayed with us for a few days, and things seemed to be getting better. But then, Jonathan started calling. Sending messages. is. Apologizing. Promising he would change. Saying he was in therapy. And, once again, Jane believed him. When she went back to their home, it was the last time. In December 2009, while Jonathan was out, Jane packed up her things again and left for good. But this time, she didn't just walk away, she went to the police. She reported him for assault. They took her statement multiple times. They took photos, photos of scratches, bruises, wounds. With the formal complaint filed,

Jonathan was arrested and held without bail. His trial was set for October 2010, and until then, he would remain behind bars. But life had another twist waiting. While Jonathan was in jail, secrets began to unravel, things Jane never knew. First, Jonathan had never actually gotten a divorce. While he was with Jane, he was still married to another woman named Yvonne. He had two kids with her, two jobs, and when he told Jane he was working late, he was actually with his other family. Once Yvonne found out the truth, she filed for divorce, and Jonathan lost everything, his wife, his job, his reputation. And yet, that wasn't the worst part. Prisoners without bail can appeal for it up to three times.

On his third attempt, Jonathan was granted bail. He was released. There was nothing we could do about it. Jane was devastated and terrified. She moved back in with us immediately, she didn't feel safe in her own home. Out of jail, Jonathan had nothing, no job, no wife, no friends. He was forced to move in with his parents. But there was one condition, he was under a strict restraint.

training order that prevented him from contacting Jane in any way. At this point, Jane lived in a constant state of stress and anxiety. She never went anywhere alone. If she went grocery shopping, her parents went with her. If she wanted to take a walk, she did it with friends or neighbors. She spent her maternity leave locked inside. According to a documentary about the case, in May 2010, she had to go back to the police station to give another statement. This time, everything was transcribed, and she was officially asked to testify in court. She agreed. If it was necessary, she would do it.

That decision would cost her life. When Jonathan Bace found out that Jane was still going through with the trial, he decided to stop her. He started stalking her online, checking her social media to track her movements. That's how he learned her routine, where she went, who she met with, and, more than. Most importantly, when she would return to work. Jane had no idea she was being watched. As May and June passed, she started to relax. Jonathan hadn't done anything since his release, no calls, no messages, no sudden appearances.

She began to feel safer. She started going for walks alone again, meeting friends. On July 23rd, she went out for dinner and karaoke, spent the night at a friend's house, returned home the next morning. She spent all of July 24th with her family. And then, on July 25th, she had to go back to work. Her shift started at 8.30 p.m., but Jane, always dedicated, wanted to arrive early. She parked her car at 8 p.m., turned off the engine, got out, locked it, and started walking. That's when Jonathan appeared. He demanded that she dropped the charges. Jane refused.

She was alone, so she tried to run. But Jonathan was faster. He stabbed her multiple times, knocking her to the ground. Thinking she was dead, he turned to leave, but then he saw her crawling toward her car. Furious, he grabbed the knife again and slashed her throat. Jane was stabbed 71 times. A witness saw Jonathan flee the scene on a bicycle before switching to a car. Jane was rushed to the very hospital where she worked, but it was too late.

She didn't survive. The police acted fast. They distributed Jonathan's photo to all local stations, sent out his car's license plate number, and alerted everyone who knew him. They also placed officers outside Jane's parents' house, because they were certain Jonathan wasn't done. They didn't know if he planned to kill them, kidnap the baby, or something worse. but they knew he was going to do something. And they were right. In the early hours of July 26, Jonathan parked outside Jane's parents' house.

He got out, opened his car trunk, and that's when police stopped him. He was trying to take out several containers of gasoline. No one knows exactly what he planned to do. But we all know it wasn't anything good. In October 2010, the trial began. Jonathan was formally charged with assault, nine counts of other charges, and murder. The prosecution revealed the autopsy, Jane had been stabbed 61 times across her torso, face, and neck. She had defensive wounds on both hands.

And the final wound? A deep slash across her throat. Experts called it a crime of passion, an intensely personal act of rage. Many people testified against Jonathan, friends, colleagues, Jane's family. But the most chilling testimony came from Jane herself. She had kept a diary. In it, she detailed everything, phone calls, text messages, her fear. Here's an excerpt.

I'm scared that Johnny is going to do something stupid, like Find Me. He's running out of time. I don't think he'll just sit and let a jury declare him guilty. Oh God, when will this nightmare end? Despite all the evidence, Jonathan was sentenced to life in prison, with the possibility of parole after 30 years. He never showed remorse. But Jane's family turned their pain into action. They launched a campaign called Justice for Jane, pushing for a law that would allow prosecutors to appeal judges' bail decisions. Within months, they gathered 12,000 signatures and secured a preliminary law change. They all were to allow prosecutors to appeal judges' bail decisions. They all were in months. They all, they gathered 12, He also established a safe house, Jane's Place, and helped fund five more shelters for victims of abuse. There is no forgiveness for Jonathan Bays. Only justice.

What do you think? Was his sentence fair? Everyone knows Joanna's journey home usually takes around 30 minutes, give or take. She doesn't stop along the way or waste time, so her friends aren't too worried when she heads out. She'll pass well-lit streets bustling with people and CCTV cameras, nothing. Nothing seems likely to happen to her. But this time, Joanna walks out the door, and from that moment on, there's no more sign of her.

It was supposed to be Joanna's first solo weekend in a long time. Christmas was around the corner, snow-blanketed the streets, and Joanna, a big fan of family gatherings, wasn't exactly thrilled about spending a few days alone. Her friends could sense her unease, so they invited her out after work for some drinks and laughs. When the clock struck 8 p.m., Joanna left the pub, intending to make her usual things. 30-minute walk home. But she would never reach it. That night marked the beginning of a case that would capture an entire nation. Joanna Claire Yates, better known as Joe, was born on April 19,

1985, in Hampshire, England. She was one of two children, raised by her parents, Teresa and David Yates. Friends described Joanna as warm, sociable, and outgoing, she was the type of person who would light up any room she walked into. She loved partying with friends, yet she wasn't reckless. She never drank to excess, never drove after drinking, and was generally very sensible. Joanna always knew her priorities and was focused on getting a good education. She attended a private school near Romsey, then Petten Simmons College, before studying landscape architecture at Riddell College, and later earning a postgraduate diploma from the University of Gloucestershire.

Right after graduation, Joanna landed a job with Hill and Edgar Driver in Winchester, a well-respected architecture firm with an excellent reputation. Joanna's new job paid well, and she quickly made new friends, including Greg Reardon. Sparks flew almost instantly between the two, and in 2008, they started dating. People who knew them said they had a special chemistry, often finishing each other's sentences, rarely seen apart. However, in 2009, the firm announced a significant change, the headquarters would relocate to Bristol, and the staff had to choose, either leave the company or move. Joanna and Greg saw this as the perfect opportunity to live together, so they packed up

and moved to Bristol. The apartment they rented was cozy and allowed pets, which was essential to Joanna, who had a beloved cat. Life seemed great, but then, in September 2009, Joanna was offered a better paying position with building design partnership, located elsewhere. So, in October 2009, Joanna and Greg moved again to an apartment at 44, Canick Road in Clifton. Their new apartment building had been modified by the owner, Christopher Jeffreys. Originally a single large unit, he split it into two smaller apartments and rented them to couples. Christopher lived on the upper floors, while the lower section of the building was divided into two separate units. In one apartment lived a couple, Tanya Morson and Vincent Tabak, Tanya was outgoing, but

Vincent was reserved. Joanna and Greg lived in the other apartment, and all four were generally trusted by Christopher, who thought highly of them as tenants. As Christmas As 2010 approached, Joanna and Greg were planning a holiday party for their friends on December 24th and 25th. Joanna's excitement for the holidays meant she wanted to get things prepared in advance. However, to pull it all together, Greg would visit his parents from December 17th to 19th, giving Joanna some time alone to take care of things. She wasn't too thrilled about being by herself, as it was rare for them to spend time apart, but she pushed through. On Friday, December 17th, Joanna bid Greg farewell and went to work. Later that day, she confided in her colleagues, admitting she felt a little lonely and stressed.

They invited her out for drinks, which lifted her spirits. The day passed as usual, and that evening, she joined her co-workers at the Bristol Ram Pub on Park Street. They all stayed together until around 8 p.m., when Joanna finally said goodbye and started her usual 30-minute walk home. Everyone knew Joanna's route, knew that she didn't make any stops, and didn't think twice about her heading off on her own. She'd be safe enough on the well-lit, busy streets lined with cameras. But after she left the pub, Joanna seemed to disappear. The nearby surveillance cameras recorded her journey. At 8 p.m., she left the pub. Ten minutes later, she walked into a waitrose store but left without buying anything.

By 8.30 p.m., she was on the phone with her best friend, Rebecca Scott, to confirm Rebecca would be coming over for their Christmas gathering. A few minutes later, Joanna went into another store, bought two bottles of cider, and around 8.40, she entered a Tesco Express, purchasing a freshly made pizza, presumably her dinner for that night. Later, Greg sent Joanna a message to let her know he was safe with his parents, but she didn't reply. He thought she might be with friends or relaxing at home, so he didn't worry.

The next morning, Saturday the 18th, Greg messaged her again, but still got no response. Assuming she was sleeping in, he waited until midday to call, but again, Joanna didn't answer. As the day wore on with no word from her, Greg grew increasingly worried. By Sunday, his concern was reaching panic levels. That evening, he returned to their apartment, where he was greeted by an unsettling scene. First, the apartment door wasn't locked. When he unlocked and opened it, it swung open effortlessly. He immediately noticed that Joanna's cat seemed hungry, a strange sight since John.

Joanna always took care of him. He called her phone, only to hear it ringing from inside the apartment. Following the sound, he found her phone in the pocket of her coat, which was neatly hung up with her other belongings. Her shoes, purse, and house keys were all in place, but Joanna was nowhere to be found. The police quickly arrived at the apartment and were equally puzzled. There were no signs of a break-in or struggle. The only oddities were two partially consumed bottles of cider on the kitchen counter, alongside a receipt from Friday night for the pizza she had bought. Strangely, there was no sign of the pizza itself in the apartment or the trash, which left detectives scratching their heads. Based on the evidence,

two hypotheses emerged. The first was that Joanna had been attacked by someone she knew. Perhaps a familiar face rang the doorbell, Joanna let them in, and then they left together. The second theory was that she'd left voluntarily, but this was harder to believe. Joanna was happy with her life, job, and relationship, loved her cat, and the snowy weather outside would have made her reluctant to leave without a coat, shoes, or her phone. The police interviewed everyone they could, including the neighbors, but no one had seen or heard anything unusual. Among the people questioned were Tanya Morson and Vincent Tabak.

Tanya handled most of the talking, mentioning that she'd been out for a company dinner that Friday night, while Vincent had stayed home. When she called him to pick her up, he'd come out to get her. Both claimed they knew nothing about Joanna's disappearance. Joanna's friends and family soon launched a full-blown campaign to find her, creating a website and utilizing social media. Her parents, not well-versed in online platforms, poured their energy into speaking to the media. On December 21st, Greg and Joanna's family made a public appeal, pleading for her safe return.

The nation watched, moved by their pain. Then, on December 25, tragedy struck. A couple walking their dog along Lockwood Lane in Phelan, North Somerset, stumbled upon Joanna's body. The news devastated her loved ones, and the entire nation was shaken by the discovery, feeling as though they had lost one of their own. The case I'm about to discuss involves a tragic event that shook the community and left everyone wondering about the true nature of the crime.

It all began with an idyllic winter scene. Everything was covered in snow, the bushes, the street signs, the paths, creating a serene in peaceful atmosphere. The snow painted a picturesque picture, and it wasn't until they decided to head home that the situation took a dark turn. The family, out on a walk, noticed that their dog had stopped suddenly, sniffing intently at a patch of snow. At first, they didn't think much of it. The dog had simply been sniffing around, but soon the animal began digging at the snow, scratching relentlessly until it uncovered a piece of fabric. Upon closer inspection, they realized that it was part of a pair of pants.

Alarmed, the family immediately took out their phone and called the police. On the same day, the authorities found the body of a young woman. After an identification process, her family confirmed her identity. An autopsy was quickly performed. Initially, there were several points of interest. First, determining the exact time of death was nearly impossible. The woman had been abandoned in the snow shortly after her death, and the freezing cold had preserved her body. Second, there were no visible signs of violence, leading to speculation that she had died

from hypothermia. However, as the investigation progressed, it became clear that wasn't the case. Lastly, the woman was fully dressed, but she was missing her shoes and one sock. While the shoes were later found at her home, the missing sock was never recovered. As the autopsy continued, new details emerged. It was discovered that the cause of death was strangulation. The process was slow and methodical, but the process was. indicating that the killer had intentionally prolonged her suffering.

Experts believed this kind of death could give the killer a sense of satisfaction, as it involved watching the victim agonize. Despite extensive searching, there was no evidence of sexual assault. Furthermore, there were signs of a struggle on the victim's body, but they weren't very clear. The police also found no traces of pizza, suggesting that the woman hadn't eaten the food she had been holding when last seen. The case grew even more perplexing when forensic teams discovered sweat traces and unusual fibers on her clothing.

As a result, the police launched a major investigation called Operation Bid. Detective Phil Jones led this extensive inquiry, which involved 80 detectives and civilian personnel. To underscore how important the case was, two large rewards were offered. The first reward was 10,000 pounds, provided by crime stoppers, while the second was 50,000 pounds from a local newspaper. The case quickly became a national obsession, and people from all over the country were eager to offer tips or sightings. However, despite receiving hundreds of calls and emails, no lead seemed reliable enough to make a breakthrough. To push the case forward, the police re-interviewed

people they had spoken to earlier. They went door-to-door, asking neighbors if they had seen anything unusual. Many who had previously claimed to know nothing suddenly admitted to hearing screams on the night of the incident. Based on this new information, the police began to develop two potential theories. The first was that the young woman might have been murdered by a professional, perhaps even a serial killer, because no signs of forced entry were found in her apartment, and there had been other mysterious murders in the region over the years. These included cases from 1974, 1996, and 2009, where women were either strangled or disappeared under similar circumstances. However, there wasn't enough evidence to link these cases directly to her murder.

The second theory was that the killer was someone close to the victim, perhaps a friend, acquaintance, or even a family member. The police focused on her boyfriend, Greg R, but he had an alibi, he had been visiting his parents and was with them at the time of the crime. Another person who had access to the apartment was the landlord, Christopher Jeffries. He was a 65-year-old retired university professor who lived in the same building. He was known to be eccentric, reclusive, and, strangely, had no electronic devices in his home. No one knew much about him, and his odd behavior, coupled with his appearance, led to suspicion. While there was no direct evidence connecting him to the crime, the media latched onto him, with many believing he was the culprit.

The situation took an interesting turn when the police received a tip from a couple who lived in the building. They had been out of town when the crime occurred, but they remembered seeing Christopher's car moving around the night of the murder. This raised a red flag, as it was unusual for the car to be in motion at that time. The police, eager to investigate any lead, raided Christopher's apartment and car, but they found nothing, no DNA or signs of struggle. After being held for 48 hours, Christopher was released, and the media had a field day, declaring him guilty. Christopher, however, sued for defamation, and his case was a reminder that there was still much to be uncovered. The investigation seemed to

hit a dead end. While it was plausible that Christopher was the killer, there was no physical evidence to support this claim. As time passed, suspicion shifted towards another individual, Vincent T., a neighbor of the victim. The police had to dig deeper into Vincent's life, and what they uncovered was unsettling. Vincent had no alibi for the night of the murder, and his behavior was increasingly suspicious. He was a quiet, introverted man with a background in architecture. In 2007, he had moved from the Netherlands to England, where he started a relationship with a woman named Tanya. They lived in the same building as the victim, them, though there had been no direct interactions between them. On the night of the crime,

Vincent had been home alone, while his girlfriend, Tanya, was out at a company dinner. He later went to pick her up, but when questioned about the murder, he seemed unusually interested in the details of the case. He kept asking the police about the progress of the investigation, the autopsy results, and whether any leads had been found. This behavior raised suspicions. Vincent's odd behavior and knowledge about the case were troubling, leading the police to focus their attention on him. In December 2010, Vincent was arrested, and his house was searched again. This time, the police found troubling evidence. On his computer, they discovered searches for escort agencies, as well as over 100 indecent images of minors and violent pornography that depicted

women being strangled, a method of killing that matched the cause of death in the Joanna Yates case. They also found disturbing photos of a pornographic actress who resembled the victim. Furthermore, Vincent had researched the difference between murder and involuntary manslaughter, which, while seemingly insignificant, was a key detail that the police later connected to the crime. When police searched Vincent's car, they found traces of Joanna's blood, as well as fibers from her clothing. It became clear that Vincent was the killer. The evidence suggested that he had been fantasizing about controlling a woman and killing her, and Joanna had been the perfect target. He had been alone that night, and he knew that Joanna would be too. He meticulously. He

meticulously planned the murder, even using his knowledge of public spaces to avoid detection. After killing her, he disposed of her body, leaving it in the snow. He then returned to his apartment and continued with his life as if nothing had happened. Vincent's defense claimed that the death had been accidental. They argued that during an encounter with Joanna, she had started to scream and struggle when he attempted to kiss her. In the ensuing chaos, he had unintentionally strangled her. However, this story didn't hold up under scrutiny. The evidence pointed to premeditated murder, and Vincent's knowledge of the investigation and his disturbing searches on the Internet made his version of events highly questionable.

In May 2011, Vincent was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison with a minimum of 20 years. His actions were cold and calculated, and the tragic loss of Joanna Yates was a reminder of the dark side of human nature. The case left many wondering what had truly happened that night and how someone could be driven to commit such an act. It serves as a chilling reminder that sometimes, the most unexpected people are capable of the most heinous crimes. We begin. Violet Chambers was born in Edinburgh in 1862 as the eldest of four children of Robert Chambers Jr., editor of Chambers Journal, and granddaughter of Robert Chambers, editor and founder

of W. and Ark Chambers. Her family's history is frankly fascinating, her grandfather and his brother William witnessed firsthand how their parents completely lost everything. The family business at the time was lending money. You'd lend X amount of money, set deadlines, add interest, and people would slowly pay you back. The plan at first was perfect, the chambers had a lot of money, various properties, contacts, they went to luxurious parties. But at a certain point, they lent money to French prisoners of war.

These men promised to invest the money within the United Kingdom. They wouldn't go far, they'd settle down. build businesses, construct homes, start families, and the chambers believe them. They gave them a bit of money, then a bit more, then more still, and these people took it all and returned to France. So, unfortunately, it was never recovered. The brothers Robert and William made it very clear they would not follow in their parents' footsteps. They wouldn't lend money, wouldn't waste it. Instead, they would start their own business, a small bookstore, which I must say, did quite well. They sold books, made money, and in 1832, they founded a publishing house called Chambers

Edinburgh Journal. It published all sorts of articles, particularly about religion, science, and history. And, incredibly, they became rich from this. Robert, as was common in that era, married and had children, one of whom was Robert Jr. Robert Jr. followed in his father's footsteps, became part of the publishing house, gave it a makeover, and when he took the reins, it continued to thrive.

We have quite a bit of information about this man. According to testimonies of the time, he was known to be quite eccentric. He loved wildlife, art, music, and sports, especially golf. Not only that, but he also practiced acting and ventriloquism. Robert eventually had four children, one of whom was Violet Chambers, the protagonist of today's story. With a father like that, we might assume Violet received a refined education, elite schools, the best teachers, boarding schools, but at that time, women typically did not receive much education.

It wasn't the norm. Their education was more limited and focused mainly on home and child care. However, Robert did educate his daughter. He instilled. in her love for literature and writing, taught her everything she needed to know about the publishing world, which, remember, was the family business, and allowed her to surround herself with academics and celebrities, giving her valuable connections that would help her throughout her life. Violet and her father spent a great deal of time together. They shared interests and hobbies, one of which was particularly striking, they both loved ghost hunting. But we'll come back to that point later. Throughout her life, Violet published several works, most of them about ghosts,

fictional stories, tales, but also autobiographical ones. For example, the ghosts I have seen, published in 1919. In that book, she recounted experiences she had since the age of six, experiences, I must say, she didn't live through alone. At that age, her parents bought a beautiful house on Claremont Crescent, Edinburgh. It was a large three-story terraced house, and at the time, the neighborhood was practically new. Everything was newly built, pristine, an eerie, ghostly atmosphere. It was literally an idyllic place. So, at first, the children should have had no reason to be afraid. Another important detail, the house was never empty. The parents, the four children, and the servants were always there.

It was a huge house, but there was always someone on each floor. Yet, at night, things changed completely. The parents went to bed, the servants put the children to sleep, and when everything was quiet, Violet and her brother Albert would always hear the same footsteps. Every night, the sound of a woman's heels echoed throughout the house. They'd hear them on the first floor, pacing, going up the stairs, pacing on the second floor. And they knew perfectly well it was a woman, by the heels, the way she walked, and because her dress brushed against the walls. Her route always ended in a small room full of boxes.

Every night was the same route, first floor, stairs, second floor, and she would end in that room. But she wasn't the only entity in the house. Every ten days, another entity would appear, one the children called rampers. Rampers appeared at five in the morning. Everything would be silent, everyone asleep, and the entity would enter their room and start moving everything, shaking the wardrobe, the chairs, moving the desk. The children knew it was doing it. They could hear it, feel it. They knew what they were hearing, they knew it was there, but their eyes couldn't see anything.

The wardrobe didn't move, the chairs didn't either, the desk stayed still, but their ears could hear everything in perfect detail. Every ten days, the same story. And every ten days, always at the same time, five in the morning. Yet, incredibly, no one else in the house ever heard the same thing. No one else heard rampers. Not the chairs, not the wardrobe, nothing. And people kept saying it was all in the children's imagination, just games, fantasies, nonsense, they had dreamed it all.

Eventually, Violet told the story to her beloved father, and soon discovered that Robert Jr. was a ghost enthusiast. He told her legends, rumors, his own experiences, and when he felt she was ready, he took her on ghost hunts, specifically to three mansions that, at the time, were known to be haunted, Broughton Hall, Powder Hall, and Lodgy Green. But the one they visited most was the first, Broughton Hall, because it was conveniently close to home. Broughton Hall was an impressive 17th century mansion and had been home to many distinguished individuals, Archibald Stewart, who was Lord Provost, William Fullerton, tax inspector in Leith, and later Alexander Donaldson, a printer, editor, and bookseller.

But what interested them most were, of course, the ghost stories. It was believed the ghost of a child haunted the place, a boy who died centuries ago. He had been home alone when the men went out hunting. The Crumwellians came down the road, he shouted, We stand with the king, and one of the soldiers raised his musket and shot him. He collapsed in the great gallery, crawled to one of the bedrooms, and bled to death. Legend says that, from time to time, those bloodstains still seeped through. Over time, ghost stories multiplied. People spoke of screams, shadows, presences, apparitions.

They spoke of more ghosts, men, women, women. women, children, old people. They even spoke of ghost dogs, of mists. So father and daughter decided to explore. They usually went occasionally for about thirty minutes. They'd sneak in through the gardens, hide, wait, but soon would grow tired and go back home. Until one night, everything changed. They snuck in, hid, waited, everything seemed normal.

But then the atmosphere changed completely. Turning a corner, they saw a woman with long black hair in a nightgown. The nightgown had no sleeves, and her feet made no sound. She walked firmly on the cobblestones, and yet, her feet made no noise. She was a flesh and blood woman, her face twisted, anguished, her expression seemed to scream, but she made no sound. She turned toward them, stretched out her arms, and began to run. and daughter had to jump aside, throw themselves to the ground. Still, the woman didn't even

stop. It was as if she didn't see them, didn't know they were there. Robert ran after her. Violet got up quickly and followed her father, but when she caught up, it was too late. The woman had vanished. In fact, her father said the following, she vanished into thin air just as I reached her. It's always like that, you can't catch them. One afternoon, Violet and her father went to visit an elderly family friend. Her only daughter, a woman of around 50, had recently passed away. The elderly lady was still in mourning, sad, devastated. Her daughter had suffered a hard life.

According to Violet herself, the woman suffered from violent madness. She was never institutionalized, they cared for her at home, and eventually, she died. They met the elderly lady, went into the living room for tea. The weather outside was magnificent, a sunny day, the windows open. From the living room,

they could see the garden, flowers, trees, everything green, an idyllic landscape. The atmosphere was calm. That's when Robert asked the following question, Have you seen her again? To Violet, this was very strange. She didn't understand the question.

What did he mean? It sounded like he was referring to the deceased daughter, but that made no sense. The daughter was dead, no longer there. Asking something like that could be painful. However, moments later, these words were heard, my God, there she is. All three looked toward the garden, and among the flowers, they saw a 50-year-old woman, dressed in black, walking aimlessly. She seemed unaware of her surroundings,

of where she was going, and in the blink of an eye, the woman vanished. The strange things with her father didn't end there. Years later, the man made a bizarre prediction. The night of December 28, 1879, was dark and rainy. The whole family was gathered in the library, and outside, a strong windstorm raged. The windows rattled in the wind, and the mood was quite gloomy. Then, without warning, Robert pulled out his watch and spoke. the following words. At this very moment, 7.15 p.m., Sunday, December 28, 1979, something terrible

has happened. I believe a bridge has collapsed, and indeed, the next day they learned that the Tay Bridge had collapsed at precisely that time, and those on it had died in the waters. Robert died in February 1888, and Violet inherited a large sum. She received the inheritance, saved it, and the following year moved to London. That's when she published her first novel, and Day 2, and became involved in humanitarian rescue work in East End, London. She moved in elite circles, mingled with Robert Browning, Fred Layden, and Proctor, and maintained very influential contacts, among them none other than Helena Blavatsky.

Around this time, she also became a member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. And although she was against spiritualism, she ended up becoming a spiritualist herself. To be continued. Elena Blavatsky, at that time, she also became a member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. And although she was against spiritualism, she eventually became a spiritualist. Now I'm going to tell you what led her to that. At first, she didn't believe in it, she saw it as a scam.

So, she set herself a challenge, attend 50 spiritualist seances. And if in none of them she found any proof that it was real, she would not believe in it. She didn't want to judge without knowing. So, she figured that with 50 sessions, she would have more than enough. She attended many, most were 100% fake. But then she encountered the man from Merrillbone Street. This elderly gentleman, you paid him a certain amount of money and he did what you asked. If you wanted a ghost, you got a ghost.

If you wanted a poltergeist, you got a poltergeist. Whatever was possible, he made it happen. So, Violet, without hesitation, went to see him. According to her description, she entered a room that was completely empty, plain walls, no decorations, nothing striking. There was just a table, two chairs, and four more against the wall. She sat down, relaxed, and without further ado, said the following, Please make those four chairs in front of us cross the floor and climb onto the table. There were no nooks or hiding spots in that room, no signs of a third person, much less invisible ones.

And yet, the four chairs, as if by magic, moved by themselves, climbed onto the table, and stacked themselves on top of each other. It was such a shocking experience that later she visited another medium, and that woman, in broad daylight, was able to summon an entity that materialized in front of Violet. From here, for a time, she stepped away from spiritualism. Apparently, she paused, but the strange events continued. In 1891, she married Clarence Tale and from then on took his last name, becoming Violet Tale. She began publishing books about psychic matters, as in her new home, they experienced inexplicable events.

One summer afternoon, Violet invited several friends over for tea at home, but a few days earlier she had begun feeling unwell, so she cancelled the meeting. She spoke with the guests, explained everything, and they understood perfectly. On the day in question, Violet planned to stay in bed. She felt awful, couldn't take it anymore, and told the staff that if anyone came, they should say she wasn't home. She wouldn't attend to anyone, wanted nothing to do with anyone, just rest in bed. And at first, that's how it went, she had the windows open, the curtains drawn. Thirty minutes before the cancelled meeting, someone rang the bell. She thought the guests had forgotten she was sick, but was sure the staff would turn them away.

She stayed in bed, eyes closed. A few minutes later, the piano in the living room started playing. It sounded like a professional, someone dedicated to music. At that moment, Violet was furious. She had cancelled, informed the staff, said she wouldn't see anyone. So at first, she waited, hoping people would remember and leave. But time passed, and the piano kept playing. Furious, she left her room, went downstairs, entered the room, and at that moment the piano

stopped. Inside, she saw no one. The piano was next to a window, which was wide open. She ran to it, looked outside, thinking the musician had fled, but the street was empty. So, extremely upset, she called the staff, who knocked recently. There have been no visitors today, ma'am, but surely you heard the piano playing. We did hear some music, but we thought it was you playing, ma'am. So, you all heard it. Yes, ma'am. The staff, Staff investigated what had happened, but unfortunately, they never figured it out. The case of the musician was never solved. Violet and her husband loved a change of scenery, so from time to time they rented different places.

Summer homes, seasonal places, depending on their mood. Two years later, they rented a beautiful cottage by the Thames for the summer. From the moment she arrived, Violet was struck by a sideboard. It had various liquors, was beautifully made of wood and glass, with dishware inside. But every time she passed by, she felt a presence, an invisible gaze. When she entered the room, she felt it too. It was either in or next to the sideboard. On one occasion, focusing a bit more, she felt that a strange mist appeared in front of her.

It was a small, formless gray cloud. As weeks passed, the cloud took on more. more shape, eventually becoming a rather short woman. The apparitions lasted only seconds, quick, almost imperceptible, but Violet was sure a ghost was present. She spoke to her husband, they investigated the house, and discovered that long ago the cottage belonged to a woman who had fallen into disgrace. This lady had once been a great star, a celebrity, she traveled the world, went to Monte Carlo, mingled with stars, but sadly fell into alcoholism and died from it in that same cottage. In 1900, the couple rented a house in the West End for the winter, and again,

the ghosts returned. Husband and wife, as was typical for the time, had separate bedrooms. Violet's room was very simple, a large bed with nightstands, and at the foot, a small fireplace. This fireplace was lit every night, and beside it, there was an armchair. Violet would come in, light the fireplace, go to bed, and one night, a mist appeared in the armchair. A mist that slowly took the shape of a man about 30 years old. He never said anything, never moved. He sat back in the chair, feet up toward the fire, holding a paper that he occasionally squeezed. The first time, he stayed there for an hour, and when the fire went out, he vanished. A week later, the entity reappeared. Same thing, touched the paper, was heard, appeared, and when the fire went out, vanished.

Though he didn't do anything, Violet felt fear, anguish, and really didn't understand why. The man just sat there, unmoving. Out of fear, she told a Catholic friend about the ghost, the presence, and how it scared her. Her friend recommended an exorcism. Violet spoke to a priest, invited him over, and without being told anything, he found the haunted room and sprinkled it with holy water. From then on, the ghost never appeared again. Later, Violet and her husband stayed in a hotel.

Again, they had separate rooms, connected by a small door, so not entirely apart. Violet went to bed, quickly fell asleep, but at 4 a.m., the cold became unbearable. She was covered, everything was shut, yet the room was freezing. She opened her eyes, sat out. up and saw a gray mist moving around the room as if alive. At first, it had no form, but gradually took on that of an adult man. It was sinister, terrifying, distressing. She felt the same as she had before. The next morning, she decided to ask about it. A woman came in to clean the room, tidy up, change sheets. As soon as she entered, Violet asked her, did someone take their life in

this room, the question left the woman speechless. She froze, not knowing what to say. Minutes later, she replied, a few days ago, a military man stayed in this room, and shot himself. From that moment on, Violet began to think she might have some kind of gift. That maybe she was a medium, that she attracted ghosts, understood them, could interpret them. Thanks to all this, she and her husband decided to hunt ghosts. Their first stop would be Castell Amari, a mansion that had been uninhabited for 30 years. Its owner couldn't sell it due to strong rumors. People spoke of screams, shadows, presences, physical attacks, doors opening and closing on their own, and above all, evil entities. With such tales, no one wanted to buy it.

But Violet was thrilled. They found the owner, asked him if they could enter for a day. He said yes, gave them the keys, let them in. They repeated the process several times. Each visit, they closed all doors, walked the house in silence, said nothing, didn't even move for a while. And during that time, they captured very strange things, footsteps, whispers, doors opening and closing, unexplainable chills, presences. But beyond that, nothing else. It seemed like mere suggestion. They let it go.

Until in 1917, a friend of Violets invited her to ghost hunt at that same place. The investigation team included, a medium, a local builder, an old soldier, and four more women. The group met one afternoon. All doors were open, the house was empty, no one else inside. For several hours, they stayed silent. Time passed, nothing happened. Not a whisper, not a sound, not a footstep. absolutely nothing. But then, the medium appeared to become possessed. An aggressive spirit

spoke through her. He identified himself as the owner of the house and said that if they didn't leave, he'd destroy them. Obviously, no one left. Then the medium lunged at the soldier, hitting him with a strength impossible for someone like her. She was small, thin, fragile, yet her blows were too strong. The entire group fled the house. The four women ran, screaming. The medium fainted. They tried to lift her, get her out, and when they did, she came to. After this experience, they decided to return, do it again another day.

But the four women refused. Still, the medium, the builder, the soldier, and Violet returned. They repeated everything, searched the house, entered a room, and the medium again became possessed. But this time, she got more information. According to her, the evil spirit belonged to a woman who had been strangled in that house by her doctor. They checked the records, searched for information, but supposedly found nothing about such a crime. So to this day, we don't know if it was true. This woman's life was truly fascinating. Over her lifetime, she published 30 books, six non-fiction, one of which had a prologue by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The remaining 24 were

fiction, and in almost all of them, she included a ghostly touch, which, up until her death in December 1936, made her the perfect heir to Robert Chambers. But now it's your turn. What do you think about this case? Do you believe this story could be true? The end. We started a man who had him. Everything was accused of committing a terrible. Crime has a good job. Many friends a lot of money, a family. Perfect two children had, practically everything in his life and for that. Reason many people put there, part believed that the accusation was a error and that he was not able to something like that. But when the evidence saw the light, they realized that for years they had, lived a lie and that person does not. It was what seemed that is where it begins,

the mysterious case of. Today, Elino Jara was born on March 17, 1976, in Ireland being the greatest of the four, children of Ellen and Franco's marriage. Jara of her we know that she had a, happy childhood without shock lived, next to your family in a class area, half high south of Dublin and it is said, who was fun and cheerful affectionate? I would love to make friends, but, especially he liked to play parents. Mothers, according to his family always had a great maternal instinct even when, his mother was little was a teacher and, every day I was in contact with, children with which Ellen wanted to be like, she wanted to study teaching, with children devote yourself to something related, with them and their dream from that moment.

It was to be like his mother, however, very, soon the problems would arrive and it is that. In his childhood he was diagnosed with a, very severe dyslexia this fact came, even to bring you problems to, communicate with other people since, pronounced some words in a way, different and the children began to, mock of her at first this, matter did not bother him much if they laughed. They joked with this, but she didn't. It mattered, however, arrived at. Institute things now changed the. Problem was not his dislelems. but everything that surrounded her physique her way of being her dreams everything she cared about his companion seemed to laugh but thus this girl did not express her suffering did not tell his parents to teachers

to friends and for several years he believed that she alone i could deal with this i went to class he attended what he could and after he returned home and was silent but at fifteen years all his best friend exploded he died in a car accident and without his support ellen collapsed get injured in areas of your body then. Others could not see and at 16 the pain. What I felt was so great that he locked in the bathroom of his house and tried to take off. Life but her mother found her and immediately led to the hospital. Close from there began to receive, psychological monitoring and was assigned, a psychiatrist who was going to accompany him, Dr. Claire for almost 20 years. This person in a short time detected what? Next, according to him, Alino Jara was a very vulnerable person was

easy mind, manipulable was very submissive from. Here you cannot diagnose it well if, with personality limit disorder or with recurrent depressive disorder without, however it was, many medications which, though, they left asleep as I went. Growing more problems appeared asthma, diabetes and itself esteem struck. When he graduated, he planned to study, Magisterium to be a teacher to be with children, but unfortunately did not get good grades. They were good notes, but unfortunately, they weren't enough so he got a course and started working on a.

Bollie-Brak nursery, however, salary was not enough with this no. It arrived at the end of the month so it was sought. Another half-time job in a Costco, located in Black Rock is in the, nursery in the kiosk and in the latter. Place becomes a worker. Very important give you a copy of the. Keys leaves total freedom and in. Principal everything is doing very well. Tracing is improving but in 2002 his.

Mother dies and once again has a relapsed with the death of his mother in. March 2002 his mind collapses and suffers two. Suicide attempts that almost cost him. Life won in 2005 and another in 2006 after. The last attempt the psychiatrist. Dr. Claire gave him more hours to visit, and also followed up more. Constance sees it more often gives it more, medication, and then discover that Lane. It has a very dark secret and is that.

It is obsessed with becoming the, someone's slave wants the, kidnap the, Gordicated to go through hell, but, this point will return later this. Psychiatrist discovers creepy things, but in 2007 the therapy stops already. That man dies and Ellen suffers A, the hospital relapsed almost, immediately puts another psychiatrist, Dr. Matt Mutpie, but Lane does not accept it. He doesn't want to see him wants to leave therapy. It is already tired, but thanks to Morpie. Traces quickly takes away, though. Medication gives another approach to therapy, and the lien for several years is again, before 2007 to 2012, according to your, family gives an impressive change and, also at that time not only has two, works, but also decides that by, the Knights will study again wants to be, teacher the Montezori school and for this. You have to do some Inca exams, though. Elbows is more positive, more open, with. The others but summer 2012 suffers a relapsed and voluntarily decides, enter the Sanit Murie Hospital. He was there for some time and, measure that was improving were giving him, more and more space in fact in the beginning of. August allowed him to recover one of. The two

works specifically that of, kiosco is in the hospital goes to, work returns there can talk to, the family with friends give walks, is more or less free and finally there. August 22nd they discharge their status of, encourage, be happy to have fun, to see the world of studying, and His father Frank was what the collected from the, in fact hospital is thanks to him that we know what he did that day for the. Tomorrow father and daughter are going to put together. Flowers to the tomb of his mother who is, locates in the Shang Cemetery he wins in, Dublin and since then the father note, something strange and is that his daughter was very, attached

to the mobile at noon they go home. Of this man and there they meet with the rest of the family are Father Frank, some brothers their niece and also the, her father Sheila's new girlfriend who, it was also practically neighbor of Lane. They eat all together and everything goes well but, so the four more or less Ellen you have. To go the next day August 23rd, will be voluntary with Sheila in a festival which takes place in. Dublin has to get up early, be clear and is so excited that you cannot expect so that your own. Sheila offers to take her home and how they are neighboring Ellen accepts up to the car. This woman goes to Elon's house and, once there they say goodbye and stay in, see the next day at

7.15 minutes in the morning but arrived. Elene does not give Sheila signs. By phone you send messages you go to your door calls the bell bumps, but, Ellen still does not answer that Sheila, the afternoon is coming without her, still without saying anything so the father, with a spare key enters its house and realize that everything is, as always everything is well-ordered, put but there is a small detail that. The father seems very strange and is that his daughter's iPhone is in the kitchen. Loading and Ellen would never go without him, think that maybe he got up late, and with the hurry he has left him at home, maybe he is still at the festival maybe, with someone entertaining so, Perhaps he goes to his daughter's parking and sees that. Your car is not there which confirms. His hypothesis may get out late. He was running his mobile and already. Next day will give signs but there. Day 24 and Ellen still does not appear in four.

Both the father calls the hospital, thinking that maybe he has entered again, but from there they tell him they don't know, nothing about her and that the best she can. Do is call. Police the first 2,448 hours of the disappearance of someone are crucial. Poro although the police are looking for, Lane the family cannot stay, still so that tasks are distributed and look for her everywhere. Their favorite streets travel, stores to which the parks go, trails and of course they will look for her. Sean's Cemetery wins that.

Cemetery is in a park that receives. The same name is a very large area, with parks bridges but so. Ellen always went to the same place to, Cemetery and indeed in the parking lot of. This is your car like this as. The family calls it to the police. When agents arrive, they record all, the area and of course the vehicle and, inside this they find the following. 2-2 brand tobacco packages. Different a lighter and a charger of. Mobile that was not iPhone with this. Information on Friday, August 31st, the. Police record your home they are looking for more.

Clues who could go to. What and what they find demonstrates that. For years nobody met Ellen Da. Truth and apparently in a drawer. It has a large collection of toys, but we are not talking about objects. Typical wives, some belt some. Plumer we are talking about practices A. Little stronger metal chains. Locks a PVC dress bed clothes. Very suggestive or rober. a mask of. Gas and among all this there was a notebook, where Lane pointed to her tastes is, history is increasingly and more cloudy. So the police ask the recordings of street surveillance cameras, Lan thinks that perhaps the, August 23rd, but in reality there, find leaving home at five from, the afternoon of the 22nda, family at 4 o'clock at 4.30 more, or less return home and at 5 leaves, alone with a mobile in your hand that in, reality is not his detail that most. A head will be very important search in. The records if Ellen has another mobile.

but the woman only has her iPhone like this. What do witnesses in? Sean's Park wins and they find. Two men who supposedly believe, having seen the first is a subject. I had seen her crying about. A grave of the cemetery does not know if it is. She or not, but according to him they look like, very much and the second is a subject that, he crossed with her at 5.40 minutes.

According to him this woman asked for, indications to get to a bridge, that passed over the roads of. Train is when the first arises. Hypothesis and Lane has taken off the. Life were discharged. early end. She had a relapse as happy with. The family very lively, but when it arrives, home has a downturn grabs the keys, gets the car, goes to the cemetery, say goodbye to your mother and then decide, go to cliffs to. Launch into the sea however knows how to arrive, until there

through a bridge but to. Do not find it asks for indications to. This subject talks to him, finds the bridge and from there you go to the cliffs that story could have sense, but according to the family there are points that are not clear to them seline. That day I was very happy, I was very, motivated with work with studies, with progress and the festival made him, a lot of illusion and secondly, no one was taking into account that in, but time passes and the police are, questions do not seem to care so. In 2013 this case was one step of being, forgotten from this point it arrives, a very sinister event chronology. On Tuesday, September 10th, 2013 the fisherman William figure went to the reservoir of, Bartray with his brother and a friend. The water level is very low, but the idea was fishing and laughing.

Find a thing that seems to shine no. They know what it is they have no idea but with. The joke challenge each other to see, who fishes at first are pushed. With the mess and that's something that shines. It seems to be a toys kit. Wives bonds a gag a bandage, four eyes and very suggestive clothes.

Three friends are still joking so. They grab the whole pack and leave it in. A corner, however, to the following. Ours William was not convinced of. This one this kind of objects have. You do not go to a reservoir to throw them but a, container you will not travel several, kilometers to throw it on a bridge. So the next day, Wednesday 11, September returns to the place

collects it, everything and takes it to the police station more, close specifically to roundwoods. It is there where Officer James O'Donoh, record the finding to the entire police station. It seems to him a joke believed that this is. Garbage that a madman has thrown it there, because yes, but James also seems, very rare so if, record everything very well in a day. Next veil reservoir to see if, find something more to, then the water was very murky and not. I could see what was on the other side with what, which leaves the subject parked and continues. Go ahead with other cases time passes, and the coach arrives on Friday the 13th. Canina Magalie Beckner was all the weeks accompanied by their dogs to the.

Killick Mountain always made the same, same paths themselves, same bridges but in two weeks ago, one of the dogs disappeared by some minutes and returned with a Magalie bone. I thought about there would be a dead animal but on Friday the 13th the dog returned with a large bone, size and in your mind that could not be a animal and therefore took the phone and called the police after looking for a little in the area the agents find human remains specifically two third parts of a body at few hours pathologists get to the work and say that those bones belong to a woman between 25 and 40 years old and another very interesting thing is that they determine who died a year ago unfortunately these bones are simply that meat has disappeared and finding DNA it's very

complicated so they decide, use dental records and thanks to. Dr. Mary Clark discover that these are the remains of Leinojara. During a registration made at home, they discovered a lot of toys, which seems very clear that both. Findings belong to the same case by, that reason for the AG James O.D. Donu. An idea occurs on Monday 16th commanded A. Team of divers to the reservoir asks that, look for the whole area because it is. Sure there is something else and indeed, a few hours find the following. A. Lather Bondage Mask A. Inhaler a more wise. knife, jaws and a game of keys with supermarket cards so a day. Next day 17 he calls the supermarkets and discovers that all cards belong to Alinojara is there when two new lines of

research is to continue in the reservoir keep looking for things by reviewing everything and while they are doing it. They find a Nokia phone and in second place return to Lans' house and they register everything they take their computer, his mobile and just in case they move the furniture and when lifting the mattress and give it. The return see that it has holes end. Blood stains is not blood, enough to be the scene of a crime but they take samples, y'all. They discover that blood belongs to Ellen, but that next to this there is male DNA, a DNA that has no coincidences with, no base of, data the police have something very clear and, is that Lane was involved in things. Turbius was seeing someone end, this person surely ended his, life so to

discover it records, your computer and the two mobile phones, your iPhone and Nokia which miraculously managed to revive, but, I must tell you that no one would be prepared for what would come next and it is. That is the year 2006 Ellen was, collecting, material on your computer apparent. I only used to consult pages, fetishists and relate to others, people interested in BDSM, especially men who see themselves, same as dominant or masters talk to. Several men comment what is, searching and for a year he does not find, no one related to her does find people, dominant to alleged expert masters, But at the end of the day all these, they were looking for something quieter they were looking for the typical moderate emotions games. But in 2007 he meets a man who everything will change and this is an architect 72.

First exchange a couple of messages. And from there the contact passes to emails. Among them it seems recurring is very. Constant and Ellen comes to tell him that you have such and such end. That architect seems to worry about a matter. I hope you find yourself while I assume that. You try to improve and stay away from. What we do together for you to know, I always think of of you and I hope you are, safe and do not suffer too much for. Within September 19th, 2008 to everything right here but the relationship was more, and the police had no files were missing, many dates, many data and were given, account that someone had deleted, many files with which, using a prima they all recovered, those who could among those documents,

there were completely lame images, naked and full of scars, short in the arms and the belly, and I had photographs of women who, they seemed dead had written in the, that she herself related as a woman. She was kidnapped, tortured, and killed and, in 2010 he signed a slave contract. With architect things got each, even worse and noticed that so much in there, iPhone like Nokia phone had, conversations with a subject who could. Being an architect is not clear what. Telephone rescued all this but that we do know is that they exchanged the following words I'm a sadistic. I really enjoy the pain of others you should. Help me infringe you pain and help me. With my fantasy I want to nail my knife in the meat while. I'm the blood and I would love to stab.

To a girl at some point, if any, once you want to die promote me that I can. Do it at first seem that lame. I was comfortable with this he liked. Talk about the death of the pain of. Wounds liked all that role but with. The time C. fed up and every time, he admitted to the hospital it seems that. This man did not make him a pinch of. Grosciet did not like not being able.

Control it not to be able to monitor it not to be able. Give orders and constantly, he remembered his tendencies his would have. Delighted to have been the one who, stab them I'm going to do it you have to. Clearly help this person wanted. harm what the police are trying, track the phone from which he rules, the messages, and that is when they reach a dead end because it turns out that, is your prepaid number that was bought, with a false name in 2011 for, try to question beings, Dear Lane in case anyone can know who can be but once again, they find nothing so they throw through the messages that the Nokia phone has been, receiving

but once again, they find the same in that Nokia, there is only a registered phone and, The name of this is master they throw around. They try to scratch and again it is a prepaid telephone registered with a. False name is clear that it is Nokia is. A slave phone Ellen was the. Slave and Shirley architect was the, I love all this is quite straight but two.

So the police cannot stop here. They have to look for more data and they decide to throw by two more ways. First they do is ask for all. Recordings of surveillance cameras. From Lane Street but this time not. Only those of a day but rather those of. Six months are a total of 5,300 hours and they discover that on several occasions in that.

Time the same man went home. Whenever passed in front of the camera, he covered his face but one occasion. Forgot they try to zoom put the clearer image but still do not know. Who is they do not capture their face well. Details and not being able to know who. Devils is create another line of research and this is to review point. By point all messages in those. Conversations there must be a key, a clue who is where he lives with, who works and thanks to this. They really really, discover details. Interesting discover that architect. He is married and who has two children but, which is also a fan of aeromodilism of, made on May 22nd, 2012 he participated in, a competition held in Dublin and, it was fifth looking for the, documents the list of participants

and, come that in fifth place there is a man named Graham. Dyer Graham Dwyer was an architect from, success born on September 13th, 1972. In band in Ireland of him it is known that it was, son of the marriage of Susan and C. Dwyer and that he had three brothers had a normal childhood and it was always a, very popular child and loved by all without. However, it had some problems in 1990. He was part of a group of, rock and appeared to be perfect as like that. How to attracted a girl's attention, called Emma Maxey she was, impressed by its great talent and, they immediately started out but soon, realized that something did not square. I was beginning to consume ecstasy and LSD and had constantly still anger attacks. Thus Emma was in love and continued with. He in fact had a child and he asked for marriage but every two for three. He continued with the attacks reaching, hit her on several occasions and even. To mount jealousy scenes he was jealous. Of the family of the friends of acquaintances, did what Emma did seemed, be bad and then Graham confessed. That had fantasies related to, stabbed to someone while they had. Relationships is at this point when, decide to leave it goes with the child home.

Of his parents takes distance and Graham, remove your life in fact soon. He goes out with Gemma de Weir and in just a few. months marry and form a family. According to Gemma with her he behaved. Excellent way was the perfect husband. I was very respected as a queen and at no time expressed. Your dark desires the life of this. Man was apparently perfect and routine got up early when to. Work did his things return home. Following this man 24A7 the police, he didn't notice anything strange because of what they took. A somewhat risky decision and is, they tracked the phone location. Nokia and saw that the day of the events traveled from Galway to the park of Sean Gonna in Dublin with this. Information click on the phone, Graham and see that at the same time more, or less made the same route to, having it clearer looks for the cameras of,

surveillance of the highway through which, he spent his car and in effect they capture him, enter your vehicle with which in October, 2013 arrested and question it during, several hours the subject denies everything, denies knowing Ellen to have seen her, once knowing something about her and although, all tests show the type. Keep denying says that the, recordings is not him and that this is not his. Car yes, the registration seems the same, but according to him it is not his does not stop. Deny the obvious so finally,

they asked for a DNA sample and discover that. This coincides 100% with the finding. In line Nora's mattress so, October 18th of that month they accuse him, formerly of the murder of this woman. Music. The trial began on January 22nd, 2015, and for this they had compiled a great amount of information was a total, 5,300 hours of images,

2620 text messages, almost 500 people, they were interviewed more or less had, 700 statements and 511 reports. Police had a lot of information, but still defense lawyer Remy. Farrell said it was not enough that. Nothing directly linked to Graham. Dyer with Ellen Jara also remembered the jury that Ellen had depression could be, remove life and also the cause of the. Death was not clear now.

They were just bones and knowing how he died was. An impossible task, however, prosecutor Sean Waren said the evidence. It was overwhelming Graham wanted to kill. Lane had wishes and although already in, several occasions said I didn't want. Dying he insisted the manipulated during, years submitted it and the last, conversations and held between them. They demonstrated everything I was saying. August 16th, 2012 if something happens to you, who knows about me nobody really know. I like the BDSM and I know people.

Okay, let's stay lonely up there are. A single return route without cameras end. I am very excited we are going to. To the forest I take off your clothes. Burial and leave your clothes in the car. Near the sea at night will seem. You drown you please don't mention. Kill me for a while until.

Return to normal is fine, but the. Tonight punishment will be to pretend. Do it with someone understood. Okay, thanks, sir, August 22nd. 2012 leave your iPhone at home brings. Only the slave phone and the keys. The main hypothesis is that. Graham Pulo-Ellen looks like it was wrong.

That was depressed and constantly. I tried to improve, but he put him. Obstacles if he was admitted he punished her. And on August 22nd he decided. he decided to end. Everything prepared what he believed crime. Perfect asks to leave your mobile at home. Do not digest anyone and what. I will only hold on the slave phone and, once in the mountains it kills her and, IS makes all the tests approach. The chains throws the chains to the reservoir. The masks everything that can, incriminating is thrown into the water and, from there he continues

with his life as, if nothing had happened on March 27th. 2015 Graham Toyer was sentenced in a unanimous deduct to life imprisonment but, since then this subject has been, fighting to make a new judgment since according to him they were achieved, some evidence illegally and is that, among other things they puncture their phone, however there is still no more information, so now is your turn what do you think, of the case and you think this case will have? Second, the strange and twisted life of Janelle Potter. Janelle Potter had a life that, at first glance, seemed pretty normal. She had friends, a boyfriend, and thanks to him, she discovered the endless possibilities of the internet. Social media became her playground, a place where

she could be someone completely different. She could pretend she had more friends, that she was more popular, and that life was far more exciting than it actually was. For Janelle, the internet was a dreamland. But there was just one problem, her parents. They were always watching. Back in 2012, a woman in her early thirties found herself living a nightmare. She was being harassed online, and the culprits weren't hiding. On the contrary, they seemed to be openly taunting her. Things got so out of hand that even the CIA allegedly got involved, or at least, that's what people thought. This is where our story really begins. The early years of Janelle Potter, Janelle Potter was born in 1982 in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. She was the

youngest of two daughters, born to Barbara and Marvin, Buddy Potter Jr. Barbara worked for HP, and Marvin was a former Marine who had served in Vietnam. From the moment she was born, Janelle was undeniably the favorite child. But this favorite wasn't because her older sister, Christy, was a troublemaker. No, it was because Janelle had a number of health problems that made her parents overprotective. She was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, which later led to significant hearing loss. Learning was hard for her, communication was a struggle, and she was constantly sick. As a result, she barely interacted with other children.

She had no real friends at school, no one to hang out with in the neighborhood, and her parents only tightened their grip, making her more withdrawn. Janelle grew up being pampered and sheltered, while Christy was often ignored or scolded. If Janelle wanted something, she got it. But if Christy asked for something, she was met with accusations of being selfish, jealous, or attention-seeking. This pattern would become crucial later in our story. At school, Janelle tried to fit in, but kids noticed something was, off.

She didn't understand sarcasm, couldn't tell when someone was joking with her or at her. her expense and constantly misinterpreted social cues. Every time she thought someone had been mean to her, she ran home and told her parents. The next day, her mom and dad would storm into the school, yelling at teachers, students, and even the principal. Barbara, in particular, was known for her explosive temper and love of conflict. There's even a story about Barbara trying to press charges against a little girl for allegedly hitting Janelle out of jealousy, because Janelle was too pretty.

Obviously, no charges were filed. Christy, as she grew older, realized something strange, Janelle was a compulsive liar. In her teens, Janelle told people she had cancer and even faked fainting spells to gain sympathy. When Christy confronted her, their parents didn't believe her. Instead, they accused Christy of being envious and cruel. The tension grew until Christy finally had enough, she packed her bags and left home. Meanwhile, Janelle never even considered leaving. She was completely dependent on her parents, and the idea of living without them was unimaginable.

She supposedly attended Pennsylvania State University, but no official records confirmed this. What is confirmed, however, is a bizarre agreement she made with her parents. She wasn't allowed to work. She couldn't have a driver's license or drive a car. Any potential friend had to be personally interviewed by her parents. She had a strict curfew. Most importantly, she was absolutely forbidden from having a boyfriend. The move to Mountain City, in 2005, when Janelle was 23, the Potter family relocated to Mountain City, Tennessee.

If they were considered strange in Pennsylvania, they became infamous in this small town. The parents still treated Janelle like a child, introducing her to everyone as their little girl. Barbara fought with neighbors, store clerks, and basically anyone who irritated her. Marvin boasted about being a war hero and even claimed to be a former CIA agent, though no one believed him. Despite all this, Janelle did manage to make a few friends. One of them was Tracy Greenwell, who worked at a local pharmacy. Tracy initially found Janelle odd but felt sorry for her and decided to include her in her social circle. This is where Janelle met Tracy's brother, Bill Payne, and cousin, Jamie Curd.

Janelle became infatuated with Bill, but there was a problem, Bill had a girlfriend, Billy Jean Hayworth. Their relationship was serious, and before long, they moved in together. Seeing this, Janelle decided to move on and secretly started dating Jamie Curd. Since Janelle's parents didn't allow her to date, she and Jamie kept their relationship a secret. Jamie even bought her a prepaid phone so they could text without her parents knowing. Whenever they wanted a lone time, Janelle would accidentally break the family computer, giving Jamie an excuse to come over and fix it. Janelle's secret life online, Janelle loved the internet.

Her parents thought she only had a Facebook account, which they might have. monitored 24-7. They had access to her messages, photos, and posts. But what they didn't know was that Janelle had other social media accounts. She created a MySpace profile where she fabricated a glamorous life, posting pictures of herself with Jamie, pretending she had a job, and even claiming to own a car. She also joined topics, a local online forum, where she stirred up drama. When Billy Jean announced she was pregnant, things escalated. Suddenly, Janelle started receiving anonymous death threats on Facebook. Her parents, of course, read them and freaked out. Janelle told her mother that Billy Jean and Bill were behind the threats, claiming

Billy Jean was jealous of her beauty and wanted her gone. Barbara believed every word. Then, a mysterious figure entered the scene, an alleged CIA agent named Chris. Chris contacted Barbara via email, claiming he had been watching over Janelle for years. He said he was investigating the online harassment and had discovered a terrifying truth, Billy Jean and Bill weren't just bullying Janelle, they were planning to kill her. Barbara and Marvin panicked. They had to protect their daughter. Chris encouraged them to act, and Jamie was drawn into the paranoia. The only solution, according to Chris, was to eliminate the threat. The murders, on the morning of January 31st, 2012, Marvin and Jamie drove to Bill and Billy Jean's house. Marvin shot Bill in

the head while he was still in bed. The gunshot woke Billy Jean, who grabbed her baby and ran, but Marvin followed her and shot her in the head, too. The baby was unharmed. Jamie then slit Bill's throat before they left, believing they had done justice. The next morning, a friend found the bodies and called the police. The investigation quickly led to the potters. When officers questioned Janelle, her parents spoke for her, portraying her as a helpless victim. But investigators noticed how nervous she got whenever Jamie's name was mentioned. When police arrested Jamie, he broke after five hours of interrogation, revealing everything. He thought he was following CIA orders.

Marvin was arrested next, and soon after, Barbara and Janelle were taken into custody. Turns out, Chris never existed. He was Janelle all along. Janelle was never harassed, never threatened, never in danger. She created the fake threats, manipulated her parents and boyfriend, and orchestrated a double murder, just to get rid of a woman she was jealous of. Marvin and Jamie were sentenced to life in prison, while Barbara and Janelle received life without parole. And to this day, Janelle insists she's innocent. So, what do you think?

Does Janelle regret anything, or is she still trapped in her delusions? The atmosphere was tense the hosts, they have a fairly strong character, and, he also told the friend that the house, I was dirty and disorderly. We started the night of Optar 25, 2017. One of the most crimes happened. Atrocious of Australia's history. Man called the authorities to, inform that a terrible crime had, took place in your own home but in.

Reality this call had nothing to. See what you can imagine now. Person calling was not a witness to. Nothing but rather one of the aggressors. And I didn't call to confess what there was. Done and ask for forgiveness, but rather to, that the police were and gave him right in. Your mind this person was 100% safe. that what he had done was justice and that the police would be of their side and that is where the

incident begins. Case of, music. Today to know today's history. We must move to Brighton East, in Melbourne, Australia and did a lot. Time in that area several people. They rented their houses they contacted. Agencies were rented for weeks, seasons and initially everything. There was good there were legal contracts, signed agreements and everything was for, written if you wanted to rent your home that. It was the best option but you wanted. Rent a small room though. Percentage that you stayed was very small with which many people do not even know. Raised was then when applications appeared that gave many more facilities and in trios. Jason Friends found Airbnb. Colton Craig Lev and Ryan Smart thought that this was a very good idea I met, or to people who had rented. Rooms using Airbnb and

the experience had been good so in, 2017 decided to throw themselves into the pool. The three lived together in a residence, very spacious four bedrooms and three bathrooms and since it is logical, it was left over. A room so they decided, resort to Herbie and B to find the, perfect tenant so far everything. Three friends who take, well they agree on this but, the people who live near that place do not, said good things and assured that neither. Crazy would live with them and there was. Rumors that said that in that house, he moved a lot of drugs and there were many fights, threats end, on more than one occasion the neighbor. They reported that it smelled marijuana in fact. The police went several times, for anonymous complaints complaints. Final did not reach anywhere but, before

continuing we will meet everyone. The hosts from Lease to Greatest the Most. Young man was Craig Lib, 36, according to. Sources consulted the house was yours and, therefore the rent managed it. But that topic was discussed as a team. Craig worked as a chef in a restaurant and his life was work. He had a partner had no hobbies his world. Whole was the job just like. We could say that the presence of another. Partner in that house was not going to. Bother the next was Ryan Smart of. 27 years and here is when the story. Ryan begins to darken was one of. The children of America. marriage, unstructured his parents were, alcoholics and also had problems. Of his father abandoned her when she was very, small in custody went to your mother who at the same time too, I had problems

due to the pressure that they were suffering one of their sisters, ended up admitted to a hospital, psychiatric and little by little he left, sinking more and more of the problems. Emotional could either maintain a, stable employment had temporary jobs, at half, time of very short duration and, nor was he able to keep a couple, for a long time and to end. We have the eldest of the three hosts. Jason Colton, 41, Jason had a virtually perfect childhood, good school parents and a future, promising ahead but the 20 years. Everything changed during a holiday. He met a woman of Norwegian origin and the spark immediately jumped between them. Jason was so in love that he decided, I couldn't live without her so he did, the suitcases and went on the head to live. To the country

of that woman convinced that it was the great love of his life in Norway. He got employment as a professor. New friends moved to his girl and little time had a child all. It appeared to be perfect, but Jason, he showed his authentic face he showed, like a violent controller man, feeling possessive and started looking for fights, in the street and in the bars. Drunk sought the confrontation, he got into trouble and the police arrested him, up to four times his wife fed up. Of all this he denounced him and stayed with, the son and meanwhile Jason followed, getting into trouble and in the middle of the chaos, decided to start sharing floor. Night 2013 this man went to drink and, upon returning home, the room was running,

of one of his companions while this. I was sleeping and without any. Explanation was shot over him. He grabbed his neck and hit him in several. Nobody explained what noses. He has chopped Jason but the. Justice response was rapid end. Fulminant and they sent him five co.

Months to prison and after completing only three. They deported to. Music. Australia as I have commented. Previously the most normal in Herb and. B is to rent a full house a house. Little big with few rooms. With more it is not like a single rent.

Room but what are you guys? They offered was a bargain and it is that they rented a very spacious room, completely furnished by 30 a night. The house where they lived was very big, and the area where the house was, also very good public transport. Nearby shopping centers actually, it was a very good opportunity but his. Reviews were terrifying on the internet. The guests said that in that house, they felt very insecure that there were. Tension with the hosts that the house, I was dirty that I was never collected in. When they left the room only when they returned, his things were moved and in some, occasions had been stolen in fact. To make you an idea I am going to read two little reviews I did not find

appropriate facilities for a woman, since there was no personal lock in the room door better shape, spending the night by a $50-dollar hammer. Mocase with him and V-S-U-R-G, from the hospital and now you will ask and why the nose people kept going. There and the answer is very simple and it is that the area rents were very, not everyone could pay them and that room for 30 to many. It seemed a gift that the atmosphere may. It was bad that it was tense, but many, they couldn't pay anything else and then. A guest arrived that changed everything. Ramis Uzi Ramis Uzi was born in Melbourne. On July 24th, 181 of his family know, we have just information but what? We know that he had a sister and that. His parents always loved him with. Madness his loved ones was a

wonderful person was affectionate. Fun and everything seemed funny. I found the good of all. People just know them and it was. Someone very confident how can you see. In his photos he was always a very, Allegra has a good, good family, studies and at some point in his life. He He knew who he thought it was his love. True went air with this man and, he came to think that one day they would form, together a family but after eight years, leaving this relationship broke and Rami. He has forced his bags and live back in their parents' house. He felt bad about himself and entered into.

A spiral of darkness began to drink, to consume drugs and that their beings. Dear they did to help him there was no, any way to get it yet. It is still the same as before and its sister couldn't leave it alone so, took a hospital to treat. His addictions, unfortunately, was not a simple treatment and there is Ramos has, to put on your part and if you did not, he wouldn't heal and was so bad that I could collaborate was depressed sunk, anxiety and no matter how much he tried. The problems always fell little by little. They went to more and sometimes when he consumed. He had violent starts and his parents. They fed up with everything they threw from home. From then on Ramos slept in his. Car sometimes in your car has times in,

house a friend of an acquaintance, but in, 2017 decided that I had to stop. Start from scratch, and be there. This always got a job with, Mason and in October of that same year, saw the lodging located very close to. The work I was working on, he asked the people friends to acquaintances. He saw agencies and saw that the subject was, very expensive. So looking at NBNB, he found a room in Brighton East for only $3 the night that was a bargain and although he had bad reviews he was, a good opportunity as I told you, before Ramos always saw the good of the, people was not distrustful was very, open very quiet and immediately, wrote to the owner at first. It would be three nights that would rise to.

About zero made the reservation online, presented at the scene he met the hosts and settled in the room but immediately took out the mobile and told a friend who had bad vibrations that felt that in that. Something was wrong with the atmosphere was tense. The hosts have a character, quite strong and also told the friend that the house was dirty and disorderly if you go to underscore underscore a guest. Minimum you can do is have the house. Decent a bit ordered a little clean.

Presentable you will not receive anyone with the house up. logic and the friend before. Words told Ramos that he was, immediately to look for another sight that already, I would find it but Ramos wanted to give them. One opportunity would only be three nights, and that room was a bargain with Watt, which the friend calmed down a little and gave her, his, I support the days spent and the atmosphere. It was still quite tense, but Ramos. It looks very good with Craig Levy which, the two years of age had the two years. They shared their experiences a bit. Craig told him to be chef Ramos of what, that was happening and here to arrive. Versions of the facts the first is that Ramos asked SIG to leave, stay a few more nights and that,

for these I would pay, two ten, but that could not pay him, until the weekends since your boss does not, I would pay you until then, and the second, is that Ramos was sincere with SIG already, paid the previous three nights, but, unfortunately it has no money for more. He showed his bank account and SIG Vio, that only had $10, however, treatment for him asked him to stay several, nights more completely free but two, change to clean your house all, the house was a disaster was full of, disorderly dirty garbage and Ramos. Free sleep change pledged to, clean it to what Sig agreed. After all, the house was his and he, managed rentals anyway. I thought Ramos accepted well and only, it was going to stay until the end of the week, but with the passing of the days.

It seems that Sig changed his mind on 25. October 201 Jason and Ryan left him. The clear things to Sig they wanted the money in advance and they didn't care. Nothing that Ramos was happening. Krieg and he left nothing in writing end. Therefore if I had to pay, I would not. There was no paper in between. It was mouth and maybe this person never. It would go so they put pressure on. That sick will talk to him I got the money or put it on pressure. They insisted a lot and Sig went to. He and asked him to make his suitcases and will pay you and it is at this point when. The big problem begins some sources. They say that Sig knew that Ramos did not have. Money and therefore could not pay. But others say it is at this time. When Ramos says he can't pay

and SIG loses her nerves tells him that he has exactly two hours to do the suitcases and leave the room because he does not call the police and the man listening to this accepts without further ado. Sui 6 in the afternoon or less Jason. Colton and Ryan Smart S.E. from the house in addressed to a local puff are very pissed off no more with this. History and simply want to drink and while they are out Crick, it is at home helping Ramos do. The bags together collect the room, but at a time Crick gets tired, so leave the subject and get into his. to play Xbox is immersed, fully in the game and when the departure will see how Ramos goes and there. He realizes that he has barely advanced. Little by little Sig has become more and more.

Nervous doesn't know what to say to. This man how to throw it and then, Jason calls him by phone to, ask if that guest has already gone, but Craig tells him that they don't comment on a, pair of things are both a little, annoying and then hang without more but. With the passage of the minutes Jason calls. Again in CIG responds the same as, Rami Jutzi continues to make his bags and that it seems that it takes a post and, Jason hearing this is angry, very but just after hanging, Rami called him saying that he already had it, all collected and please review, the room to see that everything was, correct Cig reviewed everything and told him that there were no problems that could already go, but before doing so, he would return the keys to the house,

but he could not. Do it seem to two days before Ramos. He got into a mess some pages say, who got into altercation in a bar and, others do not even mention it but be, as this man was arrested and, taken to the police station and all its, belongings between which they were, the keys were confiscated was, a few hours there later he was taken but, his belongings were not returned, and therefore the keys were lost. Before this answer Cig lost the, papers I did not have the keys could not. Pay was not on time and to calm him. A little Rami went out to the garden to call, to your boss to see if somehow, I could pay him forward ad if the boss, he paid he pay Sig but, I did not continue without having money. Grab the mobile goes to the garden and in that

moment they arrive at the house Jason and Ryan. Jason stays with Sig and Ryan gets into. His room Ramis returned to the living room, 88-10 minutes in the afternoon and in that moment began the chaos is not clear. What really happened if the boss responded if he did not accept it, pay him in advance if he refused but, according to Jason Ramis, he looked at him badly and before that, lost the papers was shot over. Ramis pushed him against the wall and, strangled with the forearm thing that, left unconscious at that time, hit the face repeatedly, and Sig joined him both hit him, without stopping while they insulted him and, they made so much noise that Ryan came out of his, fourth and also joined them, three friends saw the right hit him, and, when he regained consciousness

they followed, doing so insulted him, pushed him, they struck kicked and between the three, they took him to the garden and continued in. His minds what they were doing was, Justice believed that Ramos deserved everything for not paying 210 and not returning the key is more even when they were. Hitting SIG stole his mobile phone, unlocked and looked at the application of, Bank because it was really not believed that. I had no money and actually in that. Application only had zero dollars had nothing.

More Ramos was being sincere but, Jason Seagia without creating it so he went to, Ramis Carr and registered it sought, cash money cards and not. Finding nothing took two elements A, metallic case and an English key with, said objects in his hands returned to, Garden and once there he did two things. First grabbed the case and Ramos with, this and secondly used the key, English to hit him repeated.

Occasions in Labhead when this. He finished believe he entered the house and called, to the police, but this call was what? Strangest wanted to tell you a little, that has passed but of course his. Point of view the point of view of a person who assaulted another for justice. Neither Jason nor Ryan regretted, what they had done and expected the.

Police were on your part, but, obviously as soon as you get home, These three men were arrested and, as for Rami Jutsi, he was declared, dead at 9.13 minutes at night of October 25. Music, 2017 autopsy revealed that Ramos suffered, a nose-breakage hematomas of, face evasions and injuries that, indicated a sustained pressure in the neck area but the worst thing is that, because of death was not clear in, first instance it was believed that it was with neck pressure but also had, serious trauma, cranio-esophallics and lungs were, flooded from the foreign exam, analyzed Ramis Jutsi's agency and discovered that before he died he consumed various types of drugs but amounts were moderate with which voluntarily consumed this case.

It appeared in all media so much. Australians as international and many people wondered if renting for Airbnb was really safe. Critical debates on the internet in forums. On the radio on television against so much, media pressure the representative to. BNB is obliged to demonstrate. Publicly we have eliminated this house from our platform and we will. will cooperate fully with the agencies of application of the law in your investigation. But before these words people complained even more and it seems that this room was denounced in several occasions people who stayed there, reported the announcement said it was, in Salue that they stole you that, threatened that there was tension but the Derby and Bapplication refused. Listening they

said that the announcement does not, failed its rules and therefore not. They were going to erase it but the worst of the case. It is yet to come and that when subjects were arrested the three, They were questioned and the three were, according to the same and that is what, had done was Justice Sig and Ryan. They were quieter, but Jason continued, very altered, repeated several times, that Ramos was garbage and that he also, everything began that the victim herself, the fight that returned the blows began, that hit more than anyone but the autopsy, said something completely different and it is, that this man could not defend themselves were, free against

one the simple fact of, to consider it was something impossible seems, that the three defendants thought the same, but Jason's confession was recorded and was presented at the trial as Proof Thing That Shuttered all, Australia Judge Elizabeth, Hollingworth set for the three defendants, a period your probation of eight years and in September 2018 he took, carried out both Craig Lebb and Ryan. Smart declared themselves guilty of, involuntary homicide Ryan received a nine-year sentence in prison with a six, probation period of six, years and Craig one of seven year and a half with, a minimum sorrow of four and a half years and in. As for Jason Colton, things were a little more complicated was swore decided that. It was involuntary homicide would

pass 20 years between bars, but they decided that. Era is a noddo could fall chain. Perpetual all media echoed. They talked about life imprisonment, 20 years of great conviction but according to, the sources consult. Only 11 years in prison fell 11, years more control courses of anger, which now is your turn what do you think of? Case in you think the sentences were fair. We start the case today leads us to Perth Australia City where a 58-year-old woman named Colin Rebello. He managed to prosper did not have an easy life. But since he had the first of his, for children was clear that would allow your family to know everything. What was happening would be shown, strong for them and I must tell you that. He always fulfilled that purpose. Married a man

named Antonio Rebello and with him he had his four children, Julian Andre Monique and Fabian by, luck unfortunately, marriage not. It worked so that they divorced and Colin became a single mother made, everything possible to give a good, education to their children and therefore took all the jobs you can. Imagine Camerera's replenishing cashier. I had dreams of future ideas but in that moment his priority were his children end. I must tell you that you got everyone. They became people from. Benefit of greatest Julian we don't have. We know that he studied that, formed that he went to university and that. Then he made his bags and left four. For some sources they say it was for, work and others that for something personal. But as they are all they point out, that he had a very successful life and that had become an example of, second son Andres Zachary Rebello. We have a lot of information since. Look made an influencer. He was always involved in the subject of cryptocurrencies and also in fitness.

And in 2015 through a friend he met, the famous influencer Grey Piscopola, which was the same age as Gray. It was an Instagram model that accumulated more than one million followers. On that platform and on YouTube I had, 300,000 turned his name into a brand. And for each post it earned thousands of dollars. According to ABC for a single post the brands, they paid 88,000 and for a video he received, 5,000 and not only that but for being, a brand ambassador for 12 months, I received 80,000

so you can, imagining this girl did not miss, nothing she was beautiful had a lot, money and Andre supposedly also with, the cryptocurrencies said it generated, six figures so the two together, they had a great empire come together, they begin to go up together and, internet goes crazy they are guys, young young people with money and everything, show, is nothing more than perfection. They bought an impressive house with the better qualities in Beaconsfield A, suburbio located in Melbourne, Australia. They also bought a range rover, white and the most destinations traveled, paradisiacs that you can imagine, happy bags live-worn costumes and with, Time had a baby to which they called Romeo and everything they showed. It was simply perfection

blogs, relatives in which the child never, I cried was always happy, I was dressed impeccably, behaving very well she wore, label he accompanying her were, literally the perfect family, and its posts were full of good, comments people who admired them that, I wanted them to want to be like them. He wanted his life they sold perfection luxuries, aspirations and Colin Andre's mother. I couldn't be more proud of him, because the 26 years already had everything but, we don't focus on Andre and continue with. The rest of the children the third daughter, it was Monique and we don't have, so much information we know that, studied the university and what, temporarily left home for, I work but in 2020 he returned with his mother to form as paramedics

and the fourth 19-year-old Fabian son did not have. Very clear what some sources do. They say their health was very delicate, but others do not even mention it only. We know that he left his studies and that, while deciding what to do began to, work in a supermarket to which daily his mother took him. They raised breakfast breakfast and climbed. The car and Colin took it there. He was the little son that protected like this, that this relationship was understandable with the

past of the years Colin saw that his children, the oldest was already flying, working the second was practically, millionaire the third was forming and the room was working, their lives, their plans, their future so, at 58 Colin finally thought of, she and decided to realize what, I had always dreamed and that dream was, get a career and train in the, 2013 Health Field A27 studied, a Bachelor of Biomedical Sciences, and Forensic Biology at the University of Murdoch and after that between 2018 and 2020 him, he took out a master's degree in administration, health policy and leadership in the same university and now. you. You will ask and why he studied that for. What health and the answer is that she,

same had many problems with his. Health had heart problems and, he also suffered from Hashimoto thyroiditis. Oh Hashimoto's disease, a disease, autoimmune that affects the gland, thyroid and of course all this was, stressing a lot had four children. Very delicate health had to work. In this study to train work, also to pay the invoices your life. It was very complicated, very stressful but, according to Dr. Nile Barrett, he was very, positive had three problems. low-hearing thyroid, bone density and gastritis she saw me, mainly to obtain a, application to a psychology I did a plan of mental health care in a couple of, occasions to help in that process, excellent relationship with your children but not, I felt that I had a lot of support

from friends, or relatives weigh the stress, and anxiety Colin was very positive, optimistic at 58 his life barely, he started, studied what he liked and I felt very happy her for, children looked at the future and in 2020, got a job of what there was, studied could not be happier. More cheerful could not feel more. May but on May 25th, 2020, all his dreams came down and, no one explained what it was like. Possible that morning like all, others got up early for breakfast, with their two young children Monique and Fabian after the Monique breakfast went to. Class and Fabian prepared to go to, work your 10 or less Corrie Lowe. He took the super with his car and promised, pick it up at two about. There each one takes a different path.

Fabian stays in a super makes his, shift and coli returns home but both, at point when Fabian leaves coli is not. There she draws her call her no. Answer a message, another message and Colin still does not respond with which. Fabian returns home on foot arrives there. Open the door with the key enters. Immediately listen to bathwater. Main someone is already showering. That someone has to be his mother. Close the door goes to the bathroom. Call several times and ask your mother if everything is fine to what she doesn't. Water responds continues to fall. Listen clearly but Colin does not say, Nothing in you are very insisting on the knob and enter discovering that his mother is, thrown on the ground unconscious is, unconscious naked shower, and the water falls directly on

it, about her tries to revive her, try to wake it up but Colin know, react with which he takes out the mobile end, call emergencies while reaching the ambulance the instructions operator, to practice CPR but all efforts are useless and Colin. The ambulance arrives the, paramedics try to revive her and give themselves, realize that this woman is lifeless. It is not that it is unconscious is that directly your heart is no longer beating and in the same scene Colin. Rebello is declared dead following the protocol the house is reviewed and according to. Doctors and police there are no signs of. There is no forced windows do not. There are struggle signs and the body of. The woman with the naked eye either has. No brand judging by the scene

gave a heart attack and collapsed in being. No one could help her so. Case immediately closes as a natural death she had problems, thyroid cardiac and with its history. You had to investigate more but with the step of the weeks the pieces left to fit with the death of colinda two young children were destroyed especially well he found her without life took a very large trauma and he and monique could not believe that the two elders had take the reins of the matter but andre it was not the case was the millionaire though successful the influencer father of a child small had the mind elsewhere and therefore julian took care of everything he leaves your house returns to per month's end at that time he deals with all Paperwork has to manage the accounts, of his mother the issue of burial and they are going to

be two months of great dizziness but what? I didn't know that this dizziness was going to be much worse than I had imagined, because unfortunately nothing square. When a relative dies, follow a lot of steps there are, then to get the medical certificate of, function register the death of, civil registry must be done many, papers but for all that is needed, the documentation of the deceased and Julian the, his mother's driving license so, of course he had to ask he spoke. With Fabian he didn't know anything he spoke with. Monique she didn't know anything and, then he spoke with Andre which, quietly took out the card and he delivered at this time he asked what.

He did with the card to what Andre, replied that he used it for steps, of burial but those efforts. Julian did not what Andre said not, had neither feet nor head but in that moment Julian did not to argue. AP said I was tired did not want. Problem so at that time he left him. Going continues with the papers are coming out. Things and discover that his mother had, hired three insurance, policies. Life and the three were hired two weeks before his death this detail. It seems very rare

but not again. Gives importance continues to investigate, drawing more information and then, discover that the three policies are not at, name of their four children, but only in the name of one of them. André Zachary revealed the will of the mother seems to be modified, and at this point everything very bad. Talk to Fabian with Monique no, they understand anything they don't know what is happening and death due to natural causes no longer. It seems like that the death of his mother not, makes no sense and what was, passing much less but the worst yet. It is about to arrive with the passage of, weeks the letters aimed at Colin. Rebello no longer arrive at home, but all of them deviate home from Andre. The two children still live at Colise's house. Small is

not an empty house so, diverting the cards makes no sense and their Julian calls the office of, forensic asking for more information about. That respond that this information is, they are giving it directly to Andre, because he has proclaimed the family spokesman everything you have, relationship with this case will be informed, directly to Andre anyone else pass. The Weeks and Collins psychologist, Rebello calls his daughter Monique and, informs something incredible a company. I have called her asking her, for Collins' life insurance insurance, for which she gave the okay, though. Psychologist filled some papers signed them. He even talked to them by phone, but this psychologist says that is, lies she never signed that, wrote anything and much less spoke,

By phone with anyone asks, Monique if you understand what is happening, if what you are telling you have any, meaning for her but Monique stays, of stone there are life insurance for, half the psychologist says that she never signed, nothing that never authorized the letters. The office is diverted to Andre. Of the forensic reports Andre Anything, Make Sense and the Insurance Company, with the account the psychologist calls immediately to the police which, joining pieces realizes that someone has committed fraud and immediately goes for the four. Brothers four months after, death of Colin Rebello his four children, and their families are interrogated.

They call your partner your family, they question the second to the wife of, this one to Monique A Fabian All Are, called and interrogated and the most, suspicious is obviously Andre with what, which with him they have more years or more hours, more questions, but its quartet seems, firm both he and Gracie say the, tomorrow of the events were together and, inside the house that did not come out that, they were calm with their son and that, noon ate with a cousin of her, The cousin corroborated him was, according to this so that its room, it seemed yet firmed the police not. I had all with them and issued two. Registration orders one for House, coli and another for Andre House.

They register everything they put all legs, up and then leave, but not without, before putting micros and cameras at home. Andre Rebello, in total the system is operational from, on September 9th to 7th of, December 2020 and in all that time, they capture just what they are looking for a clear confession by Andre. Rebello after registration according to the, police gray became very nervous not, I understood what was happening demanded, explanations and wanted her husband, will explain what was happening to Lowe, that Andre collapsed and confessed. He admitted that he had committed fraud and that on behalf of his mother took three, three policies, insurance policies for, which he was

going to be the only beneficiary if his mother died he was going to get $1.2 million and Gray Al, listening to this state completely in, shock what have you done you have put us in? This underscore underscore, how would you do that? Grachi Piscopo was recorded crying and, sobbing asked explanations wanted, know why and wanted to know if in this. Plan counted for something their wife and their son to which he replied that in any moment thought the plan was to take, all the money and if the police, I was looking to disappear did not think about her.

He thought of his son only thought of him, same and in October of that same year to, listening to this the police arrested him for. Fraud, but a few days later it was. Freedom after paying a. Bale the police discovered that, falsified. all documents of, beginning to end past through his, mother stole her documentation signed as, if it were her and hired not one but, three life insurance and the height of everything, is that he used a voice to make, go through his mother's psychologist if her, mother died would

be immensely rich and, I would tell everyone that money got with cryptocurrencies, but the question now was why because a rich guy wanted to be rich or why, kill his good mother not, it would make any sense, but the truth is, that Andre's life was a complete, lie at first I told you that. For children of coli had triumphed, though. Life the eldest left of Perth had his. Life his work the second was, the following influencer. I was studying the other working the. More successful was Andre Rebelle the second. Son, but the truth is that his image was, a lie on the internet showed the, perfect life married to a woman, beautiful with an adorable child living, in a mansion with a great fireplace, traveling to paradisiacal places with a ranch rover white,

but that life was, false the couple has a debt, combined of, 121,000 personal debts invoice, without pay and the car they had not. They were paying a lot of money everywhere and what was seen in. Networks was completely false that. Grisey earned a lot of money but in, reality spent more than I was, winning and on the other hand, Andreo, cryptocurrencies won more than, 22 in so many years he did not win absolutely, nothing but told everyone that he won. Six figures practically lived from Gracie, of the collaborations she took. So he decided to look for a solution and, immediately thought of his mother which, he dedicated his whole life to his four children. This woman promised to give her life for each, one of them and Andre took it literal. The week before

his mother's death, Andre had three insurance policies, for her for a total of $1.2 million, dollar and named himself as the unique, beneficiary the idea as I have told you, it was to collect all that money and tell, all who won it with cryptocurrencies, falsify your mother documents, signature of it and also falsifies the voice. Of the psychologist of this using a, intelligence voice generator, artificial and a few days after, death begins to press. Insurance presses here presses, there but pay special attention to, a policy valued in, 320,000 wants to charge no longer wants, waiting and he surely realizes that, in all the papers there are no things. Quatron asked Andre to present the forensic exam want to know what. Coli died and Andre continues to falsify, is so nervous

that he commits many, errors and the insurer makes calls, call the psychologist to the police and with. All this the cake is uncovered to two. Twenty-two, the police investigate the entire case and, meanwhile, Andre and CZ why pretend, normality and networks are seen traveling, moving being very happy and the world. Entero does not know what is happening, but police keep going and seeing that. Collins' death makes no sense. They decide to rule out natural causes. Reva the autopsy the photographs and the forensic pathologist Raymar Jorff testifies that in reality nothing makes sense. Initially it looks like a natural death, but setting over time concluded, that could be asphyxia colin had, small blood stains on, eyelids and emphyseomas that indicated a,

possible asphyxiation there were other injuries very, small and among them there was a bruise. In the eyebrow which suggested violence, physics at first sought brands, clear obvious sought scratches fight, but at first glance there was nothing like, and another very striking thing is that the Syrian scene was too clean, you entered you saw the collapsed woman, Naked with open shower everything was. Normal without marks of anything but looking at you. A little more you saw details that really. Colin did not fit was perfectly.

Make up and in your body there were many. Jewelry had pending gold necklaces. A gold watch and the latter could not. Get wet and his hair was. Perfectly collected in a ponytail that. It was low if he was going to shower with that. Kalita implied that I didn't want. Wet your hair so really.

The collection should be a bun with a low hair would get wet and. Shower artichoke was placed. Up not below and another very detail. Important is that bathing swing, I was not put on the ground but, placed on top of the screen if coli is, I was going to shower that carpet should be. On the floor the jewels make up there, I pour all that either fit what, implied that the scene was mounted, and her suffocated when he was perfectly, dressed and ready to go to the street. I was prepared managed makeup to leave and he attacked her as fixo and, prepared the entire shower theme, naked it opens, it opens the tap

and continues from the house so in November 2020 this man is arrested and formally accused of the murder of his mother but unfortunately at this point as happened there were no recordings of the surveillance cameras had not recordings in which he saw himself close there were no photos of his mother there were clear feet and on the scene they could no longer recover traces and another very important thing is that he denied it everything and repeated that life insurance they were 100% work of his mother who had fear of meeting the 60 that i wanted to leave something to your children who wanted to leave them. Money that did not miss anything but, thinking about your children was thinking alone. In him, so what he said was 100%. Line needed evidence and, on their computer

they found the following. The guy eliminated all the activity of his. Computer from December 2019 to July 2020 includes the history of internet search, but after that, they found the following searches, causes of the forensic aneurysm, assistance with word e documents, research on the PC Andre found. This but the police opposed and perhaps, he also used. Gracey so, they registered there and found something, frankly interesting on the 25th of. May 2020 Gracie took pictures and all the, tomorrow the computer passed them at 88-07. Minutes took photos of her from Andre and, from the baby and between 1024 and two of the noon in the photos I was taking. Andre did not go on the baby the baby house, but Andre was not by any, part with which

he was questioned to, regarding and there the version changed. Of the facts in 2020 he said that the entire. Tomorrow she and Andre were together, but now the story was very different, told at eight the family woke up, had breakfast had plans to pass the, tomorrow together and at noon they would eat with, his cousin but Andre in the early hour. He said he had to leave and that in a few, I would go home, your mother to leave Fabian clothes, but, after this, silence passed, an hour two, three, and their gray begins to worry according to records. Telephone called Andre 12 times between 1110 minutes and 1135 minutes and, seeing that the subject did not respond, sent the following messages and your damn phone where you are my God. I swear for God, Andre, you have no

phone. What happens to you answer for the love of God? I'm furious with you. I'm very angry. And finally at 1133 minutes, Andre, drawing the phone already spoke during, a minute and a half had the habit of, keep your phone in silence he. I had silently in silence and I didn't. I could communicate with him and I was. I simply thought I came to. Seeing my cousin when, and Andrea appeared in, Casa were waiting for Gracie and his, cousin and his attitude was completely, normal as if nothing had happened not, had scratches bruises signs of, violence came as always quiet, relaxed and acted as if there were nothing, passed and as if Gray hadn't been, worried during the time in which, Goan lost his life, and I will allegedly, he was close to his home

and the police. Confirmed this in two different ways, though. First was with telephone antennas, that there were close to his mother's house, and, is that their mobile was connected to them, That implied that he was in the zone and the second was thanks to ranch, White Rover because several witnesses, they had parked at the door of the, Coli House and that vehicle was, unmistakable all pieces finally, they fit and Andres Zahkar revealed, clearly ended his mother's life, but from here you had to prepare, all judgment. From the minute one this man denied the, accusations accepted fraud confessed, but the rest of the accusations denied them. Prosecutor proposed a deal if it was, found guilty would be sentenced to,

perpetual chain so if I didn't want that. You must negotiate but Andre refused to do so. I was convinced that they were not going to catch him and was convinced that no, there was nothing against him and with this, ideally came the year 2024 and with this. The trial date on December 3rd, jury retired from liberating and the day, five appeared with a unanimous verdict and it is that Andre's Zachary Rebello was guilty, of Colin Rebello murder according to the, witnesses the whole room stayed in shock, but Andre did not even flinch. He showed quietly impassively as if the thing was not really with him and according to, the media the final sentence as, it is likely to be life imprisonment without possibility of freedom condition,

but, unfortunately at that time it was not dictated, and this is expected to happen on April 4th of 2025 until then we will have to wait. So now is your turn what do you think? Of the case and you think this man could, have more secrets. It was a chilly Friday morning on May 8, 1998, in Victoria Gastias, Spain. The day began like any other, the cleaning crews were out early, emptying trash bins scattered across the city. By 6 a.m., their routines were well underway. These teams had a straightforward job, lifting bins, dumping their contents into trucks, and tidying up any scattered trash on the

sidewalks. Nothing unusual ever came of it. The job was mundane, repetitive, and typically uneventful. But that morning, Fade had other plans. As they worked their way through the streets, the workers noticed something peculiar. Several bags felt unusually heavy. Now, they weren't strangers to random oddities, people throw away all sorts of things. Still, a heavier-than-average bag wasn't necessarily a red flag. It could have been anything, broken furniture,

left over bricks, or even damp trash weighing down the plastic. Most of the time, these bags were ignored. Yet, that Friday, something compelled one team working on Cay-Burgos to investigate further. When they opened one bag, their curiosity turned to shock. Inside, they found cleaning products, a suitcase stained with what looked alarmingly like blood, and a bloody towel. As if that wasn't disturbing enough, they also discovered a purse. The crew knew they had stumbled upon something truly sinister.

They called the police immediately. Discovery of a gruesome crime, when the authorities arrived, the scene was quickly cordoned off. Officers began sifting through the suspicious items while halting all garbage. collection in the area. It wasn't long before other workers came forward, reporting similar unusual bags from various parts of the city. In total, six bags were gathered from different dumpsters. What these bags contained was horrifying, human remains. Each bag held meticulously wrapped body parts, carefully tucked inside sports bags and layered with sheets or clothing. It soon became clear that all the pieces belonged to the same person, a middle-aged woman.

Among the remains, investigators found a critical clue, the victim's ID. Her name was Esther Rito, a 55-year-old English teacher at the local language school. Esther's life appeared peaceful and uneventful. She was widowed, lived alone with her beloved cat, and had no known conflicts, enemies, or risky associations. Her quiet life made the discovery all the more shocking. Adding to the mystery, one of the bags was found in a dumpster right outside her apartment building. A crime without evidence, armed with this information, the police secured a warrant to search Esther's home.

What they found was perplexing. There were no signs of forced entry, suggesting she might have known her killer and willingly let them in. Even more baffling, the apartment was spotless, no blood, no evidence of a struggle, nothing out of place. The killer had either been extraordinarily meticulous or had committed the murder elsewhere. A further search yielded one oddity, a hunting knife in the bathroom. While it appeared clean, investigators found a single strand of hair on it. They also discovered that Esther had made a phone call to a relative around 9 p.m. the night

before her body was discovered. During the call, she mentioned that she had no plans for the following day, intending to relax and enjoy her time off. That call was the last time anyone heard from her. Based on the timeline, her death likely occurred shortly after she hung up. The investigation stalls, just as the investigation was gaining momentum, a tragic incident incident derailed it. At midday on May 8, the Basque separatist group Eta assassinated a Guardia civil lieutenant, Alfonso Pirada. This attack forced police resources to be diverted,

leaving Esther's case on the back burner. Despite limited manpower, investigators uncovered another key detail, Esther's credit cards were missing. By analyzing bank records, they found that her cards had been used twice after her death, first at 10.20 p.m. on May 7th to withdraw 75,000 p.s. And again at 2 a.m. for 9.m. 97,000 Pissetas. Surveillance footage from the ATMs showed a young man making the withdrawals, but his face was obscured, leaving his identity a mystery. The trail went cold. No fingerprints, no DNA, no witnesses. The case of Esther Rido lingered in limbo. A second victim, fast forward to June 10, 1998. Acaccio Pereira, a 77-year-old retiree, failed to show up at his nephew's

cordillaria, a rope shop where Accio regularly spent his mornings. Concerned, the nephew, Felix, called his sister Anna Rosa and asked her to check on their uncle. Anna Rosa arrived at Acaccio's home, and what she found would haunt her forever. Her uncle was tied to a chair, gagged, and brutally stabbed 15 times. The investigation revealed that Acaccio had been attacked late Monday night, shortly after returning home from his local bar. His attacker ambushed him in the hallway of his apartment building and forced him inside. There, Acaccio was tied up and tortured, likely in an attack. attempt to extract his bank card information. Yet, curiously, no money had been withdrawn from his

accounts. Once again, the scene was meticulously cleaned. No fingerprints, no witnesses, no useful evidence. A disturbing pattern. By now, police suspected a possible connection between the murders of Esther and Acacio. The lack of forensic evidence, the precision of the attacks, and the targeting of vulnerable individuals hinted at a methodical killer, or killers. On August 13, This theory gained further weight when a third victim was discovered. Augustin Ruiz, a 73-year-old businessman, was found dead in his workshop. Augustine had been attacked in broad daylight. The killer struck him on the head at the entrance to his workshop, then dragged his body

inside, where he was stabbed 45 times. His Rolex watch, house keys, and 130,000 pucetas were stolen. Later, his home was also burglarized, with another 60,000 pissetas taken. Despite extensive efforts, the case hit another dead end. Surveillance footage provided no leads, and once again, there were no fingerprints or witnesses. A fourth murder, months passed without incident. Just as the city began to breathe a little easier, a fourth murder shocked the community. On May 24, 1999, Begonia Rubio, a 28-year-old lawyer, was found dead in her office.

Begonia was days away from her wedding and had no known enemies. Her routine was predictable, worked during the day, then get picked up by her father in the evening. But on this particular day, her father was delayed. By 11 p.m., when she hadn't returned home, he went to her office, where he discovered her body. The scene was chaotic. Droars were overturned, her belongings scattered, and her body bore signs of a desperate struggle. She had been stabbed multiple times and ultimately killed with a deep cut to the neck.

the previous murders, this scene yielded plenty of evidence. Latex gloves left behind by the killer contained DNA. A fragment of the glove, stained with blood, was embedded in Bagonia's neck wound. There was also a single shoe print, a size 43, and a toothpick bearing the killer's saliva. Cracking the case, Bagonia's connection to the earlier murders became apparent when investigators discovered she had been working on a case related to Esther Rito. Her death seemed to be more than a random act of violence, it was a targeted attack. This led the police to a man named Juan Luis Laranaga, known as Coldo. A former businessman with a history of failed ventures and mounting debts, Coldo had connections to at least two of the victims.

He had been neighbors with Esther and had once operated a business near Acaccio's Cordillaria. Coldo was arrested on May 26, 1999. Bloodstained clothing found in his home matched the DNA from Bagonia's murder scene. Under pressure, he was arrested. He was arrested. He confessed to killing Bagonia and Augustine, though he denied involvement in Esther's and Acaccio's deaths. Unanswered questions, despite his confession, questions lingered. Did Coldo act alone? The complexity of Esther's murder suggested multiple perpetrators, and witnesses claimed to

have seen Coldo with potential accomplices. However, insufficient evidence prevented further arrests. In 2004, Coldo was convicted of two murders and sentenced to 50 years in prison. The cases of Esther and Acaccio remained unsolved. Koldo died in 2021, taking the full truth to his grave. So, what do you think? Was Koldo responsible for all four murders, or were there others involved? The debate continues, leaving this chilling case shrouded in mystery.

There was an old man who lived behind me with his wife. Ancient would be more accurate for his age. He was a, war two, his words, vet. He told me stories when I mowed his law. back before dementia took over his mind. Some weekends when mowing his lawn, he'd stand on his porch and watch me, other times he'd holler at me because of the noise or because he thought I was stealing something from him. His wife would collect him up and shuffle him back into the house. She'd then come back out and apologize and I'd always tell her it wasn't a problem and there

was no need to apologize. I understood because my family has also dealt with that most evil of times, the time between slowly losing all your memories and the time you breathe your last. Three weeks ago, I bought a new truck. It is a nice full-sized 4x4, club cab, V8, 2-inch lift, blacker than my ex-wife's heart and as pretty as a sleeping kitten. It wasn't brand new, but close enough for jazz. It was in fine shape with less than 20k miles and not a scratch on it. That Saturday I was putting a new coat of wax on it. The phrase, wax on, wax off from the karate kid movie kept running through my head as I worked.

Johnny Cash was coming from the speakers in the truck. The old man startled me when I heard him say, Nice truck, boy. No one has called me, boy, in 60 years and I hadn't heard him shuffle up behind me because he was wearing socks without shoes, a pair of pants belted halfway up his chest and a partially tucked in button-down shirt. He was hunched over a bit and his ice-blue eyes, I knew from experience, could be seen anything from what was in front of him, to some memory or horror of many

years in his past. Thanks, Marine, I said to him. He had a real name, but I never remembered it. I had always called him, Marine, out of respect for his service during the Second World War. He walked around the truck looking, but not touching. I looked back at his house hoping to see his wife coming to corral him up. At any point the man could suffer a dementia episode and I didn't want him damaging my new truck and really didn't want to try to restrain him without hurting him.

Marine was telling me about a truck he'd owned at some point in his life while I put my cleaning tools back in the garage. It was a 1952 Ford he remembered having. He recalled the day drove it to pick up his now wife, driving it to his wedding in the day he wrecked it in a snowstorm. The memories were perfectly clear to him in those moments. I glanced over hoping to see his wife, but she still hadn't appeared. I'll give you two dollars if you take me for a ride, huh? I stammered. You really want a ride, damn it, Kyle. I gave you that fucking house. Take me for a ride, I'll give you $2." My name isn't Kyle, and he didn't give me my house.

I bought it Rama Realtor for years ago after my wife left me. What about your wife? Won't she wonder where you're at? I asked. That damn woman always knows where I'm at. I told her I was coming to look at your truck, now take me for a ride. What the hell? I said to myself.

A few weeks back he threatened me with a broom. I've heard him call me Dunderhead, Fribble, Ninnyhammer, and or a scoundrel. Two of them I had to look up. I didn't know why and didn't think it'd be too bad to take him around the block. We'd be back in two minutes and maybe he'd go home. He needed help getting into the passenger seat. He grumbled about the seatbelt, but I told him I'd take him for a ride but wasn't getting a ticket for him. I drove sedately because I didn't want to frighten him or give him a heart attack.

Come on boy, let's get this bitch dirty, he said as I made the third right turn and was ready to take him back home. For the second time in ten minutes, I asked myself, what the hell, okay, Marine, but don't you freaking die on me. I took him a mile out of town to the two tracks one of my sons told me about. I opened up the V8 and all four tires through dirt. The old man laughed and grabbed the hand hold over the door with both hands. That's better, Kyle, he said as we bounced along the trail. I didn't care if he knew my name.

In those few moments I was Kyle. I drove through mud, splashed water. higher than the truck, hit potholes like I was 18 years old and trying to impress a date and gun the engine like the truck wasn't mine. The old man laughed and coughed and dribbled Spittle, but he was having a good time. We spent about ten minutes on the two track before finding a dirt road. The Marine was breathing heavily, but he was smiling a toothless grin. I guess he forgot to put in his dentures. I drove him back home, helped him out of the truck and let him hold onto my arm as he toddled back up the walk to his house.

I had to walk slow because the man had worn himself out. His wife met us at the door. Her face was covered in scorn. Marine waved her off. Just stop it, woman. Kyle just took me for a ride in his new truck. Give him two dollars. He then took her hand as she helped him up the steps.

She looked at me and said, thank you, Kyle, using Marine's name for me instead of my real name, which she knew. I drove my truck back to my place to wash and wax it again. It had been fun driving the old Marine down the two tracks and the truck handled perfectly. It was worth it, even though I didn't get my $2. The old Marine died last night in his sleep. I heard the ambulance early this morning but didn't know it was him. Sarah, his wife, came over around 8 o'clock to tell me. She said he talked about Kyle's truck the rest of the night that Saturday and she was happy he had a good time.

His funeral is this Saturday and Sarah asked if I'd carry his casket in the back of my truck. I think the Marine would like that. He was alone against the world, and the reason for that was simple, he had insisted. Over and over again, he told everyone not to follow him, that he had someone waiting for him out there. There's a woman waiting for me once I leave here. It all started with a worried mother. Her only son, a 16-year-old boy, had become obsessed with a 20-year-old woman. At first, she thought it was just a woman.

a crush, an unrequited love that would eventually fade away. But soon, she realized something was off. This older girl was playing along a little too much. She wasn't just indulging him, she was feeding his obsession. So, the mother decided to take matters into her own hands. She reached out to the woman, thinking that a simple conversation could put an end to the whole thing. What she didn't know was that this one action would cost her life.

This is where the twisted story begins. Yuki Yamagji was born on August 21, 1983, in Yamaguchi, Japan, into an extremely poor family. His mother worked as a cashier in a supermarket, but there was barely any information about his father. Some sources claimed that his father had a job in a company but spent most of his earnings on alcohol. By the time Yuki was 11, his father had passed away due to cirrhosis. This event shattered their family, both emotionally and financially. With the father gone, they had to rely solely on his mother's page. which was nowhere near enough.

This economic struggle shaped Yuki's worldview in a drastic way. He wasn't an outgoing kid, he was shy, withdrawn, and not particularly bright in school. He always sat in the back of the class, barely paid attention, and skipped lessons often. But worse than that, he had violent tendencies. When things were relatively okay at home, he behaved well. He was respectful, kept to himself, and didn't cause much trouble. But when money ran out, he turned into a different person. He lashed out, fought with classmates and teachers, and even destroyed school property.

It was as if he thrived on conflict. Things got worse in middle school. His mother was drowning in debt, and they barely had enough to get by. Eventually, Yuki dropped out. His first job was delivering newspapers for a small local shop. That's where he met his first and only love. Yuki had a habit of slacking off. He'd take a pile of newspapers, load them onto his cart, and then sneak into a toy store

for a break. That's where he first laid eyes on her, a beautiful 20-year-old cashier. He was just 16, but he pursued her relentlessly. Eventually, she agreed to go out with him. They went on a few dates, got close, and then she found out his real age. She immediately cut him off. She wanted no part in this, especially since he was underage. But Yuki refused to let go.

He showed up at her workplace, left notes, called her non-stop. His obsession was spiraling, and his mother started to notice. She had to put a stop to it. He was acting like a spoiled child, but this woman was an adult. She had to be the one to shut it down. She had to stop answering his calls, refuse his letters, and ignore him completely. So, the mother took matters into her own hands. She got the girl's phone number and called her.

When Yuki found out, he lost his mind. No one, absolutely no one, was going to stand between him and the love of his life. If his mother wanted to interfere, then she would have to pay the price. On July 29, 2000, Yuki snapped. He grabbed an aluminum baseball bat and, in a blind rage, started smashing everything in their home. Tables, chairs, glassware, vases, nothing was spared. In the middle of his rampage, he turned on his mother.

One strike knocked her to the floor. once she was down, he kept swinging. Over and over again, he hit her until her face was unrecognizable. Until she stopped moving. Until she was gone. What happened next is unclear, and there are three different versions of the story. The first version says that Yuki called the police and confessed immediately. The second version claims that he called his beloved, the 20-year-old girl, and told her everything. She then alerted the authorities. But the third, most widely accepted version, is far more disturbing. According to this account, Yuki calmly cleaned the house and then invited his beloved over for breakfast.

He told her he just wanted to talk, that he had no ulterior motives. When she arrived, she noticed something was off. His mother was nowhere to be seen. Yuki, on the other hand, was being extremely affectionate and kind. And then, in the middle of the conversation, he asked her, Do you think the house smells like blood? Casually, as if you were discussing the weather, Yuki confessed to killing his mother.

He described in graphic detail how he had beaten her to death with a bat, how much he had enjoyed it, and how, now that she was gone, they could finally be together. Terrified, the girl played along. She stayed calm, pretended to be interested, and then, as soon as she had the chance, she ran to the police. On July 31st, 2000, Yuki Yamaji was arrested. During his first interrogation, he showed no remorse.

He claimed his mother had deserved it. If she hadn't interfered, he wouldn't have had to kill her. He did say he, felt bad, but insisted that she had brought it upon herself. He also insulted his father, calling him a useless drunk who deserved to die. Clearly, Yuki was full of anger. But the justice system was lenient. Experts argued that he had anger management issues and that his traumatic past had played a big role in his crime. They believed he could be rehabilitated.

So, instead of a harsh sentence, Yuki was sent to a juvenile detention center. There, he had access to therapists, mentors, and teachers. And, surprisingly, he showed signs of improvement. He participated in activities, became more social, and even earned two diplomas, one as a welder and another as a hazardous materials engineer. He even worked in the mental health field, and some experts suspected he might have an undiagnosed developmental disorder. But something was off. Though he apologized for killing his mother, he never truly regretted it.

He maintained that she had asked for it. He claimed to have loved her, but at the same time, he insisted that she had deserved her fate. The professionals believed he was salvageable. And so, in October 2003, he was granted conditional release. The logical thing would have been for him to be closely monitored, to have mandatory therapy sessions, a designated guardian, a clear plan for his reintegration into society. But that's not what happened. Instead, Yuki insisted that he didn't need supervision.

There's a woman waiting for me, he told the staff at the detention center. He claimed she was outside, that everything was fine. But in reality, no one was waiting for him. Instead, Yuki had a plan. He was going to find his first love. What happened next was a downward spiral that ended in two more brutal murders. And in 2006, Yuki Yamaji was sentenced to death. When the judge passed the sentence, he said something chilling, the accused is possessed by demons.

The victims suffered unimaginable fear and pain. It is inevitable that we sentence him to death. And in 2009, at the age of 25, Yuki Yamaji was executed. But here's the real question, was justice served? Or was he beyond saving from the start? We start at the end of the previous update, where we were all completely horrified. Adam became the victim of the entity's final physical attack, but this time, he managed to get proof of it using a mobile app called Photoshop. This app allowed him to take a photo every 60 seconds throughout the entire night, and through this method, he was able to capture an image that sent chills down everyone's spine.

After this, complete silence fell. Adam disappeared from Twitter for a long period, but this time, no one was fooled. All the followers of the case gathered together to investigate what was really happening. Debates sprung up on well-known forums and even group chats on WhatsApp. The madness surrounding David had escalated to the point where, while Adam stayed silent, everyone else had something to say, especially about the true identity of the specter. People from all over the world combed through historical records and death certificates, but no one could find any child that fit the description of David. David simply never existed. But while many were looking for a real, flesh and blood person, others, including myself, searched for an idea.

We wondered if David could represent a person who once lived in a historical moment when a marble cynic and leather shoes were fashionable. It was then that Di Castillo, a follower of the channel, contacted me via Twitter and sent me a link to a blog. This blog talked about the history of striped shirts. As you may recall, dear David always wears a striped shirt, along with tiny shorts and a shirt whose colors are barely visible due to the poor quality of the images Adam has shared with us. According to the blog, Striped Shirts became the official uniform for sailors. in 1858, with a decree published in the Navy's official bulletin. By 1917, the style was adopted worldwide, largely thanks to the influence of Gabriel, Coco, Chanel.

This outfit then became very typical of the 1920s and 1930s. This raised an interesting question, if David were real, did he live in the 1920s or 1930s in America? David's research didn't end there. He dug deeper and sent me an image, which was shared with Adam and Ellis. The image not only showed the striped shirt but also revealed a disturbing detail, David's figure didn't have five fingers, but only four. This raised another question, was David a deformed child, or was he never really a living person at all? On this channel, we've studied many cases of people deceived by demonic entities, entities that posed as children from the past to manipulate their victims, making it easier for them to possess them.

Examples of such entities include the dolls Robert and Annabelle. If we look at testimonies from people who claim to have witnessed a clear apparition, we notice that the descriptions are rarely clear-cut. The figures are often blurry or shrouded in a sinister mist. And when people have seen someone who appeared to be solid, flesh and bone, the figure disappeared within seconds. Even if witnesses could recall details of the face, they were unable to confirm whether the person's feet touched the ground or whether their hands were open or closed.

These small details always seemed to vanish. This led us to wonder, are we dealing with a real paranormal entity, or is this simply a well-executed marketing strategy aimed at the public? On January 17th, at 1224 a.m., Adam surprised everyone with a new tweet, sorry for the long wait. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I was going to tweet again. According to him, after the last attack by David, everything had calmed down. He was sleeping soundly again, no longer having strange dreams or feeling the heaviness that had plagued him before. Wherever he went, he felt oddly free, as if David had finally tired of him and disappeared, leaving him alone. However, Adam couldn't shake the feeling that something was still off.

He couldn't quite put it into words, but although everything seemed fine, he felt like something was wrong. Adam had been sleeping well, which gave him a lot of energy during the day. Yet sometimes, he felt like he was wasting time. One example he gave was from Thursday, January 11th. Just before starting work in his studio, Adam checked the time. It was 9.20 a.m. A few seconds later, he realized he needed to make a call, so he grabbed his phone again. When he unlocked it, the time read 10.35 a.m. He thought only a few seconds had passed, but in reality, more than an hour had gone by. And there was another disturbing detail, Adam began hearing voices when he was with friends or when he went out for walks. There was

always a moment when someone would say something, but when he asked them to repeat it, they claimed they hadn't said anything. After everything that had happened, Adam tried to brush it off. He didn't want to give it much thought. However, on the morning of Sunday, January 14th, things took a strange turn. Adam logged into Twitter with the intention of updating his followers on what had been going on, but when he started typing, he stopped dead. He noticed that he had more notifications than usual. Curious, he checked them out and discovered that thousands of people were mentioning him, talking about something they supposedly saw in his Instagram stories the previous day. For those of you who have been following the artist, you know that Instagram is the

platform he uses the most, not only to post his artwork but also to share updates about the American show Rupal's Drag Race, which had gained massive popularity in recent years. However, this time, people weren't talking about his humorous references to the show. Instead, they were commenting on how one of his photos was disturbingly distorted. The day before, Adam had met him friend for lunch at a restaurant. Everything had seemed normal. They chatted, laughed, and had a great time. During their meeting, they decided to take three photos and post them on Instagram. The images, as you can see on screen, appeared completely ordinary. However, the next morning, Adam received thousands of messages about one particular photo, the third one. Adam didn't understand what had

happened. When he took the photo and uploaded it, it looked perfectly normal, with no distortion. But Instagram had been acting up lately, so he didn't want to overthink it. Still, it was impossible to ignore the fact that his face appeared grotesquely distorted in the photo. Adam made a comment, maybe I know what it looks like, but I'm not sure I care anymore. I just want things to go back to normal again. But at that point, Adam still couldn't bring himself to fully confront the situation. The update stopped until January 28th. That day, Adam posted again at 5.17 a.m.

But this time, there were not. no words, only a short video featuring Maxwell, the mysterious figure that had been part of Adam's case all along. Days passed. On February 3rd, at 407 a.m., Adam tweeted again, but still, there was no explanation. The tweet simply read, Everything is fine. Nobody understood what was going on. No one had heard from Adam for days, and those who used to interact with him regularly couldn't get any answers. Adam had stopped responding to emails, which only made the mystery deeper. Then, on February 6th, at 10.28 p.m., Adam tweeted again. Although he didn't clarify much, he shared how he was feeling and mentioned the things he had been doing. He recalled that he had

recently quit his job at FIT after four years, a decision that hadn't been easy for him. He admitted that it had become difficult to concentrate on anything and that it was time to focus on personal projects. For anyone who had been following his case for a while, this might not have been new information, as Adam had mentioned this before on his social media. But the important part of this tweet came next, I'm nervous about what the future holds, but I feel good. I know great things are coming. At this point, many began to speculate that Adam had reached a new phase, the phase where dear David had fully possessed his body. But nobody could be sure. Adam was still posting normally on Instagram, but he wasn't

clarifying anything. Then came the night of February 14th, when Adam posted. it perhaps the most alarming tweet of all, please don't worry about me. I'm fine, and everything will go back to the way it was before. But an hour later, at 5 a.m., Adam posted again. This time, there were no words of reassurance. Instead, there was another video, this time, it was one minute and 26 seconds long, and once again, Maxwell was the star of the video. So now it's your turn.

Do you think Adam is truly possessed, or has his marketing strategy gotten out of control? The mystery continues. The chilling tale of Adam and the haunting presence that seemed to follow him from his apartment to Montana is one that escalates quickly, with tension building at every turn. Let's start at the beginning, where the first unsettling event occurs, Adam, an ordinary person living in ordinary life, begins hearing strange noises in his apartment. At first, it's subtle, a faint scratching, the sound of something scurting above his head, but as time goes on, these noises grow louder, more persistent.

Curiosity gets the better of Adam, and he decides to investigate the source of the sounds. What he discovers is even more disturbing, a hidden hatch in the ceiling that leads to a space above, an attic of sorts. Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Adam orders a long pole online and waits anxiously for it to arrive so he can investigate the attic properly. Unfortunately, the delivery is delayed, and while waiting, the sounds from above continue, increasing in intensity. They range from what sounds like the scurrying of small things.

feet to the rattling of marbles, and eventually, the unsettling sound of animals scratching at the floor directly above him. These noises are constant, and no matter where Adam goes, they seem to follow him, becoming more disturbing with each passing day. By November 24th, Adam finally receives the poll he ordered. But as he prepares to investigate the attic, a terrifying event happens late that night. As he lies in bed, exhausted and ready for sleep, a tremendous noise shakes him awake. It sounds as though something, or something, someone, has dropped a heavy object directly onto the ceiling above him. Adam initially dismisses it as a figment of his imagination, but the feeling in the room is too oppressive to ignore.

The air feels thick, almost as though it's pressing down on him, making it difficult to move. He waits, frozen in fear, as the noises continue. They aren't random, they're deliberate, almost as though something or someone is trying to get his attention. The pounding noises continue for what feels like an eternity, over 15 blows to the ceiling. Then, suddenly, it stops. But Adam knows that whatever was up there is far from finished. Just when he thinks the ordeal is over, there is one final sound, a soft creaking, like a door opening somewhere in the house.

This sound is particularly eerie, because it feels deliberate and malicious, as though someone, or something, has been waiting for the right moment to escape from the attic. Adam feels an overwhelming sense of dread, but he remains silent, too terrified to move or speak. He goes about his usual routine, but as he descends the stairs to the lower floor, he notices something strange, a dark, gritty substance covers the steps. It's like a fine, powdery dust that, when disturbed, leaves behind a black trail. Adam realizes that this must be coming from the attic, as the debris seems to be accumulating directly beneath the hatch.

But it's not just the dust that catches his attention, there's something strange stuck between the crevices and the stairs, something that shouldn't be there. to uncover the truth, Adam grabs his camera and his newly acquired pole, preparing to investigate the attic once again. He sets the camera up in a position that will record everything, and with a steady hand, he pokes the hatch with the pole. What falls out of the opening is something that sends a chill down his spine, a dirty, worn-out child's shoe. The sight of it is enough to convince Adam that something truly sinister is hiding above, and he contacts his landlord, begging him to inspect the attic. Reluctantly, the landlord agrees and comes over with a

The two of them ascend into the attic together, but what they find there isn't much. The landlord shines a flashlight around, revealing nothing but dust and cobwebs. Adam can't shake the feeling that something is watching them, though, and he feels a growing sense of unease as the landlord prepares to leave. Just as he's about to turn off the flashlight, he notices something odd, a small, round object in the corner. Reaching out into the darkness, the landlord retrieves what appears to be a marble, though it's worn and chipped, not like the smooth marbles of today. It's made of glass, not marble, and it's

a little different from anything Adam has ever seen. After the landlord leaves, Adam dives deep into research, hoping to uncover the origins of this mysterious marble. To his surprise, he discovers that it's an antique, one that was popular in the early 1900s. He also looks into the origins of the shoe, which he learns was handmade in the 1930s. But what he can't figure out is how these items ended up in his attic, and more importantly, who or what left them there. In the days that follow, Adam continues to experience strange occurrences, many of which he shares on social media. He hasn't been sleeping well, plagued by bizarre and terrifying nightmares. He begins to feel as though he's constantly being watched, and the presence of something malevolent seems to linger

in the background of his thoughts. On December 13th, Adam posts a tweet explaining his recent lack of updates. He admits that he's been feeling physically and mentally drained, unable to sleep or function properly due to the intensity of the experiences he's been going through. He confesses that he feels like he's being followed by something he can't explain, and he's starting to question his own sanity. To document the strange happenings, Adam sets up a camera in his room, hoping to capture any suspicious activity while he sleeps. After a few nights of disturbing occurrences, including the sensation of being watched, Adam finally reviews the footage. What he discovers is beyond terrifying.

Over the course of several hours, a figure, Dear David, appears on the footage, moving around the room while Adam sleeps. The figure seems to be observing him, sitting on a chair and staring at him with a malevolent energy. As the night progresses, the figure grows closer, inching towards Adam's bed, until it finally stands directly above him, staring at the camera with cold, dead eyes. Adam is horrified. He knows now that he's not dealing with something from the physical world, Dear David is

malevolent spirit, an entity that seems to be haunting him. Adam's world is unraveling, and he can't seem to escape the entity's grasp. Despite everything, Adam tries to push forward, leaving New York and heading to Montana to visit family for the holidays. He hopes that some time away from the apartment will help him recover from the terror that has consumed his life. For a while, it works. The isolation and distance from the source of his fears provide him with a much-needed reprieve. However, upon his return to New York in January, the presence of Dear David follows him, manifesting once again. In the middle of the night, Adam finds himself standing by a bathroom window, staring out into the darkness. At first, he thinks it's just

an animal passing by, but the presence feels wrong. The next morning, he discovers tracks in the snow outside, leading him to a shocking conclusion, the footprints aren't from an animal, there from a human being, someone with very small feet. Adam follows the tracks and they lead him to the backyard, where they inexplicably vanish into thin air. At this moment, Adam realizes that dear David hasn't been haunting the house. He's been haunting him. The entity has followed him from place to place, waiting for the right moment to strike again. The terror is far from over, and Adam knows that the entity will stop at nothing to torment him. Hey there, everyone, welcome to a brand new segment on the channel, and I'm super excited to dive into it

with you. This series will be all about real-life paranormal stories. stories, poltergeists, possessions, strange phenomena, basically, all those creepy legends and bizarre events that have become iconic over the years. These are the stories where, even now, there's just no solid, rational explanation. And for the few explanations that do exist? Well, they're flimsy at best. Let's be real, sometimes both the logical and paranormal theories seem equally thin, leaving our minds to spiral in a whirlpool of questions. So if you're intrigued, if you want to hear the first story kicking off this new series, stay tuned. Today's story is a classic that's freaked people out for generations, The Bell Witch Haunting. This tale isn't just any ghost

story, it's one that's been recognized in the U.S. as the only instance where a poltergeist was allegedly responsible for a person's death. That's right, it said that someone was actually killed by a paranormal entity. Now, sure, this all happened back in the early 1800s when science wasn't quite what it is today, so people were a lot more willing to blame the supernatural. But even with time, there have been so many detailed, yearly consistent witness accounts that this story still chills people to the bone. It's almost like this entire town was under a dark cloud, haunted by something that no one could fully explain. Hashtag hashtag meet the Bell family, the events I'm about to share took place between 1817 and 1821 in Red River, Tennessee.

The Bell family, John Bell, his wife Lucy, and their children. were adored by the entire community. They were the epitome of a good Christian family, kind, generous, friendly with everyone, and prosperous enough to live comfortably. Their beautiful home sat on an expansive piece of land where they raised livestock, grew crops, and conducted trade with their neighbors.

To put it simply, the bells had it all, a loving family, wealth, and a respected reputation in Red River. Yet despite all their blessings, their idyllic life would soon be ripped apart by a sinister force. The children were, as most kids are, full of imagination. Two of them, Betsy and Drury, were especially known for their fantastical minds. They'd often tell stories about imaginary friends and describe seeing strange figures and animals that no one else could see.

To their parents, these tales were harmless, they figured it was just a phase that would pass in time. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the first sighting. It wasn't long after moving into their new home that Betsy and Drury started talking about a strange, faceless woman. they'd seen wandering through the cornfields. According to the kids, this woman seemed to dissolve into mist if they tried to speak to her, almost like she wasn't really there. They ran to tell their parents, but John and Lucy Bell just shrugged it off as childish imagination. But things took a much darker turn when John Bell and his oldest son, John Jr., had a chilling

encounter themselves. While out hunting one evening, they spotted a bizarre creature, it looked like a mix between a wolf and a rabbit, with the body of a wolf and the head of a rabbit. Horrified, they aimed their rifles and fired several shots. But just as Betsy and Drury had described the woman in the fields, the creature vanished into thin air, morphing into mist and disappearing as if it had never been there. From that day forward, the Bell family would experience a nightmare beyond their worst fears. Hashtag hashtag hashtag a growing menace.

After that encounter, strange things started happening in the Bell household. At night, they'd hear scratching sounds coming from within the walls, accompanied by loud banging noises. Furniture would move on its own, beds would shake violently, and at times, they'd hear sounds like animals growling or fighting inside the house. But whenever they'd light a candle or bring a lamp into the room, everything would look perfectly normal. It was as if the house itself was alive, playing tricks on them. Soon, things escalated to outright attacks on the family members themselves. John Beld developed a mysterious illness that doctors couldn't diagnose. His tongue swelled, making it nearly impossible to speak or eat, and his jaw locked

painfully for days on end. No medication or treatment seemed to help him, and he spent weeks bedridden, barely able to communicate. Desperate, John Bell confided in his good friend Mr. Johnston, a pious man known for his kindness and deep knowledge of the Bible. Believing that maybe some kind of blessing or exorcism could banish the spirit, he invited Mr. Johnston and his wife to stay at the Bell home one night. After dinner, they gathered around the table, read passages from the Bible, and prayed together. They were hopeful, thinking this might finally rid them of the sinister presence. Hashtag hashtag hashtag a horrifying night, but that night was anything but peaceful.

As soon as the Johnstons went to bed, the haunting began. The blankets were yanked off them by unseen hands, and the nightclothes were shredded to tatters. Mr. Johnston attempted to ward off the entity by praying and invoking the name of God, but every time he mentioned Jesus, or God, he was met with mocking laughter that echoed through the room. The Spirit's voice was deep, sinister, and filled with malice, taunting Mr. Johnston's every prayer. After that night, the Spirit's power only grew. It was as if it had fed on the energy of that evening's prayers and rituals, and now it was stronger and more defiant than ever.

It began speaking clearly, repeating the prayers and Bible verses Mr. Johnston had read as if mocking the family's attempt to get rid of it. Once upon a time, there was a ventriloquist who could speak without moving his lips. But the story we're diving into today isn't quite like that. You see, there was this entity, this spirit, that had everyone scratching their heads. A fellow named John Bell claimed he never uttered a single word, never opened his mouth. Yet somehow, there was a voice, a voice that spoke as if it were pulling thoughts right out of his head. It was eerie, almost supernatural.

In the small town of Adams, Tennessee, where the Bell family lived, everyone was buzzing with curiosity. There was this Reverend Ford, who was gearing up to give a sermon in just a week. But guess what? This entity, whatever it was, seemed to know his entire sermon word for word. It was like a supernatural spoiler alert. The spirit was channeling Ford's voice, articulating his sermon with a perfect cadence that nobody had heard before. As the days rolled on, people began flocking to the bell home, drawn by rumors of the strange occurrences.

They wanted to uncover the origin of this haunting spirit. Among these visitors was a curious Englishman, whose name has slipped from the pages of history. But his story remains vivid. This fellow had some uncanny experiences with the bell witch, or at least that's what they called it. The spirit, seemingly female, was chock full of gossip from his home across the sea. The entity fed the Englishman details about his family, relaying messages and news that nobody could possibly know. The things that revealed were future events, intimate details about his loved ones, things that had yet to unfold. How did it know? The Spirit had a knack for tapping into this man's thoughts.

It was so accurate that he later confirmed everything in letters exchanged with his family back home. One day, the Spirit offered him a strange proposal. It told him if he wanted to send a message to his family, it could deliver it within three hours. Skeptical, yet intrigued, he took up the challenge. He asked the entity to tell his wife something along the lines of, Never before have I seen or heard such incredible things in all my life. To his astonishment, just three hours later, he received a response. It came in the voice of his wife, who said, tell my husband to get out of there.

He's seen enough. We don't want any more of this nonsense. The message hit him like a ton of bricks. He quickly packed up and hightailed it out of there, leaving the bell household behind. But this wasn't just some story that faded away. A few months later, the Bells received a letter from the Englishman, affirming that he had, in fact, experienced a genuine visitation from the spirit. It wasn't just a figment of imagination, he had spoken with a disembodied voice that relayed

messages in a way that left everyone in the room baffled. The Bell Witch didn't stop there. The entity showcased its strength in a variety of ways. One particularly noteworthy encounter involved a local man named Frank Miles. was known as the strongest guy in the county, towering over others at about six feet tall and weighing around 250 pounds. He was a boisterous young man, full of himself, boasting about his physical prowess. Frank thought he could take on this spirit and set out to confront it himself.

So, one fateful night, Frank decided to challenge the entity to a duel of sorts, to see who could withstand more pressure. He figured he could easily expel the spirit from the house. But little did he know that this wasn't just any fight. He was about to meet an incorporeal force that had no intention of playing fair. That night, as Frank braced himself for battle, he found himself facing an unexpected foe. In a matter of moments, he was left utterly battered. It was as if he had been pummeled by an unseen assailant, and after that experience,

he no longer strutted around bragging about his strength. The spirit kept mocking him, reiterating that he may have thought he was strong, but he was no match for an entity that thrived in the world of the unseen. The Bell Witch didn't limit its antics to the family. The slaves who worked on the Bell farm also found themselves tormented by the Spirit. One such slave, Harry, was perpetually late to his duties. One morning, after arriving late yet again, he encountered something truly bizarre. The Spirit unleashed a barrage of burning coals, seemingly flung from the fire itself, with no one to physically throw them. They hurtled through the air toward him, along with countless slaps and

kicks from this invisible force. Harry was literally knocked to the ground, and when he begged for mercy, the entity finally took a voice. It warned him that if he ever showed up late again, he wouldn't just face burning coals, he would be tossed into the flames himself. That was enough to keep Harry punctual from that day forward. The rumors of the bell which reached far and wide, eventually capturing the attention of General Andrew Jackson, who would go on to become the seventh president of the United States. Intrigued by the tales surrounding the Bell farmhouse, he decided to gather a small troop of soldiers to investigate, convinced he could confront the spirit head on. With an arsenal of weaponry and a plan in hand, they set off toward the Bell residents,

fueled by a mix of skepticism and bravery. As they traveled, one of Jackson's men foolishly made a joke about the Bell Witch. At that moment, the horses pulling their carriage came to a sudden stop, as if held in place by an invisible force. The soldiers struggled to get the horses moving again, but nothing worked. It was a standstill that lasted nearly an hour. Just when they began to suspect something strange was indeed a foot, a chilling voice echoed through the woods, taunting them. Very well, General. Get your wagon moving, but know that I'll see you again tonight. True to its word, that evening, the entity made its presence felt in a terrifying display of power. As General Jackson and his men settled into the Bell home, they were greeted by a cacophony

of supernatural phenomena. The spirit targeted Betsy Bell, the daughter, subjecting her to terrifying harassment. It tore at her clothes, pulled her hair, and left her bruised and battered, dragging her around the house. Jackson, experienced in many a battlefield, found himself completely rattled by the entity. He didn't sleep a wink that night, and when dawn broke, he was a changed man. He confided in his troops that he'd rather face the British in combat than deal with the torment of the bell which any longer. Betsy recounted numerous strange and unsettling events from that night in her diary, sharing how General Jackson had attempted to shoot at the spirit with silver bullets, believing that would be the

key to stopping it. But every time he pulled the trigger, nothing happened. It was as if the bullets were nothing more than toys, failing to fire no matter how hard he tried. The spirit mocked him relentlessly, relishing in his failures. As the hours dragged on, Jackson finally reached his breaking point. In a moment of frustration, he hurled his pistol away, only to have the entity lift him off the ground by his nose, making him dangle helplessly in the air. Betsy described the scene as both surreal and absurd, though the truth was that experiencing such madness firsthand was anything but funny. The Bell Witch wasn't just a one-night stand. Its presence lingered on, wreaking havoc for years. And the culmination of this torment

came on October 20th, 1820. John Bell and his son Richard went out to feed the pigs, a mundane task that would soon turn into a nightmare. When they returned to the house, John was in terrible shape. His shoes were torn and he could hardly walk. Richard helped him into bed and as they removed his shoes, they discovered the cuts weren't merely superficial, they were deep wounds on his feet. John was covered in bruises, as if he had been in a brutal fight. His face was swollen, his jaw dislocated, and he appeared to be in a state of shock.

It was as if he had received a thrashing, yet no one had laid a finger on him. He hadn't complained about any pain until that moment, and it was evident that something's truly horrific was happening to him. Desperate, the family called for a doctor, who prescribed various remedies and medications. As he did so, the spirit's voice echoed throughout the house, insisting that nothing could help John, that he wouldn't recover, and he would never speak again. By December 20th of that same year, John had slipped into a peculiar state, he was alive but completely unresponsive, like a shell of a man. His eyes were open, but he couldn't communicate, he was trapped within his own body.

The family summoned Dr. Josh, who rushed to the scene, only to find that nothing seemed to work. John was unresponsive, hardly a flicker of life left in him. As the doctor rummaged through the medicine cabinet, he noticed a peculiar black liquid in a bottle that should not have been there. Suspicious, he hesitated, sensing the darkness surrounding it. With the help of some friends, including Frank Miles, they decided to test the liquid on a stray cat. The moment the cat tasted the liquid, it began to. convulsing and crying out in agony. At that moment, the voice of the spirit returned, gleefully

claiming responsibility. Yes, I did it. He, s mine now. You can't save him. You'll never get rid of me. That night, John Bell passed away in a fit of despair. His family was devastated, but the Bell which didn't disappear with him. If anything, it grew bolder, claiming its dominance over the family. It continued to taunt them, and they knew they had to leave. Eventually, they sold their farm and moved on, eager to escape the nightmare that had enveloped them for far too long. In the years that followed, the bell witch legend became an enduring tale, captivating many who heard about it. Even after the Bell family left, visitors continued to flock to the side of the haunted farmhouse, eager to catch a glimpse of the spirit that had so profoundly impacted

the Bell family's lives. Some claimed to have encountered the Bell witch themselves, relaying stories of eerie encounters and chilling whispers in the dark. These tales spread like wildfire, solidifying the legend in the annals of American folklore. Over time, the tale evolved, taking on different forms as each storyteller added their own twist. Today, the Bell Witch's story is celebrated as a quintessential part of American folklore. The tale encompasses the complexities of fear, the supernatural, and the unknown. To this day, Adams, Tennessee, is known for its ghostly past, drawing thrill seekers and paranormal enthusiasts eager to uncover the truth behind the legend of the Bell Witch. And so, as the leaves

turn and the shadows grow long, the echoes of the bell which can still be felt, a reminder of the thin line that exists between the known and the unknown, the living and the departed. Whether it's in the rustling of the trees or the whispers in the wind, the legend of the bell which lives on, ensuring that the spirit of that haunting entity will never truly fade away. We're about to dive into the infamous story of Alice Kepler, Ireland's first recorded which trial, but you may only know the dark version, the tale of a woman who supposedly invoked sinister forces. However, the true story of Alice is both mysterious and intriguing, and it may not be exactly what you've heard. Alice Keiteler was born in 1262 in Kilkenny, Ireland, the only child of

wealthy Norman immigrants. Her father was a well-off merchant and landowner, determined to see Alice married to someone of equally high standing. So, in 1280, Alice found herself wed to William Outlaw, a prominent and prosperous merchant and moneylender, who also happened to be the younger brother of the Royal Chancellor in Ireland, a match deemed ideal by her father. Alice, however, had no choice in the matter, as women in that era were often used as bargaining chips in arranged marriages. At the time of their marriage, William was 38, a full two decades older than Alice. But William adored Alice, and she quickly became accustomed to a life where her every desire was met. Need a new gown. She'd have a few laid out on her bed by the

evening. Want an extra servant? William would move heaven and earth to find one. When Alice expressed an interest in running her own business, William didn't hesitate, he had an annex built onto their home on Con Street, where Alice opened an inn. This place soon became a hub of social activity, thanks to Alice's charming demeanor and friendly service. She was beautiful, refined, and her and attracted the attention of Kilkenny's elite, drawn in by her sweet disposition and warm smile. However, this popularity soon sparked jealousy, especially among the other women in town,

who began whispering that Alice wasn't just a simple innkeeper but a master manipulator who enchanted men to satisfy her whims. Her male admirers were said to spend recklessly at her inn, showering her with gifts and expensive items. Soon, whispers evolved into allegations that Alice Keitler was a witch, practicing dark rituals in the basement of her inn, where Satan himself supposedly made appearances. Alice ignored the gossip. She had her inn, a happy life, and a young son named William, named after his father. But in 1300, tragedy struck, William Sr. died suddenly under mysterious circumstances. Rumors spread that he had discovered a hidden collection of occult items in Alice's quarters and had

been struck dead in horror. Alice, however, managed to continue on, becoming the family's sole support as she raised her son, William Jr., and managed her businesses. However, Alice knew that a woman alone wasn't respected in society, so she sought stability in another marriage. In 1302, she wed Adam Leblund, another wealthy moneylender. From the start, Adam was enamored with her, setting aside his daughters from a previous marriage to focus entirely on his new bride. By 1303, her son William took out a 3,000 pound loan from Adam, hoping to fund his political ambitions.

But when William Jr. became Kilkenny's mayor in 1303, he conveniently declared himself broke, and Adam forgave the debt, likely encouraged by Alice. In 1307, Adam's daughters began asking questions, angry at being sidelined. They wanted to know why their father had abandoned them emotionally and financially. But before Adam could answer, he passed away under unusual circumstances. The official cause? A massive drinking binge, though his daughters protested, Adam was a strict abstainer who shunned vices. Despite their suspicions, Adams will left everything to Alice, who now had a growing fortune.

Yet again, Alice was a widow. The inn was flourishing, and servants handled much of the daily business, freeing Alice to pursue new interests. But Adam's daughters weren't satisfied and filed accusations against Alice, labeling her a bloodthirsty killer. Though the allegations never made it to court, Alice's reputation suffered. In 1309, Alice married her third husband, Richard Devay, a wealthy landowner. Her son, William, continued borrowing large sums from his stepfathers, with no intention of repaying. Richard de Valle's son, also named Richard, deeply disliked his new stepmother,

accusing her of enchanting his father with spells and manipulations. He claimed that Alice had bewitched his father to such an extent that he was blind to his own son's needs. When Richard DeVayette died in 1311 from an unspecified illness, people's suspicions toward Alice grew, especially as his will revealed that he had left everything to her. Richard's son took legal action to challenge the inheritance, arguing that as a woman, Alice was incapable of handling the estate. Nevertheless, she emerged victorious, inheriting a considerable fortune in rising to become one of the wealthiest people in Leinster. Her immense wealth and

independence made her a target. How could a woman in the 14th century, without a husband, run a business and handle finances? Alice was challenging the norms of the time, which unnerved many people in Kilkenny. In 1320, Alice married her fourth husband, Sir John Lepower, a businessman and loyal customer of her in. Unlike her previous husbands, John maintained a good relationship with his children. However, within three years of marriage, he started suffering strange symptoms, weakness, yellowing skin, brittle hair, and loss of teeth and nails. No doctor could identify the illness. It was then that John's children joined forces with Alice's previous stepchildren, all accusing her of witchcraft. They claimed she had enchanted and poisoned their fathers to inherit

their wealth. The church soon became involved. Witchcraft allegations were not unusual, as witchcraft was often tolerated by English law as a minor offense. But in 1324, when Sir John passed away from an incurable, unknown illness, Bishop Richard Lodreed decided it was time to act. A strict and devout follower of Pope John XXI, who was notoriously fearful of witchcraft, LaDreed saw Alice as the embodiment of evil. Lodreed filed seven charges against Alice, accusing her of acts like denying Christ, sacrificing animals at crossroads to summon demons, and performing rituals with stolen church items. One particularly bizarre claim was that she made a potion from a skull filled with worms,

pubic hair, clothing from unbaptized infants, and various organs. Alice was also accused of transforming into a demon at night to satisfy her carnal desires and using spells to kill her husbands and amass wealth. However, the only charge with real evidence was the poisoning of Sir John, who had exhibited symptoms consistent with arsenic poisoning. The bishop's next step was to appeal to the royal chancellor, Roger Outlaw, who just happened to be the brother of Alice's first husband. Roger knew Alice well and dismissed the accusations as preposterous, citing a lack of

public complaints as grounds to deny the bishop's request. Frustrated, Ladreid insisted on the trial and threatened Roger with excommunication for protecting a witch. After an intense standoff, the bishop demanded Alice appear before him in a public trial. Alice, however, vanished without a trace, adding fuel to the townspeople's belief in her dark powers. With Alice missing, L'Drid shifted his attention to her son, William, accusing him of heresy and shielding her. But William had influential connections and managed to avoid any severe punishment. In retaliation, Lid imposed an interdict on the town of Kilkenny, banning marriages, baptisms, and burials, essentially freezing all church services.

Given the people's fear of hell and eternal damnation, this move struck panic across Kilkenny, and they turned their anger toward Alice, labeling her a dangerous witch. With Ladreed in jail and chaos reigning in Kilkenny, William Law attempted to appeal his charges of heresy but failed, as Ladreed refused to testify against an excommunicated man. When released, the bishop doubled down, demanding Alice's capture. Word reached him that she had taken refuge on lands left by one of her deceased husbands in Dublin. But her trail went cold, and she was never seen again. Alice's former servants were not as lucky.

Petronella de Meath, her loyal maid, was tortured mercilessly until she, confessed, to participating in dark rituals under Alice's command. Petronella was the first person in Ireland burned at the stake for witchcraft, a brutal reminder of the consequences for defying the church. In Alice's absence, Ladreed took pleasure in interrogating her former supporters, using torture to force confessions. Many admitted to witnessing or participating in rituals they claimed Alice led. The townspeople became convinced that Alice had truly been a malevolent witch. William was ultimately sentenced to a lesser penalty, attending daily mass for a year,

feeding the poor, and re-roofing the local cathedral. Despite Petronella's tragic end, Alice Kepler's fate remains a mystery. Perhaps she escaped, disappearing into history and leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions. Was she a cunning woman who defythe the constraints of her time, or was she indeed a dark sorceress. Whether Alice Kepler was a shrewd, determined woman or a misunderstood scapegoat, her story has become one of Ireland's most captivating legends, illustrating the fear and suspicion that accompanied women with influence in the medieval world.

I picked my suitcase up from under my feet as the taxi parked at the entrance of the Westside Motel. I opened the door and stepped out, but before I could walk out and towards the building, I was stopped by a sudden strong grip latching around my arm. You forgot to pay, said the first. the old taxi driver. His gloved hand grabbed my arm roughly as he gave me a glare under his black flat hat. Oh, sorry, I said apologetically. I'm just a little tired and my brain's been foggy, I explained to him as I pulled my wallet out. How much, I asked him as my hand rested in my wallet,

ready to pull out the money for whatever price was asked. For dollars, he said in a tired tone, as if I'm asking him stupid questions. I nodded and pulled out the requested money, handing it to him. Thanks, I said in a grateful manner to him as I pocketed my wallet. Whatever you say, he grumbled before rolling his window up and driving off to go wherever. I looked over towards the hotel, a pretty basic looking building for woodboros. It was a simple six-story building made of bricks as almost every other building in the area is. A small flight of steps lead up to the green wooden door with a doorbell beside it built into the wall. I walked towards the door with my suitcase filled with books, pencils, clothes, and other necessities

every man needs for work and regular life. I knocked on the door and stood at the entrance, waiting for the owner of the establishment to let me in. No answer. I then knocked on the door again, harder this time. Again, no answer. I sighed and rang the doorbell, waiting for the last time, I was already prepared to leave if the door weren't to open. No answer. I sighed and defeat and turned around, beginning to walk off, but stopping when I heard the door creak open. Hello, an old woman's voice called out. I turned around and saw the owner, Miss Shaw, at the entrance of the open door. The old woman wore a white dress with an old rose vine-like pattern stretching across it with a denim jacket over the dress.

A pair of worn down sandals on her feet. Her hair was a silver white, a bun resting in the back of her hair as if an attempt to make herself appear young. It failed horrendously at that, but did work well for her aesthetic. Oh, sorry. I thought nobody was here, I said apologetically as I began to walk back up the steps to talk with her in a more close-up, but still regular manner. Oh, don't worry, dear, it's okay, she said. Waving a dismissive, wrinkly hand at me.

I smiled at her and nodded, bah, that's great to hear then. Are there any rooms open, I asked her curiously, hoping that there would be room for me in this small motel. The town does seem like a nice place, after all. I actually haven't gotten anybody taking my rooms as of late. I've only had one woman here, so you shouldn't have to worry about any disturbances, she said. She seemed understandably sad over the fact that nobody has bought any rooms besides one woman. Guess she doesn't get a lot of visitors.

But at least that means I won't have to worry about disturbing people. Or people disturbing me, more importantly. Well, that sounds great. I'll take the cheapest room, I said. I'll be it feeling a slight guilt when, I saw her once happy, maybe even excited, smile falter at the mention of wanting the cheapest room, but, nonetheless, she nodded and walked back into the building, waving for me to follow. I obliged, following behind her slow, shaky steps.

Room 4C is our cheapest room here. It, however, is also placed next to the only guest. I hope that's not to be a problem, she explained to me as she began searching through the drawer of keys. The inside of the motel is what you'd expect. A rather basic motel with old creaky floorboards and planked walls. Rusty metal bars rest at the receptionist desk, presumably to block anybody from stealing, or worse. It was cheap, but about what you'd expect from a motel in such a small town.

There was an old half-circle of wood against the wall protruding from the ground at the end of the room, some faded posters around the place hung up on walls. One appeared to be for some band I couldn't identify. But judging by the colors of a dull pink and darker shades, and the woman's age, it most likely is some old band from the 60s or 70s. Maybe this was once a place that held live performances. This place also seems too cheap to have any live performances at the moment so maybe in a different time. Here. Room 4C, the woman said, snapping me out of my thoughts as her frail hand held the keys out to me, no longer was she standing at the other side

of the barred window, but now right in front of me. I took them and thanked her, this time remembering to pay the money. As I walked up the creaky steps kicked in dust I noticed a woman at a drinks machine. She looked like she was in her mid-40s, wearing a faded yellow dress with black high heels and smooth blonde hair. Her face had dull makeup with a pair of black wire glasses on top of her nose. She was putting a dollar into the drinks machine before she noticed me, waving at me with a friendly smile. Oh, hi there. You must be the new guest, the lady exclaimed excitedly, speaking in a noticeably thick country accent. And, as any person would, I nodded. Oh, yes. I am. How did you know a new person

moved in, I asked her? I didn't see a glimpse of her while I was down there, so how could she have known? The floors here are rather thin. You know how old places like these are, she said in a slight joking manner. I forced a chuckle out of my throat so as to not be rude, don't want the only guest here to hate me after all. She smiled at me, clearly not having caught that I was faking friendliness, and walked up to me, reaching a hand out to shake mine. Named Cheryl, she told me. I shook her hand, making sure to not be too hard with my grip as I shook it. Benjamin. Or Ben, whichever is less of a pain, I said. A rather poor attempt at comedy on my part. And, similar to how I did, she chuckled too. Probably having had to force it out as well

like I did. Well, I think we'll get along just fine now, she declared with a cheery smile. a contagious one. I couldn't help the smile that curled on the corners of my lips as I released my hand from hers. Yeah, I said with an awkward pause, forcing a chuckle, an attempt to make things less awkward but only making the situation more uncomfortable. We both stared at each other in awkward silence. Our smiles becoming more and more forced with each passing second.

I nodded and hooked my thumb over my shoulder, pointing to the stairs behind me. I—I should head to my room now, I said, quickly walking off before she could respond or try to stop me. I heard her stutter before quickly stopping, as if she wanted to stop me but faltered, ultimately deciding against it. She simply stood there, her hands held in front of her and an awkward smile plastered on her face. I let out a sigh of relief when I was up the steps and to the floor above. And I could hear her sigh in relief as well, following up the steps behind me. She lives next to me. How I could forget such a thing even though I was told but a mere few seconds ago. I walked into a hall labeled C and checked each door, looking at the iron

plaques with the letter and number of the rooms before finally finding mine. For C, I put the key into my door and unlocked it, pushing my door open to see my room. And, as one would expect, the room was as underwhelming as the cheapest room would naturally be. A cobweb rested in the corner, the bed wasn't made, and the whole room had an old, rustic look to it. As if nobody has touched this room in years. My main focus, however, landed on the desk with an old lamp sat next to it and a wooden chair sat in front, one of the legs broken off the chair, a brick being its replacement. A perfect place to do paperwork at, I thought. I walked towards the desk and placed my suitcase against the side of it, opening my suitcase and putting all my things away,

when I opened the closet to put my shirt away, I noticed an old note crumbled up inside. I put the shirt I was holding away, taking the note into my hands and unfolding it. Written quickly in a barely readable brown ink was the Vertraun S-I-E-I-H-R-nicked. I don't speak whatever language it was written in, so I just crumpled the paper and threw it back in, assuming it was just some forgotten notes written by a foreigner. As I put the rest of my clothes away, I took the blankets off the bed and checked for bugs. Surprisingly none. I put the blanket in pillows back and made the bed, tucking myself under the blankets as I finally was able rest my eyes.

The next morning I awoke to the sounds of muffled jazz coming from the other wall. Since the old lady said there hadn't been any guests in a while, I just assumed this was normal and saw no point in commenting on it. Not too much of a disturbance to me, anyways. I got up, took my clothes from the closet, and walked around to look for where the showers are, if there are any showers in this place. Are you lost? A familiar voice asked me. I turned around and saw Cheryl standing there. I put on my best friendly smile and nodded, how did you know, I asked her. It is starting to freak me out how she can read me so well.

But I'm just being paranoid, I'm sure. Oh, I am. You know where the showers are, I asked her. Hoping she does. And, much to my luck, she nodded and pointed towards the end of the hall. That door right there's the showers, she said. I nodded and thanked her, walking towards the room and looking around. Looked as you'd expect.

Multiple walls blocking view between the rusty shower heads, a drain under them all with a curtain to block the view, but probably still showing your silhouette. I put my clothes on a wooden bench nearby and got into the shower, crouching down to get my clothes from underneath the curtain and putting them on after. And then I went off to walk to my work. I moved here so I can finally work my job as a psychiatrist, and this was the closest place with that job open. But not close enough.

And so, I had to move. I hope for this motel to be a temporary home but judging by this town's prices, it seems like it will be permanent. Or at the most a place I will stay in for a long time. Once it finally hit 5 p.m. I left the building and began on the walk to my new home. It was a nice walk, maybe 25 to 30 minutes. I'm not sure. But once I got there I noticed the light to my neighbor's room was on, before shutting off. I thought I saw her silhouette taller than usual, staring directly at me. Maybe she was just lonely and waiting for me. The place is probably rather lonely so it wouldn't be too hard to believe. I shrugged it off as just her waiting for me to come

back and walked up to the door, knocking on the door. This time, the old lady opened it immediately. How was work, the old lady asked me. She moved out of the way to let me in, walking back to behind the receptionist desk. Good. The pays well here, I said to her as I began to walk in and towards the stairs. She smiled at the news, seeming happy about the money I've earned. Have a wonderful rest of your day, she said as she waved goodbye. You too, I replied as I walked up the steps and back to my room. Once I got up I saw Cheryl standing outside the door to her room. It startled me slightly, since I thought she was still in her room. She walked up to me with that friendly smile she seems to always have. Oh, sorry. Did I scare you? she asked. Walking towards me with her hands held in

front of her, still in the same clothes. Weird, I thought, but maybe she's one of those people with multiples of the same clothes. Oh, no, don't worry, I say dismissively, playing it off like I wasn't startled when I, in fact, was. I saw her smile widen, and for a second it looked like it would go past the natural human limits as she adjusted her glasses before she spoke again. Oh, okay then. Well, I was thinking of getting a dog here. Would that be okay with you, she asked me. And that the mention of a dog possibly being here my expression brightened, ignoring the weird things of her for just that moment as I nodded. That would be perfectly fine.

Honestly, I'd love it, I said, a smile once again threatening to form on my face. She nodded and began to walk back into her room, but poked her face through the crack of her barely opened door to tell me one more thing. Oh. Just so you know, I'm going to be getting the dog next week, she said with a smile on her face. I nodded, acknowledging her statement, and smiled back. That's perfectly fine. I'll probably be staying here for a while with how high house prices are, I joked.

She giggled and nodded, closing her door. I smiled and walked into my room, feeling like the day was just that bit brighter now. I went to sleep, woke up, showered, and head to work. Once I came back she was, once again, watching me from her window. Shutting off the light when she saw me. I got used to it and walked in, waving at the old lady and beginning to walk away before she suddenly called out to me. Excuse me, she said.

I turned around to see her standing behind me a few feet away. What is it? I asked her curiously, wondering what she needs. Maybe help. I would oblige since she is just a frail woman. I'm just wondering. How's your neighbor? She asked me. The question caught me off guard slightly, why would she care?

Was it really important? Oh, she's nice. Why? I answered in a mix of friendliness of confusion. No reason, she answered simply. Suspicious, but I might just be paranoid. Heading back to my room, I got into pajamas and laid on my bed, tucking myself in once more. The place has grown to feel like home for the time I've stayed.

I was just about to fall asleep, but was awoken in the middle of the night to the sounds of quiet, barely audible groans. I tried to listen out to see where the numbers might be coming from, and they were coming from my neighbor's room. I got up and went to her door, knocking on it. Concerned for her safety. Hello. Are you okay? I am sleeping, a voice yelled from the inside of the room, cutting me off.

The voice was loud and unlike Cheryl, making me jump from the sudden burst of rage, and the silence following after. I went back to my room and laid in bed, not wanting to anger her further. I tried to go back to sleep, but never managed to. I stayed awake in my bed, tossing and turning, staring at the roof, and hearing my neighbor's quiet, muffled groans and the creaking of something moving in her room. I was still awake when the sun rose and got into my clothes and went straight to work, now too scared to be left so vulnerable in the showers in this place. After the weird event the rest of my days were Norma, the only difference that Cheryl was being more angered around me and constantly avoided me in the tiny motel.

I woke up, got dressed, showered somewhere else, went to work, came home, and went to sleep. And every time I came back to the place, she was staring at me from outside her window. It felt like she was getting taller with each passing day. It was like this for each day until the end of the week. The day was the same as the others, and when I opened the door to the motel, a brown blur suddenly jumped on me. I felt something wet rubbing against my face. Once I managed to push it off, I realized it was a dog. Cheryl's dog, I forgot about it entirely.

Rufus. Get off him, I heard a voice yell. A familiar voice that sounded like a mix of scolding and playful. And the dog, Rufus, listened. getting off me and returning to the direction of the voice. I lifted my head and saw Cheryl standing there, scooping the dog into her arms with a happy smile, before looking back at me.

Her smile becoming noticeably more forced. Oh. Hi Ben, she said. Her voice carrying less friendliness than before. Sounding like she wanted to hurl insults but knew it'd be meaninglessly rude to do so. Hi, Cheryl. I see you got the dog, I said in an attempt to still be friendly. She simply nodded and walked back to her room with the dog.

I sighed and got up, fixing my hair and wiping the dog drool off my face as I, too, walked back to my room. I tried to sleep, but just couldn't shut my eyes. Her total change in behavior all because I checked on her once. It feels off. I heard a crash and the dog whining in the middle of the night, bringing me out of my thoughts. I was reasonably worried and got out of bed, walking towards her room cautiously to see the door cracked open. Did somebody break in? I thought as I approached her door with careful steps.

I pushed the door open fully and saw a sight I wish I never saw. There was Cheryl, or what was Cheryl? Her legs and arms extended out of the flesh, the skin ripping like an oversized shirt on a person. Her dress barely even fit anymore. And her face was worse, one half looked normal but the other half. Her mouth was ripping open, her lips parting with the skin and revealing large rows of teeth with her gums and flesh. She was crouched down, holding the dog like how firefighters hold passed out children

and eating its guts out like a wild animal that caught its prey. I was frozen in fear. I watched as her head lift up to look at me, her eyes holding no emotion but pure animal instinct as the guts of the dog dropped from her mouth. Without warning she let out a screech. A screech that was barely human. I panicked and began to run, but once my foot landed on the first step I tripped and fell down the entire flight of steps, my body bruising and landing on my stomach, my head bouncing

off the floor like a rubber ball. My head was ringing once I stopped rolling down, yet I could still hurt her screaming coming closer. A mix of human and something monstrous. I tried to crawl away, my vision blurry and my movement weak, but felt a strong, sharp grip grab my leg and slam into the wall. I was wheezing for air, on the verge of passing out but doing my best to stay awake so I can try to fight back, no matter how futile the attempt is.

I saw her face up close. Her bleeding maw, her dull eyes, her disheveled hair. I panicked as I felt her nails stab into my stomach and tried to rip into me, her claws looking to make a passage towards my own guts. I instinctively reached for her face, pushing her head back. The adrenaline giving me extra strength to actually fight back for now. She tried biting at my hands, causing me to constantly have to rearrange positions. Then a plan formed in my head.

Without warning, I moved my hands up and shoved my thumbs into her eyes. She screeched in pain, chucking me away and into another wall, and trying to run down the stairs. She tripped on the first step out of either blindness or panic. I heard a crack and laid there for a minute, trying to catch my breath and letting my brain heal itself. I laid there for what felt like hours before I could finally get up. I walked towards the steps and saw her corpse there.

It looked normal, the only damage. as the eyes I poked out of her. It looked like I murdered an innocent woman. I tried to think for what to do, but then there were sirens. Hey everyone, welcome to the first episode of a brand new series on this channel. We're diving into the world of witchcraft, real, historical witch trials, packed with eerie accounts and jaw-dropping testimonies. This series just makes sense, given how much we've talked about poltergeists, personal paranormal experiences, and so many spooky topics. It's odd to have a paranormal channel without touching on the fascinating historical side of it, especially since I come from a background in art history.

And let's be real, the paranormal has its own artistic flair. So, let's kick things off with a story everyone thinks they know, the infamous Salem Witch Trials. There's a lot of misinformation and countless versions of what happened, so let's dig into what really went down. The Salem Witch Trials took place from February 1692 to May 1693 and became infamous for accusing, prosecuting, and imprisoning over 200 people on suspicions of practicing witchcraft. Despite the name, the Salem trials actually included preliminary hearings in other towns across the Massachusetts Bay Colony, with most of the chaos centered around Salem Village. Why Salem? Well, it was a deeply religious and somewhat fanatical community where people

were always eyeing each other, quick to accuse neighbors of sinful lifestyles or of straying from biblical teachings. In Salem, women were seen as secondary to men, and children were raised under harsh rules to become model Christians. The entire community was obsessed with avoiding God's wrath, interpreting bad weather or failed crops as signs of divine punishment. This constant fear and the desire to avoid divine anger ultimately fueled the witch hunt. Over 150 people, perhaps even more, were accused and jailed in Salem, often on the flimciest of evidence. Even though many were detained without proper trials or substantial proof, the frenzy continued, reflecting the strict Puritan beliefs of the time. These trials also indirectly shaped

the culture of New England, shifting it towards a more secular society. But enough history, let's get into the story behind the Salem which trials. The chaos really started when Reverend Samuel Paris moved to Salem from the Caribbean with his family, including his nine-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, and his 12-year-old niece, Abigail. Among their household was a Caribbean slave named Tituba, who practiced voodoo rituals and fortune-telling as part of her cultural beliefs. At first, Reverend Paris didn't see any issue with Tituba's practices, which he considered part of her heritage.

But soon, Elizabeth and Abigail began exhibiting strange symptoms, convulsions, fits of hysteria, sleepwalking, and night terrors. They even acted like animals, barking and howling during church services and public gatherings. This odd behavior spread to other girls in Salem, including in Putnam, who claimed she was attacked by a witch. At this point, Elizabeth and Abigail's families decided to consult the village doctor, William Griggs, who, unable to find any physical ailment, ultimately declared that the girls were bewitched. This diagnosis set the village into a spiral of rumors and theories as neighbors accused one another of causing the girl's symptoms. Reverend Paris, growing suspicious,

focused on Tutuba, who, after all, practiced voodoo and fortune-telling. While Tutuba tried to find the cause of the girl's affliction using her own methods, at one point planning to bake a bazaar, which cake made from the girl's urine to test for a curse, she was caught in the act and accused of bewitching the children. Under pressure, Elizabeth and Abigail accused Tatuba of witchcraft, claiming she had cast spells on them. The girls even added that Tituba wasn't acting alone, they named other women in the village, including Sarah Good, a destitute woman, and Sarah Osborne, who was ostracized for living with a man

out of wedlock. The mounting accusations caused hysteria in Salem, leading to a hearing in March 1693, where Tutuba confessed, possibly under coercion, to being a witch. She even claimed to have seen a spectral being, hinting that other witches were lurking in Salem, and mentioned a mysterious book listing the names of all the witches in the village. Though this book was never found, the mere mention of its spread terror. One by one by one. people were named, accused, and tried. The sheer volume of accusations meant that a special court had to be established to handle the cases, with Judge William Stoughton, a deeply religious man, presiding. Under his orders, accused individuals weren't just imprisoned,

they were tortured, and many were ultimately hanged. Bridget Bishop, a 60-year-old tavern owner with a bold personality, was the first to be executed. Despite repeated offers to confess and avoid punishment, she maintained her innocence, refusing to admit to something she didn't do. In June 1692, she was publicly hanged, setting off a tragic chain of events. Bridget's execution marked only the beginning. Reverend George Burroughs, Martha Corey, Susanna Martin, and others met the same fate. Even minor rumors or accusations were enough to damn someone. For instance, John Alden, another accused, was said to have handed to Tubah the witch's book, George Jacobs, and Putnam's mother Rebecca Nurse, and even Giles Corey, an elderly

man who was pressed to death with heavy stones for refusing to plead, all became victims of the hysteria. Each conviction and death only increased the paranoia in Salem. But these weren't just women and social outcasts, men were accused too, often with the same lack of evidence. The trials accepted spectral evidence, meaning someone's testimony that they'd seen a ghost or experienced a supernatural occurrence involving the accused. If someone claimed to be possessed or felt a mysterious presence, it was enough to throw their supposed tormentor into jail. This mass paranoia reached a breaking point as people started accusing higher status individuals.

Governor William Phipps of Massachusetts then stepped in, dissolving the special court and forbidding the use of spectral evidence. Public sentiment shifted, and the townspeople began to see the trials as a mistake. Those who sentenced innocent people to death later admitted their error, signing declarations admitting they had wrongfully condemned others. But this apology did little to suit the families and friends of the victims. So, what really happened in Salem? Scholars have proposed numerous theories over the years.

One popular explanation is ergate poisoning, a type of fungus that grows on damp rye. Urget poisoning can cause muscle spasms, vomiting, and hallucinations, symptoms similar to those the girls displayed. With Salem built on swampy land, it's plausible that ergot infected grain was part of their diet. Another theory involves lay lines or paths of strong electromagnetic activity. Some believe these lines contribute to heightened spiritual or paranormal experiences. Researchers in spiritual studies claim that one lay line runs near Salem, possibly affecting the area's residence and leading to erratic behavior.

Despite these theories, many historians argue that Salem's hysteria ultimately stemmed from the rigid, oppressive culture of the time. A combination of fear, strict religious beliefs, and old grudges fueled the trials. The Salem which trials remain a dark chapter in history, a testament to what can happen when fear and fanaticism spiral out of control. Even today, the story of Salem serves as a haunting reminder of the dangers of mass hysteria, and while we may never fully understand what drove it, we know enough to ensure history doesn't repeat itself. Hello to all. Welcome to a video more, where I'll construct a granja of experience

and more to dare to be. Being homeless is something that's hard to describe unless you've live through it. Let me take you through a collection of personal stories, moments of fear, survival, and resilience from people who have been without a place to call home. These aren't just tales of hardship, their glimpses into the lives of those who've faced the unimaginable and somehow kept going. A teenager without a home, I was 13 when my parents kicked me out. They told me they didn't want anything to do with me anymore. At that age, I was terrified of going to a shelter. I'd heard stories about foster kids and the system, none of it sounded safe. Plus, I wanted to keep going to my school.

Losing my friends felt like it would be the final straw. The scariest thing at that age wasn't just being alone, it was figuring out where my next meal would come from. I found this beat-up old trailer not far from my dad's house and decided to stay there. The gravity of my situation didn't fully hit me until one night when I had to choose between food and warmth. The temperature was dropping to about 35 degrees, and all I had was a thin blanket. I went with the blanket, but that decision haunted me.

The next day, I put on my best outfit, which honestly wasn't much, and walked into a long John Silver's asking for a job. I lied, said I was 15, and they hired me. I worked five days a week, running straight there after school. My diet became the epitome of unhealthy fast food, but I didn't care. I was saving up for something, anything. Eventually, I scraped together enough money to buy an old 91 Toyota Camry. It cost me a few hundred bucks from a lot that sold used cars dirt cheap.

That car was my everything. It was my home, my heater, my escape. From there, life started to shift. I found an older woman willing to rent me her garage. No credit checks were questions asked. I snagged an abandoned couch from the side of the road, and even managed to get internet in that garage. Nights were spent binging on creepy stories online.

I'd have killed for Netflix back then. My childhood was anything but normal. It was filled with fear and survival, but it shaped who I am today. That experience gave me grit and determination I never thought I'd have. Depression and homelessness at 36, fast forward to my adult years. Depression and anxiety slowly chipped away at my life. My relationships, resources, and will to keep fighting were all gone. The breaking point came when my girlfriend and I had one last blowout argument.

She couldn't take it anymore, and honestly. I. I started sleeping at my job. It wasn't even a full-time gig, but it was a roof over my head. The effort to avoid getting caught kept me focused, distracting me from the dark thoughts lurking in the back of my mind. Still, the fear was always there. What scared me most wasn't the immediate survival part, it was the thought that if I fell

any further, I might never get back up. Being homeless is like being stuck in a cycle. You need resources to stay clean, fed, and rested. Without those, it's nearly impossible to get more resources or find the energy to even try. That first night, though, was all about survival. My goal. Make sure the second night wasn't on the streets. I managed to hang on for six weeks.

In a weird way, those six weeks saved my life. The routine of my job gave me structure, something my depression had robbed from me. I didn't have bills to pay, so I saved enough for a deposit and rent on a small place. I'm still battling serious depression, but the fear of having nowhere to go stays with me. It's a powerful motivator, maybe not the healthiest one, but it keeps me moving. A nomadic teenage life, when you're a teen, sleeping in your car, on a friend's couch, or even the floor can seem like an adventure. My dad would find short-term apartments, often skipping out on rent after a month or two.

We'd move constantly, cramming everything we owned into a beat-up sedan. One time, we even strapped a sofa to the roof. We must have looked ridiculous driving around like that. Once, we lived in a place so infested with fleas that the carpet seemed alive. The landlord, understandably fed up with us not paying rent, removed the front door. Yes, the actual door. We came back from grabbing food to find it gone. In hindsight, it was a clever way to force us out.

Food was another struggle. My dad had a knack for getting us into hotel breakfast buffets for free. We'd pretend we had a room, eat as much. as we could, and then slip out. At the time, it felt like a game. Looking back, it's heartbreaking that this was how I spent my teenage years. Starting from nothing in South Africa, the first night my wife and I slept outdoors was in a local park. We had a little cash, enough for a meal, but no place to stay. A friend we reached out to couldn't help, so we had no choice but to sleep under the stars. The next day, I told her we needed somewhere safer.

We hiked to the foothills of Table Mountain, South Africa, and found a hidden spot among the trees. We cleared away branches and rocks to make it livable, then headed back into the city each day to job hunt. Nights were spent climbing back up to our makeshift home. This was our life for a month until we found a small shack to rent in a township. My wife's temp jobs as a waitress kept us fed while I continued my search for stable work. The hardest part wasn't the physical survival, it was the mental toll. Staying focused, clean, and presentable while living outdoors felt like an uphill battle. But we treated job hunting like a full-time job, and eventually, things got better. The reality of shelters, sleeping in my car wasn't ideal, but it was summer, so at least I didn't freeze.

I'd shower at the gym and spend my days in the library before heading to work. Things were manageable until one night, the police found me in my car. They escorted me to a homeless shelter. That night was one of the scariest of my life. I ended up on a top bunk, trying to sleep while a massive argument broke out. Two guys were fighting over meth, and a third was yelling at them to shut up so he could sleep. Chaos doesn't even begin to describe it. Some people ask if it was legal for the cops to force me into a shelter.

Honestly, I have no idea. When four officers are shining flashlights in your face, arguing isn't exactly top of mind. You just do what they say and hope for the best. Trade and homeless again, after a messy breakup, my ex convinced me to move back in. A few weeks later, she held a garage sale that included most of my belongings. She pocketed the cash and told me it was time for me to leave. By then, I had already given notice on my old place, so I had nowhere to go. The next two weeks were a blur of survival.

I slept on a hardwood floor using sweaters as blankets. When the move-out day arrived, I packed my clothes into a trash bag and walked away. It was the dead of winter in Canada. Freezing to death was a real possibility, so I found refuge in a 24-hour Tim Hortons. I bought small coffees just to have an excuse to stay. One of the workers noticed my situation. She started giving me my usual order for free. The kindness almost broke me.

I was so close to giving up, but that small act of humanity kept me going. Eventually, I reconnected with some friends and couch-served until I could get back on my feet. A childhood lost, my parents never told us we lost our home to the bank. One day, we just left, taking only the essentials. For weeks, we lived out of our car, driving aimlessly in sleeping at rest stops. The car seats didn't recline, so sleep was nearly impossible at first. We rarely ate. When we did, it was scraps, crackers, water from public restrooms.

Sometimes we camped at roadside spots, but mostly, it was just endless driving. School became impossible. I used to love learning, but bouncing from place to place meant I couldn't stay and rolled anywhere long enough. I'd steal notebooks and pencils just to have something to do. Winters were brutal. Without proper clothes, we wrapped ourselves in old blankets. Bathing was a nightmare, using ice-cold water from campground pumps. Hunger was a constant.

I even chewed on bits of fabric or paper out of desperation. When my grandmother eventually bought us a home, it felt unreal. Even now, I struggle to feel like I truly belong anywhere. The isolation from those years left scars, social norms often confuse me, and the memories of hunger and cold still haunt me. Each of these stories paints a different picture of homelessness. The struggle is raw and deeply personal, yet these individuals found ways to survive and, in many cases, rebuild.

Their resilience is a testament to the human spirit, even when faced with the most crushing circumstances. I still struggled to fully grasp a lot of social norms, and honestly, it's all because of the isolation I went through during my time being homeless. When you're out there trying to survive, the concept of social norms doesn't even cross your mind. It's just about making it through the day, the hour, or even the next few minutes. Even now, I feel a deep resentment toward my parents for how they handled things. They avoided any form of government help or homeless shelters like it was the plague. They didn't lose our house for any noble reason either, it was pure stupidity, reckless spending and eventual bankruptcy.

And guess what? Their habits never changed. We'd find a place to stay for a year or two, then lose it all over again because they were terrible at managing money. For a while, I used school as my anchor. I practically lived there until I couldn't anymore. Eventually, personal reasons piled up, and I dropped out. My mom was furious when I quit school, she didn't even speak to me for days. My dad. Let's just say our relationship has always been messy, if not entirely non-existent. When I finally decided to leave and head back to my hometown, I had no plan.

I got on the train with nothing but a vague idea of returning to familiar ground, even though I had no clue where I'd sleep or what I'd do. That first night, I crashed at my brother's place. Well, calling it a place is generous. It was a tiny room with a shared kitchen and bathroom for six people. Definitely not glamorous, but it was better than the streets. After that, I put my situation out there on social media, and a friend I'd lost touch with, someone I'd been close to years ago, reached out.

He and his fiancé let me stay with them until I found an apartment about a month later. Honestly, I got lucky. Things could have been so much worse. Nowadays, my mom and I are on better terms, and even my dad and I are trying to rebuild some kind of relationship after he finally divorced his new wife. I'd been calling her new for over a decade, but whatever. Back in the 80s, being homeless as a teenager was a whole other beast. The first night, I was terrified.

The kind of fear that keeps you from closing your eyes. I couldn't even think about sleeping on a park bench by myself. So, I found a local shelter and lied about my age to get in. But let me tell you, the women there were scarier than the streets. They made me shower and take a urine test, and the whole environment was so hostile that I didn't go back. Instead, I spent the next night in a park. Eventually, I found some squatters and started hanging out with them. They were surprisingly welcoming, and for the first time in a while, I felt safe. The hardest part of being homeless in the city. Bathrooms. Nobody wants to let you

use theirs, and even park restrooms are often locked. I'll never forget the nightmare of dealing with my period on the streets. Finding some semblance of privacy was nearly impossible. These days, I have a stable home, but I'll never walk past a homeless person without offering food or money. If they spend it on alcohol or drugs, I don't care. Life out there is brutal. If a drink helps them get through the day, who am I to judge? I wasn't always sleeping rough. There were times I stayed on friends' couches for a week or two, bouncing around until their goodwill ran out.

I also slept in my car while I had it, though that didn't last. Once my car got towed and my friend's patients wore thin, I was out of options. I became a pro at quick, five to ten minute washes in public restrooms using hand soap. McDonald's, 24-hour ones, specifically, were my go-to at 4 a.m. when nobody was around. Begging outside subway stations became my routine. I'd collect just enough for a rock of crack, a hit of heroin, a sandwich, and some tea. I learned how to dress semi-professionally and use lines like, oh my God, someone's stole my wallet. Can you spare some change? It worked better than straight up asking in jeans and a

hoodie. That hustle sustained me for years, but then I got pregnant. That changed everything. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't ruin my child's life by staying addicted. I quit cold turkey and have been clean ever since. This November marks 14 years. It's wild looking back. I was only six when my dad told me to pack up all the clothes I could fit into a backpack along with one My mom just cried as my brother and I climbed into the backseat of the car. He clutched our Sega Genesis, looking absolutely terrified. We drove for hours until it was dark, and then we stopped in a Walmart parking lot. My dad said he needed to rest, but now I know the truth, we were homeless.

That night was the first of many spent sleeping in the car. One of my parents always stayed awake, hand in their coat pocket. It didn't click back then, but they were holding a gun, ready to protect us if needed. When I aged out of the foster care system, I was completely on my own. Some kids get to stay with their foster families if the relationship is good, but mine wasn't. My foster parents cared more about the checks they got for taking us in than about us. I'd shared rooms, moved through multiple houses, and had nothing more than a duffel bag to my name. On my 18th birthday, I asked if I could stay a little longer.

They shrugged and said there wasn't room but maybe a week or two. Instead, a social worker showed up days later, had me sign a bunch of papers, and told me to pack my things. I didn't have much to pack, but I wanted to keep a small blanket I'd had since I first arrived. My foster mom said no, apparently, it was a family heirloom. The social worker gave me a little cash and walked me to the curb. My first night was in a park. It was freezing, November cold. Over time, I got used to it.

Weirdly, I felt free. No more yelling, no chores, no terrible people. Sure, I made a ton of bad decisions. Men took advantage of me, and there were times I genuinely didn't think I'd make it. But at least I was in control of my own life. People often ask why homeless individuals don't go to shelters. Here's the thing, they fill up fast and can be dangerous. I've met people who were assaulted in shelters.

They're not all bad, but they're not always safe either. Even now, with a roof over my head, I sometimes lay newspapers over my sheets and sleep on them. It's a habit from the streets, where newspapers were my warmth and protection. I didn't even realize I was homeless at first. I was 16, bouncing from house to house after my mom left an abusive situation. She went to a friend's place, and I ended up doing the same, crashing wherever I could. A few weeks in, my boyfriend's mom noticed something was off. She'd always been kind, letting me stay in their guest's house.

room occasionally. But one night at dinner, she put down her fork, looked at me, and said, Sarah, what's going on? Tell me. It wasn't a question, it was a command. I broke down, admitting I didn't have a home. Within minutes, she, my boyfriend, and his dad were in the car with me, heading to pick up my stuff from the abusive house. They turned the guest room into my room for a year until I went to college. Back in 1996, I was 20 and thought I had life figured out. I'd like landed an assistant manager job at Bob Evans, completed my training, and was offered a promotion. The catch? I had to move to a new city with no car, no support system, and sky high rent. But I was young and optimistic, so I took the leap. To furnish my apartment, I went to one of those

rent-to-own places. Bad idea. Soon, I was barely scraping by. Then, out of nowhere, my paycheck was garnished because my old roommate trashed our apartment and skipped out on rent. I hadn't even known about the lawsuit, let alone the judgment against me. Suddenly, most of my income was gone. For months, I worked six days a week, often double shifts, just to stay afloat. My co-workers started to notice something was off. Why was I always volunteering to open and close the restaurant? Eventually, the truth came out.

My area manager found out I was homeless and offered me a couch in his basement. I broke down crying. His kindness saved me. I stayed with that company for another seven years, forever grateful. Not everyone is as lucky. When I was homeless, I knew people who had it much worse. I'll never forget that. It's why I always try to help when I can.

No one chooses this life, circumstances forced them into it. And while mine was temporary, the experience left a permanent mark. It taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of looking out for one another. So, the weather was kind of perfect, not too hot, not too cold. I guess I was lucky in that sense. I was 18, dealing with some heavy depression, and just trying to finish my final exams so I could move forward. But I panicked. Instead of showing up, I stayed home.

That decision cost me dearly, I failed, and failing made my depression even worse. My parents? They'd had enough. They packed my clothes into a suitcase and kicked me out. I didn't have a clue where to go. Sleeping in the city like most homeless folks. That scared me too much. I was afraid someone would rob me, or worse.

So, I headed into the woods. I opened my suitcase, pulled out some clothes, and curled up to sleep. Spoiler, I didn't get much sleep. I was too busy hating myself, crying over being such a failure. Thankfully, I wasn't homeless for long. My grandparents took me in until I found a job. Once I had a paycheck, my parents let me move back home, and I started therapy. Things are better now, but the pain of being abandoned when I needed them the most.

That still stings, even now. The first thing I learned when I hit the streets at 18 was that maybe I wasn't as unlucky as I thought. Being a young woman who looked normal, people saw me as brave and offered help. Honestly, that surprised me. I couldn't help but think, if I were a guy or overweight, would anyone have cared? I doubt it. Back then, I was in Spain. Spending a few nights in a park was almost an adventure. I got emergency housing pretty quickly, and no one really bothered me. From there, it was one crappy job after another until I landed a one-year apprenticeship selling shoes. Hitch hiking across Europe.

Cheap and pretty safe, as long as you kept clean and respectful. I worked odd jobs in exchange for a roof over my head, and step by step, I clawed my way out of that hole. Now, I'm 28 and living in the UK, the prettiest place I could have imagined. Life's good, but it wasn't always that way. When I was 11, I knew my mom was using drugs. I mean, it was hard not to notice. Things went downhill fast. We moved into what would be our last house together before child protective services split us up.

Cleaning it before we moved in. That was a nightmare. Mouse droppings everywhere, dirty needles, adult magazines, it was disgusting. Still, I thought, at least it's a house, then they cut off the gas and electricity. It was winter. The windshield on my mom's car got smashed, and we patched it up with plastic. The cold was relentless. When the police came knocking, we'd hide under the beds, staying as quiet as possible.

I knew another move was coming when the utilities got shut off. We ended up in a homeless shelter for a bit, just until school started again. By then, I was in middle school, but that didn't last long. One night, as usual, my mom told us to pack up. We were moving. I didn't fully realize how bad things were until we ended up in Death Valley, sleeping outside a church. Desert nights are freezing, and the days are unbearable when you're living outside.

My heart hardened that summer. It felt like a little light inside me had gone out. No school. No medical treatment, even when we got Marseille. No food, unless we stole it or begged for samples at restaurants. Two strangers bought us a meal once, I remember being so ashamed. Being homeless made me feel like less of a person, less than everyone else around me. I spent one summer in a religious shelter.

The first night was rough. I'd been couch surfing after losing my place, but eventually, I ran out of options. A friend dropped me off at the shelter and said, well, good luck. The place was run by ultra-conservative Christians. The staff? Overbearing and hypocritical, rolling up in fancy cars while treating us like dirt. Most of the residents were ex-cons, addicts, or elderly men who couldn't survive on government aid alone.

I had to learn fast, how to keep people from stealing my stuff, how to talk to people high out of their minds without starting a fight. That summer, I walked around town every day, applying for jobs at every business I could find. I did everything I could to avoid falling into addiction. Now, a year later, I'm in a cozy rental with a sweet girlfriend and a comfy office job. I'd rather die than go back to that hell. I was homeless a year or two ago. It was awful.

I'd left because my dad was abusive, so in a way, being homeless was an upgrade. The first night on the streets. The worst. It hit me, this is real. I walked five hours to get to a shelter, but let me tell you, it was. wasn't worth it. The place was noisy, it smelled, people stole from you, and fights broke out constantly. I lasted three days before leaving. I found a spot in a parking lot that became my go-to. It was shaded, secluded, and, best of all, nobody else ever slept there. I had my phone,

so I'd hang out at Starbucks or the library, using their Wi-Fi to watch YouTube or browse Reddit. Libraries were a lifesaver. They let anyone use their computers, so I spent hours applying for jobs. Eventually, I got hired. It took me a few months, but I saved up for a tiny apartment. Then I applied for school and landed multiple scholarships. Now, I live in a dorm but am about to move in with a friend. Being homeless? It's brutal.

It makes you cry. Sometimes, I thought I'd be better off dead. I never want to go back to that. I'll do everything in my power to make sure my future kids never have to face those kinds of choices. In 2012, I left the military. A year later, things seemed fine until my painkillers became a problem. After another spinal surgery, I asked my doctor to take me off them. That's when the nightmare started.

They stopped my prescription but didn't warn me about withdrawal. My life, already fragile, began to crumble. Before I knew it, I was homeless. I thought I could handle it. After all, I'd survived harsh conditions during my service. How hard could being homeless be? For a while, I lived by a river with another homeless vet, let's call him Sam. Sometimes, we'd sleep at a truck stop, using their Wi-Fi.

I kept telling myself, as long as I can shower, go to class, and do my homework, I'll be okay, but then the nightmares started. Sam would wake me up, shaking my foot because I'd been yelling in my sleep. He said I screamed orders like I was still in combat. I failed my finals and lost everything. My mental health spiraled. Sam started smoking stuff I don't even want to think about, so I left him by the river and hit the road. I sold my old military gear to pawn shops for gas money.

My car became my symbol of hope, if I could sleep in it, I wasn't completely lost. But eventually, it broke down for good. I collapsed, too. I found a bottle of old painkillers and took them all, hoping to end it. But someone saw me and called the cops. I woke up in a hospital where a doctor volunteered to help me. They taught me about PTSD, about what was happening in my brain. Now, I have a house, a wife, and a purpose, helping others like me.

There are thousands of homeless vets in my city, and I feel it's my duty to be there for them. Right now, I'm homeless, living on a converted bus shelter. Being on the streets was rough. I ended up in a beach shack, basically a painted shed. It was better than nothing, but I had no food or food. or money. The bus shelter. It's a huge step up. I've got food, a bed, and people helping me get a job and a place of my own. Every morning, they drop us downtown, and every evening, they pick us up to take us back to the shelter. The staff? They're amazing. They've given me

hope that things can get better. Life's been a roller coaster, but I finally feel like I'm on the upswing. Here's hoping it lasts. A heavy set man with red hair and a red beard was sitting across from me, to the left at the adjacent table. An elegant young woman with a touch of makeup and saucer eyes sat directly to my left across from him. The man began drinking a whiskey cocktail right away. After initially declining, the woman ordered a glass of wine but asked for it to come with her meal. They still brought it out with his drink by mistake. The configuration was such that the woman and I shared a booth, although we had separate tables. They were seated at the same time I was. Both appeared to be in their mid-twenties. This was a

a mid-tier restaurant in Greater Boston. I was a little early and my dinner companion was a little late so I spent about 20 minutes listening to these people's back and forth. This part of the conversation came after about five minutes of small talk driven entirely by the woman. Bored waiting for my dinner companion and socially anxious in the restaurant alone, I began noting down their conversation, a habit of mine. I think of it like doodling but with words. Woman, so I have to be honest, I've never gone out with someone from an app before. not all too familiar with how things like this go. Man, I've been on a lot of these.

Woman, that's nice. Silence. Woman, so was there anything you wanted to know about me? Man, sure, like what? Woman, I mean, never mind. So what's the difference between a journeyman plumber and a regular plumber? Man, no difference really. Woman, oh.

Well, I had to go to school for four years. You know, to get my degree, for my job. I always thought it was so cool how some people just got right into working. Man, I have a degree. Woman, oh, that's cool. What in? Man, communications. Woman, really?

Man, yeah. What? Woman, that just caught me a little by surprise. Only because you're now working in plumbing, I mean. Man, sure do. Woman, you know, I get nervous on first date sometimes, and I can talk way too much. Don't hesitate to jump in. Man, you're fine.

Woman, so have you lived out here your whole life? Man, whole life. Woman, when people ask me where I'm from I'm never quite sure how to answer because I actually grew up on a houseboat and, man, is that why you picked a seafood place? Woman, oh, ha ha. That's a good one. I've never gotten that one. Man stares blankly, woman, no, actually my family doesn't know the first thing about fishing.

My parents are marine biologists. They basically research whales. Like how George pretended to on Seinfeld, but for real. So we were, man, you can eat whales. Woman, uh, no. Man, oh. Woman, are you feeling all right? If this isn't a good time where I said something that rubbed you the wrong way, we can do this some other time.

Man, no, you're fine. Woman, you know, funny story, I actually studied some. something different from what I ended up doing for work also. I majored in physics and I only minored in music because I wanted accountability to not forget how to play the piano while I was busy with school. But I enjoyed it so much I thought, why not take a year and just do music stuff? And the rest is history. If you told me I'd be a professional this time ten years ago I'd have laughed at you. Man, what kind of money you make doing that? Woman, excuse me? Man, what kind of money you make doing that. Woman, oh, you know, it varies. Man, that's what I figured.

Woman, have you been watching anything good on Netflix lately? I'm binging some of my favorite shows from growing up and watching them at such a different stage of life is kind of interesting. Man studies the menu, woman, anything look good to you. Man, not really. I'm going to see if they can just do a regular burger. Woman, I apologize, I should have checked if you like seafood. Man, I do. This stuff's just more or less really overpriced for this area. Woman, oh, I wasn't expecting you to pay. Man, so you're paying. Cool, maybe I'll get something else then too. Woman, ha. Man, what? Woman, oh, you're, you were making a joke right. Man, what joke? Woman, I meant I didn't expect you to pay for my half. Man, oh. Woman, you know, I'm not super hungry.

I might just stick with the glass of wine. Man, okay. I'll hurry up and order then. The service is mad slow in here it seems like. Woman, so besides work what are your, you know, interests and things. Man, sports. Woman, oh, I like sports too. What do you play?

Man, I had a moment in high school but now I just watch. Would have gone pro if that had been what I wanted. Woman, aha. What else? Oh, I know. Desert Island Book Choice. Man, I've never been to the desert or anything. I kind of like to stay close to home. Woman, yeah. Well, I'm actually feeling a little off tonight. I think I might have to call it a night. Man, oh, okay. Woman, I'm just going to go pay for this at the bar. Man, okay. Woman, well, yeah. So, have a nice night then. Man, yeah. Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, yeah, you too. This was chill. I'll text you. Woman, goodbye. For all his talk about the pricing, he did stay and eat his off-manue burger. I feel like I hear these non-conversations more and more often, where one or both parties bring nothing to the table and seem like they're just trying to get it over with. From very new couples to people who seem to have been together a long time. Of course this is an extreme example. But the number of young people, young men in particular, who I encounter that are just existing and seem to make me. make no effort towards living is staggering to me. It feels different than even five years ago, when I was on the dating scene. Maybe it's just me. In any case, thanks for reading the story if you've come this far. This story is inspired by a YouTube short film called Curve. Head throbbing, pain shooting everywhere in my body, is this a dream, or am I dead? Taking a big breath in was painful I could barely fill my lungs before the pain was shooting

everywhere feeling like million tiny daggers stabbing me right inside my muscles and bones. Focusing on moving my fingers and toes, making sure if anything was broken. Opening my eyes at first everything was dark there wasn't anything to see, when my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could vaguely make out shapes or something in the dark. Taking a second to listen to take in where I am now, it was so quiet, it felt like I could hear my thoughts nothing shows any sign of life. Gathering my strength to pull my right arm from its position to start pushing myself off the ground, having every muscle of my body screaming at me to stop moving, but I didn't want to,

I didn't want to just lay here to die. When I tried to use my left arm that when I realized it was under something, something I couldn't make out when I tried to pull it out it took some strength, but I managed to get it free. Getting to my knees, looked around me there were so many shapes in the darkness I was in a pile of something but I don't know what. Then something hit my nose a horrible gross smell, as if a bag of food has been sitting out in the sun on a hot summer day, it smelled musky and horrible. I didn't even want to breathe it was making me gag a little.

Remembering I had on a jacket I felt for the zipper to undo it taking off the jacket to only put it on backward to use the hoodie as a mask, it cut the smell down a little but I could at least manage. But now I didn't know what to do I was stuck somewhere with this horrible smell and can't see hardly anything. I tried to recall how I got here, remembering where I was before this, remembering I was at a bus stop I was going somewhere and I got a phone call, the tone was so clear in my head in this silence as it was this ugly lame default ringtone my phone had, for some reason now I can recall and hear that. tone to clearly. Listening closer I was hearing that damn ringer, it wasn't in my head there was a phone somewhere in this darkness meaning a source of light and hope to contact someone. Getting to my feet I listened closely as the sound seemed to be echoing around the space I am in. Turning around I could see a dim light coming from somewhere seeming far away. Without another hesitation, I forced my body to move stepping on the shapes I was seeing and

tripping constantly as I didn't know where to step, hoping whatever is causing this ringtone to go off it didn't stop it would stay on until I can get to it. Luck was not in my favor as the light and ringtone went off. Standing in this darkness again I closed my eyes and prayed the ringtone would start again, my heart growing heavy as that phone could have been my one chance out of here. Feeling the hot tears swell in my eyes as I want to cry begging for that ringtone again. Now in this silence, I took a moment to think about the shapes I was walking on, taking my left foot and moving it around until it hit something to my left, putting my foot on it.

It was kind of smushy in some places but hard in other. I didn't know what I was stepping on. As I was about to bend down to inspect whatever was under my foot. The ringtone broke the silence again, my prayers were answered without giving it a second thought I went in the same direction hoping it was the same phone form before. Soon the light came on it had to be the screen it was closer. As I got closer I could see something was covering the screen but it was still giving enough light to locate where it was.

Still heading towards it when the light was right at my feet I dropped to my knees feeling for it, I felt the rectangle shape it was a phone feeling it was in some kind of cloth. My heart was racing and my hands were sweaty and shaking trying to free this phone before the ringer stops again. But I couldn't find an opening grating to just the cloth I shook it hoping the phone dropped out of whatever it was. I didn't stop until I hear the plastic and concrete hitting together. Finally seeing the phone screen reading it, it was an alarm that said.

Date with Annabella at 5. The shock of waking up in this dark hellhole was starting to wipe away as I picked up the phone and I dismissed the alarm. Seeing another person faced that I don't know on this screen I wiped down to get the toolbar seeing the flashlight icon, I took a breath before hitting it as the light turned on the worst scenes for any other human being to see was happening in front of me, where the light touched was bodies and more bodies laying on the ground all of them lifeless. But not a single fly or bug was down here looking at these people's faces. One girl I could see had pretty red ginger hair and beautiful green eyes. Her skin looked so warm still I reached out touching her

forehead there was still a little bit of warmth in her skin, I could feel my whole body tremble my eyes burned with tears as my throat ached. I hate crying, I hate feeling so weak, but what else can I do? I screamed at the top of my lungs, I cried so loud wanting anyone to hear me if there was even a chance someone could hear me I kept screaming, and screaming, and screaming. I owe the rights of the story as I'm its offer. It's a scary story from Algerian folklore. You can find a link to an audio at the end. Where is Louisa? Fadiha asked. She went to the well, as usual, her mother said. I know, but it's been two hours now.

It takes only half an hour to go there, fill two cans then return back home. From the only window of the small terracotta house, mother and daughter took a look outside. It was sunset, but the 16-year-old girl didn't show yet. Fadiha complained, what a tradition. To send a young girl to the well, this village's inhabitants are insane. As far as I remember, bringing water from the well had always been young girls' tass. the mother answered. Nevertheless, I hated my water task. It should be all right, we know almost every family in the village, and what about Jin's stories you used to tell us about?

Fadiha asked with a suspicious look. We. We told you these to prevent you from wandering everywhere in the forest. You thought it would be better to give us nightmares. Nightmares happen at home and they never harm anyone, while wandering outside, the mother said with a little smile. Do Jin's even exist? Yes, according to religion. But I don't know if we can read see them or contact them. You mean those scary stories about cursed interspecies marriages and the use and abuse of mutilated corpses were actually folklore?" Fadiha said with a mix of sarcasm and anger. Maybe, her mother answered. An hour later, the two women were definitely worried, so Fadiha decided, I'm going out to

find her. Do you want me to get killed by your father? The mother complained. At that time, the father entered, holding a few branches. He was obviously exhausted, I hope Czech Chowka is ready. I confess I have great appetite. The mother didn't dare to speak a word but Fadiha did, Father, Louisa, is still out there, she didn't come back from the well, what are you saying? The father asked with a mix of anger and fear. She is still out, the mother answered with fear. Fadiha didn't know what was frightening her mother the most, her husband's wrath or her daughter's absence.

The father didn't say a word, he took an oil lamp, a rope and a sickle then went out. One hour passed then two, then three. The night was really dark and a little wind was blowing moving leaves on trees and making scary sounds. At some point, the sound of a falling can coming from the garden made the two women shake and the mother started to cry, I'm sure something awful happened. Don't talk like this mother, Fadiha was devastated. Despite of the darkness of the night, the father managed to find his way leading to the well, as the path was actually almost linear. He arrived to well and after a quick check all around it, he took his oil lamp and inspected the soil. He noticed a few footsteps traces, some of them were leading to the well and some others

were leaving it. They were of different sizes and different shapes, no good, the father thought. The man took the rope which was still hanging on the well to go down into it, using the lamp to enlighten the cavity. A few minutes later, as he was going down, the worried father started to distinguish something. Then he stopped, petrified. This is impossible. The mother was still crying when the front door opened suddenly, then the father showed, alone.

What happened? Didn't you find her? The mother shouted. No, can't you go and find the French police? The mother asked. I don't think they could do anything about it. How can you say that father? The French police help indigenous from time to time and they have means that we don't, Fadiha said. I have already done what needed to be done, but where is she? Fadiha asked with despair. She disappeared. Are you going to give up on her? I. I really don't know what to do. I don't even know what to think the father said.

Did you, look inside the, the well?" The mother asked in a sob. I did, and... It was empty. The father was looking extremely worried, but there was another expression painted on his face, as if he didn't really believe his own story. You mean she didn't drown in the well? The mother asked with anguish.

She wasn't there. No, nobody was there, nothing was there. I don't understand, the mother complained. You are not listening to me, I found nothing, not even water. What? But she used to bring us water every day, the mother said. Yes, she used to bring water from an empty well every day, the father said. The two women kept staring at the old man in silence, a cold and scary silence.

None of them had an idea about what happened to Louisa. Tomorrow, I'm going to find the police, just in case. The father declared, Oh my God. The mother started to cry out loud and Fadiha couldn't find a single word to comfort her. The situation appeared to be unbelievable, incomprehensible and apparently unfixable. Go and try to get asleep, I'm going to take a look at the neighborhood and, the father said. The father decided to go deep down the forest, the blackness of the night made it hard for him to inspect the path perfectly.

The man had to cross multiple intertwined vines between pine trees and as soon as he reached out a little river, he heard the noise of footsteps on water. The father started running and shouting, Is that you, Louisa? He was running so quickly and so randomly that he tripped on what he felt to be a dead and flabby tree trunk. He got up immediately and he continued his course. Is there anybody there? Is that you, Louisa?

The father was screaming desperately. But nobody answered and after a long and exhausting blind run, the father abandoned eyes full of tears. At the terracotta house, the two women couldn't get asleep, they were thinking about the poor Louisa, stuck outside hungry and cold. kept evaluating possibilities, such as fugue and kidnapping or worse, a supernatural tragedy. The next day, Louisa's father went to the police station early in the morning. He just explained to the officers that his daughter went missing last night. The policeman did some research inside the well then all around it, they pushed the investigations

to a part of the forest, but the researchers remained fruitless. The father did the same with the help of some relatives and neighbors, but no trace of Louisa was found. The girls seemed to have been erased from existence. Fadiha and her mother visited a few neighbors and asked a lot of questions but nobody saw the young Louisa. That night, at home, everybody showed their disappointment. She must be somewhere, the mother shouted. The police found the well empty just like I did, I think they.

They believe she run away on purpose, the father explained. Dear God, so they will not help us anymore, the mother said. Like I said last night, I don't think they could be helpful anyway. Do you know something, Father? I know that what I saw or should I say, what I didn't see in the well is far more complicated than what we can guess or assume. Please tell me you have a solution. Fadiha begged.

Did I ever lie to you? No, you never did. Well, I'm not willing to start right now. The two women took it as a clear confession of his inability to find Louisa. Two days passed and the Louisa didn't show home, her father continued the researches anyway, but as the time was passing, the hope of finding her was decreasing. I have to do something. It's my little daughter, I can't stand, the mother said to Fadiha.

And what do you suggest, mother? I thought about speaking to. A CHA, the villages. You're not really thinking about that. I'm quite serious. She might help us, talking to a reputed which never helps. Fadiha lectured. It's our only chance to find your sister and I'm going to take it.

Will you? Will you tell it to father? Are you insane? The sun was shining bright when Fadija and her mother went out to look for ACHA. Your aunt Merrim told me she was living in an isolated house. house, in the forest's northern border, the mother explained. The forest was rather large, but the sunlight made it possible to Fadiha and her mother to find their way to the north. Two hours later, mother and daughter saw a big wooden house on a cliff, surrounded by leafless

trees and misshapen rocks. The aspect of the house was scary enough to make Fadiha hesitate, I don't like this, let's go back home mother, but her mother was determined, we're doing it for Louisa. A long and winding path led the two women to the wooden house's front door and then the mother knocked it, twice. A young boy opened the door, you can wait over there, he said while showing the way to a sort of living room. The two women didn't dare to sit on the old bench covered with a brown velvet sheet. The room was large, simply furnished and its air was charged with heavy herbal scents. After a short moment, the boy showed then led them to a back door, you may enter now, she is waiting for you. A few seconds later, mother and daughter entered

a dark room, they were shaking from head to feet not knowing what to expect. Good morning, with seeking help," the mother said. Of course you do, a low-pitched masculine voice said. I thought you were a, a woman, the voice interrupted. The mother didn't answer, her heart was beating fast and her vocal cords were paralyzed by fear. A corpulent human form started to appear in the dark, it was sitting on a chair. My human contact is a woman.

You have the privilege of dealing directly with the source, the voice said. I. I, the mother started. I know what you want. But let me give you a piece of advice. Drop it, you mean Louisa is dead? Fadi Ha shouted. All I can say is that you will never see her again, the voice said, but right after that,

the human silhouette started to move and the voice launched a long and deep growl. Suddenly, the two women heard a new voice, a feminine one, what did he say to you? The two women were surprised. He usually don't interfere directly with my clients this is why I need you to tell me exactly what he said. Fadiha explained, he said we won't see Louisville. Lisa again, I see. I'm not quite sure about what happened, but you can do something to know more about it. Tell us, please, the mother begged. You need to go to the well by night, burn some fresh time and then wait, wait for what? Fadiha asked. For her goodbyes, dear God. Fadiha and her mother

shouted out loud. She lives amongst others now, get used to it, ACAJ said. The two women left the wooden house with eyes full of tears and they headed to their home without sharing a single word. After a quick and miserable dinner, Fadiha grabbed her mother by the hand to take her apart. When do you plan to? Tonight, really? How about father? I will make him a camomile infusion. He will sleep like a bear.

This is scary. We have no choice. Do you think she will really tell us goodbye? Fadiha asked. I hope not. When the father fell asleep, the mother blew up the candles, wore a woolen scarf, called her daughter then opened the door quietly. Don't forget the time, Mother, Fadija said.

The two women walked in the well's direction. and it took them 30 minutes to reach it. Fadiha made a bonfire and dropped the time branches in it, and then she sat with her mother near the fire waiting for something to happen. The night was cold and moonless. After two hours, when Fadiha was about to abandon, a murmur sounded. Mother and daughter were terrified, but they were determined to fulfill their mission. Louisa.

Is that you, the mother asked. Another loud murmur sounded. Louisa, the murmur began to be more intelligible, a voice of an infant's I'm fine, live your lives and don't care about me. Where are you sister? Let us help you, I'm fine. I'm fine, and the voice slowly faded. The mother kept calling her daughter for a long time then Fadiha grabbed her and forced her to go back home, we can't do anything anymore. I'll try again, tomorrow, the mother said. Of course, we can do that mother, Fadiha said, with a strange and calm voice. But the next night, nothing happened. Despite the burnt time

in the big bonfire, the voice didn't speak. She's gone. Forever. The mother was devastated. The next day, Fadiha decided to pay a visit to ACHA, she had a lot of questions to ask, but she didn't inform her mother about her plans, no need to trouble her more, she thought. When the young girl was facing ACHA, she asked her abruptly, where is she? And what this masquerade means? You are smart, little girl. No, I'm not. I saw your boy leaving the well quickly the first night we made the bonfire. It was him, wasn't he? Yes, it was him. What are you hiding from us? Is she dead or alive? It depends. A CHA answered. You are mocking me, you're so cruel. From now on, your sister belongs to the Jin's community. How could this be possible? She must have the

ability to connect with them. Jin's adore connecting with humans. You mean humans like you, your sister and I share some common abilities indeed. But I managed to live amongst humans and I made a deal with my gin alter ego, so we can do business together. And she can't, she is different, she is destined to marry her alter ego, what? Fadiha was horrified. She has no choice, anyway, is there something we could do? Please, help us. Fadiha was begging the woman. I'm sorry, I'm helpless. Go home and comfort your parents, they still have you unfortunately, you don't have the ability to connect. Fadiha thanked the A CHA then went out of the wooden house, she was devastated. A few minutes later, ACHA stood up from her chair painfully.

The loud and scary voice sounded, why did you lie to her? The girl they called Louisa had nothing in common with you. Hey, I might be a mystical businesswoman, but I'm still human, ACHA said. I can't see how a lie could make you a better person, the voice said sarcastically. I made a choice, they certainly prefer to know she is fine elsewhere. They won't see her again anyway. All the same, but it's better than to know the truth. that the well dried two months ago but the girl continued to go there to meet a handsome young

man who took the habit of taking her for casual walks in the forest and to the river, where she used to fill her cans. Until he decided to kill her and leave her body in the forest, before changing his mind and to bury her remains near our cliff, a body that we can use for our business, the low voice shouted with great enthusiasm. Well, that is another matter, ACHA said, My dear, I adore you selective humanity. Have you ever had a creepy experience?

with a roommate? You know, those moments when things get just a little bit too strange and make you question everything? Well, I've got one of those stories, and I still get chills just thinking about it. It all started when I had to move out of my parents' house. I wasn't exactly having the best time at home, and the situation was a little tense, to say the least. So, I started staying on friends' couches for a while, just trying to figure out my next move. I was on the hunt for a place to stay, checking out all the apartment and roommate apps and websites I could find. One day, I stumbled across an ad that caught my attention. It was from a guy named Duke, who was renting out a room in his house, a place with three bedrooms

and a single floor. The rent was $1,000 a month, which for the area, was a pretty decent deal. He described the setup as living with your landlord, since he would also be in the house, but he said he was out a lot. In fact, he mentioned that the tenant would have the place mostly to themselves, which sounded great to me. But then, in all caps, he listed a few basic rules, no parties, no big gatherings, no drinking in the living room, and definitely no going into the basement. These rules seemed pretty normal for a shared living space. I decided to go check out the place in person, and when I met Duke, he was definitely a little odd. He opened the door and I immediately got the vibe that he was a pretty solitary guy. His voice trembled a bit,

and he seemed kind of nervous and awkward as he showed me around. The house was a decent size, with an open plan layout where the kitchen, living room, and dining room were all one big space. The bedroom I'd be renting was pretty spacious, and everything seemed fine. Plus, at $1,000 a month, it felt like a steal. As we walked around, Duke went over the rules again. He also made sure to mention that I wasn't allowed to go into the attic or basement, as he used those spaces for storage. Fair enough, I thought. No big deal. I let him know I was

interested, shook his hand, and within a couple of days, I was moving in. We didn't really sign a lease or anything, just an informal, month-to-month agreement. Settling in was pretty easy. The room was already furnished with a bed and some basic furniture, so all I really had to do was decorate and unpack my clothes. The room had a lock, and Duke gave me a key, which I thought was a nice gesture. At least I had some privacy when he wasn't around. At first, things were pretty normal. Duke would mention he'd be out working or doing other things, but I started to notice something strange. Every time I came home from work, his car would be in the driveway. I thought he said he was rarely home, but there he was, every single time. And then, there were the

noises, footsteps, doors opening and closing, but it was always late at night, and it was enough to make me feel uneasy. One night, I woke up in the the middle of the night to use the bathroom. As I walked out of my room, I noticed the basement door was wide open. I didn't think much of it at first, but something made me pause. I walked over to the top of the stairs and looked down. The basement was dimly lit, and I could hear what sounded like tapping noises coming from below. It was around 2 a.m. at that point, and I couldn't figure out what Duke could be doing down there. Suddenly, the noise stopped, and Duke appeared at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at me. I've never seen

a face look quite so unsettling. There was something about the way he looked at me that made my skin crawl. He was visibly upset, and I could tell I'd interrupted something. I quickly apologized, saying I was just going to the bathroom. He snapped at me to close the basement door, and I heard the loud thud of it slamming shut. It was so strange, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. Over the next few days, things just kept getting weirder. I came home one evening and found that my bedroom door was wide open.

I always made sure to lock it when I left, so this freaked me out. At first, I didn't notice anything missing, but then I realized that some of my stuff had been moved around. My clothes weren't folded the way I had left them, and the closet door was slightly ajar. It felt like someone had been in my room, going through my things. My first thought was Duke had been in there, and I was immediately pissed off. It was an invasion of my privacy, and I wasn't going to let it slide. I tried knocking on his door to confront him, but he didn't necessarily.

answer. His car was in the driveway, so I knew he was home. But still, no answer. The whole situation was starting to feel really off, and I just didn't know what to make of it. Frustrated, I went back to my room, trying to calm down. As I heated up some dinner, I heard Duke's bedroom door open. This was my chance to finally confront him, so I walked out into the living room. To my surprise, Duke was in a hurry, almost frantic, like he was trying to leave. I stopped him and asked if he had been in my room. He looked at me blankly, then denied it. He said, No, I haven't been in your room. I pointed out that my door was open and my things were moved around, and he seemed unfazed. He then told me I was the only one with a key, and that he had to

leave. He quickly disappeared, leaving me standing there, stunned. At that point, I was done. I didn't want to talk to my parents about it because, honestly, things were strained between us. I didn't want to go back there, but I also didn't want to stay in Duke's creepy house. So, I started browsing other listings online, looking for any place that felt even a little safer. But as I was looking, I realized this was the first time Duke wasn't home when I was there. My curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to investigate the basement. It had been bothering me for a while, and I figured it was now or never. I checked to make sure his car was gone, then grabbed my phone to use as a flashlight.

I crept down the stairs, and the old wooden steps creaked under my weight. The basement was small, but there was a weird, musty smelled lingering in the air. It got stronger the further I went in. There was a carpet that didn't quite fit properly on the floor, and some cardboard boxes scattered around. It was a sad, run-down place. I reached the door in the far corner, but it was locked. Thank goodness, because something told me I didn't want to know what was behind it.

I quickly glanced around the room, just some old boxes taped shut. Nothing that could explain the strange noises and the unsettling feeling I had. I left the basement as quickly as I could and made sure to lock the door behind me. That night, I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep. I kept hearing footsteps, creaks, and strange sounds coming from the hallway outside my room. Then, at some point during the night, I woke up to a strange feeling. The floor next to my bed was creaking. I turned over, and there he was, Duke, leaning over my bed, staring at me.

I screamed. He shushed me and then asked if I had gone into the basement. I was shaking, but I told him no. I had locked the door. He didn't seem to care. He just turned and walked toward the door, but before he left, he said something that sent chills down my spine, I think you should start looking for a new place to live. And then he was gone, just like that.

I immediately started packing my things. I wasn't staying another minute in that house. I went to his door and demanded half of my rent back, considering I had only been there for a few weeks. He opened the door just a crack, his arms sticking out holding a small stack of $100 bills. It was so creepy, but I took it. It was only $300, but I didn't care. I was out of there. I spent that night sleeping in my car.

The next day, I was back at my parents' house, explaining everything that had happened. miraculously, things were a bit better with them, and they let me stay. I moved out again a month later, but things with my parents were better. If there's one thing I learned from all of this, it's that you should be careful when choosing a random roommate online. Trust your gut and keep your guard up. A few months later, I started my third year of college, and this time I had a roommate assigned by the school. His name was David. He seemed fine at first, just a normal guy.

But soon, I noticed some strange behaviors. He would ask way too many questions about my personal life and snoop around my things. At night, I would hear strange noises coming from his room. Sometimes, it sounded like he was talking to someone. But I knew no one was there. One night, I decided to sneak outside his room to see what was going on. I pressed my ear against the door and heard him muttering to himself. But then, out of nowhere, he said my name, as if he knew I was listening.

It was beyond creepy. I had no idea what was going on with him, but I knew something wasn't right. And that's how it started, the strange, uncomfortable feeling that my roommate David was hiding something. More than that, I got the feeling that he might not be as normal as he appeared. Little did I know that this would only get worse. I quietly entered his room, fully aware that I might not have much time. I quickly started searching, opening drawers, going through cabinets, and scanning every corner

to find anything that could explain David's strange nighttime behavior. Just when I was about to give up, I found it, a small, inconspicuous drawer tucked away in the back of David's closet. I opened it, and my blood ran cold as I stared at what lay inside. It was a collection of photographs, dozens of them. Most of them showed me asleep, and there was another guy in the photos too, someone who looked about our age. They were all mixed up, taken from different angles and distances, some so close that I could

see the pores on my skin and individual strands of hair on my head. I felt sick to my stomach as the realization hit me. David had been secretly taking pictures of me while I slept, without my knowledge or consent. I couldn't believe it. I had been living with someone who seemed to enjoy this creepy, voyeuristic behavior. He had been violating my privacy and invading my personal space for who knows how long. I wanted to confront him, demand answers, but I was scared, scared of what he might do, scared of what he might say, and honestly, I didn't know what could happen if I faced him alone.

So instead, I snapped a photo of the contents of the drawer and took several more pictures for evidence, just in case I needed it. The next day, I showed the photos to the student housing department. They told me they'd handle it and to leave the matter in their hands. Fortunately, I was moved to a different apartment, and I got a new roommate who was normal. I never spoke to David again, and even years later, I still can't shake the memory of those chilling photographs or the sound of David whispering and crawling around at night. I never found out who the other guy in the photos was.

He was definitely David's former roommate, but I could never figure out his name. Who knows, maybe he discovered what David was up to two. At 23, I had to move out of state for work. I still work for the same company, but I ended up moving back to my hometown to work at the local office. The thing was, I needed a place to stay that wouldn't break the bank. So, I posted ads for a roommate on every platform I could think of, Facebook, Craigslist, Twitter, and even the local neighborhood subreddit. A guy named Rob reached out to me on Facebook, saying he had a room available in his house.

I checked out his photos to see if he seemed like a normal guy, and he did. I wasn't opposed to having a male roommate as long as he seemed decent. My parents were strongly against the idea, but Rob and I did a video call where he gave me a virtual tour of the place. He seemed cool enough. Apparently, he owned the house, which was a modest place in the city center, just ten minutes from my new office. The price was fair, and his rules were pretty reasonable. He said the room was available immediately, which worked out perfectly. One week later, I packed up my stuff

and drove over there. I met Rob outside the house where he greeted me and handed me a key. The first thing I noticed about him was that he was quite short, around my eye level. He helped me carry some of my heavier bags inside and showed me my room, which was already furnished. He told me his old roommate had just moved out, so he had replaced the old old sheets and stuff with mine. The rest of the day was spent unpacking and settling in. Rob seemed like he was trying to get to know me and make me feel at home, but I didn't feel like he was being overly intrusive. The next day was Sunday, and Rob offered to take me around the city to show me the area. I wasn't particularly interested, but I agreed just

to make a good impression. He showed me where the shopping malls and good restaurants were, but then he suggested we stop for lunch. I wasn't hungry, but he insisted on sitting down for a meal, almost like it was a date. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea, so I declined and said I wasn't feeling hungry. That didn't seem to deter him, though. He immediately suggested we go grab a drink somewhere. I politely turned him down again, explaining that I didn't drink on work nights. He kept pushing, saying, just one or two drinks. But I stuck to my guns and said, maybe some other time. After a while, he seemed to get a bit quiet, as though he was annoyed. I'll admit, it made me uncomfortable, but I brushed it off, thinking it wasn't a big deal.

The rest of the week was my first week of work, so my focus was mostly on getting settled into my new job. It wasn't until a few days into the week that I came home, did some laundry, and noticed something strange, my laundry basket seemed to be moved, like my clothes weren't in the same order I had left them in. And then, I realized something else, my intimate clothing was missing. I went over my room several times, searching for it, but it was gone. A troubling thought crossed my mind, what if Rob had taken them? I didn't want to believe that, but I also didn't feel comfortable confronting him about it yet.

Still, I started wishing I had a lock on my bedroom door. That weekend, I bought a new doorknob with a lock on it, and while Rob was out, I replaced the old doorknob. Now, I could at least feel safe knowing no one could enter my room without my permission. I thought about telling Rob the next time I saw him, but he didn't come home that night. He must have been working, his schedules seemed pretty unpredictable. That night, around 1.30 a.m., I heard knocking at my door. It was Rob, and he didn't sound happy.

I glanced at the clock, feeling my heart race. I pretended to be asleep, not wanting to deal with him. He knocked again, louder this time, calling my name. I stayed still, not wanting to confront him. I had a feeling it had something to do with the doorknob, and I was right. The next morning, I woke up to a bunch of text messages from Rob. He said we needed to talk. I responded, saying, is this about the doorknob?

He replied, yes, I apologized and told him I thought it was necessary for my privacy. He texted back, saying he would change it back. His tone gave me a bad feeling, it was off, cold. I thought about how to respond next, but I decided to just explain that as a woman, I felt safer having some privacy in my room. His next response was slightly softer, but still, he insisted the old knob had to go back. I was frustrated, but I didn't want to make things worse. I replaced the lock with the old doorknob, without telling him.

I felt a bit justified in being angry, but then again, how did he know I had changed it in the first place? The situation escalated one day when a girl about my age knocked on the door when Rob wasn't home. She asked if I lived there with Rob, and I said yes. She warned me to leave immediately, saying Rob had multiple restraining orders against him from different women and that he was known to be a stalker, dangerously so. She said she had seen me move in and knew what he was up to.

She waited until Rob wasn't around to warn me. I was speechless. She gave me her number, telling me to call her if I needed help. Terrified, I started packing my things, searching for another place to stay. I found a studio apartment across town, a little more expensive but perfect for me. I messaged the landlord, and they told me I could move in as soon as possible. Now, I just had to tell Rob and get my money back. I sent him a text explaining that I had to leave due to family issues.

He didn't respond right away, but about an hour later, he came home and asked about my message. I came up with a lie and said everything was fine, that it was just family stuff. He said it was okay and that he'd give me my money back tomorrow after going to the bank. I was relieved. An hour later, he knocked on my door again and asked if some girl had said anything to me. I told him no, and he seemed to dismiss it. But then he said, you're running away from something, aren't you? I kept insisting that it was just a family matter.

He let it go and left, but I couldn't shake the weird feeling that was building up. That night, I woke up screaming when I saw a figure sitting at the foot of my bed. It was Rob, and he was smiling eerily. Before I could scream again, he put his hand over my mouth, and motion for me to be quiet. I know someone told you something, he whispered. Don't listen to them. I was terrified. He started to touch my leg, and I felt completely paralyzed.

I told him I was scared, but he just kept whispering that he didn't want to scare me. I bolted out of bed, ran to the door, and fled. I grabbed my phone and called the police as I ran outside and hid in the yard. The police arrived soon after, and I explained the entire situation. him. Rob was forced to leave the house while I gathered my things. The officers stayed with me while I packed up my stuff and took it to my car. I also insisted on getting my money back from Rob while the police were there, which he begrudgingly did. One of the officers took me aside and told me Rob had been arrested before for similar incidents with other women.

Rob denied everything, of course. It was his word against mine, but the police seemed to believe me. I left the house and went straight to a hotel to spend the night. The next day, I moved into my new studio, and that was the last time I ever lived with a man who wasn't my boyfriend or husband, or someone I knew really well. I just spent my time creating a short story. It's not completed, obviously, but this is enough for now. I hope your eyes don't bleed while trying to read it, I read the rules, ha-ha, oh, and it's in Spanish. Sorry about that. You can translate it using Deeple or Chapt.

You are a fugitive from justice, who has escaped from prison after a long night of attempts. You have the peculiarity that you are physiologically incapable of speaking without saying a swear word in every sentence. It's been 36 hours since you escaped, and the police are knocking on your door. What would you say? Context, I'm hiding in my house after escaping from prison. The police are knocking on the door and I have to think fast. Whispering to myself, damn, they're here. Think, think, don't get nervous.

Opening the door cautiously fuck, officers. What the hell is? going on at this hour. Police, we've received information that a fugitive might be hiding here. Can we come in and take a look? Me, shit, that sounds pretty fucking serious. But don't you need a warrant or something to enter my fucking house? Police, sir, this is an urgent situation.

We'd appreciate your cooperation in getting this resolved quickly. Me, okay, okay, I get it, damn it. But, fuck. Let me see some official paperwork before I let you in, okay. Police, showing ID and warrant, here you go, sir. Me, fuck, okay, come in, but don't touch anything without asking, huh? It's a fucking mess here. Internally shit, shit, shit.

Stay calm, act natural. They can't tell it's me. They spend a long hour searching absolutely the entire house, until they notice a wall that sounds hollow when they hit it. You feel a chill all over your body, you have to stop them from making a hole in the wall if you don't want them to find out that. I feel the chill running down my spine, damn. I have to think fast. Policeman, hey, this wall sounds hollow. Could you explain this to us? Me, holy shit,

of course it does. Chuckling nervously, that wall, fuck, is part of a remodel I tried to do myself, you know. I'm not a fucking professional, so it turned out like a fucking botched job. It's not even completely finished. Policeman, remodel, you say, what's behind that wall? Me, nothing, fuck. Just an empty space. I was going to make a fucking built-in closet, but the truth is that it got out of hand and I never finished it. You can see for yourself, although there's not much to see, just a useless hole. Policemen, hmm.

We're going to need to take a look behind this wall, just in case. Me, shit. If you insist, but I warn you it's just a fucking waste of time. I get you a fucking hammer or something so you can do it quickly and realize there's nothing. As I search for the hammer, I desperately think of a way out of this. Me, handing over the hammer, here it is. But seriously, there's just dust and shit back there. Cop, thanks.

We'll proceed carefully. Internally, holy shit, this is going from bad to worse. I need a distraction or something. Suddenly, a crazy idea crosses my mind. Me, shit, wait a second. Didn't you hear that noise? I think someone's trying to get in through the back of the house. Shit, you should check it out right now.

Cop, looking at each other, all right, some of us are going to check it out. You, stay here and keep on with the wall. As some cops walk away, I pray my little distraction will buy me the time I need. It occurs to you that you could try to run away, but you quickly dismiss the idea. However, you think that if they don't have anything to knock the wall down with, they won't be able to snoop around, so you decide. Internally okay, if they don't have anything to knock the wall down with, they won't be able to snoop around. I have to think fast. Me, shit, wait.

I just realized that the fucking hammer I gave them isn't the right one for this. It's too fragile and will break in a second. Cop, looking at the hammer, well, it looks pretty sturdy to me. But if you have another better tool, bring it. Me, fuck, sure. I have a fucking stronger tool in the garage. Let me go get it. Cop, we're going with you.

We won't let you out of our sight. Me, shit, sure, no problem. We're going fast. We head to the garage, trying to stay calm as I search for something useful for my plan. Me, here's the fucking garage. Let me look through this fucking toolbox. As I rummage through the toolbox, I think about how to keep them from having anything useful. Me, shit, I don't seem to have anything useful here.

Maybe my neighbor has a suitable tool. I can go ask him for something. Cop, no, you don't need to go anywhere. We'll use what we have. Me, holy crap, don't fuck with me. That hammer will break and you'll make a mess. But hey, you're in charge. Suddenly, an idea hits me, me, wait.

I've got a better idea. Why don't we let a professional handle this? My cousin is a carpenter, he can come over tomorrow and fix this fucking wall. That way we don't ruin the house and you can check it out calmly. Cop, we don't have time to wait until tomorrow. Let's check it out now. Internally shit, this isn't working. I need another plan fast.

Me, okay, okay, but if you use that hammer, you're going to be screwed. I'm warning you, the last time I used it, the fucking hammerhead flew off. You could end up hurt, and we don't want that, right? Cop hesitates for a moment, assessing the hammer. Cop, okay, let me see what else we have in the patrol car. As the cop gets out, I see an opportunity to do something else. me, damn, this is crazy. My heart can't take it.

Why don't you let me help you with another tool that I know works well? I promise it won't be a waste of time. The cop comes back with a crowbar. Cop, we found this. Let's use it. I look at the crowbar and realize I'm out of options. I decide to take the risk once again. Me, fuck, okay.

But let me do it. If anything breaks, it'll be my damn fault and not yours. Cop, fine, you'll be my damn fault. fine, you do it. I grabbed the crowbar, trying to look nervous and clumsy, trying to buy as much time as possible while preparing for the worst situation. There's nothing you can do. You decide to resign yourself and hit the wall. Nothing. Another hit. Another. Another. By the fifth hit, it looks like the wall is about to fall apart. The cop decides to push the cracks a little, and thus open the hole in the wall. On the other side. My heart is racing as the wall slowly gives way.

Shit, shit, shit. The hole opens up and the lights from the cop's flashlights illuminate the empty space behind the wall. Cop, what is this? Damn, it looks like a hideout. Me, trying to stay calm, holy shit, it's just a fucking empty space. I told you so. It's a fucking remodeling mess, nothing more. Cop, let's take a closer look. Stay with. where you are. The cops start inspecting the space behind the wall. My mind is racing, looking for any opportunity, any idea to get out of this. Cop, from inside the space, there doesn't seem to be anything here, wait, what is this? One of the cops finds a small box hidden in a corner. He pulls it out and opens it. Inside, they find some documents and a small bag of money.

Cop, what the hell is this? Looks like we have something interesting here. Me, trying to sound surprised, Holy crap, I have no fucking idea what that is. It must be from the previous owner. Damn, I didn't even know it was there. Cop, this looks pretty suspicious. We're going to have to take you to the station for more questions. Me, resigned and trying to stay calm, fuck, okay. But I'm telling you, I don't know shit about it.

I'm handcuffed and taken to the patrol car. As I'm driven to the station, my thoughts are divided between desperation and the need to stay calm to think of the next step. At the police station, I'm interrogated for hours, but I stick to my story and my stance. I keep insisting that I know nothing about the box and that it's all one big fucking coincidence. Policemen, all right, we don't have enough for now to hold you any longer. But we're going to keep investigating. Don't stray far from town, got it.

Me, nodding, yeah, damn it, I get it. I leave the station, exhausted but free, at least for now. I know I need a new plan, and fast, before things get worse. It occurs to you that next time, you can say that it was a memory of your mother, that when she passed away she decided to give you money in some of her documents to help you in the future, since you like to play hide and seek when you were little, and that's why you didn't know she was there. As I walk away from the police station, I start thinking of a new story I could use if they

question me again. I need something believable, something that has a personal and emotional touch. Something that will make them doubt their own suspicion. Me, whispering to myself, okay, next time I'll say it was a memory of my mother. Yeah, that could work. Mom passed away and left me money and documents hidden like a game we used to play. Back at home, I sit down and start formulating the plan in more detail. I decide to write a script of sorts to keep it clear in my mind.

Scenario, interrogation at the police station. Policeman, sir, we need more information about that box we found in your house. Can you explain why it was hidden? Me, sighing deeply, with a sad look, yes, of course. You see, that box was a memento for my mother. She passed away a few years ago, and before she died, she gave me that box. It was something very special to us. Policemen, why was it hidden in the wall?

Me, in an emotional tone, Mom and I used to play hide-and-seek when I was a kid. It was like our little secret game. She knew I was going to need help in the future, so she hid those documents and some money for me. I knew about the existence of the box, but I didn't remember exactly where I had hidden it. Police, can you explain why you didn't mention this before? Me, pausing, looking at the floor, honestly, I was in shock. I didn't expect them to find that, and I was scared. It all happened so fast that I couldn't think straight.

Plus, it's a very personal and painful issue for me. I didn't want to involve my mother in all this mess. Police, and the documents? What's in them? Me, honestly, they're just mom's personal papers. Some bank documents, old letters. Things she wanted me to have. Nothing illegal, I swear.

Satisfied with my story, I decide it's best to prepare for any eventuality. I look around and start thinking of ways to make my house less suspicious, and of possible escape routes if things get ugly again. Internally next time, I'll be ready. They can't catch me without solid evidence, and I have to make sure they don't find it. Two weeks pass. You think everything is going well, and the police haven't questioned you since. However, one night like any other, you hear a very loud noise coming from the basement.

Like, banging, over and over, sometimes very loud and other times softer, in a rhythm that doesn't stop. You decide to go investigate. I feel a chill run through my body when I hear the banging coming from the basement. I stand still for a moment, trying to understand what's going on. The noise continues, rhythmic and calm. I grab a flashlight and a baseball bat that I keep near the door, preparing for whatever awaits me downstairs. Me, whispering to myself, fuck, what the fuck is this now?

It can't be good. I slowly descend the stairs into the basement, each step accompanied by the echo of knocking. The sound gets louder as I get closer. The flashlight illuminates the basement walls, revealing boxes and tools scattered everywhere. Me, screaming, who the fuck is there? Get the fuck out. No response, just the continuous knocking. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I noticed the knocking coming from a wall at the back of the basement.

The rhythm is unsettling, as if someone is trying to communicate something or break through. Me, voice rising, I'm warning you, I'm armed. Get out now or I swear I'll fuck you up. The sound doesn't stop. With the bat in one hand and the flashlight in the other, I slowly approached the wall. As I get closer, I see small cracks and dust falling with each blow. Something or someone is trying to break that wall. Me, mumbling, shit, shit, shit.

What the hell is going on here? I decide it's time to face it head on. With the bat ready, I give the wall a loud bang, trying to scare whatever's behind it. Me, this is a fucking warning. Get out right now. The banging suddenly stops. The silence that follows is even more eerie. Suddenly, a loud bang, louder than the previous ones, causes a piece of the wall to fall away, revealing a dark hole behind.

I look inside with the flashlight, my heart beating a mile a minute. Me, screaming, who's there? Show yourself, damn it. From the darkness of the hole, a dirty, bloody hand shoots out, followed by a face I can barely make out in the flashlight light. It's a familiar face, someone I know very well. Me, no way. How the fuck did you get here? The figure collapses on the basement floor, panting and covered in dust.

It's an old cellmate, someone I thought was dead during our escape. Cellmate, in a weak voice, I needed, help, they knew you were coming here, they followed me, there's no time. My mind is racing, trying to figure out what's going on. If he's here, that means the police or something worse could be after him. Other options, plans, and possible betrayals are running through my mind. Me, grabbing him by the shoulders, damn it. Tell me exactly what's going on and who knows I'm here.

Cellmate, with difficulty, they, know everything, they're coming for you, for US. At that moment, I hear sirens in the distance, getting closer. There's no time to think, only to act. Me, fuck. We have to get out of here. Now, you get mad at your cellmate. Not only has he made a hole in your basement that connects to who knows where, but he's also brought the police to your house to arrest you.

Or, at least, that's what you think, what if the police aren't the real danger? Anger starts to boil inside me. This whole mess, the hole in my basement, the police possibly on the way, and now, this uncertainty about who or what really represents the danger. I grab my cellmate by the shirt, lifting him up with desperate strength.

Me, damn it, you moron. What the fuck have you done? You brought the police right to my door. Selmaid, gasping, it's not just the police, there's something else, they're not what they seem. My mind struggles to process his words. If the police aren't the real danger, then who is? His fear seems genuine, but I can't stop feeling the fury at the chaos he's brought to my doorstep.

Me, what the fuck do you mean, something else? Speak up for fuck's sake. Selmaid, looking at me with eyes full of terror, they, they're not human, they're pretending to be police, they came after we escaped. I can't explain everything now, but we have to get out of here. Now. The siren gets louder, but my instincts tell me the real danger is beyond the law. Suddenly, red and blue lights illuminate the basement windows, and I hear voices outside.

Fake police, outside, come out with your hands up. We know you're in there. Me, releasing my partner and looking around, shit. We don't have much time. If what you say is true, then we're screwed if they find a. here. I think fast. We need an escape route, and fast. My gaze goes to the hole in the wall. I don't know where it leads, but anywhere is better than here right now. Me, come on, this way. We need to get out through the hole you made. Cellmate, nodding weekly, yeah, it's our only

chance. I help my partner through the hole, quickly following behind him. We find ourselves in a dark, narrow tunnel. The flashlight flickers, and I can hear heavy footsteps approaching down the basement stairs. We start to move quickly down the tunnel, me, whispering, fuck, keep moving. We don't know how much time we have before they catch up to us. As we move forward, the tunnel widens a bit, and I can see there are more cracks inside passages. It looks like this has been part of some kind of old sewer system or secret passageway. Cellmate, panting, I know a place we can hide. Keep going, don't stop. We move deeper and deeper into the tunnel, leaving the basement and immediate danger behind.

The darkness is thick, but the sense of urgency drives us forward. Me, thinking to myself, what the fuck is going on? First the leak, then this. I have to stay alert. I can't trust anyone now, not even him. As we move forward, I start to hear strange noises in the distance, noises that don't sound human. I need to be prepared for whatever comes next, whatever it is.

After walking for a while, you think you see a fuzzy shape in the distance, but because of the lack of light you think it was your imagination. Shortly after, you hear, like grunts, low, agonized moans echoing through the tunnel. Unable to make out where the sound is coming from, you decide to shine a light on a random part of the tunnel. What you see is an amalgamation of. My heart races as I hear the grunts and moans echoing through the tunnel. Instinctively, I raise my flashlight into the darkness, hoping to discover what is causing these terrifying sounds. The flashlight beam casts across a dark, twisted shape in the distance.

At first, I think it's just a shadow, a trick of the light. But as I get closer, the shape becomes clearer, more defined, and what I see makes me stop dead in my tracks, frozen in fear and disbelief. Me, muttering, it can't be. The shape in front of me is a monstrous being, a grotesque amalgam of flesh and bone twisted into inhuman shapes. It has multiple limbs, some too long and some too short, and its body is. seems to be in constant motion, as if it's undergoing an endless metamorphosis.

Emitting moans of agony, it crawls forward, its torn skin and empty eyes staring at me with a mix of pain and despair. Cellmate, gasping, don't look. Let's keep going. My cellmate's voice brings me out of my momentary days. Despite the horror in front of us, we keep moving forward, trying to put distance between us and that living abomination. The sound of its moans slowly fades as we move away, but its image remains etched in my mind, a nightmare come true. Me, voice shaking, fuck, what the hell was that? Cellmate, looking ahead, I don't know, but I don't want to find out. Let's keep moving. We're not safe here. We continue our way down the tunnel, the echo of the

moans reverberating in my mind. Now, more than ever, I'm convinced that something dark and terrible lurks in the shadows, something far more terrifying than the simple threat of the law. And I have no idea where we really are and what else awaits us in this underground labyrinth. January 16th, 2022, Dear Diary, Today was a good day. I played in the snow like I was a little kid. The neighbors probably made fun of me, but you know what? I don't give a shit. I made snow cream and drank hot chocolate all day.

I watched every Christmas movie. Yeah, I know it was last month, but it's snowing so it's appropriate. Oh, I almost forgot. I made a cat-friendly cake for Reed. He loved it. I woke up randomly. I feed so bad. Like I have been crying for hours on end.

Weird. I'm gonna pet read and try to fall asleep. January 17th, 2022. Dear Diary, I am in love. Evan is so hot, oh my gosh. I know we just met on Tinder. I know I don't know his middle name. Dean.

It is probably Dean. Anyway, we went out for a picnic at the beach. We spent hours and hours talking. I could listen to him talk for days on end. I am already looking at wedding dresses. Winky face. We have another date scheduled for next Friday. Note to self, Evans' favorite author is James Patterson,

his favorite color is green, his favorite animals are swans, his favorite show is Brooklyn 99, his favorite meal is unlimited soups and salad from Olive Garden, He loves ketchup but hates tomatoes. Yeah, I made fun of him too. I woke up again. I feel so cold even though I am surrounded by blankets. I turned up the thermostat and put reed on me for good measure. I should go to the doctor if this happens again. January 18, 2022. Dear Diary, today sucked massively. It rained on Carla and I were peach picking. We were going to use them to make a cobbler, but guess what?

I am out of freaking sugar and we could not go to get some because it was wrong. raining cats and dogs. We made it work by just making everything we could with sugar. I had fun with Carla but still it was annoying. I woke up to the sound of Reed throwing up. It was bad, but I mean, he is a fluffy cat. I petted him and sang to him to make him feel better. January 19th, 2022, Dear Diary, I spent the day pampering Reed. I took him to the vet. He is fine, by the way. That, in fact, was a lot of money wasted. It, s whatever, my baby is with it. I took him to Petsmart and got him a new cat tree. Reed is dead. I don't know what happened. He woke me up by jumping on my chest. He was yowling so much. He didn't stop until he was dead.

I just held him. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to make it better. I sang to him like I always did. January 20th, 2022. Dear Diary, I have read a lovely funeral today. Carla and even were there. I cried and cried. I miss my baby. I buried him with his favorite toys. I have a bit of his fur. I'm going to get it turned into jewelry. Not processing this well. I didn't sleep tonight. I can't stop crying. I left the door open for Reed to come in, but of course never came. I feel a presence. Maybe Reed is still here.

January 21st, 2022, Dear Diary, Evan came over. He let me cry on his lap. I thought I would scare him away, being so upset because of a damn cat, but he only treated me with compassion. He rubbed my back and we watched my favorite movies. Maybe he is the one.

He even kissed my forehead before he left. Note to self, his middle name isn't Dean. It's Jeremiah. I finally fell asleep after crying for a while, only to wake up again. All the tears screwed up my vision. For a moment. I saw something standing outside of my door. I turned the light on, but nothing was there.

January 22, 2022. Dear Diary, I started looking for a kitten at the shelter today. Of course nothing could ever replace Reed. There was a nice Himalayan mix named Penny that kind of looked like him. I'll go back next week. If she's still there it is meant to be. I see two eyes tonight. Big, bright eyes.

Like an owl with no pupils. I stare at the eyes, like having a contest. They can't be real. It is all in my head. January 23rd, 2022. Dear Diary, I worked on some orders for my business today. I took packages to the post office. I am proud of myself.

I am slowly getting back on my feet. I see a face. It looks like a boy. He is glowing a bright, gross yellow. He is about three inches into the doorway. There was nothing there when I turned the lights on. I left the house without even grabbing a change of clothes. Evan let me stay over at his house without even questioning why.

God, I love him already. I am writing this while he sleeps with his arms around me. I see the face again. Except this time he is smiling a dirty smile. His body is convulsing like he is trying to laugh. He shakes his finger at me. I'm leaving. I was able to run straight through him.

It made my inside spend. I threw up as soon as I got out of the house. I am now in a coffee shop. I want to go back with Evan. I want to brush my damn teeth. I want to fucking sleep. January 24th, 2021, I have been up since 2 o'clock last night. I am running on Red Bulls.

I only have my diary and my phone that thankfully had some money in the case that saved my butt. I am on the subway. I do not know where I am going. Just away from my house. I fell asleep. When I woke up he was there again, his long misshapen hand reaching towards me. He was sitting in a chair only a few inches away from. No one else saw him. No one else had to look into those horrid eyes. I feel his sharp finger touch my knee. I can't stop screaming. Why is no one singing for me? I can't see myself working. in this down and out town anymore making only $7.50 an hour. Most people in this town would be proud that they have a job, but I'm just sick of paying rent, paying off my credit cards, buying groceries,

and having only enough money left over to subscribe to Netflix. I'm just an example of someone whose parents shouldn't have had any kids, because this world would be fine without me. I tried the college thing and besides having no attention span, I don't like to be around crowds of people. With all of this misery that I carry with me on a daily basis, I just so happen to run into a guy at the thrift store, who goes up and down every aisle of the grocery store that I work at, just to kill time. While I was shopping for new-use clothes, he showed me a pair of trousers and a sports coat and said, Do you think this would look good on someone in a casket? Are you trying to buy clothes for someone who passed away?

I responded. No, it's for me. He said, Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you were sick. I'm not sick. This guy in his early 50 said to me, If you're not sick, then why are you trying to buy clothes for your funeral? I just don't want to live anymore.

I've done all of the counseling and medication stuff already and I'm just done with life. I'm too old for manual labor and I hate computers, so this world doesn't have a place for me. So how will you do it? I ask him, do what, end your own life, really? In fact, once you walk through the hotel doors, they assume that you're there to off yourself and they give you a menu on ways to off yourself depending on your budget. That's really weird. Well, any time there's a need in our culture, a new business steps forward to try to fill that need.

How does the menu work? The hotel's menu is based on people's preferences and, of course, how much they can spend. Why wouldn't you just hang yourself in your own house? Well, for me, I don't want to hang myself and furthermore how many days or weeks or possibly months will I be dead hanging in my house before someone discovers me? I don't have to worry about those things because the hotel will discover me the next day and take care of all of my funeral arrangements and even write my obituary, of course only if I choose that combo package. This sounds illegal. From a legal standpoint, this state we live in is a right to die, state

and as long as there is certain criteria that is met then, the hotel isn't held liable for the actions of the person who wants to die. What is the criteria? The law was written to include chronic pain and suffering, which is loosely identified, so the hotel has this burnt-out physician on staff who meets with you and signs off that your ailment is chronic and debilitating, where continuing life would cause undue suffering on the person. But neither of us are experiencing chronic debilitating pain, so this doesn't sound ethical. It's probably not ethical, however like I said the law is loosely written, so it's not illegal. The law doesn't distinguish between mental and physical pain.

Besides, the state doesn't want to pay long-term disability to keep some miserable soul alive when the person really doesn't want to live, so the state turns a blind eye to businesses like, the hotels. All right, this is a lot to take in. So I just show up and bring my money, yes, and make sure you only show up if you're 100% sure you want to proceed with this. I really am tired of just living, so as I walk away from this guy, I feel a sense of purpose to follow through with this. Most days, I can't even muster up enough energy or confidence to say hello to someone, so at this point in my sorry life, I just want to end it. I go back to my apartment and go through anything that I have that has any value.

I then cash my paycheck and come up with a grand total of $1,400 that is really depressing, but at least it's something. I decide to go to the hotel the same night just to get it over with. As I walk to the hotel, I try to muster up any type of wholesome memories that would make me think twice about proceeding, however I have no warm and fuzzy memories about anything. Everything in my life has caused me anxiety and depression from my early childhood up to now. I take the half-hour walk to the hotel and I see a sign on the front door that reads, Only serious paying customers are allowed through these doors.

All others will be charged with trespassing. Any media inquiries please direct them to our 1-800, number. Don't enter these doors if you're not 100% sure that you want to proceed. I've been too much of a coward to follow through with anything else, so I take a deep breath and open up the glass doors. Besides the sign on the front door, everything about this building is set up as a typical three-story hotel. The only way to access the rooms is via the front glass doors. There's a typical front desk as you open the doors.

As I approach the front desk, I see a typical sullen-looking woman, who would live in this town, who could either be 30 or 55 years old. Without even asking her, I know she smokes at least a pack a cigarettes a day and indulges in any daily alcoholic drink that is affordable. I'm not greeted with the typical smile that one would expect from a hotel clerk, but she doesn't come across as being hostile either. either. I'm guessing that she has a menagerie of down and out customers who come through these doors and her limited cuth isn't able to deal with what's thrown at her. Without saying anything, she hands me what looks like a restaurant menu. The menu is broken down into different payment scales with the minimum package that starts off at $1,200. I barely have enough money to meet the minimum payments, so my package would include hanging or a shotgun or a cocktail of pills. I take a few

moments to think about this because I wasn't sure what methods would be available to off myself. The shotgun seems quick, but the pills seem easier to actually follow through with and less messy. I really don't know how long I would need to dangle by the rope before I'm dead, so I rule out the hanging. I'm undecided between the pills and the shotgun and ultimately I decide to go with the shotgun. There's something that seems soothing to me having the cold barrel pressed against my mouth and releasing the pellets into my oral cavity, which would finally end this misery that I've felt since I was born. I see that my package includes a medical examination, a shotgun with one shell and the reassurance that, the hotel, will call 911 to have me transported to hospital

to be pronounced dead. If I had more money than I could have afforded the package where the in-house physician declares me dead and I'm taken to the funeral home of my choice with a well-written obituary by the hotel's staff. Instead, I will be pronounced dead at the hospital and be buried in a pauper's grave. Excuse me, do you have a handgun available instead of a shotgun? I ask. No, because state law does not allow the purchase of any handgun without waiting 72 hours, so the shotgun you are temporarily purchasing doesn't require any type of licensing or waiting periods. Okay, thank you. I know the package I want to purchase. She hands me me a multi-page disclaimer that says, read carefully before initialing each box and signing at the end. I've dealt with paperwork like this when I got hired at my job, where I realized the gist of what I'm signing and I don't really care about the legal mumble jumble. I take it. I take it. the contract then check off the boxes for the medical examination and for the shotgun. I attempt to read the contract and give up after the first sentence. I simply find all the boxes that need my initials and I sign the last line of the contract. The woman looks over the

contract and says, great, head over to the conference room right next door and meet with the doctor. Once you meet with the doctor, then go to your room 312 where everything you need will be in the room. I hand the woman the money and she hands me the room key. I feel like I'm enlisting in the dark army or something as I head towards the room where the doctor is located. The door is partially open and I knock on the door. Come in, I hear in some type of Eastern European accent. I enter what looks like a one small conference room for guest meetings, which now has nothing more than two plastic chairs. The doctor had a white lab coat on and looks like he's well into his 80s with white hair and his state-issued medical license hanging on the wall. He doesn't even care to look at me

and takes out a piece of paper and reads, Are you experiencing chronic long-term pain that makes life no longer living. I barely understand his broken English, so I zone out and stop listening to what he's saying. As he stops talking, he looks at me where I can tell he wants me to signal the word yes, that I have acknowledged what he said. I say, yes, then he hands me a piece of paper that he has already signed and I sign as well. After signing the paper, the doctor puts his head down as if he's signaling for me to leave the room as he waits for the next person to arrive. I stand up and head towards my room, where I have to go to the elevator first. The thoughts of this being the last time I get into an elevator crosses my mind.

In a way, I'm satisfied that I encountered the sullen receptionist and the quack burnt-out doctor because it's a representation of what I have to deal with every day in my life. A couple of days ago, I heard a mother ask her teenage daughter, what's wrong with him, as they both giggled, while I checked them out at the grocery store. Those encounters are more typical for me than someone who is genuinely glad to see me. I get off the elevator and I follow the placard on the wall to room 312. The hotel is clean but looks like it hasn't been updated since the late 80s or early 90s. I put the key in the door and unlock the door.

The door opens and I see nothing more than a room lined with a plastic tarp with a chair next to a wall-mounted shotgun. There is also a door for a bathroom right where I first enter the room. The window has a cinder block wall protecting it from any stray pellets. There is no bed and just a room lined with plastic. The shotgun is mounted to the wall to make it easier to complete the final wall. act. My heart really starts to pound as I know this will be my last moments alive. Before I attempt to use the shotgun, I see a sign on the bathroom door that reads, please use the bathroom before pulling the trigger. I think to myself, okay, I guess, the hotel doesn't want any unwanted

messes. I attempt to go to the bathroom as I tend to be a rule follower. My body is prepared in the fight or flight mechanism, where I'm jacked up on adrenaline, so I can only urinate a few trickles. I head out of the bathroom and go towards the shotgun. I am void of any kind of tears as I remember going to a therapist in high school and the therapist explaining to me that when a mother drops her baby off at a daycare center, the baby will initially cry from being separated from its mother. The baby will continue to cry each day the baby is brought to the daycare until the baby realizes that the crying doesn't bring its mother back. So, the baby stops crying and everyone thinks the baby has adapted, but in reality the baby has learned that its cries just turns to

deaf ears, then the therapist looked at me and said, you're that baby. I never knew what to do with that therapist's insight, however as I sit in a chair next to the rifle, I think this is the reason why I'm probably not crying. I spare myself any last-minute thoughts and put the gun in my mouth and close my eyes and reach for the trigger. I feel myself start to sweat as I feel the adrenaline going through my body. I reach and push the trigger with my eyes closed and I hear, click. Thinking that I'm dead I open my eyes and feel the back of my head and realize that the gun didn't fire. which was the reason why I heard a click and not a loud bang. I don't know too much about guns in general,

but it didn't take long for me to realize that they forgot to load the shotgun. There's nothing in the room so I don't see any extra shells lying around. With no other choice, I attempt to open the door to the room. As I attempt to turn the door knob, I realize that the knob just spins but doesn't open from the inside. Oh, great! I say out loud as I'm now locked in this room. I bang on the door repeatedly which falls on deaf ears, as no one comes to my door. I decide to sit on the plastic-lined floor. The real macab

part of this room is that the door probably doesn't open because they don't want any undead people crawling into the hallway. Eventually the adrenaline goes away and I feel exhausted, so I close my eyes. Just as I'm about to fall asleep I hear a loud, bang, sound, which sounded like it came from a room not too far from mine. I think to myself, that certain rooms must be set up with certain modalities in how the person decides to off themselves. Of course, I get the room with the unloaded shotgun, which is the last thought I have before I drift off to sleep. I wake up to someone opening the door, which is the receptionist. She sees me on the floor and starts to get real angry and says, this doesn't work like this.

You came to the hotel, and signed the contract. Go over to the gun and do what you're supposed to do. It's not loaded, I whimper out my mouth. Jesus fucking Christ that idiot didn't load the gun. She says, I stand up as she says, let me go get a shell, as she is. opens the door. I'm not sure if I was supposed to follow her, but it seemed like she was complaining to me that the housekeeper is a real idiot, so I followed her. We both got on the elevator where she said she had more shells at the front desk, as she continued to complain

about the incompetence of the housekeeper and the doctor. I definitely get the impression that this woman has zero compassion or empathy. She knows that not only did I just try to off myself, but I'm going to do it again once the shotgun is loaded with a shell. The elevator door opens and she walks to the reception desk and says, if it was up to me, I would get rid of that old crazy doctor and the housekeeper, but the owner won't do it. As the women is looking behind the front desk for a shell, someone with a ski mask on violently comes through the front door wielding a handgun and yells out, nobody better fucking move or I'll kill you. Me and the front desk clerk both looked shocked as the bandit says to the woman, give me all of your fucking money.

Now bitch, the woman fumbles around the register and puts all the money into a black garbage bag. The bandit is fuming in anger and seems really tense. The door to the room where I met the doctor opens and the old doctor says, what's going on out here? In a thick accented voice, the bandit is caught off guard and turns to the old doctor and then I hear, bang, bang, bang. As the old doctor falls to the floor. The bandit then turns to the woman and says, give me all the fucking money in the safe right now. The safe is in the back room. She responds. I know that. Hurry up and open. The bandit says as he follows the woman to the room behind the front desk. I'm still standing in front of the front desk not really knowing what I should do.

I guess I wouldn't mind if the bandit decides to shoot me, that way I won't have to do it myself. Bang! I hear some kind of gunfire. Followed by a, you fucking bitch, then at least six more rounds of gunshots go off. I continue to stand at the front desk as everything gets really quiet. I look around and I see the old doctor presumed dead on the ground with blood coming from his head. Still after a couple of minutes, I hear nothing so I decide to slowly walk back to the room behind the front desk. I slowly open the door and say, hello, I still hear nothing and neither of them respond to me so I open the door.

I'm a little bit shocked to see multiple gunshot wounds in the woman's chest and stomach and I see the bandit has one shot to his head. I really have no idea what to do as I fully enter the room and I see the safe's door open. Holy shit. I say out loud as I see what looks like thousands of dollars in the safe. I think to myself, I have two choices. I can take any number of guns either upstairs or the bandits or the woman's gun and just shoot myself. The other part of me sees hope with the thousands and thousands of dollars between the money that was in cash register in the safe, where I finally decide to take the money and run. As I carry out the two black heavy-duty garbage bags filled with money, I feel as though I have been born again as I inhale a deep breath of fresh air.

Let me tell you about the weirdest Tuesday of my life. It started off just like any other chill afternoon. I had nothing major on my schedule, so I decided to enjoy the rare sunny weather in my neighborhood. You know the kind, blue skies, soft breeze, the works. I was on my way to grab a coffee at this local spot I go to when something totally unexpected happened. I'm walking along, soaking up the sun when I spot this tiny little dog waddling down. the sidewalk. No human in sight, just the dog, looking super confused and dragging a leash

like it escaped a cartoon. It was one of those pocket-sized chihuahuas with those wild, bulging eyes like it had seen things. I'm a sucker for dogs, can't help it, and this one looked so helpless, like it was on some mission it didn't sign up for. Now here's where I made my first mistake. I assumed the dog was lost. Feeling all heroic and caffeinated, I jogged over, crouched down, and checked for tags. Not a single ID on that scruffy little guy. Alarm bells should have gone off, but nope, my caffeine-fueled brain decided I was on a rescue mission.

So I scooped the dog up like I was a Disney princess in an animated reboot and carried it with me to the coffee shop. My logic. Someone local would recognize it. Chihuahuas aren't exactly stealthy. But that was mistake number two. The moment I walked into the coffee shop, things started to feel off. The dog perched on my lap like it owned the place, and I tried to act normal. That's when these two dudes walked in, both wearing matching black leather jackets,

sunglasses indoors, yes, really, and scanning the room like they were casing a joint. One of them had a ridiculous neck tattoo of an eagle flying over a city skyline. I remember thinking, who gets that tattoo on purpose. They didn't order anything. They just stood there, talking quietly, eyes darting around until finally, bam. One of them locked eyes with me. Or more accurately, the dog on my lap. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed when I'm on my third espresso, so instead of picking up

the sketchy vibes, I smiled and waved like a complete idiot, assuming they were the dog's owners. They did not wave back. In fact, they exchanged a look and turned right around, heading for the door. Now, a smart person would have let it go. But not me. Nope. Mistake number three, I followed them. I paid for my coffee, scooped up the dog, who didn't even resist, which was weird in

itself, and casually strolled after them, thinking I was about to solve a missing dog mystery. As I caught up to them on the sidewalk, I called out, hey. Is this your dog? They turned around, and the look on their faces wasn't relief. It was sheer panic. One of the guys grabbed my arm and said, you need to come with us. Now, my brain finally woke up. This wasn't normal. I tried to back away, but before I could say anything, the Eagle tattoo guy pulled out this tiny

plastic bag of white powder and hissed, that dog has something we need. Excuse me, what? Was I holding a canine drug mule? Mistake number four, I froze. If this were an action movie, maybe I would have kicked them in the knees and made a run for it, dog under one arm, espresso in the other. But no. I just stood there like a mannequin while they pulled me into a nearby alley. The whole scene was like a B-movie thriller. They started talking fast. asked about drops, deadlines, exchanges. Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out if I'd accidentally joined a cartel. Then came the twist.

Apparently, this Chihuahua was part of some weird delivery system. They thought it had something inside it. I don't even want to know how they planned to get it out. All I know is I wanted nothing to do with it. They told me to stay put while they made a call. That was my chance. I clutched the dog and ran. I ran like my life depended on it, because honestly, it probably did.

I didn't stop to think. I just bolted. People on the sidewalk stared. I didn't care. Coffee. Spilled. Dignity. Gone.

I just needed to get away. Mistake number five, running through the city with a chihuahua looks really suspicious. I'd only made it like four blocks when I heard sirens. My brain said, no worries, you're the good guy. But that's not how real life works. When cops see someone sprinting down the street with a tiny dog and two sketchy guys chasing after them, they assumed the worst. The police pulled up, jumped out with weapons drawn, and shouted for me to get down.

So there I was, lying face down on the pavement with this clueless Chihuahua sniffing the ground like. sniffing the ground like it was just a normal Tuesday. Then came the big reveal. Turns out the dog belonged to some mega-rich socialite. The dog wasn't missing, it had just slipped away from her security detail. The two guys? Not drug dealers, they were her bodyguards. Apparently, they thought I was trying to kidnap her dog for ransom or something. Talk about misunderstandings. I got hauled in for questioning, spent what felt like hours explaining everything. I even offered to let them search me, search my phone, whatever they needed. Eventually, they realized I was just a clueless coffee addict who picked up the wrong dog at the wrong time. The socialite showed up at the station

looking like she'd walked off a magazine cover. She was furious at first, then kind of impressed. I guess she appreciated that I hadn't tried to sell her dog on the black market. She even offered me a reward, a big one. But I turned it down. After everything, I just wanted to go home, take a nap, and pretend none of it happened. Moral of the story. Don't assume every loose dog is a damsel in distress. Don't follow guys in matching leather jackets. And for the love of caffeine, don't get involved in anything that might involve bodyguards, drugs, or miniature dogs with secrets. I haven't seen that Chihuahua since. I kind of missed the little guy.

But every time I walk past that coffee shop, I half expect to see it again. Not the dog, the guy's in leather. If I do, I swear I'm crossing the street. Oh, and just when I thought the madness was over. I got a text. From a random number. All it said was, we know what you did. I'm guessing the socialite didn't appreciate the rest of it.

I made about the whole thing. Oops. So yeah. I'm avoiding that coffee shop for a while. T. LDR. Thought I found a lost dog, ended up accused of dog napping, chased by bodyguards,

nearly arrested, and probably banned from half the city's upscale events. All because I wanted an iced latte and tried to be a good person. Life lesson, next time, let the dog handle its own business. The end. I am nothing like a medical professional, I'm not a first responder.

But twice in the last 36 hours, I've either been in the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the wrong time. Today's is the first shooting I've ever witnessed firsthand. First time I've provided that type of aid. I know it's a privilege to have gotten this far in life without that experience, but I have. But T.L., I kind of puked up the story later this evening, thinking if I didn't get it out of my head at least. a little, it would just start flying out when I didn't want it to. Below is what I wrote, I don't really feel like talking about this right now. I've got some Velvita Mac and cheese waiting for me back at the hotel, but I decided to treat myself. I'm in a British

pub awaiting a comforting meal. And a filthy martini. But I want to do this right now because I think I will forget and because I don't really want it floating around in my head trying to get out. It feels like rather brutal irony that this incident began immediately following a phone call with my mom in which I shared with her an incident that happened Wednesday night. Today is Thursday. Wednesday I was in the same parking lot in the same parking spot in my van when a domestic violence incident started spilling out of a hotel room across the courtyard. Many details later, the child and woman were sheltered in my van until police could come. I made sure they had water and food.

made a statement to police. More than a half dozen people were watching and taking video. I was the only one who stayed after the abuser left, very nearly running me down with his car. With zero context in this story, much too much to tell, I have quite involuntarily been stripped of virtually everything I had or knew for the last three decades, including any sense of self-identity. So I was telling my mom today what I thought was pretty happy news, that stripped of everything, all by myself, in a completely foreign environment, I walked into a situation I knew was patently dangerous,

and I was the only person among many who did. So I told her, I can now look in hindsight and see clearly that I am a person who will help a stranger, even when there is danger to myself. And I feel pretty good about that. I think that's a characteristic to be proud of. We chatted for quite a while. Within two minutes of hanging up the phone, as I was reaching to open my door, the shooting began. I didn't recognize the first shot as a gunshot. It's been a long time since I've been that close to one, and it was a courtyard, surrounded on four sides. The acoustics were crazy and it sounded to me like somebody had dropped an entire dumpster. I looked around, I didn't see anything. Then the second shot came, and I understood they were gunshots and I ducked.

I put my head down as flat as I could in my van. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, really fast. Then I thought quiet, but not really. I could hear the victim. Still not sure, I can't come up with the right vocabulary, but he was not whimpering. He was not yelling. He was quietly doing what he could in between. He had no breath.

I grabbed my phone and started toward him. I looked to my right and could see the shooter running away. I brought up my camera and took a shot, unable to actually see what I was capturing. I did this while running backwards toward the man on the ground. The shooter looked briefly back over his shoulder. He was another young man I would have put near 20. Little taller than average may be a dark-skinned black man. No way on earth that could have made out his face from that distance, just as clothing.

He didn't flash any gang signs or call out. anything to or about the guy who'd been shot. As he ran away, he looked back that once, and we looked each other in the eyes. He honestly looked scared shitless. He turned back forward and kept running. I turned back toward Leo and dialed 911. That began my time on hold. The man is a young Latino. Everyone seems young to me at my age, but I think he might have been close to 20. He had a little five o'clock shadow in patchwork around his jaw. Dark black hair. I'm honestly not sure why I thought it was curly because he was wearing a baseball cap throughout. I think I was in the moment conflating that incident with last nights, where the

abuser had thick black curly hair on top and short on the sides. He was wearing a thick jacket I associate with construction workers, kind of dark tan slash gold, looking like it had been worked in for some time, and with a wide brass zipper whose teeth had come apart making a gap over his belly. His hands were dirty like he had been working. They were rough and calloused. He had lightweight nylon, black sport-type pants. I don't think I remember his shoes without looking at a picture. I have one. I have two shots actually, him on the gurney, just after they placed him on it. He's pretty handsome or will be when he gets a little bit older, I think, and then I think. I think I really want him to get older.

Como S.ilama? I ask. Leo, I think I hear. I feel lucky to even know his name, and could honestly be wrong about it, but when I asked him, that's what I thought I understood. It was the last moment he retained any consciousness. He was unresponsive after that, rolling his eyes into the back of his head, struggling to breathe.

At first, it just looked difficult for him to breathe, then not very much later. he was gulping at air like a fish out of water, still unconscious. I looked around and couldn't see a single other human being. I started screaming at the top of my lungs, help. Help. Is there a doctor? Doctora. Doctora. Iota me. Nothing. A black oversized pickup truck started down the alley toward us, two people in it. I kept my right hand on Leo and waved my left arm as broadly as I could at them, yelling for help. They pulled into the other side of the parking lot and I don't recall seeing them again. I didn't have enough Spanish to say much, so all I could really say was, I'm Christie stay with me. Soi Christie. Conmigo, Leo, con mego. Acqui,

Acqui conmigo. I held his left hand in my right. He had no ability to grasp. So I just squeezed his hand as I talked to him, shouted at him, and lifted his forearm gently up and down as I called to him, with my fingers interlocked with his, patted his face checked that he was breathing. An even younger couple walked by, both of whom seemed monolingual in Spanish, they were speaking to each other in Spanish, and did not reply to me when I spoke in English. The young woman expressed concern and dismay, and stopped for a moment, leaning over Leo, while her partner kept going. She got up to follow him, and I pleaded with her to stay.

No hablo Espanol. Poor favor, Iota me. Dice poor Migo. Dice a Leo. Poor favor. And bless her she did. I have no idea what she said to him, but heard more con Migo's so felt a little relief that I was at least saying something he might recognize.

She was Latina, long black hair in a ponytail, flowered pullover top of with a V-neck, and a look of grave concern on a clear, narrow oval face. I'm not very good at this anymore, but I'd say she was about 18. I couldn't tell you what her partner looked like. He was gone too fast. And my eyes were riveted to Leo. It felt like at least 15 minutes, but I've checked my phone just now, and it was only six minutes I was on hold. I gave the dispatcher my location right away said there's been a shooting, that I have a victim on the ground bleeding,

please send EMS to XXXXX right now. I just wrote that I said that, but I was pretty much yelling it because I was already yelling to get through to Leo. Every time his eyes started to close versus staying at half-mast, I squeezed harder, yelled louder, and it did seem to help him try to stay with me. His eyes would flutter half open again for a few seconds,

he would moan, then we'd start it over again. I was honestly worried to do anything but be with him, because I thought he was shot in the back and I was worried about a spinal injury, but dispatch reminded me that you have to stop the bleeding first in any case. I felt my heart sink. I knew that. Somewhere in the back of my mind. I heard it on NPR.

I was mortified that I had continued to let him bleed for six minutes. I rolled him over toward me as quickly as I could, onto my coat on the ground. I pulled up his shirt to see if there was damage to his back, I could only. see the lower half of his back and didn't see any injuries. I could see blood on his pants leg in two different places. I pulled his pants down in a portion of his underwear, which was like a kaleidoscope of animation, so bright and colorful, but now covered in blood. I reported to the dispatcher that I could see two bullet holes, one below his left buttocks, one in his left calf. I don't know if there were any more, but that's what I saw. I've never actually seen a gunshot

wound before. Plenty of times on television in my half a century on the planet, but not in my own experience. They were a lot bigger than I expected, which I'm sure has to do with caliber, but my goodness. Big deep holes with no exit wounds. Ousing blood. That actually felt positive to me, TV taught me that a shot to the femoral artery would have blood squirting. I pressed my left hand down on his buttock injury and looked to my left to reach for the other injury, and a lanky white guy with a beard appeared there, out of nowhere as far as I was concerned, because I was so wholly focused on Leo, and he applied pressure to the calf while I did to his other wound and continued to talk with dispatch until EMS was fully engaged, as instructed.

As I was waiting for EMS and pressing the wound, a young blonde woman across the street, at the end of the alley, shouted that she had already called 911 and that they were on their way, which was brilliant news. Again, it seemed longer, but it was probably only five minutes that I had to apply pressure before the EMTs showed up. When I first showed up beside Leo, I got on my knees like anyone would. I've had Osgood Schlatter's disease and so was balanced precariously and painfully on two small bony protrusions on my knees. I was at risk of falling over. They are hard to balance on. stood that pain for a while and then realized I didn't think I could do chest compressions if I had to while kneeling that way. I had taken off my coat preparing to add pressure, so I shoved it under my knees and kept going.

When I rolled Leo over, he was 100% on my coat and when the EMTs got there, I had to pull it out from under him. My left hand up my wrist and onto my Michigan Women's Music Festival 25th Anniversary sweatshirt were full of Leo's blood. I had much less on my right hand because I had been trying to use that for the phone. But my phone also had a significant amount of blood, as I had to pass it hand to hand to keep doing what I was doing. By now there are at least three or four police SUVs in the parking lot, someone points me out as a witness and they want to talk to me and I tell them yes but I must sit down. My pot starts flaring in an episode. Got a little brain fog. Pain in my legs and arms.

And my legs are so weak from both the pots and the trauma, the stress, I don't think I can stand much longer. I wobbled to the driver's side door. Takes me almost a minute to drag myself into my van chair because I'm so weak. A uniformed officer comes and asks me what I saw, what happened. I tell him all of this. I let him know I have a picture of the shooter running away, and have him text it to himself. I don't know how long I sat there, shaking, trying to. control my breathing. I was in the driver's seat, but turned 45 degrees with my feet on the

outside step. The police cordoned off virtually all of the space near me, including tape that was literally touching the back of my van. They strung crime scene do not cross tape across the door that I was coming and going from on the second floor so as to avoid both the climb and a potentially toxic elevator. Next, I saw a woman in street clothes coming out that very door. I threw my hands out like the Supremes and loudly said, stop. No, that's a crime scene. Please don't walk there. She laughed at me kindly, flashed me the badge that was hanging around her neck with a smile and came over. Her name was Tanna. None of the officers, by the way, introduced themselves. I just put out my hand to shake and said, hi. Early shelter. That's how I got to know

their names. Tanna had me recount the whole story, asked if I had given a written statement, no, and I handed her my phone to text the photo to herself. She said next step would be to have a formal interview on camera, so I should stick around. I held my hand out to her. None of my skin was visible under the blood. I was thoroughly coated, and it was drying sticky. I asked her if I could go wash it off. She immediately offered me some wipes, but I shook my head. I told her I'm allergic to the world, that's why I'm here to see an immunologist. Can't use your wipes I need water. Do you have a bottle of water I asked? No, she didn't. Had to walk the entire circumference around the hotel, up a short flight of stairs, up a longer flight to a landing and then another flight.

I thought I was going to keel right over. I'm trying to. I'm trying to. to drag myself up the banister with my arms, but they didn't have much more blood than my legs did once I started pulling. I got to my room and started washing my hands into the basin and thought quite clearly, I've never seen this in person before. You only see shit like this on TV. But there I am watching blood swirl down the drain, scrubbing with my other hand as hard as I could to get it off, entirely understanding, out damn spot, for the first time. Not the guilt, of course, frustration of trying to get it off, get it all off. It was sticky in places, entirely dry in others. It's harder to get off than you might think, certainly harder than I would have thought.

I called my mom while I was washing. I told her what was going on. I said how shaken I was. That I just wanted to talk out loud to somebody about what was going on. She was sympathetic, worried about my safety. I thank her, then had to hang up in go back to talk with the detectives. I walked the long way back again. Asked an officer if I was still needed, and he said yes. He came back a moment later to say they'd like to take you downtown for a formal statement. My voice was instantly pleading. I'm here for a medical appointment, that's the only reason I am in town. I have allergy testing patches on my back right now and if they are not read today, it will invalidate the entire test. I've spent high

hundreds of dollars to be here and I'm indigent. I am going to try and reschedule that but I really need to get to an appointment today. Plus, I'm here because I'm allergic to the world. If I walk into your precinct and even one person is wearing perfume or cologne, I'm going to choke, gag, cry, and cough, and I won't be able to give you any information. I won't be gone more than 90 minutes and promised to come back. I'm staying here. He told me the detectives would make that decision, that they outrank him. No, I don't think they will, I thought. I reminded him my contribution is voluntary.

He said, yep, and left. I was on hold for 20 odd minutes with National Jewish, I had a complicated request, but ultimately was able to reschedule my appointment for a couple hours later. I left my van again to use the restroom, again walking the full route, and got a call just before I was walking back from the detective from the evening prior. He needed to take a formal statement.

Couldn't help it. I laughed out loud for some time. I told him, sure, I'm waiting to give a statement to another detective downstairs right now. Come on by. It's a party. I went back to the van, texted with my mom a little bit, texted my sister friend A and my newer friend T, trying to do some kind of brain dump in the moment to help me calm down. Finally, a detective named Steve, I know because I introduced my son.

came and asked me if I had made a statement to anyone. Yes, several times but not on camera. He said okay and asked me to describe what I had seen. I gave him a few details and I think he saw me looking at him a little crooked because he pointed to his belt and said, I do have my camera activated so this is all being recorded right now. I said, cool. I was thinking, perhaps you had an idetic memory.

So, this was my formal interview on camera. I was not going downtown and it looked like I was going to make my rescheduled appointment at National Jewish. Excellent. Not that I was really feeling up for that appointment. My hands were shaking. My knees were literally knocking if I held my legs together. I kept making deep sighs to loosen up my chest. Physically, I was okay.

Mentally, it was a lot harder than dealing with the domestic violence situation the night before. I've had DV experience too many times. First myself, then later as a person who counseled women and children in a DV shelter. I know it's one of the most dangerous situations a law enforcement officer might walk into. I know that like I know that gravity exists, and I walked right into it anyway. I was rather strangely calm throughout that entire episode. Was it upsetting? Yes.

Did it leave me shaking for hours? No, it didn't. It made me introspective rather than feeling PTSD. But today, there is a reason I am talking this all out all by myself right now. I am still shaking. I've never seen or felt or heard or smelled or touched anything like that in my life. When I was screaming at the top of my lungs all alone, it was terrifying. And you bet it felt traumatic.

I'm going to see that boy's face in my head for a long time. I'm going to watch that blood rush down the white sink. I'm going to randomly get a whiff of what happened. But I hope to work through it enough that none of those things become an illness for me. I am hoping that if I call tomorrow, they would at least tell me if he was alive or not. There's absolutely no way he would ever remember I was even there. That's good. But yeah, I'll be remembering this for a very long time.

Hours later, it's on the news tonight. Leo died. Fox News ran a video piece on it, which was tape recorded somewhere else entirely. Among other things, it showed members of the military in full garb, faces masked, eyes behind sunglasses, holding automatic rifles. None of that happened. Their video was not of this place. Not at this time. An honest to God bit of unverifiable propaganda to scare the shit out of people. Yes, we need the military. of our police in order to combat the violence here in X-XXXXX. Bullshit, my friends.

I am fairly sure I am preaching to the choir, but I would like to tell you firsthand their reporting is bullshit. The end. As a kid we would go to upstate New York on vacation to meet up with extended family members. My grandparents own a house which was passed down from their parents. I loved playing with my cousins. The area was completely remote. You had to drive a mile down a private road to get to the house.

We went at least once a summer, but that tragically ended in the later 1980s when two of my uncles and my nine-year-old cousin vanished one day. As I recall the story, my whole extended family about 30 people were staying the weekend in the house. Some of the older kids would sleep in tents outside because there just wasn't enough room and the kids liked camping as well. It wasn't uncommon for my uncles to look for an excuse to get drunk and pretend to hunt deer. We were all city dwellers and none of my uncles really knew anything about hunting rather than put bullets in rifle, aim at deer, and shoot. One Saturday afternoon,

my two uncles and cousin ventured out into the woods. Typically, they would get drunk and return after a couple of hours. That Saturday, they didn't return. I recall about suppertime the adults joking that we will see them returning through those woods at any time with no deer. As nighttime approached and still no signs of their return, then I remembered the mood had changed and the adults started to freak out. The adults went out searching for them. I remember being able to hear my family members yell their names through the woods. Eventually, the police arrived and they formed a search party.

They searched all night and the next day with no sign of them. We extended our stay at the house so my parents could assist in the search. We stayed for a week and there was still no sign of them. We went back to NYC and my dad would go back to upstate NYC every weekend to search for them. Understandingly, we stopped going there as a vacation retreat. Two years went by, then five years went by, then eventually 20 years with no bodies being found. There was nothing. No clues at all.

It really changed everything in my family. None of the adults ever seemed happy again. Fast forward to just a few months ago, I was perusing through free horror movies on demand. You know the ones where you have to watch commercials and really weren't good enough to be featured on, say, Netflix. I read the previews for one of the movies and it was eerily similar to what happened to my uncles and cousin. I decided to watch the movie and the coincidences were extremely unsettling. There was a long road to the house, there was about the same amount of people who were at the house that Saturday, even to the smallest of details on how three of my male cousins would

play on this large boulder in back of the house. I was glued to the TV because this was literally going to explain what happened to my lost family members. Then it eventually got to the part, where one of the locals who lived in the woods kidnapped the three of them and sadistically killed them. I immediately phoned my brother and in turn he contacted the rest of the family members. Eventually, we contacted the police and they interrogated the writer of the movie. Based on the police investigation, it was determined that the actual writer who took credit for the screenplay didn't write the movie. He actually paid a ghostwriter through bitcoins for his ideas on Reddit.

My family and the police watched the movie for any clues on where the bodies could be. Another search party was assembled and the bodies were found buried in the basement of a remote cabin about 10 miles from my grandparents' upstate house. The whole family was just perplexed. Who wrote the movie? Who knew all of these intimate details of our family? The police were unable to figure out who sent the story through Reddit. The ghost writer went through great lengths to hide his computer slash phone's IP address.

My whole family went through every possible suspect, including everyone in the family. Everyone agreed it couldn't be anyone in the upstate house that day. Then, weeks went by and I must have watched the movie 200 times and still no suspect. Then one day I was watching old home movies and something extremely sinister occurred to me. My grandfather back in the early 1980s would draw lines. He would draw the lines on paper, on wood with the pointed end of nails, basically on anything as a nervous tick. Then after my uncles and cousin disappeared he stopped doing it, so I completely forgot about it.

Those lines were important because I remembered seeing two of them in an indiscreet area on the inside door of the cabin. I knew I really had to sit and think before I accused anyone of anything. Then, I came up with a possible scenario. My grandfather told my two uncles and cousin to go to the cabin and he would meet them there. Then, when the search party went out to look for them, my grandfather went out on his own to the cabin and killed them. My grandfather then went back to bury the bodies in the cabin. I explained the scenario to the rest of my family and most of them agreed with me and were in shock and horror. My grandfather was dead so he couldn't be held accountable, but I knew the motive.

He wanted the upstate house for himself. My grandparents were the only ones who continued to visit the house after my uncles and cousin vanished. Still the mystery remains who actually wrote the story. My grandfather was dead when the writer of the movie received the story from the ghost writer. I don't think whoever wrote the story was actually involved in the plot or the actual murders. I think the ghost writer just wanted to tell what they knew. Talking to the rest of my family, they remembered my grandfather veering off from the rest of the search party only to return hours later. They also remember my grandfather returning from one of the searches covered in sweat and dirt.

Everyone who was there that week corroborated those events regarding my grandfather and everyone agreed it was virtually impossible for anyone to have assisted my grandfather. Also, everyone agreed that someone who was there that Saturday was the ghostwriter. Potentially, even my grandmother, which would really be dark because there was actually Bitcoins exchanged for the story. It wasn't some hardened criminal or a scary-looking skinhead or a bad-ass gangster. It was a little old woman, but she was a legit killer. She'd shot her husband in the chest with a shotgun two years prior to me meeting her. She did not do any jail time because she had numerous witnesses that had confirmed her story of self-defense. The rumor around the hood told a different tale, but regardless, she had truly killed a man and the shotgun that leaned in the corner of her foyer was probably the murder weapon.

Anyway, I met this woman at the height of my drug addiction. I'm sober now, going on six years, but at the time I did opioids. My favorites were Percocets. A fellow junkie happily informed me that we had a promising new plug who sold her 70-pill prescription each month, Miss Coco. I go to the address the very next day and realize this woman lived only a few streets down from my home girl, Selena. I stopped by her place first to say hi.

When she asked me why I was in the neighborhood I told her I was coming to see. see Miss Coco and her expression changed. That's when I learned not only the story of the murder, but a bunch of other crazy stories about shit she'd done to people in the hood. Selina begged me to be careful. I'm like, whatever, it's an old woman. I ain't scared. I slide over to the address of this little shotgun house and knocked on the door. She was supposed to be expecting me. The door cracked barely open and I saw how short and old she was. All I could really see was a slice of her face and one of her bloodshot eyes. She asked my name, I told her and she opened the door for me, motioning for me to enter.

Right away I saw the gun leaned in the corner. She told me to follow her and I finally got a real good look. She was so feeble looking, not skinny, but short and hunched over and walked with a cane. Her head was wrapped in a silk bonnet and she was wearing something like a moo-moo. diabetes had taken part of her left foot. We're in the living room now and she asked me to sit down. I chose the only empty spot on the couch, the entire house was cluttered, but not dirty. Suddenly, an oddly placed rug on otherwise bare floors made me wonder how hard it was to get blood out of wooden floorboards.

Did Selena say she actually killed that guy in here? She offered me a drink and a snack. She looked at me with surprisingly kind eyes. What a strange drug deal I thought, but how sweet of her. I remember thinking Selena was foolish for buying into all the hood tales of how dangerous this woman was. I drank a soda, declined a snack, and purchased her entire script of pain pills. She'll be getting it filled again on the same day next month, she informed me. Okay, great, see you then.

I returned on a routine schedule for several months, always drank a soda, declined a snack, and went happily on my merry, intoxicated way. I even got to know her a bit during my visits, her diabetes, her kids, how helpful weed was for her pain. I brought her a joint to share here and there. I even helped her move some furniture one day. Never a mention of her late husband, though, and I wasn't going to ask. I had long forgotten any sort of wild ideas about this old, sweet woman possibly snapping

at any moment. One summer month, it was my day to go to Miss Coco's. My boy Shane was with me already so I decided to let him ride along. We show up, go inside, same routine as always. She looked at him somewhat suspiciously, but I told her he was good people and she allowed him in. During our little chat, Shane mentioned something about wanting to see a movie that had just come out. I cannot for the life of me remember which movie. Miss Coco got excited and told us she happened to have a bootleg of that exact movie that we could borrow.

She let us look through a giant stack of bootleg, burned DVDs and borrow whatever we wanted. We took three of them and she simply asked that we returned them when we were done. That night we decided to watch the one Shane had wanted to see, so we popped it into the player at my place. Immediately it was unwatchable. It seriously looked like a cell phone video. You could see people in the theater walking around in front of the screen, the guy filming was talking loudly to his date the entire time. Garbage. We laughed about it, assumed the other two were just as bad and watched something else. A few days later I was going to hang with Selena, so I figured I'd swing by and return the DVDs to Miss Coco.

I tried calling, but she didn't answer. I walked up to the doorstep and knocked, but still no answer. I figure, no big deal, I'll just leave M here by the door for her. She had a storm door that had a screen on the top half, and was solid metal on the bottom half. I opened that door, propped the shitty DVDs up against her actual door, and then closed it. That way they couldn't be seen, and were protected from the weather as well. I go on to Salinas' place and don't give it a second thought. Later that night I'm getting high with my friends and my phone starts ringing.

I'm seriously faded so I just decide to ignore it, I don't feel like talking. It rings again. And again. Finally my homie is like you're gonna answer that. So I pulled out my phone to check it. It was Miss Coco. She never calls me. Ever.

Especially not late at night. Having her number in my phone was strictly for the purpose of me calling her on the 12th of each month to announce what time I'm coming over. That's it. Today was only the ninth. I thought maybe something bad had happened and she needed help. I called back and she picked up before it even rang one time. She was furious. I mean absolutely livid.

She did not sound like the little old lady whose couch I chill on. She was extremely pissed about the fact that I had left her DVDs in the door. She lectured me about how a dumb-ass white person like me just doesn't understand how things work in the hood. Someone could have seen me leave them there, and could have come behind me and stolen them. I should have waited until she was home. I was disrespectful and rude and ungrateful, she went on and on. I didn't have an attitude in my voice, and I did apologize, but I also mentioned that even though I appreciated the gesture, the movies were really pretty terrible and not worth anything. Abruptly, and very eerily, her tone changed. Suddenly she was

sweet old Miss Coco again. She told me I was right and she was just a little on edge that night. She apologized for her reaction and told me I was good to her and didn't deserve that. Then, she says, as a matter of fact, she had gotten her script early this month. She picked it up earlier today. Why don't I come on over and get it tonight? Now, any sane, sober person would have immediately noticed red flags here, but in my infinite nodded out wisdom, I thought junkie Jesus had performed a miracle for me and that my night was about to get even better. Time to get extra faded bros, I'll be back with more goodies ASAP. I head off down the street to Coco's house.

I'm still very, very high. I'm walking up to the house and I see that the DVDs are still there. Coco opens the door before I even get on the step and tells me to pick up the movies and bring them inside. Her voice was stern, which was unlike her, but she didn't sound. crazy like she had on the phone. I bring them into the living room where I always go to sit and something is just off. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I realize she's still behind me, in the foyer area. She starts telling me the same thing she was saying on the phone,

but calmly this time. My back is still to her. I don't say a word. I set the DVDs onto a side table and despite being extremely inebriated, I finally realized that I'm definitely not here to pick up pills. A temporary sobriety of the survival instinct variety kicked in all at once. Everything just sort of, clicked, into such a clear, crisp vividness that I'll never forget. I knew she was standing exactly where the shotgun leans. I knew she was between me and the door. I knew that she wanted to kill me, and I knew that she already had a whole gang of local folk

ready to corroborate whatever story she came up with. Every single detail that Selena had described to me the day she warned me about Miss Coco played through my mind in a matter of seconds. I ran. I burst out the back of the living room, knocking over that stack of fucking bullshit bootlegs as I scrambled past it. I'll be honest, once I had found my way out the back door, I wasn't that scared anymore.

It's not like she was going to catch me. I circled back around the tiny house and took it. off down the street, probably before she even managed to hobble around and look out of the front door for me. I never did see if she actually picked up the gun. My back was to her, and I made the decision to run without even turning around, but I just knew. It. I felt it.

It was a feeling I won't soon forget. The scary part was knowing just how absolutely mind-nummingly high I was, and how oblivious I was, until the very last second. That's the story about how I was almost taken out by a crazy little old lady with a shotgun, over the world's shittiest bootleg DVDs, makes you wonder what small infraction her late husband committed. Yes, this is a true story and I have lots more drug-fueled, wild encounters if any of you would like to hear more. It wasn't some scary-looking dude with tattoos on his neck, or a menacing biker with a chip

on his shoulder. Nope. The most dangerous person I ever met was a tiny, hunched over old lady named Miss Coco. And believe it or not, she was an actual killer. She had literally shot her husband in the chest with a shotgun. Boom. Dead. Happened a couple of years before I ever knocked on her door. Now, officially, she didn't serve a single day in prison. They said it was self-defense. There were witnesses who vouched for her, said he was attacking her. But around the neighborhood? A whole different story. People whispered stuff. You know how the hood talks. Some said she planned it. Others said it wasn't even the first time she'd pulled a gun on someone. Either way, she iced a guy, and that same shotgun. It still leaned quietly in the corner of her front hallway like some dusty relic. When I met her, I was in the darkest depths of my drug addiction. These days I'm clean, six years strong,

but back then. Perkissettes had me in a chokehold. They were my favorite flavor of destruction. One day, another fellow pill chaser told me about a new hookup who could be the answer to our prayers. She got 70 pills every single month. Seventy. And sold them all. They called her Miss Coco.

So the very next day, I decided to pay Miss Coco a visit. Turns out she lived just a few blocks away from my husband. girl Selena. Made sense to drop by and say hey to Selena first. When I told her who I was going to see, her whole mood changed. Like, instantly. Her eyes got big, and she went quiet for a second. Then she was like, yo. Be careful. Like, for real. That's when I heard the whole story. Not just the murder, but all the weird, dangerous stuff Miss Coco had done around the neighborhood. Selina was legit worried. But me?

I just laughed. It's an old lady, I said. What's she gonna do? Shake her cane at me. I didn't take her seriously. So I rolled up to this tiny shotgun house, knocked on the door, and waited. The door creaked open a few inches and I saw a glimpse of her. She was tiny, hunched over, and only one bloodshot I peered through the crack.

You him, she asked, her voice raspy like she smoked a pack a day since 1942. Yeah. That's me. She opened the door and motioned me inside. First thing I noticed. The shotgun. Just chillin' in the corner like it paid rent. She walked ahead of me, her steps slow and awkward, using a cane to balance herself.

She wore this giant floral thing that looked like a dress and a bathrobe had a baby. And her head was wrapped in a silk bonnet. One foot was bandaged up and swollen, diabetes, I would later learn. The living room looked like time had paused in the 70s and never resumed. Stuff was everywhere. Cluttered, but clean. She told me to sit down, and I took the only open spot on a couch buried in crocheted pillows. There was a rug on the wooden floor, oddly placed.

My mind wandered. bloodstains. I shook off the thought. She offered me a soda and some cookies. How sweet, right? I took the drink, skipped the snack. We made small talk. Real polite. Then I bought the entire month supply of pills from her. She told me she'd be getting more next month, same day. So began our little routine. Every month, I'd show up on the twelfth. She'd pour me a drink, offer me food, I'd buy the pills, and be on my way. Over time, I got to know her a little. She told me about her kids, her health problems, how we'd helped with the pain.

Sometimes I'd even bring her a joint or help remove furniture. I thought she was sweet. Accentric, sure, but sweet. No talk of her husband ever came up. I didn't ask. Then came one particular summer visit. I had my friend Shane with me, figured I'd let him tag along. We walked in, same routine.

She eyed Shane like she was analyzing his soul. I vouched for him and she relaxed. During our chit-chat, he mentioned wanting to see a new movie. Miss Coco lit up like a Christmas tree. I got that one. Got a whole stack of them bootlegs. She showed us a mountain of DVD. all labeled in Sharpie,

told us we could borrow whatever we wanted as long as we brought them back. We picked out three. Later that night, we tried watching one. Trash. Absolute garbage. You could hear the guy recording it whispering to his date the whole time. We laughed and popped in a different movie.

A few days later, I was heading to Salinas, so I figured I'd return the DVDs to Miss Coco. I called. No answer. Knocked. Nothing. Didn't want to bug her, so I slipped the DVDs between the storm door and the main door, out of sight, safe from the weather. Didn't think twice.

Later that night, my phone blew up. Call after call. Finally, I checked. Miss Coco. She never called me. When I finally picked up, her voice was like a thunderstorm. furious. Like, demonically angry. Screaming at me for leaving her DVDs outside.

You dumb-ass white boy. You don't know how shit works in the hood. Somebody could have seen you. Stolen my movies. She ranted for what felt like hours. I stayed calm. Said I was sorry. Explained they weren't really worth anything. That's when she shifted. Like, instantly. Voice went soft.

Sweet. She apologized. Said she was just stressed out. Then she told me her pills came early this month. Come on by, she said, like it was a casual dinner invite. I was high as a kite. Thought I hit the junkie jackpot. More pills.

Early. Let's go. I walked up to her place and saw. the DVDs were still sitting there. She opened the door before I even knocked. Grab those movies, bring M in, she said, voice tight. I did. Walked into the living room like always. Set the DVDs on a side table. But something was wrong. Felt off. The vibe was off. She stayed behind me, near the foyer. Started repeating what she'd said earlier on the phone. but calm now. Too calm. That's when it hit me. I wasn't here to pick up pills. I wasn't supposed to

leave this house. I knew she was standing right next to that shotgun. I knew I was between her and the door. I knew she could take me out and the neighborhood would probably believe whatever story she spun. Everything Selena had ever told me about her flashed through my head in a single heartbeat. So I ran. didn't look back, didn't hesitate, bolted out the back of the living room, sending a stack of shitty bootlegs flying, out the back door and into the night. Once I was in the street, my panic kind of melted. She wasn't going to catch me. I was long gone before she even figured out what happened. I never turned to see if she picked up the gun. I didn't want to know, but I knew. Every instinct in my body

screamed it. That was her moment. And I just barely avoided it. And that, my friends, is the story of how I almost got blasted by a diabetic grandma with a shotgun over the world's crappiest DVDs, makes you wonder what her husband did that set her off, huh? It's funny now. Sort of. But that moment? That moment stuck with me. Because it reminded me how close you can come to something final. One wrong move One bad judgment One old woman with a history and a weapon If you want more stories like this one, I got M.

But this one This is the one that made me change how I looked at everyone. Even the ones who seem harmless. The end. We met each other in Kiev last summer. B. left the U.S. at the beginning of 2022 to join the International Legion to fight against Russia. I came to Kiev in May 23 because I needed to clear my head after breaking up with my husband.

I, Vorford, German cheerful mood in anticipation of a positive event. I didn't know anyone in Kiev. Everything that connected me with that place was a bunch of keys to the apartment that once belonged to my grandmother. Constant air raid alerts in the city didn't terrify me. The necessity to live in the moment was rather exciting to me, I was seeking days without tomorrow. The first month there I spent exploring the city. I met a couple of new people and went on a few romantic dates. Local men weren't my cup of tea, so I quickly lost any interest in dating.

And then I met them. One day, I came to the rooftop terrace to read a book and found out, with great annoyance, that it was already occupied by a bunch of people having a party. Come join us, said the guy whom I'd met in the elevator a minute ago. Americans. I hesitated. My best guess was that the first guess was that the guy. they were some sort of sex tourists visiting a developing country during the war.

I felt a strong aversion to this assumption. However, my curiosity and temptation to subtly mock these guys finally outweighed my rationality, so I joined the party. At the very beginning, my assumption about sex tourism seemed reasonable. They constantly joke that a person should be considered single if their partner isn't around, and several of them repeatedly asked for my phone number. I joked that their wives back at home would probably disagree with that definition of a relationship, Soon, it became clear that I was wrong, they came to Kiev as volunteers to fight against

Russia. Some of them had already been there for quite a long time, while others had arrived just today. Hence, the party. I gifted my book to one of the older guys, he was quite well-spoken and educated, and expressed an interest in literature, and left the party before midnight. In the next couple of weeks, I chanced upon them from time to time, in the lobby, in the gym, or in the elevator. We would politely exchange common pleasantries and then part in different directions. One day I was introduced to be. He had moved to the same apartment complex a few days ago.

He was in his early 30s, quite young compared to the other guys. Very handsome. Very shy. I liked him at first sight. A few days later, I met him again. He was returning home from the gym, and I was heading to the laundry room to iron my bedsheets. Oh, bed sheets, he said with a smile, such a luxury. I don't have bed sheets yet.

Why? I asked him, barely concealing the surprise in my voice. Well, I have no time. I work a lot. How long have you been here? Almost 1.5 years. This place already feels like a second home. I am even considering staying here after the war is over.

I was surprised to hear that. This place feels alien to me, as I have been feeling. like a foreigner here, I explained. Yes, I speak Ukrainian. Yes, with an accent and sometimes with the help of a dictionary. Yes, it's not enough to feel at home here. Oh, where am I from? I live in the capital of a German-speaking country. Oh, you speak German too. What a surprise. You have a German mother. Oh, that's wonderful. Two, Mitfrud, German enjoyment derived from observing someone else's fortune or luck. As more time went by, my life started to shape up into something truly exhilarating. I had all my time to myself, I discovered several drama

theaters and music halls, yes, they are open even during wartime, and visited them almost daily. I had the freedom to paint whenever and wherever I wanted. In short, I was living the ultimate life of an art lover. The only piece missing in completing the puzzle of my life was an empty bed. One day, I invited me over because I needed help finishing a creative project of mine. I found myself stuck, endlessly rethinking the same details, so I sought the perspective of someone whose daily routine didn't involve creative work. A fresh, objective viewpoint was exactly what I needed. As our conversation unfolded, we delved into our personal lives.

I opened up about my divorce, explaining that my husband's infidelity was the trigger. I clarified that it wasn't about the other girl or the affair itself that tried to troubled me the most, it was his shameless lies and dishonesty that triggered the deepest aversion to him. So, in short, I left him because, above all, I cannot stand liars. I am not a moral compass for others, nor do I preach about morality to liars, I explained to him. Everyone is free to make their own choices, provided they are willing to accept and handle

the consequences that follow. B, spoke passionately about virtues and the importance of an honest life. He shared that his decision to come to Ukraine was driven by a desire to to use his experiences, pointing out the bullet-wound scars on his legs as proof that it was not his first war, to assist others in their fight for truth. He told me that he holds an unwavering belief in the inherent goodness of people. Yes, his faith in God was strong. Yes, he was from a deeply religious family.

My heart pained with pity for his virtues. Suddenly, Beatt stepped closer and gently touched my feet, claiming there was a spider on the floor. I knew it wasn't true, yet his touch brought an unexpected comfort. There was something about the way he touched me that I found reassuring. In that moment, I realized he could be the missing piece in the puzzle of my life. A few days later, I sent him a short message. My question went straight to the point, without any bewildering detours, I opened up about my desire to be in bed with him and asked whether he wanted me to.

Yes, he did want me. Yes, I could have him as soon as he was back in Kiev. He also asked me to say a prayer for him. He had a great body, and the scent of his skin was driving me crazy. We were lying in bed, kissing and casually chatting about everything under the sun. He shared gossip about one of his colleagues, whom I had apparently met, revealing a shocking truth, the man wasn't who everyone thought he was. According to B, that guy had a disturbing past of intimidating and threatening women.

The revelation was dissonant, especially since this man, in comparison to others, had seemed to embody high moral standards, often speaking fondly of his wife and daughter. Why haven't you inquired about my marital status? B, asked abruptly, catching me off guard. Is it because you sleep without bed sheets? Or because, despite being young, you chose to spend the last 1.5 years of your life here. So many reasons. If you had a significant other, you wouldn't be without bedsheets.

If you had someone, you wouldn't be here at all. You're young and attractive, but you're here, what's the reason behind all this? These questions raised through my mind, but I kept them to. myself. Feel free to share your marital status now, I replied with a smile, though I found the question somewhat redundant. I was married before coming here, but things fell apart, so now I'm divorced. And no, I don't have a girlfriend, he responded after a brief pause.

My initial thought was of surprise, wow, married. You don't strike me as the man who settles down young. You seem more like the eternal bachelor. I didn't voice my thoughts to be. He seemed keen to delve into the details of his divorce, but I made it clear that I wasn't in the mood to explore that topic any further. I wanted to see a smile on his face. Delving into discussions about past heartbreaks was not only unnecessary but also boring.

I wanted to see him happy. Seeing him happy made me happy. Three, Schadenfreude, German malicious enjoyment derived from observing someone else's misfortune. Part 1. Time had swiftly passed. I never asked B. about his past. I decided it should be his choice to disclose those details to me. And he did speak.

He talked about his German mother, who was always disappointed with him. Chicken and Waffles was his favorite food. He had played cello as a kid. His mother had taught him to love opera. He shared his struggles with sleepless nights, suffering from insomnia. He mentioned the farm with 14 horses back in the U.S. He revealed that he was the owner of a successful business, which he had sold four years ago, allowing him to buy a house and retire at 30.

Stop. Business? He neither looked nor sounded like a businessman. Perhaps, I had been missing an important piece of information. I asked him about his education. I studied English, was his reply. Like, English English. Yes, English English.

Do you mean English studies? Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Had he studied English, he would probably have had extensive knowledge of world literature, but the names like W. H. Auden, a British author, or Herman Melville, an American author, didn't ring a bell for him, I noted to myself. Perhaps, he's just a shame that he didn't attend college or university. After that moment, I started taking everything B had shared with me with a grain of salt. It was happening against my will, I wanted to trust him, but my intuition was screaming

that something was off. I tried to calm myself, reasoning that it was probably just my negative past experiences making me so suspicious. One day, I decided to find his ex-wife on Instagram because I started doubting his divorce story. Finding her was easy. Using his phone number, I found his home address back in the States, and through his home address, I discovered the name of that woman. I didn't notice anything suspicious on her profile.

There were no pictures of them together since January 2022. The wedding ring had evaporated from her finger around the same time. There were no mentions of him anywhere. I felt embarrassed. I was about to accuse an innocent person of being a liar. It was just my past that was weighing on me. I should remember that, I repeated like a mantra. I realized it was a huge mistake on my part to behave like one of those obsessive Internet

stalkers who don't trust a single word and spend an enormous amount of time monitoring the lives of others. Part 2, in early August, B shared with me the news of his grandfather's passing. He confided that despite knowing he should feel sad, the depth of emotion he expected just wasn't there. I'm afraid I feel nothing. It's been so long since I've truly felt anything, he admitted. It's like eating without savoring the taste. Still, I do my best to keep my mental struggles tightly contained. What a startling revelation. If you're numb to your own emotions, would you even feel remorse for deceiving others? I questioned myself. What if everything you've

shared with me was nothing but a brazen, bare-faced lie? Did your grandfather actually pass away, or is this merely a ploy for my sympathy? Is this all just an elaborate game of make-believe, designed to ensnare me in a never-ending cycle of doubt and compassion? I decided to wait another week before searching for an obituary online. I was unsure of his grandfather's name and residence, but I guessed they shared the same last name as B and that he lived nearby. Bingo! I found it quickly.

In the parentheses after B.S. name, the name of his supposed ex-wife appeared. It made me wonder, would an obituary tip of, typically include an ex-wife's name. I doubted that. Curious, I decided to check her Facebook page, something I hadn't done previously due to not having a Facebook account. That's when things took an interesting turn. Part 3. She lived on a farm with 14 horses. She lived in the house B called his home. She still had their wedding pictures on her page. I demanded an explanation from B. According to him, I had misunderstood everything because I hadn't given him a chance to elaborate on his divorce back then.

They were still in the process of divorcing each other, and it was complicated by other circumstances. But I remember it clearly. You didn't say that you were divorcing. You said you were a divorced man. Does she even know you're divorcing her, or does she spend her evenings in the U.S. alone, praying for you and waiting for you to come back home?

I confronted him angrily. You didn't listen to me or didn't hear it correctly. If you want, I can tell you the whole story from the very beginning. The whole story, or nothing. I don't want to go down that rabbit hole, but if it makes you feel better, I would do it for you. It hurts so much even to think about it, let alone speak about it, he replied. I didn't want to hear the story, I needed him to prove he wasn't a liar. You sound like a typical married man who cheats on his wife.

I don't want to hear the whole story. Why do you try to shift my focus from her feelings to your feelings? What's the point of you telling me about your pain? I don't want to know why you two are divorcing. I just need to know that you're not a liar. That's all I need to know. Do you have anything that could serve as proof of your words? Papers, documents, it was her idea to divorce.

Are you happy now? And yes, I do have all the documents. You'll have them when we see each other next time. You'll get both the papers and the whole fucking story. No, I wasn't happy. He was trying to make me feel guilty. Okay. I need to see them.

I do have trust issues after my divorce. My husband had been lying to me. However, I am not ready to label every person in my life as a liar. I want to keep my heart open. And I do want to trust you. I need to trust you. We can work on that, he reassured me. And I understand why you feel this way.

I've been in your shoes more than once. The summer had come to an end. September was dry and hot, and it still felt like summer. I never asked B to bring me the papers. I chose to trust him. It was only my past experience that was weighing on me and poisoning my life. Life is beautiful. I should trust people, I told myself.

Part 4. Indeed, life was beautiful, yet I found myself missing my home. With the approach of cold autumn days, the idea of staying in Kiev became less appealing. Going to theaters and concert halls daily had lost its charm and excitement. and the curfew from midnight to 5 a.m. How I hated the nights in Kiev. Furthermore, the constant wait for BS, returned from his work trips and meetings was exhausting. The permanent worry for his safety each time sapped my energy. So, I packed the suitcase and left Kiev.

I will be back in two, maybe three weeks, I told B. I was happy to be back home. My five months in Kiev seemed like a fever dream from here. Sirens, explosions, an orchestra playing a symphony, BS naked body, my cries of ecstasy, a book falling on the floor, more sirens, stars, my hand holding a cigarette, his sweaty body against mine, sirens, explosions, on repeat. It's starting to feel like I will never see you again, I wrote to him and sent a picture of the sunset on the lake.

Look, it's so beautiful here. You'll see me again sooner than you think. Maybe I'll just fly over to you, was his reply. That evening, I did it again, I opened her Instagram page. There was a photo of both of them, posted just two hours ago. Based on my limited understanding of architecture, I surmised that the photo was probably taken in Croatia not long ago. In the photo, B, looked the same way he did when I last saw him.

Family first, stated the caption. I didn't hesitate and asked B. whether a family vacation with an ex-wife should be considered a special military operation or a new training cycle. She calls you family, and you say it was her idea to divorce you. Where's the truth? Will you keep lying to me, or will you tell me the truth? I questioned. I told you the truth.

And you didn't listen when I wanted to elaborate. I am tired of you playing with me. Besides, it's an old photo, and you know it. And I said that it was complicated. I don't want to think about it, especially now, before going on another operation. When I think about it, I pray to God. God that I'll be shot dead." He replied angrily.

He was trying to make me feel guilty again, insisting that the photo was old, taken months ago. He even offered to send a current picture of his beard as proof. But that wasn't necessary. He didn't realize that I could envision, could draw every line, every contour of his face and body with my eyes closed. Every time I looked at him, my gaze imprinted what it saw. I loved looking at him. Nobody goes on vacation with a partner they're divorcing.

keeps wedding pictures with a partner they're divorcing. You have lied to me all this time, I stated, pointing out the obvious truths. Of course, you would think that, he replied. What else should I think? This only explains everything. Besides, you never brought me the papers I asked for. I didn't bring them because you never asked again. Send them over to me now, I demanded, determined to see some tangible evidence.

I won't send them here. This platform is not secure. I'll give them to you face to face when you're back in Kiev," he responded in a while. The holiday picture disappeared from CS page in the next hour. In two hours, her account became private. In the morning, it was deleted. It was quite obvious that he had talked to her. Part 5, I didn't feel any shame anymore.

I spent a couple of hours searching for and collecting information about him online. I didn't find any traces of a profitable business that he could have sold in the past. His father had been a businessman, though. B, had worked at his father's company as a sales manager for a couple of years. That was the only available piece of information about his career. No info on his alma mater, no college friends. The first house he had moved into shortly after his marriage in 2017 had been gifted to him by his parents.

The second house he had bought soon after his father's passing in 2018. B, his brothers, and their mother had inherited a couple of million U.S.D. in company shares. I hadn't found any information on the divorce proceedings. I'd found records of CS first divorce, but nothing seemed to be happening now. I took her phone number from her Facebook page and sent her a message. There must have been an explanation for all of this. No, they were not in the middle of the divorce process. She was now expecting their first child.

It was not the first time he had cheated on her, but in the past, she could easily catch him because they lived together, she explained. His father had died five years ago, and that grief, according to her, had also influenced his actions. Since he had always been genuinely repentant about his behavior, and since those affairs were mostly emotional, she forgave him every time. There were photos and videos, and emotional conversations between him and other women. Not that those relationships were platonic, it's just that they hadn't had sex, she wrote

to me. Did he tell you that, or the women? I asked her. I was stunned to hear what she had just said. I wanted to both scream and cry. Why has this woman with a beautiful smile and Rapunzel-like ginger hair given him so many second chances? Did you sleep together?

She continued. I told her the truth. C, told me that after she had posted that picture on Instagram, B, had immediately called her and asked to take the picture down. No, it would be better if you made the account private or even deleted it. You are endangering my safety, he had told her. I sent a screenshot of our conversation to be. He replied instantly.

Why did you just ruin my life? Why? I wasn't ruining yours. I hope you're happy now. I suddenly became the monster and he the victim. I wasn't doing anything. I was just verifying your words. Since you insisted it was her idea to divorce you, and you had papers to prove your words,

I decided it wouldn't hurt anyone if I asked her to send me the papers. You know, I needed a reason to come back to Kiev, I replied. Why did you just ruin my life? he repeated. I didn't ruin your life, I just believed that you're a good man, a man of virtue. Where will virtue make its nest now? I stung him with an allusion to, crime and punishment. He had once told me that he had read and enjoyed it. Was it also one of his lies? I am not a good man, but you have no right to judge me. I thought you are different. I thought you're special. But you know nothing. You don't know what real love is. You are weak and fragile.

You know nothing about people and their everyday struggles. Oh, today I will explore the architecture of this little church, then go to a live music concert, and read some poetry later in the evening. Who are you to judge me? You're empty. You ruined my life because you wanted to prove yourself right. It was all your vanity. You've never cared about me.

Now, because of you, I'll never see my child. I guess I can now forget about my life in the U.S. and my family. I won't return there. I will stay here until I die. I hope I die soon. I am a dead man now, and all of that, because of you, where should I bring my roses then? Which roses? Marquez. The Vendor of Miracles. The story I once recommended to you, part six, final, the virtuous warrior, the vendor of lies. My intuition didn't deceive me, I never saw him again, nor did I hear from him. I suppose his life remains much the same. likely, he continues to lie and play the eternal victim when it suits him, maybe with more

skilled than before. He likely has identified even more reasons to feel resentful and aggrieved by the world and his family. His wife, I assume, excused his actions once more and offered forgiveness. Chances are, she'll forever leave her wedding ring off, and he'll persist in his infidelity. Perhaps, in his future fables, his wife will transform into a younger sister, raising her only child alone, and he will become a loving brother, supporting his little sister. Oh, my heart pains with pity for his virtues.

And every time I pass through here I bring him an automobile load of roses and my heart pains with pity for his virtues, but then I put my ear to the plaque to hear him weeping in the ruins of the crumbling trunk, and if by chance he has died again, I bring him back to life once more. For the beauty of the punishment is that he will keep living in his tomb, as long as I'm alive, that is, forever. I, 28 female, and my boyfriend, 30 male, met at a party-frey. thrown by a famous actor that we are both friends with. It was a pool party on the 1st of July,

and we were both there. At first, we did not really see each other or were interested. After a few drinks, it got dark, and things started to get heated. Everyone was a little drunk and hansy with each other. I was in the hot tub with one of my friends when he came and joined us. After a little while of talking, he started to kiss me and grab me down there. I was shocked, but I did not stop him because I actually liked it. It was a while ago, you know. My friend left the hot tub to give us some space, and that's when it really got heated. We decided to have some privacy and go to the bathroom upstairs and lock the door. We had the most amazing sex, and after that, we started seeing each other more often.

We went on some romantic dates, and we even went to Thailand together for a few weeks. Once we came back home, we decided we wanted to meet each other's parents, so we scheduled that. First, I got to meet his amazing, sweet, and supportive parents and grandma. I stayed over for dinner and helped his grandma make the most amazing empanadas because he has Spanish roots. We had an amazing time, and my mother-in-law was already in her head planning the wedding. That just feels amazing if you have supportive in-laws, if you are so in love, and you know for sure that this man is the one. After a week, we took a flight to San Diego, where my parents live, so he could meet them. Once we arrived at the airport, our parents and my little sister picked us up with a huge

bouquet of red roses, they were beautiful. I wanted to grab the roses, but she did not let go and gave them to my boyfriend. I did not think much of it at the time, but looking back, it was probably where it all began. We stayed in San Diego for about four days and then got back to our hometown. Once we got back, he acted a little strange, he sometimes did not want to kiss me or touch me, and we did not have sex as much as we used to. I thought maybe he was just not feeling well, or maybe because he had so much stress at work, so I moved on from it.

A few weeks later, it was around Christmas, and both of our families came to us to celebrate Christmas and New Year's at our place. We had a huge house that I bought back in 2022, it had five bedrooms and four baths, so we had enough space to let them all stay with us. My mom was super nice to my boyfriend and was always in his presence. The night before Christmas, I woke up, and he was not next to me. I listened to see if I could hear him on the toilet or maybe in the kitchen or something. I did not hear anything, so I left it and went back to bed.

Christmas morning I woke up, and he was next to me again. I left it and woke him up so we could make breakfast for our family. We got out, had coffee, and started making breakfast. Once we were done, we decided to wake up our parents. He told me he would do it so I could get ready. Our parents were awake, and he came into our closet to get himself ready as well. I could not let the thing from the night go, and I asked him where he was because I woke up and could not find him. I think he was a little shocked because he turned all red and did not answer immediately.

He said he was in the bathroom downstairs because he had some stomach ache and did not want to wake me up. I did not say anything and chose to believe him. We then moved on and spent the day with our family and had a great time. One thing that really stood out to me and my little sister, is that our mom was super close with my boyfriend. for my sister to notice that really bothered me, so I asked him again if everything was all right and why he was always with my mom were disappearing with her. He told me that they were planning something, but he could not tell me about it because it was supposed to be a surprise.

The evening came, and we all had presents for each other. My mom had a present for my boyfriend, and you will never believe what it was. It was a bondage set. Like what? I was shocked, and so were my parents-in-law, my dad, and my sister. I laughed it off, and we went on with unwrapping presents. Later, we went to bed, and I asked if we were ever going to use that because it's kind of scary for me.

He said probably not, laughed, and said it was more like a joke that my mom got him this as a present because she did not know what else to give him. I said, okay, whatever, and went to sleep. That night I woke up again, and guess what? He was awake and had just come back to bed, and again he had stomach problems. I went back to sleep, kind of angry, but also. in denial, because it could never be true that he was doing something with my mom, there is no way. When I woke up, I went to the only bedroom that was not occupied those few days and saw that

the sheets were a little messy, not like I would put them. I then decided that I would set an alarm for the time that he was not in bed the last two nights to figure out where he really was at that time. It actually felt awful doing this because if I'm wrong, it would mess up my life, but if I'm right, it would mess up even more lives, including my dads and my sisters. The night came, and I set an alarm for around 2 a.m., that is when my boyfriend was gone both nights. He didn't even give me a good night kiss. It was really hard to get to sleep with all of these feelings, but I tried anyway.

My 2 a.m. alarm went off, and again, he was not in bed with me. I took my phone and put on the flashlight. I first looked everywhere on the second floor, but he was nowhere. Then I went downstairs, I looked in the bathroom where he said he was the last two nights, and he was not there. I looked in the kitchen and in the unoccupied bedroom, but still no one was there. I was so confused, then where was he? I went back upstairs and decided to check in the bedroom where my mom and dad were supposed to sleep. I checked with my little flashlight, but just my dad was in the bed, and unfortunately, I woke him up.

He asked me what was going on, and I told him that I could not find my boyfriend and that my mom was not in bed with him. My dad was so confused also, so he put on some clothes and started to search together with me. I talked to him and told him about my feelings and what I think might be going on. He did not say much because it could be, but I think he hoped this was not the case. We looked everywhere, we checked if the cars were still there, and they were. Then we thought maybe we should check out the pool and the hot tub. Once we opened the door to the patio where the hot tub is, we heard it, we heard the hot tub running. Our heart started pounding.

We looked around the corner because we did not want to be seen, and there they were. They were moaning and using the bondage set that my boyfriend got for my mom for Christmas. We went back inside, and my dad and I did not know what to do. But we said we need to do something. Do we do it now, or do we confront them later? We decided to do it now. We went up, and it was awful to see them doing what they did. My mom and my boyfriend, whom I was so in love with.

Writing this story, I still can't believe it. We confronted them, and they just kept going, and they really did not care. They said they were caught anyway, why would they stop? They kept aggressively moaning and stealing the show. It was awful. That same night, I packed his stuff, and so did my dad. It was devastating to see him like that. I told my dad that he and my sister could stay with us for the time being.

The next morning, we waited downstairs for them. We told my sister, who is just 18 years old, what had happened and what was going to happen. He was scared and in tears about the situation. My ex-parents-in-law came downstairs, and shortly after that, my mom and ex-boyfriend followed. Their stuff was in the hallway, and I gave him the keys to our car so he could take them. I said it in front of his parents, and they were shocked. But, like I thought, he could not care less. He and my mom told us that they were so passionately in love and had the best sex ever, and

they wanted to get married and have children. Hearing that was the last straw, and I just completely broke down and screamed. dreamed that they had to leave. My ex-parents-in-law didn't know what to say because it did not feel real. We talked for a little bit and decided they had to stand with their son because, like they said, it was the best thing to do. They went, and my father, sister, and I stayed in my home, just processing it all. My dad then got the divorce papers two weeks later, signed them, and sent them on their way to the

court. It got settled really quickly. Then we did not hear much from them over the last few months, but just one week ago, received an invitation to their wedding. Yes, their wedding. I can't believe they're pulling this through. What should we do? Go to their wedding or not? What would you do?