Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Children of the House Next Door The Disturbing Case of the Rowles Part1 #59

Episode Date: September 15, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #hauntedchildren #neighborhorrors #paranormalkids #disturbingencounters #unsettlingmystery  Part 1 of the unsettling Rowles case introduces us to a quiet neighborhood shaken by the eerie presence of the children living next door. At first, they seem like any ordinary kids… but strange behavior, emotionless stares, and chilling nighttime activity quickly raise red flags. As the narrator starts to piece together the odd happenings surrounding the Rowles family, a disturbing pattern emerges — one that suggests the children may not be entirely human. This isn’t just a tale of bad neighbors… it’s a doorway into something much darker.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,hauntedchildren, creepyneighbors, cursedhouse, childghosts, unnervingencounters,weirdkidsnextdoor, supernaturalmystery, horrorintheneighborhood, part1thriller, darkfamilysecrets, disturbingpresence, hauntedblock, suburbanhorror, unexplainedbehavior

In the early hours of April 28, 2003, three kids did something that could have come straight out of a superhero movie. There was 14-year-old Daryl, 10-year-old Tyler, and 8-year-old Jesse. These three weren't pretending to be heroes, they had to be. Daryl, the oldest, carefully dug his fingers under the old rusty nails that kept a window shut. He pulled them out one by one, trying not to make a sound. When the last one came loose, he pushed the window up, climbed out onto the porch roof, and whispered to the other two to follow him. Jesse, being the youngest and smallest, needed help. Daryl hoisted him onto his back and together, gripping a shaky pipe that ran along the side of the

house, they started their descent. But halfway down, the pipe gave out. It broke clean off the wall, and both boys crashed onto the ground, landing hard, Daryl on top. of Jesse. For a terrifying few seconds, Jesse didn't move. He just lay there, not breathing. Darrell panicked. He thought he'd killed his little brother. He started shaking him, screaming quietly. Then, finally, Jesse gasped, blinked, and sat up. He was okay. Before Darrell could even sigh in relief, Tyler just leapt down after them. No hesitation. In the fall, he broke his ankle. But there was no time to cry.

No time to stop. They'd made so much noise, pipes breaking, kids falling, hushed yelps of pain. They had to get out of there, now. Adrenaline took over, and the three of them, despite the pain, the cold, the exhaustion, ran into the night. Down the street they ran, barefoot and shivering. It didn't matter that they were hungry, that their bodies ached, that Tyler was limping with every step. They kept going until they found a big trash dumpster.

They climbed in, desperate, and dug through the filth until they found something, anything, they could eat. Didn't matter what it was or how bad it smelled. They were starving. Their hands trembled as they shoved scraps of half-rodded food into their mouths. They were broken, bruised, filthy, and half-naked. By 5 a.m., drivers passing through East Avenue near Indian Trail in Ohio spotted them. Three pale, skinny kids covered in cuts and dirt, digging in the trash like wild animals. One woman pulled over, pulled out her phone, and called the cops.

Soon, multiple patrol cars were on their way. But the kids? They weren't relieved when they saw flashing lights. They were terrified. Police meant danger. So they ran again. The first car couldn't catch them, but the second one did. The officers surrounded the kids, boxed them in. And eventually, the fear in the kid's eyes turned into tears.

The dam broke. They couldn't hold it in anymore. And what they told the officers was something that would shake the country by sunrise. Their mom and her partner were trying to kill them. Let's rewind. Mary Rolls was born in 1972 in Ohio. There's not a lot out there about her early life, but what little we do know paints a picture of a mostly normal childhood.

She was raised by her mom and stepdad. Had three siblings. Was a decent student. Quiet, nothing flashy. Just a regular kid. Not popular, not hated. Average. But everything flipped upside down when she turned 15.

Her stepdad, the man she loved like a real father, died. And when he died, something inside her cracked. He'd been her rock, her anchor. And without him, she spiraled. She became depressed. Shut down. Started hanging out with the wrong crowd. Fell into drugs, booze, all of it.

Lost herself. By 16, she was pregnant. She wasn't ready. Not even close. But she decided to keep the baby. She gave birth to Daryl and for a little while, it seemed like maybe, just maybe, she'd turn things around. Some people said she actually tried. She seemed to care.

She wanted to be a good mom. At 17, she dropped out of high school and focused on her baby. Her own mom, her brothers, they helped her. And when they were around, Mary was attentive, gentle, loving. But when she was alone, that's when things got dangerous. For starters, when she got tired of breastfeeding, instead of switching to baby formula like any sane person would, she started giving newborn Darrell Cow's milk. That's right. A tiny newborn being fed dairy like a calf. Then there was her temper. If the baby cried too long, if she got overwhelmed,

she'd grab him and shake him violently. Sometimes she'd even lift him by his feet, holding him upside down. People saw this, friends, neighbors, family. And they reported it. They called child services, told them everything. But child services didn't do a damn thing. No follow-up, no home visit. no warning. Just silence. So Mary kept going. She eventually discovered something else,

having kids meant more money, more government help, more benefits. And Mary figured out real quick that the more babies she popped out, the more checks she'd get. Over the next several years, she had five more kids, each with a different father. Danny, Marissa, Tyler, Jesse, and finally little Caleb. At first, it wasn't totally chaotic. The three oldest, Darrell, Danny, and Marissa, ended up living mostly with their dads. Monday to Friday with Dad, weekends with Mary. But the three youngest, Tyler, Jesse, and Caleb, they stayed with her full-time.

And that's when things started really going downhill. Weekends were madness. All six kids under one roof. Boys everywhere, screaming, chaos, animals running around, Mary had a dog and two cats. It was a zoo. But for a while, it was a happy kind of chaos. Messy, loud, but full of laughter and snacks and cartoons. A big, wild, slightly dysfunctional family.

Then, in 1996, Mary met someone who would change everything, for the worse. She went out one night to a local club, and that's where she met Alice Jenkins. Sparks flew. There was this immediate, electric connection. Alice was three years younger, bold, confident, and, on the surface, seemed like she had her act together. She came from a stable family, the youngest of five kids, with two loving parents. No drama, no trauma.

Alice had a strong personality. She was a take-charge kind of woman. Finished high school, worked in an auto repair shop, had savings, a steady job, a good head on her shoulders. So when she met Mary, she jumped in with both feet. A week later, they were living together. Alice moved into Mary's place, with all the kids, the pets, the madness. At first, it was sweet. Everyone thought it was a fairy tale.

The kids loved Alice. She helped around the house, brought in money, fixed things, organized chaos. It really looked like things might finally settle down. But good things don't last long in stories like this. It started with little things. Alice didn't like how loud the kids were. Or how messy. Or how much attention Mary gave them.

Slowly, she started isolating Mary, pulling her away from family, from friends. Then came the punishments. Harsh words, screaming matches, pushing the kids around. The loving environment vanished. Mary changed too. Maybe it was to please Alice. Maybe it was fear. But she got cruel.

Cold. She stopped feeding the kids properly. Started locking the fridge at night. Sometimes they'd go a full day with nothing but stale bread. Caleb, the youngest, was often left in a soiled diaper for hours. The house got dirtier, darker. And then, the Rayall abuse started. We're talking about beatings, burning the kids with cigarettes, forcing them to stand for

hours in freezing rooms. Tyler once told a teacher that he wasn't allowed to sleep in a bed, just the floor. Jesse had bruises all over his arms and legs. Caleb cried all the time. But again, child services barely lifted a finger. There were reports. Calls. But not enough action.

And the kids? They were scared to speak. Scared that if they told the truth, things would get worse. Daryl, the oldest, started plotting their escape. He waited. He watched. He checked every window, every door. And when the time was right, he made his move. That night, after everything, the fall, the dumpster, the cops, when the kids told their story, the news exploded. Headlines screamed, children escape house of horrors, and, mother, partner

accused of torture. Police raided the house the next day. What they found inside was beyond disturbing. Rotten food, urine-soaked mattresses, padlocks on the fridge, duct tape in the bathroom, and chains, actual metal chains. Mary and Alice were arrested on the spot. During the trial, neighbors testified. Teachers. Social workers. Everyone had seen something, but no one had seen everything. The court pieced it together from the children's words, the bruises, the photos, the nightmares. Mary sat through it all, sometimes crying, sometimes looking dead inside. Alice? She didn't shed a tear. In the end, justice caught up to them. Both women were convicted of multiple counts of child abuse, neglect, and false imprisonment. Mary got 40 years. Alice got 55. And the kids? They were separated into different foster homes. Some were adopted. Some eventually reunited. They all carried the scars, inside and out. But they survived. They fought back. And they made it out. To be continued.