Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Darkest Tales: Extended Horror Stories

Episode Date: January 25, 2026

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #nightmares #hauntingtales #darkfiction #extendedhorror This collection of extended horror stories plunges into darkness, blending chilling paranormal events, suspenseful mysteries, and terrifying human behavior. Each story builds slowly, drawing readers and listeners into a world where fear is constant, and the unknown lurks around every corner—perfect for marathon horror sessions horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, hauntedstories, nightmarystories, darktales, terrorcompilation, paranormalencounters, spookynarratives, creepyfiction, frighteningstories, horrorlongplay, supernaturalhorrorstories, psychologicalhorror, eeriehours, allnightterror, suspensefultalesThis episode includes AI-generated content.

Follow the adventures of Sir Duncan the Toll and his unlikely squire Egg as they travel across the realm battling to make a name for themselves. In the exciting new Game of Thrones series, A Night of the Seven Kingdoms on Now. Starring Peter Claffey and Dexter Saul, and based on the novellas by George Or Orr Martin. Stream it weekly. Enjoy this and more for only $4.99 a month for six months with now. 18 plus new Now Entertainment, Cinema, Boost Customers Only, six-month minimum term. Standard pricing after six months. Further terms apply. One, the night shift from hell, so, a little while back, I landed a job at this tiny hospital just outside of town.

Honestly, I was over the moon about it. It was my very first real job offer since graduating, and even though it was technically just casual work, I didn't care. I was thrilled. The pay was good, better than most places around here, and to top it off, it was the same hospital where I'd done most of my training. It felt familiar, kind of safe, like stepping into a pair of shoes you already broke in. Most of the time, I pulled 12-hour shifts, starting at 7 in the morning and finishing up by 7 at

night. But occasionally, they'd put me on the late shift, 3 p.m. to 11 p.m., which I wasn't a huge fan of. Not because of the work itself, but because by the time I clocked out and hit the road, it was a long drive back home in the dark. I had done late shifts before in other jobs, but they were closer to where I lived. This one felt different. Longer. Heavyer.

Maybe because of what eventually happened. Anyway, the staff was pretty small. Just four nurses, one admin person, me, and the emergency dock. That was it. So yeah, pretty tight-knit, but also kind of vulnerable if something weird went down. And let me tell you, working in a hospital that size. You see stuff. Wild stuff.

People don't always make it into the city for emergencies, so we got everything from car crash victims to people straight up carrying and injured animals because the closest vet was closed. But nothing, nothing, prepared me for what happened that one night. It was around 10 p.m., and I was near the end of my shift. I was sitting at the front desk, chatting with one of the other nurses, kind of lazily going over a patient chart. Truthfully, I was mostly just counting down the minutes until 11 so I could get the hell out of there.

The hospital was quiet. Dead quiet. We only had six patients that night, and things were winding down. Then I heard it, a weird noise coming from near the entrance. It wasn't super loud, but it was enough to snap me out of my days. I looked up and saw a guy coming toward us. Nothing immediately alarming about him at first glance. He looked like your average dude, maybe mid-30s, but there was something off.

He was wearing this long, heavy coat, odd as hell, considering it was the middle of summer and even at night, it was hot and sticky outside. Like, sweltering. The nurse sitting next to me let out this annoyed sigh and got up to go to the bathroom, leaving me alone to deal with the guy. Of course. As he got closer, the noise got louder. It sounded like, scraping. Like metal being dragged across the tile floor. And I noticed something catched the overhead light behind him.

My heart started thumping. He was dragging something behind him, something big, but it wasn't immediately clear what it was. All I could tell was, it was metal, and it didn't sound friendly. He finally reached the desk. That's when I got a good look at his face. He looked rough. Pale, wide-eyed, with pupils way too dilated. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

I'd seen that look before, plenty of times, actually, and it usually meant one thing, drugs. Hardcore stuff. The kind that makes people twitchy and unpredictable. He leaned over the desk, running his fingers through his greasy hair and grinding his teeth like he was chewing on concrete. Classic signs. We get people like this now and then, folks looking to scam their way into a prescription. Migraines, fibromyalgia, whatever you couldn't easily disprove on the spot. I kept my cool and started processing him like I would anyone else, but I could tell he was getting more and more agitated as the minutes ticked by. Once I had his info down, I pointed him toward

the waiting area, which is this little room between the ER and the front desk. Then he asked how long it'd be. I explained the doctor was on a quick break and would probably be back in about 30 minutes. That was the trigger. His whole face twisted in an instant, just pure fury. He didn't say anything, just stormed off toward the waiting area like a thundercloud in human form. As he turned, I finally got a good look at what he was dragging behind him. It was an axe.

An actual, full-on, big-ass axe. I froze. Like, legit froze. My blood turned to ice. My instincts screamed at me to call a code over the PA system, but I hesitated. If he knew we were onto him, things could escalate fast. So I grabbed my phone under the desk and quietly called the police. Then I bolted down the hall and flagged down the other nurses.

We huddled together, whispering like scared kids, trying to figure out what the hell to do. The nearest police station was two towns over, at least a 20-minute wait. We were four small women and this guy was tall, muscular, and clearly not in his right mind. There was no way we could take him. Back at the desk, I tried paging the doctor, hoping he'd call me back or something. Nothing. No response. Meanwhile, the guy was getting more and more worked up.

He started pacing, yelling for help, repeat. repeating it like some twisted mantra. That's when we came up with a plan. The waiting area had reinforced glass and thick doors. If we could just get him sealed inside, we could probably keep him contained until help arrived. Somehow, we pulled it off, slammed the door shut and locked it while he was still inside. For a few seconds, it was quiet. Then he realized what we'd done. He lost it. Screaming, smashing chairs against the wall, throwing anything he could get his hands on. Then came the worst part, he started hacking at the door with the axe. And it was working. Chunks of the door were coming off. We could see it.

We could hear it. Every strike sounded like a countdown to something awful. We all stood frozen at the front desk, watching, trembling. I've never been that scared in my life. Seriously, I could feel the panic bubbling up in my throat like I was gonna throw up. This dude was going to break through, and when he did. That's when the dock came back. He strolled in from the front entrance like nothing was wrong, sipping on a freaking iced coffee, and stopped dead when he saw us all cowering. Immediately, he kicked into gear. We told him everything in about 30 seconds flat. Without hesitation, he vanished down the hall toward the back entrance, where the EMTs used to come in. Next thing we know, he's sneaking up behind the guy, unlocking the door on the

other side of the waiting room. The man didn't even see him coming. The doc tackled him like a linebacker, knocking the axe out of his hand. He whipped out some cable ties from his back pocket, EMTs always have the good gear, and restrained the guy's wrists behind his back. Then he just sat on him until the cops arrived. I was stunned. We all were. That man saved our lives. After that night, I was done with late shifts. That was the second bad incident I'd had working 3 to 11, and I wasn't going to risk a third. I switched to a Monday to Friday 9 to 5 schedule and never looked back. I even started buying the dock coffee every time our shifts overlapped, but honestly,

no amount of caffeine is ever going to cover the dead I feel for what he did that night. To be continued. I knew something was seriously off the moment I heard her. She wasn't just mumbling like she had in the past. This time, my roommate, Jane, was yelling. Not screaming in fear, but calling someone's name over and over like she was drowning and reaching for the last branch sticking out of a cliff. Jesse! Jesse, help me!

I need help, that snapped me out of my half-sleep. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and tried to my time. talking to her, but it was like I wasn't even there. She just kept calling out for Jesse louder and louder. Now, Jesse wasn't some random name. Jesse was the night nurse. A real person. So I did the only thing that made sense, I got out of bed and went to find her. When we came back, Jane was losing it. Crying, thrashing, trying to get out of her bed like her skin was on fire. Jesse rushed to calm her down. I just stood there, stunned, heart-pounding in my ears. Eventually, someone gave me another sedative and I knocked back out. Next morning, I woke up groggy.

Jane was gone. Not only that, but the little table that had been next to her bed was now shoved in front of the bathroom curtain. No doors in the psych ward, of course. Too many self-harm risks. But when I pulled the curtain aside to pee, the entire roll of toilet paper had been dunked in the toilet. Just floating there like a drowned jellyfish. I wasn't about to get blamed for flooding anything. I'd already done that once on my first day, not knowing the flush strength here could rival Niagara Falls. So I went to find a nurse. When I stepped out onto the floor, two things hit me.

One, there was a medical assistant just standing near the entrance like a statue. Two, Jane was standing there too. Just, watching. The entrance only opens if someone on the inside buzzes it, so seeing her planted there, unmoving, gave me serious horror movie vibes. Later, another patient with insomnia clued me in. Apparently, Jane had dawned totally off the rails the night before, sprinting down hallways, flipping furniture like she was possessed. Security had to come down.

They eventually talked her down, but then she just parked herself in front of that door like some kind of sentinel. Four hours straight. I tried to go on with my day. Eight breakfast. Did some painting. Tried to pretend everything was normal. But when I looked up, Jane was there. Outside the art room.

Watching me through the window. She made eye contact. Then looked away. but didn't move. Twenty minutes went by. That was it for me. I got up, acted like I was grabbing something from my room, and bounced straight back out into the hallway. I told one of the assistants that I probably sounded paranoid, but...

I thought my roommate was following me. She was kind. Let me sit by her at the front desk. I tried distracting myself by calling my insurance company about a random billing question. Then Jane walked up. Two big plastic bins in her hands. Not just hers, mine too. My stuff. My pillowcase filled with my clothes. My iPad. What the hell? I started panicking. Like, heart in my throat, spiraling into a full anxiety attack. The nurses were just as stunned. They hadn't seen anything like it. I'm on the floor sobbing when you're when someone kneels down beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulder, whispering that everything's going to be okay. I assumed it was a nurse. It wasn't.

It was Jane. I freaked out all over again. Told her to stop touching me, told the nurses I wanted her as far for me as possible. They moved me into a private room while they sorted everything. They said Jane was getting transferred to the involuntary ward upstairs later that day. Until then, I couldn't return to my room. And still, she was just standing there. By the back door now, the one that led to the stairwell down to the garden.

It was locked, of course. But she just stood there. Motionless. Watching. Four hours. Even when I ignored her, she tracked my movements like I was prey. By early evening, my husband came to visit. We were playing cards in the cafeteria with another patient.

The windows there faced the hallway where Jane was still posted. I'm convinced she picked that spot on purpose, just so she could keep her eyes on me. Around 6.30 or 7, our psychiatrist showed up with two security guards. I saw them talking to her through the glass. Calm at first. Then Jane started to unravel again. Refused to move. One guard gently took her arm, and she exploded.

Screaming. Banging on the glass. Looking straight at me and yelling for me to help her. They dragged her out, kicking and screaming. And just like that, she was gone. The new roommate they assigned me after that. Also named Jane. But this one was kind.

Just detoxing for medication. Completely different vibe. My psychiatrist reassured me that my reaction was completely valid. Slowly, I started to feel safe again. Until the garden incident. The garden was the only breath of fresh air we got in that place. Literally. You only got 30 minutes a day, so I never missed it.

But that day, guess who was down there? Old Jane. The first Jane. I felt a cold wave rush through me. I asked a supervisor if I could stick close to them while we were out there. They said, sure, no problem. Jane didn't come near me. She didn't say anything.

But she watched. Always watched. After we went back inside, I tried to peel off from the group so I wouldn't end up near her again. Didn't work. She beeline right for me. Like some kind of missile with dead eyes. They had to restrain her. again. That was the last time I saw her. I think even the staff realized it was dangerous to have us

in the same building. Something about me must have triggered her. And honestly, I still wonder what would have happened if they hadn't pulled her out when they did. Now that stories burned in my adult memory, but there's another one I only know because my mom told me about it years later, when I was old enough to understand how close I came to disappearing from the face of the earth before I even knew how to walk. I was just a few weeks old when it happened. Back then, after a baby was born and sent home, the hospital would send midwives to do regular check-ins,

see how the baby was doing, help out the mom, basic follow-ups. So when someone knocked on our door that day, my mom didn't think anything of it at first. We lived in a quiet little community. Low crime, tight-knit, the kind of place where people didn't even lock their doors during the day. It was the middle of the afternoon. My dad was at work.

My mom had just put me down for a nap. At the door, a man and a woman. Both dressed in hospital uniforms, complete with security badges. They looked completely professional. They smiled. Said they were from the hospital. Said they were there for the check-up. They even knew my mom's name.

New I was a girl. knew just enough to seem legit. So, she let them in. Once inside, the man said he needed to check on me upstairs while the woman stayed and talked to my mom downstairs. That was the first red flag. My mom said something didn't feel right. Why separate them? Every other time, both midwives had stayed in the same room.

She told them that other nurses had already come that week, and she hadn't been notified about any additional visit. She also said she was going to call the hospital just to confirm. That's when their demeanor changed. They got defensive. A little too insistent that she shouldn't worry. Said it must be a scheduling mistake, and started trying to convince her to just go along with it. She wasn't buying it. Then she mentioned that my dad would be home any minute, and that he wouldn't be happy to find

unannounced visitors in the house. That shut them up real quick. Suddenly they were calm again. Smiling. Saying it must be a mix-up. No harm done. They turned to leave. But here's where it gets really creepy.

When my mom opened the front door for them to go, there was a third person, already waiting in a car, engine running. Like they were ready to bolt the second things went south. My mom locked the door the moment they were gone. Then called the hospital. They confirmed it. No scheduled visits. No male midwives on staff.

No way would they ever ask to separate a mother from her baby. They told her to call the police. So she did. My dad rushed home. The police came. My mom gave descriptions of both people. But nothing ever came of it. No arrests.

No leads. Just a horrifying mystery. that still haunts her to this day. Who were they? How did they know her name? How did they know I existed? Only logical answer, someone was watching the house. New my dad's schedule.

New when the real nurses had come. New just enough to impersonate medical staff and almost get away with it. Thank God my mom trusted her instincts. We don't know what their plan was. But I wasn't the only baby born in the area around that time. That thought, that maybe they tried this with someone else, still gives me chills. There's always a reason to be afraid. The end. The incident you're asking about is certainly a strange and eerie chapter in Spanish history, one that captivated the entire country back in

1934. It's one of those stories that seems almost too surreal to be true, yet so many details about it are etched in the annals of Zaragoza's folklore. The series of events that took place in that building on Gaskin de Gauter Street remained shrouded in mystery, a reminder of how deeply the unknown can capture our imaginations. It all began in the early hours of September 23rd, 1934, when residents of a quiet and upscale neighborhood in Zaragoza were jolted awake by a strange, haunting laughter. It was 6.30 in the morning when the noise first broke out, echoing through the building, waking up six families who lived there. This wasn't just any laughter, it was something unearthly, like the kind of sound you'd expect from a demonic entity rather than a human

being. The laughter was chilling, persistent, and impossible to trace. Nobody knew where it came from. At first, the residents thought it was a prank, a neighbor playing a cruel joke. But as the minutes passed, it became clear that this was no ordinary laughter. It was almost as if someone, or something, was deliberately causing terror. The neighbors, who were all well-to-do families the custom to peace and quiet, gathered in the hallway, trying to figure out what was going on. There was no sign of an intruder, no apparent source to the sound. Eventually, the noise faded, and the residents tried to dismiss it as a figment of their collective

imagination. But that wasn't the end of it. Over the following weeks, the laughter didn't stop. It would appear again, and again, each time more unsettling than the last. Then came November 20, 1934, a date that would mark the beginning of a bizarre and terror and terror in the history of the building on Gaskind de Gauder Street. Pasquale Alcer, a 16-year-old maid working for the Grigalba family, had just finished her chores that morning. It was a routine day for Pasqual, as she made her way into the kitchen to

prepare breakfast for the family. As she approached the stove, trying to light the fire, she heard something strange. It was a faint, almost imperceptible moan coming from the stove. At first, Pasquale thought it was just the sound of the embers shifting. But then, it happened to Again, only this time, it was a voice. A voice that seemed to come from nowhere, echoing in the room. Maria, Maria, the voice said. It was a voice like no other. Deep, hollow, and terrifying.

Pasquale, understandably, froze in shock. She didn't know what to think. She thought it might be a trick of her mind, a hallucination brought on by tiredness. But then the voice came again, more insistent this time, saying, Maria, Maria, what are you doing? couldn't handle it. Her fear took over, and she ran out of the kitchen and straight to the home of her neighbor, Dona Isabel, on the second floor. Hasqual knocked on the door in a panic, explaining what had happened. Dona Isabel, though concerned, agreed to go with her to investigate. Together, they entered the dark kitchen, and just as they stepped in, the voice spoke once more.

I can see you, Maria, I can see you, the two women screamed in unison, and within moments, the entire Grigalba household was awake, with everyone in a frenzy truce. trying to understand what was going on. Pasquale was still trembling, unable to fully process what she had just experienced. She explained that this wasn't the first time she had heard the voice, that it had been happening for weeks. But no one believed her. They thought she was just imagining things.

The head of the household, Don Antonio Grigalba, decided to take matters into his own hands. He was skeptical, believing that Pasquale's claims were simply the result of an overactive imagination. when he tried to investigate the stove himself, he too heard the voice. Maria, Maria, it said again. This was no longer something they could ignore. Pasquale's employer, Don Antonio, immediately called in a local architect and a team of workers to inspect the building. They carefully examined the kitchen and the chimney flew, looking for any explanation for the strange noises. They found nothing unusual. So, they turned to the authorities. When the police arrived, they were just as baffled.

The first officer to arrive dismissed the entire affair as nothing more than hysteria, but when he too heard the voice, his skepticism began to waver. Despite numerous investigations, including a complete search of the building, no one could find any source for the mysterious voice. The police were stumped. There were no hidden speakers, no wires, nothing that could explain how the voice was being heard. The authorities tried everything they could think of, they even went as far as to tear up the floors, searched the walls,

and check every single pipe and wire in the building, but nothing worked. The voice continued to appear, often in the presence of Pasqual, and it interacted with the family, particularly with Little Arturo, the young son of the Krijalba family. At this point, the police began to suspect that Pasqual might be faking the whole thing. They even went so far as to suggest that she was suffering from a form of involuntary ventriloquism or hysteria. This theory was heavily circulated by the media, who, of course, were all too eager to report

on the bizarre events unfolding in the heart of Zaragoza. Pasquale's reputation was destroyed, and she lost her job with the Grigalba family. She returned to her hometown, hoping to escape the chaos, but the voice followed her. No matter where she went, the voice continued to speak. The voice, however, didn't sound like Pasquale at all. While Pasquale's voice was soft and gentle, the mysterious voice that came from the stove was deep, guttural, and ominous. The police tried to continue their investigation, but they couldn't.

make any sense of the situation. The voice seemed to taunt them, offering cryptic messages, and in some cases, mocking them for their inability to solve the mystery. As days passed, rumors spread like wildfire. People from all over Zaragoza flocked to the building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious voice. The police were forced to barricade the building, preventing curious onlookers from getting too close. But even with the building under lockdown, the voice persisted. It even began to speak in riddles, responding to questions from the curious and mocking the authorities who were trying to solve the mystery. It seemed as if no matter what they did, the voice could not be silenced.

The media coverage was relentless. Every newspaper in Zaragoza, and soon across Spain, ran daily updates about the mysterious happenings. Reporters camped out in front of the building, desperately trying to get the latest scoop on the ghostly happenings. Even foreign newspapers, like the Times in England, picked up the story, intrigued by the bizarre mystery unfolding in the small Spanish town. Meanwhile, as the story gained more traction, some individuals began to exploit the phenomenon for personal gain. Entrepreneurs began selling dwindé merchandise, everything from radios to flour, all branded with the infamous ghostly figure.

But the most unsettling part of this whole saga was the number of people who claimed to be the voice of the dwindae. Thousands of letters flooded the local authorities, with people all over the country and even abroad claiming that they were the one behind the mysterious voice. In the midst of all this, a famous Spanish medium named Assuncione Jimenez-Alvarez decided to conduct a seance to try and make contact with the dwindé. She set up her altar in a nearby house, hoping to reach the spirit behind the voice. But tragically, as she entered a trance during the session, she collapsed and died from

a sudden medical condition. Her death only added to the already overwhelming sense of mystery and fear surrounding the case. The situation grew so chaotic that the civil governor of Zaragoza eventually intervened, urging the media to cease reporting on the case. The government ordered a media blackout, and the journalists were told to stop covering the story. Slowly, the excitement began to die down. The press moved on to other stories, and the case of the Dwenday was, for all intents and purposes, closed. But some still believed in the mystery. Some said that the last time the voice was heard was on December 3rd, 1934, when it ominously declared, I will kill all the inhabitants of this house,

cowards. But no one died, and the voice faded into silence. Eventually, the building was demolished to put an end to the spectacle, and in its place, a new building was erected, which became known as L. Edificio Duende, the Duende building. After the Spanish Civil War broke out in 1936, the case was almost completely forgotten. All records, photographs, and files relating to the event mysteriously disappeared. However, some rumors suggest that in the years following the war, a photograph was leaked, showing the building just before its demolition. The image purportedly depicts the ghostly figure at many believed was responsible for the haunting voice. So, what do you think? Is this a case of mass hysteria, or is there something more to it? Could the photo be real? It's a mystery that remains unsolved,

and perhaps that's the way it's meant to stay. The case of the dwindae is just one of those stories that keeps people guessing, each person coming to their own conclusions based on the strange and eerie details. It was chaos. People tried climbing through windows, forcing their way into the building, desperate to get inside. Outside, the block's entrance swarmed with journalists hungry for the latest scoop. Everyone wanted to know, what had the voice said. To whom? When? How? Welcome to my terrifying library, where today's story will send chills down your spine. This tale took root during a tense historical moment, two years before the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. By this time, tensions in Spain were boiling over. Between October 5th and 19th,

1934, the country witnessed the revolutionary uprising known as the Asturian strike. The air was thick with unrest, and amidst the turmoil, a bizarre event grabbed the media's attention. It wasn't about politics or money, it was something far darker, almost unbelievable. Everything started at 6.30 a.m. on September 23rd, 1934, at number two, Gaskin de Gauter Street in Zaragoza, Spain. The area was posh, home to well-off families who didn't expect trouble. But that morning, a sinister laughter echoed through the building, waking all six families. The laughter was unnerving, not joyous or playful, but malicious, as if something vile was about to happen. It echoed through every corner, with no clear origin.

Residents spilled out of their apartments in confusion. Was it a prank? A bored neighbor? Nobody could figure it out. The laughter eventually stopped, and everyone reluctantly returned to bed, brushing it off as a weird incident. Weeks passed, and life carried on as usual, until November 20th, when the strange occurrences escalated. A new horror emerges. Pasquala Alcer, a 16-year-old housemaid working for the Grigalba family on the second floor, started her day like any other. It was early morning, and she was preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

As she leaned down to ignite the stove, she heard a faint, strange noise. It sounded distant, almost like a soft whimper. She paused, listened, then dismissed it as her imagination. But as she tried again, a chilling voice emerged, You're hurting me, startled, Pasquala jumped back in shock. What was that? She convinced herself it had to be her imagination, but then the voice let out a maniacal laugh, low, duttle, and terrifying.

Terrified, she dropped everything and ran to the neighboring apartment of Donna Isabel. Shaking, she begged the older woman to come to the Grigalb. Kitchen to see for herself. Isabel, although skeptical, agreed to accompany her. As they entered the dark kitchen, the voice spoke again, turn on the light, I can't see. Both women screamed, waking the entire Grigalba family. In no time, the kitchen was crowded, everyone demanding answers. Pascuala, trembling, finally confessed that this wasn't the first time she'd heard the voice,

it had been haunting her for weeks. The investigation begins, the head of the Grigalba family decided to get to the bottom of it. He opened the stove, and the voice called out again, Maria. Maria. Stunned, he ran to fetch the building's landlord, Antonio Palazan. When Palazan arrived, he was convinced it was a prank. Grabbing a metal poker, he prodded the chimney's vent, expecting to find some hidden device. But the moment he started poking, the voice cried out again, You're hurting me.

From that point on, the voice became a nightly tormentor. At precisely 9 p.m., it returned to taunt the residence. On one occasion, as Pasquala was cleaning up for the night, the voice chillingly whispered, goodbye. The situation spiraled out of control. Palazan begged the tenants to keep quiet about the haunting, fearing public ridicule. But secrets don't last long in tight-knit communities. Whispers turned into rumors, and soon all of Zaragoza was buzzing about, the ghost of Gaskin de Gauder. Police involvement. Desperate, the residents finally called the police.

The first officer who arrived thought it was a case of mass hysteria. chuckling at the absurdity of it all, he casually poked around the stove. But when the voice growled, you're hurting me. The color drained from his face. More officers were brought in, along with engineers, architects, and plumbers, each trying to debunk the mystery. Was it a prank? A mechanical issue?

An echo from the pipes? Nobody could find an explanation. At one point, an architect measured the chimney vent. Before he could announce his findings, the voice smugly declared, it's 15 centimeters. Sure enough, the measurements confirmed it. The voice gains fame. By now, the haunting had become a national sensation.

Journalists camped outside the building, and the story made headlines in major Spanish newspapers. Crowds gathered on the street day and night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous Dwendé, as the voice came to be called. The chaos was so intense that police sometimes fired warning shots into the air to disperse the throngs of people blocking the entrance. The frenzy wasn't limited to Spain.

The Times of London published a front-page story about the Zaragoza haunting, describing the voice as, a ghostly figure terrorizing the city. Media outlets from Germany to the U.S. sent correspondence to cover the mystery. Opportunists capitalized on the hysteria. Merchants launched Duende products, everything from radios to flower bore its name. Meanwhile, thousands of letters poured into Zaragoza's city hall, claiming to be from the Duende. Some were pranks, others professed love for the voice.

Suspitions and blame, investigators began focusing on Pasquala. Some experts speculated she was unknowingly responsible, accusing her of hysterical ventriloquism. Her name and face were plastered across newspapers, branding her a liar and a fraud. The poor girl was fired and forced to return to her village, but the voice followed her. Witnesses confirmed it was still heard in Zaragoza, even with Pasquala gone, disproving the theory. Doctors, spiritualists, and psychics were brought in, but no one could explain the phenomenon. A famous medium named Assuncione Jimenez attempted to contact the entity. During a seance, she fell into a trance, and died shortly after from what doctors called a collapse.

Her death only fueled the hysteria. A mysterious ending, as November turned to December, authorities grew desperate to restore order. The civil governor issued a censorship order, forbidding the press from covering the story. Public interest gradually waned, and on December 3rd, the voice spoke its final chilling words, I'll kill everyone in this cursed house. Cowards, no one died, but the building was eventually demolished. A new structure, nicknamed that Dwenday building, was erected on the site. Decades later, during the Spanish Civil War, all records of the haunting, photos, audio recordings, witness statements, vanished. Still, rumors persisted.

Some claimed a photograph of the Dwenday surfaced years later, taken just before the building was torn down. Whether it's real or fake remains a matter of debate. So, what do you think? Could the voice of Gaskin de Gauder have been real? Or was it an elaborate hoax? The night of the crash brought more than devastation. And laid in a coma full term and has yet to learn of her husband's demise.

A more pressing issue was apparent. She woke during the birth of the second child. The room grew baffled as soft cries from the newborn, turned to the hoarse torture screams of panic and confusion from an unexpected mother. The bed nurse, in complete shock, did her best to muster, breathe, you're almost there. Almost where, screamed in. What the hell is going on? Placing the newborn on her chest, the nurse trying to hide her excitement exclaimed,

Congratulations, you're a mom. You just gave birth to two healthy baby boys. and stuttered in confusion as the nurse reached out showing her the first baby. Already birthed, under the amber glow of a heat lamp. The baby rolled tightly in linens, laid nestled warmly in an oversized bassinet. Overwhelmed with confusion and unable to muster a memory. And sat surprised at her lack of emotion, she felt hallow. But Ben can't.

She trailed off thinking about their secret. Wait, where is Ben? The nurse hesitant, we called your family and the doctor is on their way, honey. Just try to relax for now insisted the nurse. It wouldn't take long for the news to spread, as the nurse's voice roared out the doorway and echoed down the hallway. She's responsive, code blue, we need neurology. Conception, how do you think they'll take it? Ben asked as he swallowed the shot chasing it with the final sip of his now room temperature draft.

His foot bounced nervously shaking anise stool. Relax, we don't need to ask your brother. She offered as her hand ran gently down his back, letting her nails send chills down. his spine. Here you go, sweetheart, the bartender exclaimed sliding a fresh draft down the bar. We can adopt, and propose just as the fresh draft interrupted sending the overlooked shot glass flying off the bar and shattering against the floor. Ben focused on his wife and repeated, adopt, yes, and stated taking his hand under hers.

We can find someone who's pregnant and can't or doesn't want to be a mother. If we time it right I can even pretend. I will wear a fake belly, Anne. Ben cut her off, you're so beautiful, you would lie to everyone you know. Just two, a tear formed in his eye, just to stop me from looking like less of a man. It's us against the world, she assured, finishing her last sip of wine. We need to go or we will be late. And demanded as she nudged the fresh beer he was now milking with pity.

A smile grew over his face as he tilted the glass back, downing the pint in one sip. Knowing the routine and not wasting another second and headed towards the door. Ben smiled placing the suds lined glass onto the bar and catching a glimpse of Anna's ass as she walked out the door. Her short white skirt and long heels made her irresistible. She was dressed to impress and Ben knew he was blessed, and was already in the car touching up her mascara as he stumbled down the step still wearing a smile. We have plenty of time he assured slamming the door and peeling out a little fasted than expected.

The moon, yet to break the mountains kept the roads in a shadowy darkness. Ben high on his good mood, blessed with a quality-carrying wife and filed with fermented grains he laid caution to the wind. The small mirror light hidden behind the visor was enough to highlight En's cleavage escaping. Each breast gently bouncing off the other sending small ripples across her pale soft skin. Ben already drooling and with no concern for anything else beyond his nagging obligation to set them free. Reaching in an attempt to access the hidden zipper pressed tightly behind End's neck. Oh, no, don't you even think about it.

And hasted pushing him away. We need to get to your brother's rehearsal. Firming her response with a glance of seriousness. Plus you will ruin your surprise. Surprise? Ben replied in a playful and curious manner. As she grasped his hand guiding the back at across her freshly waxed bikini line. Smooth enough.

And questioned as she leaned in closer and whispered, I'm not wearing any panties. Ben gleamed yearningly into her eyes as his pants tightened. Ben gasped, I, was all he managed to get out as the excitement turned to chaos. A loud deafening boom exploding from the back of the car sent them spinning out of control. Sliding sideways the dark mountain road turned black as their headlights scrapped the rock wall sending sparks into the air. Ben unable to see his knuckles white with effort jerked the wheel in the opposite direction.

Over-correcting the car spun violently, sending them airborne slamming into a caution street sign. Coming to a stop abruptly with the help of a fully grown ponderosa pine. The deafening crash of steel and wood colliding faded as silence retook the night. Faint streaks of moonlight broke the canopy of dense pines, illuminating the path in a ghostly light. It was the smell that hit him first, familiar yet odd and out of place. Fresh smouldering pine he thought. Mixed with the sweet smell radiator fluid. Smog filled air hidden in the darkness. Camouflaged by the shadowed road. He continued slowly, as the path he walked daily grew less recognizable. The slow-moving smoke faintly illuminated, by the slight red glow of a dim and quickly

fading tail light. Caught his attention. His eyes were playing tricks on him, he thought trying to focus in the darkness. Squinting his eyes slightly, that's a car he blurted out loudly immediately swelling with adrenaline. Dialing his phone in without thought he took off full sprint to the driver's side door. The driver a tall well-built man covered in blood, His head unrecognizable, caved in from tree and metal colliding. Immediately sickened from the sight he jerked away, his head snapping violently, dry heaving. Trying not to lose it, he fell back catching himself on the jagged ripped metal protruding from the busted vehicle. That's when he noticed her.

The passenger soft pale foot dangling lifeless registered in his head. That's another person he thought. The driver wasn't alone. He yelled out loud assuring himself. Stumbling over debris he had tempted. the first steps towards the other side of the car. When his phone finally connected. 911, what's the address of your emergency?

The satellite upgrade was already coming in handy he thought as he panted panicky into the phone. West Peak Car crash. Ambulance. The phone cutting off before he could finish the last word. The disconnected phone once again rendered useless and not sure how to proceed he made his way to the passenger.

Trying to recall high school health class and CPR lessons with nothing coming to mind. Peeking cautiously over the partly shattered window he grew instantly relieved, and laid motion less and eerily peaceful for the destruction surrounding her. Can I help her, he thought. Confidence she wasn't mangled, he opened the door slowly, not allowing her limp body to abruptly roll out onto the ground. Bracing her head as her soft naturally blonde hair fell gently over his hand. Immediately noticing the smell of flowers with each falling layer of hair he started to grow excited. He found the sensation strangely around. as he helped her out of the car and onto the dirt below.

Watching her breath he gained a feeling of relief. Checking her over for anything abnormal he noticed her beauty. She looked perfect. He thought, rolling her gently from side to side looking for injuries. Her shirt skirt giving way as her legs fell apart. No panties, and freshly waxed her lips begged to be touched. The Good Samaritan instantly grew hard, his pants tightened and throbbed. Forgetting where he was he extended his arm reaching out gently rubbing his fingers over her

smooth, soft exposed lips. She grew moist, her legs naturally spreading wider. Her lips softened slightly, giving way with the anticipation of his touch. Starting to explore he slipped the tip of his finger deeper penetrating her just slightly. His excitement grew to panic when the first siren split the night. He had to know more in time was running out. Sliding his finger deeper she let out a soft unconscious moan. He wanted it he thought, she needs it, it will save her life he, would be her hero.

Bringing it down he felt her grow wetter her lip spreading, begging for penetration. Drawing his hips back slightly. The now purple swollen head pressing firmly against her vaginal opening. Her labia slowly spreading, stretching her natural lubricant attempting to assist the engorged visitor. Backing out then slowly pressing and he pushed harder, feeling the tip drive deeper as she let out a unconscious moan. He felt every inch of her stretching attempting to accept him.

Pulling back he watched as the purple tip resurfaced barely emerging. Covered in her juices he drove forward again deeper, feeling her tight pussy pushing back. Only capable of accepting another inch, leaving the base of his penis dry and yearning to be engulfed. Pulling at her top slightly exposing her perfectly round quarter-size nipples hardened in the cool mountain air. Goose bumps invading tighten her skin, he grew more excited not taking his eyes off her body. Watching as her soft breast rippled to the rhythm of each thrust. Vanilla overwhelming his senses. The still sirens growing closer he couldn't stop.

Pulling her closer he trusted again driving as deep as he could her lips giving to the pressure he felt the warmth on his balls as he grabbed her head kissing her passionately on the lips sliding his tongue into her mouth. He couldn't hold it any longer. Pressing as deep as he could he erupted trying to drive deeper with each spasm. Letting out a final grunt letting every last drop spasm into En's wet motionless body. The tip of his dick soar from the oversized ejaculation. He slowly pulled his swollen cum, soaked cock out of Anne and crammed it back in his pants still dripping from Anne's juices.

The first responders' headlights broke the darkness. Repositioning himself next to and he pretended to administer CPR redressing her in an attempt to hide the signs of passion. Again focused on her beauty he sneak one last kiss. Bouncing to his feet he greeted the first responders with screams of concern. The driver, I think he's dead, but I think she's still breathing. I tried to help her, he panicked. Glancing down. Can you help her?

Get back, get back, demand the EMT, his eyes focused on victim. He said pushing the Samaritan out of the way. Female impact trauma victim in her twenties, his voice directed into a small square radio on his shoulder. Focused solely on his patient the good Samaritan slowly backed away. ID only be a distraction, he thought, smelling his fingers as he disappeared into the darkness. It's quite long, I'll leave a TLDR at the end. it was eighth grade in middle school. We had just been assigned a project to reenact any chosen scene from the book we had been studying.

Groups were assigned as such, we'd get into pairs and then those pairs would be put together with another pair by the teacher. Our teacher told us to choose someone we hadn't worked with before. I, of course, pretended I'd never seen my best friend in my whole life and got together with her. She's still my very best friend, by the way, I will have to bring this story up next time we talk. Anyways, we were assigned with two of the most popular girls in our grade. They were nice, to be honest, although at the time I considered them to be evil spawns of Satan, ah, youth, but still popular and intimidating, and we didn't hang out much. We began deciding which

scene to do. We unanimously decided to do the tragic war scene which involved a character death, entire gun fight showdown and several traumatic recounts. Because, of course, we all are A-list actors. No biggie. We also decided to make a short film rather than a live presentation like the rest of the class, because we weren't like other girls. Now it's noteworthy to remember that this was only a temporary teacher who was with us for the first few months.

Our real teacher would be coming in just before we presented this project, so this would be our first impression on her. Grade 8 was also the year we all were applying to regional programs for high school, we all were in I-B already, so the pressure was high. Needless to say this presentation really mattered. Time to pull out the big guns. Literally. So there we were, the four of us at our nearest dollar store,

buying the shelves clean of any war items and fake blood the store offered. I don't know what we looked like to others, and I don't want to think about. Indeed, my best friend and I were so excited about the project that I went over to her house and we started editing the video we hadn't even made yet. We also chose the soundtrack, which consisted of various instrumental versions of anime openings. And then the shooting began. Day one of shooting, we had planned to meet up at my house and then walked to the forest near my house.

It was the perfect place for such a scary scene, druggie teenagers, smashed out of my house. alcohol bottles and all. Ugh. We had planned to meet up at five so it wouldn't be too bright, but not dark enough that the recordings wouldn't show. Only thing is, the first group member didn't arrive until around six. And then my mother had decided get us donut as well. She spent her good time eating those donuts and I remember just staring at her face

wanted to shove those donuts up her throat to make her go faster. It was 6.30. All of us except for my breakfast. best friend who I knew would be late anyways had arrived. This was Canada in the winter. It was already pitched dark outside, so I took a large flashlight and hopes it would help with the recording. We decided to head over to the park and start recording scenes that didn't include her. The two group members immediately took interest in the military hats and vlog the entire way there, something that made me want to put them in a bag and carry them there. After several wasted minutes of

this, we finally got to the park. The flashlight was on, our group member was in character. The camera was on. We began shooting. For a few minutes, it went well. A bit hard to see, but in general, the scenes were coming out nicely. Until, my best friend finally shows up. Her mom is with her, and so is mine.

Such a high density of moms can never be a good thing. Alas, they freaked out with how cold it was, told us, were going to get sick and dragged us back home with almost none of the scenes done. We get home and after feasting on the leftover donuts decide to continue shooting in my backyard, ignoring the lack of cohesion in our scenes. All I can remember from this shooting is that a disturbingly large stain of fake blood still remains on my shed to this day and one embarrassing memory. We were shooting a scene where I had to show a fair bit of comrade bonding to my best friend,

So I came up with the clever idea that I would give her my jacket. You know, as you do. The jacket was already coming off when I noticed the look the best friends gave each other. And then I realized, that just sounded very gay asterisk. Frick. Asterisk, not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just awkward when it's your friend, you know. My best friend, bless her innocent soul, was still urging, oh no, go on, give me your jacket.

I played it off in order to avoid being shipped with my best friend, but I saw that look they gave each other. It will haunt me in the file of times I embarrassed myself so hard I physically cringed. We barely had anything done, but here commenced day one of shooting. Day two, now day two of shooting was pretty spontaneous, which is probably why it was a disaster. We were in last period of class when all of us realized that the project's due date was approaching and we still had a lot to do.

We decided to go to the park right by our school, rather than going home. We called all our parents, and got the A-OK, me by lying to my mom that my best friend's mom had agreed and she vice versa. So, after school we headed off. Now most of us had never gotten a close look at the park, only the front which contained of a nice little river and a steep hill. We went deeper and deeper into the park as we recorded, and got some good recordings too. All was well until my friend pointed out, hey, isn't that a gravestone? Let me explain, these weren't the pop out of the ground gravestones. These were the flat on the ground, could easily be seen as rocks at first glance.

We all looked down. Shit! We've been walking around with plastic military weapons at a war memorial. What an absolute disgrace eye, we quickly finished up shooting before anyone could see us and we accidentally splattered blood on one of the gravestones. We were cold and tired, we'd had to roll around the snow for some reason, and we decided to call it a day. It had also been several hours since school ended.

We walked to a nearby subway, the restaurant kind, to get an internet connection. As soon as we walked and the lady looked at us like she'd seen four teenagers walk in, soaking wet covered in blood. Oh wait, we called our parents, who deceivingly sounded cold. on the phone. We got our hopes up that we would be rewarded with sub-dinner tonight. First went group member one, whose dad seemed to be in a good mood. Then came my and my best friend's mom, at the same time as they tend to do, with absolute murder in their eyes. After getting screamed at for about 30 minutes about not calling, recording in the rain,

and not thinking of the possibility of getting kidnapped, we came to the conclusion that there would be no subs for dinner tonight. As for the girl whose mom came later, I don't like to think of what became of her. I went home and promptly cried. Day three, now day three was more of a makeup. I'd gone over to my best friend's house to finish editing, before we realized some scenes looked far more shit than others. We decided to re-record, as we had our military weapons handy on us. We equipped ourselves and walked over to her park, where, for the first time, surrounded by parents and children, we gained consciousness of what we were doing. It didn't help that we were wearing fully black. Knowing that the police took less than 20 minutes to arrive if

called, we quickly finished shooting. Now, one of our scenes required us to be in this weird kind of bush thing. My best friend's twin sister looked over the bush, and gasped. She called us over to look. It was a very tall man, wearing completely black, who was just standing there, staring at the school. He was completely masked behind the bush, and holy crap, that sent shivers down my spine. He suddenly turns to look at us. We scream, forgetting the plan to record and run back to her house while casually running by the local drug dealer. Anyways, we finish recording and head to school. Here is where the teacher remarks that get better marks if we present live. Well. Then. Being the great hungry hogs we were, we abandoned

our video completely and began memorizing our lines with one day to present. I'm sure you want to know how it went. Two words, absolute shit. We fumbled over lines, turned downright depressing scenes comedic, and the popular girls had the genius idea to add a sort of ending message where we each completed a part of an inspirational sentence. Here is an example. Girl 1, Life is. Girl 1 and 2, short. Girl 3, don't. Girl 4, take, girl 3, any, girl 4 thing. All for advantage. The teacher cringed. I cringed. It was a disaster. We got our rubrics back and we did pretty badly for our standards, although I think it was still a 90, we were all just really competitive losers LMAO. The teacher had literally written, ending scene. Unnecessary. So that's cool.

Now all I have left of this are the military helmets in my basement. Ah, good memories. TLDR, group project lead to us running around with fake guns, military hats, and fake blood on our cheeks in a children's playground and a cemetery slash memorial. Later ran away from a creepy man outside a school. Failed the project anyways, we began. begin this story on February 2, 1959. That day, a group of 10 experienced skiers from the former Soviet Union set out on a promising

skiing expedition across a remote mountain area between the Comey Republic and Swerdlovskawblost. But why did they choose this destination? Why not go to a familiar area? Because they wanted to test their skills so that in the future they could undertake an expedition to the Arctic regions, which were considered much more dangerous, or at least so they believed. The group was made up of eight men and two women, all of them students at the Eural Polytechnic Institute, except for one, Alexander Zolotaryov, who was the mountain guide. From the start, the trek was classified as level three, meaning the weather and terrain

conditions were expected to be very harsh. The main goal was to reach Mount O'Torten and returned to Vizhay before February 12. Before the expedition, the group prepared carefully, and on January 25th, they arrived in the city of Ivdl, where the fierce Russian winter was in full force, leaving the landscape completely white from intense snowfalls. From this point, they checked their supplies and planned not only their return home but also their next moves. On January 27, they began their trek on foot toward Mount O'Torten. However, Yuri Udun had been feeling unwell for several days and, much to his regret, had to withdraw. It became very difficult for him to keep up with his companions and nearly impossible to withstand the harsh weather conditions. So he said goodbye to everyone, gathered his things, and returned home. This last-minute dropout

reduced the group to nine members. Still, it did not prevent things from proceeding as planned. In fact, on January 31st, they entered the higher elevations of the Urals, using their climbing gear to pass through the area and reach the valleys where they recently. supplied and prepared for the return trip. On February 1st, they prepared to cross the mountain pass to reach the camp on the other side. But due to bad weather, they were buried under a terrible storm, a storm with strong gusts of wind and snow that, with its fierce aggression, left them completely disoriented. They no longer knew which direction they were going or where they had come from, which caused them to stray off course through a section west of the pass leading to the mountain summit. When they realized their mistake, they did. They did. They were to,

decided to stop and set up their tents there, intending to stay until the storm subsided and they could continue their journey. Their families and friends were expecting Igor Dietlov, the group leader and a student in the radio engineering department, to send a telegram before February 12, a message confirming that everything had gone well and they were already back in Vizhay. But that message never arrived. All their loved ones, receiving no news, formed their own rescue team. This group was made up of live. volunteer students and professors from the Ural Polytechnic Institute. They began their search on February 20th.

Days later, military personnel joined the search and rescue effort, providing foot soldiers and two helicopters. It wasn't until February 25th that, from the air, they spotted what appeared to be the camp of the young hikers. It was located on the eastern slope of Mount Colet Cyacal. According to some sources, this area was well known for frequent avalanche. However, during the time the group was there, no avalanche was recorded. Either way, the rescue teams had to wait another 24 hours before they could access the area on foot.

And although they initially saw the discovery as a great success, they would soon deeply regret it. The tents showed multiple damages, and inside, they found all the young people's belongings, as if they had never intended to abandon the main camp. But judging by the footprints in the surrounding snow, they have been forced to leave. The tracks showed nine people, some barefoot and others with only one shoe, as if they were truly fleeing from something terrifying. After sweeping the area, the experts realized that all the footprints led roughly in the same direction, toward a forest about two kilometers away, in the opposite direction of their

planned route. The rescuers, still hopeful, followed the tracks into the dense and deep forest. Step by step, they noticed that most of the footprints disappeared into the snow, except for those of two people. So they decided to continue following these two sets of tracks until eventually, even those were lost in the snow. Where had they all gone? Why had they ended up separating? But most intriguingly, why had they strayed so far off course? The investigators continued marching through the forest, sweeping the entire area until, about 500,

meters after losing the trail, the searchers stumbled upon the remains of an improvised campfire. A campfire located under a large pine tree. At this point, there was no need to keep walking or tracking footprints erased by the snow, because next to the extinguished fire were the lifeless bodies of Yuri Doroshenko and Yuri Krovaniskenko. The young men showed multiple bruises on their hands and feet, and they were found wearing only thermal underwear and branches from that tree, which had likely fallen due to the weight of the snow. When forensic experts analyzed the tree, they discovered it was covered with small bits of human skin and blood.

This led to the hypothesis that the two young men had tried to climb the tree to break off branches to feed the poor fire. Unfortunately, all they achieved was injuring themselves, and the fire did little good, both died of hypothermia. Nearby, about 200 meters from the tent, they found the body of Igor Dyedlov. The young man was lying on his back, his face turned toward the tent, and most sinister of all, while one hand held a small branch, the other seemed to be shielding himself from something. About 180 meters further, they found the body of Rustam Slobodan, completely covered by snow.

Near this body, they found a trail of blood and, at the end of the grim path, another body, that of Xenai to Kalmigarova, who, after fleeing, had gotten the closest back to the main tent. None of these three bodies showed wounds, and none appeared to have been murdered. However, a later analysis of Slobodan's body revealed a cranial fracture about 17 centimeters long, although this was not what caused his death, they had all died of hypothermia. When the investigators reached the tent that the three young people had tried to return to, they realized it was completely destroyed. The fabric covering the structure was torn in multiple places.

But the most sinister detail was that it was that it was, had been ripped from the inside, suggesting that the young people themselves had destroyed it to try to escape from something unknown. It was among this pile of wreckage that they found the rest of the young people's belongings, along with roles of film and photographs. To be continued. That pile of debris where the rest of the young people's belongings were found along with roles of undeveloped film and photography. The remaining members of the team would not be discovered until May 4, with the arrival of the thaw, in a ravine four meters deep. deep located quite close to that large tree under which the first two bodies were found. Unlike the rest of their companions, these were fully dressed and beaten. Nicolithebobrigna, better dressed than the others, had a severe skull fracture.

Ludmilla Dubinina had trauma to the thorax that caused the breakage of several ribs, one of which damaged her heart. She was found with her head tilted back and her mouth open, her tongue had been torn out, and she was wearing the shoes and pants of Yuri Kravana Skanko. Alexander Zolotaryov also had chest trauma and several broken ribs. He was wearing Dubonina's raincoat, which showed traces of radioactivity. The last to die was Alexander Kalevatov. After watching all his companions die, his body was the only one of this last group

that showed no serious injuries, so it was assumed that he died of hypothermia. At the young people's funerals, various journalists from local newspapers interviewed the loved ones of all those boys and girls, an act, in my view, tremendously disrespectful. However, one statement was obtained that would go around the world, among all the loved ones, a relative of Alexander Zolotaryov was interviewed, and they said that the boy's corpse was totally altered. His skin was an orange tone, it was very aged, and his hair was a grayish color. Additionally, it was reported that radioactive traces had been found on all the bodies, which prompted the whole world to create various theories. What happened that night is a great mystery.

If we combine the mystery of the deaths with the secrecy of the investigation carried out by the Soviet authorities, who classified the documentation and the numerous contradictory and irrational testimonies, we have the perfect plot for aliens and evil beings. The story lends itself to exaggeration and fantasy. There are claims that all the corpses showed signs of aging, with almost white grayish hair, orange skin, and even that instead of nine bodies, 11 were found but two were hastily removed. It is also said that in 1990, when the case was declassified, numerous important documents disappeared. And to this mystery, we must add that the Soviet Union said the skiers had died because of an unknown force. Honestly, nothing would make me happier

than confirming the theory of aliens, ghosts, or monsters inhabiting Russia's forests. However, there is a theory with much more weight and logic and rationality than all the ones you can imagine, and I will now show it to you. On the sixth day of the expedition, they only had 15 kilometers left to reach Mount Othorton. They were on the slope of Colet-Cyacle, a name that in Moncey means, mountain of death. The slope has a slight incline, and the absence of trees put the mountaineers at risk in the event of an avalanche. The alternative was to go back and set up camp in a more sheltered area. area, but they must have weighed the risk and seen it as so small that they decided to camp there. The photos taken by the young people show they were not afraid, they were completely carefree.

Between 6 and 7 p.m., they had dinner. Afterward, some went to rest, and others stayed outside the tents. They seemed so calm that some even took off their clothes to sleep. In many sources consulted, it is said that the temperature that night exceeded minus 30 degrees Celsius, but in my humble opinion, I don't think anyone on this planet would sleep practically naked in such extreme conditions. Between 9.30 and 11.30 p.m., something happened that made them fear for their lives, something that forced them to abandon the tents, and it couldn't have been something they saw but something they heard, an avalanche. Let's remember that the area where they

camped was known for the numerous avalanches that occurred there. But that night, there was none. So what could have been that terrible sound? That area of the Urals had been used by the Soviet military for multiple tests, and perhaps that night was chosen to test their new creation, the McCoyne Gurevich or, more commonly known, the Mig, 21, a supersonic interceptor fighter with limited ground attack capability. Did the skiers mistake the sound of a fighter jet for an avalanche? Either way, the young people ran 100 meters down the slope,

reaching the forest, inevitably dispersing, and eventually regrouping around a large tree. Scared and disoriented, they must have thought their camp was buried under the snow and therefore needed to shelter from the cold until the next day when a rescue group would come for them. They were semi-naked, but even so, they gathered enough strength to create a small fire. Unfortunately, the moisture of the ground and the general environment endangered their poor flames, so it's very likely that in one of the attempts to gather firewood, Rustam Slobodan fell to the ground and hit his head, causing the terrible skull fracture found on his body. Time passed, and it became increasingly difficult to obtain wood to burn on that fire. The cold was unbearable and eventually caused the first two hikers,

who had the least clothing on their bodies, to die of hypothermia. The group leader, Igor Dyedlov, probably proposed returning to the camp to retrieve blankets and shelter. The bravest, Slobodan and Nikolai Thibobrignell, offered to accompany him. Unfortunately, their bodies had already lost much heat, and hypothermia claimed them. The remaining skiers, seeing that their companions did not return, assumed something had gone wrong and, out of desperation, decided to enter the forest in search of a place to shelter. They found a crevice and decided to descend into it. The task could not have been easy, as three of the four members of that last group,

slipped and fell, one resulting in a skull fracture and two with broken ribs. Ludmilla had a rib puncture her heart, killing her instantly. Seeing this, Alexander Zolotaryov took off his jacket and braced himself to endure until the rescue teams got them out. Unfortunately, he would also die of hypothermia. The bodies, exposed to sunlight reflected on the snow, burned and acquired an orange tone with desiccated and aged skin. However, what's the body? still cannot be fully explained as the radiation traces on Ludmilla's and Alexander Zolotaryov's bodies. Some sources claim this is because they must have been in contact with radiation at the university, although none of them studied anything related to nuclear energy.

Perhaps the explanation could again be linked to the fact that this area was used by the military for their tests. Again, the fact that this incident was automatically classified by Soviet authorities further reinforces the theory that it was caused by one of the military tests conducted there. Unfortunately, this has been just one of the many theories surrounding this case, and it does not fully resolve it. After the fateful incident, Dietlov Pass remained closed for three years by the authorities, and still today, the reason why the nine hikers fled in terror from the tents is unknown. Some professional mountaineers have claimed that on their expeditions, they have seen

strange orange spheres of light and have felt heavy while walking through that same forest. Sadly, as you know, UFOs and aliens are not really my thing, so I invite you to watch the video Vicente Fuentes made on this topic, in which he addresses the matter relating it to the aggressive intervention of the UFO phenomenon. I'll leave the link in the description box. But now it's your turn, what do you think was the reason that drove the young people to leave their tents? And why do you think there was radioactivity on some of the world?

of the bodies. The end. Um, the two people who we have identified, as Persians of, interest how close were they to your daughter not fry, clothes were you oncham, around, no had they ever done anything that made, you as a mock. Sandra Ren Kuntu was born on March 8th, 2001 in Tracy, California being the youngest, of the four children of the marriage of, Maria Chavez and Daniel Kuntu this couple, he divorced when she was very small, and the complete custa of the children goes to, Mother Maria's hands of separation. They are economic problems and saw his exmered a small pay a pension to keep the four children but this refused with which the woman asked a pension for little Sandra and man continued to deny that the

woman made his bags and moved to his for children to their parents' house residents located in the park of orchard states caravans in tracy california this place was a community very closed about about one hundred neighbors everyone met among itself and it was a really safe place the children once crossed the fence that the community separated from the rest of the world could go alone everywhere. There was no risk of anything wrong. They had very well watched streets. Illuminated families were always, on the porches they all knew each other but, thus, the grandfather has not just trusted and placed a surveillance chamber in the house door never happened bad. There were never robberies any crime, but in this way the man did not trust 100%, something

that was going to thank later. Having told you the context a bit, it is time to meet the protagonist of today's history. Sandra sang Sandra in 2009 was a eight-year-old girl very love by all. It was nice affectionate and extremely, extroverted was so open that it was, able to become friends with anyone, talked about the elbows and had the, as long as age of the college, knock at all neighbors, to greet them she was a friend of the children, little ones of almost all the neighbors of the caravan park and it was the eye. His mother's right loved, coloring, gardening and cooking, especially chocolate cookies no, he could stop asking his mother to. They made cookies every day, hours at every moment and something else. Striking is that he was very

fan of Hannah. Montana spent the day singing best. Of both worlds and whenever I saw something, Han Montana asked her mother, a case A T. Shoes a sigh. I leave Montana Sandra had to, have it on March 8th, 2009, celebrated his eighth birthday and all. Caravan Park children were. Guests decorated the whole house was put. Music gave himself a great cake and they took out, dozens of photographs in, each of which the little girl. He showed very happy but on Friday 27 of, March everything changed healthy, early to go to school and dressed, with black leggings and a shirt, from Hello Kitty after that he went to class, and when he returned he did the same as always, first he went through the houses of the, neighbors called the bell greeted and after,

he entered the house left him a, kiss his mother and said goodbye to her, telling him that he loved her some sources. They say he left at three in the afternoon and, that should be at home at four and others, that went at four and at the time of, return was seven in the afternoon, but the vast majority of pages consulted. They say that the time back was four and, therefore we will follow this thread on the. Seven in the afternoon Maria was at home, preparing dinner and realized that all his children were there, present but that Sandra was not for. No part asked his children to his, parents and none of them knew anything about. The little girl almost every day was the same story because Sandra, entertained with everything with a butterfly with,

a stone with a cat with a friend with, a neighbor was so outgoing that no, I could stop talking even about, the walls and you wanted to give. Account was very late with which the woman grabbed the phone and called the, neighbors but none of them had. Senior daughter in fact some neighbors. They told him that they were surprised, because that day was not calling his bell. According to the sources consulted Maria, realized that he had not three hours without, seeing his daughter so what he did was, go out and look for her herself. But no matter how much he looked at his child, there was no trace with which he returned to, house and called the police when, agents arrived at the scene were created. Two groups the main one stayed in the, the girl's house interrogated the mother,

grandparents to the brothers and the second. He went to look for the neighbors and in this. Point comes a very interesting part and, is that in the caravan complex? No. There were surveillance cameras and if there were nothing, however, the girl's grandfather long ago, he installed a camera at the door of his, house how nothing ever happened never checked. The actions but this time they were. Important and indeed once, though, Myron realized something very, interesting and is that in the camera. I saw Sandra returning from school and, leaving the little girl did go home. Leo with his backpack he left her and then, he went to play and about four in the afternoon,

reappeared in that camera was, happy and at the time, promised was back at home but, just before reaching something or, someone caught his attention and the little, deviated apart from what you have seen, police had nothing more or, suspicious either tracks or any kind of, evidence the case itself did not seem to have, since but the agents investigated a little more in family history, conto and discovered the theme of, divorce Daniel Contu did not want to pass. Pension to marry and for that they had had. Problems Maria asked if I'm not going to. Pass pension for the four children who, at least he did for the little girl, Sandra and he continued refusing in there the. Police thought that maybe he got rid of, the girl not to

argue without. Girl there was no reason to fight for the pension and therefore decided, investigated but the man had, quartered on the day of the events was very, far from the caravan park and also, he had been out of his life for two years, daughter two years without seeing her and just have contact with her after four hours. Tracy Police Department already. He was desperate nobody called asking. A rescue there were no clues there was no. Witnesses there was not a single evidence.

That you aim towards anyone so, they turned to the FBI and immediately, deployed a whole device not only, focused on the caravan park but also abroad if the girl, I would have been in the park I would have already, appeared or so the agents believed. They deployed tracking dogs, helicopter hundreds of volunteers. They distributed posters with the photo of the. Girl put a 2000 reward end. Roads were closed watching who. It entered and left the caravan park.

Sandra Maria Chavez's mother granted. Interviews talking about your daughter, describing her physically speaking of. His way of being of what he liked. What he didn't like his face appeared. Everywhere but unfortunately, for more noise they made of the little girl. There was no trace and then 24 hours later that Sandra disappeared someone. He called the police with a strange track. This person was a neighbor of the family and commented that March 27th.

Somebody stole a suitcase upon learning. From this the same day grabbed the phone and sent a message to the mother of. Sandra tell the police that today, they stole something around 4 p.m. I don't know. Whether that makes a difference or not the neighbor. I thought the suitcase was linked with Sandra but the mother was. Dismaid was very nervous. Altered and thought that the issue of, suitcase had no importance with which, 24 hours later the same neighbor called police and informed them of this but.

Agents just like the mother do not. They saw important thought that the suitcase had nothing to do with. with and no more. They left, B, from here the police focuses on looking for possible predators. Sixes informed the population that they were looking for a white man from, between 25 and 40 years with a history. Penalties of aggression or by child and in. Basis for this were fixed on different. Suspicious the first investigation was a ice cream seller that on the day of the maid was in the area of the neighbors not. They knew him and therefore seemed, strange but this subject had a quartered, and the police ruled it out and the following. Suspicious was a neighbor

of that same. Park an older man with a interesting history of harassment of minors, minors among which was the same. Sandra last summer when they were, in the pool the man approached her. He removed the headband and kissed him in the lips and adults who saw him. They called the police when it was, buried about it, man said that. It was a simple gesture of affection that did not. There was nothing but not overcome him and that. Sandra agreed the kiss, but obviously that was very strange, very inappropriate so in 2009 the story, the, they followed but unfortunately it wasn't. linked to the love disappearance. Her C. helpful she always want to.

Make cookies. Um, the two people who we have identified, as Persians of, interest how close were they to your daughter not fry? Close were you onchum? Around. No, had they ever done anything that made, you as a mock. When this gentleman, um, and I interviewed him, kissed your daughter on the lips too. Years August that one I don't, I don't know, about you don't know about I didn't see. The incident or I okay have you talked to? Them since she disappeared no try to stay away if she is watching and if so many

does have her what would you say to her or then please let her go i need my baby the days continued and there was no the girl and police trace expanded the search circle searched for rivers draft landfills and distributed more the media did not stop talking about her and then a subject called the police informing that i had found something that this man could be useful in a local vertebro and between a lot of garbage found a shirt that it could be from sandra come to when the police arrived realized that the design was very similar had a drawing of hello kitty but the side of is not, corresponded to that of the girl and the design according to the mother was not exactly the same in a last attempt to unite. Forces and focus altogether on, look for the little girl

organized a dozens of neighbors in his honor. They gathered justice and, asking Sandra to return home and then in the middle of the meeting appeared, someone very nervous and asking that the police attended that person was a neighbor of the family and said, found a small note where there was, Sandra to the whereabouts. Principal the police did not have them all. I get the woman until, the complex mailboxes and once there, this collapsed when he looked down. They saw that next to the body there was a note and this was immediately taken to.

Analyzing was a written letter with, many mistakes and the lyrics was. Terrible, however, the message that I had written was very striking and it is that. Someone said that Sandra's body, I was locked in a stolen suitcase, thrown into the streets between the streets. Bacchetti and Whitehall, however the most. striking is that the letter is signed by an anonymous witness and not for the killer point that the police called him a lot of attention and therefore took it and several experts took her submitted to an analysis and this revealed the following to start that page had been torn from a

notebook stripes in second place the bad calligraphy was a pasta since the author wanted to hide his authentic form of right and in third place errors they were also aware the letter of a child or someone who i barely knew how to write but actually that person did know how to do it was intelligent knew what he did and if, who had written was true or was a key witness or was the, guilty the area that mentioned the note, it was two's miles from the park of, caravans and the most intriguing of everything is, that the waters to which he referred not, they were clear was a corner where water, clean was mixed with the residues of, several farms and therefore dive there and, finding something was almost impossible was, how to search with your eyes

closed and more, beyond two palms, nothing was seen but, and so the police had to try, keep track and meanwhile decide, interrogate the person who found that. Note his name was Melissa Cab and it was Sunday school teacher all. Sundays gave classes in that school. He was 28 years old and viaduct his daughter too. Houses beyond the contu family of, made six in the same direction in which little Sandra deviated in the camera of surveillance and another interesting thing is that Melissa's daughter per being more. Little that Sandra was a very good friend, his played very often almost daily, but weird things don't end here and it is, that Melissa was the neighbor who reported that his suitcase had disappeared his.

Meletta disappears, writes the mother of the girl and the next day called the, police and days later warn the, agents have found a note a note that casually speaks of his end. Sandra were too many coincidences, too many strange things and therefore the woman was questioned and said the day, of the facts was not in the park of, caravans between four and seven of the, late was the Sunday school, decorating his class and could also demonstrate it and it is that at 4.30 he called, from Sunday school to a neighbor. His the phone located it there and for, so much was not close to Sandra without. Embargo Melissa remained suspicious, and the PA Pacia a registration order. For your car they open everything review and, come that in the glove

compartment there is a note that, it seems branded to the naked I cannot, read what puts there but an expert. He says that under the stripes are the words Bacchetti and Kaye, Whitehall place where the witness, Anonymous later assured that, I found the little body of this. Note allows the police to obtain a registration order to see your home, and at the night's table they find a, striped notebook to which a page is all so strange that once. More questioning and Melissa throws Valens. Outside says that he doesn't know anything about the subject that, I was in Sunday school that has not, seen Sandra but in the neighborhood, where they live there are three men who can. Being suspicious talks about them says, they have photos of children in mobiles who, they have a history that are

stalkers, of children and when they investigate the subject the, police sees Melissa Cabright. It has very important information from the zone and nobody explained how that was, possible how Melissa knew so much, of the people around and in this, point believed a hypothesis and perhaps the woman did not act alone, Sandra was, kidnapped by a group of people a, group to which Melissa belonged but, before even pulling this thread, an impressive turn occurs and it is that, someone calls the police to inform, that found something very, music, sinister on Monday, April 6th, 2009 A, man found something in a pond, I was leaning the place when he saw a black suitcase with closed zippers and, tied with each other with a white rope,

suitcase did not touch and when the police, he arrived as like a, laboratory and once there it was, open inside the suitcase, was Sandra's lifeless body, reneck can to which was in, advanced state of decomposition to know, the cause of death with the naked eye, it seemed almost impossible but after a long exam the following was discovered. First of all, I did not have, signs of violence and not having, defended but looking a little more. They saw that in the neck had marks of. Asphyxia specifically had marks like, if someone had passed a garment of, clothes around your neck and there would be, stretched that the cause of death. It was asphix mechanical in second place, analyzing the body saw that the girl, I was dressed, but when

they took her away, the clothes saw that he had signs that, had she using an object, forceful and third analyzing. The interior of the body saw that in there, blood has a significant amount of, Benzo Brush a very powerful sedative. Expert conclusion was there. Next Sandra Kuntu was drugged and, when he was unconscious he was undressed, asphix add and then back to dress, put in the suitcase and abandoned the, neighbor's neighbor has more than, information knew about the suitcase that the suitcase was in the water had, many data with which the police, he went to look for her again but this time not. They found her at home since Melissa. H-Cab was admitted for trying to take off. Life is physical and mental state does not,

allowed to declare did not allow him to be, questioned so the police sought, neighboring witnesses who knew her, that they would have seen it and then a Navy officer appeared at, police station and said March 27th, between 5.30 and 6 in the afternoon he and, his wife saw Melissa at the door, of her farm they knew she was because, some time later they saw her on television, and remembering the scene felt, they had to tell someone parked there, then next to a trench and then, she went down when the officer saw that. He came to ask him what happened to him, and, Melissa said she had to urinate that. It was an urgency that could not avoid it, and, after apologies, the van and left the ditch that day. He wore a lot of water with him water from. Other farms with

which if he threw the, Maleta this was dragged and casually, some time later appeared in another farm, a farm that was connected to this, through the trench with that testimony, though. Police was narrowing the fence and, discovering increasingly dark things. Melissa's daughter was constantly, sick his health was very fragile and each, two by three is to enter the hospital. This may not tell you anything, no, have anything to do but the police, discovered that Melissa wasn't right. There were about 20 occasions in those that Melissa cut off fire were attacked verbally to another person and something like that was happening here. After the crime where she wanted to be, the Center for Attention Declarations of the

Prosecutor Thomas Tesla this woman had background of health problems, mental including limit disorder of personality bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. But unfortunately, that's not all and it is that an occasion. Several neighbors reported that she, he was behind the disappearance of a child in the area took the child to, park without the permission of their parents' end, when he again noticed that he was, stranger walked by Tumbo's spoke, badly cost him a lot, was very, tired and immediately lightened to hospital and once there they told them that. His body had traces of beef, led sedative same that time later, will be in the lifeless body of, Sandra. Cont to all this pointed

Melissa but no, they needed a forceful evidence that it will link to the crime physically, so they look back and they remembered that this woman had a journey, and is that the afternoon of the events was, in Sunday school and from their LL, a neighbor by phone, obtained a registration order for, that place and there they found more, striking elements to start in the school kitchen was a roller, one of the tips of which I was, crooked and had a red spot this, roller was sent to analyze and more. Ahead it was discovered that this stain, it belonged to Sandra was come to that stain. It was his blood, but for several days, they could only suspect him and in second, place one of the strings of the Persians of that school was broken, had been cut and back

to tie and, casually the same rope had been, used to close the suitcase in which, was Sandra's body while, the police reviewed all the tests, punctured Melissa's phone just for, if perhaps end this decision by incredible, that it may seem was the most successful and in, how much of the hospital the first thing that made was calling the contu family asked, please Sandra's sister out, to his house to play with his daughter and there the, police went crazy they could not, simply arrest it because not yet. They have solid evidence against him. I had the results of the tests but, yes or yes, they had to prevent it and, then in the middle of the chaos the, results of the tests carried out to the, roller found in school.

Sunday immediately a patrol goes, even Melissa's house and stops her and, from there they submit to a new interrogation ask again, what did Sandra and she says no, he did anything that does not know anything about the case. That is completely innocent, but, when showing the tests it comes, below and tell a story that does not have, neither feet nor head says that the afternoon of. The facts she her daughter and Sandra Joanna, hiding she counted looking for the girls, but at some point he went. The head forgot that they were playing, forgot what they were doing more. He went to Sunday school to repair, his class, but when everything finished and, he went up to the car, he remembered that Sandra still, I was hidden so she went home and,

searched everywhere and when opening a suitcase saw that his body was there and that the little girl no longer breathed in. Panic I didn't know what to do so it closed. The suitcase touched a rope uploaded it to car and through this story a trench. No sense Sandra was drugged, strangled and did not suffocate in A. Mileta did not accidentally die Sandra. It was so that on April 10th, 2009 Melissa H-C-C-A-B was arrested and, formerly accused of the murder of. This girl having her with bars, police reviewed his search history, and discovered that for months the woman, planned the crime sought other crimes, similar people who killed children and, he found an older man who killed his green suitcase and literally launched it. He copied this crime and from there

the police created a chronology of access, have arrived at school home left. Backpack said goodbye to his mother and left to play and more or less at four of the afternoon he returned at the time he had. Agreed but this Melissa Cabwoman intercepted and caught his attention that we can see in the surveillance. Melissa H-C-A-B asks him to accompany him, Sunday school to mount your class end. The little girl points up to the car are going to the place and once there Melissa gives him. May, juice containing the powerful sedative end, Sandra Baby to the last drop when, the woman falls unconscious, strangle and abuse her with him, roller found in school, Sunday later though, put in the suitcase and tie the zippers, with the piece of rope of the blind, between 5.30 and

six in the afternoon, Melissa goes laws and throws the suitcase and in, that place is seen by a witness but, to hide what he has done, he says, he is urinating and without further he goes up to his vehicle and return to, music, Casa La Justicia, looked for this woman, The death penalty, but after reaching A, Melissa Cab agreement declared himself guilty, of first-degree murder and kidnapping, to commute death penalty with chain, perpetual without the possibility of freedom, condition. But unfortunately today we continue, not knowing why Melissa Cab did it. He says he doesn't know what he doesn't know why.

That has no memories that everything is so, white in his head but nevertheless. Detective who directed the investigation, Timothy Bauer has a hypothesis about. This Melissa's world was her daughter. Sandra was like the girl flower girl, of rolling houses to everyone. Like Melissa's daughter was not like this. I know if there was some jealousy another hypothesis. Shuffled by experts is that Melissa, I could suffer M. Chosen Syndrome 4. Powers a form of child A.B. in the, that a person damages another often, children to get the prosecutor.

From the case he pointed out that Melissa's daughter could also suffer this since, constantly seemed to be sick, fell every two for three sick was, enter the hospital and maybe Melissa. He got tired of her and looked for Sandra Kuntu, which caught everyone's attention. They all loved her, worshipped her and if, disappeared would go crazy and indeed, that was what happened so now is you, what do you think of the case and why? You think Melissa killed Sandra. As a kid, I always had these terrible nightmares. The kind that makes you question reality like a vortex of madness pulling you into slumber every night.

From clowns jumping out of a matchbox toy play set like a clown car and eating you to the most incomprehensible concepts and landscapes, it's all there. I had gotten home on a bright October day. Having had a long day, I simply made a cup of noodles and retired to my room. After many hours of gaming I left my cup noodles half eaten on the desk and went to bed. It took me a while to fall asleep, but eventually the sweet embrace of dark nothing took me in. Not remembering I was dreaming per usual, I found myself next to the ocean. What seemed to be traditional Japanese houses lined the coast for what appeared to go on for infinity. The waves crashed behind me and suddenly as if on beat with nature all the buildings lit up.

Drawn in by the the majestic glow of a paper lantern, I entered the closest one to me. Walking in you could tell there was a strange feeling in the air. The bright lanterns lining the wall, although welcoming, seemed almost ominous. I approached the desk finding a creature of which I'd never seen before. With a head like an upside-down pyramid it simply gave me a blank slip of paper and pointed me to the door. entering the bright golden door all I was met with was a hall. The longest hall I've ever seen in my life. So deep that the end appeared to be a black vortex.

At the realization of the depth of what I was seeing I turned back to leave, finding nothing but an equally endless hallway. Panic said in suddenly as I began to sprint frantically. Lantern after lantern passing by me in a flash as I rushed to escape this confinement. Running myself to the point of exhaustion I finally leaned my back against the wall and slid down to rest. That's when I noticed something strange, even stranger than this infinite hallway itself. It was barely noticeable at first, but it began to get closer and closer. From the far end I came from the lanterns seemed to be extinguishing themselves.

Followed in the darkness by a being I couldn't even see to describe. Slowly the darkness creeped in towards me, my unknown antagonist always just beyond that dark veil pursuing me for reasons I couldn't conjure. Breaking myself from the trance of watching the shadows I finally stood back up and began my run again despite the heaviness of exhaustion on my chest. At that moment the entity began to run as well giving chase in this endlessness. Words of ancient and utterable chance reached me from behind getting closer by the minute. In my panic I tripped over myself and slammed headlong into the ground drowned by the darkness I was trying so desperately to escape. Whether I was out for a minute

or days I don't know. When I awoke I felt as if I had fallen off my bed but as I reached either which way, all I felt was the walls of this nightmarish hallway. TMP, TMP, TMP, TMP, TMP, T M, the footsteps of my pursuers sound off clearly from much closer than I'd like to have realized. TMP, T M. The footsteps stopped right beside me. Heated breath on my face, I lay frozen unable to even imagine what sort of being stood above me. I felt it wrap its hands around both of my arms and slowly grip tighter and tighter lifting me up. It began shaking me. Harder and harder speaking those same. chance I had heard earlier. As if my eyes had been closed the whole time, I finally opened them

to find my mother shaking me awake as I screamed uncontrollably. When she finally calmed me down, the sunlight streaming in through my window overtaking the darkness almost seemed poetic from the visions I had experienced. I killed Tony Bennett in Portland Dose, people loaded with the fault so that I can kill again but the police. Once again he completely ignored it. Perrios the case was already closed. We started on March 30th. 1995 Rose Hook asked her daughter Melissa, 15 years old to gather his two, hands brothers in the basement since he had, something to tell them the children thought, that a party is some kind of gift, surprise a dinner at a restaurant a, trip abroad but what does not, imagined is that this news would have, to do with his father a

father to which they all admired and respected and is, that apparently they were children of a murderer. Rose Hook told them that her father is in, prison and accused of a crime and, he said the news did not stop, repeating it asked for discretion, said that, they will not worry about anything and that. They were careful when going to school because, surely there would be journalists all. World wanted to know information if the family knew anything if they suspected it if. The children were the same as the father and in. A few weeks the boys stayed. No one wanted to play with them. Nobody called them and journalists. They harassed day and night was something so, shocking and so devastating and when it was. Major Melissa wrote a book about the,

Silence, silence the story does not. Count of the daughter of a series Asino, and it is from that book that arises. The whole case of, today Hunter Jesperson Kit was born on six, April of, 195 in Chilu, Columbia Britannic being, Gladys' medium-sized son, and Leslie Jesperson is said to have. I had two older brothers and two minor sisters, but in reality the relationship with them was very cold. They grew together in a chaotic environment and, dysfunctional so they learned to. Being very independent looked each, by himself and others cared, rather little and the reason for this is that. His father was alcoholic and abusive every day he hit and humiliated a thousand, different forms and the children did what? That was for not being the following. Victims blamed each other.

They were silent, the head bent down. Father respected girls' butt, children marted them especially key. From very young it was a big child. It was always too high for his age, and it was also very clumsy what made. His father believes that he has some kind of, disability made fun of him, Hit the minimum always was, punishing and on more than one occasion, applied electrical discharges, as I said. Previously Key's four brothers, they were looking for themselves, so if the father got with Key, they couldn't be less laughed at their height of its awkwardness of its little appearance, little by the insults they reached the, school and more children began to, insult were insulted for his height by, his appearance for his clumsiness and key closed. In himself he became shy reserved,

distrustful and silent introvert, planned a revenge that, first applied to all animals, evils that was on the street was, as if you were playing war. When he looked at those dogs they put themselves, Cochillahs and Orinibon were so, scared, animals until he got tired and then, I ended their lives at the beginning. Actions made him feel good but with, time bored and decided to start, do the same with fume beings but what? It happens to kill someone needed, a pretext and this were always the,

revenge at ten had a better, friend named Martin and the two were nail, and meat played at all hours. Walks went by bicycle to the lake they, they counted everything but another thing, thing that. I liked it to get into Lyos Martin. Planned everything and Key was carried out. That many times meant that Martin, I wouldn't stain your hands and Key would end. Punished for a long time that was. It's dynamic but in the end key is E. End. He decided what solution was to kill his. Best friend for that reason one day. Anyone was with Martin and in the door of his house hit him with the intention to kill him through him to the ground. He started hitting but his father found there

and after separating them. Martin never stayed again with him. A year later Key and other friends of his, They went on a lake together. They were all together walking. The lake began to bathe. Jokes and between one thing a boy, he approaches him and immerses his head. Within the water this gesture was a, simple joke did not go bad but kit. He was recorded and time later. During a swimming class he approached, that boy and tried to drown him from. Truth took advantage of its height and weight, to keep this water under water, boy and not being for the lifeguard, that she would have been her first. Victim A of 14 years ago A, really strange event and event that he is not borrowed and is that. mentions that there were some sources. They say that he was the victim and others that, he a girl, but whatever the subject was. Here is that this event marked a before and, a then is he took out his studies end, graduated in 73, but supposedly not, went to dance since it apparently had no, couple his father did not allow him to go to the university and therefore sought a, I work some sources say that with their father and others who sought life that, worked in stores and workshops and between, one thing or another met Rose hook with,

who would marry and have three children, though. Family was very happy for 14 years and, then Kate decided to become, trucker traveled throughout states, United Transporting Materials and supposedly earned a lot of money, though. Children are growing everything is very good, but then Rose begins to suspect that maybe kid is being, unfaithful we do not know if this was true or, no, but according to witnesses of the time everything, I pointed out that Rose asks for explanations. Kid gives us a excuses and apart from all this. Although at home it appears to be the father and, perfect husband does things a little, you miss your daughter Melissa in her book. Shattered silence wrote it with

very good words said it was a guy, normal sociable enchanted with, women and that others did, feel very protected to make a common neighbor but sometimes, I did very strange things he remembered that a, time when I was little one found a, Gatito's pair grabbed them took them to, House was placed in the garden and his father, seeing that he approached the girl took him. The cats and began to torture them began, to torture them, hunging for clothes smiled as if, enjoy tormenting you. More seemed to enjoy his. Mother Rose already had enough.

Weird things was affectionate then cold. Then he believed he was unfaithful believed, have evidence and on one of your trips the. Woman took the opportunity to make her suitcases and, go with the children to their house. Parents from then on, divorce became official in 1990, Kiesaw, children weekends and holidays, But it should be said that a point arrived in the, that he could no longer see them and that is that. Seem according to Melissa, something happened. Everything changed and is that a holiday. His father started talking about corpses, murders and concealment of bodies.

He told his daughter that he was convinced of, who was able to commit crime. Perfect and when Rose learned about this, he did not let him be alone with any of. Your children if I wanted to see them should be, go ahead that Melissa thanked. Enormously at 35 key decided, give a change to your life did not want to be. always truck driver. Another thing so he decided to join though. Canada mounted police made. Tests entered was very happy but a training suffers an accident and, because of this had to leave it though. Sequels he suffered were permanent and, therefore he had to return to the road. He lost his wife to his children work. Of his dreams lost so many things that I was very angry could not believe that.

So many bad things were happening and therefore demanded revenge and that's there. When their terrible began, crimes on the night of January 21st, 1990 Key stopped resting in a bar low located, very close to Portland, Oregon and then, observe a young girl drinking in the bar the girl looked very cheerful and, happy and then joined some men. To play villar, his name was Tonya, Bennett and when he had the opportunity, he approached her and began to speak the, invited another and another and invited another and another, when he saw that he was very drunk, invited him to accompany him to a small floor, who had rented very close to there, nobody suspects are being happy, nothing but one sees the, hits the end strangle to the, death after that he

through his body, half naked to an embankment next to the car face and from their manufactured his, for went to a bar located in true, give him and there he spoke with all the, present invited people to a couple of. Ronda's laughed, he had a good time, he had coffee, and the next morning he left the girl things at different points end, it did not spend much time until a boy found the key body was, very proud of himself had killed, someone and nobody pointed to him no, there was connection with the victim there was no, evidence that incriminates him in his mind, had created the perfect quartette the news appeared everywhere in the radio on television everyone he talked about it appeared the newspapers in magazines everyone talked about kit without knowing what he was and then a woman called the

police and said knowing who killed the girl her name was labran pinack and said her boyfriend john sosnowski had killed her labran and john you a very complicated relationship broke they returned fought and occasionally they denounced each other for things terrible however this time the burn went further he told the police that john killed tonya bennett and also could demonstrate presented a note, supposedly written by John himself, a note in which the name of, the victim and a trough of pants that supposedly belonged to her CLE, what happened gave more clues more evidence, but the police did not have them all, I get and as the case did not close the. Vern took another step I wanted John, was arrested and therefore said that. She was also

involved said, she strangled Tonya and meanwhile, John raised her body to a car, they got rid of this of their things and, then they were each on their side like this, that the police asked him that, He demonstrated and asked him to take them to. Place where the body was found. They went up to a patrol car they traveled. Several roads and at the exact point, the burn made them stop. Place where the body was how it was. Placed in with this information, though.

Police say that the media already has it. They transmit the information they say that the guilty have already been arrested and kicked to. Finding out about this is very unworthy. That crime has been his work he has. Killed to Tonia and therefore wants him to. World knows it and for that reason it begins to. Leave notes everywhere first. put in a bathroom bath of Greyhound and once there he wrote what.

Next on a wall I killed Tonya. Bennett on January 25th, 1990 in. Portland, Oregon hit her until he kill her. I liked it. I'm sick but too. I have fun two people Karen with the. Guilt and I am free and then, signed the text with a happy face the. Police completely ignored the case, was closed and the author of the,

Words was surely a joker, decrashing a sick guy someone, eager to get attention and four. This kiss kept insisting and left a, second written in arrest zone. From Oregon mate Tony to Benad in, Portland two people who arrive with the, Blame for me to kill again, but the police once again ignored it. Completely to us the case was already. Closed the Verne and John were between. Bars and in very short they would go to trial and, that is when something happens. I expect it and so when the trial begins.

Labron retracts confesses that everything, what has he said is a lie and that only, wants to take revenge on John is a guy. Abusive alcoholic is fed up with him and, I just wanted to see him between bars tells him, to the judge that the evidence that has, the piece of, Hans is from his granddaughter the note that John was allegedly wrote, She and knew where the scene was, crime because newspapers said it,

again and again, but I don't know the judge, believed and without more suspicious on the 31st of, January 1991 was sentenced to chain, perpetual John Sosnovsky to see this, scared if he did not admit the crime could, received death penalty so the tracer, a treatment received life imprisonment without, possibility of freedom,

conditional with all the subject of your, First Key crime was very outraged, but O. did not stop killing, in fact, a few months after killing, Tonya Bennett committed a second crime, specifically on April 12, 1990. In California, John Richard is in the apidly of a shopping center with its four-month-old son when Key decided, kidnap her, uploaded her to her truck, and, during TR hours he had kidnapped, during all that time he assaulted her, physics, and in the end he wanted to strangle her, but the woman at that point was more, Fast he dodged him grabbed his baby and he immediately ran down Richard, denounced what happened at the police station.

Nearby described Kit what was how it was. His gestures spoke his truck and, in a short time the man was arrested, but unfortunately he was put in freedom due to lack of evidence, turning to Richard into the only, surviving victim a year later. Kith again attacks the 30, August 1992 when he strangled. A woman who could never identify your body was found in, Bligh, California, and although no one ever knew, who hell was perhaps assured that. Claudia called a month later in flock. California appeared the body of,

Cynthia L.N. Rose, 32 and the woman, presented the same signs as previous bodies was beaten, strangled and later key, justified the crime said the woman, was a prostitute and that while he, he slept in his truck he sneaked into this and tried to steal, but Kit realized like this, who attacked her and killed her fourth crime, supposed also justification though. Next victim was Lorian Pendan and his. Body was found in November, In 1992 in Salem, Oregon she was also, prostitute and after bedtime, allegedly wanted to charge him more. That key did not agree, Laura insists. He says he will report and Key decides, killing her the next victim was, Patricia Skeell and was assigned in June of, 1993 in Santanila, California to, principal the police thought that this case,

it was not a crime that was overdosed, but, overtime key admitted to having it. The court of, Ton Oregon received an anonymous letter from, someone who said he killed Tony Bennett. The lyrics were very similar to to the, found in different public baths, and the firm was identical a face, smiling, but they ignored it. They thought he was a crazy joker. John Sosnowski's friend, but the author does not. He gave up and sent other letters, to the media specifically sent a six pages letter to the newspaper of Oregonian and in this one not only. He killed Tony Bennett, but also five, women and is written once again, affirmed with a happy face I feel, bad but I will not give myself not stupid. I am closer than they think if. Letters are real the police have between bars to two innocent people

and four. This is raised three different options. The first is that the author of the letters, he is John's friend, he is his colleague and, what is the second to be released, is that he could be a joker and the, third is that the author really is the, guilty in those letters are written. Things that only the murderer can know the, murderer or a researcher someone who has, seen the bodies that the crime scene that has seen how, I was Tony to Bennett and also, no other cases that at that time does not. They are resolved and worst of all is that. This person says he will kill again and, then in September, 1994 is the lifeless body of, an unidentified woman in Crestview. Florida Kit time later said, I called Susan, but apart from that, there were more information during a

season it seems that there is silence but, in January of 1995 this man returns to the load and is, that collects a 21-year-old girl who makes Huttop on Spoken Washington his. Name was Angela Sirbysa wanted to go to. Indiana had a partner there wanted, seeing it and the only way to get there was with. The self-kitt picks it up together for a week but a girl. Start complainingly says that for too much, which is always sleeping that it seems, that they will never arrive and their last. It's when Kit tries to sleep nap, so there the subject loses his nerves, the strangula and not happy. With this he grabs the body to tie the lower part of the truck and drive, dragging it for 20 kilometers during that. Time the body is unrecognizable end. Then he abandons him in any,

Part over the years kid decides to settle the head knowing someone to turn page in, start going back to form A family and their nose Julian Winningham. 41 years some sources say it was, an ex-girlfriend of his who already knew each other and others that was something new that were, knowing that they liked that. Her family still had no information of him, but the subject here is that kid in, a certain moment begins to think that. Julie just loves him for money is, feel uncomfortable with her is not like, before it does not feel good and on March 10th of 1995 after having a strong discussion. The strangula hits the body on the shore of the Columbia River and the way the police found her. It was very peculiar was completely, naked mouth and clear signs, a violence for several days look, suspicious but apparently not. They find anyone an autopsy reveals that the girl was tied with tape.

Adhesive detail presented in some cases that were not yet resolved cases, supposedly attributed to the murderer of, happy face and say supposedly, because at this time some, researchers still thought no. there were isolated cases and that the notes made no sense. What is this crime like this? Very much to all the above and the police investigates more in depth the. Victim's mother tells them that woman was dating one kit and that this helped him sell his car. They do with the papers they see who bought. The car who sold it and who was.

There is a witness and this was not even more. No less than Key Hunter Jesperson. They discover that key is a truck driver and they also discover for what company. Work contact your bosses. They discover their route and on March 22nd. 1995 for five hours questioning are five hours in which they do not get anything and in. Those that man wrapped his right to do not declare at any time. Ask how Julie died does not care.

That is dead has no feelings no, has empathy and instantly, all alarms light. Unfortunately they have no evidence against. He is suspicious is sinister but, apart from that they have nothing more or confesses for yourself or will have nothing. And incredible that it may seem days later, the man ends up delivering on the 24th of. March he writes two letters one, for his book. brother and another for his children and in them confesses the crimes and already the March 30th is delivered at the police station confesses to be the author of the crime of

Julian but also of seven other crimes of all cases gives details that never have published in the press tattoos of victims like Ian dressed where they found how the poses what happened to them how they died and gives names of victims that so far did not identify and therefore the police know that they have guilty as kiss delivered and demonstrated be the culprit of Tonya's death. Ben on November 27th, 1995 Labran. Pinak and John Sosnowski were released, but this man was not formed, I wanted to be a big famous criminal, known worldwide so, he said he killed 160 people, unfortunately this could not, demonstrate and was condemned by the crimes that I have already mentioned to you. Fact was sentenced to three chains, perpetual without the possibility of

freedom, conditional over the years, they wanted to attribute more crimes between, which was D. Lina Carisi, but unfortunately it could never be. Demonstrate from time. time to time they accuse her of, new crimes but every two for three, they are discarding so now is your, what do you think of the case and you think, the sentence was fair or deserved, another different, hello everyone, my minor cousin accuses me of ABSSXL. Our story begins a few years ago when in our majority of age and with the hormones at the top we begin to attract. She hit her body a lot and made me a certain kind of somewhat strange caresses that obviously turned me on. Over time and growing more I began to awaken stronger feelings in the erotic sense,

not in the romantic. And one day just as she went up to my room and began to undress. And we had our first time. It was something incredible. That without a doubt we both enjoyed and that it lasted all night. I don't know if it was his first time, but at least mine yes. Then I went to study the university and when every time I went to my ranch we used to look just to have action. At that time as soon as I left my home, she began to join my friends from high school. What made me uncomfortable why it was like why together with my friends all men do not know if to make me jealous or something but immediately I return from my first semester of the uni. She was already my best high school girlfriend.

I felt something jealous but I didn't give importance. At the same time she with great enthusiasm looked for me to speak telling me what wave with her sex life and as she did with him. As he was drugged with focus and other things. Thing that I don't take myself well and I gave him the advice to leave him. That night like many others he gave himself again to me. Whenever we had something I recorded it on video. For morbid I kept it. But I have never published it but I still kept it.

Then I had a long trip. And I met a woman, with which I started a courtship. And the first time I returned home and with formal courtship. She, my cousin, let me know that she bone my girlfriend fell badly. And I told her, but you don't know her. She hinted again and rejected her. It was then that I stopped seeing her. With the passing of L. T.empo he still wrote to me and told me that he loved me and left my girlfriend.

I tried to convince her that ours could not be in dreams. But she kept insisting. I was sent by erotic messages videos. And I erased them because now I had a girlfriend and my things with my partner did not go well, so I preferred to block or eliminate such messages without leaving evidence. One day I realized that I blocked me from IG. And I didn't give importance with my life. Only every time I published things saw them with another false profile.

Always. I did not give importance. A few days ago I have been finding out that the occasion that tried to take my life. This is how he tried to take his life. In another state of the Republic I did not ask for it. But he says it was because of me. Why I absoluted I get around my mother. That she is publishing in F.B. and everywhere I did that. He wants to put my whole family against me. Publishing everywhere. For this I still have me on WPP and many times all innocent. I even answered some story that went up with my family by telling you to greet me. Or things like that. I don't know what to do tell me that he wants to proceed legally. But although I have not seen her years and that I had not directed a word with her I would like to ask her

why she does this. I know that nothing we did was fine. But it gives me a lot of of something. Well, today everyone puts themselves on the woman's side. With all my sexual partners I never had problems or my now ex-girlfriend. No violence at all. Always with everyone was something consented. Anyway, even with all my other problems that are also long stories, I want to give up. They know I am only tired. Update, I return to my ranch these days. for in work accident I have been incapacitated. I've been at home. The very cynical no longer proceeded in any way.

My aunt her mother who was a woman who I love very much and that until then used to love me a lot. He asked me not directly that he never directs the word. The very psychologically damaged take every opportunity to be present. My aunt does not come to the house, but she yes, as where I live is my grandmother's house she sometimes comes alone. There are days when there is no one and she usually walks around the house with little clothes. Some very short in bra or top short do not get clothes. When that happens I prefer to be locked in my mother's room what is an area completely away from the common stay. I have a month and she greets me as if nothing in front of everyone.

Greet my friends. I did not address the word but even offered to make my healing. As if nothing had happened. I hate it with each fiber of my be. being. T. H. End. We always knew there was something off about the abandoned house at the very end of our street. Everyone in the neighborhood whispered stories about it, how it was cursed, how bad things happened to anyone who stepped inside. Old folks would shake their heads and mutter prayers any time they walked past it. Kids made up stories about ghosts in the windows

and shadows that moved when no one was there. It was one of those houses that just felt wrong, even in daylight. So naturally, we decided to go in. It was a summer night, one of those hot, sticky ones where sleep felt impossible and boredom was our worst enemy. We were five stupidly brave, or stupidly stupid, young adults looking for something to shake up the usual nothingness of our small town. I was Carla, 20 years old, always the one who talked big but felt like backing out at the last minute. Along with me were Tom, the confident one who always took the lead, Laura, who hit her fear with sarcasm, Nick, who tried to act chill but jumped at everything, and Sophie, sweet Sophie, the quiet one who noticed the little things no one else did. We brought flashlights,

a camera, because of course we needed proof, and that dumb sense of invincibility that people our age think is permanent. The house loomed in front of us, dark and broken down, windows boarded, roof half-caved in. The full moon lit up the path, and the shadows made the whole thing look like something straight out of a horror movie. It was perfect. The front gate was hanging off its hinges. It made this awful screech as we pushed it open. Tom laughed and said something like, well, it's too late to back out now, and marched right up to the front door. Me? My stomach was already doing somersaults. The door creaked when we opened. it, and I swear the air coming out of that house was colder than outside. And it smelled like

mold and sadness. Not just the usual musty smell old places have. No, this one felt, wrong. Like something had been rotting there for a long time, and not just furniture. The living room was destroyed. Furniture covered in dusty sheets, the wallpaper peeling, mold crawling up the walls. It looked like whoever used to live there just got up one day and ran out without taking a thing. There were broken photo frames on the floor, shattered glass everywhere. A half-burned candle sat on the mantle, as if someone had just been there. Creepy as hell, Nick muttered, shining his flashlight toward a collapsed bookshelf. We wandered through the ground floor, each step making the wooden floorboards groan like they were about to give out. Then, all of a sudden,

we heard a whisper. A real, honest-to-god whisper. At first, I thought it was Sophie messing around, but when I turned to look at her, her face was ghost white. Did you guys hear that? Nick asked, trying to sound calm, but his voice cracked. We all nodded. It was like a breeze was carrying voices through the house, but there wasn't a single window open. The whispers got louder, like they were circling us. My heart was pounding in my ears. It's just the wind, right? Laura said, her voice shaky.

But we all knew it wasn't. We kept moving because, well, what else were we supposed to do? Leave. That would have made way too much sense. Upstairs was worse. The staircase grown under our weight, and every step felt like it might collapse. At the top, there was this one door that was completely, intact. Not a scratch, not a dent. It looked freshly painted, which made zero sense.

Something about it just screamed, opened me and regret it forever. Of course, we opened it. Inside was this empty room, bare walls, rotting floor, except for one thing, an old mirror nailed to the wall. Tall, antique, the kind with fancy curves and edges. It had no dust on it. Clean as if someone had just wiped it down. The air in that room was ice cold. We could see our breath. We all stood in front of the mirror, and at first, everything seemed fine. Just our reflections.

But then I noticed something. Someone. Wait. I whispered, leaning in. Do you see that? There were figures in the mirror. Not us. Behind us.

shadowy, almost invisible, but they were there. Standing. Watching. I jumped back, screamed, bumped into Tom, who nearly dropped his flashlight. What is it? He shouted. Look. Look in the mirror.

They all did. And that's when everyone saw them. One of the figures moved. It stepped forward in the mirror and then, as if reality didn't matter anymore, stepped out of the mirror. Right in front of us. We froze. A woman stood there. Pale, dressed in old-timey clothes, like something out of the 1800s. Her eyes were hollow, black pits. But she didn't seem angry. Just, tired. Sad. Free me, she whispered. Her voice sounded like wind through dead trees. Laura found her voice first.

How? How do we free you? The ghostly woman pointed to a corner of the room. There was a box we hadn't noticed before. Dusty, wooden, locked tight but with the key already in it. We opened it. Inside was a diary, old and brittle. The writing was beautiful cursive, the ink faded but still readable.

It told the story of a woman named Eliza. She had lived there over a hundred years ago. Accused of witchcraft by bitter neighbors after her husband died mysteriously. They locked her in the house. Set it on fire. She survived, but just barely, and was trapped there until she died of starvation and grief. Her soul had never left. She'd been waiting for someone to listen.

To believe her. We found a passage in the diary, some sort of ritual. Not witchcraft, just words. A kind of release. We read them aloud together. Our voices echoed through the room. The woman began to fade, slowly, and for the first time, she smiled. A tear slid down her cheek before she vanished completely.

And just like that, the air changed. The room felt warmer. The house didn't groan anymore. The oppressive weight was gone. We got the hell out of there, not stopping until we were back on the street. Breathing hard, looking at each other like we weren't quite sure what just happened. We never talked about it much after that night. But we all knew it was real.

Afterward, the house didn't feel the same. People said it didn't seem as haunted. No more weird noises or lights in the windows. Someone even bought it eventually. Turned it into an artist's studio. Crazy, right? That night changed us. We all carried something from it.

For me, it was a deep respect for things I don't understand. For Laura, it was a belief that not all scary things are evil. Tom started volunteering at historical societies. Nick got a tattoo of the mirror. Sophie. She wrote a book about it. Under a fake name, of course. We still meet up every single.

summer on the anniversary. Just us five. We don't go near the house, but we talk about what happened. Remember Eliza? Remember the way she looked at us like we were her last hope. Some people think ghosts are just stories. But I know better. We all do. And if you ever find yourself in a place that feels wrong, where the air is heavy and the silence too loud, listen. Maybe someone's trying to be heard. Maybe, just maybe, you're their only chance. Because some houses don't just fall apart. They wait. The end. Let's begin. Apparently, there are three distinct levels of paranormal phenomena. In level one, things are heard. In level two, things are heard and seen. And in level three, things are heard, seeing, and felt. And Edinburgh seems to be the capital of all those phenomena.

of each and every one of those levels, but especially of level three. And today, I specifically want to talk to you about one of the most haunted places in all of Edinburgh. Today I'm here to talk to you about the Greyfriars Cemetery. A cemetery in which not only have many inexplicable deaths been reported within that very cemetery. A place where not only have many ghostly apparitions been reported. A place that holds all kinds of stories, stories related to a dog that stayed next to a dog that stayed next to his master's grave until the day of its death. Stories about broken hearts, suicides. There are countless stories tied to Greyfriars Cemetery.

But today, I don't want to tell you just any tale you'll forget in a few days. Today, I'm going to tell you the story that marked a before and after at Greyfriars Cemetery. Today, I'm going to tell you the story of Bloody McKenzie. Because visitors to that cemetery, even to this day, still claimed that this entity, that the entity of Bloody Mackenzie was the one who caused them bruises, bites, scratches, the one who pulled their hair or pushed them down the stairs. But before I begin to talk about the testimonies of the victims, the current victims of the Mackenzie Poultergeist, I'd like to tell you a little about who he was, who he was in life,

and why he is so feared today. His real name was George McKenzie, and he was a distinguished man of the 15th century. He was born into one of the most powerful families in all of Scotland. This fact quickly opened the doors of the law faculty to him in 1659. And not only that, between 1661 and 1663, this same fact earned him the position of justice deputy. Back then, it wasn't necessary to have good grades. With a good social position and strong connections everywhere, you could be whoever you wanted to be and do whatever you wanted, with your life and with the lives of others.

And that's exactly what George McKenzie did. Because between those years, 61 and 63, he took part in trials against men and women accused of witchcraft. It was during that period that he learned all kinds of punishments, humiliations, tortures, all sorts of cruelties to inflict on people. And it was precisely then that something inside his mind clicked, turning him into a monster. He slowly climbed positions, took on more responsibility, becoming an even more distinguished figure, more revered by the Scottish people, until the year 1677, when he was named King's advocate.

And from that moment on, he became part of Scotland's Privy Council. What does that mean? It means he became part of the King's private, intimate inner circle, which granted him nearly indisputable power. Absolute power. One day, King's Charles II thought it would be a marvelous idea, to be considered a God himself, that he should be the one to whom all prayers and pleas were directed, that the entire Scottish people should worship him, pray to him, admire him, and love him above all else. But what happened? This went against all religions. And so the Presbyterian Covenanters movement emerged, a group of people whose ideas did not at all align with what Charles II wanted to impose on the people. There

are countless historical anecdotes about the Covenant or Rebellion, about the disputes and battles, but what really interests us isn't chairs being thrown in churches. What really matters is the moment that rebellion began, and that moment was in 1638, when a pact was signed in the Kirk Chapel. That pact involved all the Covenanters, and it was the reason 1,200 Covenanters were imprisoned near that chapel, imprisoned by George McKenzie, who was tasked with crushing the rebellion in wiping out the Covenanters. George McKenzie opened the doors of a small prison, on the outskirts of Greyfriars Cemetery,

a prison that came to be known as the Covenanters Prison. There, the illustrious lawyer subjected 10,000 people to unimaginable torture. Officially 100 people, but in reality, far more. Even today, some historians claim it may have been more than 10,000, more than 2,000, more than 3,000, because executions took place. there, including of women and children. Do you remember the tortures I mentioned earlier, that George McKenzie learned while participating in which trials? Well, everything he learned then, he applied now. He imprisoned people in roofless cells, exposing them to the weather, to the sun,

cold, and damp. If a prisoner complained, sneezed, or even scratched their shoulder, they were tortured and executed in front of the others. Why? To serve as an example, So everyone else would learn to keep their mouths shut and say absolutely nothing. You couldn't even breathe or sigh. Any gesture could be reason for torture, execution, abuse. It's even said that many covenanters who didn't fit in the prison, because there wasn't enough space, not enough cells, were sent to the Americas as slaves. But what happened? The ship they were on sank, and all of them drowned. And sadly, ladies and gentlemen, This isn't a Disney story, this is reality.

And George McKenzie was never judged for it. He was never judged nor condemned for all the deaths he caused, for enjoying watching people die, or even participating in the torture, because many testimonies claimed to have been tortured directly by George M. And in fact, his evil lasted until the day of his death, because in 1691, the year he died, he decided to build a mausoleum for himself, the so-called black mausoleum. It's unclear whether it's called that because of the darkened

stones with age, or if it's truly called the black mausoleum because his soul, was the darkest thing you could ever encounter in life. It's not known how or why, but he chose to be buried there. And the words he is said to have spoken to justify burying his tomb, right in the Covenanters prison were that, he wanted to keep watching over the Covenanters from his grave. This macabre, dark story should have stayed buried in the volumes of local history. But instead, it came back to life one rainy night in 1998. A local homeless man decided to take shelter in Greyfriars Cemetery. He tried to open several mausoleums, several tombs,

looking for a place to feel safe from the rain and cold. Wandering through the cemetery for over an hour, between gravestones and tombs, he reached the gates of the black mausoleum. and no one knows how, but the man found the gate already open. The gate to the mausoleum was already open when he got there. He entered the tomb, went down the stairs, and reached the crypt of the mausoleum, the place where George McKenzie's remains supposedly rested, and he lay down there to spend the night.

After a few minutes lying there, thinking about what to do, what he would do when the rain stopped and the cold went away, he thought he could look around and see if there was anything valuable. Inside those stones, inside those walls, he tried to break the tombstone by hitting it with a rock, tried to find some crack in the wall, some corner where he might find, something of value he could trade with other homeless people. And then something went very wrong. Because the floor he was standing on collapsed. And in a split second, he found himself surrounded by more than a hundred bones. he was practically swimming above the corpses of countless people, who had been dead for years,

centuries. The man's screams, his agonized and desperate screams, caught the attention of two security guards. They rushed to the scene, and encountered one of the most grotesque, macabre, surreal sights. They tried to write down everything the man was saying, tried to believe his words, but a certain smell of alcohol prevented them from taking him seriously. that man, that homeless man, reported having been attacked. He said that the moment the floor gave way, someone grabbed him, pulled him hard, bit him, slapped him, ripped his hair out, scratched him.

And the guards didn't take him seriously. They rode him off as just a drunk who had lost his mind. And under the threat of arrest, under the threat of being charged with trespassing. They called him out and made him go back, action carried out by that man, that vagabond, had awakened something truly evil, that was hidden inside the black mausoleum. From that night on, all the people, who visited Greyfriars to leave, flowers for their deceased began, reporting feeling watched, being, attacked by invisible entities. Pregnant, women said their fetuses, their babies, would turn inside the, stomach, kicking near the

black mausoleum, kicking just, by approaching the doors of, the Covenanters Prison. People felt that there was a very dark entity surrounding that mausoleum, that there was something or someone, pulling their hair, grabbing their arms, tightening their legs. Some even visited the mausoleum, just to feel those sensations, to be attacked by that entity, and took photos, photos that, in many cases, disappeared, as if they had never been taken. Many swore they had seen, a white figure hiding, between the bars of the mausoleum, smelled inexplicable smells, intense, putrid odors, even heard, things that made no sense, heard the earth crunch under, their feet, heard screams, whales coming from inside, the mausoleum. Dozens of wild, animals were found dead, with no signs of violence, at the doors of the mausoleum, at the doors and inside the mausoleum. And from there, things became much more complicated, as, for houses near the cemetery, right behind the black mausoleum, were reported with level three, poltergeist activity. Several areas of the cemetery were, classified with that level, and those zones were feared for, years by the population. And then we reached the year 2002, when all the residences, behind McKenzie's tomb, behind the black mausoleum, were devastated by,

a great fire. But the most shocking case, happened in 2003, on a random early morning, when a security guard, found two boys, around, 11 or 13 years old, inside the Covenanters' prison, holding the Munnified Skull of George McKenzie. The boys, seemed to be in a tremendous state of shock, barely able, to speak a word, barely, able to move their arms, move their lips, their gaze, was completely lost. The boys were quickly taken, to the police station. There, they were questioned.

They were asked the names, of their parents, their addresses, what they were doing there, why they had the skull in, their hands where they, had come from, what, had gone through their minds. But neither of them was able to speak a single word. The interrogation lasted, until sunrise, even, beyond sunrise, it, lasted until mid-morning, at least until one of the boys tried to explain what had happened to them. And according to the boy, based on what the police could extract from his babbling, because he could hardly vocalize, because it seemed as if someone had truly absorbed his soul, what the police extracted, was that, according to him, they had entered George McKenzie's tomb, that of Bloody McKenzie,

as part of a dare. They entered, the tomb and from their everything, was blurry. From that point on, Everything they had done, everything they had walked, everything they had broken, all the damage caused in the cemetery was done because the skull of, George McKenzie had forced them to do it. That very skull had even forced them to commit necrophilia with it. And the boy swore over and over that they would never forget, that night that they had, lived the worst nightmare of their lives inside, the Covenanters prison. From that moment, the town hall, of the cemetery, to censor, the Covenanters Prison, and that it could only be visited by a few people. So that's when the famous, Greyfriar's Cemetery Tour was created, the tour that still takes place, every week for a select few, interested in the topic. A tour you can only join, if you sign documents, stating that you do not hold, the company responsible for anything that may happen to you, if the McKenzie Poultergeist attack. you, bites you, scratches you, pulls your hair, you won't blame the company, because the responsibility,

for anything that happens to you, on that tour is solely yours. It turns out that the offices, for that tour, the tour, that still operates today, are located near the cemetery, with views of the mausoleum, of the Covenanters Prison. And those offices, in October, of 2003, that same year, burned down, burned, in a fire whose origin, remains unknown to this day. A fire that destroyed, years and years of testimonies, letters, photographs, and, information proving that, the McKenzie Poultergeist, was real, something practically alive, and alive, dwelling in, the black mausoleum. The strange part isn't just, that the fire had no explanation, no clear origin, no substance, what strange, is that none of the surrounding,

properties or buildings, suffered any damage. Only the offices burned, only the information related, to the McKenzie Poultergeist burned. The entire area, the area, involving apparitions, physical harm, the ghostly, whitish figure that appears, at the mausoleum's doors, that area has been exorcised, twice already. And on both occasions, the priests in charge, of the rituals assured, that it wasn't possible, that it wasn't possible, to expel that entity, that such a demonic entity, was truly powerful, truly potent, and that its strength, the strength fed over the years, by so many people, the strength it gathered, from stealing energy, from its victims, from physically harming, whispering, pulling hair, pushing people, all that negative energy it

absorbed, has made it practically indestructible. The town hall has tried, countless times to contact, Other priests, other exorcists, strong enough to try, to exorcise that zone, to expel the Mackenzie Poultergeist. But no one wants to take part, no one wants to perform, that exorcism, because everyone fears the consequences, everyone is afraid, of the Mackenzie Poultergeist. A poltergeist that to this day still creates victims. But now, it no longer does it, with the same intensity, as in the early years, those first years, when it came back to life.

Now, for every group of people who join the tour, it chooses one, and it torments that one. If you search the internet a bit, you'll find an endless amount of experiences, testimonies, countless photos taken, by the victims,

photos showing, bite marks, handprints, burns, abrasions, cuts, and all those people, say the same thing, none, or practically none, felt anything. At most,

they felt a little nudge, a tap on the shoulder, or heard someone, calling them from some dark corner of the cemetery. They heard their name, and when they turned around, there was no one. And the next morning, upon waking up, was when they found all those injuries, when they felt their body, react to movement, to stretching, in a negative way, as if they'd been, brutally beaten in their sleep. Though in the case of pregnant women, it's much, much more macabre, and sinister, All of them reported that their babies turned, inside the womb, or even began having contractions, when only two months pregnant. And it's in the case of pregnant women, where they've woken up, with bruises on their stomachs, as if someone had been, kicking them while they slept, as if someone had tried, to abort that fetus, to abort that baby. You'll rarely hear a bird sing, near the mausoleum.

You'll rarely find a rat alive, near the mausoleum. and you'll rarely approach it, in good spirits and with energy, because people say that getting close to the mausoleum is like approaching a black hole that sucks up everything, everything, absolutely, all your energy, and leaves not a single drop of positivity inside your body. The end. It was a cold Christmas Eve in 1945, and Fayetteville, West Virginia, was dressed up like a scene out of a holiday postcard. Snow dusted the rooftops, lights blinked and windows, and the town buzzed with seasonal joy. For the Sauter family, this was supposed to be a night of laughter, gifts, and warmth. George and Jenny Sotter had ten children, and although

some of the older kids were out with friends or helping around town, the house was lively with music, food, and excited chatter. By the time the clock struck midnight, everything changed. A sudden, violent fire broke out in the Sotter home. George and Jenny were yanked from sleep by the crackle of flames and the choking scent of smoke. Confusion turned into horror in seconds. They scrambled to find their children, but it all happened too fast. Through the smoke and chaos, they managed to grab their youngest two and flee. But five of their kids, Maurice, Martha, Lewis, Jenny, and Betty, aged five to fourteen, were still inside. The flames weren't patient. They tore through the house with terrifying speed.

George tried to re-enter, climbing walls, smashing windows, desperate to get back in, but it was impossible. His ladder, usually right by the side of the house, was missing. His truck wouldn't start, despite having worked perfectly the day before. He could only watch, helpless, as the fire reduced their home to a pile of glowing rubble. When the fire department arrived, hours late due to one. wartime shortages and poor organization, it was too late. The home was gone, the kids were gone, and nothing but smouldering ash remained. The initial assumption was that the children had perished in the fire, but something didn't sit right. There were no bones, no remains, nothing that even

hinted at the presence of five young bodies. George and Jenny clung to hope, a hope that grew stronger as strange details started to pile up. First, there was the missing ladder, later, later found tossed down an embankment far from the house. Then came a report from a neighbor who said she saw a strange car parked near the house just before the fire. Another woman, watching from a distance during the fire, said she saw figures moving near the house, even claimed she saw some of the children looking out of a car window. A few days later, a strange phone call came. A woman asked for George by name, then laughed and hung up. No explanation, no follow-up. Just more fuel for the growing suspicion that something deeply wrong had happened.

George was convinced the fire wasn't just a tragic accident, it was a cover-up. He suspected the mafia. He'd once refused to pay protection money, and he believed they might have taken revenge. Maybe his kids were kidnapped. Maybe the fire was meant to erase all evidence. Refusing to let it go, George and Jenny launched their own investigation. They printed thousands of. of flyers with photos of the five missing children and plastered them across the state.

They talked to everyone who might have seen or heard anything. They even offered a reward for information. The responses they got were chilling and puzzling. One woman claimed she saw the kids at a hotel about 50 miles away, accompanied by four adults. The children looked healthy but confused, and when she tried to speak to them, the adults quickly cut her off. A bus driver reported seeing children matching their description the morning after the fire, peering out the back window of a car. Even stranger, in 1946, they got a tip from a woman in Charleston who said the children were living with distant relatives.

But when George went to investigate, he found nothing. The leads kept coming, some believable, others bizarre. A psychic told them the children were buried under the remains of the house. George even dug up the basement to look. Nothing. Frustrated by the lack of progress from local law enforcement, the Sotters hired private detectives. One PI traced a tip to St. Louis and claimed the children were living with a nun in a convent. When he went back for a follow-up visit, he was never seen again.

By 1950, George had taken his search to the next level. He erected a massive billboard alongside Route 16, near their own. old property. It showed the faces of the five missing kids and read, what happened to our children. Kidnapped. Murdered. The sign stayed there for decades, a painful reminder and a public plea. More letters trickled in. A woman wrote from New York saying she'd met a man in a bar who confessed he'd started the fire and knew the kids were taken. Another letter claimed the children had been adopted by a wealthy couple in Italy. Most of these leads went no way. but George and Jenny never gave up. Then, something eerie happened in 1967. Over two decades

after the fire, Jenny received a photograph in the mail with no return address. It showed a young man, maybe in his 20s, with features uncannily similar to one of their sons, Lewis. On the back was scribbled, Louis Sauter. I love brother Frankie. Illil boys. A 901-3-2 or 30. they were stunned. The resemblance was uncanny. Could it really be Lewis? They sent a private investigator to try and trace the photo. Again, it led nowhere. The sender was never identified, and no one could explain the bizarre message. Even as the years passed, George and Jenny clung to hope. George died in 1968, still believing his children were alive. Jenny wore black every day until her own death in 1989, never letting go of the belief that one day, her missing children would

come home. The case of the Sauter children remains one of the strangest unsolved mysteries in American history. Despite the massive attention it received, no concrete answers ever emerged. For some, it's a simple case of a tragic fire with no survivors. For others, it's a deep rabbit hole of conspiracy, cover-ups, and unanswered questions. To this day, people still talk about the solder case. True crime enthusiasts, amateur sleuths, and even paranormal investigators have all taken their turns trying to crack the code. Books have been written.

Podcasts have been produced. The theories range from the plausible to the downright bizarre, mafia abduction, child trafficking, witness protection programs gone wrong, even alien abduction. Everyone seems to have a theory, but none can be proven. What makes this story so haunting isn't just the mystery, it's the heartache. It's the image of two parents desperately clinging to hope, scouring the country for even a hint of their children. It's the lonely billboard by the highway, asking the question no one could answer. It's Jenny in her black dress, lighting candles every night.

What happened to the solder children? Did they die in the fire, completely consumed beyond recovery? Did someone sneak them away in the chaos? If so, why? And who? There are no definitive answers. Just pain, hope, and a long, empty trail that grows colder with each passing year. One thing's for sure, George and Jenny never stopped searching.

And maybe, just maybe, somewhere out there, the truth still exists, waiting for someone to finally connect the dots. Until then, the story of the solder. family endures, a chilling tale of loss, love, and the unrelenting need for answers in the face of the unknown. The end. I had no idea that touring a historic mansion could turn into one of the most chilling experiences of my life. At the time, I was just a prospective buyer, eager to explore what could potentially be my next big investment. I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary, just another day, another property, another decision to make. But that day,

I encountered something that would haunt me forever. The mansion was massive, the kind of place that seemed straight out of an old Gothic novel. White siding, towering windows, a dark, sloping roof that loomed over us like a silent guardian of time. It stood three stories tall, proud and imposing, with a sense of grandeur that was both breathtaking and eerie. Inside, it was a labyrinth of rooms, hallways that twisted and turned, doors that led to places you could easily lose yourself. in. The house itself was perched atop a small foothill, overlooking a vast green landscape, its mossy lawn stretching out for acres like a rolling green sea. As we neared the end of our tour, we found ourselves in the backyard, standing there in the cool afternoon light while the real estate

agent talked business with my investment partner. I stood off to the side, letting my eyes wander up to the house, admiring the architecture, the way the windows reflected the sky. That's when I saw it, In one of the second-story windows, in the far right wing of the mansion, a figure stood motionless, staring straight at me. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, maybe a shadow, or the reflection of a tree swaying outside. But then I focused. No, this was no illusion. Someone, something, was there. My breath hitched, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

The figure was a woman, engulfed in darkness, yet I was a woman. I could make out the sharp angles of her face, the way her features twisted into an expression of pure, unfiltered rage. She didn't move, didn't blink. Just stared, those eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. It was like they were made of fire, orange, red, black, flickering like daggers in the dim light. I felt paralyzed, unable to look away even though every instinct screamed at me to run. The air seemed to thicken around me, pressing against my chest,

suffocating. I opened my mouth to call out, to alert the others, but instead of words, a silent scream tore through my throat. My voice was gone. Panic surged through me as I tried again, desperate to break the invisible grip that held me captive. But nothing came out. I turned to my partner and the agent, flailing, trying to get their attention. My movements felt sluggish, like I was wading through thick water. My throat burned as I kept. screaming soundlessly, my heart racing as fear turned into full-blown terror. Time stretched unnaturally, every second dragging on like an eternity. The harder I tried, the weaker I felt, my energy draining with each futile attempt. Then, just as suddenly as it started, I heard a voice.

What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you screaming? My partner's voice broke the spell, snapping me back into reality. Gasping for air, I turned to him. my body trembling. I pointed a shaking hand up at the window, my voice barely above a whisper. There's someone inside. Can't you see her? I looked back at the window, my stomach twisting into knots as the figure remained there, watching. A slow, cruel smile almost broke across her face.

Please, I begged. Tell me you see her, my partner and the agent exchanged puzzled looks before glancing up. Their expressions remained undefined. changed. There's no one there, the agent said, her voice laced with something I couldn't quite place. It's empty. Don't freak yourself out. It's just a house, I whipped my head back toward the window, and she was gone. I stood there, my mind reeling, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had I imagined it? Was my exhaustion playing tricks on me? But deep down, I knew. I had seen something. Something real.

Something, wrong. The agent handed us their contact information, cutting the tour short after my outburst. I caught a flicker of something in their expression before they left, guilt. Fear. Whatever it was, it only deepened my unease. As I climbed into my car, I told myself I was overreacting. That it was all in my head. That maybe, just maybe, I had let my imagination

run wild. But even then, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just encountered something truly evil. And I had no idea it wouldn't be the last time. What happened that day wasn't just a one-time experience. No matter how much I tried to push it to the back of my mind, it followed me. It started with small things. Dreams, mostly. Dreams of the mansion, its long corridors stretching on forever, the air thick with an unnatural something. silence. And always, always, she was there. Waiting. Watching. Then the nightmares started bleeding into my waking life. I'd catch glimpses of her and reflections, the corners of my vision. At first, I convinced myself it was stress, but then things escalated. I started waking up in

the middle of the night, unable to move, a weight pressing down on my chest. The air would feel heavy, electric, charged with something unseen. And every time, I knew, I wasn't alone. One night, as I lay in bed, I felt a presence in my room. I dared not open my eyes, but I could feel her. Standing at the foot of my bed. The room was freezing, my breath coming out in shallow, ragged gasps. Then, I heard it.

A whisper. A voice that wasn't mine. Do you see me now? I bolted upright, gasping, but the room was empty. Yet the feeling remained, an echo of something sinister lingering in the darkness. After that, I knew this wasn't just my imagination. I needed answers. I started researching the mansion, digging into its history, searching for anything that

might explain what I had seen. And what I found only confirmed my worst fears. The house had a history. A dark one. Decades ago, a woman had lived there, a woman who had suffered immense tragedy, who had lost everything. Some say she lost her mind. Others say she was never sane to begin with.

But one thing remained constant in every version of the story, she never left. Even after death, she remained. And those who saw her, never forgot. I knew then that my experience was just the beginning. whatever had started that day at the mansion, was far from over. He couldn't help but let out a scream of horror because that girl seemed to him the most terrible, most terrifying, and most evil thing he had ever seen in his life. So he ran upstairs in search of his wife, and through screams and stammering, he tried to explain that he had just seen Sally on the lower floor.

Tony couldn't stop trembling, couldn't stop shaking, but Deborah wasn't the least bit worried. Deborah actually seemed jealous that she hadn't been the one to witness that manifestation. Why, if she gave her so many gifts and took such good care of her, hadn't she been able to see her? Why didn't Sally want to appear to her? And that night they would receive the answer. That night, when the team of investigators entered the house, they confirmed the theory that there was a girl in that house. But they also confirmed Tony's theory, that girl was not something positive. The mediums accompanying the investigation team corroborated the presence of a creature there,

but they weren't sure if it was a girl or if it was something taking the form of a girl to get people's attention. There was something very strange about that apparition. There was something very sinister about Sally. One medium said that there truly was an innocent childlike presence in the house, but at the same time, there was another presence, an adult female presence who detested the male figure and therefore lashed out at Tony. Another medium said that indeed, there was a childlike presence in the house, but it wasn't a normal girl, it was a demonic entity. Many other investigators would later visit the house, and many versions would be given about Sally and the haunted house, but this investigation is important because they were the first to tell the Pickmans that the best thing they could do was leave that house.

No exorcism would free it from what lived there. The investigators told the Pickmans that giving gifts to that ghost hadn't been making a child happy, it had been feeding something much darker, something that had been feeding off the couple's emotions, their arguments, the discomfort being generated. And the only purpose that entity had was to become the master of their lives. From here, we have the field investigations. The fact that this residence housed so much paranormal activity could indicate that it had once housed death, a tragic death that caused the soul or souls who perished there to become trapped within those walls and relive the day of their death over and over again, as happened in the case of Fox Hollow Farm. So they searched for answers

in municipal archives and records, sifting through the countless names of previous owners who had lived in that house. But unfortunately, none of the deaths that had occurred there had been tragic. The first owners were the Finney family, who lived in the basement of the house until it was fully built. Michael Finney, the father, died in 1872 from a heart attack, leaving his wife Kate a widow in charge of their only daughter, a one-year-old girl at the time. After becoming widowed, Kate married Richard Edwin. Sadly, tragedy struck the family again with the death of the new father in 1874. But that death wasn't tragic either, even though he died in that house, it was due to natural causes.

They found nothing else from 1874 to 1990, the time when the residence was supposedly rented to a woman named Atal L. Anderson. The investigators found nothing about her, no birth records, not even death records. So the speculation began. Since there were no recorded tragic deaths, they considered that perhaps what was in that house had been summoned by that woman, perhaps she had some link to the occult. A damp stain in the basement was even connected to a possible pentagram that the woman may have drawn there. But all of that was simple speculation, mere theories to make sense of what was happening there. After consulting the archives and finding nothing at all, the investigators turned to Atchison's

legends, legends that coincidentally speak of a horrifying death that happened there. But unfortunately, there are two versions of the story, one sad and melancholic, and one a bit sinister. So first, to prepare ourselves, I'll tell you the nice version. The legend says that at the beginning of the 1900s, a doctor lived in the house. His true love was a mixed-race servant. This man hid the relationship until he eventually had a daughter with her, a daughter named Sarah, Sally to her friends.

Sally was forbidden to leave the house, forbidden to step into the garden, because anyone who saw her would immediately notice her physical resemblance to the doctor, and then he would no longer be able to practice medicine in Acheson. So both mother and daughter remained confined in that house and stayed that way until the little girl became ill with pneumonia, a disease that, at that time, couldn't be treated. The doctor did everything he could to save his daughter's life, but she died in her bed, located in the small room of Taylor. According to this version, the ghost of little Sally would still live in that house, accompanied by her sad mother,

who was very angry because she blamed the doctor for her daughter's death. But this version doesn't justify the aggression of the events. The one that could justify a them, in a way, is the sinister version. This version also takes place at the beginning of the 1900s, when the house functioned as a medical office, specifically located on the lower floor. One day, a mixed-race woman brought her daughter, little Sally, very, very sick, to the doctor for treatment. Apparently, the girl hadn't eaten in weeks, was suffering from severe stomach pain, nausea, and could barely walk. The doctor brought the mother and daughter into his office and determined the girl had acute appendicitis, an appendicitis that required immediate surgery.

The little girl panicked. She was very afraid, afraid that they would cut her stomach open, afraid of having a scar, afraid of being hurt. She suffered an anxiety attack. The little girl started screaming, kicking, trying to escape, trying to open the office door. So her mother had to hold her while the doctor gave her a small dose of ether, enough to calm her, relax her, and put her to sleep so he could operate. Everything happened so fast that the doctor didn't calculate the proper dose. He simply gave her ether until he saw her asleep and then began to cut her open to find the appendix. The shock was massive when the girl woke up mid-surgery, woke up and saw herself covered in blood, with her stomach opened, and the doctor over her, rummaging inside

her. The girl panicked again, started shaking, kicking, screaming. That caused her wounds to worsen to the point they were no longer treatable. The girl bled to death on that table, died with her hateful gaze fixed on the doctor, whom she eternally blamed for her suffering. That version would justify the evil of the entity, would justify the presence of a little girl, and at the same time explain why she caused such harm to the pickmans. It is known that back then, there were two medical offices in the area, located in the basements of some houses, but none of them were at 508, North Second Street. Could the doctor have moved to that house? The House of S.

As for the identity of the girl, it was never proven through the records that Sally existed. It was never shown that a girl between six and seven years old lived in or died in that house. Although historical records do show the burial of a certain Sally, daughter of a mixed-race woman, who was buried in Miller Cemetery in the early 1900s. Could these be the two ghosts haunting the Pickman residents? There were so many unanswered questions running through the Pickman's minds that they could barely sleep while saving everything they could to leave that place. They placed their baby's crib in the master bedroom,

they didn't want to be separated from him, didn't want to leave him alone for even a moment. But they were worrying about the wrong victim. The true target of all the hate, all the rage in that house was still. still Tony, who had now gone from just nightmares to hearing voices in his head. Voices that haunted him constantly, beyond his dreams. Night after night, Tony had more and more disturbing nightmares, nightmares where he strangled Deborah himself, nightmares where he grabbed a blunt object and beat her to death. The voices invited him to end his life.

The voices forced him to hate her, for being a bad wife, a bad mother, for not caring about her family. Deborah forced you to live here. Deborah only loves herself. Deborah will make Sally kill you. Those were some of the phrases the voices whispered in his ear. But every time he stepped outside, every time he crossed the garden and breathed fresh air, he didn't hear them anymore. It only happened when he opened the door, when he entered the house. It was like a crowd of 20 people hitting him from all sides and whispering a thousand things, but those 20 people couldn't leave the house. It was like they were trapped there forever. That's when Tony packed his family's bags and sat his wife at the table. He sat her down and told her what was happening.

He told her there was something inside him, something that clung to him whenever he entered the house. Something that desperately wanted him to hurt her. Tony told her what he truly believed lived in that house. He told her that what was there had played with them, that it had tricked her, and now it was trying to hurt her through him. He told her he couldn't take it anymore, that he didn't want to hurt her, because she was the most important thing in his life. She and their son were everything to him. That's when Deborah understood. That's when she finally took control of the situation and supported her husband so they could leave that house forever. Many paranormal investigation groups have visited the residence after the Pickmans abandoned it. Even ghost hunters visited the building

very recently and classified the entity inhabiting the Sally House as demonic. But what do you think about this? Do you believe the house is infested with demonic entities, or is it simply the ghost of a scared little girl? The end. But what could have happened in this house to put it even on the same level as 112, Ocean Avenue or the Lizzie Borden House? In 1992, Tony and his wife Deborah Pickman moved into 508, North 2nd Street in Atchison, Kansas, very close to the Missouri River. This big news came accompanied by the fact that Deborah was pregnant. That house, at first glance, seemed like it was going to be a very good home for them,

even more so as the weeks passed and the couple furnished and decorated the place. Deborah and Tony finally felt like they owned their own lives, and they also felt that the house was their little paradise on earth. However, Paradise has a price, and theirs came in the form of electrical failures. Every time they watched a football game on television or a program that really caught their attention, the TV would suddenly stop working. But just as it would shut off, around 3 a.m. it would turn back on by itself, without anyone pressing the buttons. And this happened with absolutely all the electronic devices in the residence. Tony checked all the appliances in the house on several occasions, and none of them had any faults.

Everything was in perfect working condition. So he called a technician to check the electrical system, and guess what? There was nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing the technician said that stood out was that the wiring was very old, so the voltage surges and drops could be somewhat normal. Lights turning on and off at certain times of the day might have a logical explanation. But after the specialist's verdict came the disappearances, those typical object disappearances that begin to hint at slight poltergeist activity.

As always happens in this kind of setting, it started with some keys. Then a pair of shoes, followed by a purse, and so on. Things you'd leave in one place would disappear within five minutes. Yet even so, they didn't consider it something paranormal. So they let time pass, and little by little, the disappearances and electrical failures began to fade away. Coincidentally, it all stopped in the summer of 1993, specifically on the day Deborah gave birth to her son Taylor. It was as if, after the baby's birth, a switch had been flipped inside the Pickman House. A switch that triggered a full-blown paranormal infestation, as if the entities manifesting there no longer wanted to play little pranks,

no longer wanted to just flicker the lights or hide things. It was as if they now wanted to take control of their lives. They no longer settled for scaring their victims slightly, they wanted to push them to the limit. After Taylor was born, the banging began. Knox in the early hours of the morning. At first, three bangs, three continuous knocks, followed by scratches, footsteps, whispers, and childish laughter in the hallway. But they didn't go all in at first.

They didn't manifest themselves in a fully aggressive way but gradually built up. First, three knocks at 3 a.m. Two nights later, it was three knocks and two scratches. And before they realized it, as soon as the sun went down, their house turned into a paranormal festival. After these strange sounds came the pictures turning around, every photo placed on the stairs leading from the lower floor to the second story would be found flipped upside down in the morning, with light scratches on the glass frame. It was as if a creature with very sharp nails amused itself at night by turning the frames and leaving its signature on the glass so that the pickmans would know who the culprit was. The final and most troubling sign happened in the baby's room.

The entity took the trouble to gather all the baby's toys and placed them in the center of the room, arranged in a circle, as if the dolls were having a silent conversation among themselves. At first, the couple thought they were playing pranks on each other. Tony thought Deborah was arranging the dolls that way, and she thought exactly the same thing about him. But eventually, they came to the conclusion that neither of them could be doing it, because they were always together. Taylor was their world, their entire life. They could put up with knocks, whispers, laughter. They could endure someone turning their pictures on the stairs.

But Taylor was sacred to them. The idea that this thing was entering his room and playing with his story. toys clearly seemed like a threat. Worried about the paranormal events in their home, they decided to contact someone who understood the topic, and who better than a psychic to tell them what was really happening in their house. The couple contacted a woman who claimed to possess a high level of sensitivity, who said she was capable of contacting paranormal entities. They invited her to spend an afternoon with them to see if a simple walk through the house could allow her to tell them who was causing these strange events. After having coffee with the couple and asking a few

questions, the woman began to walk through all the rooms, closing her eyes, caressing the walls, railings, and objects. She finally told them that what was causing their nightmares and terrors was a little girl, about six years old, named Sally. A girl who didn't want to harm them, who was completely innocent, and who was only looking for a family. Tony didn't believe the story. To him, what was in that house couldn't possibly be an innocent little girl. He was convinced that whatever was in the house was evil, as he had never felt peace, pity, or sympathy, never anything positive from what was present in their home at night, messing with the lights and causing chaos.

So he asked the woman where in the house she had seen the girl, because he wanted to know how far she was willing to lie. She replied, upstairs, in the baby's room. She feels like he's her brother. Tony was instantly in shock. If what the woman was saying was true, then whatever was in his son's room was something terribly dark. If that something was hiding there, then his son was in grave danger. Still, while Tony was completely terrified, his wife felt sympathy, she truly felt a deep tenderness for Sally.

She felt responsible for the little girl feeling alone. So she made the decision to give her toys. She decided to go to the nearest store and buy a couple of stuffed animals and a new bed for Sally. She truly wanted Sally to feel at home, to make living with her a positive, even familial experience. She believed that if the psychic was right, making Sally feel welcome would also allow them and their baby to feel comfortable. Tony argued countless times with Deborah because he couldn't understand why she was doing this, what reason, what logic led her to give gifts to a ghost child. Tony tried to convince his wife to call experts in the field to perform an exorcism on the house,

because he didn't want to live in a place with ghosts, spirits, or whatever it was that was there. But no matter how much he talked to Deborah, she had made up her mind, her decision was to accept Sally as another member of the family. That's when everything truly began. Tony started to experience night terrors. A foot on the bed would begin to scratch his back, his arms, his legs, and when he uncovered himself, he would always find three scratches. The wounds always came in threes, as if the entity were trying to send a message, a message

delivered through cuts. To Tony, that was no little girl. To Tony, those burns, those wounds, seemed inflicted by a demon, a much darker entity, one that wanted to harm them. But Deborah kept saying that maybe he was doing it to himself without realizing it, or that little Sally just wanted attention. Deborah couldn't relate to her husband's pain, basically because she wasn't being attacked. She could sleep through the entire night without waking up even once.

It was as if all the negative energy in that house focused its rage on one single target, and that target was Tony. Living in that house slowly became hell, as each day the entity found new ways to manifest its none of them positive. It learned a little more with each passing week, even reaching the point of causing small spontaneous fires. It burned chairs, objects, even photographs inside their own frames. The frame and the glass would remain completely intact. The only thing that burned to ashes was the paper. The pickmans couldn't take it anymore. But they had nowhere to go. All their savings had been poured into that house, and moving back in with their parents felt like moving backwards

in life. So they finally decided to contact real experts, paranormal investigators who would take their case seriously. On the day of the investigation, Tony came home at 8 in the morning after finishing the night shift at work. As usual, he dropped his backpack in the foyer and walked toward the kitchen. Once there, he opened the fridge to grab some orange juice, and when he turned around, he came face to face with a six-year-old girl. A petite girl with curly hair, wearing a blue dress and bow. But Tony didn't feel sadness. He didn't feel like the girl was something sweet. He couldn't help but let out a scream of horror, because to him, that girl was the most terrible, terrifying, and malevolent thing he had ever seen in his life. To be continued. The Head Splicer

trilogy was one of my favorite horror franchises growing up. Sure it might have been a little too gory for me, and sure there was a lot of nudity and sexy stuff that I didn't understand at the time, but the slasher element caught me hook, line, and sinker. A serial killer whose signature was something the characters in the story called head splicing, the surgical combining of people's faces, skulls, and brains. It was gory, it was sci-fi, and it as ridiculous, I loved every minute of it. One Halloween, when I was in my late teens and no longer saw the purpose of trick or treating, I decided I'd sit down and watch the entire series start to finish, in honor of the season. Just me, myself, some snacks, some weed, undenounced

to my parents, and my three favorite movies. I put in the first disc and started my horror movie marathon, head splicer, 1985, head splicer two heads are better than one, 1990, and head splicers, As the first movie started I was transported back to my childhood, scenes that hadn't frightened me in years suddenly made me jump out of my skin. I even found myself developing a phantom headache as I used to when watching the movies, all the brain splicing and head surgery made me image to vividly what it would feel like. For an hour and 35 minutes of bloody saws, forcibly conjoined twins, and screaming models I was engrossed, high off my ass, and completely silent. It was a by-the-book's 80s slasher flick that delivered on everything the eccentric cover promised. I pressed the eject button and watched the DVD slowly were halfway out of the machine. As I reached for the disc the silent box suddenly breathed back to life and reconsumed the DVD.

I froze, confused for a moment, before jumping back from the loud buzz saw sound effect that blared on the movie's home screen, followed by the movie's dramatic main theme. I glanced around my room for a moment as my heart began to race, only to laugh at the obvious, high anxiety I was feeling. I jammed to the banger of a theme for a moment before pressing the eject button and quickly removing the disc, lovingly placing it back in its Blu-ray case. It was the only movies that I'd collected on Blu-ray, besides Lord of the Rings. I took a bathroom break and grabbed some snacks, prepared for the two-hour and twelve-minute masterpiece that is

head splicer two heads are better than one. As the movie started I was shocked at the first face I saw on the screen. These movies were nothing, they made nothing, and so most people forgot about them. However, when I saw a young Will Arnette pop up on the screen, I began to realize just how many familiar faces were actually in it, Kevin Smith, Stoner Best Friend, Tina Faye, Leeds Younger Sister, Charlie Sheen, Lead, and Samuel L. Jackson, Harden Detective. This movie is a movie. This movie had a star-studded cast that I couldn't believe I didn't remember. As I watched it I felt like I was watching it for the first time all over again, losing myself in the plot and character developments. Near the middle of the film Tina Faye's character, following the missing trail of a friend from

school, finds herself in the layer of the head splicer. The camera, affixed in the killer's perspective, began to slowly creep behind her as she stared obliviously at the wall of tools and bodies asking if anyone was there. The killer silently reared up their knife and prepared to strike. Instinctually I felt myself call out to the girl, desperate in some way, despite already knowing the outcome of what I was seeing. Look out. As I screamed, I watched her quickly turn over her shoulder and stare past the mask being worn by the killer, past the camera and the director, passed the screen and straight to me. A look of recognition like she had heard me. She screamed and the blade came down violently, truly horrifically.

It wasn't like the rest of the movie, it was like watching a real murder. More importantly, it's not what's supposed to happen in the movie at all. Though I couldn't recall all the twists and details, I could remember clearly that she made it to the end of the film. She is captured alive by the head splicer and is saved just before she is to be conjoined with some other unlucky individual. But it didn't happen that way. The scene ended with a slow fade to black as the main theme played and the credits rolled. I sat there for a few moments, confused, horrified, ten times more paranoid than I had been before I had spoke a word.

Almost unconsciously I allowed the credits to play through till their end and then sat in silence for a few extra moments. I felt almost pinned, weighed down by the anxiety I was feeling. What happened? I thought to myself. That couldn't have been real, I must just be too high. Maybe I fast forwarded by accident. A thousand justifications ran through my mind but I couldn't agree with a single one of them.

Instead, I decided to test my theory and start the movie over again. This time I watched every detail, every moment and framed to see if anything was different from my memory. I sat in pure silence and watched the film in its entirety. As the scene came up I found my heart beginning to race with every step and breath that the killer took. He stood behind her and I covered my mouth. He stared at her head for a moment and then concealed his knife before wrapping his arms around her neck and chalking her into unconscious. I was flabbergasted, and the for the rest of the movie things continued as normal. Charlie Sheen saved Tina Faye, Kevin Smith, and Will Arnette got spliced, and Samuel L.

Jackson found the identity of the killer only to discover that there were, in fact, two killers after all, allowing for a sequel. Fade to Black Roll credits Was it just in my mind? Did I imagine that? I still couldn't make sense of it, the thoughts didn't feel right. That confusion, that anxiety, it wasn't the weed. When I really thought about it I realized I had stopped smoking during the third act of head splicer.

My mind, though disoriented, felt very sober and slightly more afraid. I felt an urge to step away from the movies for the night and maybe catch up on some much-needed sleep, and then I looked at the cover for the last movie. The best one of the trilogy, Head Splicers. I foolishly fought my instincts and put in the third movie. The movie began, a near unrecognizable production from the last. The iconic All-Star cast was nowhere to be found and in their present. stood nobodies that, at least compared to my recent knowledge, have stayed nobody's.

So far everything was going the same as I had remembered. The first two movies were a delicious dish meant to be savored for special occasions. However, I had seen head splicers the year before with my dad, and so its details were the freshest in my mind. The remaining head splicer from the last movie had, in secret, created a cult that worshipped the Remining killer who they referred to as doctor. For two hours and five minutes everything continued as normal. I put the wee away and focused, convincing myself it was to show respect to the art of horror cinema. The movie reached its climax as the hero located the cult's main headquarters, by following a few of their dim-witted lackeys. As he crept into the room he found the leader of the cult, the so-called

doctor, Charlie Sheen. Wild twist, I know, but it made so much sense. A plot hole in Head Splicer too that me, and may other fans of the series, noticed was how Charlie Sheen's character found a killer without any information or guidance whatsoever. And when he saw the horrifying surgeon's room with his baby sister trapped in it, he barely reacted to any of the gore and horror around him. Some people thought this was just the result of poor editing or bad acting, but Head Splicers blew that out of the water while piecing the puzzle back together again. I watched an unwarranted shock as the scene I had seen a hundred times played on. Charlie Sheen monologued about how he was a prodigy, how he used to do surgery on animals as a child

to understand their biology. How he studied under the wing of the original head splicer, only to expose and turn him in after he kidnapped his sister. A beautifully crafted, and genuinely well-preformed, monologue that shook me to my core ever time. In the middle of the tension I felt a tickle my nose, grabbed a tissue just in time, and sneezed. As soon as I had, the monologue stopped. The camera held on an over-the-shoulder shot, facing the killer over the lead's right side. His gaze slowly moved, from the eyes of the lead threatening his horrid cult, to me. Again. My heart jumped into my throat and my body froze. Despite the warm temperature of the room I felt my skin turned spotted with goosebumps and my gaze, as well, became fixated on him.

He pushed the lead of the movie out of his way and began to walk toward the camera. Panicked, I scrambled for the remote as the scalpel in his hand reached out toward the screen. I pressed the power button and watched the image vanish and the screen turned black. I starred in a haze at my own reflection in the TV as I tried to slow my racing heart. As I got closer to the TV I could align on the inside of the screen, a scratch. I grabbed the movies, walked them out to the trash, and dumped them. Favorite movies or not, amazing movies or not, I didn't know what to do and so I refused it.

I've stopped watching movies for the most part since then, and if I do I don't make a sound, which most people seem to like about me. I don't feel a separation any more between me and them, it's like I'm watching a play. Logically I know they're actors being recorded, but when I watch them it's like I'm there, or they're here. I just couldn't believe it. She was devastated. He proposed to her here, bought her the ring, and by December, he came back, took her, and

married her. Those were the words of Maria, the mother of Heather Strong, recounting events that seemed too surreal to be true. Heather, a 26-year-old mother of two, disappeared on February 15, 2009. She was responsible, organized, and deeply committed to her work and children. She was the kind of person who never missed work, let alone. disappeared without a trace. When she didn't show up that day, everyone, her co-workers, friends, and family, knew something was terribly wrong. Questions spread like wildfire.

Calls were made to friends, family, and, of course, her husband. His explanation. Let's just say it raised more than a few eyebrows. According to him, Heather was simply done with everything. That morning, she supposedly handed him the kids and walked away, claiming she wanted a fresh start, a clean slate, one without children. But that story didn't sit well with anyone. Heather adored her kids. Everything she did, every sacrifice she made, was for them. It didn't make sense.

And so began the sinister unraveling of the events leading to her disappearance. Meet Amelia Carr. This story doesn't just center on Heather. It introduces another key figure, Amelia Carr born on August 4th, 1984, in Florida. Amelia's life was anything but ordinary. Some sources say she was the second of three sisters, while others claim she was the third of four siblings. Either way, the focus isn't on the number of siblings but on the turbulent childhood she endured. At just five years old, the horrors of Amelia's life came to light when social services learned that her father was sexually abusing her older sister, Christina.

Immediate action was taken, but the response was, frankly, pathetic. While her father was the only one charged, Amelia later revealed that her grandfather was also involved. And it wasn't just Christina who suffered, Amelia was a victim too. Yet the so-called justice system failed them all. Instead of prison, her father was sent to a rehabilitation program. Meanwhile, the children were placed with relatives, where they finally began to feel safe. But this reprieve was short-lived. Once the system deemed her father rehabilitated, he returned home, reclaiming custody of his children.

The abuse resumed, but this time, the family chose to ignore it, fearing the consequences of another report. Emilia learned to suffer in silence. She poured herself into school, excelling in academics as a means of escape. Her intelligence was undeniable, tests revealed an IQ of 125. She dreamed of a brighter future, immersing herself in literature, art, photography, and even considering a career as a teacher. But at 15, the abuse took a toll. While it seemed to lessen for her, she noticed a change in her younger sister, Milagro, who became withdrawn and distant. Emilia suspected the worst and took action, reporting the abuse to her school.

This led to her father's arrest, but his arrogance knew no bounds. From prison, he was so confident Amelia would retract her statement that he hired a hitman to kill her, her mother, and her grandmother. Thankfully, the plot was intercepted, and he faced charges of solicitation for first-degree murder. Yet, when it came time for Amelia to testify, her mother pressured her to withdraw her accusations. Despite his conviction, her father received a mere. four-year sentence for solicitation. He died in prison, and Amelia's nightmare finally ended, or so she thought. A rocky road to adulthood. Despite her traumatic childhood, Amelia excelled academically.

She joined a modeling school in Tampa and participated in the ROTC program, dreaming of becoming a Marine. But life had other plans. At 16, her mother introduced her to an older man, John Rippey. By 18, she was married and pregnant. The relationship lasted four. five years and produced two children. However, it ended on a sour note when Amelia became embroiled in a bizarre case involving stolen exotic birds, earning her two years of probation. After her divorce, Amelia's life spiraled further. She remarried Jamie Carr, a man described as abusive. The relationship was tumultuous, marked by restraining orders in bitter fights. Eventually, she moved to Marion County, Florida, where she met Jamie Axum. Their relationship

seemed stable, even producing a child. But stability was fleeting. Enter Joshua Fulgum. Jamie introduced Amelia to Joshua Fulgum, a man with a troubled past. Born on August 16, 1981, in Mississippi, Josh's childhood was marred by abuse. His mother remarried an abusive man, turning their home into a living hell. Once a bright and sociable child, Josh's grades plummeted, and he turned to drugs and crime, bouncing in and out of juvenile detention.

By adulthood, he seemed to have turned his life around, at least on the surface. Josh and Jamie quickly became best friends. Their families grew close, sharing barbecues, pool days, and double dates. Josh's partner, Heather Strong, became a familiar face to Amelia. Heather, born on March 23, 1982, in Mississippi, had a starkly different upbringing. She was the quintessential golden child, responsible, popular, and ambitious. Her dream was to build the perfect family life, complete with a loving husband, adorable children, and a white picket fence.

Heather's relationship with Josh, however, was anything but idyllic. They met when she was a teenager, and their relationship quickly escalated. At 17, Heather became pregnant, prompting Josh to clean up his act. They moved in together, and for a time, things seemed perfect. But Josh's old demons resurfaced. He discovered methamphetamine, became a daze. and started dealing. His earnings from work and drug sales fueled his addiction, leaving little for his family. Heather, fearing for her children's safety, left him multiple times, but

Josh always lured her back with promises to change. By 2003, the couple relocated to Marion County, Florida, hoping for a fresh start. For a while, their lives seemed to stabilize. They joined the same social circle as Amelia and Jamie, forming a tight-knit group. Heather and Amelia weren't exactly best friends, but they were cordial. As Heather's family grew, she leaned on Amelia for support, sharing advice and bonding over motherhood. Meanwhile, Josh and Jamie's friendship deepened, oblivious to the storm brewing in their lives. A tangled web of lies, as Heather's pregnancies progressed, her relationship with Josh deteriorated. He became resentful, complaining about the lack of intimacy in seeking solace in drugs and affairs. One of those

affairs was with none other than Amelia. It started innocently enough, with the two bonding over the death of a mutual friend. But their grief turned into something more. While Heather was in the hospital giving birth, Josh and Amelia's affair intensified. They managed to keep their relationship secret, even as their families continued to socialize. But secrets have a way of coming out. When Heather discovered the affair, she packed her bags and left for Mississippi with her children. Josh's response was as dramatic as it was predictable. He ended things with Amelia and followed Heather to Mississippi, begging her to come back. She agreed, and the family returned to Florida, vowing to start fresh.

But promises of change were just that, promises. Josh couldn't let go of Amelia, and their toxic triangle persisted. The final days, by February 2009, tensions reached a breaking point. Heather was determined to move on, but Josh and Amelia had other plans. On February 15, Heather disappeared. Josh's explanation, that she abandoned her children to start a new life, was met with skepticism. Friends and family knew Heather would never leave her kids behind. The investigation that followed uncovered a chilling conspiracy.

Josh and Amelia had lured Heather to a storage unit under false pretenses. There, she was bound, suffocated, and buried in a shallow grave. The motive? A twisted combination of jealousy, greed, and control. Josh and Amelia's toxic relationship had spiraled into murder, leaving two children motherless and a community in shock. Aftermath, the trial that followed was a media spectacle. Amelia and Josh turned on each other, each blaming the other for Heather's death. In the end, both were convicted of first-degree murder. Josh received life without parole, while Amelia

was sentenced to death, making her one of the few women on Florida's death row. Heather's tragic story serves as a haunting reminder of the dangers of toxic relationships and the devastating impact they can have on innocent lives. Her memory lives on through her children, who are being raised by her family, far from the shadows of the past. Let me tell you a story that's as messy as it gets. It's got drama, heartbreak, betrayal, and more twists than a soap opera marathon. Buckle up, because we're diving headfirst into the chaotic lives of Josh, Heather, and

Amelia, a love triangle that spiraled out of control in ways no one could have predicted. The start of the chaos, Josh and Heather were in what some might call a turbulent relationship. They'd fight, break up, reconcile, and then do it all over again. At first, it seemed like they were just two people trying to make things work despite their differences. Heather wanted a stable home for her two kids, a loving father figure for them, and some semblance of normalcy. Josh. Well, he wanted it all, the stability Heather provided and the passion he found elsewhere, namely with Amelia. Amelia, for her part, wasn't just a side fling.

She was a mother of three who wanted exactly what Heather wanted, stability, love, and a responsible partner. She believed Josh could be that person, even though he was still entangled with Heather. It was like a game of musical chairs, except no one was winning, and everyone was getting hurt. A turning point, things came to a head in May 2008 when Heather and Josh broke up, supposedly for good. Josh moved in with Amelia, bringing along her kids, and for a hot second, everything seemed perfect.

He treated Amelia like a queen, playing the role of the perfect partner. Meanwhile, Heather moved on with a friend named Benjamin McCollum. What started as a platonic living arrangement quickly turned romantic. For a brief moment, it seemed like everyone had found their happy ending. But Josh couldn't handle seeing Heather happy with someone else. He started showing up at Benjamin's house, causing scenes, making threats, and generally being a menace. While doing all this, he continued to tell Amelia that she was the love of his life. If that wasn't messy enough, Amelia got pregnant, and Josh bought her an engagement ring,

proposing marriage as if that would solve everything. The big switch, just when you thought things couldn't get crazier, Heather shocked everyone by leaving Benjamin and getting back together with Josh in December 2008. Josh, true to form, kicked Amelia out, demanded the engagement ring back, and then used that same ring to propose to Heather. Yep, he recycled the ring. On December 26, Heather and Josh got married. Amelia was understandably devastated, but the drama was far from over. Trouble brewing, not even weeks into their marriage, Heather and Josh's relationship fell apart again.

This time, it escalated to dangerous levels. Josh was arrested for pointing a shotgun at Heather during an argument. Charged with assault with a deadly weapon, he sat in jail awaiting trial. Heather, understandably, kept her distance, but Amelia, ever loyal to Josh, visited him in jail, answered his calls, and even worked to convince Heather to drop the charges. When Heather refused to back down, things took a dark turn. Amelia, fed up with Heather's refusal, confronted her in person. During this confrontation, Amelia reportedly grabbed Heather by the hair, held a knife to her throat, and threatened her life if she didn't drop the charges. The whole scene was witnessed by Amelia's ex, Jamie Akam,

who intervened and broke things up. This event was a chilling foreshadowing of what was to come. A sinister plan, as tensions escalated, Amelia and Josh began plotting to remove Heather from the picture entirely. Amelia, drawing on a dark episode from her past when her father had hired a hitman, decided to take matters into her own hands. Over the next few weeks, she approached several people, offering them money to kill Heather. Among those she asked was Jamie Akham, who immediately refused and alerted Heather to the plot.

Jamie and Heather grew closer, eventually becoming a couple. Jamie even moved in with her, promising to protect her. The breaking point, with Jamie by her side, Heather finally felt safe enough to withdraw the charges against Josh. He was released from jail on February 6, 2009. But instead of calming down, Josh's behavior grew more erratic. When he discovered Heather and Jamie were together, he flew into a rage, showing up at her house to threaten and intimidate her. Heather, exhausted and fed up, warned him that he'd lose access to his kids if he didn't change his ways.

Josh, of course, took this entirely the wrong way. Fueled by Amelia's encouragement, he became convinced that Heather was planning to take the kids and disappear. Together, Josh and Amelia hatched a plan to secure full custody of the kids. Josh's mother provided the necessary paperwork, leaving only one thing, Heather's signature. February 15, 2009, on the morning of February 15, Heather didn't show up for her shift at the Iron Skillet Restaurant. This was highly unusual for someone as dependable as she was.

Her boss and Jamie immediately grew concerned. Jamie recalled that Heather had told him she planned to meet with Josh that morning to discuss the kids. Worried, Jamie called Josh, who claimed Heather had packed her bags, handed over the kids, signed the custody papers, and left for Mississippi. Jamie, weary from past experiences, believed him. Days turned into weeks, and questions about Heather's whereabouts grew louder. Josh and Amelia stuck to their story, insisting Heather had willingly given up her kids and left town. But when Heather's family reached out to her parents in Mississippi, they learned she had

never arrived. On February 24th, Heather's disappearance was officially reported to the police. The investigation, Josh was the prime suspect from the start, but without evidence, the police couldn't hold him. He even presented the signed custody papers as proof. of Heather's departure. Then, on March 18th, Heather's bank card was used at an ATM. Surveillance footage revealed the person withdrawing the money wasn't Heather but Josh. This led to his arrest and interrogation. Amelia was also brought in for questioning. While Josh eventually confessed to what had happened, Amelia remained calm and denied everything. According to Josh's confession, he and Amelia had lured Heather to their home under the pretense of discussing custody.

Once there, they tied her to a chair, threatened her, and forced her to sign the papers. But Amelia wasn't satisfied. She wanted Heather gone for good. Josh recounted how Amelia attempted to kill Heather, first by trying to break her neck and then by suffocating her with a plastic bag. When those methods failed, she ultimately smothered Heather by pinching her nose shut, ending her life. Justice is served. On March 19th, Heather's body was found buried in the backyard of Josh and Amelia's home.

Both were arrested and charged with first-degree murder. In court, Amelia painted herself as a victim, claiming Josh had manipulated and abused her. She even brought up past trauma in an attempt to gain sympathy. The jury didn't buy it. On February 22, 2011, Amelia was sentenced to death by lethal injection. Josh, meanwhile, received life in prison without parole. The aftermath, Amelia's case didn't end there. From prison, she launched appeals, gave interviews,

and somehow garnered a bizarre fan following. Her notoriety deeply upset Heather's family, who felt she was being treated like a celebrity instead of the cold-blooded killer she was. After years of legal battles, Amelia's death sentence was commuted to life without parole on May 19, 2017. And that's the twisted tale of Josh, Heather, and Amelia,

a story of love, obsession, and a deadly descent into madness. So, what do you think? Was Amelia's sentence reduction fair? Or did she deserve to face the ultimate punishment for her actions? The area where we were heading in Eastern Europe was known for its radioactivity. We had received reports of strange animals, things that looked like they were hatched from a mad scientist's laboratory. I didn't know how much of it I believed, because some of the descriptions the survivors gave sounded more like Wendigo and dogmen than any real animal. I figured that, in the heat of the moment and under attack, their minds had likely twisted the true form.

of the animals, horrifying as they were, into something truly nightmarish. There were three of us heading into the dark eastern European forests, my friend Dimitri, who was originally from the country and knew the language, his girlfriend Anna and myself. Everything seemed mundane enough as we flew into the country and handed over our passports. There was no sign of the horrors waiting ahead. The first towns we encountered looked idyllic enough as we drove through them in a rental car. Isolated farmhouses with cows and chickens dotted the landscape. Pleniful fields of wheat, potatoes and corn stretched out on all sides of us.

The black earth here was fertile, I knew. Christ on a cracker, I muttered, more to myself than to my friends, this place looks like it suffered through the apocalypse. It did, Dimitri said grimly. A nuclear apocalypse. I feel like the biblical one is far more optimistic than the true apocalypse will be. In reality, there will be no rapture, no victory of light over darkness. If there is ever a World War III, every major city will be consumed by nuclear fire.

It will throw buses and cars thousands of feet into the air, spilling out bodies onto the burning skies. Entire streets will collapse, trapping countless millions under the rubble. That's a cheerful thought, Anna commented, her dark blue eyes staring out the window. I saw the reflection of white eyes skittering through the brush outside, small animals that disappeared in front of the approaching war of the engine. How far is it? I asked, feeling car sick and anxious. The winding roads here curved through countless hills.

It reminded me of driving through parts of northern California before, when I had reched out the window. Anna and Dimitri seemed unaffected, though. I cursed my stomach, which was always. turning traitorous towards me. It's a while, man, Dimitri said. This country is huge. Probably another three or four hour drive. And then we have to start walking. Good thing we left before dawn, Anna said, stifling a yawn. She had a can of some cheap Russian red bull knockoff, some fluorescent green crap that smelled like chemicals. But she drank it as if it were the finest French wine. I gazed out at the dark forests that passed us on both sides, wondering what kind

of sights lay ahead in this land of the damned. The sun rose early over the gently rolling hills and black earth of Ukraine, sending its rusty streaks of blood across the sky. The going have been easy so far, except for the constant car sickness I felt. I took a few pills of mechlazine, wishing that I could have smuggled some weed gummies through customs. But here, cannabis was illegal, and I was not eager to see the inside of an Eastern European prison, where lunatics like the three guys one hammer maniacs and the chessboard killer lived in hellish conditions. Holy shit, would you look at that?

Dimitri said with awe and wonder oozing from his voice as the car braked abruptly. I looked up quickly, my stomach doing flips. But what I saw laying across the road instantly brought me back to the moment. Dimitri pointed a tattooed hand at the sight. Is that real?" Anna asked. I could only shake my head as we all stared at the dead bear that was laying across the cracked road, its dead eyes staring straight through us.

I noticed immediately that the bear had extra paws on its arms. Blood-stained claws jutted sharply out of its four paws, each seeming to have seven fingers. Its feet looked stunted and twisted, like the roots of a tree. An extra arm stuck out of the front of its chest, a pale, white-fleshy growth emerging from its sternum. The mutated limb looked malformed and boneless, causing a sense of revulsion to rise up as I gazed on it. It flopped gently in the heavy wind that swirled down the surrounding hills. Well, I guess the rumors are true, Dimitri said slowly, his eyes as wide and excited as a child. Can you imagine what other kinds of things must be lurking in these forests?

This is going to make a really awesome documentary. Anna nodded, playing with a small, handheld digital camera she took everywhere with her. She wanted to make a video that would finally go viral on the internet and help her gain some recognition for her work. I'm going to record everything, including this, she said excitedly, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear as she opened the door of the car. Dawn had risen overhead, radiating the first warm rays of a bright summer day. After a long moment, I followed her out. Dimitri stood at her side, his dark eyes wide. He ran a trembling hand over his shaved head as he looked down at the enormous bear.

Anna zoomed in with the camera, kneeling down before the still beast. Her finely formed fingers shook with excitement as she drew within inches of the corpse. I wondered how the bear had died, as I didn't see any signs of injuries on the creature's body. The next moment, I saw it blink. I backpedaled away, giving a horse, guttural shout of warning. Anna was busy staring at the screen of the digital camera, scanning it across the bear's extra fingers and limbs. But the panic that swept over Dimitri's face showed me that he, too, had seen it. He grabbed Anna's arm, dragging her back with sudden fury.

She stumbled, her legs crossing under her. She crashed into him and they fell back together. A moment later, the bear came to life, its bones cracking as it twisted its head to look at the three of us. It swiped a mutated paw at the place where Anna's face had been only a moment before. I heard the sharp claws sliced through the air like switchblades. The bear's head ratcheted over to glare at us. It gnashed its teeth as silver streams of saliva flew from its shaking head. With a primal roar, it leapt off the ground.

I turned to run back to the safety of the car, but I nearly tripped when a pale figure streaked out of the forest right in front of me. It looked like something conjured up in a nightmare. It was naked and bloated, its skin white with bulging, pink cheeks. It looked to have a combination of human and pig features, and yet it ran upright like a person. Its irises were blood red, its pupils huge and excited. Its beady eyes flicked over to Anna and a low, satisfied growl erupted from its wide throat. I watched the muscles work furiously in its porcine body as it sprinted towards her. Before either Dimitri or I could react, the pig thing grabbed Anna around the neck,

its sharp, black fingers digging deeply into her skin. She squealed like a strangled rabbit as it dragged her away into the dark Ukrainian forests. Its pink lips pulled back in an excited grimace, revealing the sharp fangs underneath. I heard its guttural growls fade away rapidly. It sprinted much faster than a person, its hooves slamming the ground over and over at a superhuman speed. Hey! Dimitri called excitedly, taking a step forward.

What do you, a giant bear paw with too many gleaming claws smacked his leg out from under him, sending him flying. I only stood there, shell-shocked and amazed, as Anna disappeared into the trees. A single moment later, the bear rose to its full height, roaring at us. Streams of spit flew from its mouth as its rancid breath washed over us, breath that emanated a smell like roadkill and infection. I put my hands up, flinching, expecting a blow that never came. When I looked up, the bear had gone back on all fours.

It ran in the path the pig creature had gone, its white, boneless extra limb hanging limply from its chest. What the fuck? Dimitri cried on the ground, rocking back and forth. I came back to life, running over to his side. I saw deep gouge marks sliced through his blue jeans. Bright streams of blood lazily dripped from the claw marks on his left leg. We need to get help, I cried, shaking him.

His eyes looked far away and confused, as if he didn't fully realize what was happening. We need to go back and get the police. The police, he asked, laughing. The police here won't do anything. You think they're going to travel out into the radioactivity zone just for a missing person? He shook his head grimly before reaching out a hand to me. Help me up. There's a first aid kit in the car.

We need to bandage this up. Then we're going after Anna. We had no way to call for help. The phones this far out in Chernobyl didn't work, and there were never any cell phone towers built in the silent land. After Dimitri had disinfected and bandaged his legs, he rummaged through the trunk, looking for weapons. God damn, there's nothing good here, he said despondently. Some bear mace, some knives, what good is any of that going to do against these mutated monsters? We need an AK-47. I nodded in agreement.

Too bad we're not in the U.S., I said. The only guns you're going to get around here are the ones you take off the bodies of Russian soldiers. Yeah, if only, he muttered sadly, handing me a large folding knife. We have one canister of bare mace, three knives, and a tire iron. Not exactly an arsenal. I really didn't want to go into those dark woods, but thinking of an animal. of being tortured or murdered made me feel sick and weak. I shook my head, mentally torn.

Here, take the bare mace, too. I'll take the tire iron and a knife, he continued, forcing the black canister into my numb fingers. You ready for this? Absolutely not, I said. I think we should try to find help. If we both go out there and get slaughtered, no one will ever find Anna. The nearest town is two hours west of here, he resists. responded Isily. By the time we get help, her trail will have gone cold. It will take at least five or six hours to get any rescue out here. No, we need to do this, and we need to do it now.

If you don't want to come, I'll come, I said grimly, my heart pounding. Fuck it, Dimitri had a sad history. As a child living in Ukraine, he had been kidnapped by an insane neighbor and kept in a dirt pit outside for weeks, wallowing in his own piss and shit, slowly starving. He said the man would throw down a stale crust of bread or a rice cake into the mud and human waste every few days. Dimitri would pull the food out, wipe off the feces and eat it. I shuddered, remembering the horror stories he had told me. I knew he had a personal reason for making sure Anna was not subjected to the same endless suffering, even if it meant his own death. The bear and the pig creature had left a clear trail of broken brush and snapped twigs snaking through the forest.

Side by side, we moved cautiously ahead, constantly checking our backs. But we saw no signs of movement and heard nothing. Up ahead, the trees abruptly opened up, letting golden sunlight streamed down. Blinking quickly, we left the forest behind. We walked out into a field in the middle of a valley surrounded by tall, dark hills. Grass and weeds rippled in waves as the wind swept past us. Formed in a semicircle in front of us, human skeletons lay endlessly dreaming. They stared up into the vast blue sky with grinning skulls and empty sockets. Some still had putrefying strips of flesh and ligaments clinging to the bones. Animals had scattered some of the bodies, but others lay complete, like corpses in a tomb.

Human skulls, leg bones and arm bones lay scattered haphazardly across the field, their surfaces yellowed and cracked with age. It looked like a bone orchard. What are we looking at right now? I whispered, furtively glancing around at the field of bones. An insane part of my mind wondered if they might rise from the dead and come after us. Compared to what we had already seen in this place of nightmares, it didn't seem that far-fetched.

Dead bodies, Dimitri said grimly. Victims of the nuclear accident. I asked. He shook his head, pointing at some of the fresher corpses nearby. Their throats looked like they had been ripped out, the bones of their necks showing deep bite marks. The one nearest us had its skeletal fingers wrapped around a glass bottle with a piece of paper rolled inside and a cork inserted into the top.

I knelt down, prying the fingers back with soft, cracking noises. I uncorked it and took out the paper. It felt thick in my hands, like some kind of handcrafted paper from the old days. The cursive flowing across the sheet looked like it had been written in a quill pen with actual ink. In confusion, I read the letter aloud, rules to survive in the Hellskin Nature Preserve. One, the cult known as the Golden Butchers has been kidnapping women to breed them with the pig creet creatures. They worship the offspring that result from these unions as gods. If a member of your group gets taken, you will find them in the living farm at the end of the forest.

2. If you encounter Mr. Welcome, the enormous pig god with the eyes on his forehead, you must not let him touch you. 3. The red snakes can only see while you're moving. If you encounter them, stay still. Don't even breathe. Breeding women with pig creatures. cried, horror washing over his face. We need to find her. But where do we even start? I looked through the field, trying to see any sign of tracks, but it looked like hundreds of animals had gone through this field recently. Paths of tall, crushed grass crisscrossed the enormous length of it, some of them worn down to black dirt and stones. I just shook my head, having no idea. A distant scream rolled its way down the surrounding hills.

It came from our left and sounded very much like Anna. Dimitri's eyes turned cold. Without looking back at me, he started frantically running towards the sound. It faded away within seconds. Wait up. I cried, sprinting as fast as I could. His freshly shaved head gleamed as he disappeared into the trees. Gripping the open buck knife in my hand, my knuckles white with tension and fear,

I followed after him. We wandered for hours through the woods, never hearing a second scream to guide our path. We both hoped that we were going in the right direction. A small deer trail winding through the brush opened up, heading up rocky hills and clear streams of water. Sweating and nervous, we traveled for miles and miles, rarely talking. A few times, I tried to get Dimitri to slow down. How do you know you're going in the right direction? I asked.

We've been walking this trail for five hours and haven't seen a thing. This was the direction the screen came from, he said weekly. Where else would they go? They would want to travel quickly with a hostage. They would take a trail. I didn't point out that there may be other trails, that we had absolutely no idea where we were going. As we reached the peak of a mountain, I pulled a small, portable dagger counter we had taken along for the trip. The radioactivity here was high, much higher than normal background radiation.

I didn't know how far we were from the nuclear power plant at the center of all this, but at a certain point, it would become too dangerous to keep moving forward. Dimitri was next to me, chugging a bottle of water when a shriek rang out below us. It sounded almost animalistic but had a strange, electronic distortion. Amplified to an ear-splitting cacophony, it echoed through the trees. Much quieter roars answered from the forests all around us in response, the cries of bears and other predators. These sounded much closer, however. PSSST, a pile of thick ferns said to my left, shaking suddenly.

In Ukrainian, the ferns continued by whispering, hey, you. I jumped, swinging the knife in the direction of the brush, watching the blade shake wildly in my hand as fresh waves of adrenaline surged through my body. Dimitri was by my side, his eyes wide and wild. He glanced over at me, nodding. He had the tire iron raised like a tennis racket, ready to strike. A moment later, a little boy crawled out. He was scarecrow thin, his face smudged with dirt and filth, his dark eyes sunken and lifeless deep inside his small head.

He had black hair and a nose like a little twisted lump in the center of his face. It seemed like it had been repeatedly broken. He didn't look older than ten, but he looked so emaciated that it was impossible to say. The rags and tatters he wore barely covered his body, and the boy was almost in his genesis suit. Come out, I said grimly. Dimitri's eyes bulged from his head. Don't kill me, please, the boy whispered in a cracked, choked voice, his accent giving all his words a guttural tone. Take me out of here.

My mom and dad brought me here, they were part of the golden butchers, but a couple months ago, they got sick and died from all the poison in the water and food. Who are you, kid? Dimitri said, reaching down and pulling him up to his feet. I watched the boy closely, the bare mace in one hand and the knife in the other, looking for any sign of sudden violence or betrayal. My name is Pillop. I come from the farm, he said, pointing vaguely towards the tallest peak in the area.

You can't see it from here, but it's over there. Dimitri kneeled down until he was eye to eye with Pilip. Can you take us there? he said. Pilop's eyes teared up, but he slowly nodded. If you will take me with you when you leave, I'll show you, he said, crying now, but it is a horrible place. It is the place of Mr. Welcome. Pilip guided us to the living farm, saving us a great deal of time. He navigated the forest like an experienced high-crime.

seeming to know the entire area from the smallest clues, a split, fallen tree, or a tree with a whirl like an eye, or a sudden curve in a babbling brook. It saved us a great deal of time wandering through the woods, where everything looked exactly the same to me. There, he said, pointing through a break in the trees to the farm. The entire top of the hill was cleared of trees and brush. In its place stood a nightmare. The farm was the closest place to hell I have ever seen. The top of the living building peaked over the tall trees surrounding it. It had something like a bell tower on the top of it, almost like a church might have. But instead of a bell, it had an enormous, bloodshot eye. The eye had an iris as red as a dismembered

heart. Its pupil was dilated and insane. From here, the eye looked to be about the size of a church bell and had no eyelids. Strange white filaments like those of a a slime mold surrounded it, trailing down into the building. I wondered if this was the optic nerve for the great, staring eye. The rest of the building was as black as eternity, windowless, and imposing. It had a brutalist architecture, all sharp angles and steep slopes. I watched the building and the eye closely. To my horror, I realized that the entire thing was alive somehow. The eye constantly spun in its place, staring out over the surrounding hills like the eye of Sauron. The building constantly breathed. Welcome, a hushed, distorted voice cried.

The words seemed to come from the breathing and living walls of the farm itself. Welcome. Welcome, what the fuck is this, kid? Dimitri whispered hoarsely. Where's Anna? Pillip shook his head sadly. She's inside with the other breeders, he said, the fear and terror evident on his face. They keep them chained in cages or bound in the basement until the time for the ritual comes. And when is that? I asked. He looked up at the sky and the fading light.

We had somehow wasted nearly an entire day already. Night was coming, and we hadn't even seen Anna yet. At sunset, he responded. Dimitri nearly jumped up at that. Sunset. That's almost here. We need to go now, he cried. I almost wanted to laugh. What are you going to do, stab that enormous building with your knife? I whispered. We need a plan. Maybe we can burn it down or, but my words were cut off by the roaring of the building. It scream echoed over the hills. It was immediately answered by countless

others, including one that came only a few dozen feet behind us. I grabbed Dimitri's shoulder, my panicked eyes flicking in that direction. There's something, I started to say when the brush cracked under a heavy weight. Looking up, I saw something horrible stalking us from behind. It looked like a pig, walking on all fours with a fat, bloated body, but it was the size of an SUV. Its eyes were like the eye in the building, blood red and dilated. All over its body, hundreds of sharp teeth grew out of its skin, covering the pink flesh like tumors. For a moment, its eyes widened as we stared at each other. They instantly narrowed as the pig roared again and gave chase. It gnashed its teeth, opening and closing its mouth in a frenzy of bloodlust. In its mouth, too, the teeth

grew wild. Hundreds of razor-sharp teeth of different sizes grew from its gums, tongue, and lips. Run! I cried, grabbing Pilip's arm and hauling him off the ground. The boy had a natural survivor's instincts and immediately started running by my side, away from the approaching creature. We broke out into the massive clearing where the living farm stood. I saw that the building had only a single door in and out, a black barn door that stood wide open. I heard Dimitri's feet pounding the ground behind me. The heavy thuds of the approaching creature drew louder by the second. In the barn.

I cried, not having time to think. It was the only possible place of safety here. I sprinted faster than I ever had before towards those doors as if they were entrance to paradise itself. Without slowing, I ran into the building, trying to slam one of the doors shut behind me. Dimitri grabbed the other. With the creature only seconds away, they started swinging shut. Pillop's small body pressed against my leg as he came forward, using his meager strength to help me.

The door was extremely heavy and hard to move. The building itself looked like it was six or seven stories tall, and the doors to the bar nearly a third of that height. With a tortured creek, they slammed shut. A single breath later, something heavy. thudded against the other size, as if it had been hit by a battering ram. But the door held. Quickly, Dimitri and I grabbed a large board leaning against the wall and stuffed it into the brackets on both sides of the door, locking it from the inside. I noticed how cool and dark

it was in here, as if I had walked into a cave. I turned, taking in the interior of the living farm for the first time. At that moment, I had to repress a scream welling up in my throat. Hundreds of imprisoned women lined both sides of the barn. They were stacked one on top of another like prison cells. Waring filthy, blood-stained rags, most of them looked silently down on us with dead, haunted eyes. I noticed the majority were in their twenties or thirties, but their eyes looked centuries old. Along the back wall, an enormous pig lined the wall, positioned like Jesus on the cross. It stood as tall as the barn itself.

Extra eyes covered its face, a dozen of them positioned all over its cheeks and forehead. From the top of its head, I saw white filaments rising up into the bell tower. Its many blood-red eyes focused on us, as still as death. Welcome, it hissed. Welcome. Its limbs were chained to the wall. Enormous rusted links intertwined around its body, preventing Mr. Welcome from moving. Anna.

Dimitri cried, looking around frantically. There was no one else here that I could see except for Mr. Welcome and all the hostages. Anna, where are you? Don't scream, Pilip said in a tiny, fear-choked voice. Please, don't scream, but it was too late. As Dimitri's last words faded, trapdoors built into the black floor of the barn sprung open. Dozens of mutated bears and pig creatures crept out, their predatory. eyes scanning us with hunger and anger. Fuck.

Dimitri cried, running back to the door at my side. Frantically, the three of us pulled the board up and dropped it to the fleshy floor with a clatter. As hisses and growls erupted all around us and the predators creeped forwards towards us in a semicircle, the barn door flew open. It was night now, the darkness creeping in like a descending curtain. No pig creatures awaited us on the other side, but something were seemed to be creeping out of the forest. I saw snakes the color of clotted blood slithering ahead.

Each one was the size of a tractor trailer, yet they made very little noise. An occasional hiss would rip its way through the air, but they hunted silently. As I stood in the field in front of the barn, a no-man's land of hellish proportions, the certainty of death fell over my heart like grasping skeletal hands. I looked down at the little boy sadly. He gave me a faint smile, even though his eyes were terrified. I think were fucked, Dimitri whispered by my side. I only nodded. But at that moment, I remembered the rules, and an idea came to me. Just stay still, I said. Don't even breathe. Pilip and Dimitri looked at me strangely, then recognition came over their eyes. Dimitri only nodded, and then we all played statue.

The predators from the barn were only thirty feet behind us by now, crouched down and hunting us like a cat with a mouse. Yet the snakes also closed in, their black, slitted eyes gleaming with a reptilian coldness. As the mutated bears and pig creatures leaned down to pounce, I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. I felt a sudden rush of air all around me. The snakes flitted forward in a blur, their massive jaws unhinging. Two fangs swiveled out like switchblades, fangs big enough to impale a police car. Drops of clear venom fell lazily from the ends.

Keeping my eyes closed, afraid to even breathe or blink, I listened as the sounds of tearing flesh and screaming animals resonated all around me. After about 30 seconds of this, everything went deathly silent. I don't know how long we stood there like statues, but eventually, someone touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, unbelieving. Dimitri stared at me intently. They're all gone, he whispered. All except Mr. Welcome.

It's now or never. I nodded, and together, we moved into the farm. The trap doors still lay open. I could hear very faint sobbing coming from under the building. Dimitri was afraid to make a sound. Together, the three of us went down to investigate. We found a dark basement covered in hay. Torture tools covered the walls, iron maidens, brazen bulls, crosses and an entire universe of whips, saws, grinders, pliers,

razor wire and other blood-stained tools of the trade. In the corner, we saw Anna, her hands tied to the wall. More rope bound her feet and legs. We ran forward. When Anna saw Dimitri, she collapsed into a nervous wreck. Oh my God, you came. Please, get me out of here, right now, she whispered. They're coming. The ritual will start soon. Without a word, we started cutting the ropes, freeing her quickly. We need to be as quiet as possible, I told Anna.

We can all get out of here. Let's go. As we ascended from the basement back to the main floor of the living farm, the repetitive, metallic voice of Mr. Welcom kept repeating the same. same insane mantra. Welcome, it said. Welcome. Once the four of us were all together, however, it changed.

Welcome, Thieves, it hissed, its voice deepening and turning into a demonic gurgle. That is my breeder. You will have to find out what happens to thieves. I could only imagine all those bloodstained tools in the basement, and I shuddered. Mr. Welcome inhaled deeply, his massive, fleshy body balloon. With a predatory roar, he ripped the chains out of the wall of the living building. Orange pus and dark, clotted blood dripped from the holes. The barn breathed faster and deeper, the broken walls vibrating and shimmering as new life

and pain flowed into them. Mr. Welcom started moving towards us like a grinding juggernaut, walking on two legs like some sort of pig god. His many lidless eyes never looked away from us. The frayed optic nerves leading to the bell tower broke with a sound like snapping rubber bands. Dimitri looked at me with great sadness in his eyes. Get away, he whispered. I'll distract it.

Just get Anna home, no matter what. Before I could respond, he ran forwards towards the abomination, the small, useless knife raised in one hand. Mr. Welcom saw him coming. He tried to swipe at Dimitri with a sharp, black hoof, but Dimitri ducked, running around the back of him. He gave a battle cry and started stabbing the monster in the back of the leg, which probably heard it about as much as a toothpick. But it provided a distraction.

This time, Mr. Welcombe spun his whole body, falling back to all four legs to deal with this nuisance. He used his massive snout to smack Dimitri hard, sending him flying across the barn. He hit the wall with a bone-shattering thud. Dimitri's skin immediately started to blacken, as if he were being burned alive. His eyes melted out of his face as he screamed, clawing at the dying patches of necrotic tissue spreading across his body. Within a few seconds, his screams faded to agonized groans.

He tried to crawl back towards us as he died. Run! I screamed, grabbing Anna's hand and forcing her to sprint by my side. Pillop was already one step ahead. ahead of us, frantically trying to reach the shelter of the forest. I heard the ground shake behind me as Mr. Welcom drew near, moving much faster than we could ever hope to go. I knew we would never make it. Keep going, no matter what. I yelled at Pillap-Panana.

They kept running, the animal instinct to survive now foremost in their minds. I had to suppress mine. I turned to face the creature, the evil pig god known as Mr. Welcom. In hindsight, I don't know if God or some divine power had interceded, but the bare mace was probably one of the few items that could have saved us at that moment. Mr. Welcom had many eyes, and now that he was running on all four paws, his face was within reach. As my heart palpitated wildly, I raised the bare mace and sprayed at his dozen eyes. He didn't slow, and I had to jump to the side to keep from being trampled.

The air wooched past me as if a subway. car had gone by. But a moment later, Mr. Welcom gave a roar and not one of anger and hunger. This was a roar of pain and uncertainty. Blinded, Mr. Welcom frantically started running in circles, knocking down huge swathes of trees. The ear-splitting racket as he pulled the forest apart crashed over the surrounding landscape. Without a moment of hesitation, I turned to follow Pilip and Anna back to the car. We told the police about the barn and all the the hostages, but they claimed they couldn't find it, and we never heard anything more about it. Looking back on the experience, I now know why Chernobyl is a restricted zone, and it isn't just

because of the radioactivity. There are some things that hide under the surface, after all, things that grow in the dark, rotted places where no eyes roam. We begin with the Skinwalker Ranch, located in the Uinta Basin Inn, northeastern Utah. It is known worldwide, for the large number of paranormal events that have taken place there from the mid-1800s to the present day. However, the most verifiable data that capture our attention are those that occurred. They're starting in the year, 1951, it was then that a science teacher named Joseph, Jr. Hicks began an exhaustive investigation into the topic. His interest in the case began the moment he and his students observed an unidentified flying object.

crossing the ranch, which at the time was abandoned. According to records, Hicks was able to document a total of 400 different paranormal phenomena, which pushed into search for the reason behind these, events, the reason why the ranch, was such an extremely active place. And what, did he discover? That an ancient curse weighed over those lands. Local history says that the Ute fought to expel the Navajo from the Uinta, Baysan shortly before the arrival of white settlers.

The Navajo, after several, clashes with the Ute, were eventually, expelled from those lands, but they did not leave without first, cursing them eternally. They, cursed them by sending a monster that could take any form. In Hicks' exact words, the, Navajo lost and in turn sent the Ute the Skinwalker, a spiritual, being that transforms into a wolf end, will always be there to haunt the area. The Ute didn't even try to, capture it or get close to it. They don't know if, this being has a lair there, but they don't care because they stay, completely away. Hicks continued, to search for references about those, beings and the only thing he found was that

they were infernal beings whose soul, purpose was to destroy, crops and massacre livestock, devouring, their soft tissues and drinking every last drop of their blood, following a modus operandi nearly identical to, that of the Chupacabra. Hicks tried to gather, testimonies from people who had, lived on the ranch and had, experienced those paranormal phenomena. He claimed to have discovered that in the year, 1905, the Myers family settled on the ranch. They built a small farm, with a few buildings in the northwest corner, of the property, at the foot of Skinwalker Ridge. It was impossible for Hicks to find out why, though, Myers abandoned the main complex, to move to the far end of, the ranch and build a much, smaller house there.

Whatever the case, Hicks did not find a single testimony, showing that the Myers had, suffered paranormal phenomena during their stay, but he did find, testimonies from neighbors who claimed that after the family left, the ranch was never the same again. In the year, 1994, the couple Terry and Gwen Sherman, arrived in the area looking to fulfill their dream, the dream of turning an uninhabited land, into a little piece of heaven. They were almost instantly, enchanted by a 480-acre, ranch completely isolated in the heart of the Uinta region, surrounded by mountains and cliffs. It seemed the perfect place to, start planting, building fences, and raising livestock.

They also intended to restore the, small house that stood there. They didn't care about the legends, looming over that place. They just wanted, to fulfill their dream. Their desire to build a prosperous home there, was much stronger than popular stories. The first thing that unsettled the Shermans, was that the entire ranch was full of, locks and wooden planks, planks that sealed the doors and windows, of the main house. That little house, featured countless security measures, as if those who boarded it up, were truly trying to protect it, from the outside. Once the Shermans managed to enter that house,

they realized the protection was not, only external, the house, had been boarded up from the outside, and also internally. Behind every door and window, furniture was stacked, against them. There were crucifixes above doors, and everywhere there was a strong stench. Why was the house in such a state? How had the previous owners managed to, board it from both? both outside and inside. As the weeks went by, the Sherman family realized something was wrong. A strange energy hung over the house, the land, and the animals. It was as if the entire ranch were trapped in a spiderweb, whose threads vibrated occasionally,

and when this happened, truly strange things occurred. At first, it was just voices, whispers carried by the wind, across the property and straight, to the house. Then came the disembodied footsteps on the old wooden, planks of the porch, and then the shadows, shadows that moved through the hallways and, sometimes rearranged objects. The family began to be harassed, day and night by an invisible force, that played with their minds, a force that drew shadows everywhere, whispered in foreign languages, moved objects, and sometimes, threw them into the air. But they thought, like with every ghost story, that a simple blessing would be enough. They thought reading a few, Bible passages would end it. What a mistake.

Because that only made the situation worse. Within a few months, the ranch animals started to die. Many might think, perhaps the grass was indigestible, or maybe the water was undrinkable, but their deaths had nothing to do with that. The animals were being savagely mutilated. During the two years the Sherman family, lived on Skinwalker Ranch, a total of 14 cattle, died under atrocious circumstances. Terry wasn't going to stand idly by, as his animals simply died, so he decided to investigate. And thanks to his tireless search, he came to what he

believed was the most reasonable explanation, wolves. Only wolves could be capable of, attacking animals that way. So he started standing guard at night, armed with his shotgun and, accompanied by his two hunting dogs. And indeed, during his many watches, he came face to face with those, creatures, wolves that appeared, to be of enormous size. And I say appeared because, those beings tried to stay, as far as possible from humans. No matter how much Terry shot at them, the bullets never, seemed to harm them, whether due to bad aim, or because their hides were too thick, to be pierced by bullets. More than once, Terry and Gwen Sherman organized hunting parties with their neighbors, because every

everyone seemed to have the same problem. Still, no one seemed able to even wound one of them. They were, far too clever. As I said earlier, these animals, always stayed away from humans. They were always there, but kept a prudent distance. This made it impossible for the Shermans, to identify their species or their, true size, or at least, it was, impossible during the first few months. To be continued. This fact made it impossible for the Sherman's to identify the species or true size of the creature, or at least it was impossible for them during the first few months. One night, when Sherman arrived at the ranch in her Chevrolet Chivet after dining at a well-known restaurant in the area with her friends. She stopped the vehicle in front of the

imposing metal gate that isolated the ranch from the outside world. She got out of the car, removed the padlock, pushed open both metal gates, and returned to the vehicle. She started the engine, drove a few meters, got out again, went back, and just when she was about to close the metal gate, she realized something was wrong. Wynne felt someone's gaze piercing the back of her neck. She looked around and saw no one, yet she still felt hostility. She sensed evil in the air. Terrified, she ran back to the car, and just as she shut the door and fast,

her seatbelt, she realized that the headlights of her vehicle were illuminating a beast, a creature with reddish fur and large proportions. It was a wolf, a wolf nearly the size of her Chevrolet Chvette. Wynne was so frightened that she instinctively slammed on the accelerator and sped off in panic toward the house. The animal didn't seem aggressive, it didn't appear to be looking for trouble. Still, a creature of such size couldn't be good. As soon as she got home, she woke up her husband with screams and pleas. Wynne needed Terry to see it with his own eyes and finally put an end to those wolves.

Terry didn't hesitate. Armed with his shotgun, he set out to comb the entire ranch in search of the creature. What he found were massive footprints in the mud. He followed them for several minutes, but at a certain point, they simply disappeared without a trace, as if the creature had vanished into thin air. Terry began to believe that these wolves were something more, that they could be real monsters. He started to examine the carcasses of the animals more carefully, and they showed no signs of having been devoured by wolves. Whatever had attacked the cattle had removed their eyes, utters, and sexual organs with

surgical precision. A paw couldn't have done that, not with such accuracy. The wounds, the cut marks, resembled burns, and the matter was becoming too disturbing. From that moment on, the Sherman family claimed that the stench of sulfur spread throughout the ranch, a very characteristic smell in cases of possession. They began to wake up each morning to find large holes and crop circles on the ranch. Sometimes, they heard a loud noise of machinery coming from inside the earth. It was a deafening sound, and whenever it started, the animals went completely insane. Both the family and their neighbors claimed that the ranch was often flown over by luminous spheres,

spheres of all colors, an element that would later be called orbs. The Sherman's claim these orbs always moved in specific patterns, always following a predetermined route as if inspecting the property. This led them to believe the lights had their own intelligence. During their time in that house, the Sherman's claimed to have seen UFOs and lights moving from one side to another. So, just like they had done with the wolves, they decided to follow the lights. They wanted to discover their origin and their intentions.

They wanted to know why they were on their land. The last straw came when Terry Sherman sent his two hunting dogs after one of the lights. The dogs disappeared into the bushes chasing a blue sphere the size of a tennis ball. After a few minutes, the animals began to howl, wail, and cry in pain, and after a few moments of pure agony, silence fell over the place. The next day, all Terry could find of his beloved dogs were patches of earth, bits of tar, burned skin, and charred fur. This affected the Sherman couple so deeply that they decided to leave the ranch for good. What was happening there was so intense that in 1996, the year the Sherman's left the property, it caught the attention of NIDS, the National Institute for Discovery Science,

based in Las Vegas. The organization decided to buy the ranch for 200,000. from the Shermans. This way, they would have the opportunity to delve into the events and investigate the anomalous activity from a scientific perspective. NIDS, whose owner was Robert Bigelow, launched an unprecedented scientific study. They installed surveillance cameras everywhere and deployed more than 100 specialists. Scientific personnel and former law enforcement officers were stationed at the property for the eight years that the investigations lasted, at least the official ones, led by Dr. Kohlm-Kelleher. Did they come to any conclusion? NIDS published more than one article on the subject, but none of them clarified anything. They failed to contribute

anything new to the case beyond a multitude of new testimonies about the events taking place there. Indeed, they tested the power of that land, and during the early years, they reported all kinds of phenomena, the same ones the Sherman family had experienced. However, in 2005, all of it faded into obscurity. According to the files published by NIDS, the difficulty in obtaining conclusive data on the event stemmed from the fact that the activity was sporadic. For two consecutive weeks, there could be tremendously intense activity, but for the rest of the year, the land could be completely silent. These long silent periods pushed NIDS to end its investigation, in 2005. Still, it is worth noting that although they stopped actively researching the area,

their surveillance systems remained operational. One explanation that has emerged over the years for the paranormal activity is that the area might be used for military testing by the U.S. government. To this day, there is still no clear conclusion about those events. Nevertheless, Skinwalker Ranch continues to appear in articles, documentaries, and films. Yet there There's something not many people know, the ranch is still owned by Robert Bigelow. The road that leads directly to Skinwalker Ranch is illegally closed, even though it's a Class D public county road. Bigelow tries to justify this by saying the road has been abandoned by the county and that it's the best way to protect the ranch from intruders. In August 2016, an interview was published featuring several people who work at the ranch to guard it.

These individuals asked to remain anonymous and said that the ranch is still the subject of investigations, investigations that have not been publicly confirmed. They said the property has numerous surveillance cameras, many motion detectors, and 24-hour security personnel, specialists who patrol the ranch both day and night. And now it's your turn. Why do you think there is so much secrecy surrounding Skinwalker Ranch? Are they truly investigating what's happening there, or is it all just a hoaxed? to draw more attention to the topic. The end. I think I finally figured it out. After all these

years of reading and rereading every detail of this case, combing through court transcripts, watching every documentary, every interview, every snippet of video evidence available, something finally clicked. And the moment it did, I remember thinking, that's it. That's how he did it. That's how he killed her without making a mess, without leaving behind any obvious signs of a struggle. It also helped me pinpoint the exact time and day she died, which in turn made a few other pieces of the puzzle fall into place. I remember the night I came across it, this little detail buried in his trial testimony, casually mentioned as if it were just another insignificant part of their routine. But it wasn't. It was the key to everything. Scott was on the

They'd stand, recounting their last few weeks together, trying to paint a picture of their lives before she vanished. He talked about their evenings, their little habits, and then he mentioned something that made me stop cold. He said that in the last months of her pregnancy, Lacey had developed the habit of taking late-night swims in their pool. It helped her, he said. Her feet were swollen, her body ached, and the weightlessness in the water was a relief. Sometimes, he'd join her. And that's when it hit me. That's how he did it.

He drowned her. I could see it so clearly. It must have been one of those nights when she decided to ease the pressure on her tired, swollen feet. Maybe he even suggested it. Hey, why don't we go for a swim? And she, trusting him completely, agreed. I imagine them standing in the cool night air, the surface of the surface of the swim. pool rippling gently under the porch light. Lacey, being nearly nine months pregnant, would

have floated with ease, her belly making her buoyant like a little life raft. Maybe she leaned back, letting the water cradle her, closing her eyes for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of relief. And then, his arms around her, steadying her. Maybe whispering something to her. Maybe making it seem like just another tender moment between a husband and wife. Then, in an instant, his hands pressed down. Firm. Unrelenting. She would have fought, of course. But how much could she have fought back? She was small, barely five feet tall. And he? He was over six feet, much stronger, much heavier. More than that, she was nearly full term, her body already exhausted from carry. the extra weight of their unborn son.

And as any mother would, her instincts wouldn't have been to fight for herself first. No. Her first reaction would have been to protect her baby. She would have struggled, but her movements wouldn't have been as wild as someone else's might have been. No frantic swinging of fists, no desperate clawing at his face. She would have been trying to hold on to her belly, trying to keep Connor safe. That's what makes this method so horrifying.

effective. There wouldn't have been any signs of a fight. No blood, no bruises that couldn't be explained away, no broken furniture or scratches. Just silence. Just a quiet night by the pool. And then, nothing. When she stopped moving, he must have held her there for a while longer, just to be sure. Maybe he counted the seconds in his head, making absolutely sure she wasn't coming back. And then, the cleanup. It would have been almost effortless. No need to scrub out bloodstains, no need to worry about fingerprints. He simply lifted her from the water, her body limp in his arms, and carried her inside. Maybe he wrapped her in something, plastic, perhaps, to prevent any dripping. Maybe he left her near the back of the house while he methodically erased any trace of what had just

happened. A few droplets of water on the floor. Easily wiped away. His swim trunks. Toss them in the wash. Mop the tiles. Done. Just another quiet night at home. Then, he goes to bed. The morning of December 24th, before the sun has fully risen, before anyone is awake to see him, he moves her. He carries her to the car, careful and deliberate, making sure he, she's covered. Maybe he uses a tarp. Maybe an old comforter. He places her in the back, covers her with umbrellas, an odd choice, but one that would keep prying eyes from seeing what he didn't want them to see. Then, he takes care of the details. He lets the dog out. He makes sure the blinds in the lounge and kitchen stay closed, no need for anyone to glimpse inside and realize something is off.

He double-checked that everything looks normal. And then, he leaves. He heads to the warehouse, picks up the boat, the weights, everything he had planned in advance. And then, he drives to the marina, to the water that would become her final resting place. Out in the open, surrounded by nothing but the vast expanse of the bay, he does what he came to do. Maybe he hesitates. Maybe he doesn't. Either way, it doesn't matter. He lifts her, his wife, the mother of his unborn

child, and lets her go. She disappears beneath the surface, swallowed by the cold, dark water. The baby inside her, lifeless but still cradled in her womb, goes with her. And just like that, it's done. When he returns, he makes sure to clean up. He washes his clothes, rinses the salt and sand from his skin, mops the floor again just in case. He erases the last traces of his crime. Then, he steps back into the world as if nothing has happened. He plays the part well. He calls friends, acts worried. He makes sure to be seen. He gives interviews, cries on camera. He constructs an alibi, a version of events that he hopes will hold up under scrutiny. But the ocean doesn't keep secrets forever. Months later, the tide brings her back. And when it does,

so does the truth. Maybe he thought he was smart enough to get away with it. Maybe, for a while, he almost did. But in the end, the weight of what he did was too much to keep buried. R.I.P., Lacey and Connor. You deserved so much more. From the outside it's a normal house. Inside it is dark and there is an angry ghost. A woman that died and has conversations with someone that isn't there. She seems to move incredibly fast through time like she is reliving events. Inside the house it is opulent and vast. It has a massive, wide basement tunnel. The longer you follow the tunnel, the worse you feel. You feel a heavy evil feeling. You follow the tunnel and at the end is a room. You know people died in that room and it is stacked with bodies you can't see and blood coats the

floor, but since the blood has been cleaned away. You can't enter the room because the feeling of death is so strong it repels you. This is a recurring dream I've had a long time. Sometimes the house is bigger, sometimes it is smaller. The ghost is always there and usually there are more ghosts. The house is mine and I live there. The ghosts won't leave me alone and torment me. In the back of my mind, I always know the basement and tunnel are there. I always know where the tunnel leads, but I don't go down it because I've already been in that room once. I realize I am a ghost, too, and I died in that room. I live in the house, but it was not always mine.

Usually I rent the house for an insane amount of money. I know I can't live there forever because it will cost me everything. I love living there because it is huge and beautiful inside. I ignore its secrets, but there are signs. People start appearing in the house that I didn't invite. They appear as friends and I feel like I have known them a long time, but if I think deeper they are stranger. They talk to each other and mostly ignore me.

Sometimes they want my attention and want me to join them. Sometimes they stare at me, move items around, turn things on or off or turn invisible and move through walls. I feel incredible fear and adrenaline when I realize they are not people but ghosts. I use that adrenaline to face my fear and scream at them to leave my house and this is when I wake up. These people feel familiar and I truly believe they are real. They don't pay me much attention but they want all my attention. They usually talk to each other or they are doing something. I found one way to get their attention recently, but I am not ever aware of this fact,

they are not real. If I tell them they are not real they stop what they are doing and look me dead in the eye. It's almost like they are disappointed that I broke the illusion. At this point they fade away and leave. However this is only temporary as more of them arrive. If I leave the house and come back it is filled with people that have moved in like it's a hostel. Locking the doors seems to keep them out, but I keep finding unlocked and open doors with them walking outside. I get scared knowing I was just living and sleeping in that house and so many could have come in

if they had just known the door was open. The angry ghost is always a mother. She appears sometimes as a little girl. Her toy when she leaves it behind moves rapidly like it is being effect by a powerful unseen wind while being fixed in place. As a woman her hair and dress move the same way. She pays me no attention because I am not. there. She seems trapped sometimes behind the wall of water that divides the living room of the house

into two parts. The side she is on feels unsettling. I cannot cross through the wall of water and only observe her moving and talking. I know she is angry, but she doesn't look angry. Her face is emotionless with a hint of sadness. Something horrible happened to her and she relives it over and over for me to see. She is there to warn me about the house, about the basement, warn me about the room of death. I always end up finding the tunnel leading down and into the basement.

It's not hard as the whole house is built around it like a major feature. The tunnel is adorned with sculptures and marble stairs. It wants you to follow it. Sometimes I give people tours of the house and lead them down the tunnel. I want them to see the room so I'm not alone in that knowledge. They never want to go more than halfway down the tunnel as they get distracted by something or someone else. I'm the only one that knows everything about this house. Any dream I have, no matter what it's about, I always find the house.

It looks the same most times and it's familiar like a home. It's my home but for some reason others want to live there too and I just want to be left alone. They never ever let me be alone. It's the only thing I want in my dreams, to be alone, but they are always there and so is the house. Sometimes in the house I have telekinetic powers and I can move things with my mind. I use this power to throw objects at the ghosts and they do the same. The ghosts are passive most times, but if you force them to leave, they get angry. Sometimes they hunt me in the house in a pack and try to kill me.

They always keep trying to get to me wherever I am. I can hide anywhere and they find me. I try to fight them and if I win, more come, then I wake up. If I lose, I feel the blood leaking from my wound. I am slowly bleeding out knowing in that moment I will die. Then I wake up when I am dead. It feels like a real death only you go from one reality to the next. Sometimes that next reality is the real world and sometimes it is the next dream.

I never know what is real. Sometimes my flesh starts to fall away from my bones or my teeth fall out. The longer I spend in that house the more I decay like a corpse. Maybe I'm just pretending to be alive. It's hard to get somewhere in a dream. Things happen, a train is late, you take a wrong stop or turn and you're in an unfamiliar place and don't know how to get back or get to where you want to be. The house is not like that.

It's always there in the world. I sometimes forget it exists and then I find it by accident. From the outside it can look different, but inside it's always the same. Large living area, many rooms, people always visiting. Outside the house it's the same people as inside the house. Maybe the house changes to create the illusion I'm outside it. Somehow I always end up in the house. It's expensive to live there, but I like the house.

It's dark inside the house and always night. The only light is from the lamps and lights inside. The ghosts like to switch them off one by one. They can only move in darkness. Once they have me submerged in complete dark, they crawl up to my face and stare at me a few inches away from my face. I can feel them looking at me in the dark. I fight to keep the lights on because in the dark they can do what they want.

In the light, I can do what I want. It's a game we play. I pretend everything is okay and they try their hardest to make it not okay. They do it slowly enough that I don't notice. But I always notice. It's a game. How can something so beautiful and so normal from the outside be so horrible and lonely on the inside? I want to move on from the house, but I can't.

I'm trapped. I'm furniture in the house. The house has a bubble around it. A shield to keep people out and to make it invisible. Only I can see this bubble because I made it to protect me in the house from the people entering from outside. The real joke is the bubble. doesn't work and they still find their way inside. I'm scared to bring down the bubble because it could be so much worse. In my dreams I'm never alone. They won't leave me alone. In my dreams

I'm always alone. Everyone around me is not real. I'm the only one that's truly alive. In my dreams I'm always in that damn house. Tormented forever. Tormented because of someone else's crime. I'm a prisoner sentence to life in hell, yet I never committed a sin. I'm just just another victim. Another ghost and my punishment is to suffer. Forever. I already know what the dream is telling me and how to stop having it. The problem is it so hard because the prison has to die first before the prisoner can be free. The prison is alive and it feeds on negativity, pain and suffering. It grows stronger as I grow stronger. One day I'll leave that prison and hopefully it be soon. I hope you enjoyed my story. None of it is true, if that's what you need to hear

to sleep soundly tonight. I moved into this place a few weeks ago. The rent was cheap, the neighborhood was quiet, and honestly, I didn't ask too many questions. I probably should have. The only weird thing. There was this door at the end of the hallway. No handle, no keyhole, just a solid wooden door with big metal hinges. It was completely sealed shut. Not locked. Sealed. I asked my landlord about it the day I moved in. He barely looked up from his clipboard and muttered, that room's not part of the rental. Why? I asked. He shrugged. Just don't worry about it. So I didn't. Until last night. I woke up around two in the morning to this loud click. A sound I knew. A lock turning. I sat up, groggy, trying to figure out if I had

imagined it. Then I heard something else. A door creaking open. That got my blood running cold. I grabbed my phone and stepped into the hallway. Everything looked normal. Everything except one thing. That sealed door at the end of the hole. It was open. Not just unlocked, but slightly ajar. Like someone had finally pushed it loose after all this time.

I stood there, frozen, heart hammering. I told myself to turn around, go back to bed, pretend I didn't see anything. But Curiosity 1. I walked forward, my phone flashlight cutting through. through the darkness. I peaked inside. The room was, empty. No furniture, no boxes, just bare concrete walls and a dust-covered floor. No light fixture, no windows. It didn't even look like anyone had been inside for years. Except for one thing. Footprints. Bare footprints, leading from the room, straight to my bedroom door. A chill ran down my spine. I followed them

with my flashlight, my brain scrambling to make sense of it. Then I noticed something worse. The last set of prints. They weren't leading out of my room. They were turned toward the room. Like someone had been standing outside my door. Watching me. And then, went back inside. I didn't wait to find out more. I backed away, went into my room, and locked the door. I barely slept. When I finally got up and checked the hallway in the morning, the door was sealed shut again. like it had never been open in the first place. But the footprints were still there. I tried to ignore it.

Maybe I was sleep deprived. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe, maybe a million things. I told myself I imagined it. But the next night, I set up my phone to record. I placed it on my nightstand, pointing at the hallway. Just to be sure. Just to prove to myself nothing was happening.

When I checked the footage in the morning, my stomach dropped. At 2.13 a.m., the door clicked open. Slowly. Silently. A dark gap appeared. Then, movement. Something stepped out. I couldn't see its face. Just the silhouette of a figure, tall, thin, barefoot. It stood there for minutes. Minutes. Unmoving. Watching. Then, it turned. It faced my door. And it walked toward it. I stopped breathing as I watched. It got closer.

And closer. At 2.17 a.m., it reached my door. Then, the video glitched. Just for a second. A single frame. But in that frame, it was inside my room. I barely left my apartment for the next few days. I considered moving.

I should have. But something kept me there. The need to understand. To know what was behind that door. The next night, I sat up in bed, fully awake, waiting. At exactly 2.13 a.m., I heard the click. I gripped my flashlight and phone. I knew what was coming.

The door creaked open. I held my breath. My fingers trembled. I turned on my flashlight and pointed it at the hallway. Nothing. No movement. No figure. Just the open door.

I forced myself to move. To get up. To walk. to the hallway. My heart pounded, my breath came in shallow bursts. I shone the light into the room. Empty. Just like before.

Except for one thing. A whisper. So soft, so close, it felt like it was right behind me. Why did you lock the door? I spun around, but there was nothing. No one. The door slammed shut in my face. I don't remember much after that.

I woke up in my bed, the morning light pouring through the window. My head ached. My body felt heavy, drained. The hallway was normal. The door, sealed again. But I wasn't alone. Because when I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face, I saw it. In the mirror.

A single, dirty, bare footprint. Right behind me. Nestled on the outskirts of a sleepy California town, where sun-drenched vineyards meet rugged hills, lies a relic of the past that locals have come to call the Inferno house. This isn't your run-of-the-mill haunted mansion, its notoriety comes from an unexplainable, spectral blaze that ignites long after dusk,

a phenomenon known simply as inferno. Decades ago, a catastrophic fire swept through the estate in a matter of moments, turning a once-vibrant home into a smouldering ruin. But it wasn't a typical wildfire, witnesses claimed the flames burned with an other-worldly glow, as if fueled by a sorrowful spirit. In the wake of the tragedy,

Residents whispered that the fire itself had become a living memorial, a fiery echo of the lives lost and the secrets trapped within its walls. Drawn by equal parts thrill and trepidation, a tight-knit group of local adventurers decided to explore the charred remains one crisp, starry night. Cruising down winding backroads with a sense of Californian nonchalance, one of the friends remarked, dude, this is going to be epic, as they approached the estate. The air was heavy with anticipation and the faint, inexplicable aroma of smoke, a reminder that the past was never truly gone.

Stepping through the broken threshold, every creak of the floorboard seemed to whisper echoes of the bygone era. The Grand Foyer, now a canvas of shadows and scars, bore silent testimony to the night of devastation. As the group made their way through dilapidated corridors, an unexpected chill set in, and fleeting voices, barely more than a sigh, drifted on the wind, adding layers of mystery to the already charged atmosphere.

Then, as midnight neared, the phenomenon known as inferno began its eerie. spectacle. Without warning, ghostly flames erupted along the exterior of the mansion. These weren't ordinary fires, they moved with a surreal, almost choreographed grace, casting elongated, quivering shadows over the cracked facade. One onlooker later recalled, it was like watching a living, breathing piece of art, terrifying, yet mesmerizing, like the fire was trying to tell us a story of deep, unspoken pain. Local experts and paranormal enthusiasts have since attempted to explain the bizarre occurrence. Some argue that the resists. Some argue that the resists of the resists of the

residual energy from that fateful night somehow fused with the structure, creating a perpetual loop of spectral fire. Others believe that the spirit of a lost soul, bound to the memory of the Inferno, relives its tragic final moments through these unearthly flames. Regardless of the theory, one thing remains undeniable, the word inferno has become a powerful symbol of both destruction and remembrance in the hearts of those who still dare to approach the sight. Today, the Inferno House stands as a chilling monument to a past that refuses to fade away, a place where the boundary between life and loss, reality and legend, becomes as fleeting as a flicker of flame. For those who crave a story that blurs the lines between myth and memory, and want to feel

the pulse of California's mysterious spirit, this tale is just the beginning. Date, April 17, 1994, subject name, Dr. Trotsky Demikov. Likely an alias. Known to have committed 23 counts of first-degree murder, six confirmed cases of human trafficking, unlawful imprisonment on an officer of the law, espionage, and theft of classified documentation related to Project Redacted. Smiley faces mark many scenes associated with similar crimes throughout Europe, though not all can be directly connected.

Suspected of illegal human testing and experimentation, his crimes point towards a larger conspiracy of abduction and unethical practices, with strong evidence suggesting links to an international black market. Satellite imagery has tracked. his current whereabouts northeast of the Murmansk port in Russia, approximately 7 km away from Kilden Island in the Barents Sea aboard a rogue vessel, Norcopen class. We have captured several contacts linked to him in both Sweden and Norway, including one confirmed base of operations outside the Norwegian town of Kirkens. On October 2nd, 1989, the unmarked compound was

stormed by 20 field agents and one special investigator, Norman J. Powell. Inside were mass quantities of sedatives, three fridges filled with rotten meat and loose organs, unknown origin, and various chemicals, as well as many surgical instruments and medical devices such as rusted scalpeles and several broken implements. The floor of the main laboratory was covered in shattered glass and scorch marks. Some of the shards had trace amounts of blood, confirming collaboration between the target and various key suspects. One room contained broken chains attached to the walls with partially cleaned blood stains on the floor and ceiling. No traces of the presumed detainees were ever recovered,

as we could not find any connection between the blood samples and existing records of citizens in and around the area. A later investigation was conducted, gathering samples and records for all individuals within a 300-mile radius. No further leads could be discovered. Continue to covertly monitor Dr. Demikov for the foreseeable future. We cannot risk alienating the target given our incomplete information or exposing our operation to FSB intelligence. Two months, and we still have nothing to show for it.

This investigation is a fucking catastrophic failure. We should be storming that ship right now and capturing the damn psychopath, I responded. We have to wait. It doesn't sit right with me either, but boss is right. We can't jeopardize the operation. That would be two months down the drain, Vasquez stated. It hasn't been for nothing. We are closing in on these bastards as we speak.

Have a little faith, the man whose name I didn't remember butted in. You haven't done my hours, pal. So sock it in. We have been busting our ass for what? All for a snail's pace, while there are innocents out there, dying. We have him. Let's just put this son of a bitch down. I am just as invested in this as you.

I understand where your frustration is coming from. You think I don't want to put one between that sick fuck skull. My finger is itching the same as yours. We have priorities here. That is just the kind of bullshit liability we can't afford right now, Vasquez rebutted. He was right, but I still didn't like it. I glared at him, wanting to sway him through sheer force of emotion,

but I couldn't hold my face of conviction. We all want to be. bring Demikov, or whatever his real name is, to justice. Maybe some of us more than others, but I had to give the boys more credit. Even if things didn't go as quickly as I liked, we had more information now than we did before. We could rush in and risk losing everything or bet on security. Do I pull the lever and kill the man, or let the train kill them all? Sure and steady. Vasquez. Come on. I'm just saying, I'm just saying, I'm I know. I know. I'm a little overwhelmed right now. Just think about what I'm saying.

If we are going to get him, we may have to cut some corners. Expedite the process a little. Vasquez nodded his head a bit but ultimately seemed unconvinced. I put my hand on my forehead as sweat began to pour onto the dossier. My head was killing me. Migraines like I had never experienced before had become the norm since I took up this case. Stress came with the job, a ruthless killer. I reached for the pill bottle, spilling it over. Three were just enough for now. That's one more than I needed last week.

Let me see the document for a moment. The man asked. I handed it to him. It says he imprison an officer. Remind me of that again. Of course, he didn't know. This guy didn't do his homework. Vasquez spoke up, yeah, we had a hostage situation back in 79.

That's how he got away with those documents that were mentioned. An officer down in Langley. Specifics are sparse, but the man was shot in the leg. He survived, though, well, shit. That's intense, would you two keep it down? My head is killing me. We need to focus here, go easy on Volkov. You're too hard on him, Baskes replied.

I was talking to both of you, I gritted my teeth firmly. Easy. We are all good. You pick on the rookie. Common tradition here. Had my share of bad behavior in the old country, Balcov stated, which only grew my disdain for him. He was one of those, thinks he can be everyone's best friend.

You want to finish this report, then, pal? I pushed the envelope and paper over to him, knocking the pen off the desk. As I leaned over to pick it up his torso collided with my face. He acted like it was an accident, but I don't buy it. Maybe I am sleep deprived or just an asshole, but I don't trust this, what? Fucking exchange a spy. We don't need him. Sorry for that, calmer, friend.

Excuse me. I got it. You don't want to. look so good. I handle whatever you throw at me. He paused for a moment, waiting for my response. I gave none. This? I have you covered. Lunchtime is soon, anyway. Go on, then, I'll give you a hand with that, Volkov. I don't have a stomach right now anyhow. Plus, you don't got to prove yourself to everyone around here, Vasquez said, looking at me for a moment. Right. Just keep it concise.

I'll be back a quarter to two, I stepped out of the cramped office and dropped my shoulders against the rough surface of the wall instantly. My back disagreed with my schedule. I pulled out a cigar from my pocket before looking both ways. With a clear hallway guaranteed, I lit up, taking a strong drag. Whether it was my team blowing smoke up my ass or the nasty habit, I couldn't escape it. I never said I was a healthy person. It wasn't my job to be healthy. That's what TV models and comedians were for. This world is sick, and we do our best to contain that sickness. But right now, it's eating me alive. I can't get their faces out of my head. Those children. That man. The damn smoke, it doesn't stop rising. What does Volkov know? Vasquez was there, but he never became like me.

He doesn't look at things like me. Who does anymore? I remember a simple time. You got the bad guys. You rescued the girl. Good was triumphant and good fucking night. You went to bed happy. Not so much these days.

I probably stood there for a solid 20 minutes before I caught myself drifting off. I usually had lunch in my car, outside the office, but everything was closed today. Typical. You expect some consideration doing overtime on a Sunday, instead, you get some foreigner jackass and an empty stomach. I can't handle another sloppy Joe in the chow hall. My heart can't handle it. I went to my car to hopefully get some sleep in before my lunch ended. I managed a generous nap and woke up feeling slightly remorseful for how I had acted. Maybe I should go a bit easier on Voki. He may be off, but the guy knows what he's doing. doing with a computer. That merits a little respect I wager. I didn't hear much chatter coming

from the office, which either meant the boys were hard at work or goofing off. I opened the door and grew a smirk at the beautiful stack of papers before me. I'll be damned. I gotta hand it to you guys. You sure work fast, fast. Sir, you've been gone hours. We finished that a while back, Volkov replied. I returned a confused look. It's all there. Organized too. What the hell did you have for lunch, a horse?

Vasquez raised his voice slightly, chuckling. We got the paperwork done for today and last week, but we still have some provisional files to sort through. That'll be all of our problems tomorrow, right? Excellent job, but what? No, I left to get some sleep in my car. I couldn't have been gone for that long. And sure, that's adequate.

I checked my wristwatch, confirming I had indeed been gone for several hours, three, in fact. Well, my apologies. I didn't intend to leave you two hanging like that. I'll cover you tomorrow. I usually don't do that. Not necessary friend. You needed break. Circles under eyes are already better.

Volkov laughed. Vasquez did fine job showing me the ropes. I guess he wasn't that bad. But I still didn't see why we needed to keep him around for so long. My partner and I did good work already. The case procedure is the problem, not the manpower. Nevertheless, I may as well learn to put up with him, or at least ignore him. The rest of the shift was excruciatingly mediocre in productivity.

We got our work done, but what did that do? Bring us one step closer on a three-mile job. I wanted to run. I wanted an all-out sprint. That night I dreamt of running. I ran, and I ran until I found myself at sea. On one hand, our target was choking in a pool of his own blood. But on the other, my team was gone.

I was alone. How did I get there? I didn't have a plan to escape, and suddenly the ship was sinking. Everything was crashing. Then static. I woke up in a cold sweat, my wife turned over and clutched the blanket up to her cheek, still asleep. At least she was sleeping peacefully. I bent down and pecked her cheek, then rolled out of bed.

Sometimes I like to just sit outside and stare off into nothing. The sky was a peculiar hue of brown and black tonight. Some stars dotted the sky, but there was mostly empty sky. space. The moon was practically covered in haze, though a dim glow pierced through, illuminating the surroundings. The Norwegian forests were beautiful this time of year. The coastal pines swayed lightly in the cool wind as if they were reaching out to each other for warmth. This was where I belonged. The open expanse of water peaked just out from the horizon, hiding behind the trees and fields of blackberry bushes. I start to think about the past.

Reminiscing is my favorite pastime lately. Maybe I should complain less, but I have so much to compare to. My father told me to be a better man than he could. My brother couldn't do it. My mother didn't care either way. My old man and I had a good bond. He would share stories of the golden age. Clean streets.

Freshly cut lawns as far as the eye could see. Baseball in the backyard, an adventure. until the street lights made their comeback known. Then the draft. The Greatest American War, they say. From 1945 to the attack on Moscow in 1976. An estimated 250,000 lives were lost in one atomic blast. That's all it took to make the bad guys shake in their boots.

Right? When I was a kid, it seemed so simple. I didn't consider the lives at stake. Not like now. My turn at the gun came not too long after. A year fought in the Norway annexation. The greatest part of the United States is 4,600 miles away from America. Long story short, I found my place. Now when I look at these trees, I can almost forget the days spent hiding here. The friends I lost here. The fires are replaced by long winters, but I still feel a sense of heat in my heart that drive me. I am going to kill Demikov.

Powell, are you hiding outside? You left the door open again. I hear my wife's soft voice call for me, and I shoot my head up. The morning came suddenly. My eyes were a little less hard to keep open. I grumbled a sigh, waking up. Not because her presence didn't bring comfort, but because I only had her for another 20-odd minutes.

I'm just thinking, that's all. Guess I passed out again. You want me to start a pot of coffee. I replied from the open deck. Already started. Are you feeling all right? I haven't seen much of you lately. Oh, you know.

Long hours. This investigation is taking all it can get, for sure. I wish things were different, but maybe you stay up for me tonight. Watch a movie. How's a horror flick sound? I would love that. Just seems like you might need all the rest you can get. If you're up for it by then, I don't mind.

She idled away at the counter, pouring coffee grounds into paper. She always made it just right. Not too strong, not so watery either. We drank quietly together. She read the paper, and I studied the reflection in my mug. The brown water shone with the modern simplicity of contemporary decor. She insisted on it. I never had an eye for design, but in the sheen of that cup, it looked perfect.

The phone rings. More abrupt distractions. My wife glances at me, then over to the phone. Hello, Powell Residence. This is Norman, boss, of course. Right away. I whisper an expletive under my breath. Yep.

Yes, definitely, sir. I will see you, then. Goodbye, it was boss. He's coming into the office today for an in-person conference. He wants to make sure we're not wasting valuable resources. I'm either kissing his ass today or getting my ass kicked. I chuckle half-heartedly, what's new, you'll do fine, love. I know how hard you work.

Just go in straight-laced. Demand respect. You always know what to say. I look at my watch. That's me. I'll see you in that tape tonight. I blow her a case and hurry out. You'll do great.

I love you, she replies as I descend the patio steps. When I got to work things seemed different. Boss hadn't stopped by in over six months, so his arrival was undeniably an important occasion. I must admit, Sherlock himself wouldn't find even a hint that anything but soul-crushing work was done in these hallowed halls. The office smelled of cinnamon and apples, which was certainly more welcoming than the usual mildew and body odor scent. Everyone got the memo all right. The office looked almost like it had 12 years ago to the day. But the veneer did nothing to mend what hit in the background. It was only a start. We all sat and neatly lined up office chairs,

facing the podium on which stood boss himself. He was silently watching the crowd while the regional overseer addressed us. Nobody here was allowed to know his real name, so we all collectively referred to him as the boss. Eventually, that title was adopted into more of a genuine name. He even picked it up himself. Now people just call him boss. Even his husband doesn't use his real name, on the rare occasions he decides to show his face. What is so special about this guy that he needs to keep such a low profile? It's bordering on suspicion. Pest, Norm, Powell. Voki tapped my knee. Boss is lady speaking, yes, that's Avery. You haven't met yet? Boss is the one to her right. I patch. I replied quietly. Oh, yes, yes. I recall now. Thank you.

He whispered back. Avery was going on about the usual pencil pushing bullshit. More paperwork for later. I had zoned out most of it until boss began to talk. Whatever he had was important. I have been reminded that among you are still many talented, hardworking agents. Those who can get their jobs done without compromising. Without complaining. I respect that.

I truly do. What I do not respect, however, is why you would then insist on sheltering such lazy, self-serving children. Make no mistake, I will be enforcing the same standards I once followed. That includes holding each other accountable. Things will be changing. Avery wants to believe you are capable of sorting things out yourselves. But I take a more, measured perspective. He scanned the room to the left, then to the right.

A crowd of silent observers watched back in fearful anticipation. The Demikov case has taken its toll on this force. I myself have not been spared. I know you all want it to be over and done with already. Which is why I am disappointed in you. All of you. Our investigation has all but stagnated since February. We need to coordinate our next move without the risk of foreign interference.

Without the risk we will be anticipated. And damn it, we need as much concrete evidence to put this bastard away for all he has done. what we are trying to say is that we need to encourage more, effective collaboration. We have made excellent strides in locating the subject. However, it isn't so simple. We must find as many of his contacts as possible before isolating him. So far, your work has been impactful, but we could be doing more. Avery cut in.

She always tried to ease tensions, but she looked more tense than anyone here. Thank you, Captain Avery. He cleared his throat. I must agree. We need efficiency here. And that is what I will be bringing. We cannot afford to lose this bastard again, or risk airing our investigation to the Russians. So starting today, I will be transferring to this department indefinitely.

That is all, he adjusted his tie, then began to walk out. His posture was tall, and his movement was swaggered with confidence. That was a long-winded way of telling us were a bunch of fuck-ups. But there wasn't a word of it that was wrong. We were losing traction, and pretty soon things would begin to fall behind. Me and Boss weren't exactly so different. Sure, I'm not always as keen on following every step in the book, but we both wanted to get this guy sooner than later. And something in his eye told me his idea of justice and mine weren't so different either.

I had watched this man's hair go from full and vibrant to thinning in gray since we took this case up, but after all this time, we finally have Demikov on the ropes. Yet we're letting him climb away. Boss told me he wanted to speak to me personally after the conference this morning. Said it was important. Me and Vasquez chatted about provisional files and the game while Boss finished up a conversation with Avery in the hallway. Every so often they would look over at me, making my same. in crawl. Man, they're going to chew your ass up, Vasquez Grimaced. You think? Boss called me this morning.

Didn't even beat me, straight to my house phone. Yikes. You're either getting that dream promotion or an ass kicking. Yep. That's exactly what I said. I guess I'll just have to save my best face. Boss wasn't only glancing at me every so often now, he was staring. He lifted his hand and called at me with one finger. Avery stood by silently. Good luck, Volkov said. He and Vasquez began to chatter, but their voices faded into background noise as I contemplated my next moves.

Sir. I locked my arms in place. Don't look so damn stiff, Powell. You aren't in trouble. Yet, then what is this about? I have heard how eager you are to expedite this investigation. And I for one am in agreement. I want to give you full support during my stay here.

Whatever you need, you have my ear. But make no mistake. Climsy or sloppy mistakes won't be tolerated. Of course, sir. You can count on me, my team. All of us are invested in this. You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that. You know, if you ask me, I have been wanting to get this whole show MOV.

This conversation is concluded, Powell. Carry on. Save the commentary for your subordinates. I was stunned. He was giving me an opportunity here, but something about his demeanor felt backhanded. I have never been one to vie for another man's respect, but Boss was a veteran around here. Not only that, but he fought in the annexation. We never ran into each other, but I hear he was stationed around the same spot as me.

I'm not saying I am going to fight for him. his admiration, but it is something to consider. If anyone can get through this, it's him. I feel like big things are about to happen. From the look on Avery's face, I must be right. I found my desk assaulted by a pile of papers and balled up files. The boys hadn't arrived, but their desks were pristine. I rolled my chair out to find a letter staple to the seat, reading, 67.03 degrees north, 20.12 degrees east, the letter itself was printed using a course, cheap material. Unlike the smooth paper we kept in storage. Around the words were marks of three ashen fingerprints and a smiley face. It smelled of soot and fresh blood. What happens next is

nothing short of shocking. Several cars drove by on that road, yet none stopped to help. One vehicle even paused right in front of her, but after a few seconds, it drove off. Allison lay there, raising her arm, pleading for help. Finally, someone had the decency to stop and assist her. Before we dive into the details, let me introduce myself. I'm Neff Flisher, and if this is your first time here, welcome to my channel where I uncover the most chilling mysteries from history every week. Today's case is one many of you have requested, but I've hesitated to cover it because it's

incredibly intense. In fact, it might be the most brutal case I've ever presented here. Yes, we've discussed Sylvia Lycans and Junko Furuda, both heavy cases, but this one? This one is particularly gruesome. I'll have to censor quite a bit, or risk YouTube penalizing me. I know some of you dislike the censorship, and I'm sorry for that. But if I don't, YouTube could shadow ban me or worse, and I just can't take that chance. As always, my sources are linked in the description below. If you want to dive deeper or verify anything, they're there for you. With that said, let's not waste any more time. If you're ready to hear Allison's story, turn off all the lights, lock your doors, and get comfortable, because this is a tale that might

haunt your dreams. Let's get started. Our story begins on the night of December 17th, 1994, in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. For years, this city had been considered the safest place in the country. It was a popular tourist destination and a favorite hangout for young people. With its beautiful beaches, restaurants, and cinemas, it was a vibrant place to live. Allison Bota, a 27-year-old, loved organizing outings with her friends. That afternoon, she and her group had gone to the beach to soak up the sun, swim, and have a good time. Later, they headed back to Allison's place to eat pizza and play Baldrash. As the evening wore on and it got very late, everyone left.

The last to go was her friend Kim, who didn't have a car. Even though Port Elizabeth was considered safe, Allison didn't feel comfortable letting Kim walk home alone at 1 a.m. So, Allison offered to drive her. Kim accepted, and they set off. Allison dropped Kim off and then returned to her own place. But when she got there, her usual parking spot was taken. She circled the area and eventually found a spot on the other side of the park.

Despite the late hour, it was still considered a safe. safe area. Allison parked the car, turned off the engine, and opened the door. That's when a stranger appeared, holding a knife. He said, move, or I'll kill you. And from that moment, Allison's nightmare began. Allison Bota was born on September 22, 1967, in Port Elizabeth, the second child of Claire and Brian Botaugh. Her childhood was ordinary, there's nothing particularly remarkable about it. She was very close to her brother, Neil, and as they grew up, they were shielded from adult problems. They were good students and stayed out of trouble.

However, when Allison was 10, her parents divorced, and both children stayed with their mother, Claire. Allison attended the collegiate high school for girls in Port Elizabeth. While she wasn't the top student, she was reportedly very popular. Some sources suggest she later became the principal of this same school, but others don't mention it. Regardless, after graduating, she traveled around the world for three or four years before returning to Port Elizabeth and becoming an insurance broker.

Friends and family described her as charismatic, outgoing, and likable. At 27, she seemed to have it all, independence, a steady job, and a close group of friends. Life was good, until December 17, 1994, when everything changed. After a fun day at the beach and an evening playing games, her life took a horrifying turn. After dropping off Kim, Allison was approached by a tall, skinny man with blonde hair. He seemed nervous but forced her to move to the passenger seat while he took the wheel. He assured her he didn't want to hurt her, only to borrow her car for an hour. Allison, known for her charisma, tried to stay calm and talk to him, hoping to gain his trust.

He introduced himself as Clinton and claimed he only needed the car for a short time. Allison introduced herself as Susan and told him she was engaged and her fiancé would call the police if she didn't return soon. She even suggested a deal, he could take the car and her money if he let her go. Clinton refused, insisting he would release her after an hour. As they drove, they picked up another man. This second man wasn't as polite. Allison quickly realized they weren't interested in the car, their target was her. The men drove to a secluded, dark area with no streetlights.

Clinton revealed their true intentions, asking Allison if she planned to resist. Terrified, she said no. Clinton stopped the car, and the nightmare escalated. He forced her to endure unimaginable violence. Despite the trauma, Allison convinced herself she could survive. I can get through this, she thought. I can go home, tell the police, and let my loved one support me. After both men took turns assaulting her, they decided to strangle her.

But Allison wouldn't die. They tightened their grip until she lost consciousness, only for her to regain it moments later. Frustrated, they decided to stab her. What happened next is extremely graphic, so feel free to skip ahead if you're sensitive. Allison was stabbed 30 to 40 times, mostly in her face, chest, and lower body. Clinton seemed fixated on her private areas, causing such pain that Allison's body went into shock.

She couldn't feel the injuries anymore, she could only hear muffled sounds and see blurred images. Believing she was dead, the attackers decided to insure it by slashing her throat 17 times. Then, in a chilling display, they stood back to admire their work. One of them asked, do you think she's dead? No one could survive this. Satisfied, they left her for dead in the middle of nowhere, her body lying face up, bleeding out. Miraculously, Allison was still alive.

Her perforated trachea allowed her to breathe despite the severe injuries. Her vital organs remained intact, and against all odds, she found the strength to fight for her life. With her last ounce of energy, Allison wrote her attacker's names in the sand and beneath them, I love you, Mom. She drifted in and out of consciousness, determined to survive. She spotted headlights in the distance, realizing there was a road nearby. She decided to walk toward it.

Holding her neck with one hand and her lower body with the other, she staggered forward. Each step was excruciating, but she made it to the road and collapsed. Several cars passed without stopping. One even paused but drove away. Finally, a young veterinary student named Tion Eilert stopped. Allison wasn't fully aware of her injuries, but Tian immediately understood the gravity of the situation. Her neck was nearly severed, and her organs were exposed.

Tian stabilized her as best as he could and kept her awake by talking to her. Allison couldn't speak but squeezed his hand to respond. Someone in Tian's car had a cell phone, which was rare in 1994. They called for an ambulance, but it took over an hour and a half to arrive, despite promises of a 15-minute response time. Once in the ambulance, the medics didn't hurry, assuming she wouldn't survive. Miraculously, Allison did. At the hospital, Dr. Alexander on Gellif, with over 15 years of experience, performed emergency surgery.

Even he was stunned by the severity of her injuries and her will to live. Allison's trachea was repaired, and her recovery began. The police arrived the next morning, showing her photos of known offenders. Despite her condition, Allison identified her attackers, 19-year-old the Unsexual Dianz. Kruger and 26-year-old Franz Dutoit. Franz, the dominant of the two, had a troubled history. The son of a police officer, he was spoiled and rebellious. Expelled for arson at his boarding school, he later joined the army but was sent to a detention facility before being discharged. His parents continually bailed him out, finding him jobs he couldn't keep. By 1994, he was

running an illegal shebeam, selling alcohol and associating with shady individuals, including the Unz Kruger. The Unza's life was equally troubled. Born to a single mother, he endured bullying for a physical deformity. It all began on a chilly in rainy Sunday, March 27, 2016, in the bustling city of Tokyo, Japan. People roamed the streets bundled up, umbrellas in hand, while some hurried to work, others strolled, and a few simply enjoyed the gloomy atmosphere. Among the crowd, there was one figure that stood out, a teenage girl dressed strangely in just a thin, long shirt and sandals. No one stopped her. No one asked if she was okay or why she was dressed so oddly. People just glanced at her, shrugged, and continued on with their lives. The girl, feeling completely ignored, wandered aimlessly until she reached the J.R. Higashino station.

There, she fumbled through her pocket for a few coins, inserted them into a public phone, and made two calls, one to her parents and the other to the police. And that's how the story of Anna Saito came to light. Anna's story was not just any story. It was one of heartbreak, manipulation, and survival. In 2014, Anna was a 13-year-old girl living with her parents in Osaka, Sawatama Prefecture. She seemed to have the perfect life. Some sources say she was an only child, while others suggest she had younger siblings.

Regardless, all accounts agree on one thing, Anna was the poster child of Japanese societal expectations. She was intelligent, polite, organized, and punctual. Her transition into middle school that year, which is often a turbulent period for many students, was seamless for Anna. Despite the new academic challenges and social adjustments, she excelled. She consistently achieved top grades in her class and was soon elected as a member of the Student Council. Her commitment to her studies was matched by her dedication to her extracurricular activities, such as ballet. At home, she was equally remarkable. Always smiling, always empathetic, and always the epitome of innocence.

In Japan, it's common for children to navigate their daily routines independently. Schools often provide designated safe routes for students, so parents rarely worry about their children's safety. For Anna, the routine was unchanging, wake up early, get ready, eat breakfast, and head to school. Classes ended at 3.30 p.m., so she was usually home by 4 p.m. But on Monday, March 10, 2014, Anna didn't come home. Her parents initially thought she might have been delayed, perhaps she stopped to chat with a friend, visited someone's house, or stayed back to finish some work. But as minutes turned two hours, worry set in.

This wasn't like Anna. She was predictable to a fault. They began searching, first the streets, then the school, and finally, they called her friends and neighbors. When no one had any answers, they contacted the police. Within hours, the town of Osaka was plastered with missing person posters bearing Anna's face. Everyone was looking for her. Two neighbors came forward as witnesses.

They reported seeing Anna at 4 p.m. standing in front of her house, speaking with a man they'd never seen before. They found it odd but didn't intervene. The man and Anna were seen leaving together. The initial theory was that Anna had been kidnapped. However, this theory took a turn when her parents found a note in their mailbox. The note read, I need a little break from home and school. I'm staying at a friend's house. Please don't look for me.

The handwriting was confirmed to be Anna's, leading to a second theory, she had run away. But her parents vehemently denied this possibility. They insisted that Anna was happy and had never shown any signs of distress or unhappiness. For the next nine days, the Cytto family searched relentlessly. They questioned everyone they could think of, from friends to teachers to acquaintances. But then, out of the blue, another letter arrived in their mailbox. This one had a postmark from Chiba Prefecture. Inside was another note, also supposedly from Anna, stating, I'm fine.

Sorry for causing so much stress. Please don't look for me. This discovery prompted the police to intensify their efforts in Chiba. They searched every street and interrogated numerous people. Despite their best efforts, they found no trace of Anna. The trail went cold, and the case was. began to fade from public attention. Unbeknownst to everyone, on the day Anna disappeared, she had been intercepted by a man named Kabu Tarachi. Dressed sharply in speaking with confidence,

Kabul approached Anna just as she was unlocking the door to her house. He introduced himself as a lawyer representing her parents, who, he claimed, were at their office finalizing divorce papers. He explained that her parents were overwhelmed with stress and had asked him to pick her up and take her to them. To Anna, this story made no sense. Her parents' loved each other. But Kabu seemed trustworthy. He was polite, well-dressed, and knew her name in details about her family. Reluctantly, she went with him. What followed was a horrifying revelation. After driving aimlessly for a while, they arrived in Chiba. Kaboo revealed the truth, or at least what he wanted Anna to believe, he wasn't a lawyer. He was a hitman hired

by her parents to kill her. According to him, her parents were drowning in debt and had decided the only way out was to sell Anna's organs on the black market. But Cabo, being a kind person, had decided to spare her life and hide her in a secure apartment instead. This twisted story terrified Anna, but Cabo's calm demeanor and detailed explanations made it hard to dismiss. He repeated the same narrative over and over, drilling it into her mind. He told her that her parents didn't love her, that no one cared about her, and that she was completely alone in the world. Over time, Anna began to believe him. Kabu's apartment was like a fortress.

It was equipped with top-tier security systems, multiple locks, and alarms. Anna's room was simple but comfortable, a bed, a desk, and a chair. The door, however, locked from the outside. During the day, when Kabu was out, Anna was confined to her room. When he was home, she was free to move around the apartment. Kabu treated her well. He bought her toys, manga, and good food. He never hurt her physically.

To Anna, he became her savior, the only person who truly cared about her. But there were moments when Anna's resolve to escape resurfaced. On two occasions, Cabo forgot to lock the door, and Anna seized the opportunity. The first time, she ran to a nearby park where she saw a mother sitting on a bench while her child played. Anna approached her, asking for help, but the woman dismissed her. Feeling dejected, Anna noticed a police officer nearby. She considered asking him for help, but before she could, he got to be able to.

into his patrol car and drove away. Disheartened, she returned to the apartment. The second time she escaped, she asked an elderly woman for help, but the woman also rejected her. Each rejection reinforced Kabul's claims that no one cared about her. Over time, Anna stopped trying to escape. She accepted her new reality. Kabul was kind to her, after all. He provided for her and treated her well. What more could she ask for? While Anna was adjusting to her life in captivity, Kabul was living a double life. He came from a wealthy family. His father owned a company specializing in security systems, which explained the high-tech setup in his apartment. Kabul had always excelled academically, but socially, he was an outcast. He was labeled as a hikikimori and

an otaku terms that carry a stigma in Japanese society. A hikikikimori refers to someone who isolates themselves from society, while an otaku is someone obsessed with specific hobbies, often at the expense of social relationships. Despite his social struggles, Kabul pursued an impressive academic career. He studied aviation in Tokyo, earned a pilot's license in California, and eventually enrolled in an engineering program at Chiba University. To outsiders, he appeared to be a quiet, responsible, and unremarkable student. But beneath this facade was a deeply disturbed individual. From a young age, Kabul had fantasized about conducting a human experiment. He dreamed of isolating a person to observe how it affected their behavior, appearance, and psyche.

He wanted to create a scenario where his subject believed he was their only source of care and kindness. To achieve this, his victim needed to be someone young, innocent, and impressionable. In early 2014, Kabul began searching for his perfect target. Through online research, he identified Asaka as a prime location due to its high-performing schools. He spent weeks scouting the area, observing students and their routines. Anna Saito caught his attention. She was everything he was looking for, a disciplined, polite, and predictable girl who followed the same routine every day. On March 10, he made his move.

For two years, Kabul kept Anna hidden. He manipulated her into believing his narrative and controlled every aspect of her life. Occasionally, he allowed her small freedoms as a reward for her compliance. They went for walks, visited restaurants, and even went shopping. But in February 2016, Kabu's plans began to unravel. With his graduation approaching, Kabo decided to move to Tokyo. He found a new apartment, transferred. The air was cold that night, colder than I had anticipated for a late spring evening.

My breath billowed out in small clouds as I adjusted my backpack and stepped deeper into the dense forest. Solo trips like these were my escape, a way to unplug from the relentless buzz of modern life. But this trip would be different. I'd soon realize it would be a night I'd never forget. I had chosen this particular forest for its remoteness. The nearest town was at least two hours away by car, and there wasn't a soul for miles around. That's what I liked about it. Solitude.

The towering pines stretched endlessly above, their branches intertwining to form a canopy that filtered the moonlight into faint, silvery beams. The only sounds were the occasional rustle of leaves and the rhythmic crunch of my boots on the forest floor. By the time I reached my chosen campsite, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep purple and orange. I set up my tent quickly, my hands working efficiently despite the numbing chill. A small fire soon crackled to life, casting flickering shadows across the clearing. I sat by the fire, sipping on instant coffee, the warmth spreading through me as I stared into the flames. It was peaceful.

Tranquil. Then came the first sign that something wasn't right. A sound, a faint, almost imperceptible whisper carried by the wind. At first, I dismissed it as the breeze rustling through the trees. But it persisted. Low and unintelligible, as if someone were speaking just beyond the edge of the clearing. I stood up, scanning the darkness, but saw nothing. My flashlights beam cut through the shadows, revealing only the familiar shapes of trees

and underbrush. Hello. I called out, my voice sounding oddly small in the vastness of the foreign. No response. Just the whispering, growing fainter until it disappeared altogether. I shook it off as nerves. Being alone in the woods can play tricks on your mind. I returned to the fire, trying to recapture the sense of calm I'd felt earlier.

But the unease lingered, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. As the hours passed and the fire dwindled, I decided to call it a night. Crawling into my tent, I zipped up the flap and buried myself in my sleeping bag. The whispering was gone, replaced by the comforting silence of the forest. It was around midnight when I woke up. At first, I wasn't sure what had roused me. The fire had died completely, leaving the clearing in near total darkness. My breath was visible in the frigid air, and I could feel the weight of the silence

pressing down on me. Then I heard it, a sound so subtle that I almost missed it. Footsteps. Slow and deliberate, crunching softly on the forest floor. They were close, too close. My heart raised as I strained to hear more, holding my breath to keep quiet. Is someone there? I called out, trying to sound braver than I felt.

No reply. Just the footsteps, circling the tent now. I reached for the flashlight and flicked it on, the beam cutting through the darkness. Swinging it around, I scanned the area outside the tent. Nothing. Just trees and shadows. I stayed awake for hours, flashlight in hand, but but the footsteps never returned.

When morning finally arrived, I emerged from the tent cautiously, half expecting to find signs of an intruder. There were no footprints, no broken branches. Nothing to suggest anyone or anything had been there. Trying to shake off the unsettling experience, I packed up my gear and decided to move deeper into the forest. Perhaps a new campsite would ease my nerves. By midday, I'd found a spot near a small, clear stream.

It seemed perfect, idyllic even. The water's gentle babble was soothing, and the sunlight filtered through the trees in golden shafts. For a while, it felt like things were back to normal. I spent the afternoon exploring the area, gathering firewood, and enjoying the serene beauty of the forest. By evening, the unease of the previous night had almost faded. I built another fire, cooked a simple meal, and let myself relax.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, the feeling returned. prickling sensation at the back of my neck, as though I were being watched. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the crackling fire and the stars beginning to emerge overhead. Yet, I couldn't shake the sense of being observed. And then I heard it again. The whispering. This time, it was clearer, louder.

It seemed to come from multiple directions at once, surrounding the campsite. The words were still unintelligible, but the tone, it was urgent, almost pleading. My skin crawled as I stood up, scanning the darkness beyond the firelight. Who's there? I demanded, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay calm. The whispers stopped abruptly, plunging the forest into an eerie silence. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw it, a shadow, humanoid in shape, darting between the trees.

I whipped the flashlight around, but it was gone. Panic set in. I doused the fire and retreated to my tent, clutching the flashlight like a lifeline. Sleep was impossible. Every rustle of leaves, every creek of branches sent my heart racing. The whispers didn't return that night, but the oppressive sense of being watched never left. When dawn finally broke, I decided to cut my trip short. The forest no longer felt like a place of solace.

It felt, wrong. Hacking up my gear hastily, I started the long hike back to my car. The journey was uneventful at first, the daylight offering a false sense of security. But as I neared the edge of the forest, I heard it one last time. The whispering. Faint but unmistakable, carried on the wind. I didn't stop to investigate. I didn't call out.

I just kept walking, faster and faster, until I broke into a full sprint. By the time I reached my car, I was gasping for breath, my chest tight with fear. As I drove away, the forest loomed in my rearview mirror, it's dark, towering pines seeming almost malevolent. I haven't been back since. Even now, months later, the memory of that trip haunts me. I've tried to rationalize it, to chalk it up to overactive imagination or the natural sounds of the forest. But deep down, I know there was something out there that night.

Something watching. Something whispering. And it's something I never want to encounter again. The night of September 9, 1999, Ernie Johnson picked up the phone to call her best friend, Gurley Chu Hosenkoffed. Gurley was going through one of the worst times of her life, no, scratch that, she was living a full-blown nightmare. For years, her ex-husband had physically and emotionally abused her.

It had taken every ounce of courage she had to escape, file for divorce, and move into a secluded apartment. She chose a gated community with cameras and security, desperate to feel safe. That's how terrified she was. Even Ernie, her closest friend, didn't know the exact address. She had a vague idea of the area and complex, but Gurley never shared the full details. She was cautious, rightfully so. Gurley even informed her boss about her situation.

She shared everything, and her boss supported her completely, even transferring her to a different office to keep her safe. Everyone who knew Gurley tried to protect her. Ernie, being the incredible friend she was, called Gurley multiple times a day to check in, morning, noon, and right before bed. But the night of September 9th was different. When Ernie made her usual evening call, Gurley didn't answer. At first, Ernie thought maybe Gurley was in the shower or distracted. She tried again later, but still, no response.

By the third call, worry began to creep in. Something felt off. She stayed up all night, calling repeatedly. The next morning, as soon as the sun was up, she started dialing again. Still, no answer. At 8 a.m., panic fully set in. Ernie knew Gurley was incredibly punctual. Her workday started at 8, but she was always there 20 minutes early.

Ernie called Gurley's office, hoping for some clarity. Gurley's boss, Kathy, answered. Ernie explained the situation, how Gurley hadn't picked up her phone all night or that morning. Kathy immediately knew something was wrong. Gurley was a model employee, this kind of behavior wasn't like her at all. Kathy tried calling Gurley herself, but after multiple attempts with no answer, she acted. She remembered everything Gurley had confided in her, the abuse, the fear, the divorce. By 8.10 a.m., Kathy had decided enough was enough. They needed to find Gurley.

Kathy discovered that one of Gurley's co-workers, Jesse, knew where she lived. Without hesitation, Jesse was sent to check on her. Meanwhile, Kathy called 911 to request a welfare check. But the dispatcher wasn't exactly helpful. They dismissed the urgency, suggesting Gurley could have overslept, gotten stuck in traffic, or just forgotten. Kathy wasn't buying it. She knew in her gut something terrible had happened. She called the local police, hoping they'd take her seriously, but they gave her the same dismissive answer, it hasn't even been 24 hours.

She's probably fine. Kathy was furious. Gurley was missing, and no one seemed to care. Undeterred, Kathy kept pushing. Within an hour, she called the police four times. Finally, someone listened. The FBI got involved and conducted a welfare check at Gurley's apartment. But before we dive into what they found there, let's rewind and get to know who Gurley Chu Hosenkoff really was. Who was Gurley? Gurley Chu was born on August 27, 1963, in Malaysia.

She was the middle child in a family of three, raised by Margaret Chin-Gong-Gwan in Chu S. H. Kang. From an early age, she was known for her sunny disposition, her sweet nature, and her curiosity about the world. She loved to travel and had a strong sense of ambition. Her parents raised her with a strong work ethic, and it showed. Girlie excelled in school and went on to study business administration. At just 21, she landed a job at the prestigious Hong Kong bank. There, she became best friends with a colleague named Susan. The two were inseparable, always planning adventures and trips together. In 1989, they took their first trip to the United States, and they loved it so much they decided to make it an annual tradition. In 1990,

they returned, this time visiting San Diego. They explored all the landmarks and famous spots, eventually ending their trip at SeaWorld. That's where Gurley met Diasian Hosenkov. Meeting Diasian, Diasian seemed like a dream come true. He claimed to be half Japanese, half German, born in Zurich on March 5, 1965. He told Gurley he was a renowned geneticist and doctor, battling leukemia but using his brilliance to prolong his life. According to him, he had connections with NASA and was practically a genius. Gurley was enchanted.

He was charming, attentive, and painted a picture of a perfect future. They kept in touch after she returned to Hong Kong, exchanging letters in deepening their bond. By 1992, Diasian proposed. But first, he insisted on asking for her parents' blessing. Or so he said. When her parents received his letter, it was anything but respectful. He essentially told them their opinion didn't matter, he would marry Gurley whether they approved or not.

He even implied they should be grateful because, compared to him, their daughter was unworthy. He listed his supposed achievements, born in Zurich, from a prestigious family, a brilliant geneticist with ties to NASA. Gurley's parents were shocked. But Gurley was blinded by love. On December 28, Diazian bought a $7,500 engagement ring. The next day, Gurley arrived in the U.S., where he proposed to her in the middle of the airport. They married on January 8, 1993, and settled in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Life with Diazian. At first, life seemed perfect. Gurley got a job at the Bank of New Mexico, where she met her future best friend, Bernie Johnson. The two hit it off immediately, spent it. spending holidays, birthdays, and countless weekends together. Ernie met Diasean and quickly got bad vibes. She thought he was arrogant, controlling, and full of himself. He claimed to be smarter than everyone, but his stories often didn't add up.

Still, Gurley was smitten. In 1996, they moved into a bigger house, and Diasean bought Gurley a BMW. But soon after, he started spending long periods away, claiming he was performing surgeries or attending conferences abroad. Gurley trusted him. She believed his tales of saving lives and doing heroic work. One day, he asked Gurley for a private room in their house, his personal space. She agreed, and he installed a lock only he could open.

The truth unfolds. By January 1998, Gurley began to see cracks in the facade. Diasian was receiving constant calls from a woman named Kimberly, or Maria, depending on the source. Curious, Gurley confronted her. That's when she discovered Diasean was living a double life. When Gurley confronted him, he became violent. She fled to a neighbor's house and called the police.

But he manipulated her into dropping the charges. Gurley tried to forgive him but couldn't shake her unease. One day, she broke into his private room and uncovered the horrifying truth. Diasian wasn't who he claimed to be. His real name was Herman Edward Chavez. In Houston, Texas, on March 5, 1965, he had no connection to Zurich, NASA, or any prestigious institutions. His academic record was mediocre at best.

At 16, after a football injury, he ran away from home, changing his name and fabricating a new identity. Gurley's world came crashing down. Despite everything, she loved him. But she knew she couldn't trust him anymore. Downhill without breaks, the twisted life of Jezhen coughed. Imagine someone living life as if they were on a chaotic roller coaster, barreling downhill with no brakes and no plans to stop.

That's the best way to describe the bizarre and jaw-dropping story of Dyesen-Hosenkoft. Strap in, because this one's wild. Our story begins with Armando Chavez, a young man with big dreams and a few screws loose. He wanted to be a doctor, but his grade said otherwise. Instead of accepting the reality that med school wasn't in the cards, he decided to take a shortcut, faking it. Yep, he forged documents and waltzed right into the University of Utah's medical program. At first, he charmed everyone. He was the guy everyone wanted to hang out with.

But there were signs, big, glaring, red flag-sized signs, that something was off. His grades were terrible, his writing was atrocious, and he didn't even seem to understand basic concepts. Professors were scratching their heads, wondering how someone this clueless got in. They didn't have to wonder for long. But let's not jump ahead. While studying medicine, Armando snagged a part-time job at a hospital. Now, here's where things take a shady turn. Not only was he terrible at his job, but he also started stealing medical supplies.

Classy, right? Things spiraled even further when he met Paula Young, a patient battling depression who had recently tried to take her own life. She was sent home with the suggestion to hire a caregiver, someone who could watch her 24-7. Guess who volunteered? Yep, Armando. Paula, desperate for help, hired him. And that's when things went from weird to downright creepy.

One day, Armando cooked Paula a plate of vegetables. Innocent enough, right? Wrong. He made her eat every bite, joking about it and insisting she clean her plate. But something wasn't right. The food tasted bitter, horrible, even. But Paula, scared of his temper, forced herself to eat. It.

Hours later, she was violently ill. Rushed to the ER, she was told she had multi-organ failure caused by arsenic poisoning. The doctor suspected she had tried to harm herself, given her history. When Paula was discharged, Armando had vanished. Just like that. The path of lies, back at the university, Armando's bizarre behavior didn't go unnoticed. He made up wild stories, claiming he'd been married and lost his wife and child in a tragic car accident.

of it was true. His professors dug into his background and discovered that his application was fake. Busted, he was expelled. But Armando wasn't the type to admit defeat. Instead, he reinvented himself, legally changing his name to Juzhen-Hosenkopf. Why that name? He claimed it was because the Japanese and Germans were superior people, and combining their cultures would make him unstoppable. Uh, sure, buddy. Around this time, he met and married girly cheating, yes, that's her real name. Gurley believed Dyesen was a respected doctor, rolling in cash. In reality, he was funding their lifestyle by scamming people.

His favorite con. Selling fake cancer treatments. He'd claimed to be a geneticist with revolutionary therapies and charge tens of thousands for his cures. If people didn't buy his story, he'd switch gears, pretending he had leukemia and needed money for his own treatment. The lies never stopped. The scams get bigger. Duzhen met Sunny Blake, a wealthy 70-year-old widow diagnosed with breast cancer. Sonny was vulnerable and looking for companionship.

Duzhen swooped in, showering her with attention and selling her on his miraculous cure. He injected her with vitamin B and, brace yourself, his own blood, claiming it would rejuvenate her. For two years, Sunny paid him $10,000 a month. She even bought him a house and a BMW, thinking they were building a life together. Little did she know, the house and car were for Gurley. When Sunny eventually passed away, Jezhen just moved on to the next target. Gurley, meanwhile, wanted a child. Jiazen wasn't interested, so he got her a dog instead.

That only worked for so long. When she pushed for a baby, he went to Canada, found a Japanese woman, and got her pregnant. They had a son, Dimitri. Jiazen told the mother that Dimitri had a genetic disorder that could only be treated in the U.S., tricking her into signing over custody. He brought the baby back to Gurley, telling her they had adopted him. A trail of lies and violence. By the late 90s, Diasan's lies were unraveling.

Gurley discovered his secret stash of documents proving everything he told her was a lie. Furious, she confronted him. His response. Violence. He beat her so severely she thought she'd die. Somehow, she escaped, filed for divorce, and moved into a secure, gated apartment complex, telling only one co-worker where she lived. She also fought for custody of Dimitri but lost. Meanwhile, Dyesen met Linda Henning, a wealthy fashion designer with an obsession for aliens.

Spotting an easy mark, he convinced her he was a 2,000-year-old alien on a mission to save Earth. Linda bought it hook, line, and sinker. Together, they harassed Gurley, slashing her tires, making threatening calls, and even stalking her. Gurley was terrified and went to the FBI, who assured her they were investigating Dijessen. Then, in February 1999, Gurley disappeared. The Grinned discovery, at first, the police didn't take her disappearance seriously. It wasn't until Gurley's boss called repeatedly that they finally investigated. Her apartment was spotless, too spotless. The smell of bleach was overwhelming. Using luminal, they found blood everywhere. DNA testing confirmed it was Gurlis, along with traces

of Linda's. A few days later, a tarp was found in the New Mexico desert. Inside was Gurlis bloody clothing and tape with Linda's hair stuck to it. The evidence was damning. Both Juzhen and Linda were arrested. Linda stuck to her alien story, claiming Juzen was innocent and that she was being framed by extraterrestrials. Juzen, meanwhile, confessed to avoid the death penalty but insisted Linda was innocent. Despite their bizarre defenses, both were convicted. Juzen received life. life plus 61 years, and Linda got 73 years. The aftermath, to this day, Gurley's body has never been found, and neither Dyesen nor Linda has revealed its location.

The case captivated the nation, with their televised trials leaving viewers in disbelief. Were they delusional, or were the alien stories just another layer of their lies? It's hard to say. What's clear is that Dyesen-Hosenkopf's life was a web of deception, manipulation, and violence, a grim reminder of how far some will go for power and money. What do you think? Would Jezen and Linda true believers in their own delusions, or was it all an elaborate scam?

The story of Hinton Antner begins like a tale of Old England, full of mystery, scandal, and whispers of the supernatural. This eerie mansion, located just eight miles from Winchester, has a history that dates back to 1086, with a value originally calculated in pigs, 10 of them, to be exact. Over the centuries, the property evolved, turning into an ambitious Tudor mansion, only to burn down. By 1540, a new and even grander

mansion rose from the ashes, boasting 21 rooms, two floors, and an attic reserved for the servants. The place was alive with movement, families, workers, visitors. Then, the English Civil War turned everything upside down. The property was confiscated, becoming the headquarters for the parliamentarians. By 1650, Sir John Stoula, an English businessman and politician, took ownership, sparking a long chain of sales, renovations, and eventually, a descent into legend. But our story really takes shape in 1719 when Edward stole, the fourth baron stole, Mary's Mary stole. Not much is known about their marriage, whether they had children or lived blissfully ever after. What we do know is that Mary's death marked the beginning of something deeply unsettling.

Shortly after her burial, Edward did something scandalous, he moved in with his younger sister, Anuria. Rumors exploded. Some said they married in secret, others claimed they merely live together. Either way, they had a child who, mysteriously, disappeared. No explanation was ever given, and the couple took the truth to their graves, Anuria in 1755, Edward a year later. After Edward's death, the mansion stood empty, though devoted servants kept it immaculate,

as if their masters were still alive. Then, one day, something truly strange happened. A stable boy swore he saw Edward himself, striding purposefully toward the house. This wasn't a ghostly apparition or a misty figure, it was Edward Stoll, as solid and real as the ground beneath the boy's feet. Of course, no one believed him. They brushed it off as his imagination, and the story faded into nothing. In the winter of 1765, the mansion was rented out to Mary Jervis, her husband William Henry Ricketts, and their two-month-old baby. Along with them came a small army of servants, grooms, gardeners, maids, cooks.

The house was alive again. But at night, Mary began to hear strange noises. At first, she dismissed them as the creaks and groans of an old building. But soon, they became unmistakable, footsteps, doors opening. She was certain someone was sneaking in. Mary had the locks changed, but the noises returned, louder and more persistent. Then came the siding. Elizabeth Brailsford, the family's nanny, was feeding the baby in her room one night when she saw a man in plain clothes walking the hallway.

He didn't look ghostly, he was as real as you or me. Thinking he was a servant, Elizabeth paid him no mind. But the next time she saw him, something felt off. She watched him walk straight into the master bedroom. Curious, she asked a maid about him, only to be told there were no male guests in the house at that time. Elizabeth and the maid checked the room, but it was empty. This incident was the catalyst for Mary. She started keeping a journal, meticulously recording every strange occurrence.

But the mansion had more in store. George Turner, the gardener's son, was heading to the attic one evening when he saw a man in a light-colored coat standing in the darkened hall. Thinking it was the butler, he moved closer to greet him, only for the man to vanish into thin air. George shared his experience, fueling the growing fear among the household. Things escalated further when a group of staff members reported seeing a woman in a heavy dress, complete with the sound of her footsteps and the swish of fabric. They were gathered in the kitchen when they saw her in the hallway, moving towards them. But when one of the cooks crossed paths with her, the woman simply vanished. Strangely, the cook claimed he hadn't seen anyone at all.

By 1767, Mary had given birth to her second child, Edward, and life seemed to settle for a while. But come summer, three male staff members witnessed another chilling event. While chatting near the kitchen hearth, they heard the distinctive sound of heels and a heavy gown brushing the walls. A shadowy woman appeared in the dim hallway, moving towards them. When they turned to get a better look, she was gone. After William left for Jamaica on business, Mary's experiences took a darker turn. Night after night, she was woken by the sound of footsteps, boots, heels, always unpredictable. Sometimes they approached her bed, stopping just short of touching her.

Investigating the noises became an obsession. Mary even involved her servants in her efforts, but the house seemed alive with an ominous energy. Vibrations, whispers, strange wing-flapping sounds in abandoned rooms, it was endless. Elizabeth Godin, another servant, heard it too, particularly in the former housekeeper's room. That very day, the former housekeeper passed away. Things reached a breaking point one night when Mary heard dragging footsteps in the hallway outside her door. When she mustered the courage to open it, there was nothing but silence, until someone pounded on the door. Calling her staff for help, Mary and Elizabeth checked every corner, eventually finding a locked door, the yellow room, creaking open by itself.

At her wits end, Mary confided in her brother, Admiral John Jervis. He came to stay, bringing with him Captain James Latrell. Together, they thoroughly secured the house, locking every door and window. They even set up shifts to ensure constant vigilance. But the house had other plans. That night, Mary, Elizabeth, John, and James all heard the sounds, whispers, footsteps, and the heavy dress. A locked door swung open on its own, confirming to the men that the mansion wasn't just haunted, it was angry. Mary reached out to the property's owner, but instead of coming himself, he sent a teenage representative.

Furious, Mary packed her family's belongings and left the mansion for good. Her brother notified her husband in Jamaica, explaining that the house was uninhabitable. Mary later went public, sharing her story in the journal she'd kept over the years. Her accounts, supported by numerous witnesses, made headlines. A reward was even offered for anyone who could explain the phenomena, but no one came forward. Over time, the mansion passed through different hands. of haunting ceased, and eventually, the house was demolished. During renovations, workers discovered something chilling beneath the floorboards of the Great Hall, a baby's skull. Could this

have been the child of Edward Stole and Anuria, hidden away for reasons we'll never know? Perhaps it was this secret that haunted Hinton Antner for so long. What do you think, was the mansion truly cursed, or is there a rational explanation buried alongside its tragic history. On Friday, June 26, 23, at exactly 7.36 a.m., a. A. A. 31-year-old mother walked into a playground where she had left her baby girl to sleep. She was expecting to find her daughter peaceful and cozy, maybe still dozing off. But what she saw instead was something that would haunt her forever. Her little girl, just 16 months old, was covered head to toe in filth. Her blanket, the tiny mattress she slept on, her hands,

her face, everything was smeared. It was like a little bit of her little. It was like, a nightmare come to life. But that wasn't the worst part. Her baby's lips were cracked and dry, her eyes sunk deep into their sockets, and her tiny body was ice cold. The baby, Yilin Candelario, was lifeless. In a complete panic, the mother dialed 911. What's your emergency? The operator's calm voice asked. The mother could barely get her words out through her sobs. Within minutes, an ambulance and several police officers arrived at her home. What they found shocked even the most seasoned among them. Some officers reportedly broke down crying on the spot. Others stood frozen, unable to process what they were seeing. There was nothing anyone

could do for the baby, her death was declared at the scene. The paramedics took Yalen small, fragile body away for an autopsy, while the police began questioning the mother. Initially, her phone call had been full of anguish, her voice trembling with devastation. But as the hours went by, her demeanor shifted. She calmed down, speaking with a surprising level of detachment. She explained that her daughter had been very sick the week before, refusing to eat or drink. The mother claimed she had been taking care of her the entire time. Police recorded everything she said, and her story started to raise eyebrows.

When the detectives pressed her further, the inconsistencies became glaring. She initially insisted she was always with her daughter, never leaving her side. But under further questioning, the story changed. She eventually admitted that she had gone to work, leaving her baby alone for hours. And then, the shocking truth came out, she hadn't just left her for work. She had gone on vacation. That's right, this woman had left her 16-month-old baby completely alone while she went off to enjoy herself.

This was the beginning of an appalling case that would horrify and anger everyone who heard it. The story of Crystal Andrea Candelario. Andrea Candelario was born on September 11, 1991, in Guayaquil, Ecuador. Not much is known about her childhood, but we do know that she pursued higher education in Ecuador, eventually graduating as a teacher. In 2016, she moved to the United States with her parents, settling in Cleveland, Ohio. At some point after moving to the U.S., Crystal married and had her first daughter, Maya. However, her marriage didn't last, and she divorced her husband. She gained full custody.

of Maya, and as a single mother, life was challenging. Crystal had to juggle a demanding work schedule, bills, and parenting. Her parents were a huge help during this time, stepping into care for Maya while Crystal worked long hours. Between 2019 and 2020, Crystal worked as a substitute teacher at Hope Academy North Coast and later at Citizens Academy Glenville. Every year, she renewed her teaching license without fail, until 2023, when she didn't. Her parents claimed she was working too much, spending countless hours away from home. When Crystal wasn't working, she liked to live it up. She loved traveling, going out with friends, and partying. Her social media was full of selfies and photos of her on trips. Occasionally, she'd post pictures of her daughters, though they were far

from the main stars of her feed. A long-distance romance and another baby. In 2020, Crystal met Henry Garcia on Facebook. Henry, who was around the same age as Crystal, lived in Ecuador. The two quickly hit it off, liking and commenting on each other's posts until their online chats turned into a full-fledged relationship. The only issue? Henry couldn't come to the U.S. because of visa issues. So Crystal packed her bags and flew to Ecuador to meet him in person. Their connection seemed strong, and soon after, they went on a romantic trip to the Dominican

Republic. The couple shared photos online, looking happy and in love. But after their vacation, they each returned to their respective homes, Crystal to Cleveland and Henry to Ecuador. A few weeks later, Crystal discovered she was pregnant. Unfortunately, Henry couldn't be with her for the pregnancy due to his ongoing visa troubles. He watched from afar through photos and video calls, holding on to hope that one day they could all be together as a family. Their baby, Yailin Candelario, was born on January 26, 2022. Everyone who met Yailin was charmed by her. She was sweet, cheerful, and full of life.

A neighbor described her as a joyful and curious baby, always smiling and bringing light to those around her. But the relationship between Crystal and Henry didn't last. During the trial, it was suggested that their romance became abusive, leading them to break up. Regardless of the reasons, Crystal retained full custody of Yilin, and life went on as usual. The cracks begin to show, Crystal, her two daughters, and her parents all lived together in the same home. While Crystal worked long hours, her parents can be able to. continued to care for Maya and Yailin. But, as time went on, cracks began to show in Crystal's ability, or willingness, to be a mother.

Neighbors reported that Crystal frequently left Yailin with others so she could focus on her own life. It wasn't just occasional babysitting either, she would often disappear for long stretches, leaving her baby in the care of neighbors. One neighbor recounted how Crystal once asked her to watch Yailin for a weekend. What was supposed to be a two-day favor turned into a nightmare when Crystal didn't return as promised. calls and messages went unanswered for days. By August 2022, the pattern had become clear. Crystal would leave her baby with anyone willing to help, sometimes vanishing for extended periods

without so much as a warning or an apology. The tragic end, in the weeks leading up to June 26, 2023, Yilin had been unwell. She wasn't eating or drinking properly, and her health was visibly deteriorating. Despite this, Crystal decided to go on a vacation, leaving her baby alone in their home. The neglect ultimately led to Yaelan's tragic and preventable death. During her interrogation, Crystal tried to explain her actions, but her excuses only made the situation worse. Detective T.J. Powerwell, who had 17 years of experience with the Cleveland Police Department,

described the case as the most horrific he had ever encountered. He was baffled by Crystal's lack of emotion and the contradictions in her story. What happened to Yailin Candelario was more than just a failure of one person, it was a failure of the system, the community, and those who should have been there to protect her. While the full details of Crystal's sentencing are still unfolding, one thing is clear, this case will never be forgotten. On the morning of June 26, 2023, at exactly 7.36am, Crystal Andrea Candelario, a 31-year-old mother, walked into her house with a mixture of expectation and exhaustion. She had left her 16-month-old daughter, Yailin, sleeping peacefully in the playroom the night before.

Crystal figured she'd find her baby still asleep, calm and serene, maybe clutching her favorite blanket. But when she opened the door, she stepped into a scene straight out of a nightmare. Her baby girl was covered in filth. Her blanket, her tiny mattress, her hands, her face, everything was smeared with dirt and feces. But what stopped Crystal in her tracks wasn't the mess. It was the eerie stillness. Yalen's lips were cracked and dry, her eyes sunken, and her little body was cold to the touch.

Panic set in as Crystal tried to shake her awake. Nothing. Crystal fumbled for her phone and called 911. Her voice was trembling, the kind of shaky panic that only comes when reality hits you in the gut. 911, what's your emergency? The operator asked. Through tears and incoherent words, Crystal managed to explain that her baby wasn't breathing. Paramedics and police officers arrived in minutes.

They rushed into the house, but the moment they saw Yilin, they knew it was too late. late. Some officers reportedly broke down right there, overcome with grief and anger. The medics could only confirm the obvious, Yilin was gone. Her small, fragile body was taken away for an autopsy. Meanwhile, police turned their attention to Crystal. The interrogation begins. At first, Crystal was distraught. She cried, shouted, and acted as though her world had ended. But as the hours passed, something shifted. Her grief turned into an almost eerie calm. When officers asked her to explain what had happened, her answers came out in a surprisingly casual tone. She told them that Yilin had been sick for about a week. The baby wasn't eating or drinking much,

and Crystal claimed she had been caring for her around the clock. She described how she'd been worried, but not worried enough to take her daughter to the hospital. She was crying a lot last night, Crystal explained during her interview. I thought maybe she had a stomach ache or something. But this morning, she was asleep for hours, like, a long time. I didn't realize something was really wrong. Detectives were skeptical. Something didn't add up. How could a mother not notice her baby slipping away right in front of her? Detective T.J. Powerwell, a seasoned officer with 17 years on the Cleveland Police Force, took the lead in Crystal's interrogation. Over his career, he had seen more than his fair share of tragedy, but this case.

This case was something else. In all my years, I've never seen anything like it, Powerwell later said. The details didn't make sense. Her reactions didn't make sense. It was the worst case of neglect I've ever encountered. At first, Crystal claimed she had never left Yilin alone. But as the questioning continued, her story began to unravel. Eventually, the truth came out, Crystal had gone on vacation.

While her baby was sick and vulnerable, she had packed her bags and left. A portrait of Crystal, to understand how things got to this point, we need to go back a little further. Crystal Andrea Candelario was born on September 11, 1991, in Guayaquil, Ecuador. Not much is known about her early years, but by all accounts, she was an intelligent and ambitious young woman. She earned her teaching degree in Ecuador before moving to Cleveland, Ohio, in 2016 with her parents. Crystal's life in the U.S. seemed to follow a typical immigrant success story. She got a job, built a life, and even started a family.

Her first daughter, Maya, was born during her marriage to a man whose identity remains largely unknown. The marriage didn't last, and Crystal was left to raise Maya as a single mother. Her parents were instrumental in helping her juggle the demands of work and parenting. They lived together in a multi-generational household, and while Crystal worked long hours, her parents took care of Maya. But Crystal wasn't just a hardworking mother. She was also someone who loved the finer things in life. Her social media was filled with pictures of her traveling, partying, and hanging out with friends. She enjoyed her freedom, often leaving her parents to handle the responsibilities at home.

Enter Henry Garcia. In 2020, Crystal met Henry Garcia on Facebook. Henry was charming, attractive, and lived in Ecuador. Despite the long distance, the two hit it off immediately. They exchanged flirty messages, liked each other's posts, and eventually started a relationship. Their love story seemed like something out of a rom-com, Crystal even flew to Ecuador to meet Henry in person, and later, they went on a romantic getaway to the Dominican Republic. But their relationship wasn't without its challenges. Henry couldn't come to the U.S. due to visa issues, and Crystal couldn't move to Ecuador

because of her responsibilities in Cleveland. Still, they stayed in touch, dreaming of a future together. Then came the news, Crystal was pregnant. Yilin Candelario was born on January 26, 2022. From the moment she arrived, everyone who met her was enchanted. She was a happy, curious baby who loved to smile. Neighbors would later describe her as the kind of child who could brighten anyone's day. Unfortunately, Crystal and Henry's relationship didn't survive the strain of long distance

and parenthood. By the time Yailin was a few months old, they had split for good. Life at home, after the breakup, Crystal settled into life as a single mother of two. Her parents continued to help, caring for Maya and Yailin while Crystal worked. But as Yailin grew older, cracks began to appear in Crystal's parenting. Neighbors started noticing troubling patterns. Crystal would often leave Yailin with friends or neighbors so she could go out. At first, these arrangements seemed harmless.

But over time, they became more concerning. One neighbor recalled an incident in August 2022. when Crystal asked her to watch Yailin for a weekend. The neighbor, who adored the baby, happily agreed. But when the weekend ended, Crystal didn't come back. Days passed, and the neighbor's calls and messages went unanswered. It wasn't until nearly a week later that Crystal finally returned. She acted like it was no big deal, the neighbor said. She didn't even apologize. The final days, in the weeks leading up to Yaelin's death, Crystal's behavior became even more erratic. Yailin had been sick, refusing to eat or drink, and her condition was visibly

deteriorating. Instead of seeking medical help, Crystal chose to go on vacation, leaving Yailin alone in the house. Detective Powerwell would later describe this decision as, beyond comprehension. The aftermath, the autopsy revealed that Yailin had died from severe dehydration and malnutrition. The neglect was so extreme that it left even seasoned professionals shaken. Crystal was arrested and charged with multiple counts, including aggravated murder and child endangerment. During her trial, prosecutors painted a picture of a woman who prioritized her own desires over the well-being of her child.

The case sparked outrage, with many questioning how such neglect could go unnoticed for so long. Neighbors, friends, and even Crystal's own family struggled to reconcile the person they thought they knew with the horrific actions that led to Yalen's death. This tragedy serves as a haunting reminder of the vulnerability of child. children and the responsibilities that come with parenthood. While the legal system continues to hold Crystal accountable, the memory of Yailin Candelario lives on, a beautiful, smiling baby whose life was cut far too short. The tragic case of Crystal Candelario, a story of neglect and consequences,

it all started with what should have been a simple phone call. A concerned neighbor tried to reach Crystal Andrea Candelario, hoping to talk to her about her daughter, Yilin. The baby needed basic necessities, milk, diapers, care. Yet, incredibly, Crystal wasn't answering. Days turned into weeks before she finally picked up the phone. I need milk for your baby. I don't have money to buy it, the neighbor reportedly pleaded. This wasn't the first time Crystal had shown a shocking lack of responsibility. Witnesses would later recall how she frequently left her baby at the homes of neighbors, sometimes for indefinite periods. Worse yet, there were times she left Yailin completely alone in her own home.

The neighbors heard the baby crying, screaming, desperate for attention. They begged Crystal not to do it again. We kept telling her, don't leave the baby alone, one neighbor shared. It wasn't just me, my friend across the street told her the same thing. But she always left her anyway, a health crisis and a mental spiral. In February 2023, Crystal experienced what her mother later described as an alarming episode. She was found lying in bed, unable to move half of her body. Her mother, frantic, rushed her to Hillcrest Hospital.

Initially, doctors suspected a stroke. They kept Crystal under observation for days, running test after test, trying to figure out what was wrong. She complained of debilitating migraines, exhaustion, and overwhelming weakness. Eventually, they ruled out a stroke and diagnosed her with anxiety and stress-induced symptoms. To manage her condition, she was prescribed several medications, including depicode, often used to treat seizures, bipolar disorder, and migraines. As her symptoms persisted into March, she returned to the hospital, reporting no improvement.

Doctors adjusted her treatment plan, adding antidepressants to the mix. Yet, Crystal's struggles continued. By April, she had run out of medication, and her condition took a sharp turn for the worse. She experienced debilitating migraines, fatigue, and emotional instability. Such treatments require careful measurements. management, tapering off slowly under medical supervision. But in Crystal's case, everything came to an abrupt stop. Her defense team later argued that her untreated mental health issues had spiraled out of control. She was battling depression, anxiety, and, at times, self-harm. A family

trip and a dangerous decision. In June 2023, Crystal's parents planned a trip to Ecuador. They decided to take Crystal's older daughter, Maya, with them. The arrangement was simple, Crystal would stay home with Yailin and call someone for help if she needed to go out or handle an emergency. But Crystal had other plans. She wanted a break, time for herself, and a chance to escape. She packed her bags, leaving behind her 16-month-old daughter. According to surveillance footage, Crystal left her home on June 6th, boarding a taxi and heading to Detroit, Michigan. Why Detroit?

Crystal had friends there and sometimes worked as an Uber driver in the area. She stayed with her friends for a couple of days before flying to Puerto Rico on June 8th. Her social media lit up with posts of sunsets, fancy dinners, and selfies captioned with carefree phrases like, The Time You Enjoy is the only time truly lived. Crystal returned to Detroit on June 11th, but instead of going home, she stayed with friends, continuing her streak of parties and leisure. It wasn't until June 16th, 10 days after she had left, that she finally returned to Cleveland. The horrific discovery, Crystal walked into her house on June 16th expecting, perhaps, to find

Yailin asleep. What she found instead was a scene of devastation. Her baby girl, just 16 months old, was lifeless. She was covered in dirt and excrement, her tiny body cold and emaciated. Yilin had died of severe dehydration and starvation. The autopsy later revealed she weighed only 5.8 kilograms, barely half the expected weight for her age. Forensic pathologist Dr. Elizabeth Money testified that Yilin likely suffered for days before she passed. Babies between 8 and 19 months often experience extreme separation anxiety. The psychological torment, combined with the physical agony of starvation and thirst, created a prolonged and unimaginable suffering. She felt abandoned, alone, hungry, and thirsty, Dr. Money said. Her suffering wasn't hours or even days,

it may have lasted a week. Arrest and charges. On June 18th, Crystal was arrested and charged with aggravated murder, two counts of murder, criminal assault, and child endangerment. Her bail was set at $1 million. As news of the case spread, the public reacted with outrage. The school where Crystal had recently worked as a substitute teacher issued a statement condemning her actions and confirming her immediate dismissal. The recent reports concerning Crystal Candelario are deeply troubling, the statement read. We have terminated her employment effective immediately and are conducting a thorough review of her work history. Legal proceedings, Crystal's trial was initially scheduled for January 2024 but later postponed to February 26, 2024. Facing overwhelming

evidence, her defense team negotiated a plea deal just days before the trial began. Crystal pleaded guilty to aggravated murder and one count of child endangerment. In exchange, prosecutors dropped the remaining charges. During the sentencing hearing on March 18, 24, both the defense and prosecution presented their arguments. The defense emphasized crystals deteriorating mental health, pointing to her hospitalizations and history of depression and anxiety. They argued that her actions, while inexcusable, stemmed from a place of psychological instability. She wasn't okay, her lawyer said. She suffered in silence, and no one saw how severe her struggles truly were, but the prosecution wasn't buying it. They highlighted Crystal's deliberate decisions,

leaving her baby without food or water, going on vacation, and ignoring countless opportunities to ask for help. This wasn't a moment of weakness, the prosecutor stated. This was a pattern. She had done it before, leaving her child alone, neglecting her responsibilities. This time, it ended in tragedy, Crystal's statement. When it was Crystal's turn to speak, she addressed the court in a trembling voice. There is so much pain I carry with me because of the loss of my baby. I'm so sorry for what happened. I'm not trying to justify my actions, but no one knows how much I was suffering. Every day, I ask God and my daughter for forgiveness. I know I failed my daughter, and I failed myself. I miss Yailin every single day. I pray that one day I can be reunited with her and my other

daughter, Maya. The sentence, the judge didn't hold back. After hearing Crystal's statement, He delivered a scathing rebuke before sentencing her to life in prison without the possibility of parole. You committed the ultimate betrayal, he said. You left your baby terrified, alone, unprotected, to suffer what has been described as one of the most horrifying deaths imaginable. Without food, without water, without comfort. The only difference between her fate and yours is that prison will at least provide you with the sustenance you denied your child. Reflections on the case, the case of Crystal Candelario has sparked widespread debate. Was her sentence just?

Could her mental health struggles have been addressed earlier, preventing this tragedy? What's clear is that this story serves as a heartbreaking reminder of the importance of community, accountability, and the vulnerability of children. Yaelan's suffering is unimaginable, her life cut short in a way no child should ever experience. In the end, justice was served, but at a devastating cost. Jeffrey Russell Hall, better known as Jeff, came into the world on November 21, 1978. in Sunny California. As for his early life, adolescence, and family, there's a fog of mystery surrounding those years. What we do know about him is both fascinating and deeply unsettling.

Jeff made his living as a plumber, and by all accounts, he was pretty good at it. However, over time, things took a dark turn, and his employers let him go. Their reasoning. Two big issues, his lack of responsibility and, more disturbingly, his extreme ideological beliefs. Let's unpack that. A turbulent family life. In 1999, Jeff married Latisha Neal, and together they had two children, Joseph and Shirley. From here on, things started spiraling downhill.

The couple's lifestyle was anything but healthy. Both Jeff and Letitia were deep into alcohol and drug use, and tragically, Latisha didn't stop even during her pregnancies. This reckless behavior led to serious complications for their kids. While the long-term impact on Shirley Rememps, remains unclear, we know Joseph wasn't as lucky. But we'll revisit Joseph's story later. As the kids were born, the chaos only escalated. Jeff's drinking turned him into an aggressive and abusive man. He often lashed out at Letitia and their children, creating a toxic and terrifying environment.

Eventually, Latisha had enough. She filed for divorce, took the kids, and moved into a small apartment. Meanwhile, Jeff stayed in the family home. Latisha found a new partner, had twin boys, and seemed to move on, until 2003, when the situation hit rock bottom. The twins were just a few months old when routine hospital checkups raised alarms. The babies were underweight, malnourished, and appeared neglected. This prompted medical staff to involve child protective services. Upon inspection, the apartment Letitia shared with her new family was in shambles, filthy, disorganized, and crawling with unsanitary conditions.

Plates with rotting food and maggots sat in the sink, and the children looked. lived in filth. Unsurprisingly, Letitia lost custody of her kids. While the twins' fate remains unknown, Joseph and Shirley's situation took a sharp turn when the authorities decided to place them with their father. Jeff's life takes a dark turn. By this point, Jeff had remarried. His new wife, Krista McCarrie, was much younger than him, and they had three daughters together. On the surface, it seemed like Jeff had rebuilt his life. In 2004, he successfully petitioned for custody of Joseph and Shirley. On paper, Jeff appeared to be a responsible adult with a well-paying plumbing job. But beneath the surface, his life was anything but stable. Jeff's career as a

plumber ended abruptly, and there are two conflicting accounts of why. According to Jeff, he was a victim of the economic downturn in the construction sector. However, his former employers tell a different story. They claim Jeff became increasingly irresponsible and started expressing extremist views at work. His comments, jokes, and confrontations made him a nightmare to work with. Over time, Jeff's behavior escalated, and his obsession with neo-Nazi ideologies became glaringly obvious. Jeff openly blamed Jewish people and non-whites for job shortages and the decline of the economy. He delved deep into the National Socialist Movement's beliefs and became a committed neo-Nazi. He didn't just keep his thoughts to himself, he made it a mission to recruit others,

even at work. This behavior created significant tension among his co-workers and tarnished the company's reputation, forcing his bosses to let him go. Leader of hate, by 2009, Jeff had fully immersed himself in his neo-Nazi lifestyle, even becoming the leader of the National Socialist Movement Southern California chapter. Members of this group dressed in uniforms reminiscent of World War II, and Jeff embraced it all with pride. He gave interviews where he ranted about multiculturalism being forced on his children, organized armed militia-style patrols along the U.S.-Mexico border, and hosted meetings at his home for like-minded individuals. Videos of these meetings circulated online as part of his recruitment efforts.

Jeff also collected a disturbing array of World War II-era weapons and other deadly tools. Knives, pistols, and guns were scattered around his home, often within easy reach of his children. He argued that his actions were about justice and order, not hate, but anyone looking in from the outside could see his rhetoric was fueled by bigotry. In 2010, Jeff even ran for city council and managed to secure a third of the votes, a chilling reminder of how his extremist views resonated with some. Joseph's troubled world, amid this chaotic and toxic environment, young Joseph's life was particularly grim. Born on June 19, 2000, Joseph had behavioral and learning difficulties from the start. His mother's substance abuse during pregnancy had taken a

toll on him. Growing up in Jeff's home, where chaos and violence reigned, only made things worse. The neighbors called child protective services 23 times during Joseph's childhood. They heard Jeff screaming at, insulting, and physically abusing the boy. Psychologists who later analyzed Jeff described him as a disorganized caregiver. One moment he would be doting protective, and the next, he'd turn violent and unpredictable. For Joseph, this inconsistency created a chaotic and confusing reality. Jeff exposed Joseph to his extremist ideology early on, letting him sit in on neo-Nazi meetings and teaching him how to handle firearms and knives. Jeff even gifted him a belt with SS insignia, a chilling symbol of Nazi Germany. By the time Joseph was 10, he had attended

nine or ten different schools, often being expelled for violent outbursts. He struggled academically and socially, frequently resorting to aggression when faced with frustration or rejection. Joseph's violent tendencies extended to his teachers and classmates. He stabbed other children with pencils and pens, and once, he even used a foam cord to strangle a teacher. Despite repeated pleas from schools to seek professional help for Joseph, Jeff and Krista did nothing. Eventually, they pulled him out of school altogether, opting for homeschooling. But within the home, Joseph's violent behavior continued, often targeting his sisters and stepmother. A dark influence, by 2011, Joseph was fully immersed in Jeff's world of hate.

Jeff even gave him a night vision kit and taught him how to shoot a .357 magnum, which became Joseph's favorite weapon. The boy often practiced shooting in the backyard and would sometimes hide the gun in his room. Around this time, Joseph became obsessed with the TV show Criminal Minds. He watched it for hours, fascinated by the dark stories, and would discuss episodes with his family. For a 10-year-old, this was far from typical. The night everything changed. On April 30, 2011, Jeff hosted what would be his final neo-Nazi meeting.

Attendees gathered at his house to share their hateful rhetoric, with Joseph present for it all. Afterward, the family settled in to watch a movie. As usual, Jeff drank heavily, downing several beers in quick succession. Predictably, his drunkenness turned into aggression, and this time, he directed his anger at Joseph. After berating the boy, Jeff eventually passed out on the couch. Krista cleaned up the living room, put the kids to bed, and turned off the lights. But for Joseph, the night was far from over. He couldn't sleep, and his mind kept replaying an episode of criminal minds he had seen days earlier.

In the episode, a boy killed his abusive father and faced no consequences. Inspired by this, Joseph decided to take matters into his own hands. At 4 a.m., Joseph retrieved the point 357. Magnum from his room, crept downstairs, and found Jeff asleep on the couch. Without hesitation, he pointed the gun at his father and pulled the trigger. The gunshot woke the entire household. Krista rushed to the living room, but it was too late. Jeff was dead.

The aftermath, Krista called 911, and paramedics and police arrived quickly. What they found was a home in disarray. Weapons were scattered throughout the house, unsecured and easily accessible to the children. The authorities immediately removed the kids from Krista's custody, and she was charged with child endangerment and illegal possession of firearms. Joseph was arrested, but his behavior puzzled the investigators. He seemed oddly calm, asking strange questions like, How many lives does a person usually have? He showed little emotion or understanding of the gravity of his actions.

During his interrogation, the police failed to properly explain Joseph's rights. They read him the Miranda warning, but as a ten-year-old, he didn't fully comprehend it. For example, he thought, you have the right to remain silent meant he had to stay calm. Lacking legal guidance, Joseph confessed to everything. The trial, Joseph's trial began in 2013, when he was 13 years old. Reports of his demeanor varied. Some described him as tearful and anxious, while others noted his detached behavior, folding papers and doodling during proceedings.

Ultimately, he was sentenced to 10 years in a juvenile detention center, with the possibility of release at 23. What happened next? Information about Joseph's life after the trial is scarce. Some sources claim he has been released, given a new name, and started fresh. Others suggest he's remained under the radar. The prosecutor who handled his case, Mike Socho, expressed a strange fondness for Joseph, stating, I've grown attached to him in a weird way.

Watching him grow and change, I'm convinced he's better off in a structured environment. whether Joseph has rehabilitated or remains a potential danger is up for debate. What's your take? Do you think someone who grew up in such a chaotic and toxic environment can truly change? Or does his story serve as a grim reminder of how deeply our upbringing shapes us? It all began on June 24, 2002, in a quiet neighborhood of Lexington, South Carolina. Kara Robinson, a 15-year-old teenager with her whole life ahead of her, had no idea how drastically her day was about to change. Kara was the only daughter of Deborah Johnson and Ronald Robinson, and even though her parents were divorced, she remained their top priority.

Kara was the epitome of a typical American teen, popular, a cheerleader, and, at that time, thrilled to be dating her first boyfriend, Chris. That summer was shaping up to be the best one yet. She had plans to hit the beach, hang out with friends, and maybe even enjoy a few carefree days at the lake. Kara loved the freedom she had at home, especially because her parents were often busy working. It meant she had the house to herself most of the time. On June 23rd, she got the green light to spend the night at her best friend Heather's house. Her mom and Heather's mom chatted on the phone to make arrangements, and soon enough, Kara was packing her overnight bag and heading over. That night was exactly what two teenage girls would dream of, movies, gossip, and laughing until their stomachs hurt.

The next morning, June 24th, the fun continued. Heather's mom left early for work, leaving the girls to their own devices. They had breakfast, giggled over silly inside jokes, and decided to spend the day at a nearby lake in West Columbia. The plan was perfect, they'd call up some friends, including Kara's boyfriend Chris, and have a fun, unsupervised day out. But, as with all good plans, there was a catch. Heather's mom had left one condition, the girls had to water the plants before he's.

heading out. Heather was not thrilled. She complained that it was a waste of time and would ruin the day, but Kara, ever the practical one, assured her it was no big deal. While Heather hopped into the shower to get ready, Kara decided to tackle the chore herself. Still in her pajamas, a long T-shirt and her cheerleading shorts, Kara grabbed the garden hose and started watering the plants in the backyard. Once she finished there, she moved to the front yard. It was a sunny, peaceful morning, and Kara's mind wandered as she sprayed water over the flowers and looked at the neighbor's houses. That's when things took a strange turn. A green Pontiac firebird drove past the house. At first, it didn't seem like a big deal. It was just a car, after all.

But then it came back. This time, it pulled into the driveway of Heather's house. Kara assumed it might be a relative or someone delivering a message from Heather's mom. But the man who stepped out of the car was a total stranger. Kara later described him as a middle-aged man with pale skin and some facial hair. He wasn't particularly memorable, just a guy in a baseball cap, a white shirt tucked into jeans, and holding a small clipboard. He seemed harmless, even boring. The man walked toward her but kept a slight distance, which made her feel a bit more at ease.

He explained that he was handing out flyers in the neighborhood and asked if Heather's parents were home. Kara, not thinking much of it, replied that no one was home, adding that this wasn't even her house, it was her friends. The man then asked if Kara could give the flyers to Heather's parents when they returned. She agreed, setting the hose down on the ground to take the flyers. But as she stepped closer, everything changed in an instant. The man shifted the clipboard aside and pulled out a gun. The moment was so sudden and surreal that Kara didn't even have time to process what was happening. The man grabbed her, pressing her. the gun to her neck, and told her that if she wanted to live, she'd have to do exactly

as he said. Terrified and unsure of what else to do, Kara obeyed. He led her to his car, opened the back door, and revealed a large plastic storage container. Under his orders, Kara climbed into the container, and he secured the lid over her. The car started, and the world outside disappeared. Back at Heather's house, the shower had just turned off. Heather came outside looking for Kara and immediately noticed the garden hose abandoned on ground, still running. Panic set in. Something wasn't right. Body was found in Lake King George.

Then, on May 1, 1997, two sisters, 15-year-old Kristen Liske and 12-year-old Katie Liske, were abducted from the backyard of their home in Spotsylvania. Just five days later, their bodies were discovered floating in the South Anna River, about 25 miles away. These events, along with newspaper clippings found in Richard Evenett's home, directly linked into these crimes. Subsequent investigations revealed even more. Richard had used a very similar modus operandi in all his crimes, confirming to the police that these were not isolated incidents but part of a repeated pattern. In Kara Robinson's case, her bravery and ability to stay calm had broken this cycle.

Her exceptional memory allowed her to recall key details that. The story you're about to read isn't your average crime drama, it's real, bizarre, and straight out of a Hollywood thriller. It all began on September 2nd, 2016. when the New York Police Department got a call that, at first, sounded pretty routine. Two sisters rang them up to report a burglary at one of their homes. Nothing too crazy, right? Just another robbery in Queens.

But when the officers arrived, they uncovered something much darker and more twisted than anyone could have imagined. The homeowner, Olga Tyke, claimed not just to have been robbed, but also to have been poisoned. She said someone had drugged her, nearly killed her, and stolen her passport along with other valuables. The story sounded wild, maybe even made up, but as the investigation unfolded, the pieces started falling into place. What seemed like a far-fetched tale turned out to be true, leading to the chilling case of Victoria Nazarov. A dangerous client with a sinister agenda, let's rewind to 2016 in Forest Hills, Queens, where Olga Tyke, a hardworking 35-year-old esthetician originally from Ukraine, was living a peaceful life. Olga specialized in eyelash extensions and was so talented

that women from all over New York came to her for appointments. Business was booming, and she loved what she did. But there was one client who gave her the creeps, Victoria, a Russian woman who, oddly enough, looked almost identical to Olga. They could have passed for twins, which only made the situation more bizarre. Victoria had been a regular client for the past six months, visiting Olga's salon almost every week. She never allowed anyone else to do her lashes, only Olga. At first, this seemed flattering, but Victoria's behavior quickly became unsettling.

She constantly tried to befriend Olga, asking for her phone number, social media handles, and even suggesting they meet up outside of work. Olga wasn't interested. To her, Victoria was just a client, not a potential friend. On August 28, 2016, Victoria called Olga in a panic, begging for an urgent lash appointment before a trip to Mexico. Olga initially declined, she wasn't about. to cut into her day off for one client.

But Victoria wouldn't take no for an answer. She kept insisting, even promising to bring Olga a special treat as a thank you. Against her better judgment, Olga relented and agreed to see her at home. Victoria arrived at Olga's house carrying a small transparent box with three pieces of cake, claiming they were from the best bakery in town. She ate two pieces herself, raving about how amazing they were, and encouraged Olga to try the third. Reluctantly, Olga took a bite. The cake was, indeed, delicious, but within minutes, she felt dizzy.

She tried to stand up but lost her balance and collapsed. Vomiting and disoriented, Olga's memory faded into black. The mysterious morning after, the next morning, someone knocked on Olga's door. Depending on the source, it was either a friend, a neighbor, or her landlord. Whoever it was, they sensed something was wrong. They rang the doorbell, banged on the door. and eventually entered the apartment. What they found was horrifying, Olga was lying unconscious on her bed,

dressed in lingerie and surrounded by empty blister packs of pills. The heating was cranked up to the max, even though it was late August. The scene looked like an attempted suicide, but something felt off. Paramedics arrived just in time to save Olga's life. They rushed her to New York Presbyterian Hospital, where doctors performed a battery of tests, stomach pumping, blood work, urine analysis. strangely, they found nothing. No drugs, no poisons, no substances at all.

Yet Olga remained in and out of consciousness for three days, experiencing hallucinations, temporary blindness, and even a brief coma. When she finally regained some clarity, Olga noticed several items missing from her apartment, jewelry, handbags, $4,000 in cash, and, most puzzlingly, her passport and work visa. She insisted Victoria was behind it all and contacted the police. The case landed on the desk of Detective Kevin Rogers, who was initially skeptical of Olga's story. It sounded too dramatic to be true.

Why would someone steal documents that weren't even in their name? Rogers dug deeper, starting with the hospital records. The doctors, citing privacy policies, were reluctant to share details, but after some persistence, Rogers confirmed Olga hadn't ingested any drugs. She was clean. Nothing about this case made sense, until Rogers found the cake container in Old Olga's trash. Cracking the case, the container was sent for testing, and the results changed everything. Traces of fanazepam, a Russian tranquilizer, were detected. This drug wasn't available in the U.S.,

which explained why hospital tests hadn't picked it up. What's more, Phanazepam's effects intensified with heat, hence the sweltering apartment. The cake also had DNA on it, and while it didn't match Olga, it matched someone else, Victoria Nazarov. Detective Rogers now had a suspect and a motive. Victoria's own passport was about to expire, and because she was wanted in Russia, she couldn't renew it. She needed a new identity, and Olga, her doppelganger, was the perfect target. Victoria's shady past. Victoria Nazarov was born on December 15, 1975, in Krasnodar, Russia. She arrived in the U.S. in 2014, leaving behind the trail of suspicion. Back in Russia, she had been implicated in the 2014 murder of Alaw Al-Alenko, a woman she had won the war in

called a friend. Allah had inherited a property and was in the process of selling it, which seemed to trigger Victoria's greed. Ala began receiving strange messages warning her that Victoria planned to kill her. Despite her unease, Allah remained in contact with Victoria, until October 5, 2014, when she vanished. Victoria's car was later seen on traffic cameras with an unconscious, or dead, Allah in the passenger seat. Months later, Allah's body was discovered, but by then, Victoria had fled Russia. Using forged documents, she made her way to Mexico and eventually to New York. A web of lies in Brooklyn. In New York, Victoria lived extravagantly, flaunting expensive clothes, jewelry, and high-end cars on social media. Her job as a dominatrix in Brooklyn paid well,

but not nearly enough to support her lavish lifestyle. To fund her spending, she targeted wealthy men through a Russian dating app. One of her victims was Ruben Borikov, a 54-year-old businessman. Ruben fell for Victoria's charm, especially her cooking skills. During a dinner date at her apartment, she served him her signature dish, a spiced fish. Rubin ate it, then blacked out. When he woke up, his watch, cash, and credit cards were gone. Rubin wasn't the only one. Victoria left a trail of victims across New York, all of whom described similar stories,

a charming, elegant woman who cooked them dinner, drugged them, and disappeared with their valuables. The arrest and trial, by 2017, Victoria was under investigation by both Detective Rogers and private investigator German Weisberg, hired by Ala Alenko's daughter, Nadia. Weisberg noticed that most of Victoria's social media photos were taken in Sheep's Head Bay, Brooklyn. After narrowing down her location, they found her car, a high-end Chrysler, and staked it out. On May 20, 2017, Victoria was arrested. A search of her apartment revealed incriminating evidence, including. including Olga's stolen documents. DNA tests confirmed her connection to the poison cake.

Victoria was charged with attempted murder, assault, unlawful imprisonment, and theft. Her trial, delayed multiple times due to COVID-19, finally took place in 2023. Witnesses, including Olga, Rubin, and Nadia, testified against her. Even Victoria's ex-boyfriend came forward, recounting how she had poisoned his dog out of jealousy. The jury deliberated for just two hours before finding her guilty. Victoria was sentenced to 21 years in prison. She's expected to serve 15 years in the U.S. before being extradited to Russia for Allah Alenko's murder.

A chilling legacy, Victoria's story is a haunting reminder of how far some will go for greed. She exploited her beauty, charm, and cunning to manipulate and harm others. While her crimes have finally caught up with her, the scars she left on her victims remain. As Olga said in court, she wasn't my friend, she was my nightmare. The woman walked into the police station looking utterly devastated. With her head hung low, she took a seat and began recounting a story that painted her husband, Russ, as nothing short of a monster. She described him as an abusive alcoholic, someone who had mistreated Betsy for years.

On the night of the crime, she explained, Betsy had planned to leave him. Perhaps, she suggested, that was the reason Rust decided to end her life. Then came the bombshell, the woman revealed that Betsy had written a farewell letter. She claimed it was stored on Betsy's laptop and that it contained a full confession of everything. This chilling case begins with a woman named Elizabeth Betsy, Faria, born on March 24, 1969, in Richmond Heights, Missouri. Betsy was one of four daughters born to Janet and Kenneth Mayer. To those who knew her, Betsy was the life of the party.

She wasn't just the person who attended all the events, she was the one who started them. loved going out, dancing, camping, playing tennis, and even going to the movies. Wherever she went, she made friends easily. In her early years, Betsy married young and had two daughters. Unfortunately, the marriage didn't last, but the divorce was amicable, and they parted on good terms. By 1999, Betsy was working at a gas station when she met Russell, Russ, Farya. To Betsy, Russ became the love of her life.

She was so outgoing, Russ once said about Betsy. first thing I noticed was her beautiful eyes, her radiant smile, and her vibrant personality. She had a spark I'd never seen in anyone else. Russ was a regular customer at the gas station, and Betsy couldn't help but notice the chemistry between them. She was never shy, so one day, she asked him out. Their first date took place at a local casino, and things went well. Although they initially decided to stay friends, their connection grew stronger over time. By the year 2000, they decided to get married.

Life for the Ferreus wasn't lavish, but it was full of happiness. They were a hardworking couple who enjoyed spending their free time with family, going on road trips, camping, and visiting the beach. It wasn't perfect, but it was theirs, and they were content. Around 2000 or 2001, Betsy started working for an insurance company called State Farm. While there, she met a woman named Pam, Pam, Hup. Pam was new to the job, so Betsy took her under her wing, showing her the ropes and giving her advice. Although they weren't best friends, they formed a noticeable bond. They shared similar experiences, such as both marrying young, divorcing, and raising children.

However, their personalities were worlds apart. Betsy was outgoing and loved socializing, while Pam was more reserved and traditional. As time passed, Betsy moved on to a different job, and her friendship with Pam faded. Years went by without much contact between them. Then, in January 2010, Betsy's life took a drastic turn. she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The news spread quickly, and Pam soon heard about it. She reached out to Betsy, offering her support, and the two rekindled their friendship.

Pam became a constant presence in Betsy's life, offering emotional support and helping her through chemotherapy sessions. When Russ couldn't accompany Betsy to her treatments, Pam stepped in, becoming a pillar of strength for her friend. To outsiders, their friendship seemed heartwarming, though some people found Pam's involvement a bit overwhelming. She was always there, Betsy's father, Kenneth Mayer, recalled. At first, it seemed like a good thing. But after a while, it felt a bit, much. Pam was everywhere. By late 2011, Betsy believed she had beaten cancer. She was feeling better and optimistic about the future.

To celebrate, she organized a cruise with friends and family, including her daughters. However, just before the trip, her doctor delivered devastating news, the cancer hadn't gone away. In fact, it had spread. Betsy was given months, maybe a couple of years, to live. Despite the grim prognosis, Betsy remained determined to enjoy the time she had left. On the cruise, Betsy was the same vibrant, cheerful woman everyone knew. She laughed, danced, told jokes, and made sure everyone around her felt happy. But deep down, she had concerns.

One of her biggest fears was that Russ, who wasn't great with finances, might mismanage money after her death. She worried about her daughter's future. Years earlier, Betsy had taken out a $150,000 life insurance policy, naming Russ as the beneficiary. She wanted to ensure her family would be taken care of. However, her fears about Russ losing the money led her to confide in Pam. Over time, the two discussed her concerns, and Pam offered a solution, she would take care of everything. On December 22nd, 2011, Betsy and Pam went to a notary and changed the beneficiary of the life insurance policy. From that day on, the money would go to Pam, who promised to set up a trust fund for Betsy's daughters.

Betsy felt relieved, but Russ had no idea about this change. Fast forward to December 27, 2011. That day, Betsy and Russ had separate plans. Betsy had a doctor's appointment, followed by a visit to her mother's house. Meanwhile, Russ planned to spend the evening watching movies with friends. The plan was for Russ to pick Betsy up from her mother's house later that night. At around 5 p.m., Russ left for his friend's house in St. Louis. A few hours later, Betsy sent him a text saying Pam would be giving her a ride home.

This message caught Russ off guard. Betsy had been accompanied by her father to the doctor's office earlier in the day, but Pam had unexpectedly shown up there as well. Later, Pam also appeared at Betsy's mother's house. It seemed strange, but Pam was Betsy's best friend, and Russ didn't think too much of it. That evening, Russ called Betsy several times, but she didn't answer. Assuming she was exhausted and had gone to bed early, Russ decided to surprise her. On his way home, he stopped at a fast food restaurant to pick up dinner.

Security cameras captured him at the restaurant at 9 p.m., confirming his alibi. By 9.40 p.m., Russ arrived home. home. When he walked in, the house was eerily quiet. Russ called out to Betsy but got no response. Thinking she was asleep, he went to the kitchen to set up dinner. Then, he made a horrifying discovery. In the living room, Betsy's lifeless body lay on the floor in a pool of blood. She had been brutally stabbed, with a knife still lodged in her neck. Shocked and panicked, Russ immediately called 911. In the call, he told the operator that Betsy had taken her own life.

He was too overwhelmed to notice the full extent of her injuries. When police arrived, they quickly determined that this was no suicide. Betsy had been stabbed 55 times in a violent attack. Investigators found several odd details. The house showed no signs of a struggle, and there were no fingerprints or traces of blood outside the crime scene. In an upstairs closet, they discovered a pair of Russ's slippers covered in blood. The family's dog, known to be aggressive toward strangers, had been tied up outside during the

attack, suggesting the killer was someone Betsy trusted. Russ became the prime suspect almost immediately. Police brought him in for questioning, where he underwent a grueling ten-hour interrogation. They questioned his alibi, the bloodied slippers, and his knowledge of the insurance policy change. Russ insisted he had no idea about the beneficiary switch and denied any involvement in Betsy's death. The next day, detectives interviewed.

interviewed Pam Hup. She arrived at the station visibly upset, claiming Russ was abusive and painting him as a violent, controlling husband. Pam also revealed the recent change to the life insurance policy, further implicating Russ. However, as the investigation unfolded, Pam's story began to raise questions of its own. The woman walked into the police station, looking absolutely devastated. She was slumped over, her face heavy with sorrow, as she sat down and began to unravel a story that painted Russ as a complete monster. According to her, he was an alcoholic who abused Betsy and had a violent temper. She claimed that on the night of the murder, Betsy had planned to leave him for good.

Maybe, the woman suggested, that's why Russ snapped and killed her. And then came the bombshell. The woman revealed that Betsy had written a farewell letter. This letter, she claimed, was on Betsy's laptop and laid everything out. In it, Betsy supposedly confessed that Russ abused her, that she said, She couldn't take it anymore, and even detailed how she had changed the beneficiary on her life insurance policy because Russ was a disaster of a person. Every detail was spelled out, and it sounded like an open-and-shut case. But there were some major issues with this story that made the cops raise their eyebrows.

First, Betsy had apparently written the letter using Word 1997. Problem. That program wasn't even installed on her computer. Second, the document was created by an unregistered user, which meant literally anyone could. could have written it. And third, and this one was a head scratcher, the woman telling the story, Pam, knew every single word in the letter. Every comma, every period, every space.

When the cops asked how she could possibly know all that, Pam just said, oh, Betsy told me about it in great detail. Yeah, right. This made the police suspicious, so they started grilling Pam about her whereabouts on the day of the crime. She spun a tale about being a great friend, deeply concerned for Betsy's well-being. Pam said she went to a doctor's appointment with Betsy that day, asked her how she was doing, and then later drove her home. But Pam's story had more holes than Swiss cheese. First, she said she dropped Betsy off around 7 p.m. and never went inside. Then she changed her tune, claiming she did go inside but only stayed in the foyer. Later, she admitted to going up to Betsy's bedroom and hanging out for about 10 minutes before leaving. Despite all the inconsistencies, Pam stuck to one point, when she left the house, Betsy's, was alive and well. But the police had other ideas. From the start, Russ was their main suspect.

On December 28, the day after the murder, they hooked Russ up to a polygraph test. He was so nervous that the results were inconclusive. But some officers decided the test failed because Russ was a compulsive liar. That didn't make much sense, though, because Russ had a rock-solid alibi. He was with friends who vouched for him, his car was caught on surveillance cameras far from the crime scene, and his daughters insisted he was a great dad and husband. Even Betsy's own family spoke highly of him. The police didn't buy it. They decided to comb through Betsy's phone records instead. At 7 p.m. on the night of her murder, Betsy had called a friend to cancel plans for tennis the next day. Five minutes later, her daughter Leah called to talk about upgrading

her phone. Leah was still a minor and needed her mom's approval for the purchase. Betsy told her it was fine and even said she could take a call from the phone store employee in a few minutes. Everything seemed perfectly normal, until 7.20 p.m. Leah tried calling her mom again, but Betsy didn't answer. She called multiple times with no luck. From that point on, it was radio silence. Armed with this timeline, the police questioned Pam again. Pam confirmed that Betsy was perfectly fine at 7 p.m., chatting on the phone.

In fact, Pam said she'd even heard Betsy's voice while Pam was on. a call with her own husband. So Pam's story put her right there with Betsy during those crucial minutes. But the cops were laser-focused on Russ, not Pam. On January 4, 2012, during Betsy's funeral, Russ was arrested and formally charged with first-degree murder. His bail was set at $250,000, an amount he couldn't afford, so he stayed in jail awaiting trial. His court date was scheduled for November 18, 2013. Russ spent over a year in prison, clinging to the that he'd get a fair trial. But when the day came, he quickly realized that wasn't going to happen. His defense team presented a strong case. They pointed out the lack of physical

evidence tying Russ to the crime. There was no DNA, no fingerprints, and no bloodstains on his clothes, car, or anywhere else. The surveillance footage showed him far from the scene, and his alibi was airtight. But the prosecution had wild theories to counter every point. They claimed Russ had attacked Betsy while naked to avoid leaving evidence and then taken a shower afterward. The defense argued that if that were true, they would have found something, anything, in the shower or pipes. They found nothing.

Then there were Russ's sneakers, which the prosecution said were soaked in blood. The defense fired back, saying the shoes looked like someone had deliberately dipped them in blood to frame Russ. And then came the motive. The prosecution argued that Betsy had recently changed her life insurance benefits. beneficiary and that Russ had been furious about it. They also claimed Betsy wanted to leave Russ, which pushed him over the edge. The final blow was the prosecution's absurd conspiracy theory. They suggested that Russ's friends were in on it, holding onto his phone and moving his car to create

an alibi while Russ killed Betsy. It was ridiculous, and there wasn't a shred of evidence to support it. But the jury bought it. In December 2013, Russ was found guilty and sentenced to 30 years in prison without parole. To make things worse, Pam, the so-called best friend of Betsy, gave a heart-wrenching testimony during the trial. She claimed that she used the $150,000 from Betsy's life insurance to set up a trust for Betsy's daughters and donate to a young girl battling cancer. None of that money was accounted for, though, which raised even more questions. In February 2014, a local newspaper began investigating the case and uncovered glaring issues with Pam's story. Not only had she contradicted herself multiple times about what happened the night of Betsy's murder, but the timeline

didn't add up. Betsy was killed either while Pam was still with her or right after she left. The evidence pointed to Pam from the very beginning, but the police never seriously investigated her. In 2015, Russ requested a new trial. Miraculously, his appeal was granted, and he was released on bond. In June of that year, his conviction was overturned, and in November, he was fully exonerated. Russ sued the authorities for wrongful imprisonment and won a substantial settlement. But Pam wasn't done. In August 2016, she went off the rails.

First, she approached a woman named Carol McAfee at a trailer park, claiming to work for the TV show Dateline. Pam offered Carol $1,000 to stage a fake 911 call where she'd pretend to attack Pam. Carol found the whole thing suspicious but played along to protect others. She secretly recorded Pam's license plate and reported everything to the police. Pam's next move was even more sinister. On August 16th, she lured a man named Louis Gumpenberger, who had a cognitive disability, into her home. She staged a scene where she claimed Lewis had broken in to demand Russ's settlement money.

Pam called 911, fabricated a story about being attacked, and then shot Lewis dead. The cops weren't buying it this time. The evidence in Lewis's pocket, including a lot of, a handwritten note, was clearly planted. Surveillance footage and forensic analysis proved Pam had staged the entire crime. She was arrested on August 23, 2016, and charged with first-degree murder. During the investigation, more suspicious details about Pam's past came to light. Her mother's death in 2013 was ruled accidental, but new evidence suggested foul play. Pam inherited a significant sum of money after her mother's death, and witnesses reported that

she'd once joked about ways to get rid of her mom for cash. Pam was convicted of Lewis's murder and sentenced to life without parole. In 2023, after years of public outcry and mounting evidence, she was finally charged with Betsy Faria's murder. Her trial is set for 2025, and many hope it will bring long overdue justice. So, what do you think? Will Pam finally pay for everything she's done? Or is there another twist in this unbelievable saga?

accounting and business strategy, the essential interconnection. Introduction, accounting is often referred to as the language of business, and for good reason. It provides the fundamental data and insights needed to make informed decisions. Business strategy, on the other hand, serves as the roadmap for achieving organizational goals and maintaining competitiveness in a dynamic market. Together, accounting and strategy form a symbiotic relationship, where effective strategic decisions rely on robust financial insights and accounting systems are shaped by strategic priorities. This interplay underpins the success of any organization. This document explores the profound

interconnection between accounting and business strategy, delving into how financial insights inform strategic planning, the ways in which strategies influence accounting practices, and the critical role of this relationship in fostering organizational growth and resilience. The role of accounting in strategic planning, strategic planning is the process of defining an organization's direction and making decisions on resource allocation to achieve set goals. Accounting provides the foundation for this process in several ways. Performance metrics and analysis, accounting systems generate data on revenue, costs, profitability, and other key performance indicators, KPIs.

These metrics enable leaders to evaluate the organization's current state, identify trends, and pinpoint areas requiring improvement. Budgeting and forecasting, financial planning tools rooted in accounting practices allow organizations to anticipate future revenues and expenses. This predictive capability is crucial for setting realistic goals and allocating resources effectively. Risk assessment, by analyzing historical financial data and current market conditions, accounting helps identify potential risks and opportunities. This information informs strategic decisions, ensuring that plans are grounded in reality.

Investment decisions, whether launching a new product, entering a new market, or acquiring another company, strategic investments rely on detailed cost-benefit analyses and projections provided by accounting. How strategy shapes accounting practices, while accounting informs strategy, the reverse is also true. An organization's strategic priorities often dictate how accounting systems are designed and implemented. Examples include, focus on key metrics, different strategies emphasize different outcomes. For instance, a growth-oriented strategy may prioritize metrics like market share and customer

customer acquisition costs, while a cost leadership strategy might focus on efficiency ratios and cost control. Custom reporting, to support strategic objectives, organizations may develop tailored financial reports. For example, a company pursuing international expansion might require detailed currency risk analyses and regional profitability reports. Compliance and governance, strategies that involve entering regulated markets or adopting sustainable practices necessitate accounting systems that ensure compliance with relevant laws and standards. Resource allocation, strategic initiatives often demand the creation of project-specific budgets and tracking mechanisms, which accounting departments must facilitate. Key case studies, accounting and strategy in action.

Amazon's growth strategy, Amazon's relentless focus on growth has been supported by accounting practices that emphasize cash flow management and customer lifetime value. The company's ability to invest heavily in infrastructure and technology stems from its strategic use of financial insights. Apple's product innovation, Apple's strategy of premium product innovation requires precise cost management and revenue forecasting. The company's accounting practices enable it to maintain high profit margins while investing in research and development. Toyota's lean manufacturing, Toyota's cost leadership strategy is closely tied to its lean manufacturing philosophy. Accounting systems at Toyota emphasized efficiency metrics and waste reduction,

aligning financial practices with strategic goals. Challenges in aligning accounting and strategy. Despite their interconnectedness, aligning accounting with strategy is not without challenges. Common issues include data overload, the abundance of financial data can overwhelm decision makers, making it difficult to extract actionable insights. Short-term versus long-term goals, accounting practices often focus on short-term financial performance, while strategic goals may require a longer-term perspective. Technological integration, implementing advanced accounting tools to support strategic objectives can be complex and costly. Cultural barriers, ensuring that accounting and strategy teams collaborate effectively requires a culture of cross-functional communication.

Future trends and implications, the relationship between accounting and business strategy will continue to evolve in response to technological advancements and changing market dynamics. Key trends include data analytics and AI, advanced analytics and artificial intelligence are transforming how organizations extract insights from financial data, enhancing the strategic decision-making process. Sustainability reporting, with growing emphasis on environmental, social and governance, ESG, criteria, accounting practices are increasingly focused on sustainability metrics. Real-time financial reporting, the demand for real-time insights is driving the adoption of cloud-based accounting systems that support Agile Strategic Adjustments. Conclusion, the integration

of accounting and business strategy is a cornerstone of organizational success. By leveraging financial insights to inform strategic decisions and aligning accounting practices with strategic goals, organizations can navigate complexity and drive sustainable growth. As the business landscape continues to evolve, the symbiotic relationship between these disciplines will remain vital, underscoring the need for continuous innovation and collaboration. It was supposed to be a solo camping trip, just me, my gear, and the great outdoors. I'd been itching for some quiet time away from the city, and this stretch of wilderness, a remote national forest I'd found through an obscure online forum, promised just that. Hardly anyone went there, which was exactly what I wanted. Or at least,

that's what I thought. The drive-out was uneventful. My car's GPS struggled with the forest roads, but I'd downloaded offline maps, and my phone's compass app became my best friend. The deeper I went, the less connected I felt to the modern world. Cell signal vanished. The paved road turned to gravel, then dirt, then something barely recognizable as a road. The trees closed in on either side, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching toward the sky.

By late afternoon, I arrived at the spot I'd marked on the map, a clearing near a small stream. It was perfect. The air smelled of pine and earth, and the sound of running water mixed with the occasional rustle of leaves. I set up my tent, built a small fire, and spent the evening listening to the forest come alive. Crickets chirped, owls hooded, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. I felt alive.

The first night passed without incident. I woke up to sunlight streaming through the trees and the sound of birdsong. After breakfast, I decided to explore. With a map and compass in hand, I hiked through the woods, marvelling at the untouched beauty around me. No trails, no litter, no sign of humanity. Just me and nature. But then, as I was making my way back to camp, I saw it.

At first, I thought it was just an oddly shaped tree. But as I got closer, I realized it was something else entirely. A wooden structure, half hidden by moss and vines. It looked like a lean-to, but it was far too old to be functional. The wood was rotted and splintered, and strange symbols had been carved into the beams. I ran my fingers over one of the carvings, a spiral surrounded by jagged lines. It didn't look like any language I'd seen before. I'll admit, it gave me the creeps, but I brushed it off as an old hunter's shelter,

or maybe a piece of local folklore. Still, I took a photo with my phone, more out of curiosity than anything else, and headed back to camp. That night, things started to feel, off. The forest, so alive the night before, felt unnaturally quiet. The fire's crackles seemed too loud, like it was the only sound in the world. My own breathing felt amplified, every exhale a gust of wind in the silence. And then there were the footsteps. At first, I thought it was an animal.

A deer, maybe, or a raccoon. But these footsteps were deliberate. Heavy. Human. They circled the edge of my camp, just beyond the firelight. Hello. I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. Who's there?

No response. Just the sound of footsteps, crunching through the underbrush. I grabbed my flashlight and shone it into the darkness. Nothing. The footsteps stopped, but the feeling of being watched didn't go away. I didn't sleep much that night. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, made my heart race. By morning, I was exhausted but determined not to let my imagination get the better of me.

I told myself it was just an animal. A curious deer or maybe a bear, though I'd seen no signs of either. I spent the day exploring again, trying to shake the unease from the night before. But everywhere I went, I felt, off. Like the forest was different somehow. The trees seemed closer together, the shadows darker. I kept getting the feeling that I was being followed, though every time I turned around, there was nothing there. Just the forest, silent and still. When I got back to camp, I noticed

something that made my blood run cold. My tent, the sturdy, four-season tent I'd pitched the day before, was collapsed. Not torn or slashed, just flattened, as if someone had stomped on it. My gear was untouched, but the tent poles were bent at odd angles, like they'd been deliberately twisted. I thought about leaving right then and there, but it was already late in the day. Driving those forest roads at night didn't seem like a good idea, especially when I was this shaken. So I set up the tent again, keeping my head on a swivel the whole time, and made a bigger fire than the night before. The flames felt like a protective barrier against the encroaching darkness. That night, the footsteps came back. Louder this time. Closer.

I stayed by the fire, gripping the hatchet I'd brought for chopping wood. My flashlight was aimed at the trees, the bean cutting through the blackness. I'm armed, I shouted. If you come any closer, I'll defend myself. Again, no response. Just footsteps, circling, pacing. And then, just as suddenly as they started, they stopped. The silence was deafening. I didn't sleep at all that night. By dawn, I'd made up my mind, I was leaving. Whatever was out there, I didn't want to find out. I packed up my gear as quickly as I could, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. The feeling of being watched was stronger than ever. As I drove away, the unease started to fade. The further I got from that forest, the more I felt like myself again. But when I got

home and looked through the photos on my phone, my heart sank. The picture I'd taken of the wooden structure was gone. In its place was a single, blurry image of something I couldn't quite make out. It looked like a face, but not a human one. The features were distorted, the eyes too large and too dark. I deleted it immediately, but the image is burned into my memory. I haven't been back to that forest since, and I don't plan to. Whatever was out there, it wasn't something I was meant to find. The plan was outrageous from the start, fake his own death.

He'd pretend to hang himself, set the cell on fire, and Nandipa, his accomplice, would get her hands on a corpse. They'd bribe the guards, plant the body in the cell, and then Tabo would disguise himself as a cop, stroll out of prison, and disappear into the world with Nandipa waiting to pick him up. Simple, right? Not quite. What started as a bold plan spiraled into one of the most bizarre cases in recent history. The setup, it all began on May 3rd, 2022, in a high-security prison in South Africa. Specifically, it unfolded in cell number 35.

That night, a fire break. broke out. It wasn't a minor blaze either. The prisoners, panicked and fearing for their lives, raised the alarm. The flames looked like they'd consumed the entire block, and chaos was in the air. Guards rushed in, extinguished the fire, and made a grim discovery, a lifeless body inside cell 35. Now, the inmate housed there wasn't exactly a model citizen. Tabo Bester had been locked up for a decade, convicted of fraud, theft, and murder. The man was a bona fide con artist with a monstrous reputation. When news broke about his death, no one mourned. To the authorities, it was one less problem to worry about. The officials informed his family, but they were far away.

So, they reached out to a close friend of his, none other than Nandipa, who confirmed the identity of the charred body. The cause of death seemed straightforward, the man had hung himself, and the fire had taken care of the rest. Case closed. Or was it? The red flags. Here's the thing, the authorities made a series of critical errors. For starters, they didn't perform a DNA test to confirm the identity of the body.

An autopsy later revealed that the cause of death wasn't hanging at all. The victim had suffered a blunt force trauma to the head. Oh, and one more glaring issue. The corpse measured 155 centimeters tall, but table bester was 170 centimeters. tall. So, whose body was it? And more importantly, where the hell was Tabo? Tabo Bester, a troubled beginning. To understand how we got here, we need to rewind to June 13, 1986, in Johannesburg, South Africa. That's when Tabo Bester came into the world under less than ideal circumstances. According to various accounts, his mother became pregnant after a traumatic

incident, marking her life forever. She was only 16, living in poverty, with no stable job or saving. She couldn't provide for her baby, so she handed custody over to her own mother, Tabo's grandmother. But life at Grandma's house wasn't much better. She was an alcoholic, and her relationship with Tabo's mother was strained, to say the least. Tabo grew up amidst shouting matches and conflict. At one point, his mother stopped visiting altogether.

His grandmother, who worked as a house cleaner, struggled to make ends meet. There were even rumors that the families she worked for grew attached to Tabo, with the boy wishing they'd adopt him. That never happened, though, and the years rolled on. As Tabo grew older, his dark side began to emerge. He hated studying, refused to do homework, and had a knack for lying. Not just little white lies either, were talking manipulations so elaborate they'd make a seasoned con artist blush. Teachers were unnerved by his lack of remorse when caught, and his peers learned quickly not to trust him. He'd do anything to get what he wanted, and apologies were not in his vocabulary.

Then, in 2002, everything changed. First, his grandmother passed away. Second, Tabo decided to drop out of school and leave home for good. With nowhere to go, he roamed the streets, taking odd jobs, begging for money, and eventually resorting to theft. Before long, he fell in with a bad crowd. The con man emerges. Tabo's early criminal endeavors started small, petty theft and street fights.

But soon, his scheme. He used fake checks to shoplift from stores and swindled older women out of their money. How did a teenager living on the streets pull this off? Simple, he invested everything he stole into his appearance. Designer clothes, flashy accessories, expensive phones, he crafted an image of success and wealth. Women fell for his charm, and he exploited them mercilessly. In 2009, Tabo was arrested for fraud. Faced with two options, pay a 100-Rand fine or serve.

six months in jail, he couldn't afford the fine and ended up behind bars. According to him, prison was brutal. He claimed other inmates targeted him because they believed he came from a rich family. When he was released, he had a choice, turn his life around or double down on his criminal ways. Unsurprisingly, he chose the latter. Over the next few years, Tabo's scams became more elaborate. He swindled airlines into providing free flights and even chartered private jets using fake documents. In one instance, he flew to Cape Town with 16 people, posing as a wealthy businessman. Everything seemed legitimate until the airline discovered his bank transfer was fake. By then, Tabo and his entourage were long gone. The predator, while his cons

were getting bigger, so were his crimes. Tabo began preying on women, often posing as a modeling agent to lure them in. He'd contact young, aspiring models online, arranged to meet them in hotels, and then robbed them. But things took a darker turn in 2011. One victim recounted how Tabo's initial plan was to rob her. But after seeing her in the shower, he was overcome by lust and attacked her. She fought back fiercely, but Tabo was armed. After the assault, he stole her belongings and fled. Another victim, a friend of his girlfriend, wasn't so lucky. Tabo took her out for dinner, charmed her, and spent the night with her. The next morning, he tied her up and assaulted her before robbing her blind. The ultimate betrayal, by now, Tabo felt

untouchable. He'd conned businesses, robbed women, and evaded justice. But his most shocking crime involved his own girlfriend, Namfundo Tihulu. Namfondo was a kind, trusting woman who worked as a model and BMW saleswoman. She fell for Tabo's lies, believing he was a wealthy businessman unfairly targeted by the world. On September 20, 2011, the couple stayed at a bed-and-break in Cape Town. That night, they argued, and Tabo snapped. In a fit of rage, he stabbed Namfundo in the chest, killing her. He then stole her belongings and fled, leaving the staff to discover her body the next day. The police quickly identified him as the killer, and he became a wanted man. By October, he was captured. Life behind bars, Tabo's trial painted him as a remorseless

predator. He was sentenced to life in prison plus 25 years for robbery and sent to Mongong Correctional Center, a maximum security facility. But even behind bars, Tabo wasn't done scheming. In 2013, his good behavior earned him Internet access and other privileges. Using these, he founded a fake media company called 21st Century Media. The company hosted a lavish launch event at a Hilton hotel, with Tabo appearing via Zoom from his cell. He claimed to be in New York at the time, No one questioned it. The Great Escape, fast forward to 2021. Tabo and Nandipa were now a couple, and they hatched a daring plan to get him out of prison. The idea was simple, fake his death. Nandipa, a successful businesswoman with connections, would handle the logistics.

They'd bribe guards, acquire a corpse, and stage a fire in his cell. Tabo would escape disguised as a guard, and they'd live happily ever after. On May 3, 2022, the plan went into action. A fire broke out in cell 35, and guards found a burnt body inside. Nandipa identified it as Tabos, and the case seemed closed. But two months later, surveillance footage showed a man resembling Tabo shopping at a supermarket. The authorities reopened the case, and the truth unraveled. The body in the cell wasn't Tabo's, it belonged to Cat Lego Barang, a 33-year-old man who had died two days earlier.

The aftermath, in March 2023, authorities finally admitted that table had escaped. A $300,000 reward was offered for information leading. Let's take a trip to Seaford, a sleepy suburb of Long Island, nestled about 30 miles from the hustle and bustle of New York City. In the 1950s, it was the kind of place you'd imagine from an old black and white TV commercial, the epitome of post-war American suburbia. Picture this, manicured lawns, cookie-cutter houses, and neighbors who actually knew each other's names. Our story unfolds at a quaint little house on 1648 Redwood Path. The German family, James, his wife Lucille, and their two kids, 13-year-old Lucille, Jr., and 12-year-old Jimmy, called this charming ranch-style house home. It was brand spanking new too, finished in 1953, with its green exterior and white trim.

Inside, the house was cozy, three bedrooms, a kitchen, a single bathroom, a small living room, and even a basement split between a laundry area and a playroom. By all accounts, the Germans were the picture-perfect family. James worked in New York City for Air France, while Lucille juggled life as a nurse and mom. The kids were bright, energetic, and more or less your typical suburban teens. Everything was normal, until that one February afternoon in 1958 when their lives took a sharp turn into the bazaar. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the day the bottles popped. Monday, February 3rd, 1958, started like any other day. The kids got home from school around 3.30 p.m., bursting through the door like a hurricane of

laughter and chatter. They headed straight for the kitchen, knowing their mom would have snacks ready. Lucille, despite being dead tired from her nursing shift, was waiting for them with a smile. She always made it a point to spend time with her kids after school, asking about their day, their homework, and their friends. As the kid sat down at the table, ready to dive into their snacks, boom, the calm of their routine shattered. Without warning, bottles around the kitchen began popping open. Soda bottles, ketchup, even shampoo and medicine bottles, all of them either exploded or sprayed their contents everywhere.

The caps shot off like tiny missiles, zipping through the air and clattering against the walls. Even a small bottle of holy water wasn't spared. The scene unfolded so quickly that no one could react. Stunned and terrified, Lucille and the kids bolted from the kitchen, retreating to another room to catch their breath. They weren't sure what just happened. An earthquake? A prank?

Or something worse? When things settled, they cautiously returned to the kitchen. It was a mess, bottles scattered and liquid everywhere. But here's where it got weirder, bottles in other rooms had popped open to, spilling nail polish, bleach, and even water. Lucille, understandably freaked out, immediately called James at work. Hashtag hashtag-hach-h-h-tag James tries to ration. eyes. James listened to his wife's panicked explanation over the phone, but he wasn't convinced

it was as dramatic as she described. He assured her he'd be home at his usual time and asked her to keep calm. By the time James walked through the door at 7 p.m., Lucille and the kids were still shaken. James inspected the bottles, coming up with a theory, maybe there was some kind of chemical reaction or excessive humidity in the house causing the caps to pop. It sounded reasonable enough, but when he realized that even twist-off caps had been affected, and that holy water and nail polish weren't exactly reactive, he began to doubt his own hypothesis. Still, the family decided to chalk it up to an isolated freak incident.

They cleaned up, tucked the kids into bed, and tried to move on. But then Thursday rolled around. Hashtag hashtag hashtag deja vu. On the afternoon of February 6th, while the kids were at home, the popping bottle struck again. This time, it wasn't just soda and shampoo. poo. Nail polish, detergent, and yes, that same little bottle of holy water were among the casualties.

It wasn't long before James, who had been skeptical of anything supernatural, began suspecting someone might be playing a prank, namely, his son Jimmy. Jimmy loved science and often tinkered with experiments. Maybe, James thought, his son had slipped some kind of chemical or fizzy concoction into the bottles for kicks. Determined to catch him in the act, James kept a close eye on Jimmy all weekend. Hashtag hashtag an accusation and a surprise. By Sunday morning, James was still convinced his son was up to something.

When he noticed Jimmy heading to the bathroom, he decided to catch him red-handed. Barging in, he found. Jimmy brushing his teeth. Frustrated, James accused his son of rigging the bottles somehow. Jimmy adamantly denied it, and as the two began arguing, something happened that stopped them both in their tracks. A medicine bottle sitting on a shelf above the sink suddenly toppled off and clattered into the basin. Before they could process it, a shampoo bottle slid across the counter and fell to the floor. Both father and son stood frozen. Neither had touched the bottles. There were no visible

strings, no vibrations, nothing. For James, this was the last straw. He called the police. Hashtag hashtag hashtag when the cops got involved, the first officer to respond, James Hughes, wasn't thrilled about being called out to investigate ghost bottles. He assumed it either a prank or a case of family hysteria. But the moment he stepped into the house, things got weird. Right before his eyes, bottles began opening in caps flying off. Some even shattered. Hughes, a no-nonsense type, couldn't find any logical explanation. There were no wires, no devices, no trickery of any kind. The situation escalated to Detective Joseph Tazi, who was known for tackling the most puzzling cases. Tazi brought in a team of investigators,

setting up surveillance and carefully documenting everything that happened in the German household. What they witnessed left them dumbfounded, a bottle of perfume slowly slid across a surface before opening and spilling its contents. Objects, including furniture, began moving on their own. A desk shifted several inches before toppling over, and a small statue flew through the air toward the investigators. And, most disturbingly, these events seemed to happen only when Jimmy was nearby. Hashtag hashtag enter the church. Since something paranormal was at play, James contacted the local church. Father William McLeod visited the house, performing blessings and sprinkling holy water in every

corner. But to no one's surprise, the activity didn't stop. In fact, things got worse. The family nicknamed the entity, Popper, after the sound the bottles made when opening. Whether it was a joke or an attempt to cope, naming the phenomenon seemed to fuel it further. Now, the popping bottles were joined by flying objects, moving furniture, and even heat radiating from items after they'd been disturbed. Hashtag hashtag-hastag science meets the supernatural.

Desperate for answers, James enlisted the help of scientists from the Brookhaven National Laboratory. One physicist, Robert Siegler, suggested that underground water currents beneath the house might be creating electromagnetic disturbances. But geological studies of the area didn't support this theory. the Duke University Parapsychology lab got involved. Researchers hypothesized that the events were linked to Jimmy, who might unknowingly be manifesting psychokinetic energy. Dr. J. B. Rine and his team observed that the phenomena often intensified when Jimmy was

stressed or distracted but diminished when he was calm and focused. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the media frenzy. Word of the poltergeist spread quickly, and soon the Germans' quiet suburban life was anything but. Reporters, photographers, and curious neighbors flocked to their home. Some came to pray, others to Gawk, and a few to condemn the family as frauds. Phone calls flooded in, some offering help, others spewing threats or religious warnings. The family even received letters from conspiracy theorists, with one memorable message declaring,

repent. The Sputniks are here. Hashtag hashtag hashtag a sudden stop. By mid-March, the activity began to taper off. After 67 recorded disturbances, Popper seemed to vanish as mysteriously as it had arrived. Exhausted and overwhelmed, the Germans stopped speaking to the press, eager to move on with their lives. Lucille summed it up best in an interview, there was definitely a force behind it, but I don't think we'll ever understand what it was.

Hashtag hashtag theories and legacy. To this day, the Seaford Poultergeist remains one of the most debated paranormal cases in history. Was it a genuine haunting? A case of unintentional psychokinesis? Or a clever hoax by a mischievous kid or attention-seeking parents? No one can say for sure. But what do you think? Could Papa really have been the work of an otherworldly force,

or just a suburban mystery blown out of proportion? To delve into today's mystery, we must travel back to the late 16th century, a tumultuous time in England's history. The land was riddled with religious conflicts, followers of the newly formed Church of England, Puritans, and steadfast believers in Roman Catholicism. The county of Lashire, during the Reformation,

stood as a bastion of Catholicism and the old ways. Its sparse population clung to beliefs in witches, curses, and specters. This is the backdrop of our story, centered on Clear Hall, a grand estate nestled in Clay Lashar. Clear Hall was owned for generations by the Parr family, devout Catholics of significant influence. However, in 1578, the estate passed to and Parr upon her marriage to Nicholas Starkey, a man whose family did not share her Catholic faith, a detail that would later prove crucial. This union wasn't just a marriage, it was a powerful alliance between two influential families, both rich in judges, legislators, and politicians.

To highlight their prominence, even Queen Elizabeth I first sought their counsel in the 15th century. Hashtag hashtag a marriage plagued by loss. Despite their influential union, tragedy marked the early years of Anne and Nicholas's marriage. and suffered through the loss of four children, none of whom survived birth. Rumors swirled around these tragedies. Some whispered that Anne's inability to bear children was divine punishment for her Catholic faith, while others believed her family had cursed her for marrying outside the fold. Eventually, and gave birth to two children, John and N, unable to have more biological children,

the couple adopted three girls, Margaret, Eleanor Harmon, and Ellen Holland. For a time, the family seemed stable, but in 1594, young and fell mysteriously ill. She experienced violent convulsions, screamed in pain, and writhed uncontrollably. Her father attributed these symptoms to a high fever or severe cold, but then John collapsed on his way to school, suffering the same strange fits. Witnesses reported his agonizing screams and blasphemies. The Starkeys became reclusive, shielding their children from gossip and focusing on finding a cure. They sought numerous doctors, spending a fortune, some accounts estimate up to 2,200 pounds, an astronomical sum.

None of the doctors could help. In desperation, Nicholas Starkey turned to an unconventional source, Edmund Harley, a wandering, magician. Hashtag hashtag, hashtag enter Edmund Harley. Edmund Harley was known for performing forbidden rituals, summoning spirits, and crafting protective amulets, practices frowned upon during the Reformation but tolerated in rural areas. Desperate for a cure, Nicholas approached Edmund and agreed to pay him

annual fee of 40 shillings. Edmund conducted rituals at Clear Hall, and the children seemed to improve. Gratitude turned to dependence as the Starkeys began consulting Edmund on every matter. However, Edmund soon revealed his true nature. When young John suffered a severe nosebleed, Nicholas sought Edmund's help, but the magician refused unless his demands were met. He wanted land, a house, and a higher salary. After heated negotiations, Edmund moved into Clear Hall, was given a private room, and became a permanent fixture in the household. Once settled, Edmund's behavior took a dark turn. He harassed the servants, made inappropriate advances, and even targeted the Starkey's

adopted daughters. Despite their unease, the family couldn't dismiss him, fearing his power. Nicholas took measures to protect his family, often bringing Edmund along on long journeys to keep him away from the household. Hashtag hashtag hashtag a ritual in the woods. During one such journey, Nicholas began experiencing. experiencing intrusive, negative thoughts. Distraught, he confided in Edmund, who claimed Nicholas was under a curse and offered to

perform a protective ritual. Deep in the woods, Edmund drew a circle on the ground, inscribed symbols, and instructed Nicholas to do the same. This ritual was dangerous, if discovered, it could ruin the Starkey's reputation and cost them their standing. Realizing Edmund was a threat to his family, Nicholas sought help from a higher authority. He collected a urine sample from John and traveled to Manchester to consider. assault experts. His path crossed with John D., a renowned mathematician, astrologer, and alchemist.

D, once a trusted advisor to Queen Elizabeth I, had turned his attention to the supernatural. Intrigued by Nicholas's story, D demanded a meeting with Edmund. Hashtag hashtag-h-h-tag-confronting the magician. When D. confronted Edmund, he declared that the magician's practices were harmful and misguided. Edmund promised to stop, and he and Nicholas returned to Clear Hall, seemingly reconciled. However, the Starkees soon noticed that without Edmund's interventions, their children improved. This realization spread among the household staff, and rumors began to circulate.

Edmund, aware of the growing suspicion, lashed out. The children's symptoms returned with greater intensity. John suffered his worst attack yet, screaming that Satan was crushing his neck. Soon, all five children were afflicted, joined by two servants, Mary Byron and Jane Ashton. Hashtag hashtag the servant stories, Mary Byron claimed that one night, she heard loud noises from Edmund's room. Concerned, she entered and found him standing in the center of the room. He approached her, exhaled a strange black smoke into her face, and from that moment, she suffered convulsions. Jane Ashton, who had once been romantically involved with Edmund, also fell ill after secretly searching his room.

She reported feeling a sharp pain in her neck and coughed up blood for days. By February 1597, Clear Hall was in chaos. Seven people appeared possessed, all experiencing the same violent fits. Nicholas, with Dee's guidance, set a trap for Edmund. Accounts differ, some say Mary lured Edmund to her home, while others claim Margaret was used as bait. Regardless, Edmund was confronted by clergymen, unable to recite the Lord's Prayer, and arrested for witchcraft. hashtag hashtag the trial of Edmund Harley. During his trial, witnesses hesitated to testify against Edmund, claiming they were supernaturally silenced.

Nicholas, however, recounted everything, the possessions, the attacks, and the ritual in the woods. On March 6, 1597, Edmund was sentenced to death by hanging. As the news tightened, the rope snapped, sparing his life temporarily. Seeing this as divine intervention, Edmund confessed to being a witch and admitted that the ritual in the woods, was meant to curse Nicholas, not protect him. He was hanged again, and this time, the execution succeeded. Hashtag hashtag the exorcisms. Even after Edmund's death, the Starkey's troubles persisted.

Nicholas sought help from John Darrell, a controversial exorcist. Darrell, alongside George Moore and other clergy, performed exorcisms at Clear Hall. Witnesses described black smoke emerging from the afflicted individuals, which then attempted to re-enter their bodies. The exorcisms were grueling, but eventually, all seven victims were freed. Clear Hall, however, was forever marked by its dark history. In time, the estate was abandoned, its remnants erased from the landscape. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the aftermath.

The Starkey children grew up and moved on, but the controversy surrounding John Darrell and George Moore didn't end. Both were accused of manipulating their patience and forbidden from performing exorcisms again. So, what do you think? Were the Starkey's truly victims of possession, or was there another explanation for the chaos that plagued clear hull? This story begins with a kid everyone seemed to adore, Tyler Wayne Edmonds. Born on June 14, 1989, in the United States, Tyler's early years are shrouded in mystery. What we do know is that his parents, Sharon Clay and Danny Edmonds, had a rough split not long after he was born.

Danny disappeared from Tyler's life entirely, leaving Sharon to raise him alone. From all accounts, it was a messy divorce, there were rumors of arguments, accusations, and bad behavior. Some say Danny ran with the wrong crowd, and Sharon had every reason to keep him far from their son. Despite the turmoil, Tyler grew up as a happy and well-loved child. People described him as sweet, intelligent, and innocent. He excelled academically at West Point High School, where he regularly made the honor roll. He wasn't involved in violence or bad influences and was an active member of the local church. Yet, despite his seemingly perfect life, there was one thing Tyler always longed for, his father. That void in his heart was something he couldn't

shake. In Tyler's world, one person constantly reassured him that his father cared for him. That person was his older half-sister, Christy Fulgum. With a 13-year-age gap, Christy was more of a guiding figure than a sibling. She came from Danny's side of the family, and though they didn't spend much time together, Tyler idolized her. To him, Christy was everything he wanted to be, outgoing, charming, and full of life. My parents divorced when I was a baby, Tyler once said. I didn't see anyone from my dad's side for years. Christy showed up when I was around 10 or 11, and we'd bonded over our broken homes. Occasionally, behind Sharon's back, Christy would take Tyler to see their father. For Tyler, these moments were priceless.

Christy made him feel connected to a part of his life that was otherwise absent. She told him stories about their dad and the family, and Tyler soaked it all up. He even wrote a school essay once, saying he loved his sister more than he loved himself. But while Tyler adored Christy, Sharon didn't trust her one bit. She did everything possible to keep Tyler away from her. Calls were cut short, visits were limited, and Sharon had her reasons. despite her charm, had a darker side. In 2003, Christy was 27 years old and married to Joseph, Joey, Fulgum.

They had three kids together and seemed like the picture-perfect family. Joey was smitten with Christy, and they often appeared together at family outings and restaurants. Joey worked hard while Christie stayed home with the kids. But beneath the surface, their marriage was far from idyllic. Christy didn't enjoy the domestic life. People described her as manipulative and mean-spirited. While she could appear to be the perfect wife and mother, it was all a facade. She spent little time with her kids, had multiple affairs, and used Joey's money to fund her

wild nights out. Joey knew about her infidelities but somehow always ended up being blamed for them. Christy would accuse him of neglecting her and not being affectionate enough, making him feel at fault for her actions. Christy's manipulative nature wasn't a secret. Her reputation extended far beyond her hometown of Starkville. Years earlier, she and Joey aired their dirty laundry on national television during an episode of the Montel Williams show. At the time, they'd been married for five years. On live TV, Christy admitted that Joey wasn't the father of her third child, though he had accepted the child as his own. Her cold and calculated demeanor during the show stunned viewers.

People who knew Christy before and after the episode said she had a way of getting what she wanted, no matter the cost. And when it came to Tyler, her half-brother, she had him wrapped around her finger. To him, she was a hero, to everyone else, she was a master manipulator. So, what did Christy want from a 13-year-old boy? And how could he possibly help her? On Saturday, May 10, 2003, Joey Fulgum had plans to attend an air show with his brother Shannon and Shannon's wife, Kimberly. It was an event Joey would have loved, but when the time came, he didn't show up.

He didn't call or explain his absence, which was unusual. Shannon thought Joey might have had an argument with Christie and brushed it off at first. But when Sunday rolled around, Mother's Day, Joey's absence raised red flags. He always visited his mom on Mother's Day with a bouquet of flowers, but this time, he didn't. Alarmed, Shannon went to Joey's house to check on him. Finding no answer at the door, Shannon used a spare key to get inside. He searched the house until he reached the master bedroom, where he found Joey lying face down on the bed. Calling his name and touching his foot elicited no response.

Shannon realized with horror that Joey wasn't asleep, he was dead. A single gunshot to the back of the head had ended his life. Shannon immediately called the police. When officers arrived, they noticed three crucial details. First, Joey's death was a clear execution-style killing. He was shot from behind while he slept. Second, the body hadn't been moved. Joey was left exactly as he fell.

And third, there was no visible blood splatter. The shot was clean and precise, and at first glance, you wouldn't even know he was dead. These details would play a significant role later. Police began their investigation by questioning Shannon and Kimberly. They learned about Joey's plans for the air show, his failure to show up, and his history with Christie. Shannon didn't hold back, calling Christy manipulative and untrustworthy. He was convinced she was involved in Joey's death.

Acting on this lead, police went to find Christy, who was staying in Little Rock, Mississippi, near her mother's home. When officers broke the news to her, Christy's reaction seemed genuine. She cried, appeared distraught, and claimed Joey had no enemies. But as the hours passed, circumstantial evidence piled up against her. By that evening, Christy was taken in for questioning at the sheriff's office in Starkville. Investigators discovered that Joey had a life insurance. policy, and Christie stood to gain everything. They also knew about her affairs, her history of

manipulation, and her general unhappiness in the marriage. But Christy denied everything, shifting the blame onto someone else, her younger brother, Tyler. According to Christy, Tyler was the one who killed Joey. She claimed that on Friday, May 9th, she had confided in Tyler about how abusive Joey was. She told him Joey was a terrible father, a violent husband, and an alcoholic. Christy said Tyler, furious on her behalf, grabbed a rifle and shot Joey while he slept. With this new lead, police brought Tyler in for questioning. He arrived with Sharon, but they were soon separated. Sharon was placed in one room while Tyler was interrogated in another.

The interrogation was conducted as if Tyler were an adult, no legal guardian or attorney was present. Just two officers, a camera, and a terrified 13-year-old boy. was clearly overwhelmed. He stammered, stayed silent, and spoke in a low voice. When officers told him Christie had accused him of murder, he was in shock. He denied everything, but then they brought Christy in to talk to him. Seeing his sister in an orange jumpsuit with shackles on her wrists broke him. She grabbed his hand, begged him to tell the truth, and then left. Not long after, Tyler confessed. He told police that in the early hours of May 10th, Christy handed him a rifle

and asked him to shoot Joey. Tyler said he was too scared to pull the trigger, so Christie helped him. She placed her hands over his, guiding him to pull the trigger together. According to Tyler, they both fired the shot. This confession was exactly what the police needed. Although Christie's story and Tyler's confession didn't completely match, they believed they had their culprits. Christy claimed Tyler acted alone, Tyler said they did it together.

Regardless, both were arrested and charged with capital murder. Christy faced the death penalty, while Tyler, just a child, faced life in prison. Three days later, Tyler retracted his confession. He returned to the station and, on camera, claimed he'd lied to protect Christy. He said she had pressured him into confessing. Tyler's new account painted a different picture. On Friday night, he slept over at Christy's house. The next morning, Christy told him to stay in the car with her kids while she went back inside.

Tyler recalled playing with the radio and laughing with the kids when he suddenly heard a gunshot. To be continued. Out of nowhere, there was a gunshot. Just minutes later, Christy stepped out of the house and told Tyler, her 13-year-old brother, that Joey was dead. And then she made a plea that would change everything for both of them. She asked him to talk to the police when the time came, to admit he was involved too. Her reasoning. If he took part of the blame, she wouldn't face the death penalty. After all, she argued, he was just a kid, his punishment would be lighter. To Tyler, who saw Christy as the best person in his life,

it didn't seem like the worst thing. He could save her, and that felt like enough. But things didn't go as planned. When Tyler confessed to the police, they didn't believe him. His second confession, the one that said he was involved, wasn't taken seriously. And so began a trial that would grip the nation. The trial of Tyler Wayne Edmonds, on July 20th, 2004, Tyler's trial began, and it was nothing short of a media frenzy.

The idea of a 13-year-old boy committing such a serious crime shocked people across the country. Cameras were everywhere, reporters lined up, and every update made it to TV, radio, and newspapers. Tyler's lawyer, Jim White, had a straightforward mission, proved Tyler was never at the crime scene, never touched the rifle, and never fired a shot. But Jim faced an uphill battle because, from the start, the justice system seemed to have already made up its mind. The jury chose to ignore Tyler's second confession, deciding it was a lie. They only considered his first statement, where he had confessed to being involved. Jim also wasn't allowed to argue that Christie was manipulative or call witnesses to support this claim.

The trial felt rigged against him. To make matters worse, the state brought in Dr. Stephen Hayne, a supposedly well-respected pathologist. Hayne testified that the trajectory of the bullet proved two people were holding the rifle when Joey was shot. He didn't base this on footprints, fingerprints, or other physical evidence, just his interpretation of the bullets path. Critics slammed his testimony as baseless, but the jury believed him. On July 24, 2004, 15-year-old Tyler was convicted and sentenced to life in prison. His lawyer, Jim, immediately vowed to fight for a retrial, but in the meantime, Tyler was sent

to Walnut Grove Correctional Facility, the largest juvenile correctional center in the U.S. Life in Walnut Grove, Walnut Grove was nothing short of a nightmare for Tyler. Upon arrival, he was placed in a padded cell with no bathroom, no mattress, and a concrete slab for a bed. Tyler later said he thought the death penalty might have been better than spending the rest of his life in those conditions. When his mother, Sharon, visited him for the first time, she found him sobbing uncontrollably. He begged her to get him out, but Sharon felt powerless. She knew her son was innocent, but a jury had labeled him, guilty, and the entire nation believed it. Meanwhile, Christie's trial was approaching, and

it promised to reveal even more about the crime. The case against Christy Fulgum, Christy's trial brought to light evidence suggesting the murder was premeditated. There were documents, witness testimonies, and circumstantial evidence pointing directly at her. One key witness was Patricia Green, a jailer who worked at the Sheriff's Department in 2003. Patricia testified about a conversation she had with Christy in jail. Christy had asked Patricia to deliver a letter to Tyler, which Patricia refused. Curious, Patricia read the letter with a colleague. It said, Tyler, I know you're scared, but you can't tell them what they want you to say.

It's a trick. We have to make them believe this was an accident. Both of us can get out of this if they understand it wasn't planned. You know we didn't mean to kill Joey. If you say it was an accident, they can't send me to the electric chair. Think about it, this isn't just about your life. it's about mine too. Your dad doesn't love you like I do. Please listen to me. This will work. I love you. The letter was interpreted in two ways. To some, it showed Christy genuinely cared for her

brother. To others, it revealed her manipulative side, pressuring Tyler into lying for her. On December 9, 2006, Christy was convicted and sentenced to death. Joey's mother, and cash, was relieved. She said, I'm so glad this is over, and justice has been served. Joey can finally rest in peace. I'll pray to find forgiveness for Christy someday. Tyler's fight for freedom, while Christy faced the death penalty, Tyler's lawyer, Jim, continued to fight for a retrial. In 2007, he finally succeeded.

The court unanimously overturned Tyler's conviction, citing that Dr. Haynes' testimony about the bullet trajectory was outside his area of expertise. Some sources claimed Hain wasn't even certified as a forensic pathologist. The idea that two people had held the rifle was now considered baseless. But Tyler's fight wasn't over. The justice system offered him a deal, plead guilty, and he'd be released in a few months. Refuse, and he'd face another trial and risk spending the rest of his life in prison. Tyler, unwavering in his innocence, chose to go to trial.

The second trial, the retrial began on October 28, 2008. This time, the defense aimed to prove that Tyler's first confession was false and his second confession was the truth. The prosecution brought out Tyler's initial confession, a 32-minute video where he, visibly terrified, admitted to killing Joey. Even when his mother entered the room and asked him if he had done it, he repeated his confession. The footage was damning. To counter this, the defense wanted to bring in Dr. Allison Redlich, an expert on false confessions. However, the court did not allow her testimony. But the defense had other evidence on its side.

For instance, forensic pathologist James Laurzen testified that the rifle used to kill Joey didn't cause any splatter, contradicting Tyler's claim that he saw blood at the scene. This undermined the credibility of his first confession. The defense also presented Tyler's second confession, where he described how Christie manipulated him. According to Tyler, she had instructed him to tell the truth to the police but lie when she gave him a specific signal, in this case, holding his hand. To Tyler, this gesture felt like the signal she had described. Finally, Jim White painted Christie as a master manipulator. He called witnesses who described her controlling nature, and he even presented evidence about a life insurance

policy on Joey. Just months before his death, Christie had inquired about the policy's beneficiary. When the insurance agent told her she needed Joey's permission to make changes, she reportedly grew frustrated. Then, in May 2003, Joey was murdered. The verdict, this time, the jury sided with Tyler. He was acquitted, and as he left the courtroom, he was overwhelmed with emotion. Cameras surrounded him as he cried tears of relief. But while he was free, his life would never be the same. Moving forward, Tyler realized he couldn't stay in Mississippi. To everyone there, he'd always be the boy who went to prison at 13. So he moved away, first of the way, first of the to Arizona and later to Florida, where he rebuilt his life.

Here, people know me for who I am, Tyler said. They know me as Tyler, not the kid who was in prison. That's a kind of freedom I'll never have in Mississippi. As for Christie, she appealed her death sentence. In 2010, it was reduced to life in prison. In 2008, she wrote Tyler a letter apologizing, though she never explicitly explained what she was sorry for. Tyler believed she isn't truly remorseful.

The question, now it's your turn to weigh in. Do you think Christy ever regretted her actions? Or was her apology just another attempt at manipulation? The case of Katie King is a strange and captivating chapter in the history of paranormal investigations. It all began in the early 1900s, when the phenomenon of spirit materialization took the world by storm, with many people believing that certain mediums could make spirits of the deceased appear in physical form. One of the most famous and controversial of these cases was that of Florinian. Cook and her ghostly alter ego, Katie King. The story starts with Sir William Crooks,

a renowned scientist with a long career in chemistry and physics. Born in 1832 in London, Crooks had a passion for science from an early age. He attended the Royal College of Chemistry and made significant contributions to various fields, including the discovery of the element thallium, the invention of the Crooks tube, and his early studies of plasma. However, what made him even more notable in the paranormal world was his fascination with mediumship and his investigations into spiritual phenomena, especially the materialization of spirits. Crooks was no stranger to skepticism. He was a scientist who prided himself on his ability to see through deceptions, and he approached the world of spiritualism with the same analytical mind that had made him famous.

But when he encountered the case of Florence Cook and Katie King, he found himself grappling with something that seemed to defy scientific explanation. Florence Cook, born in 1856, was a 15-year-old medium who claimed to have the ability to summon and materialize the spirit of a woman named Katie King. According to Florence, Katie would appear in physical form, often interacting with the living, touching people, and even allowing herself to be photographed. The spirit was described as a beautiful, ethereal woman, distinct from the ordinary medium, Florence.

The two seemed to be connected, but there were many questions about the true nature of Katie King. The events that surrounded Florence and Katie began when Florence, a relatively unknown medium, started performing seances where she would enter a trance and, allegedly, Katie King would appear. Katie's materializations were highly unusual, she was described as being of flesh and blood, moving freely among the spectators, and even allowing herself to be touched and interacted with. These public demonstrations attracted the attention of many, including skeptics and believers alike. One of the key moments that caught Crook's attention was a seance in which Florence entered a box, ostensibly to channel Katie King, and the spirit emerged in her place. The most remarkable feature of these seances was the fact that Katie's materialization seemed to have a distinct and physical presence, different from the medium herself.

She appeared to be a real, living woman, not just an ethereal apparition. Many people were intrigued, but others were quick to dismiss it as fraud. In 1873, William Harrison, the founder of the spiritualist movement, investigated the phenomenon closely. He attended several of Florence's seances and took numerous photographs, some of which seemed to show Katie King in full materialized form. Harrison could not definitively prove whether it was a hoax or not, and his investigation left him confused. The public remained divided, some were convinced that Florence was a fraud, while others believed that she truly had a supernatural gift. A pivotal moment came on December

9, 1873, when Florence held a seance at her home. During this particular event, a lawyer named William Volkman attended and, upon witnessing Katie King's appearance, became suspicious. He jumped from his seat, grabbed that ghost, by the waist, and accused it of being Florence herself in disguise. As chaos ensued, the medium was allegedly forced to retreat to her box, where she was seen moments later emerging as Florence Cook. The reaction from the public was mixed. Many believed Volkman's accusations, thinking that Florence was merely using trickery to fool the audience. However, others came to her defense, suggesting that Volkman's behavior was influenced by personal motives, he was thought to have a connection with a rival medium.

The media coverage was intense, with some claiming that Florence had been caught in a deception, while others rallied behind her, convinced of her ability to summon spirits. As the investigations continued, the question of how Florence could create such a convincing illusion persisted. People began to speculate about various explanations. One hypothesis was that Florence and Katie were the same person, with Florence using elaborate costumes and makeup to create the illusion of a ghostly figure. Another theory was that Florence had some kind of psychic ability that allowed her to channel spirits, and Katie's materialization was a projection of Florence's energy.

But no one could offer a definitive answer. It was at this point that William Crooks, who had been following the case from a distance, decided to get personally in the same. involved. Crooks was determined to uncover the truth, and he attended several seances to observe Florence's abilities firsthand. What he saw baffled him. Crooks described Katie King as a woman of flesh and blood, not an ethereal apparition. She was tangible, allowing herself to be touched and even photographed. Crooks, a man who had spent his career analyzing physical phenomena, could not easily dismiss what he was witnessing. In an effort to get to the bottom of the mystery, Crooks invited Florence to conduct a

seance at his own home, under controlled conditions. He designed a special box that would prevent any tricks or hidden assistance from being involved. Florence agreed, and the seances began. Crooks was particularly interested in examining the physical differences between Florence and Katie. According to Crooks, Katie had certain physical traits that Florence did not, such as a different skin tone, no visible piercings in her ears, and a distinct body type.

These differences made it seem as though Katie could not be Florence in disguise. In one particularly dramatic session, Crooks bound Florence's hands and placed her in the box. After a few moments, the spirit of Katie King emerged. Crooks rushed to the box and found Florence still inside, with her hands tied and her face covered. This incident, along with several others, convinced Crooks that there was more to the case than simple trickery. He became more and more convinced that the materializations were real.

continued to document his findings and even took multiple photographs of Katie King. These photos, which remained hidden for years, showed the spirit posing in a serene, almost ethereal manner. Many of the photographs seemed to depict Katie as a solid, physical presence, unlike the traditional, ghostly figures that most people were familiar with. Crooks was so impressed by what he had witnessed that he publicly defended Florence Cook and her work, stating that he believed she was capable of truly summoning spirits. However, not everyone shared Crooks' enthusiasm. Many skeptics continued to dismiss the case as a clever fraud,

pointing out that there were no concrete proofs that Florence was not simply manipulating the situation. Some critics even suggested that Crooks himself had been duped, claiming that he was too invested in the idea of the supernatural to see the obvious tricks at play. Despite the ongoing skepticism, Florence's seances continued, and in 1874, Katie King announced that she would soon be leaving the earthly realm for good, The final seance took place on May 21, 1874, when Katie materialized one last time. This time, she revealed that her real name was not Katie King, but an Owen Morgan, and that her father was not John King, but the infamous pirate Henry Morgan.

Katie bid farewell to the audience, stating that she would never return. Shortly after, she disappeared, and Florence Cook was never seen in her ghostly form again. For Crooks, this marked the end of a long investigation, and he remained convinced that what he had witnessed was genuine. He continued to write articles in support of spiritualism and the supernatural, even as other scientists ridiculed him. Some of his colleagues believed that he was blinded by his own passion for the unknown, while others thought he was simply too gullible to recognize a hoax when he saw one. In the years that followed, various theories were proposed to explain the events surrounding Florence Cook and Katie King. Some believed that Florence

had simply been a master of illusion, expertly manipulating the seance environment to make people believe in the supernatural. Others suggested that she had a unique psychic gift that allowed her to channel spirits, while a few even speculated that Crooks and Florence have been in on the deception together. Despite the various theories, one thing remained clear, the case of Katie King had left an indelible mark on the history of paranormal investigations. Whether it was a true supernatural phenomenon or an elaborate hoax, the story continues to captivate those who seek to understand the mysteries of the spirit world. For many, the legend of Katie King and Florence Cook remained one of the most intriguing and enigmatic episodes in the world of mediumship and ghostly phenomena.

At 5.30 a.m. on November 12, Melissa's son heard the front door open and shut. Nothing unusual, he just figured his mom was heading out for her morning run. She did that all the time. But when she didn't come back at her usual time, her husband started to worry. He ended up calling the police to report her missing. Melissa Louise Grimley was born on April 21, 1971, in Lugarno, a quiet suburb south of Sydney. She was the daughter of Barbara and Ted Grimley. By most accounts, Melissa had a pretty typical childhood. She had two major loves, ballet and fashion.

Her dream was to become a ballerina, but apparently, her body type didn't fit the traditional mold. So, her aspirations shifted toward fashion and appearances. Melissa became obsessed with always looking her best. Designer clothes, expensive handbags, perfect nails, these became her trademarks. She constantly asked her mom for money, always needing just a little more to keep up her image. For Melissa, appearances and social status were everything. She wanted to stand out, not just as someone well-dressed, but as someone who belonged to exclusive circles.

She gravitated toward the top-tier students, the wealthy kids, and the ones who seemed to have it all. Average? That wasn't her style. After finishing high school, Melissa enrolled in a secretarial and business administration course at Patrick's College in Sydney. According to her resume, she later specialized in finance at the University of Technology Sydney, UTS. But here's the catch, there are no official records of her ever attending UTS. Her resume boasted honors, stellar grades, and glowing references, but none of it could be verified. What we do know is that after her studies, Melissa landed a job as a secretary at NRMA, a well-known company. Her bosses loved her, she was efficient, reliable, and always impeccably presented.

But there was a twist, Melissa hated being called a secretary. If someone introduced her as such, her mood would visibly sour. For her, the title didn't align with the image she was trying to project. While working at NRMA, she earned a decent salary and met her first boyfriend. He was charming, intriguing, and someone she quickly introduced to her family. But soon, the Grinley household started noticing things going missing, money, valuables, random items. Suspicious, Melissa's parents hired a private investigator, who uncovered that her boyfriend wasn't just a thief but also a con artist.

When Barbara and Ted confronted Melissa, she refused to listen. Blinded by love, she packed her bags and ran off with him, convinced he was her soulmate. It didn't take long for reality to hit. A few months later, the boyfriend cleaned out her accounts and disappeared. Melissa had no choice but to return to her parents' home, broke and defeated. In 1998, at the age of 27, Melissa got a new job at an investment bank. This role gave her two things she craved, prestige and a hefty paycheck. But her time there was short-lived, just six months.

Her boss described her as the perfect employee, organized, trustworthy, and professional. But there was something else he noticed. He said, her polished presentation seemed more suited to the job she aspired to, not the one she actually had. Six months into her tenure, someone from the interstate head office flagged discrepancies in client invoices and payments. The numbers on the invoices didn't match the payments received. Melissa's boss investigated and found that she had been siphoning money, about $2,000 in total over six months. It wasn't a huge sum compared to the bank's overall revenue, but it was still fraud. Instead of involving lawyers or the police, her boss chose to let her go

quietly. Melissa didn't repay the money or apologize. When confronted, she simply packed up her things and left without a word. Soon after, she landed a job as a financial advisor at Wise Financial Services, a subsidiary of ING. Things seemed to be going well, her salary was substantial, and her personal life appeared picture perfect. On April 20, 2000, she married Tony Caddick in a lavish ceremony. By 2002, Melissa decided to invest in the company she worked for. She took out a bank loan of $750,000 and used it to buy a 25% stake in WISE. By 2003, Melissa was a bona fide businesswoman. She even graced the cover of IFA magazine, symbolizing her success. Friends and family couldn't help but wonder how she managed it all. She always dressed in

designer clothes, carried luxury handbags, and stayed at five-star hotels. Her social media showcased her glamorous life, lavish dinners, exclusive parties, and high-end vacations. In 2006, Melissa gave birth to her only child. She, Tony, and their baby lived what appeared to be a dream life, spa days, trips to paradise-like destinations, five-star resorts, and even photos beside helicopters. But Melissa wasn't just enjoying her success, she was also generous, or so it seemed. She began recommending investments to her loved ones. She figured if she could live this kind of life, so could they.

But there was a problem, as a financial advisor at Wise, her contract prohibited her from working independently. When the company discovered she was taking on private clients, they terminated her contract and returned her 25% stake. The details of her departure are murky. Officially, she was let go for breaching her contract. But Melissa told people a different story, claiming she left voluntarily after a successful investment with WISE.

Whatever the case, she found herself jobless for several years. During this time, she moved to Essex, England, with her husband and child. Melissa began plotting her next move. She decided to start her own investment company, Molliver. But here's where things get tricky, she wanted to base the company in Australia, even though she was living in England. And to run a business like that in Australia, you need a financial. services license. Melissa didn't have one. When a friend who had the proper credentials refused

to lend her the license, Melissa didn't take no for an answer. Instead, she stole her friend's license and used it to register Molliver. Confident no one would notice, she launched the business and started signing clients. Her business pitch was simple but effective. She sent clients a seven-page financial services guide that included the tagline, maximizing client returns while working within the law. The irony? She was doing neither. Her qualifications were fake, her degrees and honors were fabricated, and she had no real license. But she was an exceptional salesperson, and people trusted her. Melissa's target audience was specific, friends and family who already believed in her. On social media, she showcased a life of luxury, designer bags, five-star vacations, and

expensive dinners. This image drew people in, and they were eager to invest. Clients deposited their money into a Commonwealth bank account. Each month, they received detailed reports showing significant returns, anywhere from 15% to 30%. The results were so impressive that clients often reinvested their gains. More people got involved, telling their friends and family about Melissa's success. It became a chain reaction, new clients, new deposits, and growing trust. Melissa's business model was, to put it bluntly, a house of cards. For each client, she created fake investment accounts through a platform called ComSEC.

Official ComSEC accounts had eight digits, but the ones she gave her clients only had six. Most people didn't notice or question the discrepancy, they just trusted her. She also falsified signatures to keep the charade going. And to make these forgeries appear legitimate, she even faked the signature of a justice of the piece named Roto Colletti. Remember that name, because he'll come up again later. Here's how it worked, a client would give her, say, $30,000. Instead of investing it, Melissa would pocket the money.

She'd use it to fund her extravagant lifestyle, designer handbags, luxury cars, high-end makeup, you name it. She'd show off her lavish purchases on social media, luring in more potential investors. To keep her clients happy, she created fake monthly reports showing their investments growing at astonishing rates. Everyone thought they were making a killing, and no one suspected a thing. thing. If a client ever wanted to withdraw money, Melissa didn't panic. She'd simply take funds from another investor's deposit to cover the withdrawal. This strategy worked flawlessly, for a while. Melissa's life seemed perfect from the outside. She was living in Essex with her adoring husband, raising their young son, and enjoying the perks of being a so-called successful entrepreneur.

But behind the scenes, her scheme was growing more elaborate, and riskier by the day. In 2012, the family decided to move back to Sydney. Melissa told her husband it was for business reasons, but in reality, she wanted to expand her client base. Sydney was where she grew up, and she knew it would be easier to real people in there. Once settled in Sydney, Melissa went all in on her persona as a wealthy, self-made businesswoman. She bought a multi-million dollar home in Dover Heights, an upscale suburb with stunning views of the Sydney skyline. The house became the backdrop for her social media posts, reinforcing the image she wanted to project. Her online presence was meticulously curated. She shared photos of exotic vacations, fancy dinners, and her enviable wardrobe. Her followers

saw a woman who had it all, and many of them wanted a piece of it. One by one, friends, family, and acquaintances started handing over their life savings to Melissa, trusting her to grow their money. She even convinced her parents to invest a significant portion of their retirement funds. Melissa's client list grew, and so did her wealth. But as the money poured in, so did the pressure. She had to keep the facade alive, which meant fabricating more reports, forging more signatures, and juggling more accounts. By this point, Melissa wasn't just running a Ponzi scheme, she was living one.

Every aspect of her life, from her designer wardrobe to her luxurious vacations, was funded by the money she was stealing. But no con lasts forever. The first cracks in Melissa's empire started to show in 2019. Some clients began asking questions about their investments, wanting more transparency. Melissa brushed them off with vague answers and more fake reports, but the doubts lingered. Then came the pandemic. In 2020, as the world went into lockdown, people became more cautious about their finances.

Some of Melissa's clients wanted to pull their money out entirely. This was a problem for her, as she didn't actually have their money, it was already spent. To keep the scheme going, Melissa scrambled to find new investors. But with everyone tightening their belts during the pandemic, finding fresh cash became increasingly difficult. Around this time, a former client started digging into Melissa's business practices. They noticed inconsistencies in their account statements and decided to report her to the Australian Securities and Investments Commission, ASIC. The ASIC launched an investigation, and things quickly spiraled out of control for Melissa.

investigators discovered that she didn't have a valid financial services license, and her business was essentially built on lies. On November 11, 2020, ASIC agents raided Melissa's Dover Heights home. They seized documents, computers, and other evidence. Melissa tried to keep her cool, but the walls were closing in. The next morning, at 5.30 a.m., Melissa's son heard the front door open and close. He assumed his mom was heading out for a run, as she often did. But this time, she didn't come back. When Melissa's husband realized she was missing, he called the police.

A massive search ensued, but Melissa had vanished without a trace. Days turned into weeks, and speculation about her disappearance ran wild. Some believed she had fled the country to avoid prosecution. Others thought she might have met with foul play. Then, on February 21, 2021, a gruesome discovery was made. A human foot, still wearing an A6 running shoe, washed ashore on a beach about 400 kilometers south of Sydney. DNA tests confirmed it belonged to Melissa Caddick. The mystery of Melissa's disappearance, and the true extent of her crimes, continues to fascinate and baffle people

to this day. How did she pull off such an elaborate scheme for so long? And what really happened to her on that November morning? One day, Melissa told her husband, Anthony, that she had an urgent trip, a business trip, she claimed, something super important. Anthony, trusting as ever, didn't ask too many questions. Melissa hopped on a plane, but while she was away, Anthony made a shocking discovery. That trip wasn't for business at all. Instead, she had flown to Paris to meet up with her lover, Anthony Colletti, a Sydney-based hairdresser who was 11 years younger than her. If that wasn't bad enough, Melissa didn't just pay for her own ticket to Paris. Oh no. She also paid for her lover's flight, covering his trip from Sydney to Paris.

The evidence was right there, Anthony, her husband, had access to their shared accounts and saw all the transactions. When Melissa got back home, Anthony confronted her. He demanded answers. But Melissa? She gave him nothing. Not a single explanation. Instead, she packed her bags, drained their accounts, grabbed their son, and moved to Sydney.

settled in Sydney, people started asking questions, as they do. Melissa, though, had a story ready. She told everyone she was divorcing Anthony because he was controlling. Not a word about the lover or her infidelity. In her version of events, everything was Anthony's fault. Fast forward to 2013, after finalizing the divorce, she married her lover, Anthony Colletti. Together, they moved into a stunning $7 million mansion. Life seemed picture-perfect. But here's where things get even messier. Enter Anthony Colletti's dad, Rodo Colletti. This guy was a justice of the piece, a seemingly upstanding member of society. According to Rodo, he barely knew Melissa. He claims they met only five or six times, mostly at family gatherings. Yet somehow,

his signature started popping up on important documents for Melissa's company, Molliver. Some say Rodo knew exactly what was going on, others argue he was just another victim. The police ultimately concluded he had been deceived. Melissa had allegedly forged his signature, and thanks to this, she raked in an astonishing $30 million Australian dollars. Her schemes were so bold, so over the top, that eventually, someone tipped off the authorities. In November 2019, the Australian Securities and Investments Commission, ASIC, received an anonymous report. The tip alleged that Melissa was running a financial services business using someone else's license, a serious crime carrying penalties of up to $22,000 in fines and two years in prison.

ASIC launched an investigation, but things heated up even more seven months later when they received a second tip on June 7, 2020. By November 10th, ASIC had had enough. They went to the federal court, requesting a freeze on Melissa's assets and permission to seize her property. The very next morning, November 11th, at 6.30 a.m., a team of agents raided her home. Melissa was caught off guard but appeared to cooperate. She handed over documents, let the agents search her house, and even allowed them to take her designer clothes, handbags, and shoes. The raid lasted 12 hours, during which Melissa reportedly napped.

But the narrative changes depending on who you ask. Melissa's mother, Barbara Grimley, painted a very different picture. She claimed the raid was traumatic for her daughter, accusing the police of harassment and disrespect. She said Melissa wasn't allowed to eat or rest, calling the whole ordeal horrific. The police, however, deny these accusations. Two things stood out to the investigators during the raid. First, Melissa had recently purchased a paper shredder, which they found in her office. Second, she had deleted all her social media accounts.

Separately, these details might not seem alarming, but together, they suggested she had been tipped off about the raid. It looked like Melissa had been preparing to destroy evidence and vanish. She'd shredded sensitive documents and erased her online presence. Perhaps she planned to flee overseas, change her identity, and start over. But the police had her passport, so they weren't too worried. That sense of security didn't last. The next day, November 12, 2020, Melissa vanished. Her disappearance was strange, to say the least. Around 5.30 a.m. on November 12, Melissa's son heard the front door open and close.

Assuming she was heading out for her usual morning jog, he didn't think much of it. But Melissa never came back. Her husband, Anthony Colletti, waited and waited before finally calling the police to report her missing. When officers arrived, they began by questioning the two people closest to Melissa, her son and Anthony. Her son repeated what he'd already told them, he heard her leave at 5.30 a.m., assuming it was for a jog. But Anthony's story raised eyebrows. When asked when he last saw Melissa, he claimed it was November 10th, two days before her disappearance.

He said he hadn't seen her since that night and didn't report her missing for over 30 hours because he thought she'd gone shopping, taken a break, or gone on a spontaneous trip to relax. Anthony's behavior during the questioning struck officers as odd. He had answers for everything, but they weren't always convincing. He often dodged questions, gave vague responses, and would occasionally burst into tears. However, the officers weren't buying it. Sergeant Trent Riley described Anthony's behavior as, extremely unusual, unlike anything

he'd encountered in previous missing person cases. As the investigation unfolded, more inconsistencies emerged. For instance, Anthony claimed he had searched everywhere for Melissa, including local parks and the gap, a well-known spot where she supposedly exercised. He even took a photo of a shoe print he found, presenting it to police as evidence. But officers thought this was bizarre. Why would he assume a random footprint at a dog park was hers? Adding to the strangeness, Anthony had messaged the household employee, pretending to be Melissa,

telling them not to come to work on November 12th. He also contacted Melissa's brother, Adam, but didn't mention she was missing. Instead of asking if Adam had seen her, Anthony kept that information to himself. Days turned into weeks with no sign of Melissa. The police revisited her home, hoping to find more clues. They wanted to review surveillance footage from her house, but the cameras hadn't been active in the weeks leading up to her disappearance. When they checked the neighborhood security footage, they found something even more troubling.

Melissa didn't have the morning jogging routine her family claimed she did. In fact, she had rarely left the house in the month before her disappearance. When questioned again, Anthony admitted he knew about Melissa's fraudulent activities but claimed he wasn't fully aware of the extent. He also backtracked on the jogging routine, saying she worked out in the mornings but didn't necessarily jog. The investigation delved deeper into Melissa's personal life. Police uncovered that in 2013, during her first divorce, she had confided in her brother Adam about her struggles. At her lowest point, she told him that if life ever became too

overwhelming, they would find her at the gap, a location infamous for suicides. At the time, Adam thought she was just venting. Now, those words carried a chilling wait. In February 2021, with no progress in the case, police issued an arrest warrant for Melissa. Her face was plastered across news channels, and her crimes were made public. Days later, on February 21st, campers discovered a shoe on a remote beach. Inside the shoe was a decomposing human foot. DNA tests confirmed it belonged to Melissa. The police theorized that Melissa had jumped off a cliff, choosing death over the humiliation of arrest and prison.

But not everyone was convinced. Experts noted that the foot appeared to have been in the water for only three to seven days, even though Melissa had been missing for three months. The clean cut on the foot also raised suspicions. While some experts said it could have been caused by decomposition, others believed it looked too precise. Adding to the mystery, the beach where the foot was found was 400 kilometers away from Melissa's home. How could it have traveled so far?

And if Melissa had jumped from a cliff, why were there no witnesses or surveillance footage? Some speculated that Melissa had staged her death, cutting off her own foot to throw off investigators and disappearing under a new identity. But forensic experts dismissed this, arguing that such a self-inflicted injury would be incredibly risky and likely fatal without medical expertise. Today, there are three main theories about what happened to Melissa Caddick. The official theory, Melissa committed suicide by jumping off a cliff. Overwhelmed by the impending consequences of her crimes, she chose to end her life rather than face public. disgrace and imprisonment. The revenge theory, someone Melissa had wronged, perhaps a victim of her scams, took matters into their own hands and killed her. However, police found no evidence to support

this. The escape theory, Melissa faked her death, severed ties with her old life, and disappeared. While some believe she's living under a new identity, others argue that the forensic evidence makes this unlikely. To this day, Melissa's case remains unsolved. Many of her victims have yet to recover their money, and it's doubtful they ever will. Authorities have auctioned off her possessions, designer handbags, luxury cars, and even her multi-million dollar mansion, but the funds recouped barely make a dent in the massive amount she stole. What do you think happened to Melissa Caddick? Did she really take her own life, or did she pull off one last con and vanish into thin air? It was a quiet evening on April 23, 1992, when two inseparable friends, Virginia Guerrero and

Manuela Torres, decided to go out for what they claimed was a birthday party. At 14 and 13 years old, the girls lived in Aguilar de Campou, a small Spanish town where nothing out of the ordinary usually happened. That day would turn out to be an exception, one that still haunts the community and their families to this day. Virginia, the older of the two, had asked her mother for some money to buy a birthday cake. Her mother handed her the money without hesitation, and Virginia left the house with a smile. However, just a few minutes later, she returned, knocking on the door to grab the house keys she had forgotten.

Her family thought nothing of it as she dashed off once more, presumably to meet Manuela and head to the party. That would be the last time they saw her. Hours passed. The girls who had left around 5 p.m., still hadn't come home by 10 p.m. Their families began to worry. Both households decided to go together to the local Guardia Civil Station to report the girls missing. However, they were met with indifference. The officers told them that it was standard

procedure to wait 48 hours before filing a missing person's report. They dismissed the family's concerns, suggesting that the girls were likely out with friends, perhaps having lost track of time. They'll come back when they're hungry, they said. But two days later, there was still no sign of Virginia and Manuela. The families were beside themselves with worry, and the authorities finally began to take action, albeit slowly. Unfortunately, the crucial initial hours of the investigation had already been lost. To understand the bond between Virginia and Manuela, it's important to know their backgrounds. Manuel Torres Bufa was the only daughter of Karima Bufa, a Parisian woman, and Jose Torres, a Spaniard of Romani descent from Malaga.

Manuel spent much of her early childhood in France, where her father worked as a security guard at a hotel complex. However, her parents eventually separated, and her mother moved with Manuela to Aguilar de Campou, where they had family ties. Despite the distance, Manuel's mother insisted that she maintained regular contact with her father. Life at home for Manuel was reportedly challenging. Neighbors claimed the household was rife with conflict and that Manuel was sometimes subjected to physical discipline.

Karima Bufa denied these allegations, insisting that their home life was normal and that Manuela had all she needed. According to Karima, any troubles Manuel Faced them from bullying at school. She said other girls were jealous of her, but Virginia had always been the exception, a kind-hearted friend who accepted Manuel for who she was. Virginia Guerrero Espejo, on the other hand, was described as a quiet, well-behaved girl. She lived with her widowed mother, Trinidad Espého Munoz, and three older siblings. Virginia was born and raised in Aguilar de Campou, and her calm, reserved nature contrasted sharply with Manuela's bubbly, extroverted personality. Despite their differences, the two became inseparable.

They spent countless hours together, often sleeping over at each other's houses and sharing secrets their parents could only guess at. One of those secrets was their love of sneaking away to go dancing. They often told their parents they were staying local, but in reality, they'd hop on a train to Raynosa, a town about 30 minutes away, to visit the discothex. By 1992, they had done this several times without getting caught. Emboldened by their success, they planned another such trip for April 23rd, unaware it would be their last. The girls concocted a story about a birthday party to get permission to go out. Virginia's mother gave her some money, and the plan was set. Virginia and Manuela met up with another friend, Alicia, who initially agreed to join them.

However, as they walked toward the train station, Alicia had second thoughts. She didn't want to risk getting in trouble and decided to turn back, leaving Virginia and Manuela to continue alone. It's believed that the two friends boarded a train to Raynosa up around 6.30 p.m. Once there, they likely headed to the Plaza de la Constitution, an area known for its nightlife. Witnesses reported seeing the girls dancing at the discothequecococs until about 9 p.m. At that point, they presumably decided to head home. But there was a problem, they either ran out of money or missed the last train back to Aguilar de Campou. Faced with limited options, they chose to hitchhike, a common practice at the time, especially

among young people. Around 9.30 p.m., a neighbor from Aguilar de Campo driving along the road spotted Virginia and Manuela trying to flag down a ride. She recognized them but didn't have room in her car to pick them up. Thinking they'd surely find another ride soon, she continued on her way. Tragically, this would be the last confirmed sighting of the girls. As the days turned into weeks, the search for Virginia and Manuela intensified. Their families plastered the area with posters, distributed their photos, and even turned to the radio to spread the word. However, resources were limited. At the time, there were no surveillance cameras, no social media platforms, and no advanced forensic tools to aid the investigation.

The Guardia Civil faced an uphill battle. One of the most significant leads came from a woman who claimed to have seen the girls getting into a white seat one. She described the driver as a man and even provided a partial license plate number. Unfortunately, the authorities couldn't verify this lead. Some investigations were conducted on similar vehicles in the area, but no concrete evidence emerged. The case gained national attention when it was featured on the television program Quien Sabé Donde. Hosted by Paco Lobitone. The show prompted an influx of tips and sightings from across the country, but none of them panned out. In one instance, someone claimed to have seen the girls in Asturias.

Another caller was convinced they were in Madrid. These conflicting reports made it impossible to determine which, if any, were credible. Virginia's older brother Emilio took it upon himself to chase down Leeds, traveling to various locations in search of his sister. But time and again, he came up empty-handed. To make matters worse, cruel pranksters began making hoax calls to the families. Some claimed to have the girls, while others are not. mocked their pain. The emotional toll was devastating. In October, a chilling discovery briefly

re-ignited hopes of solving the case. Two human skulls were found near the Requajada Reservoir. Early speculation linked them to Virginia and Manuela, but forensic testing revealed they belonged to victims of the Spanish Civil War. The false alarm was a crushing blow to the families, who had been clinging to the hope of finding closure. Over the years, more supposed breakthroughs turned out to be dead ends. In 1997, a former squatter in Madrid claimed to have seen two girls resembling Virginia and Manuela in a punk community. According to her, they had changed their appearances, with Virginia sporting a short haircut and Manuela dyeing her hair. A composite sketch was created, but when the families traveled to Madrid to investigate, they realized the girls weren't

theirs. In 2001, another set of human remains was discovered near the Requajada Reservoir. Once again, speculation tied them to the missing girls, and once again, forensic testing disproved the theory. That same year, the families made a heartfelt gesture by donating 2,500 euros, money raised by their community, to help a struggling local company. The media misinterpreted this act as a sign that they were giving up the search, but the families insisted it was simply a way to repay the kindness they'd received. By 2006, the case was officially archived due to a lack of new evidence. DNA samples from the families were entered into databases in case future discoveries matched. Despite this, years passed without any developments. The weight of the unresolved case took a heavy toll.

Manuel's father suffered severe psychological trauma, while other family members grew disillusioned with the constant false leads and dashed hopes. In 2018, the discovery of a human jawbone in a Cantabrian reservoir briefly reignited interest in the case. However, like previous findings, it was a human jawbone. ultimately unrelated to Virginia and Manuela. The bone likely came from an old cemetery submerged beneath the reservoir's waters. The case took an unexpected turn in 2021 when a woman came forward with a startling story. As a teenager in the early 1990s, she had frequently traveled from Adiolard de Campu to Reynosa to visit the same discothex as Virginia and Manuela. On one such

trip, she and a friend accepted a ride from a man while hitchhiking. During the drive, they noticed he was. The internet isn't exactly a safe haven, and anyone who's crossed paths with Kat Torres knows this all too well. Cat wasn't just another influencer, she was the influencer. Hailing from Brazil, she reigned as the queen of self-love, spirituality, and personal growth. For years, countless young women, many of them teenagers, idolized her. They bought anything she endorsed, clothes, photos, courses. She sold everything under her famous mantra, have the love, money, and self-esteem you've always dreamed of. People were desperate to be like her. They wanted the lifestyle she flaunted and would pay absurd amounts just to have a short

conversation with her. Kat seemed untouchable, unstoppable, until 2022, when the whole world found out who she really was. News outlets exploded with shocking headlines, Kat Torres is a fraud. Stories of her allegedly kidnapping women, isolating them, manipulating them, and possibly committing even worse crimes in the United States went viral. That's where today's terrifying story begins. Humble beginnings in Brazil. Cadillacia Torres, known later as Kat Torres, was born on October 24, 1992, in a poor neighborhood in Baleem, a city in northern Brazil.

Not much is known about her parents, but her childhood was far from easy. Her father was an alcoholic who abused both Kat and her mother. Their home was a constant battleground, a place of tension and fear. Despite this, Kat always believed she would escape one day. Her best friend from childhood described her as a dreamer, someone fiercely determined to rise above her circumstances. Even as a little girl, Kat seemed destined for something bigger, though she wasn't quite sure what that something was. She didn't know if it involved studying, traveling abroad, or building a career, but the answer came to her in the most unexpected way, her reflection. Kat was beautiful.

She'd been told so her whole life. People would gush over her looks non-stop. By the time she was a pre-teen, she realized her beauty was her ticket out. Her dream became crystal clear, she wanted to be a model. The sooner she started, the better, because waiting too long might cost her the chance. Climbing the modeling ladder, Kat's modeling career began at just 12 years old. At first, it was small gigs, local runway shows and neighborhood photo shoots. But soon, she was entering beauty pageants, and the prizes started rolling in.

Sometimes it was trophies or medals, but more often, it was cold, hard cash, money her struggling family desperately needed. She quickly learned the ins and outs of the industry, makeup, hairstyling, how to charm judges and audiences alike. Kat had a natural charisma that cameras loved. By the time she was 18, she was a season pro and caught the attention of elite model management, a major modeling agency. They offered her a contract to model lingerie and swimwear. Kat signed on the dotted line and left for Europe. This was the early 2010s, a time when social media was exploding. Facebook, Instagram, and other platforms were becoming cultural cornerstones, and Kat knew their power.

She created profiles on every platform and meticulously documented her life, the countries she visited, her photo shoots, her glamorous outfits. Yet, while her posts exuded luxury, she wasn't a global sensation, at least, not yet. The DiCaprio scandal, Kat's breakthrough moment came in 2013 when she was photographed next to Leonardo DiCaprio. A paparazzo caught them together, and the images spread like wildfire, from Brazil to the United States and beyond. Rumors swirled, was Cat DeCaprio's new girlfriend. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know more about her. Journalists hounded her for interviews.

But instead of confirming or denying the rumors, Kat played coy. She deflected questions, steering conversations toward her career and ambitions. Her face became a staple in tabloids, and her social media exploded with followers overnight. Interestingly, some insiders claimed the entire incident was staged. DiCaprio's teen later denied any romantic connection, saying he didn't even know her. They insisted Cat just happened to be nearby when the photos were taken. But skeptics couldn't ignore the curious timing of the paparazzo's presence, suggesting the encounter might have been orchestrated. Whether genuine or not, the buzz catapulted Kat Torres into stardom.

The New York move, capitalizing on her newfound fame, Kat relocated from Brazil to New York City. She rented a luxurious apartment in the exclusive West residences on Washington Street, complete with panoramic views of the city. The place was massive, multiple bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a price tag that would make anyone's jaw drop. But Kat didn't live there alone. She invited two close friends, Carla, her childhood best friend, and Luther Tversky, an actor and writer. The trio seemed like the perfect team. Kat covered all expenses, rent, utilities, everything, despite not appearing to work enough to afford it all. She occasionally attended photo shoots and parties, but none of these ventures seemed lucrative

enough to sustain her extravagant lifestyle. Her friends began to suspect something was off. Maybe she had a sugar daddy. didn't explain how she was funding her designer wardrobe, lavish parties, and jet-set lifestyle. A secret life? Their suspicions grew when Luther intercepted a package for Kat. Inside were stacks of cash, more money than they thought possible. On another occasion, Kat took Carla to Paris for a luxury getaway. During the trip, she left Carla alone to meet her, Sugar Daddy, on a private yacht. Carla didn't meet the mystery man, but Kat later claimed he was a Russian oligarch with ties to Vladimir Putin. She refused to share more, citing the secrecy of their arrangement.

Her friends were concerned but ultimately stayed out of it. After all, it was her life. However, in 2015, tragedy struck. Kat's mother passed away from cancer, and soon after, Cat developed a mysterious illness that forced her to remove her breast implants. The combination of grief and physical hardship left her spiraling. She stopped working, lost her sugar daddies, and struggled to make ends meet. A new calling, desperate, Cat turned to her extensive network of connections. She decided to reinvent herself, not as a model or influencer, but as a spiritual guide. Attending Hollywood parties, she became immersed in ayahuasca rituals, meditation, and new-age spirituality.

She claimed to have a lifelong connection with spirits that guided her decisions and offered her wisdom. She and her husband at the time, Colborne Bell, traveled the world exploring religions, cults, and spiritual. practices. In Brazil, she attended seminars led by controversial medium Joao de Deus, who was later convicted of serious crimes. In the U.S., she idolized Tony Robbins, a motivational speaker. Inspired by Robbins, Kat envisioned herself as a spiritual leader who could transform lives. By 2017, Kat had rebranded herself entirely. Her social media shed its glossy, model perfect image in favor of a more down-to-earth, spiritual vibe. She began sharing stories of her troubled past, claiming her hardships had given her a unique ability to help others heal.

Her new mantra was simple, I've been where you are. I've overcome it, and so can you. The internet isn't exactly a safe haven, and anyone who's crossed paths with Kat Torres knows this all too well. Kat wasn't just another influencer, she was the influencer. Hailing from Brazil, she reigned as the queen of self-love, spirituality, and personal growth. For years, countless young women, many of them teenagers, idolized her. They bought anything she endorsed, clothes, photos, courses. She sold everything under her famous mantra, have the love, money, and self-esteem you've always dreamed of. People were desperate to be like her. They wanted the lifestyle she flaunted and would pay absurd amounts just to have a short conversation with her. Kat seemed untouchable, unstoppable,

until 2022, when the whole world found out who she really was. News outlets exploded with shocking headlines, Kat Torres is a fraud. Stories of her allegedly kidnapping women, isolating them, manipulating them, and possibly committing even worse crimes in the United States went viral. That's where today's terrifying story begins. Humble beginnings in Brazil.

Cadillacia Torres-Sorres, known later as Kat Torres, was born on October 24, 1992, in a poor neighborhood in Boulem, a city in northern Brazil. Not much is known about her parents, but her childhood was far from easy. Her father was an alcoholic who abused both Kat and her mother. Their home was a constant battleground, a place of tension and fear. Despite this, Kat always believed she would escape one day. Her best friend from childhood described her as a dreamer, someone fiercely determined

to rise above her circumstances. Even as a little girl, Kat seemed destined for something bigger, though she wasn't quite sure what that something was. She didn't know if it involved studying, traveling abroad, or building a career, but the answer came to her in the most unexpected way, her reflection. Cat was beautiful. She'd been told so her whole life. People would gush over her looks nonstop. By the time she was a preteen, she realized her beauty was her ticket out. Her dream became crystal clear, she wanted to be a model. The sooner she started, the better, because waiting too long might cost her the chance. Climing the modeling ladder, Kat's modeling career began at just 12 years old.

At first, it was small gigs, local runway shows and neighborhood photo shoots. But soon, she was entering beauty pageants, and the prizes started rolling in. Sometimes it was trophies or medals, but more often, it was cold, hard cash, money her struggling family desperately needed. She quickly learned the ins and outs of the industry, makeup, hairstyling, how to charm judges and audiences alike. Kat had a natural charisma that cameras loved. By the time she was 18, she was a season pro and caught the attention of elite model management,

a major modeling agency. They offered her a contract to model lingerie and swimwear. Kat signed on the dotted line and left for Europe. This was the early 2010s, a time when social media was exploding. Facebook, Instagram, and other platforms were becoming cultural cornerstones, and Kat knew their power. She created profiles on every platform and meticulously documented her life, the countries she visited, her photo shoots, her glamorous outfits. Yet, while her posts exuded luxury, she wasn't a global sensation, at least, not yet.

The DiCaprio scandal, Kat's breakthrough moment came in 2013 when she was photographed next to Leonardo DiCaprio. A paparazzo caught them together, and the images spread like wildfire, from Brazil to the United States and beyond. Rumors swirled, was Kat DeCaprio's new girlfriend. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know more about her. Journalists hounded her for interviews. But instead of confirming or denying the rumors, Kat played coy. She deflected questions, steering conversations toward her career and ambitions. Her face became a staple in tabloids, and her social media exploded with followers overnight. Interestingly, some insiders claim the entire incident was

staged. DiCaprio's team later denied any romantic connection, saying he didn't even know her. They insisted Cat just happened to be nearby when the photos were taken. But skeptics couldn't ignore the curious timing of the paparazos presence, suggesting the encounter might have been orchestrated. Whether genuine or not, the Buzz catapulted Kat Torres into stardom. The New York move, capitalizing on her newfound fame, Kat relocated from Brazil to New York City. She rented a luxurious apartment in the exclusive West residences on Washington Street, complete with panoramic views of the city. The place was massive, multiple bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a price tag that would make anyone's jaw drop. But Kat didn't live there alone. She invited two close friends,

Carla, her childhood best friend, and Luther Twersky, an actor and writer. The trio seemed like the perfect team. Kat covered all expenses, rent, utilities, everything, despite not appearing to enough to afford it all. She occasionally attended photo shoots and parties, but none of these ventures seemed lucrative enough to sustain her extravagant lifestyle. Her friends began to suspect something was off. Maybe she had a sugar daddy. They couldn't explain how she was funding her designer wardrobe, lavish parties, and jet-set lifestyle. A secret life? Their suspicions grew when Luther intercepted a package for cat. Inside were stacks of cash, more money than they thought possible. On another occasion, Kat took Carla to Paris for a luxury getaway. During the trip,

she left Carla alone to meet her, Sugar Daddy, on a private yacht. Carla didn't meet the mystery man, but Kat later claimed he was a Russian oligarch with ties to Vladimir Putin. She refused to share more, citing the secrecy of their arrangement. Her friends were concerned but ultimately stayed out of it. After all, it was her life. However, in 2015, tragedy struck. Kat's mother passed away from cancer, and soon after, Kat developed a mysterious illness that forced her to remove her breast implants. The combination of grief and physical hardship left her spiraling. She stopped working, lost her sugar daddies, and struggled to make ends meet. A new calling, desperate, Kat turned to her extensive network of connections. She decided to reinvent

herself, not as a model or influencer but as a spiritual guide. Attending Hollywood parties, she became immersed in ayahuasca rituals, meditation, and New Age spirituality. She claimed to have a lifelong connection with spirits that guided her decisions and offered her wisdom. She and her husband at the time, Colborne Bell, traveled the world exploring religions, cults and spiritual practices. In Brazil, she attended seminars led by controversial medium Joao de Deus, who was later convicted of serious crimes. In the U.S., she idolized Tony Robbins, a motivational speaker.

Inspired by Robbins, Kat envisioned herself as a spiritual leader who could transform lives. By 2017, Kat had rebranded herself entirely. Her social media shed its glossy, model perfect image in favor of a more down-to-earth, spiritual vibe. She began sharing stories of her troubled past, claiming her hardships had given her a unique ability to help others heal. Her new mantra was simple, I've been where you are. I've overcome it, and so can you. it seemed like Anna had finally overcome the trauma and violence she endured during her childhood. At some point in her life, she decided to make a fresh start.

She moved to the United States, hoping to escape a toxic, abusive relationship. There, she juggled studying nutrition while searching for work, trying her best to move on from the pain of her past. Life wasn't perfect, but she was trying to build something new. And then, Anna discovered Kat Torres. Kat was a social media personality who seemed to have all the end. answers. For $150 a session, people could book private meetings with her, where she promised to offer life-changing advice. The promise was tempting, and in 2019, Ana decided to give it a shot. At first, it was everything Anna could have hoped for. Kat seemed warm and approachable. She listened

to Anna's struggles, provided advice, and slowly became a trusted figure in Anna's life. But over time, Kat began encouraging Anna to make drastic changes. It wasn't an immediate thing. It wasn't an immediate thing, more like a slow, creeping manipulation. Cat started suggesting that Anna distance herself from her family and friends. At first, the advice seemed harmless, even logical. But before Anna realized it, she had cut ties with everyone she cared about. She no longer spoke to her parents, siblings, or friends. Slowly but surely, Kat became the only person in Anna's life. Then one day, Kat flipped the script completely. Out of nowhere, she told Anna that she had divorced her husband and was now living alone in a massive New York apartment. She confessed that she was

overwhelmed and needed help. Kat painted a picture of chaos, the apartment was too big, the chores were piling up, and she just couldn't manage it all by herself. She begged Donna to move in with her, promising $2,000 a month as a salary for acting as her assistant. Without giving on a much time to think, Kat took matters into her own hands. She booked Anna's flights, bought everything she would need for the move, and made it clear that there was no turning back. So, without much choice, Anna packed her bags and moved to New York. But the reality Anna walked into was far from what she expected. The apartment from hell, for years, Anna had idolized Cat. She had followed her on social media, admiring her confidence,

her style, and the life she projected. But when she arrived at the apartment, it was nothing like the glamorous image Cat had portrayed online. The place was filthy. Trash was everywhere, cat urine and feces were scattered around, and it reeked of neglect. And Kat? She was nothing like the charismatic figure Anna thought she knew. In person, she was disorganized, lazy, and completely dependent on Anna for even the smallest tasks. Cat would strip off her clothes and leave them on the floor, expecting Anna to pick them up, wash,

and iron them. If Cat took a shower, Anna had to be in the bathroom, keeping her company, because Kat claimed she couldn't handle silence. Anna's role as an assistant turned out to be more like that of a live-in servant. She cooked, cleaned, and catered to Kat's every whim, 24 hours a day. Kat didn't even let Anna sleep properly. She would say that sleeping was a waste of time. Anna would occasionally sneak out, pretending she was going to the gym, just to find a quiet

corner where she could nap. For three months, Anna endured this nightmare. Cat never paid her the promised $2,000. When Anna brought it up, Kat would guilt-trip her, throwing Anna's own vulnerabilities back in her face. Kat used the personal stories Anna had shared during their sessions as weapons, accusing Anna of being manipulative, selfish, or ungrateful. To make matters worse, Kat confiscated Anna's passport and credit cards, claiming it was for safekeeping. Anna quickly realized that Kat wasn't protecting her, she was trapping her.

Fortunately, Anna eventually found a way out. She met someone, a new partner, who helped her see the situation for what it was. Anna retrieved her belongings and escaped. Unfortunately, not everyone would be so lucky. Kat's web of manipulation expands. In 2022, Kat married her second husband, Zach, and they moved into a sprawling mansion in Austin, Texas. From the outside, their life seemed perfect.

Their social media posts painted a picture of bliss, a gorgeous house with a pool, a lush garden and a glamorous lifestyle. But according to their neighbors, the reality was much less idyllic. Neighbors described Kat and Zach as arrogant and dismissive, saying they looked down on everyone in the neighborhood. It also came to light that the couple wasn't even paying rent on their mansion. They were months behind, and eviction was looming. Meanwhile, Kat's online presence continued to grow.

With her popularity came an increase in her rates for private sessions. But as her business expanded, so did her need for help. Just as she had done with Anna, Kat began targeting vulnerable followers. This time, though, her methods were more refined. She focused on women she had met through her private sessions, manipulating them into believing they shared a deep, personal bond. By the end of 2022, Kat had ensnared seven women in her web of lies and manipulation. She convinced three of them, Seoul, Letitia, and Desire, to move to Texas.

Three women, one nightmare, Soul was the first to arrive. She was a yoga teacher and tarot reader who had been drawn to Kat's story online. Kat told Sol that her skills would be perfect for a new business venture and invited her to move into her home. But when Soul arrived, she found herself in the same situation Anna had faced. Instead of working on any business, Soul was forced into the role of an unpaid servant. Next came Desiree, who had been following Kat on social media since she was a teenager. Desire idolized Kat and was thrilled when Kat reached out, confiding in her and calling her

friend. Kat claimed she was lonely and unwell, living in a big house with no one but her husband. She begged Desire to come to Texas to help her. Before Desire could fully process the request, Kat had already bought her a plane ticket. When Desiree arrived, she found that she wasn't the only one. Soul was already there, along with another young woman named Latisha. All three had been lured in with similar promises, only to find themselves trapped in a toxic environment. Kat isolated the women from the outside world. She confiscated their passports and credit cards, claiming it was for their own safety. She subjected them to bizarre rituals in a room she called The Witch's Den, where she lit candles, prayed, and chanted. Then, she used their social media

presence to create an illusion of unity and friendship, posting pictures of them as her, clan and family. From strip clubs to sex work, the situation escalated when Kat claimed she had received divine guidance. She told the women that, the voice had revealed a path to success for them. This path, according to Kat, led straight to a strip club called Maximus Men's Club. At first, the women were only supposed to dance a couple of nights a week to earn some extra money. But Kat's demands quickly grew. Desire, for example, was making up to $9,000 every two weeks, but Kat insisted it wasn't enough. She pressured the women to work longer hours, setting daily earnings targets of $1,000 or more.

When the women began to resist, Kat threatened them. She reminded them that they were in the U.S. illegally and that she held their passports. She claimed that if they disobeyed her, she would report them to the authorities. Kat even proposed that they turned to sex work if dancing didn't bring in enough money. The escape and the downfall, despite the immense pressure, one of the women, Seoul, managed to find a way out. She began dating someone who helped her escape and, once free, contacted Anna. Together, they decided to expose Kat. Their bravery inspired others to come forward, including the families of Deserate and Letitia.

These families launched a social media campaign to draw attention to the situation, accusing Kat of holding the women hostage. The pressure mounted, and police began investigating. Kat, sensing the walls closing in, tried to control the narrative. She forced the women to appear in videos, declaring their loyalty to her and denouncing their families. But the façade quickly crumbled. Observers noticed that the women looked terrified, their words rehearsed and hollow. In the end, the evidence was undeniable.

Kat was arrested and deported to Brazil, where she faced charges of human trafficking, forced labor, and fraud. In 2023, she stood trial, and by 2024, she was sentenced to eight years in prison. Despite this, Kat continues to insist on her innocence and plans to appeal.