The Lets Read Podcast - 125: Unsolved Mysteries & Retail Stories | 16 True Scary Horror Stories | EP 113

Episode Date: March 8, 2022

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Unsolved Mysteries, Thanksgiving, & Creepy Retail Workers... HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT?► www.Reddit.com/r/LetsReadOfficial FOLLOW ME ON - ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsReadCreepy ♫ Background Music & Audio Remastering: Simon de Beer https://www.instagram.com/simon_db98/ PATREON for EARLY ACCESS!►http://patreon.com/LetsRead

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Find a Michelin TreadExperts dealer near you at TreadExperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca. Let's go. 30-year-old Mateusz Kowalewski was from the small village of Rutkow in southeastern Poland. In 2018, he and his father were living and working as a construction worker in the German city of Hanover and had been doing so for around five years. Migrating over the border to Germany put a lot of strain on Mateusz's relationship with his long-term girlfriend, who was pregnant with his child, and living in a small village named Lipiagora in northwestern Poland. Mateusz was desperate to be the best father possible, hence why he has uprooted his life in his native Poland to earn a considerably more lucrative wage in neighboring Germany.

In light of this, he had promised the mother of his firstborn child that he would do anything and everything he could to be present at the birth. Then, on March 28th, 2018, after a long nine months of pregnancy, Mateusz got the phone call he had been waiting for. The mother of his child, who by that time was his fiancée, had just gone into labor. Mateusz jumped in his 1998 BMW 525 and took full advantage of the absence of an illegal speed limit on the German Autobahn to tear across rural Germany in the direction of the Polish border and his fiancée in Libyagora. It was 11.30pm when he got the news, and at 402 miles, the drive across Germany would be a long one, with Mateusz set to arrive in his girlfriend's home village at around 8am to 9am the following morning. Yet despite his dedication to be there at around 8am to 9am the following morning.

Yet despite his dedication to be there at the birth of his firstborn child, Mateusz never arrived in Lipiogora. When later questioned by investigators, Mateusz's father claimed that he received a call from his son on the morning of March 29th. It was around 10.30am when Mateusz told him that he had been stuck for around two hours in a heavy traffic tram around a place called Strecin, a town on the Polish side of the border that's just over a hundred miles from La Piagora. At around the same time, Mateusz also sent a text message to his fiancée stating that he was approximately two hours away from arriving and that he hoped he would make it in time for the birth. This was the last communication the

construction worker sent before he seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. As the hours went by, Amanteush's fiancée got closer and closer to giving birth. She became increasingly worried at his unexplained absence, especially when for some apparent reason he was unable to answer her calls or texts. The fiancé grew frantically worried, already intensely stressed by the birthing experience, and ended up contacting Mateusz's sister at around 5pm that same day. She said the same thing, that she had been calling her brother's phone almost non-stop and whenever she could actually get through, the call would ring out as if there was simply no one there

to pick up the phone. This was deeply concerning for all involved. To everyone's knowledge, Mateusz was still in the car, within arm's reach of his phone. Even in the unlikely event that he had stopped to eat or fill up on gasoline, he could have been able to at least answer or return calls. In their eyes, something pretty dreadful must have happened to keep him from seeing the birth of his first child. So later on that evening, Mateusz's mother called up her local department of the Polish police force, but since he had been missing only a matter of hours, they essentially refused to file a report on her behalf, since it was more likely he would turn up. Yet days later, there was still no sign of Mateusz. His baby had been born and his fiancé as well as his family were worried sick about him.

They made efforts to report him missing to police agencies in both Germany and his native Poland, but German law enforcement refused to begin an investigation since their Polish counterparts had already commenced one. One thing that was obvious throughout the entire investigation is the blatantly uncooperative attitude displayed between the German and Polish police. Not only did they seem unwilling to share information or work together in any kind of coordinated effort, but each seemed to take the attitude that it was the responsibility of the party to bear the brunt of the investigative efforts. For example, Mateusz's family asked Polish police to locate his cell phone as a starting

point for their investigation, since it was apparently still switched on for a few days after he had initially disappeared. But the Polish police were unable to get a ping off the SIM card since it was under the control of a German base carrier. Then when they contacted German police with regards to the cell phone's location, they discovered they couldn't be helped either since Mateusz had disappeared on the Polish side of the international border. Then, after some investigation on their part, Polish police claimed that at no point did Mateusz's phone connect to a Polish network and questioned whether or not he had actually crossed the border into Poland at all. Growing incredibly frustrated with the floundering investigation, Mateusz's family began their own private investigation into his disappearance. They enlisted the help of concerned friends and side roads, asking for copies of CCTV tapes at

roadside businesses and talking to employees at gas stations. They took with them pictures of Mateusz, showing them to everyone they could in the hopes of jogging some memories, but not a single person recognized his image, nor could they provide any useful information. Six months went by, and there was still no sign of Mateusz. What was all the more confusing is that it appeared that not only had he himself vanished from the face of the earth, but so had his car and his phone, the former being not so easy to hide or dispose of. In those six months, his family appeared on Polish current affairs and news programs, appealing for information and complaining that the police on either side of the border were not doing nearly enough to find their missing relative.

Then on September 12th, with the family quickly giving up hope of ever seeing Mateusz again, a neighbor of his mother called over to their home to ask about the family barn. The barn was pretty close to the neighbor's property and they suspected one of the animals it housed had died during a cold snap since during the warmer parts of the day an extremely unpleasant smell could be detected when in close proximity to it. Mateusz's mother checked the situation out but found that all their animals were alive and well. Yet the smell persisted. The barn in question had a walled off section that served as a storage space for farm equipment but the brickwork meant that there was a small kind of ceiling to the structure.

Since every part of the barn except this small ceiling had been searched, Mateusz's mother along with the neighbor used a ladder to climb up onto it. What they discovered horrified them. On top of the brickwork was what at first appeared to be a pile of clothing. There was also two hangman's nooses hanging from the rafters and what seemed to be a backpack of some description near the pile of clothes. But as soon as one of the pair shined a flashlight over the mass of clothing, they discovered it was actually a human corpse, still clad in the clothes they had died wearing. Although the corpse was far too decomposed to be recognizable, it was clear that the head had been severed from the body. I know the conclusion seems obvious, but we have to remind ourselves that Mateusz wasn't headed for Hutkał, his home village,

but his fiancée's, which was on the completely opposite side of Poland with a whopping 370 miles between them. His home village was in no way on the route to L Piagora and there was no reason to believe that he could have been anywhere near Utkow. Nevertheless, and to the heartbreak of his family, the body was determined to be that of Mateusz. Yet shockingly, the cause of death was deemed that he had taken his own life. This was completely absurd given that one of the young man's shoes was found in the barn, with a severed foot still inside. It was also discovered that some of his teeth had been knocked out, and he was stuck in his clothing in a mass of dried viscera. Whatever happened to Mateusz had obviously involved violence and dismemberment in some form,

and the family was outraged that such obvious clues could be so negligently overlooked. While it's entirely possible for the skull of a hanging body to become detached after dangling for some time during the decomposition period, the knocked out teeth were a dead giveaway that something was seriously amiss. Perhaps one of the most curious details surrounding the items left behind on the brickwork ceiling is an empty bottle of orange juice that was found in the backpack. Mateusz's family insisted that he didn't like orange juice or citrus in general and that this was strong evidence that he had been murdered by someone who had then disposed of the empty bottle inside of the

backpack. Though Polish police refused to take this up as a serious clue and apparently didn't bother to check the bottle for fingerprints or DNA material at any point during the investigation. But the most prominent mystery of the entire case, aside from the events surrounding Mateusz's actual death, is what happened to his car. The 1998 BMW 525 which he traveled out of Hanover in has never been found either in Germany or in Poland. Neither were the car keys or the vehicle's registration, which in theory should have been in Mateusz's wallet which was actually found in the backpack left in the barn. What's more is that despite reappearing in his home village at some point, no one saw Mateusz or his car.

For all intents and purposes, it appears he somehow infiltrated his home village in order to end his own life in his family barn. But there is obviously so much more to the case than that, and the reasons for him taking his own life, especially given that he was a new father, are extremely spurious. Both the Polish police and state prosecutor insist that Mateusz's death was in fact him taking his own life, and have since declined to investigate any further, even in the face of insistent appeals from all of his family and friends who assert that the whole thing has been a gross miscarriage of justice. Whether or not this is them being in denial over the idea that their loved one did indeed take their own life is another question entirely, but if it were me, I would certainly be suspicious of some of the details discovered by

police and entirely frustrated by their seeming unwillingness to investigate seriously. Mateusz was a new father, had a loving fiancée and was doing extremely well in his chosen construction career, so there's little reason to believe that he had those sort of ideations to end his life. But then again, given the insidious nature of depression and mental illness, it is a possibility that we can't entirely rule out, despite the evidence to the contrary. Given the refusal of the police to further investigate, we may never, ever find out what really happened to Mateusz in the aftermath of his immediate disappearance. And if it is indeed the case that he was murdered, and him ending his own life was staged to deter investigators

from pursuing a suspect, it's entirely possible that his murderer is still free to roam around Central Europe at their leisure, feeling a grimly smug feeling that they have literally gotten away with murder. David Glenn Lewis was born in Borger, Texas in 1953, the second of two children to Herschel and Esther Lewis. In 1972, he graduated high school and went on to attend Texas Tech University, where he excelled academically, graduating as an honor student in political science. David stayed in academia following this, gaining a place in the Texas Tech Law School, studying until 1979 when he earned himself a jurisprudence doctorate. He chose Amarillo, Texas to begin practicing as an attorney at law, and was a distinguished member of the American Bar Association. Then just three years later, in 1981, he met and married his wife Karen,

who gave birth to their daughter a short time after. David was a steadfast family man, and became a pillar of his local community. He was a member of his local church, regularly contributing a portion of his disposable income to its upkeep. He was also a district chairman of the Boy Scouts of America and sat on the director's board of the DeMost Community Education Advisory Council. He had a happy, successful life full of love and community spirit. But something dark was looming on the horizon, something that would baffle both professional and amateur sleuths for years to come.

On January 31st, 1993, David's wife and his nine-year-old daughter arrived back home from a shopping trip to Dallas to find the house empty. It was Super Bowl weekend and there was a blank tape in the VCR that had been set to record the game, but it had never been turned off. There were some sandwiches sitting covered in the refrigerator and they appeared that they had been made that day. Everything in the house seemed to be in order and there were no signs of any kind of foul play that might explain her husband's absence. It simply appeared that David had gone out for a while, maybe been caught up somewhere. It was Super Bowl weekend after all, there was every chance he had simply gone over to a friend's to watch the game. However, the later it got into the evening, the more Karen started to worry. David hadn't called, nor had he left any message

telling her where he'd gone. By the time she went to bed that night, she was worried sick. The next morning, when he still hadn't arrived home, Karen drove over to Amarillo Police Department to report him missing. Meanwhile, around 12 hours after David's wife was having police file a missing persons report, over a thousand miles away in Yakima, Washington, there were several sightings of a strange man walking down the center of a Route 24. The individual's behavior was so alarming that a handful of drivers actually turned around in order to warn people coming the other way that there was an unhinged person simply walking down

the center of the dark highway. Many of the motorists went as far as reporting the person to the police, who dispatched highway patrol officers to search for him, but by the time they found the individual, they had been tragically killed in what appeared to be an accidental hit and run. The dead man in question was middle-aged and was wearing military-style clothing along with heavy work boots. The subsequent autopsy showed no sign of alcohol in his system, and it was something of a mystery as to who he was and why he was acting so strangely since there was no form of ID on his body whatsoever. He was simply listed as a John Doe, and a point was made to discover the man's identity, although due to the nature of the death, Washington State Police were in no rush to do so. Back in Texas, on the day following the filing of the missing persons report, police found

David's red Ford Explorer abandoned outside of the Potter County Courts building in downtown Amarillo. Beneath the mat under the driver's seat, police found the keys to the truck, along with the keys to David's house. The truck's glove box also contained his credit cards, driver's license, and checkbook, all apparently in the usual place where David was known to keep them. But despite such a find, it gave police no real clues as to his current whereabouts. Where he could have gone from there was simply a mystery. There was one incredible pertinent piece of information to consider though. The fact that before he had disappeared, David had confided in his wife that he believed his life to be in danger. She pressed him on the issue but David refused to reveal any more information,

not about the nature or the urgency of the threats, since he believed sharing such knowledge would put her life in danger too. When talking to the police, Karen told them that she suspected this threat to be related to his work as an attorney, that some kind of angry or dissatisfied client of his had blamed him for a failure on his part, possibly resulting in a prison sentence and wished to seek revenge. Karen had dug through David's case files and discovered an appointment dated for a week after his disappearance. It was a deposition in a conflict of interest case between his former law firm and a wealthy client. She had also spoken to David's father, who confessed that his son had also spoken to him regarding the appointment. He had told his father that he had absolutely no intention of covering up any of his

former firm's misdeeds, and that he was going to reveal the truth of the matter to all involved. Despite the police considering this a worthy lead, there was simply not enough information on specifics and individuals to produce any serious new evidence. Yet a short time later, police did make a noteworthy discovery. The receipts for two plane tickets purchased in David's name that were bought around the time that he vanished. The first ticket was for Amarillo to Dallas, probably the means that he had used to escape whoever was threatening him in the first place. The second ticket was from Los Angeles International back to Dallas, a flight scheduled for the very same day the John Doe body was found in Washington State,

but just exactly how David intended to use them is unclear. Who was he looking to fly out from LA to Texas? Someone who could protect him from those who wanted blood, perhaps? These were frighteningly important questions, but none could be answered. So with no more leads to follow, the investigation into David Glenn Lewis' disappearance was closed after just under a year's worth of work put into it. Then, ten years later in 2003, a Washington homicide detective by the name of Pat Dieter read a series of newspaper articles called Without a Trace, which pertained to missing person cases around the country. One of the details which piqued his interest were the repeated mentions of the flaws in the National Crime Information Center's computer system, which was believed to be responsible for many missing persons

slipping through the investigatory cracks. Pat actually started googling various characteristics of some of the missing people, including David Glenn Lewis, and before long, he found something very interesting coming out of Washington State. It was a picture of the John Doe's body from the hit and run in 1993, and it looked shockingly similar to a picture of a still living David. The only difference was that David wore glasses, and there was no mention of the John Doe being found with any. But it only took a little more searching before Pat Dieter was able to find a list of personal

effects found on John Doe's body, and bingo, a pair of spectacles was included on the list. This had to be more than just a coincidence, so Dieter got in touch with Amarillo Police and arranged for them to be sent a series of items that were kept as evidence from the hit and run, including a boot and a tissue sample. Amarillo Police contacted David's mother, arranging for a DNA sample from her to be taken so it could be compared to the John Doe's.

And so it came to be that in October of 2004, almost 12 years after he first went missing, the hit and run victim from Route 24, a highway that was over 1,500 miles from his hometown of Amarillo, was identified as none other than David Glenn Lewis. But just why exactly was he so far from home? There are so many unanswered questions regarding what exactly happened to David Glenn Lewis that weekend and just how he ended up all the way in Washington state. Texas police have asserted many times that David left his home of his own volition and that there is absolutely no evidence of any dodgy dealing or threats against his life. But David's wife and father insist this is not the case, telling journalists and private investigators alike that they had never seen their beloved David so utterly terrified in his life. They theorized that they had never seen their beloved David so utterly

terrified in his life. They theorized that David had intended to hide out on the west coast for a while, as far away from civilization as was physically possible, hence the military style gear intended for survival. When it was safe to do so, it is thought that he would travel down to California before flying back to Texas. Some believe the hit and run on Route 24 was simply a tragic accident. Some even suspect it was him ending his own life, that he had deliberately ran into traffic to end it. But there are some who even darkly suspect that he was somehow tracked down by a network of powerful individuals and murdered to keep him silent.

And the scary thing is, that conclusion is not entirely out of the question. In the aftermath of his death, all the conflict of interest cases surrounding his firm simply faded into nothingness. All the trouble he seemed to have been causing went away. His death ended a sticky situation that could have ended in tens of millions of dollars in damages and fines being paid out. The murder of a man would be a small price to pay to avoid such penalties. The one thing that leads us to believe that David was being followed as far as Washington is the fact that he seemed to be unwilling to rent a car once he was there. He was on foot when he died and had no rental documentation on him that

may indicate he rented then ditched a vehicle. If he was scot-free and untraceable all the way up in Washington, it would have been no big deal to rent a truck to get around easier. But that wasn't the case. In the end, he was walking up and down the middle of the highway, in the dead of night, in all likelihood trying to stop a vehicle so he could hitch a ride out of the area. There is no doubt in my mind that anyone with their headlights on traveling down an open highway would not have seen David walking towards them unless they were either extremely tired or extremely drunk. This raises the question, who exactly hit David that night on Route 24, and why haven't they ever been found? From what I can tell, every investigation into

the driver's identity came up short, and this is very possibly due to the fact that the driver then escaped Washington State having completed the contract hit they were assigned to. But regardless, we may never find out what really happened to David Glenn Lewis, why he was killed, or the true motivations for doing so, if he was even murdered at all. Many questions need answering, some that David's family have spent thousands of dollars trying to get the conclusions to, but we are only left to wonder if there is some tragically innocent explanation, or something much more darkly sinister at work. On December 14th, 2014,

a teenage boy is exploring the woods around the back roads of Beaver County, Pennsylvania, around 30 feet from the nearest path. It is a quiet, rarely traveled area where the nearest tarmacked road is just under a mile away, one that cuts through a residential area that hosts only around a dozen or so homes with minimal traffic, little more than a locally known shortcut to and from Route 989. The young lad is in a world of his own, enjoying the peace and tranquility of nature, completely unaware of what he is about to stumble across. He only spots what he is about to discover because it looks extremely out of place. Even among the death and decay of the Pennsylvania winter, the thing has a distinct air of morbidity about it. When he recognizes what it is,

he turns on his heels and runs screaming from the woods, tears in his eyes, his heart racing in his chest, because what he has discovered that grey December day was a severed head. Only this wasn't the disembodied head of a newly murdered person, this particular head had been embalmed and preserved. When the police finally arrived hours later they discovered that the eyes of the severed head were shut but the mouth was wide open. They intensively searched and surrounded the area for any signs of the body it had once been attached to, but found nothing. The head was so well preserved that its face was still distinctly recognizable, but a subsequent facial reconstruction yielded no clues to the owner's identity. Forensic examiners estimated

that it had been there for between one week and a month, just lying there among the fallen leaves, waiting to be discovered. If the gray hairs that covered her scalp were anything to go by, it was thought that the owner of the severed head was anything from 50 to 80 years of age. An anatomy professor turned forensic artist by the name of Michelle Vitale examined the head in excruciating detail by request of the local police department. After hours upon hours of study, she came to a shocking conclusion that whoever had severed the head had done so with the skill of an expert pathologist, that they must have had some kind of anatomical training to have completed the task with such precision,

a conclusion shockingly reminiscent of the world-famous 19th century serial killer, Jack the Ripper. When we lifted the skin flap at the nape of the neck, we could see that the whole purpose of that was to access the key joint that would preserve both the head and the vertebral column, she told local news reporters during a horrifying interview. This is not anybody going with a kitchen knife or anything remotely like that. It was well done, and it was perfectly placed. She was dismembered professionally. Another piece of evidence that supported the theory that whoever had severed the head had done so with professional skill was the use of what are known as eye caps. A common mortician's tool, these are devices that resemble contact lenses and are worn in a chillingly similar way. They slip between the eyeball and the eyelid of the deceased person and are complete with small ridges or spikes that maintain the natural curvature of the eye whilst holding the eyelid of the deceased person, and are complete with small ridges or spikes that

maintain the natural curvature of the eye whilst holding the eyelid shut. The pathologists who examined the embalmed head removed these eye caps and found that the person's eyeballs had been removed, but also made a disturbing discovery. The eyeballs had been replaced with small red, rubber bouncy balls, the kind a child might play with. Whoever had done such a thing obviously had a sick sense of humor, and was undoubtedly a very dangerously disturbed individual. For the initial forensic analysis, the embalmed head was sent over to Salt Lake City-based Isoforensics, who undertook isotope testing on it. For those unfamiliar with the technique, isotopes are particles that can be found in the human body that come from drinking water that can be traced back to a particular geographical location. When the results of the isotope

testing came back, investigators were able to conclude that the woman had spent the previous several months being something of a nomad, having lived or at least stayed in areas including West Virginia, Western Maryland, Southern Pennsylvania, and even as far as Eastern Ohio in New York State. Yet, despite there being evidence to the owner of the severed head having lived in so many places, there was little to show that she had ever lived in Beaver County during the time leading up to her death. However, the use of embalming fluid meant that determining the exact time of death was almost impossible. It also made DNA matching next to impossible as the fluid destroyed nucleotide bonds that enabled such analysis to be undertaken.

The small amount that was obtained was so damaged that it could not be matched to any other samples in the national database. But much to the relief of those involved with the analysis, it was discovered that there was no criminal element to her death, but that cardiac arrest was the most likely explanation for her demise. This was due to toxicology tests that had shown that there were trace amounts of lidocaine and atropine in her system, which are both varieties of medication that are used to treat irregular heart issues. Most likely a cardiac arrest, but not completely confirmed. One homicide detective was said to have been extremely

skeptical that the owner of the embalmed head had died of natural causes, having seen far too many cases in which the possessiveness of the killer was displayed in their willingness to tamper and toy with the body of their quarry. When interviewed by journalists, Beaver County Coroner Terry Tatalovich-Rosey said, Could it have been someone with a great deal of anatomical knowledge? Yes. Could it have been someone with a great deal of anatomical knowledge? Yes. Could it have been someone who was just peculiar or bizarre? The answer to that question is also yes. We just don't know at this point.

Michael O'Brien, the borough police chief, claimed the embalmed head was found so far off the road that it was entirely impossible that it could have simply been thrown from a passing car. It was also determined that the scent and flavor of the embalming fluid would have made the flesh very unappealing to scavenger animals, so there was little chance it had been dropped by some hungry fox. The placement was deliberate. Someone had wanted it to be found sooner or later. A number of funeral homes that associated with the Pennsylvania Funeral Directors Association

were contacted with pleas for information, and details of the bizarre case were even shared at a National Funeral Directors Association conference, but unsurprisingly, no one could shed any light of the gruesome situation. Pretty much every theory with the exception of grave robbery had been dismissed, with many agreeing that the most likely explanation is that the owner of the embalmed head had been a victim of the black market trade that deals in the illegal acquisition of human remains, either for professional or recreational purposes. There's a black market on body parts and that market is pretty extensive,

Beaver County District Attorney Anthony was reported to have said. Detectives have repeatedly stated that they believe the head may have been removed from the corpse of a natural causes death by what's known as a body broker, an individual or firm who purchases and sells cadavers or remains. One solid reason that this line of investigation is thought to be the most plausible is because the black market cadaver industry has been linked to similar abuses in the past. Due to a plethora of firms where you can purchase human remains, any attempt to discover where the severed head came from is,

according to Professor Michelle Vitale, extremely hard to track. If the owner of the severed head is to ever be identified, it would almost certainly require the assistance of a dentist. The forensic investigation discovered that the owner of the severed head had worked on every single tooth, one of them as many as seven times. On one of three teeth that had been pulled, forensic dentists discovered a filling compound that wasn't available to dentists before 2004, indicating that the woman must have died after that particular year. So far, analysis of the woman's dental work has produced no leads, but with a forensic facial reconstruction, investigators still hope that someone someday will be able to identify the woman and give her name back. Almost six years later, we are still no closer to discovering the identity of whoever owned the

embalmed head, or that of the sick individual who had severed or stolen it before replacing the eyeballs with red rubber balls. It might well remain a total mystery who exactly placed the head in the woods out in Pennsylvania, but perhaps the real question is, do we really want to know the whole story behind it? Or are we more likely to sleep easier, remaining in blissful ignorance. Tires to Auto Repair Tread Experts is always there, helping you with Michelin tires you can trust. Until May 30th, receive up to $70 by prepaid MasterCard with purchase of four new Michelin passenger or light truck tires. Find your pro at your local Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, we're always there.

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demetrius griffin jr was born and raised in chicago illinois and had recently started high school he had piercing blue eyes rare for an af for an African American, and was said to be very polite to the point that he had a way of just endearing people to him, especially the adults he cared for. His former middle school teachers remember the young man as being somewhat of a joker, the kid who always seemed to be making his classmates laugh one way or another. But generally he seemed to be remarkably dissimilar to other boys his age. He was gentle and generous, with a sportsman-like spirit about him, and never once got into any playground fights. Opting instead to befriend those around him and

shine a little light into what were otherwise rather dreary lives, he was well-motivated and excelled academically, having particular talents for math and science. He seemed especially excited to start high school and to enter the next chapter of his life, having a dream to take part in the various competitions that the high school swim team was involved in. In order to keep their young son safe, Demetrius' parents imposed a strict curfew on him, one that he kept to without fail. But on September 16th, 2016, Demetrius' parents imposed a strict curfew on him, one that he kept to without fail. But on September 16th, 2016, Demetrius and a friend of his were walking home from high school together until they had to part ways a short distance from his home. However, this was the

last time anyone saw him, and hours rapidly passed by with him missing his curfew. Demetrius' mom said this was so unlike her son that she instantly knew that something was amiss. The next morning, at around 1.30 in the morning, police responded to reports of a dumpster fire not far from Demetrius' home. Once the fire was put out, firefighters made a horrifying discovery. There was a body inside, charred to a crisp and almost unrecognizable. But it was quickly determined through DNA sampling that it was Demetrius. He was in such a terrible state that it took the medical examiner's office nearly a month to determine the cause and manner of death, but it is unsurprising that it was decided to be a murder. The young man's family and friends were puzzled as to who could have done such a terrible thing

to him as he had never had any conflict or obvious enemies in his local community or at school. According to his family, the case was quite the opposite. Demetrius loved his neighborhood and would often assist with his neighbors with things like carrying groceries or walking their dogs. He was most definitely not affiliated with any gang or organized criminal group, or so his relatives attested. Yet, his loved ones had suggested that while Demetrius wasn't personally involved in a gang, he might well have fallen victim to one. What happened that night might well have been a case of mistaken identity, or involved some kind of gang initiation, whereby someone who

wanted into the gang may have had to kill an innocent person as a kind of sick pledge of allegiance. Others have suggested that what happened that night was a hate crime similar to that of the murder of Emmett Till, the teenage boy who was brutally lynched in Mississippi for supposedly whistling at a white woman. Whereas some speculate that Demetrius had fallen victim to some kind of a social predator, someone who attacked and kidnapped him before disposing of his body in what potentially could have been some variety of indecent assault. Someone robbed the life of a member of the local church, the local boys and girls club, and a prospective member of a school swimming team,

and police were absolutely stumped as to who could have done such a terrible thing to such a bright, innocent young man. However, it is also worth pointing out that Demetrius wasn't the only victim in Chicago to have been found murdered and burned to a crisp in a dumpster. Nine years previously, in 2007, two women were found throttled, naked, and dumped in a burning trash can near Washington Park within just days of one another. The first woman was found to be 21-year-old Teresa Bunn, who was heavily pregnant at the time of her death. Her body had been doused in flammable liquid before she was set alight. A little more than 24 hours later, a second victim just two miles away from where Teresa was found was also discovered in a chillingly similar manner. The second woman, who would be later

identified as 52-year-old Hazel Lewis, was discovered by firefighters who were responding to calls regarding the dumpster fire that her killers had attempted to dispose of her in. There was obviously some painfully clear similarities between the two victims, such as the fact that both were women of African-American descent, both were found within a few blocks of Washington Park on Chicago's south side, and both had been asphyxiated before being burned. At the time of the murders, Chicago police spokeswoman Monique Bond reported to the local media that investigators were looking into the possibility of the murders having been committed by a potential serial murderer. Almost 15 years later, both Teresa and Hazel's murders remain completely unsolved, and since then, there have been several more murders in which victims of all ages have met a similar fate. Could Demetrius Griffin Jr. have fallen victim to this very same killer,

and if so, the dumpster fire killer could still be roaming the streets of Chicago looking for the next victim. But until another murder and burning occurs, or until such a person is apprehended by law enforcement, Demetrius' death will remain yet another unsolved mystery. To be continued... There is something beneath the feet of those that walk through the towns and fields of mainland Europe. Something they may not even know is there. They have been there for hundreds, if not thousands of years. This is the story of the Erdstall. The Erdstall are a series of tunnels that snake through mainland Europe in a huge network. Just over 2,000 have been discovered so far, but some think the true number could be double or even triple that figure. The largest concentration has been discovered in the southern

German state of Bavaria, with many of those winding their way into neighboring Austria. Historians and geologists alike have noted that there seem to be a few distinctly different varieties of Erdst stall, but with unifying factors that confirm that they are all indeed part of the same amalgamation of tunnels. They are all said to be incredibly narrow, most being only half a meter or so wide with incredibly low ceilings of around one and a half meters. The longest of these oval shaped tunnels is around 160 feet and in most cases there is a large room at the very end where there is something resembling a bench-like

structure carved into one of the walls. A large percentage of these have what is known as a slip, a point where the tunnel descends into a deeper level that happens to be even narrower than the regular tunnels. These sections are completely impassable to any larger travelers and mark the Erdstall as a rather complex and fascinating construction, given that there is obviously some level of intelligent design having been put into them. For each Erdstall network, there exists only one single solitary point of entrance. These entrance points are often concealed or deliberately camouflaged in some fashion, which suggests the tunnels were used by some group of people to hide.

The entrances can be found in all manner of places, some more ominous than others. For example, while some of the entrances can be found in seemingly random places like wooded areas or under the kitchen of a German farmhouse, others are concealed near graveyards. Perhaps the simplest way for archaeologists to determine the purpose of any particular Erdstall room is to catalog whatever was contained in it, which is generally where the mysteries start to unfold. A huge portion of the Erdstall has next to nothing inside them. There is also little evidence that anything was ever inside of them and the Erdstall tunnels don't have tire tracks for a mine cart, any human remains interred inside them, or detritus from day-to-day life that might prove they were lived in. Although there have been incidents of dead

weights and plowshares found in the tunnels, this is extremely rare, and we can safely rule out that they were used for storage. In fact, archaeological evidence is so few and far between that historians have had a rather difficult time even figuring out exactly when the tunnels were constructed. Trace amounts of charcoal have been found in a handful of tunnels, and carbon dating have been used to determine that they might well have been dug out between the years of 950 AD and the late 12th century. Another curious part is that there are absolutely no written records of the earth's stall, until at least hundreds of years after they were dug out,

and those that constructed them left nothing in the way of written evidence as to exactly why they were built, nor who commissioned their construction. A common trait among archaeologists who study medieval ruins or structures is that, whether they're stuck for the reasoning behind something, they assign a religious significance to it. The logic being, if the reasoning seems off-kilter, there must be some kind of religious zealotry at work. But strangely enough, this model of explanation doesn't quite fit the Erdstall tunnels. By the time they were constructed, Germany and its neighbor Austria were pretty much completely taken over by Christianity, and this came with a well-practiced tradition of monks writing out and recording significant historical events. Surely, given such a mammoth construction project, this would have included some mention of the Erdstall, unless of course it was a closely guarded state secret,

or they had been instructed not to make any record of them, lest such records fall into the hands of an enemy nation. However, there is another theory, that they were dug by people who wished to continue the worship of their old gods, who were persecuted by the Christian majority and were forced to worship their idols in complete secrecy. But if that really were the reason for their construction, surely there would be some kind of trace iconography, perhaps a few relics or other artifacts left behind as evidence. But that's still not to say that these might have been purged at some point when the tunnels were discovered. Another theory that has been suggested is that the earth stall were used for defensive

purposes. This is a pretty solid theory given that when an enemy army stopped by your town to do some casual pillaging and wanton destruction, it'd be very handy to have a secret tunnel complex to be able to hide out until they got bored and moved on. Yet despite being so plausible an idea, there are a few holes in this theory. As was mentioned previously, there was only one known entrance to any of the tunnel complexes, which would make a huge tactical error if the tunnel complex was found by the enemy. Without a secondary escape route, the entire population in the area could be slaughtered and enslaved once the earth stall

was found. On top of that, given the tunnels were so narrow and small, oxygen would have been in very short supply if they were occupied by a large number of people. It could be possible that the aforementioned slips could have been used as a kind of oxygen trap so that when the air ran out, people could simply move to the next level. But that's still not feasible to hide out in such a confined space, so we can't safely say that the Erdstall was purely a defensive structure. Although in hindsight it gives us a decent idea of why this would be shoddy planning, we should seriously keep in mind that human beings have a rather amazing capacity to make terrible decisions, especially when under duress. While the Erdstall may not

have been the best form of defense, I could see how someone, especially someone in fear for their life, could be talked into the idea of hiding out there in the face of a vicious and bloodthirsty enemy. The relatively brief period in which they were constructed only cements this whole theory. As news of their inefficiency became known across Europe, people would simply stop building them, hence why they were only built during a certain tight time frame. Despite our final Erdstall theory being technically religious in nature, given its nature it might well be categorized as a more spiritual explanation. It has been suggested that the previously mentioned slips could be considered as a series of ritualistic birth canals

The pious could have themselves squeezed through the narrow slips as part of an ostentatious rite of metaphysical renaissance In a manner that might be carried out to rid a person of disease or misfortune What a truly horrific and terrifying fate that would be To have to drag yourself through a narrow dark dingy tunnel whilst being wracked with disease before being forced to crawl up through a slip as a way of simulating your own rebirth, all alone, deep down in the way of physical evidence in the tunnels, given that they might be expected to be completely bare, as not to distract the subterranean pilgrim from their reason to be there. It might also stand to reason that, since this may have been considered unorthodoxy or heresy by the Catholic Church, no record of it was written down. It seems like we have covered many of the more reasonable explanation as to why these tunnels were built, with the academic community arguing over a few small details but not the larger picture.

However, some have suggested some far-flung terrifying ideas to explain the earth's doll, the most terrifying being that they were home to some kind of proto-humanoid race that was wiped out as part of a wider effort to wipe out heresy in the newly Christian Europe. That they were built and maintained by a race of humanoids considerably smaller than Homo sapiens, who lived under the feet of our ancestors for a brief period before being discovered and promptly exterminated. While being extremely outlandish, this is no doubt a spine-chilling theory. But the fact remains, we may never really know why the Erdstall were constructed or who

ordered them to be dug, and despite them being a huge, albeit secret, part of the European subterranean landscape, they'll probably remain something of a mystery for as long as there are people to wander about them. There aren't many of us who are unfamiliar with the tale of the Pied Piper. The story is simple. The town of Haman is being plagued by hordes of rats when a mysterious piper shows up declaring he can save them from the skittering masses of vermin. The townsfolk offer him an obscene amount of gold to remedy the situation piper shows up declaring he can save them from the skittering masses of vermin.

The townsfolk offer him an obscene amount of gold to remi the situation and the piper plays a special tune on a flute that causes all of the rats to follow him out of the town, where he leads them into a river and drowns them. Upon his return to Haman, the piper finds the townsfolk refuse to pay him, judging his feat to be too easy and therefore unworthy of payment. In revenge, the Piper plays another tune on his flute, one that entrances the town's children to follow him, whereupon neither they nor the Piper are ever seen again. Yet what most of those who know of this story don't seem to realize is that this is no legend, and appears to be a very real event that actually occurred in Germany during the 13th century. There is a place in the town of Hamann known as the Pied Piper House,

a place that hosts a plaque dating 1602, which states that A.D. 1284, on the 26th of June, the day of St. John and St. Paul, 130 children, born in Haman, were led out of the town by a piper wearing multicolored clothes. After passing the Calvary near the Koppenberg, they disappeared forever. There are also historical records of a stained glass window in St. Nikolai's church dating to the early 14th century, depicting the Pied Piper leading the entranced children away. It is inscribed with Latin words, On the day of John and Paul, 130 children in Haman went to Calvary and were brought through all kinds of danger to the Köppen Mountain and lost. On such account, known as the Lundberg Manuscript and thought to be written in 1450 AD,

tells of a monk who claimed that a musician in his late 30s who wore multicolored clothes came to the town and led the children away while they were in some kind of hysterical trance. There is also an account of the event in the town's ledger dating 1384, which states that it is now 100 years since our children departed. What's interesting about these accounts is that the date of the event in question is always the same, the feast of St. John and St. Paul, or 26th of June of 1284 and that the number of children who went missing is always the same. In which case, what actually happened in Hammann, Germany on that fateful day? There are those who have theorized that the piper was actually some kind of recruiter who was organizing migrants, pilgrims, or military recruits, one that utilized his

colorful clothing and pipe to attract potential recruits. Certain historians have claimed that the story is a metaphor for a plague that came and killed off the children, and the piper is simply a kind of metaphor for death itself. However, a BBC documentary from a few years back has put forward a theory involving something called dance mania. The dance could spread from individuals to large groups, all driven by an unshakable compulsion to dance feverishly, sometimes for weeks, often leaping and singing and sometimes hallucinating to the point of exhaustion and occasionally death, like a top that can't stop spinning. Horrifyingly enough,

there happened to be a well-documented case of the aforementioned dance mania just south of Hamann, in the town of Erfurt, during the 13th century. When a handful of the town's folks' children actually danced themselves to death by exhaustion, an additional theory revolved around the date the children disappeared. Besides being a Christian feast day, June 26th was the date of the pagan midsummer celebrations. Many historians have claimed that the children were being taken to the festivities when a local Christian faction either intercepted the group and slaughtered them or kidnapped them and forced them to convert to Christianity.

In all likelihood, what really happened in Haman will forever remain a mystery, one that continues to fascinate and terrify those that understand the implications of such a real-life event. Because as we've learned, it was no legend, but something that continues to haunt a place that actually suffered through such a tragic and horrifying event. Download the BetMGM Ontario app today. Visit BetMGM.com for terms and conditions. 19 plus to wager Ontario only. Please gamble responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge.

BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. In the early 20th century, Maria Zakarenko escaped from her home country of Russia, feeling the bloodthirsty Bolsheviks who were in the process of turning their native land into the political wasteland that was the USSR. She escaped over the border to China, who at that time had yet to be consumed by communism as a temporary stopover on her way to the United States. However, it was in China that the superstitious Maria consulted a fortune teller, wishing to get an idea of what her journey had in store for her. The Chinese fortune teller gave Maria some very good news indeed, telling her that not only would she successfully make it to the United

States, but that she would give birth to a daughter whose beauty would become globally renowned, but that under all circumstances, she should avoid so-called dark waters. Then, after making it all the way to San Francisco, Maria gave birth to a daughter on July 20th, 1938, naming her Natalia Nikolaevna Zakarenko. Natalia would gain the fame that the fortune teller had predicted, but would be known by another name entirely. That name was Natalie Wood. Natalie's mother essentially groomed her for stardom from the time she learned to walk and talk. She sent her to singing, dancing, and acting lessons, training her to be a complete triple threat before parading her around movie studios in the hopes that she would be discovered

and thus fulfill her destiny. It was such an intensive experience that it verged on abusive. Natalie's mother was utterly ruthless and unforgiving, separating her from her sisters and even denying her medical assistance for injuries in the instance that this would only make her stronger. Maria paid close attention to the prophetic warnings of the fortune teller too and made effort to give Natalie a deeply ingrained fear of deep water. Yet despite her efforts, the fortune teller's predictions almost came true on the set of a movie called The Green Promise. During shooting, a young Natalie was set to

run across a bridge that was set to collapse during a rainstorm, a bridge that just so happened to run over a pool of rough, dark water. The director insisted that the timing would be just right and although there would be an element of on-screen peril, she would be entirely safe. But terrifyingly enough, one of the set staff happened to pull the collapse mechanism too early and Natalie broke her wrist as she fell into the water. Her mother was distraught, believing she was about to see the prophecy of drowning come true before her very eyes. But the set staff, acting quickly, helped Natalie pull herself to safety as she struggled to do so with her broken wrist. If she wasn't terrified of water beforehand, she certainly was then. Marie refused to get her daughter any medical assistance for the broken wrist either, believing that an insistence on doing so would deter

directors from hiring her in the future. The injury scarred her wrist so heavily that Natalie would insist on covering the scars with multiple bracelets for the rest of her life, not only because she believed the wound was ugly, but because it reminded her of one of the most traumatic incidents of her entire life. So traumatic that she never ever learned to swim and was reported to have panic attacks whenever she tried to wash her hair. Despite her traumas, Natalie had a long and successful film career and would go on to wed fellow star Robert Wagner. They had a rocky relationship and actually got divorced and remarried before having their one and only daughter, Natasha.

Then during Thanksgiving weekend of 1981, Natalie, Robert, and another movie star, Christopher Walken, were enjoying some rest and relaxation aboard Wagner's yacht, named the Splendor, around the Catalina Island off the coast of California. Only one other person was with them, the boat's captain, a man named Dennis Davern. They spent the weekend shopping, sunning themselves, sailing, dining out, and profusely drinking. On the night of November 27th, 1981, after yet another evening of heavy drinking, an argument between Natalie and Robert broke out, one that grew so intense that Natalie demanded that Captain Davern take her ashore on the small dinghy that was kept on board the Splendor. The pair then spent the night in a hotel before returning to the boat the following morning, when Natalie and Robert apparently talked things out and buried

the hatchet. The following night, Robert, Natalie, Captain Davern, and Christopher Walken went ashore to dine at a restaurant called Doug's Harbor Reef. Here they continued their stint of heavy drinking, reportedly ordering two bottles of wine, two bottles of champagne, and numerous daiquiris, with one of the waiting staff reporting that they barely touched their food. The four people were so intoxicated that the restaurant manager reportedly called harbor security to ensure that they made it back to their boat safely. That night, according to Captain Davern, Robert Wagner and Christopher Walken argued violently over politics, as well as the direction that Natalie's career should take. He has since stated that the argument grew so violent that

one of the men threw an empty wine bottle at the other before Natalie had to get involved to separate the pair. The argument then shifts to one between Natalie and Robert, with Natalie apparently telling Robert that she'd had enough before retiring to her room for the night. At around 3.30am the next morning, on November 29th of 1981, a ship to shore call was made from the Splendor, one in which Captain Davern reported to the US Coast Guard that Natalie Wood was missing. A search begins, one that ended just a few hours later at around 8am, when Natalie Wood's drowned body is found, floating near the ship's inflatable dinghy. The very same one she had used to escape the boat just two days prior.

She was wearing nothing but a nightgown, a pair of socks, and a jacket. An autopsy showed that she had a blood alcohol content of 0.14%, almost double the legal limit for driving. There was also evidence that she had taken a rather large amount of powerful painkillers in the time before her death. She was just 43 years old when she passed away. Amazingly, on the day she died, Robert Wagner is not intensively questioned by police. It's only a few days later that the three men who were on the boat that night are brought in for questioning, and when they are, each tells a suspiciously similar story that details the evening's events. As a result, Natalie's death was assumed to be nothing more than an accidental drowning. The nation was dumbstruck by such a horrible,

unforeseeable tragedy, and mourned in tandem with Robert Wagner, who went on to raise their two daughters as a single parent, two daughters who were almost inconsolably distraught at the sudden death of their beloved mother. Natalie's death seemed to remain an open and shut case for an entire 30 years, until a shocking revelation turned public attention back on to the situation. Captain Dennis Davern, the man who had been captaining the Splendor that night, broke his silence on the case and came forward to state that he had in fact lied to the investigating law enforcement. The nation was shocked to hear that the argument that night between Walken and Wagner had not actually been rooted in politics, but the suspicion that Walken had been secretly flirting with Natalie whenever Robert Wagner's back was turned. Davern said that the incident with one of the men throwing an empty bottle of wine at the other was actually Wagner hurling the glass bottle at Walken in a rage as

he barked out, what are you trying to do, screw my wife? As was previously mentioned, the argument then shifted to one between Wagner and Natalie after Walken had retired to his room, but then when Natalie had tried to do the same and retire to bed, Robert Wagner had followed her to continue the argument. Then sometime later, Wagner stormed up to Captain Davern, sweating and panicking, and told him to turn off all the boat's lights and ignore all onshore calls that came into the boat. In the aftermath, Davern claimed that Wagner kept him confined to his quarters in order to prevent him from giving a statement to the police, then held an impromptu meeting in which he ordered Walken and Daburn to keep quiet about the arguments and to essentially give false statements to the police.

In light of such statements, police reopened the investigation into Natalie Wood's death in the year 2012. A re-examining of the information gleamed from her autopsy had one coroner declaring that she had died as a result of drowning, but also from other undetermined factors. Then in 2018, Wagner was officially named as a person of interest in Natalie Wood's death. Natalie's sister, Lana, came out and gave a media interview, stating that she believed Captain Davern's claims to be true, and had even confronted Wagner on the day of Natalie's funeral in an attempt to get him to reveal what had actually happened that night. This Coleman Captain Davern's claims to be true, and had even confronted Wagner on the day of Natalie's funeral in an attempt to get him to reveal what had actually happened that night. This culminated

in an appearance on the popular TV show, Dr. Phil, in which Lana and Davern publicly accused Wagner of being solely responsible for Natalie's death. However, Lana was keen to make it clear that she didn't believe it to be outright murder and that she didn't believe Wagner ever really intended to kill his wife but either became lost in his rage during a heat of the moment decision possibly denying Natalie help when she had fallen into the water while trying to leave the boat to go ashore just as she had done just two nights previous. Despite the accusations from her sister

Natalie's two daughters, Natasha and Courtney, stand by their father's versions of events, saying he had done all he could to preserve their mother's legacy. Courtney is not even Robert's biological daughter but adores him so much that she has even taken on his surname, potentially as a sign of loyalty and respect. She personally believes and has publicly stated that Captain Davern is a fabricator, one who simply wishes to make a name for himself, exploiting her mother's death for monetary gain, and these claims do carry some weight to them. For example, Davern not only took 30 years to come forward with his accusations,

but was also, by his own admission, extremely drunk on the night in question. His story has apparently changed multiple times throughout the years, leaking seedy gossip to tabloid journalists the entire time. He had also written a book about the events of the night in question, one which has been analyzed and debunked by numerous people who assert that Davern's version of events are extremely spurious. When asked about Davern's claims, Robert's biological daughter, Natasha, has reportedly said, he is somebody who I cannot even dignify with a response because he's so undignified. As for Christopher Walken, the only other person aboard the Splendor that evening,

he hasn't spoken much at all about the incident, keeping suspiciously quiet over the years. When asked about how he felt regarding the reopening of the case, he reportedly said, I don't know, having previously said that he firmly believed Natalie's death to be a tragic accident. In conclusion, it's not entirely out of the question that an extremely intoxicated Natalie might have tried to use the very same dinghy she had used a few nights previous. In doing so, she could have simply fallen into the water and drowned while the other people on board were either too drunk to respond to her cries or simply below deck and unable to hear her entirely. Yet, it's also scarily feasible that a jealous husband had discovered her infidelities,

either perceived or real, thrown her into the sea in a rage, and simply used his influence or outright threats to cover up the murder. It has been 39 years since Natalie's tragic death, and we are still no closer to knowing the entire truth as to what happened to her that night. And it's not only her family and friends that deserve concrete answers, and we are still no closer to knowing the entire truth as to what happened to her that night, and it's not only her family and friends that deserve concrete answers, but society as a whole. Have we had a murder walking among the Hollywood elite for the past 40 years or so? Or has an innocent man been subjected to a campaign of slander when he should have been given room to heal. Whatever happened that Thanksgiving weekend, one thing is painfully clear, that the dark prophecy told to Maria Zakarenko by the Chinese

fortune teller in the early 20th century did actually come true, and it was indeed dark waters that became the undoing of the young woman who came to be known to the world as Natalie Wood. On Thanksgiving weekend of 1950, a brutally frigid nor'easter storm was battering the coast of Massachusetts, and was particularly harsh on the small town of Marblehead near Salem. Beryl Atherton, a 47-year-old elementary school teacher, had 25 years of service under her belt and was home alone with her dog Esky, a white Spitz who was her constant companion. Since the death of her father, Esky was about the only companion she ever kept, and Atherton was a self-described spinster with no close friends or family. It is said that her favorite pastimes was watching old movies, and she would drive to the movie theater in Lynn to catch a show, but always went alone. With the freezing winds lashing at her drab clapboard cottage on Sewell Street, Beryl ran a few final errands before her small town was due to be snowed under.

She made a run to the grocery store to pick up vital supplies, including a few extra cans of food for Esky before she took a few bags of garbage out to the trash cans outside her home at around 6pm that Saturday evening. When she did so, she spotted a young neighbor boy watching her from a window of his home. She gave the boy a wave and this was the last time she was seen for a good few days. As predicted, Marblehead was completely snowed under through the course of Thanksgiving weekend and it took until Monday, November 27th for the town to dig itself out and resume normal activities. The town's milkman, known among the locals simply as Pint, called on Miss Atherton's home to deliver her milk. Usually speaking, Pint would just leave a person's milk delivery on their doorstep,

but he knew that Miss Atherton was extremely thin and frail at barely 100 pounds and was concerned about her well-being after such a vicious snowstorm. So on this occasion, he actually knocked on Miss Atherton's door to ensure that she was okay. He knocked once, but there was no answer. Then again, but there was still no answer. On a hunch, Pint tried the door handle and found that it was unlocked. He wandered slowly through Miss Atherton's home at first, calling her name then walked into the kitchen, finding a scene that would take his breath away. Miss Atherton was lying on the floor, face up, in a pool of her own clotted blood, with Esky lying near her body, mewling in a considerable amount of pain. Pint screamed as he fled the house, careening to the home of one of Miss Atherton's neighbors

and pleading with them to call the police. When the police arrived, they deduced that Beryl Atherton had been dead for days. On the kitchen tables were her brown paper grocery bags, still full of foodstuff she'd brought home on the last days she'd been seen alive by the curious neighbor boy, meaning that it had been only moments after this encounter that her murderer had pounced, and within maybe an hour of waving to the small boy, Beryl Atherton was lying in a pool of her own blood. She had several broken ribs and bruising around her throat where she appeared to have been strangled, strangled so hard that there

were still fingernail imprints in her cold, dead flesh. Her killer had then used a small blade to slice her throat, but had done so in a very peculiar manner. Not only had he cut her neck open horizontally, but had also inflicted a dreadful vertical wound from her ribs to her chin, essentially stabbing a cross in her neck. The cuts were so deep that Beryl Atherton had almost been decapitated, and she had bled so heavily from her wounds that her blood vessels were completely exsanguinated. A sample would have to be extracted directly from her heart by the examining coroner. The killer then let himself out of the house, but not before breaking several of little Esky's ribs as the loyal hound tried to

avenge his fallen mistress. Infuriatingly, the crime scene was almost completely devoid of any clue as to the identity of Barrow's murderer. There wasn't a single sign of forced entry anywhere on the property. There were no fingerprints on any surface, and no shoe or boot prints on the ground surrounding the house, and despite questioning Barrow's neighbors, no one but the dog Esky had seen the killer in the flesh. If Miss Atherton cried out for help, the severity of the storm would probably have drowned out any urgent pleas of that fateful night. No one in the surrounding neighborhood had heard or seen a thing. Despite the grotesque violence of the scene, there appeared to be few signs of a struggle apart from a broken necklace caused by the impact of the killer's blade,

which had also broken during the savage and unprovoked attack. And aside from a few broken fingers that suggested she had tried and failed to defend herself from her attacker, it seemed that he had managed to sneak up on Beryl while she was totally unaware. The crime scene was so lacking in useful evidence that it had been theorized the killer actually hung around for a little while, ensuring there were no fingerprints, fibers, or DNA present. And since the murder took place in Barrow's kitchen, the killer may well have had ample access to cleaning supplies in order to ensure the scene was scrubbed of evidence. Both police and friends were surprised by the fact Ms. Atherton kept a diary which yielded information about a handful of male acquaintances. Those that knew her were completely unaware of such gentlemen, but the information therein offered no help in solving the crime. It was discovered she had been deeply disappointed over a broken love affair, but this proved not to enter into the case either. In the aftermath of Barrow's murder,

with police unable to come up with any suspects or clear motives for her killing, the small town of Marblehead became rife with rumors and gossip. Some said Barrow was leading some kind of double life and had become embroiled with organized crime down in Boston that had come back to bite her. Others believe it was a jilted lover from the broken love affair that had sought revenge after Barrow had broken the engagement off, or perhaps a relative who learned of a sizable inheritance that they either wished to access early or were about to be cut off from. Yet her estate only consisted of about $25,000 and no jewelry or other items appear to

have been stolen from the house, so it seems that financial gain may not have been the motive. But chillingly enough, there are some living in Marblehead today who claim they know full well who killed Barrow and a handful who assert that the killer is still alive. Given that the killer might well be up to 80 or 90 years old, it's more than likely they might pass away before ever facing any charges for the murder they committed. And so, it seems that the brutal crime committed that Thanksgiving weekend may forever remain unsolved and that yet another cold and callous murderer will escape justice, free to walk the streets in the knowledge they committed the worst act a person is capable of and gotten away with it. On the morning after Thanksgiving of 2003,

the snow-covered winter wonderland that was the Horn Creek Conference Center in Westcliff, Colorado, made for a peaceful and serene setting. But that peace was to be shattered when the naked corpse of a young woman was found lying frozen in the snow, just outside one of the guest cabins. The young woman's name was Natalie Dristle. Natalie was 20 years old when she was found dead. Having grown up in her native Missouri, then moving to the state of Florida to attend college. During the summer of 2003, Natalie had taken a job working at the there and it was during the Thanksgiving break of 2003 that she decided to make the journey back up to Colorado to visit him, with the couple opting to stay in separate guest cabins for the duration of their trip, given the pious nature of their location. Thanksgiving together, taking romantic walks around the snow-covered campgrounds, hand in hand.

Afterwards, Natalie's boyfriend dropped her off back at the cabin shortly after midnight of Friday, November 28th, so that she could get some rest. But the next morning, the boyfriend went back to the very same cabin to check up on her, yet found that she wasn't there. He looked around a little and was disturbed to find footprints in the snow leading away from the cabin, one that had obviously been made by someone's bare feet given the shape and size. This must have sent him into a panic, wondering what could have frightened his girlfriend so much that she fled into the freezing night in nothing but her bare feet. He followed the tracks for a short while, into a wooded area around 200 yards from the camp's conference building before finding her body lying in the snow at around 8.50

a.m. But Natalie wasn't just barefoot, she was completely naked. Her exposed arms and legs were all scratched up and bruised, and by the time her boyfriend found her body, rigor mortis had set in. She was completely stiff, like a wax model, and must have been extremely traumatizing for him to see someone he loved so dearly in such a terrible state. Custer County Sheriff Fred Jobe said there was only a single set of prints that had led them to Natalie's body, meaning she had not been pursued by anyone in the moments before her death. He also said that the pattern of her footprints appeared to be erratic, as though she had been wandering through the area in a daze before she had collapsed. It was also judged that given the state of rigor mortis she was in, that she had

actually died very soon after being dropped off the back of the cabin, maybe only 15-20 minutes after her boyfriend had departed. An autopsy was performed over at the El Paso County Coroner's Office on November 30th, with the conclusion being that Natalie appeared to have been in a completely healthy state before she had died. Given that there were pine needles in her hair, with dirt and abrasions on her face and shoulder, and coupled with the chaotic patterning among her footprints, it appeared that Natalie had actually ran into one or two trees as she fled her cabin. Evidence of such injuries included, among other things, linear scratches on her forehead, cheeks,

neck, chest, abdomen, and legs, small contusions just above the trachea on her forehead, cheeks, neck, chest, abdomen, and legs, small contusions just above the trachea on her right cheek and to the right of her chin, and purple contusions on her left forearm, hand, and wrist. Other than evidence of injuries, which the coroner believed were consistent with running through trees and brush, she had no visible external injuries. It is also interesting to note that the autopsy showed that there were no internal injuries to her brain, so we can safely rule out there being some kind of hemorrhage or tumor being to blame for Natalie's strange behavior. While the autopsy did not

determine the cause of death, Sheriff Jobes said, they've ruled out anything criminal. It's just really, really weird. But we're still hoping to find out something more conclusive. Lee Roybal, officer in charge of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, also commented on the unusual nature of Natalie's death, saying, It's the strangest thing you've ever seen. Although there could be no definitive answers as to why or how Natalie had died, the coroner was forced to why or how Natalie had died,

the coroner was forced to conclude that she had ultimately died from a phenomenon known as excited delirium. She had absolutely no traces of narcotics or alcohol in her system when she died, and despite not being able to give a concrete conclusion that she had died of excited delirium, he listed six main factors that had caused him to reach such a decision. The first and main point being that she had been found completely naked, having not been obviously pursued by anyone. There was also no internal injuries at all, and so no obvious way of telling how she had died. There was also the complete lack of narcotics in her system, so there's no way a drug could be to blame for the erratic state she was in that evening. There's also the possibility that,

given she was a recent arrival to a relatively high altitude from sea level Florida, that a lack of oxygen in her brain could be to blame for the delirium. On top of that, there was an elevated amount of glucose in her urine So it seems to be possible that a hyperglycemic state could be to blame for her behavior As has been stated, there could be no concrete conclusions as to how Natalie had died But there was much rumor and speculation in the days that followed For example, there was a great deal of attention paid to her boyfriend, given that he was a natural suspect, having been the last person to see Natalie alive as well as

the person who found her corpse first. Yet Natalie's family did not, and still do not, believe that her boyfriend had anything to do with her untimely death. There was also a great amount of conjecture regarding a supposed eating disorder that Natalie had been dealing with, and that the cardiac arrest she suffered was a direct result of malnutrition. Given the mysterious circumstances and plethora of different theories put forward to explain Natalie's death, it is almost impossible to decide on a definitive explanation as to how or why she passed away. What's clear is that she had absolutely no history of mental illness, had no history of drug use, and was in perfect health right up until that

Thanksgiving weekend. Yet suddenly, she appears to have had some kind of psychotic break for no obvious reason at all. One moment her boyfriend was dropping her back at the guest cabin and she was perfectly normal. The next she had stripped naked and was sprinting through the snow-covered woods in the dark at such a speed that she collided with tree trunks as she ran, with the whole episode ending in her dropping dead just a few hundred yards away from where she was staying. We have to admit, the situation is truly and terrifyingly bizarre, with the information at hand raising many more questions than it answers. Although the coroner gave the explanation of excited delirium, it has proved to be a controversial diagnosis.

The condition known as excited delirium is not recognized by the World Health Organization, the American Psychiatric Association, or the American Medical Association and therefore not listed as a medical condition in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. The UK Independent Advisory Panel on Deaths in Custody suggests that the syndrome should be termed sudden death and restraint syndrome in order to enhance clarity. Examples of deaths due to the condition are found primarily in restraint or attempted restraint situations, while medical preconditions and symptoms attributed to the syndrome are far more varied. In which case, can we even place any credence in such an explanation? And if we dismiss it entirely, we are left with a gaping hole in

Natalie's story in trying to explain just how she had lost her life. But still, is it possible that Natalie encountered someone, or something, in or around that cabin that gave her such a fright that it could have triggered a highly panicked state that could have been confused with so-called excited delirium, and if so, just what was it that she encountered? Could it have been some kind of twilight creeper, who posed such a terrifying threat that Natalie abandoned all reason and logic, deciding it better to run naked into the snow in order to escape such a threat? Or perhaps it was something far worse, a large wild aggressive animal perhaps, that wasn't about to display that same kind of subtlety and was about to smash its way into the cavern to devour her. It's unclear what caused such a state of fear that night,

but one thing is clear in abundance, that we will never know what exactly happened to Natalie Dristle, and that we'll have to accept that here we are, walking the earth, knowing that at any moment, we too could simply fall down dead from some mysterious ailment that leaves our loved ones as baffled as they are heartbroken. As hard as it might be to believe, there was a time when Penn State University campus wasn't such a vast, gigantic, interlocking entity. Back in the 1960s, the school was the heart of a small, idyllic, but isolated college town, nuzzled in the bosom of the rolling hills of central Pennsylvania that was given the nickname Happy Valley. At one time, the town's population was even smaller than its current student body, which

for some contemporary students might be hard to imagine. It was this version of Penn State that Betsy Ardsmo was enrolled at back in 1969. She was a 22-year-old grad student, having previously studied English in her home state at the University of Michigan. She was a bright, studious, and popular young woman who had an intensely close romantic relationship with a medical student named David Wright, who was reportedly planning to give her a ring later in the year. In the morning of November 28th, the day after the national Thanksgiving celebrations, Betsy put on a cute red dress and got to work working on a paper for one of her English classes. She spent almost the entire day working on the paper, only briefly

taking a break for lunch before she headed over to the Petit Library in the mid-afternoon, a huge, architecturally beautiful structure with a columned entrance overlooking a mall. She worked hard until the late afternoon, until the evening sun was sinking fast towards the western horizon and was determined to work late into the evening to get the paper finished. Betsy was one of the few students who hadn't gone home for Thanksgiving, and although we're not entirely sure why that is, it's clear that she was almost entirely alone on campus for the duration of the weekend. The rest of the campus was deathly quiet for the holidays and naturally,

the library was even more so. Then, at around 4.30 that afternoon, Betsy ventured into what was affectionately known by the students as the stacks and found herself alone in an old and secluded aisle of books. All we know next is that she was found collapsed by another visitor to the library, who told a desk clerk that there was a girl in need of medical assistance before they hastily left the library. The desk clerk ran to Betsy's aid, where she was found lying face down on the library floor surrounded by fallen books. They tried to wake her up, but she was totally unresponsive. It was then that the clerk rushed to call 911 to bring in the EMTs. First responders arrived on the scene pretty quickly despite the large amount of road traffic on Thanksgiving weekend and Betsy was put on a gurney and transported to the nearby Rittenhour Health Center by 5.19pm, less than an hour after she had collapsed.

The paramedics first thought that Betsy may have suffered from some kind of seizure or other medical ailment, there was nothing obviously wrong with her. But her blood pressure was dropping rapidly and she was completely without a pulse. It was only when she arrived and was examined at the hospital that the doctors noticed the single stab wound to her chest. There was a single knife wound that cut through Betsy's left breast, one that had tragically pierced the left ventricle of her heart. Given the positioning of the stab wound, there was not a great deal of blood that escaped the wound. Most of it leaked into her chest cavity. What little that did was camouflaged by the matching color of Betsy's red dress, hence why the paramedics had been so confused as to what

was actually wrong with her and had dithered over what course of treatment they should opt for. But it seems like it wouldn't have mattered if they would have been able to decide, as it was believed that Betsy had passed away just a minute after being set upon by her mystery attacker. Whoever had stabbed her either had been someone that had known her or someone who had actually managed to sneak up completely unaware on her, since aside from the handful of books that had been knocked from the shelves in the attack, there was absolutely no signs of any kind of struggle. There were no other scratches or wounds on Betsy's body, no bruises from where she might have fought back, and no reports of noises or screams coming from where she was attacked. The only thing anyone in the library knew of the attack was when some mystery man warned the desk clerk that a woman needed medical assistance.

There were also no signs of any kind of illicit or indecent motives to the crime either. Betsy's clothes remained intact and there was no evidence that she had been violated either before or after she died. It appeared as if her attacker had simply calmly walked up to her, stabbed her with utter precision and callousness, and then fled the scene before any kind of alarm could be raised. The stab also damaged one of her lungs, causing it to fill with blood, which meant that Betsy would have been unable to scream. It seems that the killer must have known precisely where to stab to prevent her from screaming, but the argument has been made that one can't really stab someone with that kind of accuracy and certainty to achieve this. Like any other small town murder, the killing caused a

shockwave of grief throughout the small town that Penn State is nestled in. The general public demanded the police bring down Swift Justice, but despite their efforts, there would be no murder weapon recovered, and the only serious clue they had were the reports of a man leaving the library after warning the desk clerk that something was wrong. However, this man was never identified, and there were no indications from Betsy's personal life that it could have been anyone close to her. The police interviewed thousands of town's residents but gleaned absolutely nothing in the way of serious clues. To them, it could have just as easily been some grand conspiracy by those close to her as it

was the work of some crazed spontaneous murderer. But despite the lack of evidence of Lee's, there are some interesting points to consider regarding her murder. Firstly, Betsy happened to leave Michigan for Pennsylvania right around the time of the so-called co-ed killer, and the clear and present danger was actually a motivation for her doing so. It's also apparent that, much like the Sandusky case that haunted the university, the police handled the case very badly, and actually opted to try to protect the university's image and prestige over actually trying to find out who murdered her. Betsy's murder also occurred around the same time that anti-Vietnam War protests were rife around university campuses all over the United States, and the anti-authoritarian sentiment that came with it meant that the student body became very uncooperative with the investigating police,

which essentially hampered any kind of effective investigation. In terms of suspects, amateur sleuths in the years to come would come up with the same suspect time and time again, a young male student by the name of Richard Hafner. It turns out he was staying over at one of his professor's houses on the night of the murder, and was reported to have a reputation for being something of a volatile person, and one who carried a large knife around with him for so-called self-defense. The professor in question kept this fact very quiet until many years later, when Richard Hafner directly threatened him with violence when asked about the incident. It's not entirely clear why Richard wasn't ever

arrested as a suspect, although it's crucial to keep in mind that the man leaving the library in the media aftermath, the one who the police believed to be directly responsible, was never identified as Richard Hafner. Despite a lot of things pointing to Richard being the killer, the most obvious being his aggressively violent personality in previous episodes, there is still plenty of reasons to speculate on the possibility of another murderer. The manner in which Betsy was murdered was cold, calculated, and precise, so given Richard's nature, it seems fairly unlikely that it would have been him that committed a crime of this variety. However, since Richard passed away

himself in the year 2002, police have lost the opportunity to seriously question him. And if he was indeed Betsy's murderer, a full and frank confession is now totally out of reach. And so once again, yet another murder on an American university campus may well remain totally unsolved. And once again, the cruel, evil individual who so coldly preyed on a single, isolated female has been free to walk the streets of Pennsylvania for the past 51 years. Maybe it's a neighbor, someone you see every day. Maybe it's one of your own parents. The fact is, we will never, ever know who killed Betsy Ardsmuth. Martha Jean Lambert was born on March 26th, 1973, to Howard and Margaret Lambert in St. Augustine Beach, Florida. Martha Jean was an extremely popular young lady among her peers, and greatly enjoyed spending

quality time with her many friends and family members. Those that knew her often described her as kind and shy, saying she had a generally happy demeanor, but despite this, her home life was not great. Her father Howard was an abusive, raging alcoholic with a fierce and volatile temper and her mother Margaret could often be heard arguing with him when he came home drunk from various bars around St. Augustine. As a result of this highly unstable and distressing relationship between her parents, Martha and her two older brothers were often cared for in various foster homes, which had a highly negative impact on their academic performance. Yet in spite of such difficulties, Martha was known for being

something of a tough cookie and she didn't let it get her down too much, maintaining a positive attitude whenever she was at school. In 1985, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving was a day much like any other for young Martha. She spent the day attending her usual classes at school, and then when it was over, she went over to a friend's house to hang out until around 7.30 that evening when she began the short walk back to her parents' trailer. Only that much is certain about what happened that evening when she began the short walk back to her parents' trailer. Only that much is certain about what happened that evening. Afterwards, things began to get very unclear indeed, and mainly due to conflicting accounts given by her very own family members. What we do know for definite is that it wasn't until 3am on Thanksgiving Day that Martha was actually reported missing.

Her family told the police that she was a 12-year-old white girl with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, standing at roughly 4 feet and 5 inches tall and weighing just shy of 70 pounds. She was also described as having birthmarks on both her upper left chest as well as on the front of her right thigh. Last her parents had seen of her, she had been wearing a short-sleeved summer dress. Given her age and inherent vulnerability, the cops started an intense search for Martha as soon as the missing person's report came in. They initially focused their search around the area near to State Road 207, a stretch of four-lane highway that ran through northeastern Florida. They also scoured areas around Cary Lynn Road, the place that Martha and her family called home.

Yet despite their efforts, not a single trace of Martha Jean could be found, and to the heartbreaking disappointment of her family, the trail soon ran cold. Strangely enough, from the very moment she realized her daughter was missing, Martha's mother insisted that her daughter had been kidnapped. This is a rather curious detail, as it's a rather specific idea of her daughter's fate. Not that she had been murdered, gotten lost, or ran away from what was undoubtedly a broken home, specifically kidnapped. Martha's mother told police that on the night in question, that she wasn't at her friend's house until the mid evening, that she was in fact attending a social gathering with her. She had apparently turned to

her mother and, in reference to visiting the friend's house, said, I'm going over to a friend's house, I'll be back in five minutes. But Martha never returned, and by the time her mother had realized something was amiss, it was far too late. She searched and searched all night and into the wee hours of the following morning, but it was no good, and by the time 3am rolled around, Martha's mother was worried half to death. Police questioned pretty much everyone in the surrounding area and found that some of Martha's neighbors had some very interesting information regarding some suspicious activity in the neighborhood. Shortly after Martha was seen walking west down Carrie Lynn Road that evening, a few members of the local community had seen a suspicious green van in the area, one that was seen to drive in roughly the same direction as Martha a short while after she left the social gathering. And what was most concerning was that

not a single person who'd seen it was able to recognize the van as belonging to anyone in the community, and nor had they been able to record a license plate number. Conflicting with his mother's account, Martha's brother David told the police that he and his sister were having dinner together that night during the time just before she disappeared. He mentioned that she had gotten up from the table and walked out of the house, refusing to tell him where she was going before she climbed into the passenger seat of a black sedan. Yet police were forced to dismiss Martha's brother's claims in the face of other more consistent accounts yet were continuously flummoxed as to why the boy had given them such a strange fabricated version of events. Despite her mother's insistence that she had been kidnapped, police originally assumed that Martha was a runaway due to the violent and

volatile situation between her parents, but it only took a small amount of speculation and investigation for them to conclude that there was most likely some degree of foul play involved in her disappearance that had most likely ended in her murder. However, not a single suspect had been named as her kidnapper, and there have never been any arrests regarding her disappearance. Essentially, Martha walked off that night from somewhere and basically vanished from the face of the earth. A few days after she had initially disappeared, a handful of police officers scoured a wooded area behind the family's trailer for any sign of her, but again, nothing was found. Detectives also put a substantial amount of man

hours into searching for Martha's remains around the area where the Florida Memorial College once stood, but once again, nothing was found. It confounded them. All the places where it was thought she may have either run off to or been dumped were completely devoid of clues. As a result, it was assumed that Martha's mother had been correct in her assertions, and that Martha had indeed been kidnapped by someone who wasn't part of her extended family. Many missing person agencies in the United States still classify Martha's case as a non-family abduction to this day. Yet despite this, police say there is absolutely nothing to back this up, that there is no evidence of abduction and the green van theory, the one that neighbors claim they saw, has never been substantiated. The one real discrepancy with

the whole case is the fact that Martha's older brother, David, seems to have lied about what happened that night. As a result, for a while he actually became the closest thing the investigation ever had to a serious suspect, based on the fact that there were obvious lies being told and that his story seemed to change in its details on a few different occasions. As was previously mentioned, David claims that he saw Martha get into a black sedan that evening after they had dinner together. But he later changed his story to say that she had simply left to visit a local convenience store and then never returned home. Due to these inconsistencies, investigators suspected that although David might not have murdered her, there was definitely some information that he knew that he was not entirely forthcoming with. After all, he was only 14 years old at the time of her disappearance and may not have been capable of cold-blooded murder.

However, in the year 2000, when David was 29 years old, he approached local law enforcement with an outrageously shocking claim. He confessed to killing his sister and told officers that he had disposed of her body in a coquina mine located on Holmes Boulevard. Yet when the police searched the mine, there was no human remains to be found, nor any signs that anyone had been hurt or murdered there at all. Which meant that despite his apparently full and frank confession, there was simply not enough evidence to charge David with his sister's murder. But then again, in 2009, David tried to convince the cops that it was in fact him that had murdered his sister, but changed his story from the version he had given nine years previously.

This time around, David claimed that he and Martha had been playing together on the grounds of the then-derelict Florida Memorial College building, having left their parents' trailer after a drunken argument had broken out over an overcooked Thanksgiving turkey. David said once they were tired of playing, they walked to a nearby convenience store to purchase refreshments. It was at the store that they began to argue over a $20 bill that David had nabbed from his mother's purse. When the argument peaked, Martha slapped David across the face. David then told police that he had retaliated by shoving her which caused her to fall backwards in an awkward fashion, smashing her head on a piece of metal as she fell.

David panicked, called for help, but after seeing that no one was around to help, dragged his sister's body back to the grounds of the old college before burying her in a shallow grave. Once again, such a detailed confession warranted investigation, but just like the previous occasion, there was absolutely no evidence found to support it. But since the college buildings were demolished in the mid-90s and the grounds excavated, there's every chance that her body could have been lost among the debris as it was being disposed of. However, when Martha's mother was asked if she believed that David had murdered her,

she completely rebuked the idea. Even in the face of such an apparently frank confession, David's mother insisted that David often told lies in order to get attention and doubled down on her claims that some kind of outsider was responsible for Martha's disappearance. Whether or not it was a result of direct pressure from his mother, David ended up retracting these previous confessions, admitting that he had completely fabricated the stories so that law enforcement would give up the search for Martha and declare the case closed. He went on to admit that he'd suffered from intense emotional and mental problems, and it was these that made him outright lie about his involvement in his

sister's disappearance, now denying that he had anything to do with it. As of November 2020, almost 25 years to the day since she disappeared, Martha Jean Lambert's disappearance remains completely unsolved, and no human remains had ever been discovered. There are only really two main theories regarding her disappearance which revolve around the idea of abduction or her brother accidentally killing her. But as previously stated, there is very little evidence to support either theory and so logically, neither can be fully supported since there have been no arrests or charges. But that doesn't stop many from insisting that David's confession is so detailed and believable that we can't simply dismiss his stories,

even though they seem to shift in their details over time. Essentially, the one person whose story deviated may have just allowed a drip of information over time, unable to quite face the truth himself. Then, overcome with guilt 15 years after the murder, he came forward to give a full and frank account of what happened that night. After he did so, David's mother, not wanting to lose two children to the same incident, may well have convinced him to retract his confession so that he wouldn't end up rotting in prison. On top of that, the statute of limitations from manslaughter had expired by the time he made his first confession, which raises the question, is that simply a coincidence? Or was it a well-timed attempt to both clear his conscience while avoiding any actual punishment for his actions?

Either way, it is pure speculation, and the case may truly be that we will never, ever know what really happened to Martha Jean Lambert that Thanksgiving night and it is a truly terrifying thought that a young girl can simply vanish from the face of the earth with no closure for her friends family or society as a whole I used to work in the bars and pubs here in Liverpool, something I would not recommend to anyone. But I paid the bills and I got to work with friends so I stuck at it for a few years, eventually landing a supervisors job. Now one of my duties was to make sure the tills were in order, making sure they had

enough change, that the notes weren't all stacked messily, that sort of thing. Only the tills we had were absolutely terrible. So this one Saturday night, I pop the till open and the whole drawer just comes off its hinges, subsequently refusing to slot back in. I'm stood there just rolling my eyes and calling this thing every name under the sun before I turn to one of the bar staff and ask them to go get the general manager for me. They do and I'm left standing there like a human till drawer because I can't just leave a load of cash shitting on the back bar with a load of drunk people hanging around. So like I said, I'm stood there just sort of looking around to make sure no one is eyeing me up to jump over the bar and grab a fistful of 20s. Just up from where I'm standing, there's a little flight of stairs going up to a round bar where we'd serve cocktails and whatnot.

Only it's not all that busy, so the bar isn't manned. Point being, I can't see exactly what's going on up there, so when this bloke walks past the round bar, lifts one of the little red leather stools above his head and throws it down to the floor, I don't see exactly what happened, only that something really dodgy is going on. Now I probably should have just stayed with the money, but if this fellow is in the furniture throwing mood and has already done some damage, I need to know just what he's done then tell the door staff so they can get this bell end out of the bar. So I put the till down on the floor, tell the one remaining member of bar staff with me to guard it with their life,

then jog up to the round bar to look over to see what had just happened. What I see makes my jaw drop. Sitting on the red leather benches there, out of sight of where I'd been standing with the till drawer in my hand, are two girls. One is absolutely wailing. I'd have heard her if it wasn't for the loud music in the bar, and the other is trying to comfort her. Then I notice that the wailing girl's mouth is absolutely pouring with blood, and I put two and two together. The fellow had grabbed one of the stools, raised it up to his head and smashed this girl in the mouth with it. I immediately jump up over the bar, rush over to the girl and kneel down to see just how bad the damage is. I'm not

messing. It looked like she opened up a bottle of tomato juice, emptied it into her gob and then just let it dribble out of her mouth. It was just a hideous amount of blood and tissue streaming out of this girl's face. Then right as I'm about in front of her, she looks at me through these tearful eyes and spits out a load of her own teeth onto the floor in front of me. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Like I'd seen a fair few bar fights while working there, but absolutely nothing like the kind of injuries she sustained. So I just bolt into action,

legging it after the fellow that had hit her in the face. I run into the front area of the bar, recognize this fellow's orange shirt, then just leap to grab hold of him so we can keep him in place for the police to come nick him. But I'm sort of in shock while I'm doing this. Like I literally cannot believe he's just done that to a girl and for apparently no reason. So I'm just like, you, you just hit that girl. Why'd you do that?

What are you thinking, man? And he's looking back at me just not reacting to what I'm saying at all. Turned out he was French and he didn't understand what I was saying, especially since if he did speak any English, he definitely didn't understand my Scouse accent, and I'm still staring him in the face when he just sort of looks over my shoulder in the sort of way people do that makes your brain go like, you should really look behind you right about now. So I turn and see the bloody mouth girl walking towards us with an upturned and

empty bottle of Bex in her hand. At first I think she's going to smack this fellow with it, which he definitely deserved, but I'm not going to pass my probationary period as bar supervisor if I just let people just kick the life out of each other, am I? So, I step forward and put both hands up like, don't do it, love, expecting her to try to move around me so she can bottle the bloke. Only she doesn't try to move around me. She looks me dead in the eye, blood still pouring from between her lips. She's not crying anymore either. She just looks furious. I mean, the look in her eye was absolutely terrifying. She looked nothing short of psychopathic. She then raises the bottle above her head and charges me. I immediately go,

whoa, whoa, whoa, it wasn't me, it wasn't me. But it's no good. In her mind, she's made up, and she brings that bottle down at me with all the force she can muster, swinging it vertically, directly at the right side of my face and neck. It was the kind of swing that could have had the bottle smashing into my face, broken glass raking down my eyeball and cheek before slicing right into my carotid artery. That's the kill bill cut, the kind that has blood squirting out of your neck with every beat of your heart. If she hit me there, that would have been it. I'd be dead on the floor of my own workplace in a matter of minutes. But you know how people say that time slows down when

you're in that sort of situation? That's not entirely wrong, only it's not time slowing down, so much as your brain speeding up as a result of the adrenaline poured into your bloodstream. So as I watched the girl start to bring the bottle down, somehow I found it in me to bring the outside edge of my right hand up to meet it. I didn't feel the glass of the bottle break in my hand, the whole thing just sort of disappeared from view, but at the same time, I just sort of knew some serious damage had been done. I remember gripping my wrist, cursing out loud and retreating back to the bar to assess the severity of the cut as the girl disappeared into the busy crowds that occupied the bar.

I dreaded turning my head over to inspect the damage in that terribly human way that says if I can't see it, it didn't happen, but I knew I had to. And it was only when blood began to pour onto the floor in front of me that I brought myself to look. Thank god I didn't before that because the broken bottle had cut so deep that I've been able to see deep into the muscle of my hand and that's definitely something I didn't want to have to look at. While another member of staff rushed to fetch security from the front doors, I wrapped my bloody hand in paper towels and held onto them to stem the bleeding. That really should have been the end of the situation. I should have just waited for an

ambulance to arrive but the girl that could have killed me was probably still in the bar, and as much as she too needed medical attention, I couldn't just let her get away with such a vicious and violent assault. So I asked my two members of the security team to accompany through the throngs of people in an attempt to find her, and also the guy that had hit her in the face with that little stool thing. It was only when I was wading through the crowds of dancing drunks that I realized just how stupid of me it was to be doing such a thing. There came a moment when I realized that in the low lights of the club rooms, with revelers who all basically looked the same after a while, that she could have been anywhere. It was like that scene in the second Jurassic Park movie with the long grass and the raptors.

The crowds were the long grass and she was a raptor. She could sneak up on me through a crowd like a freaking Assassin's Creed game and I'd be absolutely none the wiser until she was right up on me. And the next time, I might not have been lucky enough to be able to defend myself so readily. The next bottle could have cut into my throat or face and I'd have life-changing injuries, maybe even life-ending injuries. It was an absolutely terrifying realization and the more it dawned on me, the harder it got to breathe. I found myself hyperventilating by the time I powered it back towards the bar into relative safety, telling the security staff to just look for the girl with a bloody mouth. It was about then that I saw blue flashing lights through the large glass windows of the club's

street entrance. Another member of the bar team gathered up my belongings from the staff room, then accompanied me to the ambulance, which then drove me to the hospital after doing some preliminary bandaging of the wounds. Then came the long wait in the accident and emergency waiting room at like 3 on a Sunday morning. Weak times at British NHS hospitals can be bad enough for the best of times, but at a time like that, they can be almost unbearable. And not because of the boredom. Because my time there was anything but. The place was abuzz with people with some fairly horrific but non-life-threatening wounds. Drunks groaned, cradling their shattered hands or sporting pretty grievous looking head wounds. A pair of women, one of which looked so beaten up

she could barely stay conscious, talked openly about being ladies of the night, so to speak. I just tried to keep my head down and avoid making eye contact with anyone. But once I was finally seen by doctors and nurses, they were as good as gold. I mean, the doctor who saw me had to actually cut off a section of flesh from my hand, which I could still sort of feel despite the injection of local anesthetic, which is extremely blood grim. But they were amazing nonetheless. After the stitches, met with some police officers who had been waiting outside of A&E for me to

emerge. I thought it might have been good news, that they managed to arrest both offenders and were looking to take a witness statement from me, but neither person had been caught. They'd apparently both managed to slip out of the bar undetected, but neither person had been caught. They'd apparently both managed to slip out of the bar undetected. But the cops had managed to question some friends of theirs, and as it turned out, they were a couple. I didn't realize it at the time, but it was a classic case of someone trying to get involved in a domestic argument. The couple just turn on the person trying to intervene. So despite there being very little in the way of conclusion to the story, in the way that a lot of stuff like this has no closure to it,

there is one definitive lesson to glean from it. Never get involved in a domestic. Just keep your distance, call the police and let them handle it. Because I'm telling you from experience, injecting yourself into a situation like that might not just end in a little loss of your faith in humanity. It could just as easily end with you losing your life. The End 41-year-old Leah Rollins was working the early shift at the Cozad Amoco gas station on Highway 80 in Dawson County, Nebraska on the morning of March 10th, 1997. She was a divorcee who was in the process of getting her life back together

after an exceedingly messy divorce from her husband with whom she'd raised two sons. And given that she had been promoted to manager only a day before, it appeared as if though she was achieving exactly that. Friends described her as being generous, personable, and a generally good-natured person. Her husband had treated her abominably in the aftermath of the separation in light of the fact that she had retained custody of the two boys. For the first time in years, things seemed to be going right for her, and she relished the fresh responsibilities of her new management position. But at around 10.30am, a red Pontiac Grand Am pulled into the gas station forecourt. CCTV cameras recorded the driver stepping out of the vehicle and filling up on a tank of gas before entering the main store. The man seemed of average appearance, except for one

seemingly minor detail. He was barefoot. As he entered, Leah was busy serving a mother and daughter pair, making small talk with the girls as she tendered their money and handed them their change. The barefoot man stood to the rear of the store, making himself inconspicuous as he seemed to wait for the mother and daughter to depart the business and drive away. He took a soda out of one of the fridges, cracked open the can and began to drink it as he waited, at one point staring right up into the lens of one of the interior security cameras as he did so. Once the mother and daughter had driven away, the barefoot man calmly walked up to the counter where Leah was stood, took out a 9mm pistol, and pointed it at her.

Security footage was unable to catch exactly what he said, but judging from Leah's subsequent actions, it appears he had told her to open the cash register and hand over its contents. Once the barefoot man had taken the cash from her, it appears he ordered Leah to lie down on the ground behind the counter. She complied with his command while he proceeded to count the cash she had just handed him. Then out of nowhere, for no apparent reason, the barefoot man leans over the counter and fires three shots into Leah as she lay prone on the floor of the gas station. Three shots that would kill her instantly. The barefoot man then simply walked back to his red Pontiac Grand Am and drove back off down the highway.

Leah's friends and relatives were absolutely devastated upon hearing news of her death, but they were hopeful that justice would be swift since the police had a rather large amount of evidence to work from in order to identify and locate her killer. As he was mentioned previously, the barefoot man had actually stared up into the lens of one of the gas station's security cameras, so police had a pretty clear image of who they were looking for. A Caucasian male in his late 30s or early 40s with dark hair and eyes. His vehicle was quickly identified as a red Pontiac Grand Am, but given that it was lacking a front license plate and drove off at high speeds, it was impossible to make out any plate number. The bullets fired at the scene were identified as 9mm and fired from a small handgun, but unfortunately the ballistics weren't identified

as matching that of any from other crime scenes that the police were aware of. The barefoot man also left a series of full fingerprint sets from the gas pump all the way to the counter, but again, they were found not to match any in police databases anywhere in the state of Nebraska. However, there was a detail regarding the shots that led police to believe that this was more than just a robbery turned violent. One of the shots fired struck Leah in the back of the head, and the CCTV footage showed the barefoot man apparently taking aim with his final shot, suggesting he had deliberately executed her and simply used the robbery as a cover for

his true intentions. Cold-blooded murder. Despite appealing for witnesses and tips from the general public, police received very little in the way of information, and that proved useless in identifying or locating the barefoot man. The CCTV footage from the gas station was even shown on the popular TV show America's Most Wanted, but even then, it proved impossible to identify their suspect. The simplest explanation for the crime was that it was nothing more than a violent robbery, as random as it was tragic, most probably perpetrated by someone who was simply passing through the area and needed some money. CCTV footage certainly

supports the idea that it was a career criminal who committed the murder given how confident and systematic his actions seemed to be. There were doubtless that this wasn't the first time he'd taken part in a violent robbery, nor would it be the last. This was on top of the fact that the case was remarkably similar to a handful of other apparently random murders where the victims were gas station workers, which proved just as difficult to solve. As police puzzled over the case, uncertain over the particulars of the murder, one person seemed certain that they knew who was responsible. Leah's brother, Roy Rollins, seemed to have absolutely no doubt that her ex-husband was somehow to blame for her death, suggesting that the motive was the messy divorce they had both suffered through during the previous few years. Her ex-husband, a man by the

name of Barry Rocap Sr., owned and operated a successful restaurant on the U.S. Virgin Islands. He was a very wealthy man, and when Leah had left him, she had taken with her a sizable amount of money and secured a large alimony payment given that she had custody of their two sons. Roy Rollins also revealed to the police that his sister had also written their sons, who were young at the time of the divorce and confused over the reasons, a 16-page letter which explained her motives for leaving her father in the sudden and dramatic way that she did. The letter details years of torment and abuse that she suffered at his hands, and how she grew to be horribly afraid of his temper and violent nature. Upon seeing the CCTV footage on his sister's edition of America's Most Wanted,

Roy became transfixed with the whole barefoot detail and insisted that this man was evidently some kind of hitman who was native to the tropical virgin islands and therefore comfortable with walking around in his bare feet. This hitman, according to Roy Rollins, had been hired by Barry Rocap Sr. to murder his ex-wife in revenge for taking so much of his money and so that custody of their two sons could be returned to him. Barry Rocap Sr. died in early 2015 and was never officially implicated in commissioning her murder, but he was also never officially ruled out either. However, the barefoot gunman was never found and no clues to his identity were ever gleaned as a result of police investigations. His fingerprints, the ballistics information, and the CCTV remain on file, and the case is one that remains unsolved in the state of Nebraska,

with no new information coming to light in the subsequent 23 years since Leah's murder. And thus, her murder firmly remains a mystery, one that's left purely to public speculation of unsolved mystery sleuths across the world. This is until one day, God willing, more evidence comes to light and the barefoot killer is finally brought to justice. I used to work at a place called O'Hurley's General Store here in Shepardston, West Virginia. It was a real old-timey general store, the kind that sells everything from buckets and barrels to books and pocket watches, in addition to the regular selection of groceries and liquor. It was an alright job for a young man such as myself, patronized by generally polite and well-meaning folk. Sure, I had a fair few drunks get a little rowdy when I wouldn't sell them hard liquor on a Sunday, but nobody ever put a gun in my face.

But that ain't to say that I didn't have one or two incidents in there that put the fear of God into me, and this here is one of them. So I'm working late one Saturday night, stacking shelves and cleaning house, when a man walks in wearing a black tailored suit. It was one of those that fit him like a glove and gave off an obvious air of wealth, which marked him as an out-of-towner in my book. But that suit was just about the only normal thing about him. He was white as the cotton fields, so pale he was almost gaunt, with razor- features and slick back silver hair. I hear the

little bell on the front entrance tinkle so I do my thing and walk back behind the counter to serve him which is where I laid eyes on him. He walks up to me and with this wolfish smile on his lips asks me for a can of lighter fluid. I fetch him what he asked for, making a little small talk as I ring him up on the register. I ask him where he's from. DC, he replies, just passing through. I gave him a polite smile and ask him if he was one of those politician types, to which he gives the vague reply of something like that. He then proceeds to take out the biggest roll of dollar bills I'd ever seen in my life, all hundreds from what I could tell, then places one down on the counter in front of me. I give the man his change, remarking that it's a good thing

it had been a busy previous few hours or he'd have wiped me out for change. I said it in this fairly jokey tone expecting him to at least give a polite chuckle in return but he doesn't so much as smirk. He just takes out the Zippo lighter from his suit pocket, just about the shiniest I'd ever seen, and proceeds to fill it up with the lighter fluid right there in front of me. I've seen a fair few of those lighters in my time but never one that I could have sworn was plated with silver. I figured he must have been hankering for a smoke something fierce and I told him as such but he replied that he didn't smoke. Right as he says that he finishes up filling up his lighter but not before accidentally spilling a little of the lighter

fluid onto his finger. Then just before he pieces the shiny looking zippo back together, he brings the finger to his mouth and sucks the drop of flammable liquid from his finger like it was a drop of homemade wine or something. Now, naturally, I quietly recoil when he does that, not quite being able to believe what I just witnessed. He sees me do so and shoots me another one of those wolfish grins like he enjoyed the idea of freaking me out like that. I was just on the verge of asking him what that was all about when I hear the doorbell of the general store tinkle again. I look over towards the front entrance and in walks this young lady who looks

to be about the same age as my little sister, couldn't have been no older than about 14 years old. Only she's dressed much younger, almost like how you'd expect a toddler to dress, in this denim skirt type thing with white embroidered flowers on it. She addresses him as daddy, so I figured it was his daughter, and tells him she needs to use the bathroom. The man in the suit then turns to me, asks if there's a bathroom that his daughter can use so I give him the key to the one that we had inside the store. Only instead of just handing it to his kid, he takes out a little leather wallet looking thing from his jacket and hands that, the lighter, then the key to the little lady who then makes her way off towards the door before locking it behind her. I started to feel incredibly uncomfortable.

Something about the whole situation just didn't sit right with me at all. I had a sneaking suspicion of what was contained inside the small leather wallet thing, but I didn't feel like I was in any position to confront the suited man on it, especially not based solely on a hunch. But it wasn't just that. The kid looked absolutely nothing like him. She had these soft, rounded, delicate features along with real curly hair, while the suited man's face was so sharp he looked like he could have cut a swath through a pumpkin patch.

And the way she called him Daddy, a girl that age should be well on to calling her father Dad, Pop, or anything but Daddy. I tried to distract from my discomfort by asking him where he and his daughter were headed. You ask a lot of questions, don't you young man? He replied, dropping what had once been a kind of formal civility entirely and proceeded to stare a hole through me. His eyes, man. He had these narrow brown eyes so dark that were almost black and I felt a shudder run

through me as he fixed his gaze to mine. Just making conversation, I remember saying back to him, shifting nervously behind the counter, we know how the old saying goes, don't you? His voice was smooth, just creepily calm like there was no emotion behind it whatsoever. Curiosity killed the cat. The suited man turned, then started walking up and down the aisles, eyeing up the products like we were some quaint backwater relic, which I suppose was exactly what we were. I get back to cleaning house for a minute or two, only it's more just going through the motions while I keep an eye on what this guy is doing. I figured it'd only be a minute or two before his kid emerges from the bathroom and they fix to get back on the road. But five minutes goes by, then ten, and still no sign of her.

Just as I'm about to ask him if he thinks she's okay in there, the bathroom door unlocks with a loud snap and the door opens up. There's no flush, nothing to indicate she'd actually been using the bathroom for its intended purpose, and when she emerges, she seems all sleepy and dozy looking. Then she hands back the keys, the lighter, and the black leather wallet to the suited man in a daze before giving him a lazy sounding, thank you daddy. The way she said it right then, I knew he wasn't her father and it was dripping with sleaze. The look he gave her in return was one a father should never, ever give his daughter under any circumstances. It made me sick to my stomach and I wanted the pair of them out of my store immediately. But we rarely just come out and say something like that

where I'm from. We'll say something with an implication if you catch my drift. Safe travels now, I remember saying to the suited man. My tone was friendly, but the look I gave him was not. He turns and looks at me like he was about to go through me for shortcut, like he could have eaten me without salt there and then. Then he walks up to the counter, places the bathroom key down on top of it, and says one final thing to me. Remember, young man. Curiosity killed the cat. Then he walks that little lady out of the store And then drove off into the night

I seriously considered calling the sheriff right after they left But what was I going to tell him? That a man was traveling with a girl that appeared to be his daughter? I'd be laughed right off the line I could have mentioned that I thought that there was something illegal in the leather wallet that he'd handed her But I got the distinct impression that he'd handed her, but I got the distinct impression that nothing we could ever accuse him of was really going to stick. He had all that money, and that look he gave me too.

So I didn't say a word to anyone. But for the remaining few hours of my shift, and for the next few days, I heard his words rattling around my skull whenever I paid any mind to him at all. Curiosity killed the cat. On the night of March 15th, 1989, Tracy Lynn Kirkpatrick was working at Aileen Ladies Sportswear in Frederick, Maryland. Tracy was an introverted young woman, often opting to communicate her thoughts and feelings through handwritten poetry than actual verbal conversation. She was also something of a bookworm and excelled in her academic life. She was also extremely hardworking, holding positions at two retail jobs in order to save money to pursue for a law degree at an Ivy League university. One of these jobs was at the

previously mentioned sportswear store, where on the night in question, she was working the closing shift. At around 6pm on March 15th, Tracy's mother arrived at the store to bring her daughter some dinner. She was a supportive, loving parent who often brought Tracy a plate of home-cooked food, which Tracy would then share with her colleagues on duty. She later said that nothing appeared amiss at the store and that her daughter seemed to be in a perfectly jovial mood. Two hours later, Tracy's manager finished her shift and departed the store, as it was routine that lower employees would cash up and lock down the store at the usual closing time of 9pm. No sales were recorded after that point, so if there had indeed been any visitors,

they certainly hadn't bought anything from any of the clerks. After closing, one of the unit's security guards happened to notice that some of the store's lights were still on, long after they should have been turned off. So at around 10.30pm, he entered the store to investigate the situation, concerned there may have been an intruder who was using the lights to steal merchandise, having broken in using a back door. He took out his key to unlock the front entrance of the store only to find that it was still unlocked. Deeply concerned, he thoroughly searched the front and back areas of the premises, only to make a terrifying discovery In one of the back storage rooms lay Tracy Lynn Kirkpatrick

There was a puddle of blood beneath her unconscious body, along with stab wounds to her chest and back The security guard then rushed to call emergency services, hoping she could still be saved, but on arrival, paramedics found that she could not be revived, and they announced her dead on the scene. Police then arrived to cordon off the area so that a forensic examination could be undertaken. Horrifyingly enough, Tracy's parents were also on their way to the store, concerned that the daughter was having car trouble and might need a ride back home. But when they arrived on the scene, they saw the blue flashing lights of police cars and feared for the worse. We cannot imagine how painful it was to have their worst nightmares confirmed

that their only daughter had been murdered by some mysterious assailant. All throughout the investigation that followed, Frederick homicide detectives failed to identify any singular motive for her slaying. The cash in the store's register was still present. Tracy had not been indecently assaulted, nor did she appear to have any obvious enemies who might wish to see her come to harm. There was no evidence of any chase or struggle, which suggested that Tracy knew her murderer as they approached to fatally wound her. Yet not a single person working at the store that day had seen anything suspicious, or could suggest anyone they thought to be guilty of such a horrific crime. Investigators were completely and utterly flummoxed. That was until three months later when a person called into the U.S. National

Confessions hotline. A recording of the call was made, which reads as follows. Hello, my name is Don and I'm calling from Frederick, Maryland. I know this is going to sound surprising, but three months ago, I stabbed a girl to death and you might think that in making this tape, I'm setting myself up to be caught, but there are a lot of guys named Don and Frederick. The girl I killed was working in a ladies sportswear store. I often came by and talked to her when she was working alone, and one night when she was in the storeroom and we were talking, our conversation turned into an argument. And so I took out a knife I had with

me at all times and I killed her. And a few days later I realized I had created a lot of sadness and I thought about turning myself in to the police. But whatever they do to me, they won't bring Tracy back. So I've decided that I better keep free because we have the death penalty in Maryland. Thanks for listening. I'm sorry about what I did, but nothing can change it. Bye. Staff from the Confession Hotline forwarded a copy of the recording to Frederick Police,

and the call was traced to a place called Walkersville, a small town in the same county that was just less than ten miles away from the alien lady's sportswear. Two weeks after the call, a self-proclaimed psychic telephoned Frederick Police, informing them that their investigations should center around a man she only referred to as Sean. She claimed this Sean character was acting strangely regarding the case, going as far as sending her clippings from newspapers and asking her bizarre and probing questions about Tracy Lynn Kirkpatrick. Apparently willing to follow up any lead they had, no matter how ridiculous sounding, Frederick Police then descended into Walkersville, where they played the audio recording of the confession to various

members of the public in the hopes that they might be able to identify the voice on the tape. As it turned out, several people recognized the voice on the tape as neither a Sean nor a Don, saying it belonged to someone whose identity was never made public by investigators. This man was never arrested or formally charged with Tracy Lynn Kirkpatrick's murder, and despite thorough searches of his property and his complete lack of alibi, he was subsequently rolled out as a suspect. Essentially, the identity of Tracy Lynn Kirkpatrick's killer is a complete mystery. But there is one interesting detail that seems to have been completely overlooked by law enforcement.

You see, there was a man named Don present at the sportswear store that night. The same security guard that apparently stumbled across Tracy's body is named Don Barnes Jr., and his father is none other than Don Barnes Sr., who was actually the sheriff of Frederick County at the time of Kirkpatrick's murder. Yet despite him being one of the only people present at the time she was murdered, Don Barnes Jr. has never been considered a suspect. Now this could easily be because whoever committed the murder was well aware of Don's presence in the area on the night of the murder and sought to implicate him. But even if this was the case, surely Don would have faced some form of casual questioning, given that no one else was present when Tracy Lynn Kirkpatrick's body was found. Yet apparently he didn't, and many have alleged that this is because Don Barnes Jr. was actually a prime suspect whose involvement was completely covered up at the hand of his sheriff father.

However, the allegations of nepotism are exactly that, purely allegations, and since no single person has been charged or implicated in the crime in any serious way, the case remains, and may forever remain, unsolved. 26-year-old Deborah Deanne Poe grew up in northern Virginia near Washington, D.C., eventually moving to Orlando, Florida in late October of 1989. Lost in Orlando, Deborah rented a duplex with a female roommate, fostering dreams of purchasing her own home with the profits she hoped to make from her fledgling catering company. In order to realize said dreams, Deborah worked two jobs in the Orlando area,

one being in the sales department of the Orlando Sentinel newspaper and the other working five nights a week as a clerk at the Circle K convenience store on the intersection of Hall Road and Aloma Avenue, where she was entirely alone whilst on the job. Scott Iaghi, another clerk at the Circle K who also happened to be Debra's boyfriend, handed over his shift to her at around 11pm on February 3rd, 1990. Two hours later, Scott returned to the Circle K to see how Debra was holding up. She was relatively new to the company and was blessed that her boyfriend was willing to put time aside to assist her in her nightly duties. Once Scott was sure that she would be okay, he drove home to get some rest,

expecting a call from Debra once she had finished her shift at around 7am. Yet he never received one. Shortly after 3am on the morning of February 4th, a friend of Deborah's happened to be driving by the Circle K store. She attests that she saw Deborah behind the counter, clearly recognizing her distinct hairstyle from some distance away. However, around a half hour later, a customer parked up in her vehicle in the Circle K's parking lot and walked inside the store to buy a pack of cigarettes. This particular customer was a regular visitor at the time of the night given that she too worked the late shift at her job, so even though Deborah had only worked there a short time, she had become accustomed to seeing the sleepy-eyed young clerk behind the counter. But to her surprise, when she walked in that night, it wasn't Deborah on duty. In fact,

the man who stood behind the counter didn't appear to be an employee of Circle K at all, given that instead of the usual uniform, he was wearing a black Megadeth t-shirt emblazoned with a fire-breathing dragon. The customer inquired if he was a new employee, to which the strange man replied in the affirmative. She then asked where Debra was, and was confused when the strange man didn't seem to know who she was. After all, the Circle K team were a close-knit bunch that included a romantic couple. But if this young man was indeed a new employee, it was perfectly understandable that he might not be entirely familiar with his colleagues yet, so his answer didn't arouse too much suspicion.

The customer shrugged it off, then asked the clerk for a pack of their favorite cigarette brand. Yet not only did the strange man not seem to be familiar with where the cigarettes were located or which brand was which, he seemed to have a great deal of trouble operating the register too. Yet as with her previous inquiry, the customer simply put it down to the teething pains of a new hire and calmly waited for her change as the strange man pushed one button after another before the cash register finally popped open. As she left the store, she heard the strange man lean over the counter and say, You really shouldn't smoke, you know, in a tone that left her feeling distinctly creeped out.

Then, just another half hour later, another customer walked into the Circle K only to find it completely deserted. They called out for service, but no one came to their assistance. Something didn't sit right with them at all. So they made the decision to call the local sheriff's department to warn them that something bad may have happened. Police arrived a short while later discovered that Debra's red Toyota was still in the parking lot, all locked up. Yet strangely, they found not only were her purse and paycheck still in the car, but also that her actual car keys were locked inside too. On inspecting the interior of the Circle K store, the cops then found what they assumed was Deborah's Circle K

uniform folded and neatly placed behind the counter. The register was secured, there was no obvious sign of theft of either cash or product, neither was remotely out of the place. It was as if that night, Deborah had simply vanished into thin air. A canine unit was called in and the dog handler gave his canine a whiff of Debra's uniform, instructing it to follow the scent. The search dog then rushed around to the rear of the store building, alerting on two distinct spots on a section of pavement. The first was a patch of concrete behind a derelict business just next to the Circle K, the other seemed to be through a gap in a large wooden fence that led into the parking lot of the neighboring apartment complex.

After that, the search dog seemed to lose her trail. The sudden loss of the scent trail led investigating sheriff's deputies to conclude that Debra had either willingly entered a vehicle which promptly drove off, or had done so under duress. But since Debra hadn't returned to either her job, her boyfriend, or her rented apartment, the only real question was who might want to abduct the hardworking and personable young woman. What quickly became obvious to investigators was that the solitary nature of Debra's work made her a very easy and obvious target for kidnapping. She was an attractive young woman, working alone in a gas station in the middle of the night,

at a time when there was no CCTV cameras present to record the interior or exterior of the business. According to her boyfriend, there was also no shortage of bothersome customers to include on the list of suspects, some of whom harmlessly flirted with Debra. Others, she complained, had made some legitimately predatory remarks to her when they came in drunk in the wee small hours. Her boyfriend told the police of one particular incident that Debra complained of, which occurred just a fortnight prior to her apparent abduction. According to her, a semi-naked man ran into the Circle K and hopped over the counter, where he then attempted to indecently assault her. Debra was then pursued around the store for a few minutes, then chased outside to the gas pumps where she was able to evade the man and make it back to the store before him, where she promptly locked the doors to keep him out.

It was only when Debra had secured a full-time sales position at the Orlando Sentinel that her family and boyfriend pleaded with her to quit working at the Circle K, citing the dangers of working alone in the middle of the night. However, Debra refused, arguing that she needed the extra hours in order to raise funds to put towards starting up that dream catering business of hers. As a kind of compromise, Scott began to accompany her to work, remaining in his car while she worked and drinking coffee to stay awake so that he could keep an eye on her. But this only irritated Debra, who complained that she didn't need to be chaperoned, especially when her boyfriend should be at home getting the sleep he needed to complete his own full-time hours. After collecting statements from various eyewitnesses, police decided that their investigation should focus around the creepy sounding Megadeth fan who was standing behind the counter when the smoker arrived to buy cigarettes.

The Orlando Sentinel ran a missing persons ad in the classified section every day for 11 years after her abduction, ending in December 2001, but information yielded from the ads proved useless. Yet after more than 30 years, the hundreds of tips from the general public, this man has yet to be identified. There were also some doubts that he was even involved in her disappearance at all, given that he could have walked into the store, possibly drunk, saw that there was no one behind the counter and decided to play at being a clerk for an hour or so, but it would have to be something of an extraordinary coincidence that he had been present in the store just a matter of

minutes after she was supposedly abducted. Either way, police were never able to identify or question the man, and so his identity and level of involvement remain a complete mystery. In the immediate aftermath of Deborah's disappearance, police were not in position to go public with all the information they had to handle, since they were worried that it might frighten their suspect into fleeing the area altogether. But after three months of no luck in their investigation, Orange County Sheriff's Department held a press conference in which they revealed a composite sketch of the so-called Megadeth Man. He was believed to be aged between 19 and 25 with long wiry dark hair and brown eyes. Aside from the Megadeth t-shirt he was wearing on the night

in question, a witness had described him as wearing a skull ring on his left hand, along with the crucifix piercing dangling from his right ear. But perhaps most importantly, a black van has been parked outside at the time of his appearance, one with a large colorful Megadeth mural airbrushed onto the side. It was believed that this detail would make him easy to identify, since such a vehicle was likely to be very memorable and somewhat unique. Then in August of 1990, a man riding an ATV made a grisly discovery near to Aloma Avenue, a road that was only two miles away from where Deborah was last seen alive. It was a decomposing human corpse, mostly skeletal, and due to the geographical and physical similarities, it was believed to be Deborah's.

However much to the relief of her family and friends, the jewelry on the corpse was found to bear no similarities to that which they knew that Deborah owned. And after a comparison that was made between the corpse's bite pattern and Deborah's dental records, the possibility of it being the missing clerk was ruled out. It gave her family hope. Hope that she might still be alive. Over a year after the corpse's discovery, in November of 1991, Deborah's case was featured on the popular TV show Unsolved Mysteries. Over 150 viewers from all over the country called in with fresh information, most of which involved the identity or location of the Megadeth man seen behind the counter that night. Orange County police also received a call from law enforcement officials up in Virginia, who told them they were investigating a remarkably similar case and actually had a suspect in their custody who matched the physical description of the Megadeth man. However, despite the physical similarities, detectives were unable

to charge the man up in Virginia and were forced to investigate other suspects during the following few years, one of which was an ex-boyfriend of Deborah's who she had broken up with citing mental instability. Another came to the attention of detectives as of late 1998, following reports that he would talk constantly about Deborah's disappearance with an apparently unhealthy interest. But once he was confronted by police, the man simply lawyered up and refused to talk about it anymore, subsequently dodging a charge for her abduction. Almost 12 years later, in March of 2002, a large team of Orange County Sheriff's deputies and volunteer search and rescue personnel assembled in an empty lot behind the Chapel Hill Baptist Church on Trevarthen Road in Orlando. They spent around 14 hours intensively

searching the one-acre lot, which was only around three and a half miles from the Circle K gas station, having identified it as a possible location for Deborah's remains. Their reasoning was that it was in close proximity to the home of a new suspect in the case, but refused to say just who that was in reference to. That day, five of the six search canines present alerted to there having been human remains in an overgrown section of the field, yet the twelve hours of excavation that followed yielded nothing of significance, although that didn't rule out that Deborah's body had been buried there following her murder and then moved at some point during the early stages of the investigation into her disappearance. However, terrifyingly enough,

local newspapers discovered that this location was close to the apartment of none other than Deborah's boyfriend at the time of her disappearance, Scott Iaghi. The very same man who had been so insistent that the blame lay with one of the men harassing her Was now prime suspect in what was, by that point, assumed to be her murder Yet he too was never officially charged with any crime It has been more than 30 years since Debra Deanne Poe Disappeared from her job at the Circle K gas station in Orlando, Florida 30 leads of dead ends

Bad leads and failed charges. There had been no human remains discovered that had ever been successfully identified as belonging to her. No one has ever come forward claiming to be her, and no one has ever confessed to her murder. For intents and purposes, Debra simply vanished into thin air that night, never to be seen again. Even as the world ventured into the era of camera phones, internet media, and communities of people obsessed with unsolved mysteries, there have been no significant developments in her case. Thirty years later, the question remains, just what exactly did happen to Deborah Deanne Poe? Hey friends, thanks for listening. Click that notification bell to be alerted of all To be continued... featured on the next video. And join my Discord to interact with me and other listeners directly.

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