The Lets Read Podcast - 256: THE OLD MAN WHO STALKED MY FAMILY | 24 True Scary Stories | EP 244

Episode Date: September 10, 2024

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about infamous abduction cases, hellish prison experiences & and how one old man developed an obsession with a stranger's family HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT? [e-mail] FOLLOW ME ON - ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsRead ♫ Music & Audio Mix: INEKT https://www.youtube.com/@inekt

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Music Music Music Music Music Music First constructed back in 1920, Carangiru Penitentiary became the largest jailhouse in the Brazilian state of Sao Paulo. During its operational peak from 1956 to 2002, Carangiru was home to more than 8,000 inmates,

but by the late 1980s, it had been converted into what Brazilian authorities called a detention center, where violent and highly dangerous criminals were held while they awaited their various trial dates. Seeing as it wasn't a full-on prison where convicts were housed for often decade-long sentences, Caranjiru often only saw a fraction of the funding provided to federal penitentiaries. And to make matters worse, it was designed to fit the standards of the Brazilian Criminal Code from the year 1890, resulting in shocking levels of squalor and filth.

In 1989, a prominent Brazilian doctor named Drauzio Varela visited the prison after learning of its awful conditions. What he found was deeply alarming. Including the warden, a mere 16 prison guards were responsible for just over 2,000 detainees. Well aware of how impossible their task was, the guards made no attempts to enforce discipline Instead, order was maintained by various prison gangs who employed strict forms of segregation and diplomacy While making huge profits selling drugs to the jail's inmates The use of intravenous drugs was commonplace and, although technically forbidden by the Grand Criminal Council Incidents of carnal violation were disturbingly common.

These two factors created near-perfect conditions for the spread of blood-borne diseases, resulting in Karanjiru suffering its very own localized AIDS epidemic. Dr. Varela was so horrified by what he saw that he volunteered his services, free of charge in order to alleviate the suffering of the diseased and dying. During every visit, Dr. Varela begged prison officials to properly prohibit the use of needles within the prison, as this was the primary means by which AIDS spread between inmates. Yet each time he returned,

he discovered that the use of intravenous drugs continued unabated. The warden would never admit it, but any new policy would have to be approved by the gang's leadership, and since they made so much money from the sale of heroin and methamphetamine, there was no way in hell that they were going to approve a ban on needles. However, there's also the possibility that the warden was perfectly content to keep on running the jail in the exact same way. After all, why would he want to upset the status quo? He got to continue collecting his paycheck while Kerinjiru continued to operate in relative peace. But that peace was an extremely shaky one, and in the end, all it took to shatter it was a not-so-friendly game of soccer.

Just after 1.30pm on Friday, October 2nd of 1992, a group of inmates gathered for a game of five-a-side soccer. Each team was composed of players from rival gangs, and while this might seem like a recipe for disaster, the weekly show of playful competition actually helped keep the peace, and had done so for many, many years. It seems the Brazilian love of soccer transcended any petty criminal rivalries, and although it pitted the gangs in direct competition with each other, the mutual love of the sport ensured spirited but otherwise non-violent gatherings. However, during this particular game,

an overly aggressive tackle led to a physical confrontation, which spilled into the watching crowd and ignited a powder keg. A piece that had held for nearly a decade fell apart in just a matter of seconds, and with the prison guards vastly outnumbered by the inmates, they fled what soon turned into an all-out gang war. As the violence unfolded, inmates used a variety of improvised weapons to inflict horrific injuries upon their rivals. Those caught in the no-man's land which formed between the cell blocks were as good as dead, as hunting parties of bloodthirsty gang members aggressively defended their respective territories. By 2.15, the jail's warden had contacted Sao Paulo's Secretary of Public Security, who in turn ordered an entire battalion of the state's military police

force to retake Carangiro and restore order. A grand total of 341 heavily armed shock troops then descended on the jailhouse, formed up around its perimeter, and prepared for the assault. As they did so, the jail's warden made a number of pleas using a large public address system. He begged the prisoners to return to their cells, assuring them that if they did so in a timely fashion, no additional charges would be filed against any rioting inmate. His pleas were ignored. The first attempt to retake the jailhouse occurred in the late afternoon when a number of riot police attempted to enter one of the cell blocks. Officers equipped with heavy-duty riot shields took point during the incursion, having heavily suspected the prisoners to be armed in some capacity.

And they were right. Thankfully, it was only a small-caliber ammunition that struck the officers' riot shields that afternoon, or the result could have been much different. Yet the prisoners also used a much less conventional kind of weapon, one which terrified even the most heavily armed riot police. During the first incursion, as the riot police decided on a tactical retreat, prisoners from the jailhouse's upper tiers began emptying buckets of warm liquid over them.

Some of the more foul-smelling liquids were quite obviously human fecal matter, while others had a much darker, syrupy texture to them, appearing as a deep crimson on the gas mass of the riot police it splashed on. As the officers made their way out of the cell block, they reportedly heard cries of, Hey Donuts, now you're infected. It was later revealed that prisoners had been collecting blood, urine, and feces from prisoners infected with HIV, all with the intention of using the fluids as weapons against invading police officers. It should be noted that it's not possible to transmit HIV via a person's urine,

nor is it strictly possible via their fecal matter. But the blood poured over the retreating riot police most definitely posed a significant danger to them. And when it was learned that they were covered in infected blood, a hazmat team was rushed onto the scene to disinfect both officers and equipment. The news of the ad hoc biological warfare strategy sent shockwaves through the ranks of the attending military police. AIDS had been in the public consciousness for more than a decade by that point, but the social taboos and misconceptions surrounding the virus remained shockingly prevalent. In all of their heavy riot gear and gas masks, the Brazilian military policemen were in no real danger of contracting the virus, but since public education regarding the illness was almost non-existent at the time,

the fear that rippled through their ranks was palpable. To them, the weaponization of AIDS-infected blood was just as deadly as their own high-caliber firearms, and its deployment against them was nothing short of a declaration of war, a kill-or-be-killed attitude spread among the ranks of the gathered officers, and if the prisoners wanted to fight, by God, they'd give them one. Following the medical extraction of the first assault team, the remaining police officers were divided into three groups. The 1st Shock Battalion of Sao Paulo's military police were instructed to take the first two floors of Cell Block 9, which had become the focal point of the prisoners' resistance.

The assault would not only serve as the operation's primary point of attack, but also as a distraction for the prisoners on the third and fourth floors. Prior to the primary assault, officers from the counterterrorism commandos and hostage rescue specialists would form up on the roof of the cell block, then rappel down onto the third and fourth floors to surprise the rioting prisoners from their rear once the operation had commenced. It was a textbook sweep and clear operation, and essentially, the prisoners stood no chance. But that didn't stop a great many of them from putting up stiff resistance. As the assault commenced, one prisoner threw a heavy typewriter down at officers comprising the main assault section from the top tier of the cell block It only narrowly missed a rioting shield wielding point man who would have almost certainly been killed had it struck him on the head a

Group of prisoners then rushed the officers armed with syringes filled with HIV infected blood Each prisoner was shot anywhere between 30 and 50 times as terrified riot police sought to ensure that they wouldn't get up again. As the officers advanced, they began to witness the carnage which had unfolded following the outbreak of chaos. One officer later claimed that he personally saw how one cell had been turned into an improvised execution chamber. The severed heads of dozens of the prison's undesirables, including informants and touchers of children, were stacked in a pile that was waist-high at the very minimum. Another officer, Colonel Walter Alves Mendonca, later

claimed that the resistance put up by the rioting inmates was, and I quote, demonic. He also stated what occurred that day made his unit feel more like a priesthood than a police force. For the next 20 minutes or so, cell block 9 became a maelstrom of screams and gunfire, and by the time the jailhouse was firmly back under state control, a total of 111 prisoners lay dead. As news of the confrontation spread, the word massacre spread from lips to headlines all over the world. The huge death toll stunned the Brazilian public, and the families of those killed responded with an intense mixture of grief and ferocity. To them, it was as if though

their loved ones had been executed without ever seeing a day in court. The Center for Justice and International Law condemned Sao Paulo's military police, accusing them of perpetrating a massacre as opposed to a measured attempt to enforce the law. The leadership of Sao Paulo's military police protested the announcement, but eyewitness testimonies did not paint the actions of their men in a favorable light. Not only did several officers admit to firing on unarmed prisoners during the blind panic that ensued, but some alleged that surrendering prisoners had been subjected to execution-style murders. Several were found with their hands behind their back, with entry wounds to the rear of their skulls

and exit wounds that had blown out the lower half of their faces. This was evidence that some had been shot from behind while kneeling, and when confronted with this, leaders in the military police had no satisfactory explanations. In the years that followed, on each anniversary of what came to be known as the Caranjeiro Massacre, thousands of Brazilians take to the streets to express their anger and demand answers. Finally in 2001, it appeared their efforts were being rewarded when none other than Colonel Uberatan Guimarães himself was put on trial and was held fully responsible for the mishandling of the Canjiru riot. Shockingly, a civilian judge found Colonel Gimoreng guilty on all charges and

sentenced him to a jaw-dropping 632 years in prison. There was, however, a twist. The judge ruled that Colonel Gimoreng could serve out his sentence in liberty, meaning he didn't see a day in prison, but was officially and nationally disgraced, with the blame laid squarely at his feet. Yet the story doesn't end there. The very next year, the supposedly disgraced Colonel Guimaraes was elected a state deputy for Sao Paulo with more than 50,000 votes, and ran with the campaign number 14.111. It was never spoken aloud by Gimmerange or any of his supporters, but many of the colonel's critics claimed that the 111 portion of his campaign number was a direct reference to the number of prisoner deaths during the Carangiro massacre. Four years following Colonel Gimmerange's election, and possibly as a result of political capital he'd earned during his time in office,

a Brazilian court voided his murder convictions on the grounds that a mistrial had occurred. He openly celebrated the decision, but it appears the colonel marked the occasion too soon. Just months later, he was found murdered in his Sao Paulo apartment, having been shot several times in the abdomen. Whoever killed Colonel Gimmerange clearly wanted him to suffer before he died, meaning their motive is most likely revenge for the Queringiru massacre. Ironically, the massacre didn't break the gang structures inside of Queringiru, it only strengthened and eventually united them. One of Brazil's largest contemporary street gangs,

Primeiro Comando de Capital, or PCC for short, was formed as a direct result of the outrage following the massacre when several rival street gangs decided to join forces and wage war on the state that clearly preferred them in the ground than on the streets. Although it's never been officially proven, PCC are thought to be responsible for the death of José Ismael Pedrosa, Queringiro's warden at the time of the massacre. Not a single shred of evidence exists to support this theory,

yet nevertheless, it's passed into Brazilian criminal folklore, something they wish happened as opposed to something they know happened. In December of 2002, after years of internal and external pressure, the Brazilian government announced that Caranjiru Penitentiary was scheduled for demolition. The area has since been remodeled into a piece of parkland. Then, in April of 2013, 23 former and serving military police officers were convicted of 13 counts of murder relating to their actions on the day of the massacre. Each was sentenced to 156 years in prison. But much like their late commanding officer, a series of Supreme Court rulings had resulted in all officers escaping their prison sentences. But the issue raises a serious question.

When some of the most violent men on the face of the earth use improvised biological warfare in the aid of overturning state authority even further, is it realistic of us to expect anything less than a hideously violent confrontation once we decide that rebellion must be subdued? That's not to condone the extrajudicial murder of criminals, but who in their right mind would volunteer to put down a prison riot when the reward might be imprisonment among the very murderers they'd once been paid to kill? The Penitentiary of New Mexico. At a distance, its sandy colored structures give the impression that the prison is hewn from the very sands that surround it.

But get a little closer, and you realize its creation is anything but natural. The original site was established in Old Town, Santa Fe during the late 19th century, and since the volume of regional crime far outweighed the state's ability to incarcerate offenders, the penitentiary soon suffered from serious overcrowding issues. In 1903, conditions were exacerbated when the prison's leadership decided that, along with brickmaking, the construction of highways would be the second of the prison's leadership decided that, along with brickmaking, the construction of highways would be the second of the prison's industries. But in the high New Mexican heat, spending all day hammering rocks, pouring tar, or slaving over a brick kiln made tough work

into dangerous work. Over the next two decades, living conditions continued to deteriorate until finally, during the summer of 1922, the first instance of mass disobedience occurred. Many hesitate to call this a full-scale riot, as it was more of a case of inmates refusing to return to their cells following their daily recreation period. They pledged to continue their protests until the issues of poor food, overcrowding, and guard brutality were addressed. Instead of extending some kind of olive branch or assuring prisoners that their concerns would be dealt with, the leadership gave the order for armed prison guards to open fire.

One inmate was killed and five others were wounded when rifle-toting corrections officers opened fire from their sniper towers. Prison officials were heavily criticized for such a heartless, bloodthirsty approach to enforcing discipline, and over the next few decades, efforts were made to alleviate the poor conditions cited by the unruly prisoners. Yet the one issue that the penitentiary of New Mexico could never seem to tackle, was the chronic overcrowding. As of 2016, the average ratio of guards to inmates in U.S. federal prisons was 4 to 1, meaning that there were four prisoners to each correctional officer. But at the Penitentiary of New Mexico during the early 1950s, that ratio was more like 10 to 1, and a correctional officer who feels vastly outnumbered

is much more likely to use excessive force than one who feels safe and secure. As a result, the use of violence as a means of enforcing discipline skyrocketed and the trend resulted in the penitentiary's second major incident in June of 1953, when inmates seized Deputy Warden Ralph Takash, along with 12 correctional officers, and declared them hostages. The attempt to free them saw riot police, armed with tear gas and shotguns, storm through the prison with reckless abandon. The ensuing melee resulted in two dead inmates,

while dozens of others received life-changing injuries. The riot was the final straw for state authorities, who ordered the construction of a brand new, purpose-built penitentiary, large enough to properly house the state's worst offenders. The original building was demolished shortly afterwards, and aside from the street name, Penn Road, not a trace of the original penitentiary remains. The all-new state-of-the-art penitentiary on State Road 14 was an extremely effective remedy to the problem of prison overcrowding. Throughout the 1960s, the prison remained so under capacity that some of the large

50-man dormitories were converted into classrooms. The warden of the period, J.E. Baker, cited President Lyndon B. Johnson's War on Poverty program as a hugely positive source of prison reform. Baker christened his own personal program, Project Newgate, and instituted extensive support schemes that emphasized vocational training and a sense of community service. Yet as Lyndon Johnson ceded power to Richard Nixon and the war on poverty became the war on drugs, New Mexico's problem of prison overcrowding returned with a vengeance. Throughout the 1970s, as the number of narcotics offenses rose dramatically, the penitentiary of New Mexico's prisoner population exploded.

The 50 single beds in each of the dormitories were replaced by bunk beds, doubling each dorm's capacity. But still, during periods of peak activity, the dorms were so over capacity that some inmates were forced to sleep on the concrete floor. In the end, the warden was forced to convert the classrooms back into dormitories and, as more and more convicts lined up to be processed, the penitentiary's budget was stretched to the breaking point. This resulted in all of the prison's educational, recreational, and rehabilitative programs being cancelled, while kitchen staff were forced to seek lower quality ingredients to remain under budget. The ever-increasing budget strain also had a devastating effect on the prison's sanitary conditions. During this period, the warden of the Texas State

Penitentiary paid a visit to his New Mexican counterparts, but on his arrival, he was horrified by what he saw. He noted that cockroaches and mice were prevalent in every wing of the prison, and that many of the inmates were quite clearly suffering from diseases relating to poor hygiene. What's more, the inability of prison officials to properly separate violent and non-violent offenders meant those convicted of relatively minor offenses were preyed upon by the less scrupulous. The visiting prison warden later said the conditions in the penitentiary were the worst he'd ever seen, and that if conditions didn't improve, those boys are going to have a riot on their hands soon. It's possible that the warden's report led to the change of prison leadership in 1975,

yet it appears the prison administration simply replaced a warden who wouldn't stand for such terrible conditions with one who would. The following year, inmates organized a work strike in response to the new warden's laissez-faire attitude to prison conditions. Instead of negotiating with the prisoners, the new warden ordered the strike to be broken by any means necessary and appointed his deputy, a man named Robert Montoya, to oversee the operation. It was a shrewd maneuver by the warden, who had essentially absolved himself of blame in the event that the operation went wrong. Montoya, on the other hand, knew exactly what kind of pressure he was under and resolved to enforce a brutal, long-lasting discipline no matter the cost. Montoya and his men managed to isolate the strikers in a small, windowless

section of the prison and simply pumped in tear gas until the strikers came staggering out, coughing and retching, with chemical-induced tears streaming down their faces. Several eyewitnesses later claim the prisoners were stripped, beaten, and then marched back to their cells while the beatings continued. Since many of the riot squad used blunt handles of fire axes to beat their victims, the incident became known as the Night of the Axe Handles, and prompted the drafting of a 99-page civil rights complaint which was forwarded to the District Court of New Mexico. Part of the complaint pertained to what was referred to as the snitch system. In the aftermath of the broken strike, the new warden implemented a policy of divide and conquer

and heavily encouraged inmates to inform on one another in exchange for a life of relative luxury. Naturally, the offer didn't have many takers, as the punishments for jailhouse snitches have remained invariably harsh for as long as jails have existed. But the intention behind the policy wasn't to yield any usable information. On the contrary, it was to sow seeds of paranoia among the inmate population, so that instead of turning on their jailers, they turned on each other. When the district court judges read the report, they were horrified by what they read, and after conducting an investigation into the strike, they ordered the penitentiary's

administration to enact radical but positive reforms. But instead of doing so, prison officials played politics with the state legislature, who in turn refused to allocate the necessary funding to make such reforms possible. Time and time again, the district court revisited the issue and dispatched increasingly desperate warnings to their various subordinates as inmate violence reached crisis level. The final such warning came in November of 1979, but by then, it was far too late. Just after midnight on February 2nd of 1980, a handful of inmates in Dormitory E2 began to imbibe heavily from a stash of prison wine they'd been brewing under a bunk.

But this was no casual get-together. The men gulped down the sweet, syrupy substance like it was medicine. This wasn't recreation. It was preparation. As they took turns instilling themselves with Dutch courage, the inmates hatched a plan of attack. Occasionally, when the guards performed their regular 1am count of dorm E2, they'd be so relaxed and sure of themselves that they'd neglect to lock the door. A team of three correctional officers performed each prison count,

with two of them entering the dormitory, while a third remained outside with the keys until the count had been completed, and the two other officers were ready to come out. Due to the overcrowding issue, the two counting officers were forced to walk down two sides of a center aisle, consisting of single beds which stretched the entire length of the dorm. As one officer looked down to the right, the other officer looked down to the left and during the last few moments of the process, the third correctional officer would briefly

enter the dormitory. This was an extremely risky move, giving the prisoners a brief but coveted window of escape, but due to budget cuts and chronic overcrowding, the prison staff were left with no other choice but to conduct their counts that way. At 1.40am, the three correctional officers arrived to perform their count and, just as they were due to depart, the prisoners pounced. A fourth officer heard the commotion and came running to help his imperiled co-workers. He too was taken hostage, bringing the totalotion and came running to help his imperiled co-workers. He too was taken hostage, bringing the total number of captives to four.

After the rest of the prison's occupants got wind of what was happening, they too joined the riot and quickly overpowered the officers trying to shut down the southern wings of the prison. For officers Larry Mendoza and Antonio Vigil, the outbreak of the riot was like something out of a horror movie. After hearing suspicious noises coming from the corridor outside their mess hall, the two officers stopped eating and chose to investigate. It was then that they spotted one of their fellow officers guarding an open gate and, since this was strictly against procedure, they approached the guard with a friendly reminder. Yet as they got closer, they realized the man guarding the gate was no corrections officer. It was a prisoner, wearing one of their uniforms. As the severity of the unfolding situation became apparent, Mendoza and Vigil fled to the prison's main control center to raise the alarm. The remaining prison officers then took shelter in the empty north wing to the prison's main control center to raise the alarm. The remaining prison

officers then took shelter in the empty north wing of the prison and began working to summon outside support. By 2.05am, the inmates had completely taken over the prison, having smashed their way into the control room using a heavy brass fire extinguisher. This allowed them to unlock almost every cell in the prison, unleashing a wave of manic, delinquent glee as the inmates quite literally took over the asylum. Yet it wasn't long before the party atmosphere was replaced by something considerably darker, as the prison's two main gangs turned the prison into their own personal battleground. Roughly speaking, the prison's population could be divided into two factions. There were the Chicanos, a Latino-centric gang comprised of several smaller sets,

and the Aryan Brotherhood, a white supremacist gang whose members comprised some of the prison's most dangerous inmates and who were housed in cell block three. Usually speaking, the gangs remained isolated from each other due to the ongoing blood feuds, but now, with every cell in the prison having been unlocked and opened, there was nothing to stop them from engaging in a long and bloody battle. Yet despite their much-hated enemies being exposed and vulnerable, the heads of the Aryan Brotherhood turned their sights on a much softer

target. You see, the next cell block over from them was home to the prison's protective custody suite, meaning every snitch, turncoat, and traitor was now well within arm's reach. A large group of Aryan Brotherhood members gathered at the entrance to their cell block, then charged towards the protective custody block, but not before passing the prison psychology wing. Inside was an entire storeroom of medications and narcotics, which the Aryan Brotherhood raided, then distributed among their members. What followed was nothing short of a pharmaceutical feast, as a legion of white supremacist skinheads gorged themselves in all manner of amphetamines, opiates, and tranquilizers. By the time they arrived at Cell Block 4, it was a miracle that they were still functioning.

But functioning they were, and their purpose hadn't changed. After discovering they needed an additional set of keys to access the protective custody suite, the Aryan Brotherhood used blowtorches to simply burn the bars away from the gates. This was said to have taken three to four hours, and during this time, they raided the records office, obtaining a number of files which identified who the informers were. They also obtained a walkie-talkie and used it to taunt the correctional officers who'd retreated to the North Wing. Without access to firearms, the prisoners were no real threat to them, but their ominous cackles and terrifying glee

made for a deeply unnerving experience. As dawn broke on Friday, February 2nd of 1980, members of the notorious Aryan Brotherhood prison gang broke into the protective custody suite and began searching for their informants. One by one, the snitches were identified, dragged from their cells, and then tortured to death. One witness described how an inmate had been held down before the intense, concentrated flame of a blowtorch was applied to their face. The rioters continued to torch their victim's head long after he died of shock, and according to the witness, there was very little left of the man's skull by the time his narcotics-addled killer moved on to his next victim. Another so-called snitch to be executed

was a young man named Mario Uriosta, who'd been jailed for shoplifting a few months prior. Uriosta was a meek, effeminate man who was immediately targeted by sadists on one of the first nights of his sentence. In order to better protect him, the prison's warden decided to move him over to cell block 4, but in doing so, Mario was somehow falsely identified as a confidential informant and was subsequently executed in one of the most horrific ways imaginable. After being tortured with a blowtorch, Mario's killers severed his genitals, cut his throat, then stuffed his severed gonads into his mouth until he suffocated. His body was then hung

from the ceiling to make an example of him, but in reality, the only crime he was guilty of was petty theft. By 10am, 12 of Cellblock's four as 96 prisoners had been murdered, with four more losing their lives over the course of the most brutal riot in American criminal history. Some of these men were executed in a manner one can only describe as medieval, as they'd been pinned down before a prisoner armed with a fire axe took swings at their neck until decapitation had been achieved. In other areas of the now lawless prison, rival gangs affiliated with either the Chicanos or the Aryan Brotherhood faced off in running battles under the stuff of nightmares. Prisoners were killed with pieces of piping, woodworking tools, as well as the ubiquitous homemade knives known as shanks. One prisoner was partially decapitated after being thrown over the second tier balcony with a noose around his neck. The corpse was then

dragged down and hacked up by the man's executioners. In order to dispose of those slain during the riot, a group of prisoners dragged as many of their corpses as possible into the prison's gymnasium and then set the dead bodies on fire. Another disturbing detail involved the burning of the prison's Protestant chapel, and although it's not clear why the chapel was burned, some have speculated it was revenge for the chaplain's participation in the Night of the Axe Handles four years previously. Around 30 minutes after the riot commenced, Warden Jeffrey Griffin joined Deputy Warden Robert Montoya and New Mexico's Superintendent of Correctional Security at the Gatehouse beneath Tower One. It took them two hours to agree on a plan of action, but once they did so, they began using a two-way radio to contact inmates and begin negotiations.

Communication was initially restricted to an inmate who referred to himself only as Chopper One, but as more and more prisoners realized that all they needed was a radio to communicate with their jailers, chaos reigned over the airwaves. Some tried to identify the mysteriously code named Chopper One so he could be executed as a snitch, while others worked to undermine the negotiation efforts to prolong the cruelty and carnage. Finally, in the early hours of February 3rd, the rioting inmates made their first official demand. They wanted a civilian doctor, not a member of prison staff, to be sent into the prison to treat the wounded and dying. The deputy warden, Robert Montoya, flat out refused this demand and rejected calls for his immediate resignation.

The prisoners regrouped, selected a new spokesperson, then presented Montoya with a list of 11 mostly reasonable demands, some of which included reduce overcrowding and comply with court orders. The prisoners also demanded the reinstatement of educational services and recreation programs and requested an interview with national media outlets in order to properly explain their plight to the American people. They also insisted that the prison officers held hostage were being treated well and fed regularly, but this couldn't have been further from the truth. One officer was later discovered naked and tied to a chair, with clear signs of

torture wounds all over his body. Another was found unconscious on a medical stretcher with blood still dripping from an open head wound. This also meant that the prisoners had no means of proving their claims that the officers were being well treated and as a result, negotiations broke down completely. By mid-afternoon on Saturday, February 3rd, a large group of heavily armed state police officers had gathered outside the prison, each prepared to storm the prison in order to win back control from the inmates. There was little resistance among the inmates, who had tried but failed to gain entry to the prison's arsenal, but by the time the prison was back in the hands

of New Mexican authorities, more than 200 prisoners had to be treated for injuries ranging from severe to life-threatening. The total death toll from the riot was 33, but not all of these deaths were due to inmate violence. Several had overdosed on narcotics following the ransacking of the prison infirmary, while others died due to their own wild misadventures, such as attempting to climb to the roof of the prison in order to convey messages to the gathering media. Following the rioters' surrender, it took days before order was maintained enough

to ensure that inmates could reoccupy the prison. Some were prosecuted for crimes committed during the uprising, but according to some critics, the vast majority of offenses, including torture and murder, remain unpunished by authorities who simply didn't have the will or the way of prosecuting so many cases. Shockingly, it took two more decades before any serious reforms were enacted at the penitentiary of New Mexico, with the state governor seemingly resisting every attempt to provide a better life for a state's convicts.

It's easy to understand why someone might dismiss the idea of hardened criminals deserving fair and decent treatment. After all, if they themselves had treated people fairly and decently, they might not be in prison in the first place. But take almost everything from a man and make it so he has very little to lose, and you could quite possibly make a dangerous person even more volatile. In 2015, the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime released what is called the Mandela Rules, pertaining to the treatment of prison inmates around the world. And one passage reads, In our efforts to make societies more resilient to crime and to promote social cohesion, we

cannot disregard those in prison. We must remember that prisoners continue to be a part of society and must be treated with respect due to their inherent dignity as human beings. If we don't remain a society that preaches forgiveness, if we don't provide criminals with a path back to society, then some of the angriest, most violent of us will become even more bitter, resentful, and ultimately, much more dangerous. Checking off your to-do list? Here's an easy one from Pennzoil.

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to speak to an advisor free of charge. During the mid-19th century, the leaders of the Ottoman Turkish Empire found themselves dealing with a very dangerous dilemma. On the wild frontiers of the far-reaching domain, an insidious mixture of nationalist and separatist political movements threatened the Ottoman central authority, and as a result, the number of political prisoners ballooned. Most were sent to a prison in Turkey's Diyarbakir province, not far from the modern-day Syrian border. order. The Ottoman leaders no doubt hoped for a swift conclusion to the threat of insurrection, yet little did they know, the centralized authority of their nation-state would remain challenged for the next 100 years. During the Cold War, Turkey saw a huge uptick in political violence as left-wing, right-wing, and Islamist militants squared off against each other. The situation became so dire that on September 7th of 1980, General Kenan Evren announced that he and his soldiers would overthrow the civilian government

and replace it with a National Security Council. Following the complete seizure of power on September 12th, General Evren addressed the Turkish people via the state's official TV station, informing them that martial law was now in effect. For the foreseeable future, there'd be no more parliament, no constitutional rights, and all forms of political party were made temporarily illegal. General Evren claimed that the measures were needed to, and I quote, save the Turkish Republic from political fragmentation, violence, and economic collapse. A similarly harsh regime was enforced on the inmates of Diyarbakir prison, who had their visitational and recreational rights immediately

stripped away. Their numbers swelled as thousands of recently convicted political prisoners joined their ranks and to deal with them, the prison's guards were given all kinds of new powers. But as we know, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. During the years that followed, the international human rights charity Amnesty International received thousands upon thousands of messages regarding the inner working of D'Arbiker Prison. Hundreds of these messages claimed that the prison was little more than a death camp, where even the pettiest of criminals could find themselves being tortured to death for the most minor of infractions. Many of the inmates were Kurdish, an ancient people who have long fought for regional autonomy. They have their own language, customs, and culture,

all of which were banned in Diyarbakir prison. Prisoners who were caught speaking or writing in Kurdish, or who propagated Kurdish poetry or history, were subject to some of the cruelest punishments imaginable. Instead, Kurds were forced to speak, write, and even sing in Turkish, and were punished for failing to learn the words to the Turkish national anthem. The move led to the imprisonment of several prominent Kurdish artists, including writers, poets, and performance artists,

all of whom protested the suspension of liberty and the suppression of government criticism. Methods of punishment at the prison were referred to by a variety of chilling euphemisms. Newly arrived prisoners could expect to be taken to the welcome center, a place where they were introduced to the prison's harsh regime by being stripped, beaten, and humiliated and tortured. Other such practices including taking prisoners to the theater, a place where they were forced to watch the horrific torture of their fellow inmates, or to the disco, where prisoners were subjected to loud music and bright flashing lights, often to the point it caused seizures among its victims.

When a prisoner was told that they were being taken to the bathroom, they were instead taken down into the prison's sewer system, forced into a large septic tank, then submerged until they almost drowned. The practice was perhaps the most feared of all the guards' cruelly creative methods of torture, as prolonged exposure to toxic waste almost always caused near-fatal infections among those subjected to it. One of the most notorious prison guards during this period was Captain Eset Yildiran. Yildiran was normally fond of the cruelest, most barbaric methods of physical torture, but he was a firm believer in the power of psychological torture and humiliation. Under his diabolical regime, prisoners were forbidden

from wearing clothes and had only blankets in their cells with which to keep warm. Prisoners were also forced to treat Captain Yildiran's pet German Shepherd as an officer, and if they failed to give it the proper respect, the captain would order it to attack the genitals of the naked prisoner. Prisoners very quickly learned to treat the dog with the utmost reverence, lest they faced a hasty castration that might well result in them bleeding to death. Yildiran would sometimes randomly select prisoners for sleep, sensory, water, and food deprivation for extensive periods, claiming the practice kept prisoners on the back foot, and therefore considerably less likely to

exhibit any resistance. The captain was something of a traditionalist too, and prided himself on continuing the torturous traditions of falaca and strapado. Falaca is the name given to methods of torture which involve whipping or striking the soles of a person's foot. The practice is quite literally thousands of years old, which some claim that several Bible verses contain direct references to it. The torture works on two levels. Following the initial agony of having the sensitive souls of their feet beaten, victims find themselves unable to walk for days afterwards. Simple, everyday things like going to the bathroom are suddenly almost completely impossible, leading to additional suffering the days and weeks following the torture. Strapado, on the other hand, is a practice which involves hanging someone by their arms, but in the reverse position you

might initially imagine. The wrists are tied behind their back, before these same shackles are then suspended in the air, leading to unimaginable agony for the victim. Prolonged strapato often results in dislocated shoulders, but it also leaves a prisoner's most vulnerable areas free to be crushed, stretched, squeezed, and electrocuted. Captain Yildiran was also known to create sick parodies of things like health or dental examinations. Prisoners were led to believe that they were about to have a painful toothache or infection treated by qualified doctors when in reality, a prison guard dressed in hospital whites would be waiting to extract their teeth without anesthetic or in some cases, violate them with a baton under the pretense of taking their temperature. of the Arbukar city, Medizana, who spent a total of 11 years in the prison on various trumped-up sedition charges, once explained that when a new prisoner arrived at the prison, Captain Yildiran met him at the entrance, then turned to a guard and said, prepare him a bath, then take him to the dormitory. This was a ritual. Around 20 guards would accompany the prisoner, then give him a good

welcoming thrashing. After that, he was dragged unconscious to the prisoner then give him a good welcoming thrashing. After that he was dragged unconscious to the bath, which was a large container full of sewage in which they left him for a few hours. Selim Dindar, a Kurdish businessman framed for financial crimes, also gave an account of his time in Diyarbakir. He stated that living in among such traumatized men was so horrific that he actually came to prefer periods of solitary confinement, viewing it as less of a punishment and more of a reprieve from the bouts of wailing and madness that often echoed throughout the prison's wings. Between April of 1981 and May of 1984, prison records state that just over 30 prisoners were serving sentences in D'Arbiker,

but some argue that the true figure is somewhere around 300. Prison officials admitted to 14 prisoners dying as a result of hunger strikes, while 16 were shot to death while attempting to escape. A total of 43 prisoners were recorded as having taken their own lives, sometimes as a way of protesting the inhumane treatment. Four such prisoners were posted on a work detail which involved spray painting a section of the prison's interior. Then suddenly, sometime on May 18th of 1982, the four men began turning their cans of spray paint on themselves. The supervising guards watched in confusion,

chuckling to themselves as the prisoners began painting themselves with a mixture of dull greys and greens. One of the guards approached the prisoners and ordered them to get back to work, but instead of complying, one of the prisoners produced a cigarette lighter and set fire to the highly flammable liquid paint which dripped from their bare skin. In just a matter of seconds, all four men were engulfed in flames, and despite Captain Yildiran's efforts to keep them alive and prolong their agony, all four passed away as a result of their injuries. When it was confirmed that the men had taken their own lives in protest of Turkish oppression,

they were declared martyrs by many Kurdish political organizations. Perhaps the most egregious human rights violation of Diyarbakır prison occurred on September 24th of 1996. By this time, Turkey's political landscape had transitioned from military dictatorship into a representative democracy, but little had changed for the guards and inmates of Diyarbakır prison. The culture of violence, torture, and repression the guards and inmates of D'Arbica Prison. The culture of violence, torture, and repression was still very much alive and well, and with it came a senseless act of pointless and fatal violence. That morning, two prison guards visited the infirmary with what was described as light bruises. The prison doctor had no idea why the warden wanted such minor injuries to be treated, and the guards refused to explain how exactly the injuries had been sustained.

Some had suggested that the two prison guards had been involved in a physical confrontation, not with the inmates, but with each other. Others have speculated that, following a breach of disciplinary standards, the two men were beaten by either Captain Yildiran or the prison's warden, and seeking to cover up for their own breach of protocol, the two men were sent to the infirmary and told to keep their mouths shut. But this still left two injured guards with no way of accounting for their injuries, something which infirmary staff found deeply suspicious. However, just moments later, the infirmary's chief physician received a call from the prison's warden. Prepare yourselves, he reportedly said. A lot of wounded inmates are headed your way. Over the next few hours, 56 of D'Arbaker's inmates either

stumbled or were carried into the infirmary in various states of disrepair. The vast majority of them has sustained serious head injuries after prison guards stormed their cell block and began a frenzy of violence. Ten of these wounded prisoners passed away as a result of their injuries, while the vast majority of survivors suffered a variety of permanent conditions, such as brain damage and paralysis. When news of the mindless brutality hit the headlines of the now-free press, the Turkish public demanded answers from their politicians. The Arbukurs prison's warden stated that the conflict had started after a number of prisoners

attempted to gain access to the female-only wing of the prison, but it was a shameless attempt to vilify the dead and wounded prisoners while diverting attention away from his own professional failings. Turkish President Suleyman Demirel swiftly ordered an investigation into the incident, which found that prison officials had exceeded the limits of their authority, causing unlawful deaths in the process. The Parliamentary Human Rights Commission that identified 29 individual Turkish soldiers along with 38 police officers accused them of being directly responsible for the incident and publicly demanded their prosecution. By the time the trial had concluded in 2006, the number of prison guards charged in connection with the slaughter had risen to 72.

62 of those were convicted and each were sentenced to 18 years in prison, but over the years that followed, many of those sentences were reduced to just over 5 years while others were quashed entirely. The amnesties shown to the D'Arbiker prison guards followed the same depressing pattern as other such incidents. But unlike in other cases, even those where a disproportionate response resulted in unnecessary casualties, there's no grounds to accuse the prison guards of manufacturing a reason to inflict devastating injuries to prisoners, some of whom were guilty of nothing but writing incendiary poetry or playing controversial music. What's worse is that Turkey shows no signs of

slowing down its human rights abuses. In its World Report 2020, Human Rights Watch stated, a rise in allegations of torture, ill treatment and cruel and inhuman or degrading treatment in police custody and prison over the past four years has set back Turkey's earlier progress in this area. Meaning that, for many young Turks who want nothing more than to live in a free and fair society, the future are a little fuzzy. When I was in high school, my friend Claire came to sleep over. We made some plans to sneak out and hang out with some guys, and then one of them would drive us home. We got to our friend's apartment, had some fun, and around midnight we decided it's time for us to head back.

But when we asked to be taken back, everyone says no, despite previously agreeing to bring us back. Everyone said that they were too drunk or too high, so we eventually decided just to start walking back, and we would make some phone calls to see if anyone could pick us up and bring us the rest of the way back. My house was a good 20 minutes away by car on the highway, so there was no way we were walking all the way back. The apartment was towards the back of the complex so we start making our way to the entrance. We don't even get halfway there before a car slowly starts rolling up behind us. I was 15 or 16 at the time and very naive to the ways of the world so I wasn't too concerned.

But Claire was a little smarter than me on this night. She tells me to start walking faster, so we start walking faster. The car also picks up their pace behind us. Again, she tells me to walk faster, so we start moving as fast as we can, and that's when the car pulled slightly in front of us, and two of the passenger doors open and two men get out. Realizing that there's no walking faster to get out of this situation, she instructs me to run, now. So she takes off running and I follow her.

She runs towards a group of parked cars and jumps behind a pickup truck, and for a minute we hope and pray that we weren't spotted. This is where details get a little fuzzy. One of them must have gotten back in the car at some point, as there's only one of them following us behind the truck. We hear a set of footsteps quickly approaching, and she quietly indicates that we're now going into stealth mode. This man is on the other side of the truck that we're hiding behind. He's circling the truck looking for us. We're slowly and quietly circling it on the opposite side to avoid being spotted. It felt like a scene from a movie or a video game. We somehow manage to do two or three circles around the vehicle without being detected

and by the grace of the gods, he gives up and decides to go back to the car with his friends. This is our one shot to get away. She tells me to run again so we run for what felt like an eternity but in reality probably was only 15-20 seconds. We find the pool house area and we find a spot to hide. We were hidden behind some fences and bushes and were anxiously waiting to see if they discover us. Their car pulls around the pool house and we're biting waiting to see if they'd discover us. Their car pulls around the pool house and we're biting our nails hoping that they don't stop and get out. The car slowly drives away and we realize that we haven't been spotted. We were safe for now.

But the car circled around the apartment complex for hours and hours and hours. They were not giving up on looking for us. We were safe for the time being, but now we needed to find a way out of there. It was the middle of winter, and of course we were dressed to impress the guys that we went to hang out with, so short shorts and a little bit of revealing tops, and we were freezing. We found a dirty, disgusting Captain America blanket that we huddled up under while making phone calls to find someone to pick us up. We tried contacting the guys at the apartment but no one answered our calls. None of our friends answered our calls. We felt

completely alone and hopeless. But around 5 am someone finally answered and said that they would pick us up. This was the best news that I'd ever heard in my life at that point. Our friend gets to the apartment complex but can't find the pool house. The group of men is still constantly circling around so there's no way we're coming out of hiding. We manage to figure out where our friend is at with a little detective work, figuring out what building they're facing, what's in front of them, and are there dumpsters nearby, etc, etc. We figure out where they're at, so we make a run for it. We spot their car and hop in as fast as we can. Go, go, go, we tell them, and our friend speeds off towards the entrance. We pass the group of men on our way out, and that was the last we saw

of them. We made it back at around 6 AM, just in time to sneak back in without my parents ever knowing that we even left. If Claire hadn't been with me that night, I definitely would have been abducted, possibly killed, who knows. So thankful to Claire and our friend that picked us up, and a huge F you to the guys that intended to harm us that night. On a happier note, I'm now very diligent and aware driver, only been going about a month. I was just completing an order in the middle part of town. Not too suburbs, but also not too iffy.

I live in a major city, so going in and out of varying income level places is normal. As I walked up to my customers, I see there's a man and a woman in the doorway and another woman across from them on the sidewalk. The woman in the doorway is standing timidly behind the guy and another woman across from them on the sidewalk. The woman in the doorway is standing timidly behind the guy and his jaw looks firm. She doesn't break eye contact with me as I walk up but I try not to pay it much mind. The guy accepted it and said thanks and rushed him and his girl into the building. I started to walk back to my car when I noticed the woman from before gently calling for me to stop. She was gently saying, hey, and I almost didn't catch it. However, I did notice her trying to keep pace with me on my way to my car.

That sent my haunches up and I did a quick little one-two step to get a bit in front of her. Jumped into my car without breaking eye contact with her, quick pushed the lock button on my door and she still proceeded to try and reach for my passenger side door as if to open it. She heard the door click and stopped on her way to grab it. She bent down to look at me through my window and her eyes looked far off and bleary. She kept mouthing something but just like before her voice was very quiet and I couldn't hear her. I cracked my window just a little bit so I could hear her but not enough that she could get a hand inside. I said,

Sup? I was pretending to be callous and hard but I am very soft and easily intimidated. I'm not good with confrontation and in most dangerous situations I tend to panic. I'm really proud of myself at this most dangerous situations I tend to panic. I'm really proud of myself at this point that I was quick enough to think of all of these safe solutions. She starts talking in circles about, What are you doing? Where are you going? You can't deliver for Uber, you're in high school.

Etc. Keep in mind that I do have a baby face but I am 30 years old. I'm polite but curt with her and tell her yes, I'm doing deliveries and now I have to go. Did you need something or did you need any help? She keeps trying to talk in circles but as I'm about to insist that I'm leaving, she says hey, let me come with you. I get this weird feeling in the back of my neck because she looks like what she said was a perfectly sane request and still did not break eye contact with me. Also keep in mind that this entire time she's been speaking with a very gentle and quiet voice as if she was talking to a small scared animal. I say no thanks and she insists saying just trust me, I'm gonna go with you, just trust me. Again this point, getting more nervous, I say no thanks, I'm about to drive off,

you should step back so I don't run over your feet. She tries to get a little closer, maybe thinking that if she doesn't move, I won't move. She sadly is mistaken and I start rolling slowly forward saying you better step back, I'm about to crush your feet. She kept laughing to some unknown joke in her own mind saying you're so funny, you're so funny. I peeled out of there and confusedly looked back in my rear view mirror. I never came across someone like that before and I have been in much rougher neighborhoods than this so I was very confused. I called my neighbor who used to live in that rougher part of my larger city and said that she could have potentially been trying to trap me

so that another person or car could roll up on my driver's side and potentially jump me or try to even steal the car. I'm always glad for this insight because of all my shelteredness I have no idea about all of these strategies that people have to come up with to get you. I was at Walmart earlier this evening with my two daughters, one elementary school aged and the other middle school aged, and we looked around the school supplies for a minute and then rounded the corner to see the Halloween candy on display. As we turned the corner, a slightly older guy came really close to us, like he was in a hurry, and almost ran into our cart. He didn't have a cart or any items at the time. I said, oh, excuse me, and then stopped in front of the candy to let my youngest ask a bunch of questions about the candy pumpkins. The man stopped quickly and started rummaging around the candies right next to my daughter. He was listening to our conversation

and reacted strangely when my daughter said she wanted to take a picture of the candy. He was twitchy and caught my eye and looked away quickly. We moved to the women's pajama section to look around for a few minutes and I noticed the same man pass by really close again. He was turning to the right toward the shoes with a big bag of candy cradled in his arms. My girls went across the aisle to the boys clothing section while I finished deciding and when I was catching up with them a couple of minutes later, that guy was winding through the boys clothes towards my daughters. He paused and looked confused or lost, but still he was in a rush and watched me discuss sizes with my youngest. This is when I started thinking something was off with this dude.

I mentioned him to my older daughter and then we moved through the partition into the girl's clothes. I didn't see him again for a few minutes and I figured it was nothing. But then he came into that section and was acting like he was trying to pick out a justice shirt, which is kids clothing. He still had that big bag of candy that he kept adjusting his grip on. I kept seeing him take quick peeks at my girls, but then every time he saw me watching him, he pretended to be occupied with his shopping. I told my oldest that I thought he was following us and she said she noticed the same thing. I made my youngest get into the cart so I could keep them both close. They both like to wander a bit. The guy then walked out of the

girl's section, passing close behind me, but he looped around the partition back into the boy's section and stopped at an opening on the other side but still in a straight line of sight. He caught my eye again and twitched. Then he pulled out his phone, texted someone and walked away. By that time I was on high alerts and possibly getting quite paranoid. I looked around and saw two other slightly older men kind of standing around. One was in electronics, sort of looking at a half empty display of something, but I swear he glanced at me several times, even though there were three or four racks of clothes in a hallway with occasional people in between. The third guy had wandered into the girls section and was apparently considering

buying a justice shirt too. Every time he saw me notice him watching us, he wandered down to the baby aisles, but he kept coming back after a couple of minutes. I realize now looking back that if I suspected something bad, I should have gotten my girls out of there. Clothes shopping for a picky preteen isn't fun and I wanted to get it done and over with. On top of that, I kept second guessing myself that the two other guys were just a coincidence. I kept my girls really close and after we moved to the women's section I didn't see any of them again and I stopped feeling creeped out that we were being watched. Now it's the middle of the night and I'm pretty freaked out, wondering what

could have happened if I didn't notice that first guy and continue to let my girls wander around. Should I report anything? I can't imagine anything would be done just because I noticed some guy watching my daughters in Walmart, but I have heard those terrible stories of traffickers using Walmart to find their next victim. I used to go to dance clubs and bars with my friends back when I was in college. This particular night, my friends and I were just standing at a cocktail table, drinking and just casually chatting. A group of guys went to us and started to chat. The guy that approached me was probably two or three years older than me and he seemed friendly. Back then, I entertained guys at bars, gave my numbers, but I don't trust them enough to go with them to their place or whatever. I don't easily get drunk to the point where I don't know what I'm doing, especially if I've only had one glass of alcohol,

but for some reason, I got really drunk and dizzy from just one small glass. I don't remember what I was drinking. I don't know how I got into the situation. And that's the last thing I remember. I recall him pulling into a hotel that had a car garage. In my home country, there's a travel hotel where each room has its own car garage that you can simply pull into and there are stairs by the garage leading to your room. You drive onto the property then take your information and credit card then give you the leading to your room. You drive onto the property then take your information and credit card then give you the keys to the room and garage. I remember that it was just the two of us and he was helping me up the stairs because I was too dizzy to walk on my

own. When we reached the room, he laid me down on the bed. I was wearing shorts and he was attempting to pull them down. Even though I was drunk drunk I was still somewhat aware of what was happening I couldn't stand up and fight him because I was too dizzy and weak But I remember screaming and telling him no I was pulling my shorts up and trying to remove his hands And I don't know what happened but he suddenly stopped He went to get a glass of water for me to drink and then we went downstairs Him actually helping me The next thing I knew we were back at the club stopped. He went to get a glass of water for me to drink and then we went downstairs, him actually

helping me. The next thing I knew, we were back at the club. We were in his car and my friends were there assisting me because I was vomiting. He was also there trying to act concern and patting my back. When I felt better, I got out of the car and my friends and I sat down by the chairs outside the club, waiting for my parents to pick me up. I don't know where he went, but he wasn't there. I told my friends what I remembered happening. One of my friends, A, told me that she saw me leaving the club with the guy. I don't remember walking out of the club.

I asked her why she didn't stop me because she knew that I wouldn't just leave without saying something. My friends also know that I don't just leave without saying something. My friends also know that I don't easily get drunk, so they think that he put something in my drink. I never called the police since I don't have any proof either. I do know that nothing happened, that he didn't do what he was planning to do because I remember it clearly, still being somewhat aware of what was happening. I don't know if his conscience urged him not to do it or if it was because he was stupid enough to bring me to a hotel, leaving his information, or maybe it was because I screamed. He was somewhat kind enough to bring me back to the bar instead of taking me somewhere else or harming me further, so maybe his conscience urged him.

The last thing that happened is when my parents picked me up, I saw him by the entrance just staring at me. After college, I no longer party, and the lesson learned, never leave your drink unattended. When I was a senior in college a few years ago, I lived in an old house about a five-minute walk away from campus with five of my girlfriends. It was still COVID times so we spent a lot of time just in the house since we could not really go elsewhere. To preface, this house was old and many of the windows didn't lock. Our landlord sucked, as many college ones do, and didn't do anything to fix this issue but with it being six of us and often a boyfriend or

two sleeping in the house, it felt mostly safe and many of us would keep our windows open. Our college was in a town just outside of the second most dangerous city in the state, but right around the campus it felt relatively safe. When the weather started getting warmer in early spring, we would sit out on the roof to sunbathe and this roof faced our street. We would access the roof from my roommate's Mary's bedroom window on the second floor since it led straight to the roof. Our street was residential and didn't get a ton of traffic, but we did have a couple of encounters of younger guys catcalling us as they drove by, but nothing seemed sinister as we were college kids. One night, late in the semester, Mary went up to her room to call her brother while the rest of us were hanging downstairs, and that's when she rushed downstairs and said that she saw a ladder

leading up to the roof where we would all sunbathe and right near her window, which was open. Later, we learned that she said out loud to her brother what she saw before she came down. When she told us this, my other roommate and her boyfriend ran outside to find a man running away from our house with the freaking ladder, who we assume heard Mary telling her brother that she saw the ladder and knew that he was caught. It was dark, so they couldn't make out anything about him. I immediately texted her landlord asking if he had someone come by the house to do any work and he said no. We then called the police who came by. They did some investigating and patrolled our house for a

couple of nights, but we never found out who the man was, what his intentions were, or if he had been there before. Checking off your to-do list? Here's an easy one from Pennzoil. Get up to a $30 MasterCard prepaid virtual card with the purchase of 10 liters of Pennzoil Ultra Platinum at Canadian Tire. Maximizing engine protection and getting a reward for it? That's two checks on your list. Pennzoil. Long may we drive. Offer ends 8-31-25. Valid at participating locations only. Valid email address required. Terms apply. See Pennzowell.ca slash offer for details.

MasterCard is a trademark of MasterCard International Incorporated. When you want to bet on sports, play it on a field or ice or course. BetRivers is the place. Over, under, money, line. Same game, parlays, it's all fine. We'll put a smile on your face. Bet on the sports you love with BetRiver Sportsbook. Take a chance. Must be 19 plus, available in Ontario only.

Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact ConnexOntario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. So for context, I'm a 26 year old female and also live currently with another female roommate who hasn't been here a lot lately due to the fact that she's been staying at her boyfriend's house. We both have only been living here for half a year, about six months, so pretty good while, but not years. I typically feel safe in this house, but everything changed a few nights ago when I was there alone. The doors were locked, thank goodness, but I was in the kitchen.

The window above our sink looks out into the back of our property where there are woods. We've never bothered to get a curtain for our kitchen window because there's nothing back there, so it hasn't seemed like a priority. I was in the kitchen making some ramen on the stove which is right next to the sink when I heard something outside the window. I looked out and I saw a man standing there looking at me. He ran away, obviously, but I didn't know if he was trying to get in or what. I called the police and then my father. The police were very nice, but since he was gone by the time they arrived, they couldn't do much. I have cameras for the sides and the front of the house and they told

me to get one for the back. If he comes back, they advise me to call them and they'll handle it. I'm not staying here anymore. I ordered a ring camera from Amazon, set it up, and I've been watching the house from my family's place for a week. I don't know when I'll feel safe enough to return, and I've just been feeling very scared. The People's Republic of China is the third largest nation on earth. Stretching from the steppes of Mongolia in the Hindu Kush Mountains in its north and west, to the jungles of Guangxi and lakes of Siberia in its south and east, China is incredibly biodiverse and has a gargantuan population of over 1.4 billion people. Of those 1.4 billion, there are 56 different distinct ethnic minorities in over 300 spoken languages or dialects. Some of these ethnic minorities include the Manchus of the far northeast, the Hmong of old Mongolia, the Zhang Tibetans,

and a group known as the Hui. Hui is the name given to the various Islamic minority groups in the far west of the People's Republic, some of which includes the Uzbeks, the Kyrgyz, and a group whose name has become increasingly renowned over the past 20 years or so, the Uyghurs. For more than a thousand years, the Uyghurs concentrated around a series of oases scattered across the Taklamakan Desert, a close neighbor of the nearby Gobi Desert. Close relatives of the ancient Turkic peoples, whose descendants rule over modern-day Turkey, the Uyghurs began welcoming Arab and Persian Muslim missionaries into their cloistered but hospitable communities.

As a people who'd long been subjected to the wills of their stronger neighbors, they were attracted to the idea of Islamic equality, where all nations and ethnicities are equal in the eyes of Allah. They began to convert in the late 10th century and in the early 16th, the vast majority of Uyghurs identified as Muslims and the religion became an integral part of their custom and culture. Over the next several hundred years, kingdoms and khanates preceded waves of conquest and rebellion until the short-lived East Turkestan republics made for an unsuccessful bid for autonomy. Finally, on October 1st of 1949, Chairman Mao Zedong declared the establishment of the People's Republic of China and via military courier sent the leaders of the Second East Turkestan Republic an offer, either join the People's Republic as a not-so-autonomous

prefecture or face annihilation at the hands of the People's Liberation Army. The Uyghurs chose survival. To this day, Uyghur separatist movements claim that the Second East Turkestan Republic was illegally incorporated by China in 1949 and has suffered the injustice of Chinese occupation ever since. From the 1950s onward, the Chinese Communist Party relocated hundreds of thousands of ethnically Han Chinese to the Uyghur homeland of Xinyang. The Han had been the dominant ethnic group in China for years, and their relocation to Xinyang was a deliberate attempt to change not only the region's cultural identity, but also its religion. Many Uyghur resisted the attempt to wrestle the region's cultural identity, but also its religion.

Many Uyghur resisted the attempt to wrestle the region from their hands, and with the support of the Soviet Union, numerous resistance groups sprang up through the 60s and 70s. By the early 80s, Chinese premier Deng Xiaoping recognized that Qingyang and its Uyghur population needed to be pacified through peaceful policy, that is, if open rebellion were to be avoided. He loosened restrictions of the teaching of the Uyghur language and allowed previously existing mosques to be renovated and in some cases expanded. The move somewhat quelled the fermenting unrest,

but unfortunately, Deng Xiaoping's colleagues and successors disagreed with the policy and, despite his protests, reserved his reforms at the first available juncture. The policies of multilingualism and cultural pluralism were soon replaced by what was referred to as a monolingual and monocultural model, which in turn reignited rebellious sentiment among the Uyghur population. Regressive policies were intensified following April of 1990, after a mass uprising in a small town near Kashgar had to be forcibly put down by the People's Liberation Army. Hundreds were said to have been killed, something the Uyghurs have never forgotten and violent sentiment continued to brew as the Chinese government began exploiting the regional's national resources, siphoning off a fortune in minerals and precious metals without any serious reinvestment or reimbursement. In February of 1997, during the holy month of Ramadan,

Chinese secret police rounded up 30 suspected criminals, dragging many of the men from their beds as they slept. When it became obvious that they'd never see their loved ones again, the families of the missing men organized large demonstrations all over Kashgar. Once again, the Chinese government sent in the army and their violent suppression of the demonstration resulted in the deaths of nine innocent protesters. Just months later, a series of bus bombings in Urumqi resulted in 75 casualties. Most of the victims were Han Chinese, and when a group of Uyghur separatists claimed responsibility for the bombings, it became evident the attacks are revenge for the deaths of the Uyghur separatists claimed responsibility for the bombings, it became evident the attacks are revenge for the deaths of the Uyghur protesters. To avoid an all-out insurrection, the Chinese government poured hundreds of millions of dollars into stabilizing the Uyghur homeland,

yet they never quite managed to stamp out dissent altogether. Then, in the run-up to the 2008 Beijing Olympics, the Communist Party found itself deeply concerned with not only its appearance on the world stage, but also the potential for a high-profile Uyghur terrorist attack. To ensure that the Olympics went off without a hitch, Chinese state security services began to brutally crack down on a variety of dissenters, with the Uyghurs being the focal point of their aggressive campaign. The move might have brought them a period of stability, but in the end, Deng Xiaoping was right. To him, Qingyang was like an egg.

To be controlled, it needed to be held gently, hold too tight, and things would get messy. In July of 2009, a group of Han factory workers accused two Uyghur colleagues of indecently assaulting two Han girls that had passed by the factory earlier that day. The Uyghurs vehemently denied the accusations and a fight broke out between the two opposing groups. It's not clear exactly how and when the two Uyghur men died, but after the local police force conducted a lackluster investigation with no suspects arrested, a large group of demonstrators gathered in Urumqi's ancient Grand Bazaar.

Riot police were deployed and after clashing with angry demonstrators, a full-blown race riot broke out. Dozens of people were killed, with the violence sparking demonstrations and counter-demonstrations by Han and Uyghur alike in the days that followed. The city was aflame for three days, with angry mobs of armed men roaming the streets, defending what they saw as their portion of the city. Although the unrest was eventually brought to an end, it marked the beginning of a violent campaign of separatist terrorist attacks which plagued the region for years to come. In 2011, a group of 18 young Uyghur men stormed a police station in the ancient Turkic city of Hutan. Armed with knives and wearing explosive-packed vests, the men killed two police officers, then took eight civilian workers

as hostages. When police arrived to retake the station, the men refused to give themselves up and began chanting jihadist slogans as the officers prepared to engage them. In the firefight that followed, 14 of the attackers were killed, while the remaining four were captured alive. Sadly, two of the hostages lost their lives during the assault, although it's unclear if their deaths were due to Uyghur knives or police bullets. In the years that followed, similar attacks occurred in Kunming and Urumqi, all of which were linked to a group known as the East Turkestan Islamic Movement. Following the rise to power of Xi Jinping,

a terrorist attack in China's Yunnan province proved one too many for the fledgling leader. He later told the Chinese Politburo, we should unite the people to build a copper and iron wall against terrorism, adding, we must be as harsh as them and show absolutely no mercy. Xi then formulated a policy he christened Strike Hard Campaign Against Violent Terrorism and instructed the public government in Xinjiang to wage a people's war against the three evil forces of separatism, terrorism, and extremism. 200,000 specially trained agents of the Chinese Communist Party then descended

in Xinjiang and set to work dividing the population into three distinct categories, trusted, average, and untrustworthy. Those that protested were told that they were free to leave and for a brief period, many Uyghurs with access to a passport took the opportunity to escape what was to come. But only a fraction of the population had the means or the will to pack up and flee their homeland, leaving millions of Uyghurs to face the oncoming storm. In early 2017, Communist Party Secretary Chen Guanguo was charged with ridding Qinyang province of Uyghur separatists once and for all. At a bombastic military parade held in Urumqi during April of 2017, Chen told a gathering of Beijing loyalists that they would

bury the corpses of terrorists and terror gangs in the vast sea of the People's War, then ordered soldiers and police to round up the guilty. A series of new bans and regulations were immediately introduced. The long beards mandated by Islamic scripture were forbidden, and the full-face variant of the hijab, known as the niqab, was banned in public places. Uyghurs had to demonstrate that they listened to state-run radio broadcasts or state-run TV stations and were forced to abide by new family planning policies that restricted the number of

children they could have. The new regulations fell short of banning traditional Islamic Mandraza-style education, but all children between the ages of 5 to 16 were required to attend state-run schools to receive a state-sponsored education. Naturally, a huge chunk of the Uyghur population were either unwilling or incapable of complying with the strict new regulations, but instead of allowing a period of grace, offenders were arrested en masse. It's not clear how many Uyghurs were arrested and imprisoned during this time. China has officially admitted to a few hundred arrests, but insists all suspects were either direct members of or had strong links to the East Turkestan Islamic Movement. Around this same time, Chen Kuai-guo introduced two distinct policies. The first was enacted in

cooperation with China's Ministry of Public Security, who developed a kind of racial recognition software for use with state and civilian security cameras. Although it lacked accuracy, the system was designed to distinguish Uyghur from Han Chinese, thus creating a kind of Uyghur tracking system that could monitor their activity without any human input whatsoever. The second policy centered around so-called re-education, whereby Uyghurs who defied

regulations could be indoctrinated into productive but pacified members of Chinese society. Communist Party officials began drawing up a blueprint of the kind of Uyghur that required such re-education, and the list included people who didn't own or use a mobile phone, people who consume an unusual amount of electricity, men with an abnormally long beard, people with a small social circle or who appear to have a lack of social life, people who main complex relationships with friends, family, or neighbors, or anyone with a family member who exhibits the above traits. As you can tell, the conditions for re-education are alarmingly vague and could quite easily be applied to anyone who doesn't display an

overt loyalty to the Chinese Communist Party. Shortly after the decision to begin mass re-education, Chen Kuai-guo ordered that hundreds of potential sites be scouted out to determine the optimum locations of the re-education camps. Hundreds of potential sites were identified and were divided into four distinct categories based on how isolated and secure they were. Some sites were identified as tier one re-education camps, where minor offenders would be sent for basic classroom-style indoctrination. Others were identified as Tier 2, where higher-risk offenders would be kept indefinitely

until they displayed some tangible affection or loyalty to the party. The other two tiers were labeled high-security prisons or administrative detention centers, and it's there that the true horrors of communist repression made themselves apparent. In urban centers, many lower-tier re-education camps were created by converting old secondary or vocational schools, while out in the countryside, the higher-tier camps were specially built for the purposes of communist indoctrination. These so-called detention centers bore a close resemblance to prisoner of war or concentration camps and were complete with electrified fences,

surveillance systems, watchtowers, and interrogation rooms. The fact remains that very little public data exists on the inner workings of these re-education camps, and this is for a number of reasons. Firstly, the Chinese government have deliberately obscured their own data on the subject, and what appears to be a two-tiered informational system. For example, in 2019, the Chinese Communist Party claimed to have closed almost all of the Qingyang re-education camps, and even allowed Western journalists to tour old sites as proof that many had been closed. However, the Australian Strategic Policy Institute claimed that at least 28 re-education camps had been relocated rather than being closed, and that the instance

of their discontinuation was nothing more than a political smokescreen. On top of that, everyone sent to the re-education camps were forced to sign a kind of non-disclosure agreement by the Chinese government, meaning that if they ever talk in too much detail regarding their time in the camps, they will be liable to be prosecuted and sent for more re-education. When asked, former prisoners are instructed to say that conditions in the camp are remarkably comfortable and that they were treated kindly by their teachers

and that only one such camp exists in the entirety of the Qingyang province Often, those sent to the camps included married couples which left officials with the question of what to do with the couple's children This led to the creation of what are euphemistically referred to as boarding schools, places that could be more accurately described as orphanages. Children that end up sent to one of these facilities are rarely united with their parents and are often used as pawns to try and discredit or humiliate their own family members. For example, Uyghur businesswoman and political activist

Rubaya Khadir has fought for the rights of her people for the better part of three decades. But following the 2009 Urumqi riots, two of their own children published open letters which both blamed her for the riots and pleaded with her to cease her activism. We want a happy and stable life, one paragraph read. Please think about the happiness of us and our grandchildren. Don't destroy our lives here, and don't follow the provocation from other people in other countries. Although the letters were undoubtedly written and signed by Khadir's children,

many have noted that the wording and phrasing is remarkably similar to the kind used by Communist Party officials. Others state that the letters are completely fraudulent and accuse Chinese intelligence services of a sickening campaign of blackmail and family separation. In September of 2018, the Associated Press reported that thousands upon thousands of these so-called boarding schools were being constructed all over Qingyang province. Children detained at these sites are taught to communicate entirely in Chinese while those found speaking in the Uyghur language are punished. The children are also forbidden from practicing Islam and, unless they behave and succeed in their studies, are denied visitation from concerned family members. Leaked documents stated that should students ask whether their missing parents had committed a crime, they are told no.

It is just that their thinking has been infected by unhealthy thoughts. Freedom is only possible when this virus in their thinking is eradicated and they are in good health. In December of 2019, the New York Times reported that almost half a million children under the age of 14 were being held at boarding schools across Qingyang, and since that time, dozens of other institutions were still being constructed. The number is undoubtedly higher at present. Around the same time that news of the boarding schools was hitting headlines around the Western world, it was estimated that around 1.8 million Uyghurs and other Muslims had been unjustly detained in one of Ching Young's re-education camps. That's the equivalent of one in six people, meaning that roughly speaking,

every family in Ching Young has had a member dragged away, brainwashed, and possibly even tortured. A paper published by the Journal of Political Risk described what was happening as the largest incarceration of an ethno-religious minority since the Holocaust and claimed that the Chinese Communist Party government was essentially committing genocide. In another paper published in 2020, a researcher claimed that the so-called re-education at the Qingyang camps was aided by the cultivation of a truly hellish internal environment. The same researcher asserted that the majority of deaths at the camp were not, as the Communist Party claimed, due to natural causes, but rather malnutrition, unsanitary conditions, withheld medical care, and violence. The paper also stated that the indecent assault of prisoners, both male and female,

was also commonplace, with guards using it as a kind of informal punishment for the unruly. The allegation was echoed by several former detainees, with one claiming that a Han Chinese prison guard had smeared chili paste over her genitals following violating her. Sairugo Saitbai, who claims that she was forced to teach and act as a translator in the camps, told a journalist from the BBC that camp guards picked the girls and young women they wanted and took them away to be violated. She admitted to never personally witnessing any such event, but claimed she heard far too many stories for her to doubt individual claims. Chinese state television responded to the claims by releasing an interview with a Uyghur woman named Tersene. Tersene claimed that during her own period of detention,

she never once witnessed any kind of violence or abuse. She admitted to re-education sessions, forced haircuts, and poor quality food, but she claimed she was otherwise treated with relative decency. Just months later, after Tersene and her family escaped, she gave another interview, this time to the BBC. Every night, guards would drag us from ourselves and take turns violating us in groups, she said. Those who resisted were given electric shocks until they complied. She also claimed that the only reason she'd lied in her initial interview for state TV was that the Chinese government had threatened her family with detention. In a 2018 interview, a young Uyghur woman named Mirigul Tursun claimed to have been tortured and subjected to other brutal conditions while imprisoned in the Jingyang re-education camp.

She claimed to have been drugged during interrogations, denied sleep for days on end, and subjected to painful and humiliating intrusive medical examinations. Mirigal also asserted that she had been sent to the camps three times between 2015 and 2018 and recalled how one Communist Party official told her, being a Uyghur is a crime now. Mirigal also corroborated the story of another prisoner who claimed that she'd been forced to wear iron clothes as a means of breaking her spirit. The metal suit is said to weigh over 50 pounds, forces a person's arms and legs into outstretched positions, and causes terrible pain

if worn for prolonged periods of time. The Communist Party rejected Miragol's claims, telling Western media outlets that she'd been detained on suspicion of inciting ethnic hatred and discrimination. According to them, her period of detention lasted no longer than 20 days, and that she'd with Islamic extremism and highlighted the hypocrisy of U.S. criticism while the Guantanamo Bay detention camp was still operational. Not long after Miracle Tursun went public with her claims, rumors of Uyghur organ harvesting began to surface. Ethan Gutman, a senior research fellow at the Victims of Communism Memorial Foundation, claimed a former hospital in the predominantly Uyghur city of Aksu had been converted into what was essentially an organ farm, complete with fast lanes for high-paying foreign clientele. Such clientele supposedly included many wealthy Saudi businessmen, who insisted that the organs being transplanted into their bodies were from a Muslim and therefore halal. Gutman believed that around 25,000 people a year have their organs harvested following execution by the state, with the sentiment being echoed by a former Qingyang

oncology surgeon, Dr. Enver Toti, who has stated that Gutman's allegations are credible. In 2019, reports surfaced that the Chinese Communist Party had instituted a policy of forced sterilization in the Qingyang prison camps. A Uyghur woman named Zumrat Dwat claimed that she was forced to undergo a tubal ligation during her internment. A tubal ligation is a medical procedure in which a woman's fallopian tubes are cut, tied, or blocked. This prevents an egg from traveling from the ovaries through the fallopian tubes and blocks sperm from traveling up the fallopian tubes to the egg. The procedure doesn't affect a woman's menstrual cycle, yet it renders her completely and utterly infertile. The Chinese government were quick to deny Zumrat's claims, but in 2020,

journalists interviewed several former detainees who corroborated her story, stating that men had been forced to take birth control pills, while women had been given mysterious injections that suddenly stopped their periods. Some medical professionals have suggested that the mysterious injections given to the Uyghur women contained Depo-Provera, a form of intravenous birth control sometimes used as a part of a menopausal hormone therapy. Fierce denials from the Chinese Communist Party were once again brought into disrepute when an exiled Uyghur doctor not only claimed that the stories of forced sterilization were true, but that the policy had been in effect, in some form or another, since the mid-1980s. The same doctor, who wished to remain anonymous on account of her taking refuge in nearby Pakistan, supposedly presented journalists

with an intrauterine device, or IUD, which she claimed had been surgically removed from a Uyghur refugee in Pakistan. The refugee had been told that the operation was to remove an infected appendix, and she had no idea that she'd been fitted with a powerful form of birth control. In 2018, a former detainee named Keirat Samarkand gave an interview to NPR. In it, he described daily life in one of the camps. In addition to living in cramped quarters, inmates had to sing songs praising Chinese leader Xi Jinping before being allowed to eat, he said. Keirat also claimed that detainees were given lessons entitled 126 Lies, where religion was described as a societal poison that had to be eradicated at all costs. They told us

religion is opium, religion is bad, you must believe in no religion, you must believe in the Communist Party, Keirat said, and recalling being told, only the Communist Party could lead you to the bright future. Detainees are also forced to work as a form of rehabilitation, with Chinese officials claiming that hard labor builds community spirit, as well as an appreciation for Communist Party doctrine. Critics have claimed the system is reminiscent of Soviet gulags and that the slave labor of Muslim political prisoners is present in all areas of China's cotton industry. A former detainee named Tahir Hamoud claims that Uyghur prisoners are forced into all manner of forced industry, including cotton picking and making bricks. Everyone is forced to do all types of hard labor

or face punishment, he said. Anyone unable to complete their duties will be beaten. It's believed that more than half a million Uyghurs had been forced to pick cotton by hand in Qingyang. And according to the UK-based Business and Human Rights Resource Center, much of this cotton made its way into Western supply chains between 2016 and 2020. Companies such as Zara, Abercrombie & Fitch, Tommy Hilfiger, Calvin Klein, Adidas, Amazon, Apple, BMW, Gap, H&M, Nike, North Face, Puma, Samsung, and Uniqlo were all discovered to have used cotton sourced from Uyghur slave labor camps. Some of these companies later apologized to

consumers and promised to properly investigate their supply chains to ensure that it didn't happen again. Some companies also reported that the Chinese government had attempted to pressure them into denying the mistreatment of Uyghurs. When they refused, they found their products were no longer welcome in the People's Republic of China. During an interview with the BBC's Andrew Marr, which took place in July of 2020, the Chinese ambassador of the UK was confronted with images of shackled, shaven-headed men being led to and from a series of trains. Liu Xiaoming responded by claiming that he had no idea where the images were from. Mar then told Liu that they had been taken from a drone flying over Qingyang province,

to which Liu gave the bemusing reply of, Qingyang is a very beautiful place. Just months later, Chinese ministerial spokesperson Zhao Linshan repeated a bizarre mantra in front of a gathering of Western journalists. China has no genocide. China has no genocide. China has no genocide. He said, adding that claims to the contrary were the lie of the century. The same sentiment has been echoed by a small number of left-leaning US.S. media outlets, including The Gray Zone, which published an article in February of 2021 that was subtitled, Accusation of China's Genocide, relied on data abuse and baseless claims by far-right. On the opposite end of the spectrum, former National

Security Advisor John Bolton once claimed that former President Trump called the Qingyuan internment camps the right thing to do. In the aftermath of World War II, when the full extent of German ethnic cleansing came to light, the world stood up and pledged never again. But now, less than a hundred years later, a very similar thing is unfolding on the far side of the globe, and to the horror of many onlookers, those who place justice and freedom above all else seem content to turn a blind eye. Whether or not the Qing Yang internment camps constitute genocide, ethnocide, or merely a monstrous violation

of basic human rights, only time will tell. But while they stand, while millions of far eastern Muslims are murdered, sterilized, and forced into slavery, encounters I've had with a music teacher when I was a kid. I, a 20-year-old female, took orchestra classes when I was in middle school. Now, it's important to mention that I was an incredibly quiet and shy kid back then and had trouble with confrontation. When I was in 6th grade, our orchestra teacher, Miss K, left the position and they rehired our new teacher. Our new teacher, I'll call him Mr. S, was generally disliked by

everyone. He was in his 50s to early 60s and to an 11 year old, very tall. He was already imposing because of this, but what made it worse was how he treated his female students. One day in class, we were all struggling to play a song correctly. Mr. S became frustrated and didn't think any of us understood the beat of the song. He looked around the class, saying he needed a volunteer. Everyone became silent, including me, but I had the misfortune of locking eyes with him. He then called my name and waved me up to the front of the room. What happened next was not something anyone was expecting. I picked up my instrument, the cello, to take

up front with me and he said, no, leave your instrument, just you. I was really confused but did as he said. I walked up to his side and he instructed me to stand in front of him. At this point, the class was beginning to snicker and I was just very uncomfortable. Move closer. I took a small step towards him and at this point I was too scared to look at his face. All I could see was his button t-shirt in front of me. He made me walk closer until I was inches from him. Then he moved my arm up and put my hand on his. He proceeded to make me slow dance with him for what felt like forever as he counted the beat. I let go of his hand at one point and tried walking back to my seat but he grabbed my

arm and pulled me back saying, not yet. After this was over and I went to my other classes I learned that in each period of the day he had chosen a female student to dance with him, regardless if the class was struggling to understand the beat. Unfortunately, this was not the end of what felt like unwanted attention from him. He would somehow find me in the hallways and would try to have talks with me about anything, even though I mostly kept to myself and didn't cause trouble in class. I got to a point that my friends understood how I felt and knew to say something to me when they saw him, and every time, without fail, he always managed to put his hands on my shoulders when he talked to me, even if I was already backed against a wall. He wouldn't let

me leave when I was too scared to say anything. He would find me in a crowd easily. He didn't do anything to my knowledge that was punishable, but to me, something always felt very off about him. Back in 2014, I was 18 years old and started my first real job at a call center. I worked the late shift, 3.30pm to midnight. The call center floor was large, several hundred seats. I had a picture of my boyfriend, now husband and I on my desk. Every night I went out for a smoke break. The security guard, 35-40 year old male if I had to guess, would hit on me, comment on my appearance and would suggest that we go out to dinner sometime. Multiple times I told him that I was

engaged, I wasn't and and uninterested, and would flash off my senior ring, which resembled an engagement ring and was strategically placed on my ring finger in an attempt to tell him to screw off. He would still make comments like, oh, I'm sure your fiance wouldn't mind. Overall, just very uncomfortable. This behavior spanned over a few weeks and I reported him to my management and nothing ever came from it. Then one day I went to go out for my break and the security guard said, That's a nice picture. What?

I replied. The picture of you and your fiancé. At this point, it dawned on me that he was talking about the picture on my desk. That creep walked through several hundred desks looking for mine and found it. What a weirdo. We'll be right back. line same game paulie's it's all fine you put a smile on your face bet on the sports you love with that river sports book take a chance must be 19 plus available in ontario only please play responsibly if you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you please contact connects ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge So basically we were crossing the border from Costa Rica to Nicaragua. The border has a long

standing line where you wait to go through border control and there are a bunch of taxis on the other side. The line is long. My friend and I, both female, 23 years old at the time, were at the back of the line. This man comes up to us and is speaking Spanish. We don't understand, but he guides us towards the front of the line and puts us next to two other American girls. We are confused and ask what's going on, but he says in broken English, You four together. I take you in taxi. We think it's weird, but we did skip some of the lines so we just stay next to the girls. We talk to them and we all agree that we think it's very strange that

he put the only four young backpacking girls together when we clearly don't know each other and is aggressively making sure that we get in his taxi once we cross the border. Anyways, we cross the border and he's waiting for us. He begins leading us to his taxi. We tell him no and immediately jump into another taxi with two male backpackers that seem safe. As we look back, we see another guy yelling at the guy who was trying to get us to come with him. Now they're fighting and he seems to maybe even hit him on the head for possibly not getting us in the car. Was this normal, or was he about to traffic all four of us? I started a new job this month and my workplace is only two blocks away from the bus stop, with one of those blocks being a public sports place with a public pool and running tracks

that I always go through instead of around because it's shorter and busier so I feel safe. However, the next block is quite lonely with not a lot of traffic from cars or people. This morning I was about to cross the street and an SUV stopped. I didn't find it weird because I thought the driver was being kind, letting me cross before continuing on their way. After that, I kept walking really slowly because I always make sure to arrive exactly on time and I was like 5 minutes early today. As I was about to turn right, I finally realized that the same SUV was a little bit in front of me, almost at my side, turning right really slowly. My workplace is surrounded by houses and a decent neighborhood, so when I saw him driving slowly, I just assumed that he was

going to park in front of his house. However, he did stop, and I thought, oh well, maybe he has to open the porch, I don't know. But instead of getting out of the car, he just stayed there. That freaked me out, but I kept walking. Like I said, really slowly. When I was about to be at the side of the car, I didn't know what to do. Should I run, walk normally until I passed him, or what? So I started walking more quickly, and when I was at the side of the car, he waved or did a sign at me, I don't know. I didn't catch it clearly. I ignored him and finally passed him but once I did, he started the engine again so he was right by my side. I finally arrived at my workplace and he stopped again. I quickly rang the bell. I can actually open the door from the outside but I didn't want him to see how. Also, by ringing the

bell, I was basically telling other people to come outside for me. Immediately after I rang the bell, he accelerated and left. I feel really bad for not trying to memorize his license plate or even remember his face, and I really hope no other girl has to go through this. Even if I had all of his information, I'm from a third world country, so the police probably wouldn't do anything about a potential creep. Last summer, I took two of my kids and two of my daughter's friends to a renaissance fair. As we were leaving, the girls, 15, 15, and 16, were walking ahead of us when I could see a man approach them and appear to ask to take their pictures. He had camera equipment so my first thought was that he was with the fair, taking pictures to be sold. When I got up close to them I realized that he didn't have an employee shirt or any indication of who he was. I stopped him from taking the picture and politely asked why

he was taking a picture of my girls. Just one is mine, but he didn't need to know that. He had the gall and bristle to say, well, first of all, because they said I could, and turned his back to me. Well, it was the wrong thing to do. I stepped in front of him and said, absolutely not. You're not taking pictures of them. The girls were confused and the dude tried to motion to them to step to the side. I raised my voice to make a scene and said, You are not taking photos of my girls. He asked which one was mine and I glared at him with my best teacher glare and said,

All of them. He shook his head and started to walk off and turned to hand two of them business cards and said to call him. I grabbed them out of his hands and told him to leave, and he stormed off. The cards had perforations on the edges and looked as though he'd made them at home. They advertised him as a modeling agent with a phone number. The kids wanted to know why I was being mean to him. They had also assumed that he was with a fair. After I explained that if he had been legit, he would have looked for a parent rather than avoiding one and I explained what kind of modeling he may have had in mind.

I could see it click with them and they were completely creeped out. The audacity of this dude. So this all starts when me and my two buddies, me 19 and them 20 and 17, went to go fish off of this bank on the river in the afternoon. The layout is that you drive over to the levee before you drop down into a boat ramp slash parking area right next to the river. We brought pizza, beer, weed, music, and of course our rods, hoping that we'd just hang out and do some late night fishing. At this point, we were all set up on the bank with our chairs and speaker having a nice evening, and it's probably been two hours, and it's 9pm now. All three of us were feeling good with some beers in our system, and then we all of a sudden hear two cars with super loud music pull up and everyone gets out. The cars must have had four to five people in each one because I heard a

lot of people talking but it was all in Spanish so I couldn't make anything out. We tried to ignore it but then it gets too loud that we couldn't enjoy ourselves so we started packing our stuff to head back to the car and just chill out while we sober up. While we were gathering our things we start to hear what sounds like an argument go down. We start to hear lots of glass shattering and people screaming at the top of their lungs. They couldn't see us but they were basically no more than 20 feet behind our heads. At this point we're just keeping quiet and then start to hear what sounded like someone getting punched repeatedly and then a loud splash in the river by the boat ramp and someone saying,

Nah, leave him, leave him, which was the only word spoken in English. At this point, we didn't know what we just heard and happened and we didn't want to stick around and find out. The three of us trek back up the steep incline to get back to the car, but as soon as we came into their view, they all got back into the two cars and quickly sped back over the levee. Except we spotted one of the cars just sitting on the top of the levee, slowly creeping forward. When we turned our car on, that car then went fully over the levee.

We realized that we were the only car left in the parking lot and it was not pitch black outside at around 9.30pm. We sat there for no more than 30 seconds just trying to process what we had just heard go down, then we decided that we needed to go out of there completely and park somewhere to sober up all the way. As we were going over the levee, the road goes over it and then down and makes a sharp left. Right after we take that sharp left, our hearts drop when we see four cars lined up completely horizontal across the road, blocking us from getting through. There's orchards on the left and right, so there's no going around at all. At this point, my buddy just gassed it straight towards their bumpers to try and split it between the left and right so there's no going around at all. At this point my buddy just gassed it straight towards their bumpers to try and split it between the cars and get out of there even if

it meant damaging the front end of his car. Just as we do that one of the four cars slightly moved out of the way creating a gap. We flew right through it and just got out of there and they were laying on their horn while we passed through. We don't know what their intentions were but clearly there were two cars in the boat ramp area where we were at and two cars on the other side of the levee blocking the road from anyone else coming in. I ended up filing a police report just in case they really did dump a body into that river. It happens all the time here, but I haven't heard anything back, and it's definitely one of my most terrifying experiences that I potentially had with some cartel. So when I was a kid, maybe six or seven, this was in the mid-90s, we took a family trip to the beach in Florida.

We were staying in a beach house a short walking distance from the beach. We went to the beach and I was supposed to stay in sight of my mom, but I wandered way down and before I knew it, I was lost. A lot of the houses looked the same and I wasn't sure which one was ours, plus I couldn't see my mom anywhere. It started to rain. I came to a path that I was pretty sure led back to our house, only it didn't lead to a house at all but instead to a parking lot.

There was a big dirty van parked there. It was the only vehicle around. I was about to turn back when I noticed an overweight woman with brown hair, a hot pink tank top, and those big clunky thick glasses that were popular in the 80s waving and smiling at me from the passenger seat of the van. She said something like, oh my, it's raining. Where's your mommy? Let's take you to her. It's very dangerous for you to be out here in the rain. You could get struck by lightning. She was very friendly, almost overly so, and the driver's seat was a very overweight man without a shirt on, a hairy gray chest and some clunky looking gold chain. He was wearing yellow tinted elvish shades

and staring at me intently. He was also smoking a cigarette, which I knew was bad. The woman stepped out of the van and kneeled down to me. She asked how old I was. When I told her, she gleefully remarked, oh my, we have two boys your age at our house. You should come over and spend the night. We've got movies, Nintendo, and in the morning we've got all types of cereal. I had been taught all about stranger danger, but at this point in my life, no adult had ever given me any reason not to trust them. The lady continued talking about stuff like how the boys have go-karts and that they like to drink chocolate milk. She made it seem very enticing for a seven-year-old kid and at this point I

trusted her. I mostly liked the idea of getting to play with some kids my age. Then I remembered that I needed to ask my mom first. I told her this. She told me that was no problem, that they just live up the road. My mom wouldn't mind. It started raining harder and she opened the sliding door of the van and said something like, now let's get you out of the rain and go find mommy, okay? I knew logically that I shouldn't do this, but the lady seemed really nice and I was desperately wanting to get out of the rain. As I walked toward the open door of the van I noticed an awful stench that almost made me gag. This set off alarm bells in my head that something wasn't right.

There were cigarette butts all over the floor. I looked at the fat man who was not only staring at me with this sort of menacing glare, but he had this really creepy toothy smile and his teeth were stained a dark yellow. I could pick up a very messed up vibe from him. I knew now that I should run, but the woman was ushering me to hurry up and get in. Her demeanor changed. She was being demanding and trying to literally push me into the van. She sounded very angry and said,

Get in already! In a tone that was the complete opposite of how she had sounded before. I jumped to the side and started running as fast as I could. The woman managed to grab my arm or wrist, but somehow I was able to quickly break free and run back to the beach. I think she tried to chase me, but I said she was very overweight. I made it back to my mom who was freaking out. I tried explaining what had happened to me but I don't think that at seven years old I was able to convey the gravity of what happened and I didn't fully understand it myself. This story starts back in 2017, when my boyfriend and I started living together. Rent in our country has been really high for years, so after looking for a while, we decided to emigrate.

Our college is very close to the border between our home country and the neighboring country, and in the neighboring country, the rents are way lower. After a few months, we found an apartment. It used to be the old hay attic of a farm, but a rich couple, the landlord, turned the attic into an apartment years ago and turned the rest of the house into a home for themselves. We loved the place and signed the rental agreement and moved in September of 2017. At first, all was great. We liked our landlord and his wife, even though they were a bit eccentric, but after a while things became less comfortable. The landlord would blast loud music at all hours of the night. If he asked him to fix something, he would show up at 2am. He constantly bragged about how he kicked out the

precious tenants after they told him that the rent was too high. When rats infested our roof and ceiling and created holes that went straight outside, he used expanding foam to kill them, trapping the rats in the process, which led to them dying and decomposing in the ceiling. And most importantly, he would knock on our door for minutes on end and if we didn't answer, he would stand underneath our window and yell our names, like he knew that we were there, but ignoring him. Once he even got into the apartment without permission. I got home and was sweaty as hell so I walked straight into the bathroom, which was located on the left side of

the entrance. When I came out, wrapped in a towel, and walked towards the living room, he suddenly came through the front door. I asked him what he was doing here, and he told me that he left his key in our house after a visit, even though he used that key to get in. The last points finally clicked when we moved out. The landlord was about to move to Poland, and the landlord was a jerk so we decided to move out. We told him about it and he said, well, can you get back my camera then? We thought he was joking, but after he left we suddenly felt so weird about it so we checked. The apartment had a very high pointed ceiling so we had to use a ladder,

but there, on the high horizontal beam, we found a small camera pointed at our living room. I think I still have the video somewhere of my boyfriend cutting the wire. All of a sudden, the cam network that we saw on the wifi list on our phones was gone as well. We moved out and thought about pressing charges, but this man had a great lawyer and was long gone by then For context, I grew up in the suburbs and apart from the occasional play park or sports field, there was nothing to do. My neighbors and I used to play knock and run, also known as ding-dong ditch. To provide context, I have a sister who was a year younger than me and my neighbor James was the same age as me. His older sister was 14 at the time and she occasionally played with us, although I think she just wanted to hang out with my sister whom she thought was

cute. Admittedly, I was the biggest coward in the group and to this day my flight instinct is still stronger than my fight instinct. I would never ring the doorbell, as I would always find a way to avoid it. I found watching it much more entertaining than actually doing it. On this particular afternoon, my cousins came over. One of my cousins was my age, the other a few years younger than me and unable to play with us, and the third was a year older than me. Everyone treated them like an adult even though he was only 11. Let's call this cousin Daniel as he is somewhat important to the story. I am not really a reliable narrator as it has been almost 10 years since these events but

I will try my hardest to remember them. And either way I'm kind of getting off topic but my cousins came over and we were banished outside to play. We all decided that knock and run was a good idea. We usually just play around our immediate street, never venturing further than the next street over out of fear of getting lost and the copy didn't paste at suburban streets. We made our way up to the street to the play park on the top of the hill. It sat where a house could have been and someone could cut across it on the next road. As we sat in the play equipment, we decided that a vote should decide who knocked first and, of course, I was picked. I remember getting myself out of it and getting my older cousin to take my place. I'm thankful that he was as proud as he was.

It helped me get out of a lot of situations. We decided that our first target would be the fanciest looking house in the area, a white marble house with a fountain in the front yard and a curved driveway. I remember sitting next to a car. I was small enough to look under it from the curb and I had a clear view of my cousin sneaking up to the door and ringing the doorbell three times to get the attention of whoever was inside. Then he bolted down the pathway towards the street to hide behind the cars. Before he got to the fence, an older man in a black leather apron with what I assumed was paint on it came sprinting after him. I immediately knew something was wrong. This

wasn't the usual response to a knock and run. Sure, we had encountered some angry people before, but this was something very different. We practically flew down the walkway towards Daniel and threw his hand out to grab him. This didn't feel like something someone his age could do and it scared me. I think I might have been the only one with a clear view of what was going on which meant that I was the first to see what was happening. It wasn't until the man was practically on top of Daniel that he noticed he was being chased and the scream that he made when he realized this will always stick with me. As I mentioned at the start of this, Daniel was and

still is a very proud person who will always try to prove himself, so hearing this scream of pure terror struck me to my core. Everyone was clued in at this point as to what was happening. Daniel didn't open the waist-high gate at the end of the path, he just jumped it, which I think ultimately saved him from getting hurt as the old man had to take a second to open it. Daniel was sprinting down the street as fast as I had ever seen him. Stop! the man yelled with a deep, angry voice. This actually stopped Daniel in his tracks. They were both standing in the middle of the road at this point,

reminding me of an old western movie when two cowboys would be standing at either end of the main road. The man marched straight up to Daniel's face, and I could finally get a good look at him. His skin resembled rough leather, and the few strands of hair on his head had long since grayed. He was clean-shaven and wearing white pants, a white button-up shirt, and a black leather apron with what I rationalized as red paint on it. After he was maybe half a foot from Daniel, he started to berate him, and I could only make out the words, sick people in there. Everything about this man

threw me off, and I could see my neighbor and my other cousin who was hiding in the bushes, feeling the same. My neighbor's older sister, whom I'll call Tay, screamed at him from the other side of the road, which gave Daniel the opportunity to run as fast as he could away from the man. We all ran at that point. I don't think I or anyone else knew where we were running off to, but I found myself in the car park of the shopping center across the road from me. I waited there for maybe 30 minutes, just watching cars come in and out, feeling safer with a large group of people. I had no idea at the time if he chased one of us, but I knew that I was safe. I made my way back to my house and found that I was the last one to return.

My cousin Daniel ran straight home and Tay followed him. My other cousin and neighbor ran around the suburbs for a bit before deciding to go home. My mom was missing when I got home and I realized that she had been told what happened. My mother is someone who isn't afraid of protecting her own and she is one of the strongest people I know so I felt pretty safe that she was aware and was off telling him to buzz off. But when she got back, she seemed off. She didn't want to talk about it or anything and any color from her face had completely drained. We slept at my neighbor's house that night because my mom wanted to talk to my dad about something serious and I think we all knew what it was about. Nothing happened for a while after that.

Mom was a lot more protective of what we did outside. We were no longer allowed to play knock and run or go up to the road without a parent. It really bugged my sister who loved to play outside but I don't think she fully understood what happened. I have a lot more stories about this guy and I'll probably write more because this helped me get a better grip on everything that happened throughout that year but I hope you enjoy the very first event in one of the worst periods of my life. Before I get into the next few events, I think it's important to address some things that I've read in the last post. I know that we were the ones who originally disturbed him, but I thought it was important to dedicate a post to that event as it kind of kicked off a lot of stuff. I will probably update this post with a few more stories just to get it all out there, but

I just want to say that I fully understand my and everyone else's part that we played in part one. However, I believe the issue really began after that, which is what I'll show you today. Now first things first, I promised a few of you that I would ask my mom what the old man had told her last night at dinner, and I did manage to do so. She was surprised that I remembered what happened and tried to sweep it under the rug, but I kept pressing her for answers. I'm not proud of pressuring my mother into talking to me about something like this, but curiosity got the better of me, and I know that isn't an excuse, but I feel it somewhat justifies my actions, as a lot of you wanted to know as well. After I pressed her for more answers, she grabbed my arm and led me to my room before placing me on my bed

She sat next to me and told me not to repeat anything of what I said to my sister, my cousins, or anyone else who was involved with this man throughout that year She finally opened up about how she was sitting at home watching TV when she heard a loud knock on the front door It was my cousin Daniel and my neighbor Tay who looked terrified and exhausted. After letting them in and grilling them for answers, my mom was rightfully angry that someone had spoken to them in such a way. So she got up to go and confront the man and on her way out, my other cousin and neighbor arrived whom she also sent inside. She was concerned about where I was but Daniel made it clear that I had ran in the opposite direction of the man and that he would go out looking for

me, which he didn't. My mom made her way to the play park and saw the man pacing back and forth up and down his driveway. He didn't seem angry or upset. He apparently didn't seem like anything besides someone marching back and forth which took my mother's mood from enraged to kind of confused. She walked up to the front gate and let herself in which made the man stop almost immediately and stare at her. I am surprised that she didn't turn back and go home at that point because that's what I and what I imagined anyone would have done but as I said in part one, I'm a coward. The man marched up to my mom and started to berate her about trespassing on her property, which she met by berating him about terrifying some kids. This apparently went on for a couple

of minutes before he said something that terrified her. My mom didn't say exactly what he said because she said that she was trying to forget it, but he said something along the lines of, I'll show both of you what it feels like to have somebody on your property when you don't want them there, and then I'll shut those kids up forever. He tries to grab her at that point, but she quickly moved away and left his yard, swiftly walking back home. This really affected my mom, but that was the answer I got from her. I gave her a hug and apologized for pressing her to tell me and we got back to dinner shortly after. I don't regret her telling me, but it just feels like knowing the end of a movie and seeing all of the hints leading up to it, recontextualizing a lot of stuff. It had been

about a month, maybe a month and a half since the first initial incident with the man. We hadn't seen him since and I was forgetting about it until I went to the shops one day. Now for further context, my parents had started to let me go to the shops by myself to grab little things for them. I was young at the time and the shops were across the road from me so getting there wasn't an issue. One day my dad asked me to go and grab a loaf of bread for him. He gave me two two dollar coins and sent me on my way to the shops. I was getting used to doing this on my own enjoying my independence. I grabbed the bread which was on the far side of the large supermarket and made my way towards the registers. I stopped by the toy aisle and took a look at all

of the low-quality, mass-produced action figures that I desperately wanted. This was part of my routine. Even now, if I wanted something, but didn't have the money to get it, I would just look at it. But on this occasion, I wish I had just continued to the registers. I felt two hands push me to the ground from my left. I was shocked for a moment as I didn't fully know what had just happened. The sticky and dusty floor beneath me hurt. It took me a second to look at my attacker and when I did, I immediately knew that this was very wrong. It was the old man from up the road. He had found me in the place that I had hid from him just a month prior. He started to shout at me, but I had hid from him just a month prior.

He started to shout at me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. I don't know if it was the adrenaline ringing in my ears or his rage just taking over, but the tone in which he was shouting shook me. I tried to get up to run, but when I planted my foot on the ground to get up, he kicked it out from below me, which made me fall back to the ground. Thank God a staff member arrived at this point. They must have heard his shouting from across the store and came to check on what was happening. I didn't get a good look at the staff member, but I am thankful for them. As I got up to run with a loaf of bread in my hand, I could hear the man reacting to me getting away, and it took everything in me not to look behind me to

look at him but I knew that he was furious. I ran straight out of the store with the bread without realizing it and almost threw up from all of the emotions that I was feeling. I told my parents when I got home and they both made it clear that I wouldn't be going on any shopping trips by myself from here on out. They didn't think about how me and my sister walked together to school which in hindsight should have been something that they thought of. The trip to my school wasn't a long one. It was just over a kilometer long or just over half a mile but the trip was still tough on small legs. There were quite a few hills which added time to our trip there and the path went along a creek with nothing around it. It was nice and isolated which helped relax my mind after school. Not long after the supermarket incident, my sister and I were walking home from school. We had just reached the beginning of the

path along the creek when we spotted an SUV that had appeared to have been parked there for quite some time. I initially assumed it was empty but as you can probably guess, it wasn't. We were about to enter the creek when suddenly, the car door of the SUV opened and we heard someone shouting at us. Hey, you guys want a ride home? It was the man from the supermarket. My sister, who was always trusting of others, began walking towards the truck, but I quickly held her back. What's wrong? The man asked in a cheerful tone. This was a stark contrast to the unintelligible screaming we had experienced just a week earlier,

and I wanted nothing to do with this man. I quickly started to lead my sister towards the creek, and the man quickly scooted over towards the door. Wait up, I'll walk you home. I should have headed up the hills towards the school but instead I started sprinting down the creek. In hindsight, I feel foolish. If you remember, Daniel ran away from him and the man quickly caught up to him. And Daniel's faster than me but for some reason he didn't leave his truck. All I heard was another unintelligible scream followed by his truck

driving away. My sister was furious as we ran that we didn't get a ride home and as we slowed down she was frustrated that we had to walk but I didn't care. She and I were safe so we continued walking along the path. Looking back, the path was beautiful and connected to small quiet streets on either side, the perfect balance between isolation and convenience. And regrettably, my young mind failed to realize that the creek led to two quiet streets. When I spotted that same silver SUV at the end of the path, I froze. I felt powerless and had to protect my sister who was now starting to doubt the man's intentions. I decided the best course of action was to cross the creek and make our way through the bushes to the other side. It was an extremely risky move considering the slippery rocks, wildlife, and running water, but somehow we managed. I climbed over logs, under tree branches,

through prickly bushes and large plants, eventually reaching another road that led us home. It's possible that those two SUVs were different, but at the time, I was certain that they were the same. Even now, I'm not 100% sure if they were different. My parents eventually got the police involved, but based on the subsequent events, it seems that that may not have done much. Other incidents occurred during this time, such as mail theft, knockover bins, and late night door knocking, which we suspected he was doing, though we lacked concrete proof. The last incident I want to mention occurred during a camp out with my dad. We'd sleep on the couches in the living room, right next to the front door and watch movies with pizza or takeout. One night, everyone else had gone to sleep and I was watching Naruto on TV, even though I hadn't seen it before. I was sitting by the large window overlooking the

driveway when I noticed movement outside. I looked out and saw him, the man, walking up to our front door, wearing his white pants and a white button-up shirt. He was fixated on our front door with unwavering focus and it felt as though nothing could divert his attention. But something did. He saw me. He looked directly at me and I could see in his eyes that he found it amusing. He raised his hand, waved at me and then placed a finger to his lips as if instructing me to keep quiet. Then he jogged away. Strangely, I fell asleep not long after that, and for the longest time I thought it was just a dream. It was only after

reading all of Naruto and recognizing the scene that I began to question whether it had actually been a dream. Given what my mom had told me, I think I have an idea of what he might have been attempting. So, it was summer, and the local council decided to have a fair. The local council hired a few clowns, some face painting stations, food trucks, and bouncy castles at the local football field. Of course, me and my sister were beyond excited to go. For a young child, this was the hottest ticket in town, and my parents were happy to take us as it was just down the road and free. I remember the field being beyond busy. The crowd was difficult to walk in and even harder to see through,

but we managed to find ourselves right next to a giant blow-up bouncy slide. As it was summer, the actual balloon on the slide burned to the touch, and the sun made me feel like I was slowly melting. Regardless of this, I must have spent at least 40 minutes going up and down that slide. I was having too much fun and didn't notice that both my parents and sister had gone missing in the giant crowd of people. I got down from the slide, put my shoes and socks back on, and started to make my way through the crowd. I didn't actually know where I was going and I remember feeling incredibly anxious as I waddled around the fair. It wasn't until I felt a hand on my shoulder and then on my forearm that I felt a little

safer. It was my dad I thought, he had found me. I couldn't actually tell whose arm it was as the angle at which it was holding my arm made it difficult to look at it in a crowd. The whole day was overwhelmingly stimulating and I wasn't thinking clearly. I should have known from how hard the hand was gripping me or the fact that it was leading me to the parking lot that something was wrong. I only really felt terror when I saw my parents running towards me, running faster than I had ever seen them run. Adrenaline immediately coursed through my veins and I pivoted my body around and immediately saw the leathery hand on my arm and white pants.

The link was connected in my mind as to who this was. My mother's scream was the first thing I heard and the angry or annoyed grunt of the old man followed it. He started to jog with me towards his truck but I had started to fight back against his grip. He may have been old but he was stronger than any elderly person should be and he was faster too. Everything about this man was wrong and it may have been my young mind making it all up but I still believe that something was very weird about him. No elderly person should be like this. At this point I was only a couple of feet away from his car and as he opened the door I felt two hands on my right arm that pulled me hard against the man's grip. The man's grip held on before my dad

came out from behind me and slammed the old man's head into his car which loosened his grip on me. At this point my mother grabbed me and ran and we went straight home. Apparently they didn't notice me slip away on the bouncy slide and they ran into some family friends who offered to take care of my sister while they searched for me. I don't know what type of person it takes to do something like that in such a populated area, but this man was not normal, not in the slightest. My dad returned later that night. He looked really roughed up and drained of all energy. From what I gathered over the years, they got into a pretty brutal fight that ended with the police breaking it up. My dad didn't

get into that much trouble considering that he had called the police on the man before, but they still took him to the station to give a statement. When he sat down on the couch, he looked exhausted, bruises forming all over and a cut on his lip and upper eyebrow still leaking blood, but he had a smile on his face and I could hear him telling my mom that it was over. They were both hopeful and so was I. A couple of weeks later my cousins came back over and Daniel wanted to know everything. He felt like he was the main victim and deserved to know everything because he was the one that the man shouted at and the one that the man wanted to get the most. I don't disagree that the man would probably try to hurt him on sight, but it felt weird to me, almost like he was trying to take credit for something that,

to him, sounded like a creepy story, but to my family, was very real. Anyway, we decided to go out for a bit. My parents trusted us because we were with my older cousin. We went up to the usual play park, which was across the street from the man's currently vacant house. Daniel was telling us about how he swore that he saw him near his house. Keep in mind that he lives almost three hours away. I'm not saying that he's a liar but I am saying that he wanted to be a part of this. Anyways, we were planning hide and seek. Tay, our neighbor, was seeking and she only just started to count down from 60. I always tagged along with Daniel because he always found the best spots. We ran across the road towards the man's house and Daniel jumped the fence which I immediately stopped at. Come on, he said from the

other side of the waist-high fence. No one's going to find us. The house felt like a void that we could get sucked into, and I had up until that point refused to even be near it, but for some reason I agreed. I joined him in the man's yard, and to my shock, Daniel wanted to go deeper into his home, not just his yard. I made it clear that this was a very bad idea. Even if he was in custody or jail or wherever he was, we would be breaking into someone's home. Daniel didn't seem scared by it

though. I think the whole idea of being in the man's house seemed too attractive to him. We went around the side of the fence to his backyard and it was overgrown, almost like no one had been living there for years. I made my way towards his back window looking inside. From what I could make out, he was a hardcore minimalist, only having a TV, chair, fireplace, and shelf that housed some photos of a much younger man and some medals. He was a veteran, and that really changes nothing to me, but it explains his above average speed and strength, especially for his age. The sound of a door sliding open almost made me yell in fear. Daniel had found an unlocking sliding door and wanted to venture inward.

I ran around to find him, but he was already inside before I could stop him. At this point, I was also curious to find out more, but I understood the risk of the saw. It didn't matter if I understood it because I went in with him. The rest of the house reflected the living room, the kitchen had a fridge and stove, and the dining room only had a small table with one wooden chair. There was no decoration on the walls or signs of life besides these sad reminders of how lonely the man had been. As I said, this changes nothing for me. I hate this man more than anyone can ever know. We made our way upstairs and found two completely empty rooms in one bedroom.

A single bed with a bedside table filled with different types of weapons. A hatchet, a knife, and a knuckle duster. I had never seen a knuckle duster before and I successfully fought the urge to take it and put it on. This was something that Daniel failed to do as he almost immediately grabbed it which I almost hit him for. We continued searching the house and Daniel had the idea that he must have something weird in his wardrobe. When we opened it, he gave a disappointed sigh as there was nothing inside except a few white button-ups and white pants. This especially creeped me out as he never wore anything else. We made our way back down the stairs and into the living room and to our surprise,

we missed the table that sat next to the couch. It was just out of view and only had one drawer. Daniel opened it and struggled to get it out fast, but when he did, he found something profoundly strange. It was a single photo. Neither of us could make out what it was, but we knew that it looked familiar. Daniel sat down in the chair, bored, and it was only then that we heard Tay scream out that she had given up. Daniel shot up and sprinted back to the backyard. We had both completely forgotten about her, but as I put the photo back into the drawer,

something stood out to me about the photo. The fence was navy blue. This was something unusual in my area, and I knew of only one navy blue fence in the suburb, our side door entrance fence. The realization made the photo seem so much clearer. The white pebbles on the ground leading to the backyard, the cream color of the garage next to it, and the green bush at the end of the path. This was my home. He had a photo of my house. I quickly met back up with Daniel and Tay and we went back home. He had a photo of my house. I quickly met back up with Daniel and Tay and we went back

home. I should have told my parents but I was scared that I would be in trouble if they found out that we were inside of his home. I understood why we would be but I still didn't want to live up to it. About a month after that, we were having another camp out with me, my dad and my sister. Both my sister and dad had fallen asleep with the TV still on, illuminating the room. It was one of those weird situations where we were both really comfortable and really uncomfortable. This was my situation, and on most nights I love this feeling, but that feeling will always be tied to this night. I was drifting off to sleep as well, but I heard the sliding back door open slowly. I peered up above the couch and saw the silhouette of a man standing in the

doorway. I froze with fear and started to cry. My dad woke up at this point and I am not entirely sure how, maybe it was a parental instinct, but he knew almost immediately that something was wrong. He got off the bed and crouched toward the dining room, which is where the back door was. The other man had begun to walk slowly through the house at this point, murmuring to himself. To my horror, I recognized the pants. The bright white pants. So many questions went through my mind, the most prevalent one being how he was in custody, but none of that mattered because there he was, standing in my dining room, holding something. My dad charged him from around the corner and tackled him into the wall. The old man punched him in the arm and my dad immediately dropped that arm.

It was the knuckle duster that Daniel was wearing. It was at this point that the lights turned on. I don't know if it was my dad or the man but they came on and the man made a noise of pure horror. Both men were fully healed from their last fight but my dad took a real beating. I had always expected that the old man would have his butt kicked but now I'm not so sure. My dad was standing in the doorway to the living room, shielding us with his body. My sister was awake and crying at this time, as was I, and my mom also ran down the stairs and immediately saw everything that was going on. The man had lunged at my dad with a thing in his hand that I could see was a hatchet. My dad threw himself to the side side and my other arm got scraped

by the hatchet, drawing blood. My mom at this point leapt toward the old man and pushed him into the kitchen bench which made him scream, but he was up almost as fast as he was down. He slashed at my mom and missed her and my dad ran to the other room and started to call the police. My mom was dodging his slashes while also throwing things at him. When she got to the knife block, she armed herself with two knives and threw one of them, and the handle hit him in the face, knocking him back. My mom took the opportunity and drove the knife into his shoulder, which made him scream again. He fell to the ground and didn't try to get up until the police arrived. After this happened, we moved.

Not too far away, maybe just half an hour away, even though we live so close to that place we have never returned. And as much as I have been tempted to go back and relive some stuff, for the time being, I'm pretty comfortable staying here. Apparently he paid bail and was staying in the hospital for a while before staying at somebody else's house. I know that he made his way back to his house before making his way home. It creeps me out to think that I could have been in his home at the same time as him. Well, it's been 10 years and it's been something that's been buried in my mind for a while. I just want to thank all of you for hearing my story. On New Year's Eve of 2009, 10-year-old Masego Kugomo went out to play with her friends on the streets of a small South African township known as Soshangove. The name Soshangove is an acronym, actually, consisting of the name of the four different

tribes that live there, the Sotho, the Shangan, the Nungani, and Venda. Living quarters are divided purely on ethnic lines, a technique employed by the apartheid-era government to sow distrust and conflict among the native population. Despite the minor ethnic tensions, Masego had a relatively peaceful and carefree upbringing, with her parents Joseph and Kate doing all they could to support their young family. Masego usually abided by a strict curfew, but that evening, when she failed to return home at the agreed hour, her parents began to worry. After reporting their daughter's disappearance to the local police force, Caten Joseph Kagomo enlisted the aid of friends, family members, and kind-hearted neighbors,

and scoured the surrounding area in search of Masego. Over the next week, search and rescue parties, both amateur and professional, search high and low for the missing girl. Frustratingly, no trace of her could be recovered, but Masego's parents never gave up hope of her safe return. Sadly, just eight days after her initial disappearance, a 38-year-old man named Brian Manguale approached police officers with some solemn news. He then led them to a forested area some distance away from the precinct where lying half-buried in a shallow grave were the remains of little Masego Kagomo. She had been tortured, mutilated, and dismembered.

Suspecting that Brian Mongwale might himself be involved in the murder, local police placed him under arrest, then did the same with an acquaintance of his named Albert Macebola. When questioned by police, Albert confessed to having witnessed Macego's murder. He claimed that on the night in question, he had been sitting in a parked car with a friend when suddenly none other than Brian Mongwale appeared from the shadows. In his company were a man, a woman, and a little girl, one that Albert seemed quite sure was Masego Kagomo. When confronted with Albert's revelation, Brian Mongwale began to panic. He had no alibi for that evening and couldn't refute the accusations put to him by the police. In the end, after severe beatings and threats of torture, he made a truly bone-chilling confession. Brian claimed that he, along with two other adults in his company, tricked Little Masego into accompanying them to a derelict medical clinic. There, under the protection of several armed guards, Brian and his companions led Masego into an operating theater.

Waiting for them were several older women and one man all wearing the traditional Sangoma dress worn by southern African healers. When Masego entered the operating theater, she was frightened and confused, but when she saw the surgical instruments gleaming under the bright white lighting, she began to panic. Brian Mangwale then claimed that a woman approached Masego with a tissue and put it over her mouth. Then the child was not crying anymore. We made her eat and drink something. Then a woman named Jan cut her little girl's stomach open. She didn't scream, but I couldn't watch after that. They opened the girl up so they could see her organs and then they took them. Then I saw them on the operating table and I went outside and vomited. Brian later told police that he had been paid just less than $200 to bring a young girl to the derelict clinic after dark and had been hired by two people named Jan and Mabunda. Brian also admitted to having sold

another girl to the organ traffickers just a few months before he abducted Masego. In that first instance, he was paid around $250 on account that his victim was younger and purer than the 10-year-old Masego. News of the murders horrified the South African public, who demanded that the organ trafficking ring be hunted down and eradicated. Brian Mengwale cooperated with the police, feeding them as much information as he could, yet despite having one of their names, none of the shadowy Sangoma were ever identified or arrested. Some speculated that the story was a pack of lies, a child killer's disposable attempt to divert blame from its rightful place. Yet in the days and weeks that

followed his arrest, it slowly became evident that he'd been telling the truth. He had indeed sold a girl to organ traffickers, and by the looks of things, they were a very cunning and very dangerous group of people. They'd worked quickly, anonymously, and relatively cleanly. They used pseudonyms and preyed on the most vulnerable in society. Brian Mongwale confirmed that Masego Cogomo was not their first victim, and it seemed only a matter of time before they struck again. Despite his cooperation with law enforcement, Brian Mongwale was found guilty of both kidnapping and murder, and was subsequently sentenced to 60 years in prison. At his sentencing, the presiding judge told Brian, the crimes you have committed are

serious in the extreme. You and your co-conspirators took away the life of an innocent girl to gain financially. What the court finds disturbing and gruesome is that it appears that she was mutilated while still alive. Mungwale's long sentence was welcomed by the South African Minister for Women, Lulu Zingwana, who said he deserved to rot in hell for his crimes. Yet Minister Zingwana was quick to remind people that the hunt for Macedo's true killers was not over. What is worrying is that his accomplices are still out there, she said. We're going to work hand in hand with the community and the police

to make sure that they are apprehended. The law will not rest until these people are brought to book. However, months after Brian Mangwala's trial concluded, a state prosecutor named M.J. Makwatha dropped a legal bombshell on the South African media. He claimed that law enforcement had actually identified several of the organ traffickers, but were stuck in a rather precarious position. They didn't have enough physical, digital, or financial evidence to convict the traffickers of any crime, and in using them as a witness against Brian himself,

they would need to be offered some kind of immunity. Therefore, the state neglected to approach, arrest, or even question the suspected organ traffickers on the grounds that it would spook them into shutting down their operation and possibly even fleeing the country. M.J. Maguatha claimed that he was assured that a case was being built against the organ trafficking ring, but to date, none of the suspects have been named or arrested. It makes us wonder just how many other trafficking rings exist in the world, and if some of them aren't a little closer to home than we might expect. field or ice or course, BetRivers is the place.

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to speak to an advisor free of charge. Born on September 23rd of 1916 in the small southeastern town of Maglié, Aldo Moreau grew up to be one of the most influential politicians of 20th century Italy. During the Second World War, Aldo was forcefully conscripted into the Italian armed forces and saw firsthand how extremist politics had set the European continent aflame. The experience inspired something of a political awakening in the once staunchly conservative

Catholic, and he understood that for harmony to exist, there needed to be balance. He joined Italy's Christian Democracy Party, yet vehemently defended the rights and interests of the working poor. This combination of traditionalism and respect for the working classes proved extremely popular with the Italian people, and after serving as the party's secretary general from 1959 to 1964, Aldo was elected to the position of prime minister. Politicians often make big promises during election campaigns, then fail to deliver once in office. But not Aldo. He immediately instituted land reforms that made it much easier for poor farmers to own their own property, while making steps towards banning controversial farming practices such as sharecropping. Many of his fellow Christian Democrats considered Aldo's reforms too radical

and accused him of selling out his voter base by flirting with socialism. But Aldo was above such petty labels. To him, there was nothing contradictory about respecting hard work, tradition, and the rights of the individual, while ensuring the working classes didn't slide into poverty or exploitation. What's more, Aldo didn't consider politics a team sport. He's said to have once reminded a colleague that the word politics comes from the Greek word politika, meaning affairs of the cities. And what is a city if not a collection of different people, with different cultures, customs, and ideas?

If the once great city of Rome was to prosper again, there needed to be cooperation among political parties, not confrontation. Aldo was deposed as Prime Minister following the Italian general election of 1976, but just two years later, when a second general election was called, he announced that he'd run again. The announcement was soon followed by accusations of corruption, with critics alleging that Aldo had taken bribes during the so-called Lockheed scandal. Aldo was eventually cleared of all charges on March 3rd of 1978, and it seemed his vindication was the last hurdle to reinstatement his prime minister. Yet less than two weeks later, Aldo's life would be suddenly and permanently changed. On the morning of March 16th, 1978, Aldo was

driving along Rome's Via Fani, a downward sloping street in the city's northern quarter. He and his five bodyguards drove in a convoy of four vehicles, but as they approached the bottom of the slope, two stolen vehicles suddenly appeared to block their advance. Sensing an ambush, the bodyguards attempted to reverse back up the slope, but another vehicle appeared at the top to block their retreat. Suddenly, a gang of men dressed in Air Italia uniforms emerged from some nearby undergrowth, each armed with a submachine gun. And before all those bodyguards could mount any kind of defense, they were slaughtered.

The strike was chaotic, yet chillingly precise. Each of the four cars was riddled with bullet holes by the end of the attack, yet Aldo Moreau remained completely unharmed. He kept his trembling hands in the air as the armed men approached his vehicle, begging them for mercy as they dragged him from the back seat. Aldo was ordered to kneel and as he did so, he very likely expected to be executed on the spot. Yet instead of feeling a gun being pressed to his head, Aldo felt a hand jerking his hair back, forcing him to look up. That's him, he heard one of his attackers say. Now get him in the car. Less than an hour after the attack, a group calling themselves the Red Brigades claimed responsibility for the deaths of Aldo's bodyguards, before announcing that the man himself was to be held hostage until their political demands were met in full. Established in the year 1970, the Red Brigades were a communist militant group

who used industrial sabotage and high-profile kidnappings to draw attention to their cause. Their initial activities had been strictly non-violent and merely utilized the threat of such action to achieve their short-term goals. Yet it wasn't long before all such pledges were abandoned and the brigades began spilling blood to advance their so-called revolution. Following Aldo's kidnapping, the brigades quickly announced their demands. If several of their comrades were released from prison, Aldo would be freed in turn. Italians quickly divided themselves into two camps, both in public and in the government.

One camp was in favor of negotiating with the brigades, while the other refused any sort of compromise with those they quite rightfully referred to as terrorists. Fearing that negotiations would inspire further militant action, the Italian government announced its refusal to meet the Red Brigade's demands. Only a minority of parliamentarians disagreed with the stance, but the Italian public greeted the news with near violent outrage. Given how popular his brand of politics was, Aldo Moreau was extremely popular among huge sections of Italian society. He's often been compared to Italy's JFK and in many ways that makes for a very accurate comparison. So when it was announced that the government would not attempt to negotiate his release and seemed more than happy to risk his execution, the public reaction bordered on hysterical. Trade unionists called for a general strike until Aldo's release was negotiated while a variety of Italian law enforcement agencies scoured their respective jurisdictions.

Approximately 13,000 officers conducted 40,000 raids, while maintaining 72,000 roadblocks across the country. But sadly, no trace of the Red Brigades or Aldo Moreau could be found. During this period of the Red Brigades or Aldo Moreau could be found. During this period of the investigation, an estimated 16 million Italians took to the streets of Rome, Milan, and Turin, demanding that negotiations begin immediately. A handful of right-wing politicians called for Red Brigade prisoners to be tortured, and this sentiment was echoed by an alarmingly vast number of people. Thankfully, such a policy was never

instituted, but it demonstrates the Italian public's sheer desperation to see their beloved Aldo released unharmed. The situation became so tense that the head of the Catholic Church, Pope Paul VI, released an open letter to the Red Brigades, pleading with them to release Aldo without condition. It's also rumored that the Church attempted to reach out to the Red Brigades, pleading with them to release Aldo without condition. It's also rumored that the church attempted to reach out to the kidnappers around the same time the open letter was published, in order to secretly negotiate a ransom payment. The Catholic Church has officially denied this being the case, and there's little reason to doubt them as either their attempts were half-hearted or the Red Brigades didn't take them seriously. Aldo Moreau was said to be a dear friend of Pope Paul VI, so it's doubtful the church would be anything less than zealous in the pursuit of his freedom.

And from the perspective of the Red Brigades, it would be easy to mistake any genuine efforts to negotiate as some kind of ruse or trap. Seven weeks after Aldo Moreau was first kidnapped from the streets of the Italian capital, a secret meeting occurred in a small dimly lit apartment in the city of Milan. The attendees constituted the Red Brigade's General Committee, the main governing body which voted on the group's tactics and general strategy. That evening, there was only one solitary issue on the group's tactics and general strategy. That evening, there was only one solitary issue on the agenda, and after a long and difficult decision, the committee voted and came to a decision. It then ordered the release of what came to be known as

Communication No. 9, which read as follows. For what concerns our proposal of an exchange of political prisoners in order to suspend the condemnation and to release Aldo Moreau, we can only record the clear refusal from the Christian Democrats. We thus conclude that the battle begun on 16 March, executing the sentence to which the prisoner has been condemned. Aldo Moreau had been sentenced to death. On May 7th of 1978, a member of the Red Brigades visited Aldo in his secret holding cell somewhere in the Italian countryside and informed him of his fate. He was given the opportunity to write a goodbye letter to his family, in which he wrote,

they have told me that they are going to kill me in a little while. I am kissing you for the last time. Two days later, on May 9th, Aldo's captors led him outside to a Red Reno IV, and the trunk was a large wicker basket. Aldo was told to climb in, as he was being taken to a different a different top secret holding cell in a different part of the country He did as he was told before a red blanket was placed over the basket in order to properly conceal it In the final seconds of his life, it's possible that Aldo wondered why his captors walked away without closing the trunk But as the first few bullets hit his body, the grim realization must have been beyond terrifying. A Red Brigade gunman named Mario Moretto opened fire on the basket from just a few feet away.

Moments later, Aldo Moro was dead. The car containing Aldo's body was then driven to Via Michelangelo Caetani in the historic center of Rome, then parked in a location of great significance. The street was almost exactly halfway between the headquarters of the Christian Democrats and the Italian Communist Party, as if to say, here's meeting you halfway. Moro's funeral became a day of national mourning for Italians everywhere. Pope John IV personally officiated the proceedings, which were broadcast on almost every TV and radio station in the land. The Pope begged those in attendance to seek justice, not vengeance,

but the public mood was difficult to temper. They demanded that those responsible be apprehended, dead or alive, and over the next 18 months, more than 12,000 people associated with the Red Brigades were detained and questioned. The group's entire leadership was tracked down and arrested, while anywhere between 500 and 600 of its members fled to Switzerland, France, and South America. Those who collaborated after their capture had family members executed by Red Brigade agents, including Patrizio Pecci, whose brother Roberto was shot dead in 1981.

Finally, in January of 1983, a grand total of 32 members of the Red Brigades, along with a handful of affiliates, were sentenced to life imprisonment for their roles in Aldo's kidnap and murder. Just as the mysterious events surrounding the JFK assassination continue to capture the American imagination, the murder of Aldo Moreau continues to haunt Italy to this day. Rumor and intrigue led to a chilling rise in sinister conspiracy theories, many of which involved the CIA, the Israeli Mossad, and an ancient Masonic organization colloquially known as P2. Many claim that Moreau's willingness to work with socialists as well as his vocal support for Palestinian autonomy made him the enemy of the Western powers, who in turn orchestrated his kidnap and murder before blaming it on the Red Brigade. But the fact remains that the Red Brigade openly despised so-called moderates and would later assassinate

a major figure in the trade union movement on the grounds that he was cooperating with state authorities to bring Moreau's killers to justice. The group had already committed itself to violent action in the years prior to Moro's murder, and it had no problem continuing its campaign of terror in the years that followed. If Moro's Christian Democrat colleagues did indeed want him dead for some inexplicable reason, as he was set to win them victory in the coming election, they certainly didn't need to conspire with violent communists to do it. They did it all on their own.

Although Moro continued to be revered and mourned by Italian politicians of all denominations, and his death is a depressing reminder that sometimes those who sue for peace make themselves the mortal enemies of those who long for war. Born on September 6th of 1955, Sharon Lee Gallegos was raised in the small city of Almagordo, New Mexico, by a dedicated but struggling single mother named Guadalupe. The family lived in a small two-bedroom house, but shared the home with six of their extended relatives, meaning a total of 11 people, most of them children, were packed into a place designed for no more than four or five. Guadalupe was employed full-time as a housekeeper at a local motel and relied on her sister and

cousin for child care while she worked long and grueling hours. Financially speaking, they were desperately poor, but in terms of happiness, they were rich beyond measure. By the time she was four, Sharon was described as feisty, but a happy-go-lucky child. She adored her young siblings and cousins and didn't mind sharing toys, beds, or bathtubs. To her, it was like every night was a sleepover, a slumber party that never ended. She enjoyed helping her mother in the kitchen, insisted on accompanying her to the grocery store, and generally did everything she could to alleviate the strain of her mother's selfless hard work. Yet one day, Sharon's mother and aunt noticed a distinct change in her attitude and

behaviors, and naturally, they were deeply troubled by it. One day, Sharon's mother asked her if she'd like to go to the grocery store. Usually, Sharon would leap at the chance, running to fetch her coat and shoes before meeting her mother at the family car. But on this occasion, Sharon seemed uncharacteristically dispassionate about the idea. Her mother attempted to talk her into it but Sharon wouldn't budge. In fact, she told her mother that she didn't want to accompany her to the grocery store ever again. Guadalupe also observed that her daughter seemed more and more hesitant to play outside with her siblings and cousins. Whenever she did, she seemed visibly tense and only remained outdoors for a brief period before returning inside.

Sharon's aunts and mother tried to talk to the girl regarding her newfound anxiety, but she would only give vague responses. Sharon claimed that there were people she didn't like, people who frightened her, and that she sometimes saw them during their trips to the grocery store. Her mother pressed her for more information but the four-year-old girl was unable to properly articulate herself. A few weeks later, Sharon was sitting with her mother on the porch outside their home while her siblings and cousins played in the street outside. At one point, the girl's mother looked up to see a green sedan suddenly slow its pace as it passed their home. The vehicle continued down the street without stopping, yet Sharon became visibly alarmed by the incident and ran upstairs to her bedroom and hid under the covers.

Naturally, her mother was extremely alarmed at this behavior, so she gently but persistently questioned her daughter on why that green sedan seemed to frighten her so much. Once again, she proved incapable of properly articulating her fears, and despite insisting that she didn't like whoever drove that green sedan, she either couldn't or wouldn't identify them. While Guadalupe recognized the need to protect her daughter from dangers both without and within, it seems she completely misjudged her daughter's level of intelligence. Sharon wasn't going through some bizarre childhood phase of deciding she didn't like certain people.

In fact, she had a very good reason to fear that green sedan. Every Sunday morning, Guadalupe would take Sharon and the other children to the local church service, and July 17th of 1960 was no exception. Sharon was a very religious woman and believed that faith would serve her children well. But since she was perennially occupied with work, chores, or corralling children, she was always one of the last to arrive at Sunday service and always one of the first to leave. Again, this was no exception on the morning of July 17th, yet Guadalupe was so occupied in making sure all seven children were accounted for that she failed to notice that the driver of a green sedan appeared to be watching them from across the parking lot. Apparently, little Sharon didn't notice either because there's no mention

of her becoming anxious or scared while on the way back from church. Yet just minutes after they departed, as the congregation chatted and exchanged well wishes on the lawn outside the chapel, a woman climbed out of the sedan's driver's seat and approached the gathered crowd. Churchgoers would later say that the woman seemed very interested in Guadalupe and her children, but since her curiosity seemed anything outside of benevolent, the congregation thought nothing of it and there was no mention of it to Guadalupe. Two days later, a woman walked up the driveway of one of Guadalupe's neighbors. After the homeowner answered the door,

the woman told them that she was looking for a woman named Guadalupe and believed that she had been given the wrong address by a colleague. When the neighbor asked why the mysterious woman was looking for Guadalupe, she replied that she wanted to offer her a well-paying job. Wanting nothing more than to be helpful, the neighbor not only told the woman the address of their family home, but also detailed information on their living arrangements. The mysterious woman thanked the neighbor for their time and patience and then walked back around the block to where a green sedan was waiting for her. It makes for a sickening irony that Guadalupe's neighbor must have believed she'd

done a favor when in reality, she'd secured her daughter's doom. At around 3pm on July 21st of 1960, Sharon was playing with her cousins in the alleyway behind her home. She appeared to feel safer in a closed space compared to an open one, and her mother believed that she was getting over her period of fearful paranoia. In actual fact, Sharon had simply trapped herself in, so that when the big green sedan rolled up to one end of the alleyway and the mysterious woman blocked off the other, she had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. At first, the mysterious woman offered Sharon candy as she approached. Then, when the little girl refused, she offered her new clothes. These tactics might have worked on other young children, but not Sharon, who ran screaming towards the back gate of her home. But the girl was too slow and her abductors too fast, and before she could make it to safety,

Sharon was snatched up, bundled into the green sedan, then driven away. Sharon's siblings and cousins, some of whom had also run from the mysterious abductors, immediately notified their parents of her fate. The police were summoned and within just a few hours, roadblocks had been set up along hundreds of miles of New Mexico highway. It's believed that hundreds of vehicles were stopped and searched over the days that followed, but frustratingly, not one was found to contain the missing Sharon. Based on the children's description of her, the mysterious woman was said to be an overweight

blonde woman in her 30s or 40s, while her male accomplice was tall, wiry, with a flop of sandy brown hair. Both descriptions were released to the public along with details of the sinister green sedan the couple had been driving, but eerily they seemed to have escaped the area while remaining completely undetected. When it came to establishing a motive in the immediate aftermath of the abduction, police were quickly able to rule out ransom given the lack of note or list of demands. They were also able to rule out the possibility of the abduction being a crime of opportunity, as Guadalupe mentioned that the sight of a green sedan had caused her daughter great anguish in the recent past. It was quite clear that Sharon's abductors had been stalking her and had been doing so for quite some time, but what makes this instance so much more chilling is that Sharon had noticed while her mother had not. The timing of the kidnap suggested

the girls' abductors were not spur-of-the-moment amateurs, but rather cold-blooded professionals. They could have snatched Sharon at almost any point over the previous few months, but rather cold-blooded professionals. They could have snatched Sharon at almost any point over the previous few months, but instead they watched and waited until the moment was just right. There's also a good chance that a great deal of the couple's preparation involved the process of properly exfiltrating Sharon from her surroundings. Taking her would be easy, but concealing both their prize and themselves would prove a challenge to any kidnapper. Yet the couple extricated themselves from the locale so proficiently that it borders on the preternatural. Police were so baffled by the case before them that they began to suspect internal involvement. Only a friend, relative, or acquaintance had the knowledge and know-how to so completely disappear little Sharon without any public sightings whatsoever.

Yet this completely contradicted the bulk of eyewitnesses' reports they collected, many of which mentioned how the green sedan had seemed to patrol the neighborhood in the days prior to Sharon's abduction. Just over a week after Sharon first went missing, a Las Vegas school teacher named Russell Allen was hiking through the Arizona deserts when he happened across something horrifying. Sticking out of the sand were what appeared to be the partially decomposed remains of a child. When forensic examiners arrived to examine the shallow grave, they discovered tire tracks leading to and from the nearby highway, along with two sets of footprints, one belonging to an adult male and the other set belonging to a child. At the time of her death, the child had

been dressed in red shorts, a button-up blue blouse, and a pair of adult-sized flip-flops that had been cut to fit the feet of the child, with leather straps to secure them. The child's fingernails and toenails had also been painted a bright red color. Law enforcement also recovered a number of suspicious items from a site not far from the child's grave. Some of the items included a knife, clothing, and footprint impressions, all of which were sent to the FBI for further testing. An autopsy confirmed that the body did indeed belong to a young girl who was between 5 and 7 years old when she died. She weighed between 50 and 60 pounds and also been dead for at least a week or two when her body was finally discovered. Examiners also observed

that the girl's hair appeared to have been dyed, possibly by her captor as a way of obscuring her identity. Yet strangely, there were no obvious causes of death. There were no puncture wounds, no broken or fractured bones, nor were there any serious ligature marks or signs of internal bleeding. There were horrific burns from where someone had tried to dispose of the little girl's body by setting it ablaze, but the coroner was also able to determine that the immolation had occurred post-mortem and not while the girl was still alive. Despite the ambiguity regarding the girl's cause of death, the county coroner ruled her death a homicide, and instead of Jane Doe, she was nicknamed Little Miss Nobody.

When the FBI caught wind of the body's discovery, federal agents were sent over to the Arizona wilderness in which it was found. They got to work piecing together the details of the little girl's murder, and for a while, it seemed like the charred remains did indeed belong to Sharon. But once it was confirmed that the corpse was that of a seven-year-old girl and not of a four-to-five-year-old, the agents were forced to drive back to New Mexico empty-handed. For a long time, Guadalupe Gallegos kept a tight hold on her ever-dwindling hope that one day she and her daughter would be reunited. But finally, she accepted that little Sharon was most likely deceased. Following an official court ruling of dead and absentia, a small memorial service was held to finally mark her passing.

It was a painful affair, not just because a young girl's life had been snatched away from her long before her time, but because there were still unanswered questions regarding her untimely passing. Guadalupe had no idea who'd taken her little girl, nor could she comprehend why, out of all the little boys and girls in Alamogordo, Sharon had ended up the sole target of their predations. Over the next 58 years, the painful memories of Sharon's abduction began to fade, but they were never forgotten. Naturally, Guadalupe Gallegos prayed daily for the soul of her departed daughter, right up until 2011, when she passed away at the ripe old age of 87.

She'd always prayed that, no matter how dark or disturbing, the truth of her daughter's disappearance would one day be brought to light. And in 2018, forces were set into motion to answer those very prayers. In 2018, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children made the decision to revisit the case of Little Miss Nobody. Only this time, they had almost 60 years of technological advancements to aid their cause. Little Miss Nobody's remains were exhumed from what turned out to be their temporary resting place, then were sent for analysis at a state-of-the-art DNA testing facility. It was there that scientists determined that the previous estimate of the girl being seven years old was wildly inaccurate by modern standards, and that by

their projections, the girl was no more than five years old, the exact age Little Sharon was when she was abducted and presumably murdered. By January of 2022, DNA samples taken from Little Miss Nobody's corpse had been sent to a company known as Othram Inc. When the DNA results came back from the lab and the composite images of Little Miss Nobody were sent over from Texas, both were found to be a perfect match for the missing Sharon Gallegos. On March 15th of 2022, Arizona's Yavapai County Sheriff held a press conference where he announced that the mystery of Little Miss Nobody had finally been solved. One passage of his speech read, The unidentified little girl who won the hearts of Yavapai County in 1960 and who occupied the minds and time of our sheriff's office and partners for 62 years will now rightfully be given her name back.

The sheriff remained hopeful that the perpetrators might still be found, but added that if they were still alive, they'd most likely be in their late 80s or early 90s. Prosecution might bring some small sense of justice, but the complications of bringing two senior citizens to trial would be far too numerous to expect a swift or satisfying conclusion. Those who sought to piece together the chain of events came up with various theories regarding the motive and identity of the abductors, but all agreed on one small mercy. Sharon's death had been relatively quick and relatively painless. There were no signs of torture or serious physical abuse and seeing as she was wearing a new set of

clothes and had her nails painted, it's reasonable to suspect that her abductors had at least tried to lessen her anguish during that brief period of capture. This isn't to excuse their actions in any shape or form, but rather a reminder that Sharon's fate could have been much, much worse given the circumstances. To this day, Sharon Gallegos' killers remain unidentified. Her surviving relatives often hope for some kind of deathbed confession that the guilt of having taken such a young and innocent life would play on her killer's mind as the end of their life approached. Sadly, that doesn't seem to be the case, and in all likelihood, the truth of Sharon's final few moments on earth have been taken to the grave. life.

Amber Hagerman's mother once described her as your typical all-American girl. She was a Girl Scout, she loved horses, and she dreamed of taking up cheerleading once she reached junior high. She also dearly loved her family and friends, but had a particular soft spot for her five-year-old brother, Ricky. The pair were inseparable, with Amber seeing herself as a kind of surrogate mother, but instead of using her role to boss her little brother around, she seemed much keener on guiding, protecting, and playing with him. On January 13th of 1996, nine-year-old Amber took Ricky out for a bike ride around the neighborhood. They took their usual route, stopped briefly at the parking lot of an abandoned grocery store

where some of the neighborhood kids had set up a small ramp. Once their amateur aerobatics had concluded, Ricky told Amber that he wanted to go home, but was told to go on ahead. It's not clear why Amber chose to hang around in an abandoned grocery store on her own, but the fact remains that it presented a very sinister opportunity to someone of unspeakable evil. A 78-year-old retiree named Jim Kevil later said that he witnessed a solitary Amber riding up and down the ramp when, suddenly, a Caucasian male emerged from the derelict store to snatch the girl from her bicycle. Kevil then claimed the man dragged Amber to a black and dark blue pickup truck before speeding off down the street.

She screamed when he grabbed her, Kevil added, so I figured the police ought to know about it. Uniformed officers arrived just minutes later, but it was too late. Little Amber Hagerman was gone. When five-year-old Ricky arrived home alone and informed his elders that Amber would be late, it slowed the process considerably. The cops knew they had a missing girl in their hands, but without knowing who she was or where she might be taken, there was very little to work with in terms of assuring her safe recovery. It was only when an increasingly concerned young Ricky rode all the way back to the parking lot that he realized something was wrong. Uniformed officers had taped off the parking lot with blue and white police tape,

while the sight of his sister's bicycle lying unridden on the pebble-strewn concrete said more than words ever could. Local police quickly found themselves being offered the assistance of both the FBI and the Texas Rangers, while Amber's parents made several public appeals for their daughter's safe return. They believed their daughter was still alive and directly addressed her abductor, pleading with them to return her unharmed Many others in Texas, as well as the wider US, held out hope that the whole thing was just some hideous misunderstanding And that Amber would soon be reunited with the parents Tragically, however, this was not the case

Just four days after Amber was snatched from her bicycle, a man was walking his dog around five miles away from the abduction site when the animal began to act in a very unusual manner. It began straining its leash and barking towards a local creek bed, and when its owner went to investigate, it discovered the nude corpse of a small child. Forensic examiners made their way to the scene, then transported the child's body to the county coroner's office for analysis. Amber's parents prayed that fingerprints and DNA would not be a match for their missing daughter,

but once again, tragically, this was not the case. The thumbprint of the departed child was identical to the one printed on Amber's school safety card. They had found her, and she was gone. A subsequent autopsy revealed that Amber had been held captive for at least two days before she was murdered, and in that period, she had been frequently and brutally violated at the hands of her abductor. This period of horrifying torture only ended when Amber's abductor cut her throat, and in dumping her body in a shallow creek, her killer ensured that nearly all the forensic evidence connecting him to the murder would be entirely washed away.

It was a move that ensured the continued frustration of investigating officers, who realized very quickly that they were dealing with a potential cold case. The investigation dragged on for months, before it was finally decided that the best course of action was to scale down the search and simply wait for developments to unfold naturally. It was tantamount to an admission that Amber's killer might never be found, but rather than wallow in grief and self-pity, Amber's parents decided on a different course of action. Donna Hagerman began pushing for stricter laws governing predators and offenders,

and the sentiment was echoed by many outraged Texans. The righteous indignation culminated in a woman named Diane Simone calling into a Dallas radio station, and during that call, she presented what turned out to be a rather prophetic idea. If you can interrupt programming and alert us of severe weather at any given time, why can't you immediately report when a child has been abducted, Diane said. The idea was quickly picked up by state and federal authorities, who used it as the basis for a brand new system they christened Amber Alerts. The alerts work almost exactly as described and now come in the form of a text message which

disseminates important information regarding a potential kidnapping. For example, the public are instructed to call 911 if they see a vehicle matching a For example, the public are instructed to call 911 if they see a vehicle matching a certain description, meaning that within just a few hours of a child being abducted, the general public are armed with the knowledge to help find and rescue the child in question. In 2015, some estimated that the system had saved the lives of almost a thousand children nationwide,

but for Donna Hegerman, the system's implementation had been bittersweet. In a 2016 interview, she openly wondered, if we would have had that alert when Amber went missing, could it have helped bring her back to me? Diane Simone, the woman who originally pitched the idea, was also interviewed around this time. Donna had her doubts, but Diane seemed quite sure that if such an alert system had existed at the time of Amber's abduction, she would have stood a much better chance of being returned alive. They were saying Amber was taken at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, thrown in a pickup truck, driven somewhere, and that nobody saw anything, Diane said. I'm

sorry, but that's just not possible. The problem was not that people didn't see them. It's that they didn't know what they were seeing. In the years since Amber's abduction and murder, Texas law enforcement has investigated over 7,000 tips pertaining to the crime, but unfortunately, not a single one has proven fruitful. This has led many to believe that Amber's killer will never face justice, but lead detective Ben Lopez begs to differ. There's a possibility that someone knows something and just hasn't come forward for some reason, he said, and I certainly hope that's the case. It was also rumored that several potential witnesses,

some of whom may have had game-changing information, refused to make themselves known to police on account of them being illegal immigrants. They had apparently been using a nearby laundromat on the day of the abduction, one with a clear view of the parking lot Amber was taken from. Lopez said that he understood why such people would be reluctant to talk to the police, but he urged them to come forward regardless. A person can give tips to law enforcement under complete and utter anonymity, he said. I don't care about a person's immigration status. That's not part of my job. What I care about is catching child killers.

However, the illegal migrant theory was brought into question after a $75,000 reward was announced. Information was disseminated in both English and Spanish, with many broadcasts making it abundantly clear that police wished to talk to the customers of the laundromat, but not a single person even claiming to have been in the laundromat ever came forward. This has led some to suggest that the men in the laundromat ever came forward. This has led some to suggest that the men in the laundromat weren't mere bystanders but rather accomplices of the individual who snapped Amber. It's just as feasible that, if the men were indeed undocumented migrants, that they return to their countries of origin rather than face official deportation.

What's clear is that no one in their right minds would turn their nose up to such a large amount of money, unless, of course, they had something to hide. As of 2023, Amber's case remains unsolved, and the monster who abducted, violated, and murdered her might still be free to walk the streets. It makes us wonder if the monster who killed Amber Hegeman has since triggered any of the very same alerts his evil actions have helped create, and if in the future, that same system might prove his final undoing. We'll be right back. is the place. Over, under, money lines. Same game, Paul A's, it's all fine.

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to speak to an advisor free of charge. In the early afternoon of July 13, 2012, 10-year-old Lyric Cook and her cousin, 8-year-old Elizabeth Collins, were riding their bikes through their small hometown of Evansdale, Iowa. The girl's grandmother, Wilma, had watched them depart at around 12.20 p.m., and had made them both promise to be home again by 2 p.m. But when the hour came and went and the two cousins were nowhere to be seen, their grandmother began to worry. Finally, at exactly 2.48 p.m, a terrified Wilma contacted the Evansdale Police Department to report her two granddaughters missing. Luckily, the area the girls went missing was only 15 miles

away from an FBI field office, meaning the agency was able to lend its support within a matter of hours. Witnesses claim the girls were last seen riding down Evansdale's Gilbert Drive at around 1pm, which is just a stone's throw away from a place called Myers Lake. Myers Lake is a piece of state-owned parkland still popular with area fishermen, so it was feared the girls had drowned after stopping for an afternoon swim. The lake was a popular swimming spot in the summer months, and with it being mid-July, the girls had talked of visiting it with friends. Search and rescue teams made up of local law enforcement and civilian volunteers

began to scour the area surrounding the lake for signs of the missing girls. Park staff then ordered the lake be partially drained in order to assist FBI divers, and when nothing was found, it raised the hopes of the girls' loved ones. If they hadn't drowned, they might still be alive, in which case they'd be somewhere in the surrounding area. Two days later, after Lyric and Lizzie disappeared, the FBI then orchestrated a far-reaching search and rescue operation to comb the surrounding countryside. The hundred-strong team included both tracker and cadaver dogs, along with airplanes equipped with heat-sensitive cameras. It seemed like nothing would be able to escape such a well-equipped search team, but to their utter confusion, barely a trace of the cousins could be found. Then finally, around 5pm that evening, a volunteer search team consisting of Evansdale firefighters discovered two children's bicycles on the southeast corner of Myers Lake. The bicycles were photographed before the images

were shown to the girls' parents. They were instantly recognized as having belonged to Lyric and Lizzie. As news spread of the sinister discovery, talk of an abduction began to spread. There was no way two little girls could cover the amount of ground needed to avoid the search team's dragnet, meaning they had to be taken from the area by a third party. What had started as a mild panic had taken a very grim turn, and although the girls' families did everything they could to raise awareness of their disappearance, it seemed only a matter of time before they received the darkest of news. Five months later, on December 5th of 2012, a group of hunters were stalking through the

Seven Bridges Wildlife Park in Iowa's Bremer County. Seven Bridges is approximately 25 miles north of Myers Lake and is a popular spot for fishing, hiking, and hunting. Its build is a great place for bird watching too, as its serene and isolated location fosters an optimum environment for avian breeding. Yet despite the wholesome veneer, the truth is that Seven Bridges is anything but tranquil. Records show that from 2010 to 2013, there were 28 different incidents of criminal activity in the park. One of these incidents include the discovery of a fully functioning meth lab, while another involved a report of knives being stuck into seemingly random trees. The hunters might have been well aware of the park's shady reputation, but seeing

as the December snows had a habit of keeping miscreants indoors, they most likely expected a fairly uneventful hunting trip. But as they traped through the snow-blanketed forest, they came across something truly horrifying. Stacked under the boughs of a pine tree, with the broken, frostbitten bodies of two young girls, Lyric and Lizzie had finally been found. In many cases, law enforcement ends up sharing a victim's cause of death with either journalists or the general public.

But in the case of Lyric and Lizzie, officers kept this little detail a closely guarded secret. Some believe this was to protect the integrity of their investigation. Yet a so-called inside informant purported that the reason the girl's cause of death was kept secret is that it was far too horrifying for the public to handle. Whoever killed Lyric Cook and Lizzie Collins had made a game of it, one that shook even the most veteran police officers to their core. After news of the body's discovery reached the town of Evansdale, a candlelit vigil was held at Myers Lake. Thousands of attendees listened as the town's mayor announced that Myers Park had been renamed Angels Park and that a monument would be erected to memorialize the departed cousins. The vigil helped Evansdale grieve, but those in attendance still grappled with the senselessness of the crime.

Why would someone single out two innocent little girls for such a horrific act of violence? And why were the police so tight-lipped about the condition in which their bodies were found? Six months following the recovery of the girls' bodies, Evansdale Chief of Police announced that a number of reliable witnesses have come forward with pertinent information regarding the murder of Lyric and Lizzie. According to him, there was apparently a large white SUV similar to a Chevy Suburban or Ford Bronco parked near Myers Lake on the date of the girl's disappearance. The same SUV was then spotted by another member of the public, only this time it was just a hundred feet away from where Lyric and Lizzie's bikes were later discovered.

This new information spurred a stalling investigation into overdrive and in the months that followed, FBI agents interviewed hundreds of registered child abusers in the hopes of generating a lead. When that avenue of investigation was proven to be a dead end, the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit authorized the release of the following offender profile. The idea was to generate tips from those who recognized certain activities or behaviors in their friends and loved ones. Anything from a 50 to 100% match could indicate that they had an intimate involvement in the murder of Lyric and Lizzie. The killer had to be familiar with both Myers Lake as well as the Seven Bridges Wildlife Area up in Bremer County. If any members of the public knew of anyone who frequented both areas for hunting or fishing, they were to contact the FBI's incident team immediately.

The FBI believed the killer was most likely to be a resident of Evansdale, Bremer, or the communities that surround it either. They suspected that a kind of social camouflage had been utilized, and that the killer's presence in certain areas didn't alarm suspicion because he was seen as a friendly face, so to speak. In order to trick the girls into leaving the park with him, the killer was most likely using some variety of quiet coercion. It's improbable that the girls would just walk off with a stranger of their own volition, so either they were intimidated into following their killer, or he was someone they were already familiar with.

FBI analysts also stated that the killer has most likely experienced a bout of heavy stress about the time the murders occurred. They may have tried to offer an explanation for this stress, such as spousal problems, financial difficulties, mental health issues, or minor legal issues, but the FBI made clear that anyone whose reaction to such issues seemed uncharacteristic or disproportionate should be reported to federal authorities immediately. The FBI also asked the public to keep an eye out for anyone who showed an unusual or uncharacteristic interest in the media developments surrounding the case or for anyone who recently changed their appearance in a dramatic or unusual manner

such as shaving their head or a dramatic or unusual manner, such as shaving their head or facial hair or dying at a different color. Those who'd said to have recently sold or reupholstered their vehicles was also said to be considered suspects. Given the extensive list of indicators, a huge number of tips followed the release of the behavioral profile. Many of these tips seemed promising, but ultimately, none were of any substantial help to the investigation. It was around this time that many began to speculate that Lyric and Lizzie's murders were somehow connected to the local drug trade. The majority of Lyric Cook's family were addicted to methamphetamine, with her father, a man named Daniel Morrissey,

having a history of manufacturing the drug inside their family home. He was even said to be cooking, as they call it, on the day police visited his home to inform him of his daughter's disappearance. Morrissey was believed to be involved in the sale of the drug, not just the manufacturer, and rumor has it that he often oversold the quality of his meth, leading to many unhappy customers. Lizzie's parents had been very vocal in their belief that the cousin's disappearance was related to Morrissey's involvement in the methamphetamine trade, possibly as a way of punishing him for repeatedly ripping off clients or for stealing manufacturing equipment with which to continue his business.

Lizzie's parents were so convinced of this that they refused to have any kind of joint memorial or funeral. While this may have been an ugly manifestation of their soul-destroying grief, it certainly makes for something to consider. Around 18 months after Lyric and Lizzie first went missing, Dan Morrissey received a sentence of 90 years after several severe narcotics convictions. Then four years into his sentence, he accepted the offer of a local media outlet to conduct an interview behind bars. Dan stated in all certainty that his criminal history had nothing to do with his daughter's murder. It doesn't even make sense if you think about it, he said. If I had any idea of somebody I owed money to or had threatened me

or anything, you'd think I wouldn't know who that person was. They'd be the number one suspect on the case and this would have been solved a long time ago. But there was absolutely nobody in my life that I owed money to or that I snitched on? And why would they abduct Elizabeth and my daughter at the same time in another town on a random bike ride that nobody knew they were going to take? It just doesn't make sense. In 2014, Lyric's mother, Misty Cook, was also sentenced to 10 years in prison for similar narcotics convictions. The circumstances aren't clear, but she ended up being released just a year later and has since claimed to have turned her life around. Misty claimed that the drug abuse which

landed her in jail was a coping mechanism, one she developed in the wake of her daughter's death, and while she regretted falling into addiction, she refused to feel ashamed. Some have argued that whoever killed Lyric and Lizzie may have also been responsible for the murders of Abigail Williams and Liberty German. In the early afternoon of February 13th, 2017, Abby and Libby caught a ride to the Monon High Bridge in Delphi, Indiana. At exactly 2.07 p.m., Libby uploaded a photo to Snapchat depicting Abby standing alone on the bridge. The girl seemed fine and nothing seemed amiss. But just over an hour later, Libby's father couldn't get an answer to his calls,

and when he arrived at the bridge to give them a ride home, they were nowhere to be seen. Derek German then contacted the local police and by 5pm, the woods were alive with police and volunteers, all searching for the missing girls. It was hoped they'd simply wandered off before losing their way among the nearby woods, but sadly, their bodies were found the next morning, lying in a creek bed near a roughly hewn trail. Some argue that there is an alarming number of similarities between the two crimes and that the perpetrator responsible for the Delphi murders is a serial killer who preys on young, vulnerable girls. Similarly to that of the Evansdale murders, no further information regarding the murder has been released by authorities, leading us to believe that the same level of sickening brutality was applied in the deaths

of all four girls. Law enforcement has dismissed the idea that the two sets of slayings are linked, but if they're wrong, and the same man who took Lyric and Lizzie is responsible for the deaths of Abby and Libby, then it could only be a matter of time before their once again stalking wooded areas, hunting for their next unsuspecting victims. To be continued... of all future narrations. I release new videos every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. If you get a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, r slash Let's Read Official, and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And if you want to support me even more,

grab early access to all future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt. And check out the Let's Read podcast, where you can hear all of these stories in big compilations and save huge on data, located anywhere you listen to podcasts. Links in the description below. Thanks so much, friends, and I'll see you again soon. We'll be right back. Over, under, money, line Same game, Paul A's, it's all fine You'll put a smile on your face Bet on the sports you love with BetRiver Sportsbook Take a chance!

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