Speaker 1: I didn't think much when Shane invited me over that night.
It was supposed to be a regular sleepover, a chance
to escape homework and siblings. Her family was welcoming as always.
Her mom cooked dinner, her dad joked about school, and
her sisters teased us about boys. The house felt warm
and alive, but Shane seemed off. She kept glancing at
her phone during dinner, her fingers trembling slightly. Sean's coming,
She finally whispered after we went upstairs.
Speaker 2: Her words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. I'd
met her brother once or twice, and something about him
always felt wrong. His presence was suffocating, like he brought
his storm cloud with him.
Speaker 3: Why, I asked, she wants money? Dad's going to say no.
Speaker 2: She didn't have to say the rest.
Speaker 1: I didn't push her, but I remembered the rumors about him.
Speaker 2: People in town said. Sean wasn't right.
Speaker 1: He had a temper, a way of looking at you,
like he was planning something you wouldn't like. It was
after midnight when his car pulled into the driveway. Shane's
body tensed.
Speaker 3: Why is he here so late? I asked, He wants money?
He always does it's never enough.
Speaker 2: We heard the front door slam, then Shawn's voice loud,
angry and unsettling. I told you I need it, he yelled.
Speaker 1: Michael's voice replied, calm but firm, Not this time, Sean.
You think you could cut me off? Sean roared, I'm
part of this family. Shane stood up, her hands shaking.
Speaker 3: I need to see what's happening, don't.
Speaker 1: I whispered, grabbing her arm, but she pulled away from
the hallway. I peeked down and saw her at the
top of the stairs. Her parents stood below, blocking Sean's path.
The rifle looked heared abruptly, too quickly to process. The
first shot echoed through the house, and Michael crumpled, blood
pooling around him.
Speaker 3: Mike.
Speaker 2: Sandra screamed, rushing to him.
Speaker 3: Pleeze Sewn Jones.
Speaker 2: She begged, her voice breaking.
Speaker 1: The second shot hit her in the chest, throwing her
back against the stairs.
Speaker 2: She tumbled, her body landing awkwardly at the bottom. Mom
Shane screamed.
Speaker 1: Sean's head snapped up, his face twisted with rage. Run
I hissed, backing into her room and diving under the bed.
Speaker 2: Heavy boots stomped up the stairs.
Speaker 1: Where are you, Shane, Sean called out, his voice sings song.
I pressed myself against the wall, and my breath caught
in my throat. Through the gap under the bed, I
could see his boots, blood dripping from the soles, pacing
the hallway. You think you're better than me, he growled.
I'm the one who should be in charge me. A
scream irrupted from downstairs.
Speaker 2: Sheena, stay away, she shrieked.
Speaker 1: Her voice was cut short by another gunshot. The footsteps returned.
The door to Shane's room creaked open. His boots stepped inside,
leaving crimson stains on the carpet.
Speaker 2: Where's my little sis shing? He called out. I peeked
through the crack and saw her.
Speaker 1: She was in the corner, crouched in the closet, the
glow of her phone lighting her face. Help us, she
sobbed into the phone. The closet door flew open. What
the hell do you think you're doing, Sean barked, grabbing
the phone and slamming it right beside her.
Speaker 2: Face, calling the cops.
Speaker 1: Eh, he sneered, Stop, please, you don't have to do this,
Shane begged, tears streaming down her face. Is that so
his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. Don't tell me
what to do. He grabbed her by the hair, dragging
her out of the closet. Shane clawed at his hand,
kicking and screaming.
Speaker 3: Yes, son, I'm your sister, We're your family.
Speaker 1: He froze, tilting his head. Then he laughed, a low,
guttural sound that sent chills through me.
Speaker 2: Family. He spat, raising his bloody boot, then taste the
blood of the family.
Speaker 1: He stumped his boot into her face, forcing her head back.
Shane gagged, choking, his blood spilled from her mouth.
Speaker 2: Shut up, he.
Speaker 1: Roared, his voice echoing off the walls. He pressed harder,
slamming her head into the floor, her cries muffled by
the weight of his boot. I clenched my fists, tears
streaming down my face, trying to muffle my own sobs. Finally,
he stepped back and raised the rifle, aiming at her head.
Speaker 2: She screamed.
Speaker 1: The shot rang out and blood splattered across the wall.
Shane's body slumped lifelessly to the floor, her.
Speaker 2: Head at an unnatural angle.
Speaker 1: Sean crouched over her, tilting his head as if admiring
his artwork.
Speaker 2: Stayed quiet.
Speaker 1: I stayed frozen, unable to move. The bloodied floor etched
into my mind. When the paramedics pulled me out from
under the bed hours later, I couldn't speak. I couldn't
even cry. I told no one who I was. The
evidence was enough to convict him. But every night I
see her face, hear her voice, and feel the weight
of my terror. And I'll never stop hearing Sean's laughter,
cold and endless. The Sean Bentler murder case occurred in
two thousand and six in Bonaparte, Iowa, when twenty two
year old Sean Bentler killed his parents, Michael and Sandra,
and his three younger sisters aged seventeen, fourteen, and twelve.
Bentler shot his family with a rifle in an attempt
to inherit the family's wealth and take control of their
successful grain business.
Speaker 2: The crime was uncovered when one of.
Speaker 1: The sisters called nine to one one during the attack,
identifying Sean as the killer. He was arrested shortly after
and convicted of five counts of first degree murder. Bentler
was sentenced to life in prison without parole, leaving a
community devastated.
Speaker 2: I woke up to the rotten smell.
Speaker 1: That smell had clung to everything, my skin, my clothes,
even my hair. It was like the house was alive,
breathing misery into every corner.
Speaker 2: My stomach growled, but I knew better than to ask
for food. Asking meant punishment. I sat up in bed,
or what you'd call a bed.
Speaker 1: It was more like a filthy mattress, with springs poking
through around me. My brothers and sisters were motionless, some
still chained to their bed frames. Mom stormed into the room,
cigarette in hand. Get up, She snapped, her voice like
a slap. She walked over and grabbed me by the arm.
Her nails dug into my skin as she dragged me
to the bathroom. Look at you, she spat, shoving me
toward the mirror. My reflection stared back, hollow chinks, sunken eyes, bruises,
painting my body like some sick artwork.
Speaker 3: You think you're better than me, She.
Speaker 2: Grinned a cruel twist of her lips. Let's fix that.
Speaker 1: The cigarette burned as she pressed it into my shoulder.
I bit my lips so hard I tasted blood. Crying
out only made her angrier.
Speaker 2: You're nothing shortan, she.
Speaker 1: Whispered before walking out, leaving me trembling in the cold bathroom.
I stepped into the shower, letting the icy water hit
my skin.
Speaker 2: The cigarette burned, stung, but the water helped numb it.
Speaker 1: I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath.
One day, I'll get out of here one day. Then
I heard it, a low chuckle. My eyes shot open,
and I turned to see him, Dad leaning in the doorway,
his eyes, dark, lips twisted in a grin that made
my stomach churn. You're growing up, he said, voice dripping
with something that bade my skin crawl. Get out, I screamed,
my voice echoing off the bathroom walls.
Speaker 2: It didn't move. That grin just grew whiter.
Speaker 1: I grabbed the door and slammed it shut, hearing the
sickening crunch of his nose breaking on the other side.
His screams followed, then a string of curses. My heart raced.
I'd done it now. Footsteps thundered down the hall.
Speaker 2: Mom.
Speaker 1: The door burst open, splinters flying everywhere. They dragged me
out by my hair, their hands rough and unrelenting. My
screams didn't matter nothing.
Speaker 2: Did you think you're smart? Mom?
Speaker 1: Snarled, slapping me so hard my ears rang. Dad laughed,
holding a cloth to his bleeding nose.
Speaker 2: Together they beat me until I couldn't move.
Speaker 1: Then they threw me into the attic, slamming the door
shut behind them.
Speaker 2: The attic was worse than usual that night.
Speaker 1: The stench of urine made it impossible to breathe deeply.
The darkness was an empty It was alive, filled with
my siblings's muffled cries and the sound of my own
labored breathing.
Speaker 2: Hours passed. I didn't sleep.
Speaker 1: I can't live like this anymore, I thought, staring at
the bobby pin I'd hidden in my sleeve days ago.
The lock on the attic door wasn't impossible to pick.
I'd watched Dad enough times to know. I crawled down
the stairs, every creak of the old wood echoing in
the silent house. The living was a maze of filth,
old plates with maggots, piles of unwashed clothes, and the
faint hum of Dad's seapap machine in the next room.
I reached my thirteen year old sister's room. Her eyes
widened as I shook her awake. We're leaving, I whispered.
She nodded, her face pale but determined. Together, we crept
to the front door, avoiding the spots on the floor
we knew would squeak. When we reached the porch, she froze.
I can't, she whispered, tears streaming down her face. If
they catch me, her voice cracked.
Speaker 2: You go, you have to go, no.
Speaker 1: I begged, grabbing her arm, but she pulled away, stepping
back into the darkness of the house.
Speaker 2: I turned and ran.
Speaker 1: The street was silent, the world outside feeling like a dream.
Speaker 2: My bare feet slapped.
Speaker 1: Against the pavement as I raced down the street, adrenaline numbing,
the sharp stones cutting into my skin. Every shadow felt
like a monster, every gust of wind a whisper telling
me to turn back. When I saw the flashing red
and blue lights of the police car, I collapsed to
my knees, sobbing. A cop stepped out, his face a
mix of confusion and concern.
Speaker 2: Whees helpless. The next hour was chaos.
Speaker 1: Half an hour later, sirens blared outside the house. I
stood at the edge of the street, watching as the
cops stormed in.
Speaker 2: The Screams of my parents pierced the air. What are
you doing? You can't do this.
Speaker 1: As I watched my parents being dragged away in handcuffs,
a strange calm settled over me. The Turpin House of
Horror's case came to light in twenty eighteen when seventeen
year old Jordan Turpin escaped her Paris, California home and
called nine to one one, exposing years of abuse by
her parents, David and Louise Turpin. Authorities discovered thirteen siblings,
aged two to twenty nine, malnourished and living in squalor,
some shackled to their beds. The children endured severe neglect, starvation,
and isolation, Deprived of education and medical care. The parents
were arrested in later sentenced to life in prison for torture,
false imprisonment, and child abuse. The case shocked the world,
highlighting failures in oversight and the resilience of the children
who survived. The Summer of two thousand and two was
a time of freedom and lightheartedness.
Speaker 2: For me. School was out, and at.
Speaker 1: Fifteen, I was enjoying the lazy rhythm of South Carolina life.
On that particular June afternoon, I was at my best
friend's house helping.
Speaker 2: Her with some chores.
Speaker 1: The air was warm, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass,
and laughter came easily between us as we filled watering
cans and chatted about the plans we'd made for the weekend.
Life felt normal, safe. Then the car pulled up. It
wasn't anything unusual at first, and old sedan rolling to
a stop nearby. I didn't pay much attention until the
driver got out and started walking toward me. He was nondescript,
just an average guy, maybe in his thirties or forties,
with short hair and a calm demeanor. In his hands,
he held some brochors, the kind you'd hand out to
neighbors or leave in mailboxes. Hey, he said, smiling, Mind
if I give you one of these. They're just for
a local thing I'm working on. I was polite, nodding
and taking the brochure without really looking at it. He
made small talk, nothing strange, just asking if we lived
here and if we liked the area. His tone was casual, friendly, even,
and then without warning, he pulled out a gun. Get in,
he ordered, pointing to a large storage bin in the
back seat of his car. His voice dropped ice cold.
My heart raised, but my legs moved. I climbed into
the bin, and he slammed the lid shut. He took
me to an apartment complex. It looked so ordinary, just
rose of brick buildings, but Drett gripped my chest. No
one saw us as he shoved me inside. The apartment
smelled like bleach and stale air. He led me to
the bedroom, where the blinds were drawn so tight no
light could sleep in. His eyes had changed, now colder. Calculating,
he locked the door and the nightmare began. Let's make
this memorable, he said, pulling out a small, sharp knife
from his pocket. I froze, unable to breathe. As he approached,
he forced me to kneel on the floor, his hand
gripping my arms so tightly it felt like my bones
might snap. I want you to remember me forever, he muttered.
The blade pressed against my skin and he began to carve.
At first, it was sh just enough to sting, but
as he dragged the knife deeper, the searing pain became unbearable.
Tears streamed down my face as he worked, carving the
letters of his name into my forearm like it was
nothing more than a piece of paper.
Speaker 2: Blood dripped onto the floor, pulling between us.
Speaker 1: See, he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
Speaker 2: Now You're mine forever.
Speaker 1: The pain blurred my vision, but I refused to cry out.
I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
Speaker 2: Hours passed.
Speaker 1: He slapped me when I didn't respond fast enough, and
shoved me against the wall when I tried to resist.
At one point, he dragged me into the bathroom. My
wrists were bound with duct tape, and he turned the
shower on ice cold, shoving me under the spray. The
water hit like needles, stealing my breath and leaving me
shaking violently.
Speaker 2: Cleans you up, he muttered, Gotta keep things neat.
Speaker 1: Back in the bedroom, he tied me to the bed,
cufving my hands to the frame and securing my ankle
to the post. My arm throbbed where he'd carved his name,
the cut still raw and bleeding. Take this, he said,
forcing a pill into my mouth. You'll sleep. When he
finally fell asleep beside me, snoring softly, I forced myself
to move. My head swam from the drugs, but I
couldn't give in to the fog. Slowly, I pulled my
hands toward my mouth, twisting my wrists just enough to
bring the cuff clasp.
Speaker 2: To my teeth.
Speaker 1: The metal was cold, the screw impossibly small, but I
worked at it bit by bit. Minutes stretched into an eternity.
Then the clasp gave way. My hands were still cuffed,
but I could move them freely. Carefully, I untied the
rope from my ankle. My movements were slow and deliberate.
Every tiny sound amplified in the silent room. When I
finally stood, my heart was pounding so hard I thought
it might wake him. I turned toward the door, but
when I saw the closet, its accordion style doors were
open just enough to catch my attention. I shouldn't have
looked inside. Piles of dresses were heaped together. They weren't
ordinary clothes. Bloodstains streaked the fabric, dark and dried, some
barely visible and others glaring under the dim light. My
breath caught in my throat, and panic clawed at me.
These dresses didn't belong to me. They belonged to others,
other girls. I didn't wait a second more and ran
straight to the main road. Once outside, the cool night
air hit me, and I broke into a run. A
car approached and I flung myself in front of it,
waving my arms wildly. The driver slammed on the brakes
help me.
Speaker 2: I gasped goodness of the coops.
Speaker 1: On June twenty fourth, two thousand and two, Richard Ivanitz
subducted fifteen year old Kara Robinson from a friend's yard
in Greenville, South Carolina. He got out of his car
and approached her, pretending to offer her some pamphlets. After
she said her friend's parents were not home, Evanitts held
a gun to her neck and then forced her into
a plastic bin. He took her to his apartment, where
he tortured her for eighteen hours. Brave Kara Robinson managed
to free herself and then escape. While Ivanitz was asleep,
she went outside and found two men in a car,
and they took her to the sheriff's office. Later that day,
Evnets was surrounded by police, where he passed away after
realizing he has been caught.