Speaker 1: This happened on the night of Easter Sunday. My older
brother and I had been roommates for a few years,
living in an apartment about a fifteen minute walk away
from our parents. Every year we would walk there to
have dinner with our parents for Easter. Our apartment in
our parents' house were separated by a fairly large park,
but a trail went straight through it, which crossed under
a bridge at about the halfway mark. It was early
in the evening when my brother and I made our
way through the park toward our parents. We weren't the
only people out there, but it was becoming very empty
by the time we made it to the bridge. We
hadn't seen anyone in a few minutes. That's when we
started hearing something moving in the bushes. We both stopped
and looked all around, trying to see where the rustling
was coming from. Sometimes we would get to see a
raccoon or something crawling out of a bush, but we
didn't find anything. After a few seconds, we kept walking
and passed under the bridge, and when we came out
the other side, we heard a whistle. It sounded like
it was a person whistling, not a bird or anything.
We just ignored it and kept walking, picking up the
pace quite a bit to exit the park as soon
as possible. We eventually made it to our parents place
a few minutes later, but by then we were able
to joke about how we'd gotten so spooped out by
essentially nothing. We soon forgot about it, as we had
Easter dinner with our family and stayed for a few
hours to catch up and hang out with everyone. Once
it was starting to get late, people started to head home,
so my brother and I followed sue. While saying our goodbyes,
I talked with my brother about getting an uber home
and avoiding the walk through the pathway since it was late.
He told me I was overreacting and convinced me that
nothing would happen, and so we left the house and
re entered the park. As we were walking, it was
pitch black. There weren't any street lights around, so we
had to use the flashlights from our phones to guide
us home. I never walked through the park this late
at night and had always found it relaxing and peaceful,
but without light, the whole place was creepy as hell.
I was about to say something to my brother about
how we should have gotten a ride, but just at
that moment, we heard something nearby. It was the same
rustling sounds we heard before, but in the darkness, so
it felt twice as loud. A few seconds later we
heard the whistle again too. A chill ran down my spine,
and I know my brother felt it too. That's when
we both started speed walking down the path. We knew
we were almost halfway home when we saw the bridge,
but we didn't slow down. We walked into the tunnel
and hurried to the other side, making it out in
half the time it usually took us Getting out of there.
Never felt so relieving, that is, until we hurt the
whistle again. This time it sounded like it was right
behind us. We looked over our shoulders at the same
time and saw it. There stood a man standing at
the other side of the tunnel. He was dressed as
the Easter Bunny, but he was holding an axe. Something
about the side of him made us stop dead in
our tracks, frozen with fear. We looked at him, then
at each other, then back at him, trying to make
sense of it. What's up with that guy? Maybe it
works at the mall, sure, because every kid wants a
picture with the Easter Bunny about to chop their head off.
Oh shit, EO, let's kip out of here. A damn
it my ankle, shit, get up, get ch shit, he's
running towards us. Stay away, Stay away. Hell. I didn't
want to leave my brother behind, but I didn't have
a choice. I had to get to safety and call
for help. When I made it out of the park,
I called the police and then my parents. Minutes later,
the police arrived and escorted me back to where we
were attacked. By then, it was a nightmare. There was
blood everywhere, and my brother's body had been completely destroyed,
packed to pieces and scattered across the pavement. Hold that,
but no sign of the bunny Man. There have been
no arrests since it happened. It was labeled as an
urban legend on the internet. But those people act like
my brother wasn't murdered. They act like I don't still
hear his screams every night, Like I didn't listen to
his voice getting further away as I ran while he
was begging for his life. For this Easter, it was
only fitting that we revisit the infamous bunny Man Bridge
urban legend for those of you who haven't heard of
the bunny Man, he was a notorious killer that wore
a white rabbit suit and at the stroke of midnight.
Lore has it that if you speak his name three times,
he'll appear bunny Man, bunny Man, bunny Man, but don't
expect to survive. He'll slash your throat and leave your
body dangling from the bridge. Another rendition of the bunny
Man was that he was a spirit of an escaped
mental patient who haunts the railroad bridge, living in the
woods near the bridge, where he ate rabbits, taxidermy that
kind of thing, and wearing their skins like leather face
and leaving their remains hanging in the trees. There are
plenty of versions of the bunny Man Bridge legend, all
equally eerie, making the one lane tunnel of Colcester Road
such a popular spot that police daked out every year,
chasing off truspassers searching for a scare. The bunny Man
Bridge was featured in the Fox documentary Scariest Places on
Earth and has been mentioned countless times across the Internet.
My wife and I had three sons, and they had
plenty of cousins, aunts and uncles, to grow up around.
Our house was the biggest in the family, so everyone
came over whenever we hosted a holiday like Thanksgiving, New
Year's or Birthday party. So when it was Easter Sunday,
we invited everyone over for dinner. It was always a
good time. But there was one person in the mix
that I didn't want to be in the mix. It
was my brother. His name was Robert, and he had
always been an outcast in the family. He was a
weirdo when we were growing up, and it only got
worse as the years went by. He dropped out of
school and was never capable of being social with people,
so he just went from job to job his whole life,
never finding his footing in anything. About five years ago,
his luck finally ran out. He was broken in debt,
with no job, no car, and no place to live.
Being the caring brother I am, I didn't hesitate to
let him stay with us when he asked for help.
The only thing Robert seemed to be good at was
scaring my kids with his creepy behavior and leeching off
me and my wife. For the most part, all he
did was sleep in his room all day, watching TV
with the door locked. And only coming out when he
absolutely needed to. I just didn't want my brother to
be homeless. But everyone, and I mean everyone was trying
to get me to kick him out. My wife was
pissed at both of us, My kids were begging me
to get rid of the creepy man sleep agin the
room next to them, and even my relatives were baffled
by my inaction. The few times that Robert tried to
hang out with us, it was unbearably awkward. His interests
were all macabre, graphic stuff I didn't want my kids
to be exposed to, so I often had to shut
down his attempts at conversation. All in all, Robert's life
was a shit show. When Easter came around, we were
hosting as usual with me, my wife, our kids, and
all the relatives that were close to twenty people attending
the celebration for Easter Sunday, everything was good for a while.
We painted eggs, did the traditional egg hunt, and got
everyone to sit in the living room and watch a
movie together for hours. There was no sign of Robert.
My wife and her sister started getting dinner ready when
they heard a loud thump coming from upstairs. It sounded
like Robert had stepped out of his room, swinging the
door open. That's when he came downstairs and asked for
a glass of water. As I began to poor Robert
or glass, he leaned down to my son and started
talking to him in a low voice. My wife snapped
at me to go stop him, so I quickly got
between them and sent Robert back upstairs as kindly as
I could. The guy then gave me a dead stare
from hell and then marched up the stairs like a
demented twelve year old would, except he was in his forties.
About two hours later, all the food was ready and
we got all the guests to sit at the table.
Everyone was talking excitedly about how good the food was. Guys,
I know we all want to eat, so it's time
to say grace. Okay really now we can probably just
fix them a plate. Hey, buddy, we didn't forget about you,
just thought you wouldn't want to come down. Robert, what
are you doing with that? No? No, no, it was
so unreal. I walked among the remains of my family
for hours, looking into their paralyzed faces, watching their blood
pulled together, and see through the floorboards, smelling their finally missions,
like the breadth of death itself was on my cheek.
I knew it was wrong. I knew it was a
monstrous thing to do. Yet some people go their whole
lives without accomplishing anything. I knew half the people I
took out were just like that, unimportant, unmemorable, doomed to
be forgotten by history. I was going to be one
of them, too, but I changed that. It's not that
I enjoyed it. It wasn't like scratching an itch. It
was more life flipping that light switch off and on
three times, just so you can stop thinking about it.
I only felt hollow relief that I couldn't go for
another second without it. So I wasn't going to be
a coward and try to avoid the consequences of my actions.
You've reached emergency services. Reason to me. I am at
six three five Minor avenue. My family was having their
Easter dinner and I did something bad, very very bad. Sir.
What did you do, sir? Sir? Hello, sir. I walked
outside and waited for the police on the porch. I
wanted to get one last breath of free air before
they put me away forever. It took the police ten
precious minutes to arrive, and since then I've never seen
the outside world. This story was inspired by a horrific
incident that occurred on Easter Sunday. A forty one year
old man named James Ruper took out eleven members of
his own family and his mother's house in Ohio. Rupert
was found guilty and received two life sentences to be
served consecutively. He was moved to Franklin Medical Center in Columbus,
Ohio in twenty nineteen because of his declining health. James
eventually passed away from natural causes on June fourth of
twenty twenty two while incarcerated at the Franklin Medical Center.
Rupert was eighty eight at the time. The night before
the murders, James went out, as he did nearly every night,
at a cocktail lounge. He talked with an employee, saying
he was frustrated with his mother's demands on him and
his impending eviction, and that he quote unquote needed to
solve the problem. According to Bishop, Rupert stated that his
mother had complained that if he could afford to buy
beer seven nights a week, he could afford to pay
the rent. This happened around Easter, which still traumatizes me
till this day. I used to do community work at
this old church a few years ago. It was more
than just a place of worship. It was my home.
I grew up in a very religious family, where Sunday
Mass was non negotiable, holidays were all day affairs, and
praying was an everyday thing. I knew everyone in the church,
from the nuns to the choirs, the priest Father Michael,
and a lot of regulars that came to pray. We
were basically a tight knit community, which I would consider
my family to some degree. Then things began to change.
One of the nuns, who will call Sister Agnes, started
to look off like more gaunt and pale than usual.
Sister Agnes, yes, is everything okay? Yes, yes, yes, yes,
everything is just fine, no problems at all. What a
lovely day it is? Right? Uh? Yeah, it is a
lovely day. The week leading up to Easter was a whirlwind.
We were all working overtime getting the church ready for
the big day. I was helping clean the restrooms and
Sister Agnes was looking particularly frail. The priest Father Michael
was with her, so I didn't worry too much, as
he was looking after her. That was how it was
for the next few days, and before I knew it,
it was Easter Sunday. It wasn't at all what I expected.
What was supposed to be a big celebration became a nightmare.
When I made my way to the church for the mass,
I saw nothing but police cars everywhere. The church was
cordoned off, no mass, just the cops, and that awful
sinking filling in my stomach. Then the news broke Sister
Agnes had been taken out. She was allegedly punctured about
thirty times with an inverted cross carved into her chest.
At first I couldn't believe it. It was something out
of a horror movie, far from the peaceful church I
had always adored. Had broke to her sobbing and shaking.
How could this happen? Who could do something so evil?
The whole neighborhood was in shock. Everyone was whispering about
how it could have been a cult or something that
did this to her. But over time there were no
leads or suspects. It became a cold case and everyone
just went back to living their normal lives. But I
was still terrified. I couldn't even walk past the church
without getting nervous, so I started going to a different
church just to feel safe. It took me three years
before I could even think about going back there, but
eventually I did. But it wasn't the same. Something about
the whole situation just didn't sit right with me. During
one night after Mass, I stayed to catch up with
Father Michael. I waited for him to complete his church
only obligations, and when everyone else had left the church,
it was just me and Father Michael. We started catching up,
recalling the good old days stuff like that. I know
that it should have been comforting for me, but for
reasons I couldn't explain. Something was off. What happened next
caught me off guard. One moment we were sitting down
and socializing, and the next he suddenly lunched at me.
They're hugging me like a wild animal, while cackling like
a lunatic. I kicked and strained as hard as I could,
hoping someone could hear me and come to my I ate,
shut up, shut up, shut the hell up, but you're
gonna end up like her. I couldn't believe what I
was hearing or what was happening. All I could do
was fight back, like a cornered animal. But I couldn't
do much as he was much stronger than me. He'd
pinned me to the ground and held me there. All
I could do was kick and scream and try to
fight the freak off. I was basically in survival mode.
After several minutes, I managed to break free, getting away
from him. I ran like my life depended on him.
He was chasing after me, pleading for me to stop,
like a lunatic. I felt like a trapped animal waiting
to be slaughtered. I ran for the front door of
the church, not knowing the caretaker already had it locked.
But before Father Michael could catch up to me, I
ran to the side hallway and was able to find
an exit. I got the hell out of there and
ran until I arrived home. I locked all the doors
and windows, sobbing and shaking. I called the police, telling
them everything that had happened. When they arrived at the church,
they immediately arrested him and brought into jail. And that's
when the horrible truth came out. The news reports and
police investigations pushed the authorities to reopen the case of
Sister Agnes. It was later found out that Father Michael
had been hearing voices in his head and that they
were allegedly too impossible for him to ignore, causing him
to act in a rage and take her out in
a twisted ritualistic way. He took a knife and did
what he did thirty times. When authorities asked him why
he pierced an inverted cross on her, he said he
did it because he wanted to make it seem as
if there was a Satanic ritual that took place, so
that there was no heed on him. But all along
it was him. He'd been hiding in plain sight. Poor
sister Agnes, she didn't stand a chance. This story was
inspired by a horrific Easter incident that happened on Holy
Saturday in Ohio and involved a nun and a priest.
In April nineteen eighty, sister Margaret and Paul was found
in the chapel of Toledo Mercy Hospital. She had been
pierced by a sharp object over thirty times, including nine
wounds in the form of an inverted cross, and covered
with an altar cloth. The scene was made to look
like a satanic ritual that had taken place. It took
two decades for the slang to be solved, in which
time the case went cold and was only reopened after
a woman accused a priest of ritual intimate torment. That
pre slash culprit was father Gerald Robinson, the same priest
who had conducted Margaret's funeral service. He was finally arrested
in two thousand and six and sentenced to life in prison,
where he later passed in twenty fourteen.