Speaker 1: This happened when I was thirteen years old. The Internet
wasn't just a distraction, It was my world. School was
a nightmare and home wasn't much better. But online I
was someone, and that's where I met Christine. She said
she was a fourteen year old, red haired girl, living
the same life like every teenager. We chatted for months,
then one night she asked to meet I didn't even
think twice. That night, I slipped out into the cold,
my breath clouding the air as I waited alone in
the empty streets. Just when I was thinking Mom's gonna
be so mad, I saw a car coming my way.
Isn't Christine too young to drive? Damn, she must be
a battie, I thought. But once the car pulled over
near me, I saw a grown up man behind the
stirring wheel. He had a smile on his face. He
said Christine is his niece, and he came to take
me to her. I was only thirteen. Of course, I
didn't doubt his words, and I went with him. He
took me to a house close by the woods. Where
is Christine, I asked, Entering the silent house, Suddenly he
gripped my arm and started dragging me downstairs.
Speaker 2: What's happening? What are you doing?
Speaker 1: I screamed. He didn't answer, and dragged me down the basement.
The basement was like stepping into a nightmare. Chains hanging
from the ceiling, the walls smeared with stains that looked
like blood. He shoved me onto the floor, then locked
a heavy chain around my ankle. Your mind now, he said,
crouching in front of me, his grin stretched too wide,
his teeth yellow and jagged.
Speaker 2: No running, no hiding, just us.
Speaker 1: The first night I sat trembling in the cold, damp basement.
By that time I knew there was never a girl
named Christine. This man had lied to me, and now
I'm his prisoner. Next day I was made to sit
on a chair facing a camera. The sixth Psycho held
a knife to my throat and whispered, smile.
Speaker 2: They all want to see you smile. I didn't. He
screamed in my ear.
Speaker 1: I said, smile. He pressed the blade to my lips.
Blood dripped as it pierced my skin. Tears rolled down
my eyes.
Speaker 2: I cried, Why are you doing this to me so
you won't listen? Huh?
Speaker 1: He took out a duct tape and started taping my
mouth and no shut. My chest tightened as I struggled
to breathe.
Speaker 2: My heart raised. His panic set in. He lit a cigarette,
the tip blowing as he leaned in close. Do you
want to air?
Speaker 1: He asked, his tone light, almost playful, and behave. The
cigarette came closer, the smoke stinging my eyes. Tears streamed
down my face as he held the burning tip near
my eyeball. My muffled sobbing echoed in the basement. He
pressed it to my neck first, the pain searing, unbearable.
My body trembled, but the chain held me in place.
I just gave you a tattoo, he laughed in sick joy.
When he finally ripped the tape off, I gasped for air,
sobbing so hard I thought I'd choke, He smiled, patting
my cheek like I was a child.
Speaker 2: Good girl, you're learning.
Speaker 1: The second day, he tied my hands behind my back,
forcing me to kneel in front of the camera. Stay still,
he whispered. He then took out a scissor and chopped
some of my hair. Stop squirming, he barked, grabbing my
shoulder and forcing me still.
Speaker 2: You ruin my masterpiece.
Speaker 1: I bit down on my lips so hard it bled,
trying not to scream. When he finished, he stepped back,
admiring his work. A beautiful he said, angling the case
to show every inch of what he'd done.
Speaker 2: They're gonna love this.
Speaker 1: The fact that this man is not only torturing me
but also filming this, and there are people who'll enjoy
watching a thirteen year old in such a condition made
me realize what a sick world we live in. After
finishing recording me like that, he picked up a chainsaw
from the floor. It's time to take this to the
next level, he said, turning it on. I tried to
crawl away, but the chain yanked me back. He grabbed
my leg, pinning me in place, the chainsaw hovering inches.
Speaker 2: From my skin.
Speaker 1: You won't mind using a crush, right, he smiled, ear
to ear, holding the chainsaw up. I thrashed, screaming, begging,
but he just leaned closer, the blade inching toward my thigh.
The metal teeth grazed my skin and I thought this
is it. I Am going to die. Then the door
burst open, shouts flashlights. The roar of the chainsaw cut
off as men in uniforms stormed the room. He didn't fight,
He just stood there smiling as they cuffed him. I
don't remember much after that. The chains were gone and
someone carried me into the light. But part of me
is still in that basement. Even now. When I close
my eyes, I hear the hum of the chainsaw, I
feel the blade on my skin, and I wonder how
close I came to never leaving. On New Year's Day
two thousand and two, thirteen year old Alisha Kozakevich got
kidnapped by thirty eight year old computer programmer Scott Tyree,
who befriended her pretending to be a fourteen year old
girl online. Over the course of four days, Alicia was
held captive, shackled, abused, and tortured in Tyree's basement dungeon.
Tyree filmed the abuse and also broadcasted it on the
dark web. A viewer in Florida recognized Alicia from news
stories and a missing person's flyer. He contacted the FBI
anonymously and via a payphone because he feared being charged
as an accessory to the crime. Tracking Tyree's IP address,
the FBI arrested him on January fourth, two thousand and two.
In September two thousand and three, Tyree was sentenced to
nineteen years and seven months in federal prison. I'm twenty
seven years old, a mother to a beautiful little boy,
and I work hard to give.
Speaker 2: Him a better life. I lived with my.
Speaker 1: Fiance Marsine, in West Yorkshire, England. Things weren't perfect between us,
far from it. Marsne had a temper, quick to anger
over the smallest things. His harsh words and cruel remarks
cut deep, but I stayed for the sake of our child.
Speaker 2: I thought things could get better.
Speaker 1: One Thursday, I was doing household chores take a leave
from work. Marcine was usually quiet, sitting in the living
room barely looking at me. Later in that evening, he
told me his friend Patrick was coming for dinner. Patrick
was always unsettling to me, with a sneering demeanor that
mirrored the actor from shining, but I didn't say anything
to avoid another fight. Around nine, three of us sat
down to eat. Marsne and Patrick shared some private jokes,
laughing loudly while I ate in silence. Attention in the
room felt suffocating, but I stayed calm, thinking about my
son and how this was just another moment to endure.
I excused myself after dinner to clear the dishes, hoping
to find some quiet. Then as I turned to leave
the room, I felt a sharp, cold pressure.
Speaker 2: Against the back of my neck.
Speaker 1: Before I could react, an electric jolt surged through my body.
My knees buckled, the world spun, and everything went black.
Sound of digging and dirt hitting a hard surface woke
me up. Opening my eyes, all I could see was
pitch black darkness. My wrists were bound tightly in front
of me with tape, and my legs felt like they
were pinned together. I tried to move, but the confined
space pressed back against me. Panics started to set in
as I realized I was inside something, something small and tight,
maybe a box.
Speaker 2: I screamed for help, my voice trembling with fear. Martin Marson,
what's going on?
Speaker 1: Muffled voices answered their tones chillingly casual. She's awake, Patrick said,
his voice almost amused.
Speaker 2: Good.
Speaker 1: Marcne replied, let her scream, it doesn't matter now.
Speaker 2: My heart raced. What did he mean?
Speaker 1: I screamed to hear more, but the sound of dirt
hitting the box drowned out their words.
Speaker 2: My breath hitched as the reality hit me. They were
burying me alive. Please, please, don't do this.
Speaker 1: I screamed, kicking and thrashing against the walls of the box.
My pleas grew more desperate as the dirt piled on,
muffling the sounds of the outside world. And then a
few minutes later I heard a Marsiene's car drive away.
Oh God, they left me to die inside the box.
The air grew hotter and thinner. The darkness pressed in
on me, choking me with fear. My mind raced, trying
to understand how the man I once loved could do this.
Why the dirt continued to fall, sealing me away from
the world. My body shook with sobs as I clawed
at the tape binding my wrists. Then I felt it,
the sharp edge of my engagement ring.
Speaker 2: My breath caught in my throat. Could I use it? It
was small, but it was something.
Speaker 1: I twisted the ring against the tape, grinding it back
and forth until my fingers throbbed with pain. Time seemed
to stretch endlessly, the weight of the earth above pressing
down on the box and on me. Finally, the tape snapped.
My hands were free, but the battle was far from over.
Using my hands, I pushed at the cardboard walls. It
was weak, but reinforced by the weight of the dirt.
I clawed at it with everything I had, tearing through
it piece by piece. My nails broke and my fingers bled,
but I didn't stop. Finally, the box gave way and
dirt cascaded around me. I pushed through, inch by agonizing
inch until my hand broke the surface. I gasped for
air as I dragged myself out of the shallow grave.
The cold night air hit my skin, sharp and stinging,
but it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever felt.
I stumbled toward the road, my legs trembling with exhaustion.
My clothes were tattered, my hair matted with dirt, and
every part of me ached. When I saw the faint
glow of headlights in the distance, I screamed for help,
waving my arms frantically. The car slowed, its driver staring
at me with wide, terrified eyes. At first they hesitated,
but when I collapsed onto the ground, they rushed to help.
My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper as I told
them what happened.
Speaker 2: Please help me. They tried to kill me.
Speaker 1: The cops eventually arrested my crazy ex and his friend
for attempted murder. I fought my way out of the grave,
and I will keep fighting for my son, for myself,
for the life they tried to take from me. In
two thy eleven, Michelina Lewandowska, a young Polish woman, survived
a horrifying ordeal when her fiance, Marcine Casprac and his
friend Patrick Bloris attacked her with a stun gun. They
bound her and buried her alive in a cardboard box
at the local cemetery. Motivated by a desire to end
their relationship and gain custody of their child, Casprac buried
her in a shallow grave, covering it with soil and
a heavy tree branch. Using her engagement ring to cut
through the box, Michelina clawed her way to freedom. She
alerted authorities, and Casprac and Boris was arrested and later
sentenced to twenty years in prison for attempted murder. No
one saw it coming, neither did I. But one thing
led to another, and here I am remembering every detail
of that night at Buffalo wild wings. It was just
another Saturday, and my plans were simple, a few drinks,
a little distraction. That things rarely go according to plan
when emotions are simmering just below the surface. I arrived
around ten pm. The night was in full swing. The
constant murmur of conversation mixed with laughter, the sound of
clinking glasses, the smell of hot sauce in the air.
At first, everything seemed fine. I just wanted to get
lost in the crowd. One more face in Columbia, a
shadow that would disappear unnoticed. But then he should, a
guy I knew from before, someone I didn't exactly get
along with. Seeing him there, laughing care free, I felt
the cold metal in my pocket, its weight giving me
a false sense of control. I took a few steps determined.
When a waiter walked in front of me. He looked
at me with curiosity and a hint of annoyance. Can
I help you with something, buddy, he asked, noticing that
I wasn't about to sit down. I shook my head,
trying to remain calm. No thanks, I replied, as if
everything was normal. My eyes returned to the guy in
the corner, and her eyes met triggering a series of
cold remarks that were hurled like darts. The tension between
us was palpable, and before I knew it, my hand
moved on its own and reached for the gun in
my pocket. I aimed, and with a single shot, the
night shattered into a thousand pieces.
Speaker 2: Run run, I.
Speaker 1: Heard someone yell as panics spread like wildfire. People stumbled
over chairs, some threw themselves to the ground, and the
waiter from earlier looked at me pale. One of the
wounded man's friends yelled at me from across the restaurant.
Speaker 2: You crazy bastard, What the hell is wrong with you?
I didn't answer.
Speaker 1: I knew that nothing I could say would explain the inexplicable.
I slipped through the crowd and managed to get out
before the officers arrived, but I wasn't fast enough. The
sirens were already wailing in the distance, and red and
blue lights were flashing down the street. I stopped on
the sidewalk, breathing heavily, and within minutes the officers surrounded me.
Speaker 2: One of them stepped out, gun drawn and yelled, heads up,
don't move. I put my hands up and looked him
straight in the eye. Officer. Calm down, I'm not gonna resist.
Speaker 1: As they cuffed me, the officer murmured, still incredulous.
Speaker 2: Why why ruin your life like this?
Speaker 1: I sighed, knowing no one would understand because they only,
for a moment, everyone knew I existed.
Speaker 2: I replied quietly.
Speaker 1: Later in the cell, I heard the murmurs of officers
talking about how Buffalo Wild Wings closed the next day
and how the employees were too afraid to return to work.
I realized how that moment of chaos had shattered the
normalcy of so many lives, and the weight of my
actions hit me hard. I thought about how Columbia was
caught in a cycle of violence. The news said that
the crime rate had dropped sixteen point eight percent in
the last year, which made me laugh. Ironically, a number
on a piece of paper doesn't capture the pain behind
every story, like the guy who died at Walmart in
March or the shooting in May. Maybe the city'll move on,
hoping for change, but I know I can never escape
who I've become, the guy who fired a shop in
a Buffalo Wild Wings on an ordinary Saturday night. This
incident occurred on the night of Saturday August seventh, twenty
twenty four, when a man was taken to the hospital
following a shooting in South Columbia. Columbia Police Department officers
found an adult male with a gunshot wound at the
Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant on East Nifong just before midnight.
A police spokesman confirmed the suspect, Alexis Gonzalez, was arrested
on charges of first degree assault, armed criminal action, and
unlawful use of a weapon. Police say there was no
further threat to the community.