Resurrection Mary: The Phantom Hitchhiker of Chicago’s Haunted Roads
Chicago’s Vanishing Hitchhiker and the Ghost Who Walks Archer Avenue
In the early decades of the twentieth century, Chicago was a city in transition. The 1930s brought the hardships of the Great Depression, but also the vibrancy of a restless population seeking release in dance halls, taverns, and roadside attractions. Archer Avenue, a long stretch of road running southwest from the city into the countryside, became one of the key routes between the crowded inner city and the quieter communities further out. It cut through a district marked by cemeteries, churches, wooded areas, and isolated bars, and long before the story of Resurrection Mary took hold, Archer Avenue already had a reputation for being uneasy after dark. Local residents told of phantom monks drifting near the cemetery walls, of strange lights hovering in the trees, and of a heavy, oppressive silence that unnerved travellers. It was a place where the boundary between the living and the dead felt fragile.
It was in this setting that the legend of Resurrection Mary began. By the mid-1930s, motorists driving Archer Avenue at night began reporting a young woman walking alone along the roadside. She was almost always described in the same way: blonde, strikingly beautiful, dressed in white, and appearing to be returning home after an evening out. Concerned drivers who stopped offered her a lift. She would accept quietly, climb into the car, and give vague directions. As the vehicle neared Resurrection Cemetery, she would insist on stopping. Moments later she would vanish, leaving the driver shaken and unable to explain what had happened.
These encounters spread quickly through the city. Taxi drivers told of passengers disappearing from their cabs before reaching a destination. Men who had attended dances at Liberty Grove and Hall or the Oh Henry Ballroom claimed to have partnered a beautiful blonde woman in white, only for her to disappear into the night without trace. Archer Avenue became more than a road lined with burial grounds and old taverns. It was understood to be haunted by a spirit who had a home at Resurrection Cemetery.
By the end of the decade, Mary’s story had entered Chicago folklore. Newspapers published accounts, tavern-goers repeated them to strangers, and researchers began noting the remarkable consistency of detail. Unlike many urban legends that shifted with the telling, Resurrection Mary remained strikingly fixed: a woman in white, walking Archer Avenue, vanishing at the gates of the cemetery. Her persistence in the stories of locals marked her as something more than invention. She was not a shadow or a phantom seen from the corner of the eye, but a figure who could dance, speak, and ride in a car before vanishing in full view.
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Witnesses who have encountered Resurrection Mary describe a range of phenomena that together form one of the most detailed and consistent ghost traditions in the United States. Unlike fleeting shadows or indistinct shapes, Mary’s appearances often involve extended interaction, physical presence, and repeated patterns that have continued for almost a century.
The most common phenomenon is the apparition itself. Drivers along Archer Avenue frequently report seeing a young woman walking by the roadside. She is almost always described the same way: blonde, attractive, and dressed in white, often in a party dress or ball gown rather than ordinary street clothing. Her appearance is clear and lifelike, convincing enough that motorists mistake her for a living person. Some describe her as luminous in headlights, her hair and dress catching the light in a way that makes her seem almost radiant. Others note an air of melancholy in her face and posture, as though she carries a weight of sorrow.
Many encounters go beyond simple sighting. Mary has been reported to interact with witnesses in ways that make her presence all the more unsettling. Men have claimed to dance with her at local halls, feeling her cold hands and sensing her body’s weight against their own before she slipped away. Drivers tell of her climbing into their cars, conversing briefly or giving directions, and then vanishing without trace as the vehicle neared the cemetery. In some cases she insisted on being let out near the gates. In others she disappeared directly from the seat, leaving only a lingering chill and the impression of a presence moments before. These accounts blur the line between apparition and physical being, which is why her legend commands such attention.
Resurrection Cemetery itself is tied closely to the disturbances. The most famous evidence is the incident at the gates, when iron bars were discovered bent and marked with scorch-like impressions resembling hands. This physical damage, widely reported in the 1970s, remains one of the most unusual details in her case. Though the cemetery authorities repaired the gates, stories continue that faint outlines of the marks can still be seen under certain light. The notion that Mary left a tangible trace behind elevated her story from oral tradition to something more concrete, an anomaly that even sceptics struggle to dismiss.
Another recurring element links her to the Willowbrook Ballroom, once known as the Oh Henry Ballroom, a grand venue where Chicagoans of the 1930s and 1940s went to dance. Mary is often said to have attended her final evening there before her untimely death, and numerous sightings place her inside the ballroom in later decades, seen dancing with unsuspecting men before vanishing from the floor. These reports carried on into the 1980s, and the ballroom’s association with her legend was so strong that it remained central to ghost tours until the building was destroyed by fire in 2016. For many locals, the loss of the ballroom was more than architectural; it severed one of the physical anchors of the Mary tradition.
Archer Avenue itself carries its own reputation, and Mary is only the most famous of its apparitions. Long before she was spoken of, locals told of ghostly monks walking its length and of strange lights appearing among the trees. Some paranormal researchers suggest that the entire road is a hotspot, with multiple layers of hauntings concentrated in a short stretch of land. Mary’s repeated appearances along this haunted road may be part of a larger pattern, but she remains its most vivid and enduring presence.
The combination of lifelike apparition, physical interaction, disturbances at the cemetery gates, and her repeated association with specific venues gives the Resurrection Mary case unusual weight. Unlike stories that shift with each telling, her details have remained remarkably consistent across generations. This has ensured her survival not only as a local tale, but as one of the most recognisable ghost stories in America.
From the moment the first stories of Resurrection Mary circulated in the 1930s, her case attracted the interest of folklorists, journalists, and later paranormal investigators. Few hauntings have been examined so closely, yet even after decades of research her identity and nature remain unresolved.
Folklorists were among the earliest to take note of Mary, classifying her within the long tradition of the “vanishing hitchhiker.” Legends of ghostly travellers appearing on roadsides and disappearing from vehicles can be found across the world, but scholars observed that Mary’s case was unusually stable. Most such stories shift in detail from one telling to another, yet Mary was consistently described as a blonde woman in white, linked specifically to Archer Avenue and Resurrection Cemetery. The narrow geographic focus, combined with repeated and near-identical accounts across decades, set her apart from the broader folklore category.
One of the most enduring theories concerns her identity. Many have linked Mary to Anna “Mary” Norkus, a young Lithuanian-American girl who died in a car accident on her way home from the Oh Henry Ballroom in 1927. She was only twelve years old at the time of her death, which complicates the theory, since most witnesses describe an older teenage or young adult woman. Others propose alternative candidates: young women killed in automobile accidents along Archer Avenue in the late 1920s and 1930s, including individuals who lived nearby or were buried at Resurrection Cemetery. Despite extensive searching by local historians, no single figure has been conclusively proven to be Mary. The lack of certainty has only deepened the legend, leaving her forever just out of reach.
Paranormal investigators began to take an active interest in the 1960s and 1970s, when new sightings drew renewed public attention. Some groups interviewed drivers who swore they had picked up Mary and collected testimonies from men who claimed to have danced with her at the Willowbrook Ballroom. These interviews revealed a remarkable consistency of detail, with many witnesses describing the same physical sensations: the coldness of her hand, the weight of her body in the car, and the sudden disappearance without explanation. Investigators who visited Resurrection Cemetery documented the damaged gates, noting scorch marks and twisted iron that defied easy explanation. While cemetery officials repaired the damage and were reluctant to speak publicly, the incident became one of the cornerstones of the case.
Rumours persist that local police have also been drawn into the mystery. Archer Avenue has long been the subject of emergency calls reporting a young woman struck by a vehicle or wandering near the cemetery gates. In many versions of these accounts, officers arrived only to find no one present. Though official records of such cases remain elusive, the frequency with which these rumours appear suggests that the story has circulated within law enforcement circles as well.
Modern researchers continue to revisit the case. Some treat it as a folkloric touchstone, while others approach it as one of the strongest American ghost accounts, due to the combination of long-term consistency, physical interaction, and apparent material evidence at the cemetery gates. Ghost tours of Chicago feature Resurrection Mary as a centrepiece, and her story remains a focus for both sceptical study and paranormal investigation.
Despite the decades of effort, no investigation has succeeded in proving or disproving her existence. Instead, Resurrection Mary remains suspended between folklore and evidence, one of the few ghost stories to endure in the public consciousness with its central features intact across nearly a century.
Accounts of Resurrection Mary span nearly a century, and what makes her case extraordinary is not only the number of reports but their consistency across time. Each decade has produced its own stories, sometimes from ordinary citizens and sometimes from men whose encounters have become cornerstones of Chicago folklore. When gathered together, these documented phenomena form one of the most detailed records of a ghost in modern history.
The earliest accounts appeared in the mid-1930s. Taxi drivers working Archer Avenue began to tell unsettling stories of passengers who simply vanished from their cabs. The details were always the same: a young blonde woman in a white dress flagged them down late at night, usually near the Willowbrook Ballroom or further up the road. She entered the cab, gave an address or asked to be taken in the direction of Resurrection Cemetery, and then disappeared before arriving. Drivers would often turn in alarm to see the back seat empty, with no trace of a fare who had been there moments before. These accounts spread quickly among the city’s cabmen, and soon filtered into taverns and newspapers.
The most famous encounter took place in 1939 and involved a young Chicagoan named Jerry Palus. He attended a dance at Liberty Grove and Hall, a popular local venue, and met a striking blonde woman in a white party dress who introduced herself as Mary. Jerry danced with her throughout the night, noting her beauty but also a distant sadness. When the evening ended, she agreed to let him drive her home. She gave vague directions that led him along Archer Avenue, but as they neared Resurrection Cemetery she insisted he stop the car. Jerry watched in disbelief as she stepped out, walked toward the gates, and vanished. When he inquired about her at the dance hall the next day, no one remembered her being there. His testimony was reported in local papers and became one of the foundational stories of the Mary tradition.
Through the 1950s and 1960s, new generations of drivers reported seeing the same figure. Couples returning from nights out claimed they had seen a young woman drifting along the roadside, her dress glowing faintly in the headlights. In some cases drivers stopped to offer help, only to watch her disappear before they could speak to her. These stories repeated the pattern established in the 1930s but spread her legend further, ensuring it remained alive long after the original witnesses had moved on.
In the 1970s came the most notorious of all incidents: the damage to the gates of Resurrection Cemetery. A driver claimed to have picked up a young blonde woman in white along Archer Avenue and given her a lift. She directed him toward the cemetery, then insisted on being let out. He watched her walk toward the gates and vanish. In shock, he approached the spot and found the iron bars twisted and scorched, as if gripped by powerful hands. The impressions resembled the shapes of fingers burned into the metal. News of the damage spread quickly, and photographs of the warped bars became some of the most famous images in American ghost lore. Cemetery officials repaired the gates, but many locals insist that faint traces of the marks remained visible for years afterward. For believers, this provided physical proof of Mary’s presence.
In the 1980s, attention shifted again to the Willowbrook Ballroom, formerly the Oh Henry Ballroom. Men who attended dances there reported meeting a young woman in white who danced with them only to vanish mid-evening. Others claimed to see her slip into the crowd and never reappear. These stories gave new life to the idea that the ballroom was where Mary had spent her final night alive, tying her legend firmly to the building until its destruction by fire in 2016.
Even in the 1990s and 2000s, drivers continued to report encounters. Some spoke of Mary accepting rides before disappearing from the passenger seat. Others described the terror of watching her step from the car and dissolve into the night air at the cemetery gates. In each case, the description remained the same: blonde, beautiful, dressed in white, with an aura of sadness that left a deep impression on those who saw her.
Across decades, these documented phenomena maintain a rare consistency. The same figure, the same road, the same cemetery. Unlike many ghost legends that evolve or fragment, Resurrection Mary’s story has endured in almost identical form since the 1930s, reinforced by new reports and given weight by the physical anomaly at the cemetery gates. She remains not only a ghost of Archer Avenue, but one of the most persistently documented spirits in American history.
From the time the first drivers began speaking of their encounters in the 1930s, the story of Resurrection Mary drew the attention of the Chicago press. Local newspapers published short articles about the mysterious blonde apparition, often written with a mix of curiosity and doubt. In a city burdened by the Depression, the idea of a beautiful young ghost haunting the road between dance halls and cemeteries caught public imagination. Word of mouth carried her legend quickly through taverns, taxi ranks, and neighbourhood conversations, but newspaper coverage gave her a wider stage.
In the decades that followed, reports never faded. During the 1940s and 1950s, radio hosts occasionally worked Mary into their late-night broadcasts, repeating the tales that by then had become part of local tradition. Each new account from a driver or dancer refreshed public interest, ensuring she was never forgotten. In the 1970s, when the cemetery gates were found scorched and twisted, the press treated the event as front-page news. Photographs of the iron bars circulated widely, lending the story a rare visual weight. For many readers, this was the first time that Mary’s tale moved from whispered rumour to a case with physical evidence that could be seen and touched.
Television widened her reach even further. Paranormal programmes and news features in the 1970s and 1980s presented Resurrection Mary as one of the most famous ghost stories in America. Journalists interviewed eyewitnesses, filmed the damaged gates, and traced her connections to the Willowbrook Ballroom. These features carried her story far beyond Chicago, making her a national figure in discussions of the supernatural.
By the late twentieth century, she had become a cornerstone of Chicago’s ghost tourism. Bus tours along Archer Avenue stopped at Resurrection Cemetery, where guides retold the Jerry Palus story and pointed out the gates that bore the marks of her touch. The Willowbrook Ballroom, until its destruction by fire in 2016, was another highlight. Standing in the place where Mary was said to have spent her last evening alive, visitors listened to stories of men who claimed she returned to dance with them decades after her death. For many, these tours made the legend immediate, placing them in the very landscape where the encounters were said to have unfolded.
Mary also found her way into popular culture. She was written about in books, sung about in ballads, and regularly featured in lists of Chicago’s strangest and most enduring tales. Even those who doubted her existence acknowledged her cultural weight, recognising her as a story that belonged to the city as surely as its landmarks and neighbourhoods.
Her story continues to draw attention. Each Halloween season, newspapers revisit the case, documentaries re-air the old footage, and new podcasts add their interpretations. Tourists still drive Archer Avenue at night in hope of glimpsing a figure in white on the roadside. Resurrection Mary remains fixed in the cultural fabric of Chicago, her story sustained not only by witnesses but by the way the press and public have kept her alive through nearly a century of retelling.
Resurrection Mary remains an open case. Unlike many ghost stories that fade once the original witnesses pass on, her appearances have been reported consistently from the 1930s through to the present. Each new generation of Chicagoans has added its own accounts of encounters along Archer Avenue, and while the number of reports has slowed in recent years, they have never disappeared. Taxi drivers, late-night motorists, and even groups of friends travelling together have claimed to see her, and the descriptions remain strikingly unchanged: a blonde woman in a white dress, vanishing as she approaches the gates of Resurrection Cemetery.
The question of her identity continues to divide researchers. Anna “Mary” Norkus, who died in a car accident in 1927, is still the most widely suggested candidate, though doubts remain because of her young age at the time of her death. Other women who died in accidents along Archer Avenue in the same period have been proposed, but no evidence has ever fixed the legend to a single grave within Resurrection Cemetery. The mystery of who Mary once was is now part of what sustains her story, ensuring it remains a subject of speculation and debate rather than a closed case with a known ending.
Resurrection Mary’s persistence also owes much to the physical environment of Archer Avenue. The cemetery gates, once bearing the infamous scorched and twisted bars, provided a rare physical anchor for the legend. Even though the marks were eventually repaired, the story surrounding them continues to be told. The Willowbrook Ballroom, long tied to Mary’s supposed final night of dancing, stood for decades as another focal point of the legend until it was destroyed by fire in 2016. With the ballroom gone and the gates restored, the story now relies almost entirely on the consistency of witness testimony. That testimony has proven resilient, and in some ways even more powerful without the distractions of decaying evidence.
For Chicago, Mary has become more than a ghost. She stands as a cultural figure whose story binds the city’s folklore together, passed between generations and retold in countless settings. Children grow up hearing of the woman in white who walks Archer Avenue, tourists arrive hoping to glimpse her near the gates of Resurrection Cemetery, and lifelong residents keep her legend alive in conversation and memory. Each journey along Archer Avenue carries the weight of her presence, and each view of the cemetery gates recalls her story. Researchers continue to document the sightings, whether they are folklorists examining her place in tradition or paranormal investigators collecting testimony, yet no explanation has ever resolved the case. She endures as one of Chicago’s most persistent mysteries, a figure at once tragic and unsettling, who remains part of the city’s identity.
The case remains open, with Resurrection Mary standing as one of the most famous, persistent, and unnerving ghost figures in the United States.
he most compelling part of Resurrection Mary’s history comes from the stories told by those who believe they met her. These are not brief glimpses from a distance but detailed accounts that have endured for decades, each one adding weight to the legend and deepening the sense of mystery that surrounds Archer Avenue.
One of the earliest and best known encounters took place in 1939. A young man named Jerry Palus went to Liberty Grove and Hall, a lively dance venue on Chicago’s south side. Among the crowd he noticed a young woman who stood out immediately. She was blonde, striking, and dressed in a white gown that looked more suited to a formal ball than a neighbourhood dance. Jerry introduced himself, and she gave her name simply as Mary. They danced together for much of the evening, and though she moved with grace and seemed happy to be in his company, Jerry noticed a sadness about her that she could not quite hide. When he asked her where she lived she gave no clear answer, saying only that she needed to go home soon.
When the night drew to a close, Jerry offered to drive her. She accepted, and together they set out into the quiet streets of Chicago. Mary directed him along Archer Avenue. The ride was quiet, and Jerry felt she grew more distant the closer they came to Resurrection Cemetery. At the gates she asked him to stop. She stepped from the car, walked toward the iron fence, and vanished before his eyes. Jerry searched frantically but found nothing. The next day he returned to the dance hall to ask after her, but no one remembered a woman matching her description. His account became one of the foundational stories of Resurrection Mary, often repeated in newspapers and folklore collections.
Three decades later another encounter gave the legend its most famous piece of evidence. In the 1970s a driver travelling Archer Avenue late at night stopped to pick up a young woman in a flowing white dress. She climbed into the car without hesitation, introduced herself as Mary, and gave directions that led him once again toward Resurrection Cemetery. As they neared the gates she asked him to stop. The driver watched in disbelief as she left the car, walked toward the fence, and disappeared. When he approached the spot he noticed something even more disturbing. The iron bars of the gate were twisted and scorched, as though a pair of hands had gripped them with immense force and left their imprint behind. Photographs of the damaged gate soon circulated widely. Though the cemetery repaired the bars, many locals swore the faint shapes of handprints could still be seen for years afterward.
In the 1980s and 1990s, attention shifted to the Willowbrook Ballroom, once known as the Oh Henry Ballroom, where Mary was said to have spent her last evening alive before her fatal accident. Men who attended dances there told of meeting a beautiful blonde in white who accepted their invitations to dance but disappeared midway through the evening. Others swore they saw her slip into the crowd only to never reappear. These stories tied the ballroom permanently to her legend. When it was destroyed by fire in 2016, many remarked that a part of Mary’s story seemed to have gone with it.
Even in recent decades new reports have emerged. Drivers along Archer Avenue into the 2000s claimed to have picked up a pale young woman who gave only the name Mary. They described the chill of her presence in the car, the weight of her body in the seat beside them, and the shock of watching her vanish without a sound. Some said she stepped out before the cemetery gates and dissolved into the night air. Others insisted she disappeared without warning, leaving only silence in her place.
Taken together, these stories form a chain stretching nearly a century. Each account is separated by time but united by the same details: the blonde woman in white, the quiet ride along Archer Avenue, the sudden disappearance at Resurrection Cemetery. Unlike so many ghost stories that blur or change with each retelling, Resurrection Mary has remained remarkably stable, her appearances echoing across generations as though she were a fixed part of Chicago’s haunted landscape.
The earliest accounts of Resurrection Mary emerged in the mid-1930s from Chicago’s taxi drivers. Working Archer Avenue after midnight, several reported fares that ended in ways they could not explain. A lone young woman in a white gown would flag them down near the Willowbrook Ballroom or further up the road. She would climb into the cab, often quiet and distant, giving only vague directions toward the south. Drivers described her as blonde, striking, and seemingly just another late-night passenger returning home from a dance. Yet before they reached the gates of Resurrection Cemetery, she was gone. Some said she vanished silently from the back seat, others that she asked to stop by the cemetery and dissolved into the night before the driver’s eyes. Doors never opened, fares were never paid, and the back seat was suddenly empty. These accounts circulated quickly among the cabmen of Chicago, who swapped the stories in bars and depots. What they described was unnerving because it was not fleeting. The girl was real enough to hail a cab, to sit in it, and to be spoken to. Then she was gone.
The case that brought the legend into sharpest focus occurred in 1939. A young man named Jerry Palus went to Liberty Grove and Hall, one of Chicago’s busy dance venues. There he met a young woman who seemed to step out of another world. She was blonde, elegant, and dressed in a white ball gown. She introduced herself as Mary, and Jerry spent much of the evening dancing with her. He later said her hands were cold, her answers vague, and her mood tinged with melancholy. At the end of the night she accepted his offer of a ride home. She directed him onto Archer Avenue and grew quieter the closer they came to Resurrection Cemetery. At the gates she asked him to stop. She stepped out, walked toward the fence, and vanished. Jerry returned to the hall the next day to ask about her, but no one remembered a woman matching her description. His testimony was reported at the time and became one of the best-known encounters in Chicago folklore, setting the pattern for everything that followed.
Through the 1940s and 1950s, new witnesses repeated the same story. Couples returning from nights out described seeing a young woman in white walking along Archer Avenue. Drivers slowed or pulled over, convinced she needed help, only for her to disappear as they approached. These reports lacked the intimacy of the Palus case, but they reinforced the consistency of Mary’s presence on the road. She was never a shadow glimpsed from the corner of the eye but a clear figure, her dress catching the glow of headlights, her form unmistakeable until the moment she was gone.
In the 1970s came the most infamous event associated with Resurrection Mary: the cemetery gate incident. A driver travelling Archer Avenue late one night picked up a young woman in white who directed him toward Resurrection Cemetery. As they reached the gates she asked to be let out. He watched her walk to the fence and vanish. When he approached the spot he found something that chilled him further: the iron bars were twisted and scorched, with the impressions of hands seared into the metal. Photographs of the damage were published, and the story was reported widely in the Chicago press. Cemetery officials repaired the gates, but many who saw them before the work swore that the handprints were unmistakeable. This incident gave the Mary legend its most tangible piece of evidence and made her one of the most famous ghosts in America.
Reports from the 1980s and 1990s tied Mary firmly to the Willowbrook Ballroom, once known as the Oh Henry Ballroom. Men who attended dances there claimed to have met a beautiful blonde woman in white, danced with her, and felt the chill of her touch before she vanished from their arms. Others said they watched her cross the floor only to disappear in full view of the crowd. These accounts tied her legend back to the place where she was said to have spent her last night alive before the accident that claimed her life. The ballroom became an essential stop on Chicago ghost tours, its reputation inseparable from Mary until the building was destroyed by fire in 2016.
Even into the 2000s, Archer Avenue continued to produce new testimonies. Modern motorists described picking up a pale young woman in white who gave her name only as Mary. They felt the weight of her body in the car, heard her soft voice, and experienced the terror of watching her vanish. Some reported that she stepped out by the gates of Resurrection Cemetery and dissolved into the night air. Others insisted she disappeared without warning, leaving the passenger seat empty in an instant. In each case the description remained unchanged from the stories told in the 1930s: a blonde woman in white, quiet, sorrowful, and always drawn back to the gates of Resurrection Cemetery.
Taken together, these accounts form an unbroken chain of testimony that stretches across almost a century. From taxi drivers in the 1930s to motorists in the twenty-first century, Mary’s appearances follow the same pattern, anchored to the same road and the same cemetery. Unlike many ghost stories that change with the telling, her legend has remained strikingly stable, strengthened by each new report and by the unforgettable incident of the scorched and twisted cemetery gates. For those who believe, Resurrection Mary is not just a story but one of the most persistent supernatural presences in modern American history.
When I was a child, Unsolved Mysteries was one of the programmes that first drew me into the world of the unexplained. Its theme music, its dark atmosphere, and Robert Stack’s narration created a mood unlike anything else I had seen on television at the time.
It was 1994 and I was twelve years old. My family would gather in front of the television and turn off the lights, ready for our weekly dose of Unsolved Mysteries. Most episodes focused on missing persons, murders, or robberies, but every so often there would be a story about ghosts or UFOs. Because those segments were rarer, they felt even more special. I always remember asking my father, just before the programme started, “does this one have ghosts in it?” as he scanned the TV guide. If the answer was yes, I would be positively giddy.
Of all the episodes I watched, the one that stayed with me most was the segment on Resurrection Mary. The memory of that night has never left me, and it was the inspiration for this case file.
I hope you have enjoyed reading it. Writing this piece has brought back a great deal of nostalgia. For my fellow Unsolved Mysteries fans, maybe I will make a casefile on the Haunted Bunkbeds or the Queen Mary someday soon.