Love your channel man!
To this day, I still can’t believe this happened to me.
When I was 12 in 1982, my dad once again got custody so I went to live with him. I know this was the exact year because this incident occurred right before my best friend Tom moved to Colorado in June, 1982.
My dad would always go out at night on the weekends with a hot date, etc and leave me home alone. I enjoyed it, because I felt grown-up. No babysitter. I usually had a friend stay over or my brothers were there and so it wasn’t scary. This time though, I was alone – and it got really scary.
I also enjoyed being home alone on weekend evenings because it gave me time to catch up on all of the latest Rated R movies (which my dad would otherwise not allow me to watch of course). This particular night, I was watching Conan The Barbarian as it had just landed on HBO. I had the lights dimmed in the living room.
About 10pm, the movie is about halfway over and there is a VERY loud knock on the front door. I was too short to use the peephole, so I ask “Who’s There?” A black man’s voice says loudly and angrily, “You wanna buy some candy!?” It was10 o’clock at night! I reply “No thanks”. I was in shock – like what the hell is this some kind of joke? Ten seconds go by, I’m leaning with my ear on the door. He beats on the door again. Startling me and I jump. “Do you wanna buy some candy, open the goddamn door!” I said “No, go away!”. He curses repeatedly. His voice sounded like a cross between Samuel L. Jackson and Ving Rhames.
He leaves, but not for long.
Confused, shocked… I just go stand in the hallway, listening. Every hair standing on end.
The rest of the house is a fortress and my dad was safety conscious with always checking window locks, doors, etc, afraid of being burglarized. When I would sometimes forget my house key, I was screwed because there was no way to sneak in. We lived in a cookie-cutter development in a very safe suburban area, but during the day it was a ghost town – parents were at work, kids were all in school. There were a lot of burglaries as I recall.
I was so shaken with fear when I realized how late it was and he’s “selling candy”? I could not go back to watching my movie. I turned on all the lights and hid behind the couch. I think he is gone. Suddenly, the man then starts ringing the doorbell repeatedly ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong for probably a solid minute. I’m frozen with fear behind the couch clutching a steak knife. That was an adult at the door, not some friends or kids playing a joke.
He never came back after that doorbell episode. I never told my dad about it either, nor my brothers. I don’t know why. It was so messed up, that I pushed it out of my mind. My dad would have immediately revoked all of our liberty and privileges since he has always had OCD. But… as time went by, it seemed to be more like a bad dream. I don’t know what would have happened if I had opened that door.
I don’t know why I didn’t call the police.
Side note / pure speculation: During the same month and year this happened, the serial killer Coral Eugene Watts was active not just in my area, but had attacked a girl five miles from my house at about 10 o’clock at night. I even went out as an adult and bought Corey Mitchell’s book about Watts titled “Evil Eyes” and the date of her attack jibed with my memory and the time of year in May, 1982 (before my friend Tom moved during summer to Colorado).
Alice Martell survived. But…here’s the deal: Watts’ M.O. was to follow pretty women he saw at the store or in traffic and attack them at home. My dad’s girlfriend at the time was over at our house everyday. My dad is a large man and he worked out of the garage and was always home during the day and we had a very active house. My gut tells me that Watts followed her from someplace (she was gorgeous and I remember my dad almost fighting with another man once who had followed her home from happy hour). If this was Watts, he saw either us kids or my dad, and changed his plan / decided to come back later. He had done that before with victims. Lie in wait. Sharon’s car was probably in the driveway also.
Hell, slumlocker… I even did a blog post about it and drove over to young Alice Martell’s old townhouse in my hometown and took photos:
I am writing a true crime book about the Wonderland murders from 1981.
Thanks man!! If you don’t like this bizarre true story, it’s cool.
John in Houston