Tales From the Glovebox

She clocked out from her shift at a department store just outside Seattle, called her husband to say she was on her way home, and that was the last anyone heard from her. Tanya Rider was a 33-year-old woman who drove the same fifteen-minute route home hundreds of times. Highway 18 through the woods, same as always. But that Thursday night in September 2007, she never arrived. Her husband Tom waite...

On a Thursday in October 1936, a housewife named Nancy Jensen spent the morning running errands in her New York City neighborhood. The bank, the butcher shop, a furniture store where she was looking at fabric samples for a sofa repair. Ordinary stops, ordinary conversations, nothing that would make anyone look twice. She came home, put her purse on the kitchen table, and went about her day. The ne...

In the spring of 1882, a well-dressed stranger stepped off a first-class train car in upstate New York and introduced himself as Henry Debosnys. He spoke with a European accent, claimed to be Portuguese, said he had traveled the world and fought in wars overseas. The locals were charmed. Within weeks, he had swept a wealthy widow named Betsey Wells off her feet and married her in a ceremony the wh...

In the summer of 2024, three kids wandered into an abandoned house on Memorial Drive in Avon Park, Florida, and came running back out screaming. Deputies arrived within the hour. By nightfall, the whole town knew there were human remains inside, and nobody had any idea who they belonged to. What followed was six weeks of fear, wild theories, and a community convinced it was living next door to som...

On the morning of October 6th, 1927, a woman named Imogene was on her way to the courthouse in Cincinnati. Her divorce was being finalized that day and she had been waiting for it for a long time. Her car was forced off the road in Eden Park. She was shot in front of her own daughter. Her husband walked to the nearest police station and told them exactly what he had done. Open and shut. A jealous...

On June 30th, 1999, a woman was driving alone down a rural road near West Alton, Missouri, when something at the edge of a cornfield caught her eye. She pulled over. A man was lying face down in the dirt, fully dressed, in the middle of a hot Missouri summer. He had been there for days. His name was Ricky McCormick, he was 41 years old, and he lived fifteen miles away. He had no car. There was no...