When I was a child the real horror story was growing up with a mother who was mentally ill and an alcoholic and absent father. My main play mates were my dead sister and Mr. Nobody, see previous blog, they kept me safe and entertained. I was often warned by them not to pick up certain snakes, to stay away from the rushing river or to go play in the mud puddles when it thunder stormed. (That last one I’ve never managed to shake as I love to play in the mud in torrential summer thunder storms if I’m out in the country.) So when I was young I thought seeing the dead was a natural thing and I actually still believe that as an adult. I had to go through the phase of learning that that actually made you a freak in most persons eyes and opinions. ‘The Sight’ as it’s called by my mother and many others was a curse and blessing at the same time. When paranormal creatures realize you can see them, they will be attracted to you and often make their presence known. I’ve had many experiences in my life that gave me knowledge of things that were unknown to most. Some were cool, many were horrifying and I am very thankful that I had a child protectorate for many things when I was very young.
I was never frightened of skeletons, black cats, witches, or ghosts, they all seemed very real and very natural to me. It’s the living that frighten me, always have. One day while I was over at a fellow ‘Brownie’s’ house my mother came running in and took me home. She told me a very bad man was loose in the area and they were advising everyone to bring their children inside and lock the doors. So that’s what we did. I remember the fear rolling off of her, it was almost palpable to me as I was an extremely sensitive child. After a while my mother went to take a shower and she told me not to open the door for any strangers. She disappeared and sure enough, moments later there was a knock on the door. Our front room looked out on our porch where they were standing and our curtains were pulled because of the cercumstances. I slipped between the curtains and the wall studying the man on the porch closely and concluded that I indeed did not know him. Right as I realized this man was a stranger my sister, my dead sister, grabbed my dress and yanked me to my knees, telling me to hide underneath the couch and so I did. There was fear rolling off of her too. I remember her fear, but more than anything, I remember the forceful yank of her tiny hand that brought me to my knees and out of sight of whomever was on the porch. I’d never been able to feel her physically before and it startled me a little, but I wasn’t scared of her, I was scared of the man on the porch.
He left or at least, he was gone when my mother returned from her shower. I don’t remember where my brother, my living brothers, were, probably with my father as the parents were divorced by than. The mom had to coax me out from under the couch at that time. Later that evening she was doing the dishes and I was sitting on the floor in front of the tv which was turned to the news so she could listen. Even though I wasn’t an only child, my brothers never wanted to play with me because I was so young, so I had to find ways to entertain myself. That’s something I’m still very good at, in fact, I don’t believe in boredom. The news was showing pictures of the man that had been on the porch and I called to my mom. “That’s him! Moooooooom! Look look!” I was six. She came into the room wiping her hands off on her apron and looked at me curiously. “That’s t he man from that knocked earlier mom.” Pointed to the TV and I’d never seen my mother so pale before. She just grabbed me and squeezed a little too hard and asked me to look again just to make sure. I was sure...
“One of the killers asked the victims if they had any money or guns. Yes, to both questions. One gang member pocketed the money, about $30, while another located a rifle and bent the barrel in the toilet. Then Roger Clay Drollinger walked behind each of the teen-aged boys who were on the trailer floor, tapped each one on the foot, and asked, "How old are you, son?" "How old are you, boy?" After that, he ordered his cohorts to turn off their flashlights and put them aside. Four shotguns boomed repeatedly, blasting the brains and blood and life out of the four boys on the floor. But Betty Spencer's wig saved her life. A few pellets grazed her scalp, and her wig flew off. The killers thought her life had gone with it. But as one of her sons died, she heard his blood gurgle out as he slowly and faintly whispered, "Oh God, I'm flying . . . Oh God, I'm flying."
Leaving the grisly, blood-splattered, scene the Drollinger gang decided to take one of the new cars parked outside. With two gang members in that car and two in the rented Opel, they drove for several miles and then left the stolen car at the side of the road with the keys in the ignition. The killers laughed as they abandoned the car, planning and hoping someone else would take it, get caught by police, and end up facing murder charges.
The next morning Roger Drollinger appeared in court in Crawfordsville to testify in his drug trial, acting as though nothing at all had happened the night before.”
There was a nation wide man hunt for Roger Clay Drollinger, last seen in Crawfordsville, Indiana, where I was born and lived at the time, between the “St. Valentine’s Day Massacre” and Easter in the late winter, early spring of 1977. He was the man on our porch. To this day I can feel the fear from my mother and sister and I will never forget his face.
(footnotes:
1)article@ http://occasionaljustice.com/Drollinger.html
2)http://www.antiquesnavigator.com/ebay/images/2013/350891079332.jpg)
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