The last time anyone saw Anitra LaShay Gunn, she was alive on the night of Valentine’s Day 2020. A senior at Fort Valley State University, known for her voice in church and life in her community, Anitra vanished into a stretch of rural Georgia that would later reveal a brutality people in her orbit still struggle to name. When her body was finally found days later hidden under branches and leaves, investigators called it homicide; the manner of death would later be identified as manual strangulation. The quiet, ordinary rhythms of a young woman’s life — classes, church, friends — collapsed into a criminal investigation, courtroom testimony, and a community left to grieve and demand answers.

I first learned about Kimberly Arrington while researching other missing children’s cases — and her story stopped me cold. A sixteen-year-old girl vanished just a few blocks from home, in the middle of the day, and decades later, we still don’t know what happened to her.

Managing type 2 diabetes isn’t just about medication — what you eat plays a big role too. Certain vegetables and herbs can naturally help your body handle blood sugar better. They don’t replace medical care, but when added to a balanced diet, they can make a real difference in your energy, digestion, and long-term health.

The wind is sharp tonight — the kind that creeps through cracks in old windows and whispers against the skin like a warning. Somewhere, a floorboard groans under unseen weight. The past never truly dies… it lingers, restless and waiting. Some places wear their darkness like a shroud — soaked in blood, sorrow, or something that doesn’t have a name.

There’s something about autumn in Virginia — the way the fog creeps low across the highways, how the leaves seem to whisper when no wind stirs, how the night air feels heavier than it should. Springfield may look like an ordinary suburban town by day, but when the sun dips behind the trees, shadows stretch a little longer, and whispers of the past begin to stir. Some say this place remembers — every heartbreak, every tragedy, every soul that never quite found its way home.

Smoke filled the air, thick and greedy, curling through the walls of a North Philadelphia rowhouse on a cold December night in 1997. Neighbors shouted, sirens wailed, and a young mother stood outside barefoot, screaming her baby’s name into the dark. Ten-day-old Delimar Vera was inside, trapped—or so everyone believed.

She was eight years old, loved the color purple, and had a gap-toothed smile that people still post about ten years later. Relisha Tenau Rudd disappeared from Washington, D.C., in early 2014, and the case that followed is a tangle of surveillance footage, questionable shelter oversight, a suspected abductor who ended up dead, and unanswered questions about how we treat missing children from marginalized communities. This piece pulls the strands together — timeline, evidence, official findings, competing theories, and the larger issues the case exposed.

As autumn’s chill settles in, the shadows grow longer, and the veil between the known and the unknown seems to thin. It’s the perfect time to delve into some of the most eerie and perplexing unsolved true crime cases that continue to haunt the corners of history. These stories are not just mysteries; they are chilling reminders that some questions may never have answers.

Europe is a land where shadows stretch long and the whispers of the past refuse to fade. Beneath its cobblestone streets, inside its towering castles, and across its fog-laden forests, the restless dead are said to linger. The stones themselves seem to remember the betrayals, murders, and heartbreaks that unfolded centuries ago, and for those sensitive to the unseen, every step can awaken echoes that were never meant to be heard.

Hispanic Heritage Month has always been a time for me to pause, reflect, and listen. This year, as I’ve dived into the history, art, poetry, and culinary traditions of Hispanic communities, I’ve been reminded of the beauty in shared stories and the ways culture connects us across oceans and generations. From the music that carries the rhythm of life, to the foods that tell stories of migration and trade, to the brave individuals whose voices echo across time, I’ve realized just how much we are all shaped by each other. Even as someone whose own roots stretch across Pakistan and America, I’ve found myself feeling a deep kinship through the shared humanity in these traditions.

Some homes don’t just creak—they breathe. The air feels heavier, the walls seem to watch, and silence itself begins to hum with memory. These are the houses that remember. The ones where laughter curdled into screams, where death didn’t end the story, and where something unseen still paces the floors at night.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the flicker.