I'm going to be able to live. So, Would you like me guys to start with the story? Oh plays. Yeah. As is tradition now?

That was a really interesting way of asking that question,

would you like me guys to start with a story?

It's like a pirate.

Ar! R. I've already fucked it up, brilliant. No, I would love a story.

I'd love a story.

Yeah.

All right.

Dawn breaks on the morning of March 26, 1997, a mansion stands in eerie silence as a pair of San Diego County Sheriff's deputies

stepped from their vehicle. An early chill rolls for the hills as they stand by their vehicle getting ready to execute a routine

checkup after having received an anonymous tip.

Nothing seemed out of place, nothing out of the ordinary anyway.

Just a prank call probably, the deputies thought.

Kids love to send them out knocking on doors first thing in the morning.

One deputy takes a sip from his coffee while his partner eyes the mansion.

It's a grand Spanish-style villa, not

exactly uncommon around these parts. They walk up the orange steps to the front

door, taking note of the silence as they do so. It's an eerie silence, the kind that reverberates through your very soul.

Something just didn't feel right. There's no other way to say it. One deputy knocked on the door

while the other peers through a window to the side.

No answer.

The deputy moves to another window.

...