Once when I was little, I think I saw a ghost. The house my family and I lived in until I was a junior

in high school was built before World War II, and it was tiny. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom,

a small kitchen and dining area, and a living room. It had been the house my great-grandmother

and great-grandfather had lived in when my dad was a boy. My dad and his sisters have all

kinds of stories of Mamma and Papal Little. Papal Little was a boy. My dad and his sisters have all kinds of stories of

Mammaw and Pappaw Little. Pappall Little was a tiny man and by most accounts a very sever man.

He got all of his grandchildren either boy or girl, never their name, unless you are my Aunt Debbie,

who was his favorite. He would sit out in the sun shirtless in the summertime and tell my

mamma that he was baking when she'd asked for a hand

around the house. My mamma little was a big woman. She was taller than her husband, and where he was

stubborn, she was the opposite. My dad said that she was always warm. Her hugs were warm and even her

smile was warm. He vividly remembers the biscuit she would bake, and from all that I've heard,

he seems to have been her pick. When my dad was small, Mamma Little was diagnosed with cancer. By the time they found out

she had cancer, and because of the limited medical advances at the time, it was too late.

Mamma Little died in her bedroom, which later became my room. One night when I was 10, I was up late,

well past midnight, watching TV on the floor of the living room because I didn't have cable in my bedroom. I saw something out of the corner of my eye when I turned, a woman walked out of my bedroom. She stopped, turned and looked at me, then smiled and waved, and turned toward the kitchen. I recall that she was wearing an apron and had her hair in a bun. It didn't scare me then, despite my young age, and I went right back to watching TV when the ghost disappeared. The next morning, I told my dad what happened, and when I described the woman I saw, he told me it was Mamma Little. He showed me her picture, and I was sure that the person I had seen in her house was her. Years later, when Anthony and I got married, I was gifted my mama Little's apron. When I held the thinning blue material in my hands, I knew that was apron I had seen all those years ago. Not all encounters with ghosts are good ones. If you're a Patreon member, you have heard some of the scary stories others have shared on that platform, stories of ghost throwing things and yelling. If you've been listening for a while, then you'll remember the Humpty-Doo Pulturegist, which was a spirit that made gravel rain from the ceiling. Much sheer surprise, we aren't going to be talking about ghosts and ghouls that haunt homes or hospitals. Instead, today, we're talking about a phantom that snatched little girls from the streets as they walked home. He's a phantom because, much like the definition says, he was elusive.

He killed six young girls and with each kill got more violent and more brave.

With the evidence found at each crime scene, one would think we know who he is by now.

But still, answers elude us.

This is the story of the freeway phantom.

Music Allude us. This is the story of the Freeway Phantom. Welcome to Coffee in Cases, where we like our coffee in cases where we like our coffee hot and our cases cold. My name is Allison Williams.

And my name is Maggie Damron.

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