It's late January in 1958 in Lincoln, Nebraska.

The kind of winter where the air doesn't just feel cold.

It's heavy.

It's the sort of Midwestern town where, at this time in history, nobody locks their doors.

Why would they?

This is the era of malt shop innocents. People knew their doors. Why would they? This is the era of malt shop innocence. People knew their

neighbors. But for several days, a small, one-story-frame house in the Belmont section of town

has been strangely quiet. Neighbors and family members of the people living there, Marion and Velda Bartlett,

and their two-year-old daughter, Betty Jean, have been stopping by to check on them.

But they don't get past the front door.

Every time they walk up the path, they're met by a 14-year-old girl named Carol Ann Fugate. She's standing there looking

a little dazed, maybe even a little defensive, and she tells them the same thing. Everyone here

is sick with the flu. To drive the point home, there is even a hand-scrolled note pinned to the window,

and it says in shaky handwriting the same thing.

Everybody here is sick with the flu.

But the relatives are getting suspicious.

The flu doesn't usually last this long without a doctor's visit.

On January 27th, Carol's grandmother finally loses her patients.

She tells Carol that if she doesn't let her in right now, she's calling the police.

Carol doesn't open the door. Instead, she and her 19-year-old boyfriend, a local high school dropout named Charlie Starkweather, slip out the back door.

When the police finally kick in the door, they find nothing. The house is actually

in decent order. It's clean. It looks like a normal family home. But then they walk out back

...