Today we're heading out to the rural, undulating landscape of Odo County, Nebraska.

We're going to a place where the dirt is thick, the trees are twisted, and according to local lore,

the ground itself remembers a crime so horrific that the history books were allegedly scrubbed clean to hide it. It was a Tuesday night in October of 2003.

A group of friends were driving a 2002 Jeep Grand Cherokee just outside of Nebraska City.

Now if you've ever been to this part in Nebraska, you know that it's not the flat, endless cornfields that you see in the movie.

This is Otto County.

It's hilly.

It's filled with what the locals call loopy hills and twisted timber.

The driver, we'll call him Mike, was looking for a bit of a thrill.

He heard the story since he was a kid about the stretch of gravel, officially known as Road L.

But to every other teenager in a hundred mile radius, they know it as Seven Sisters Road.

As Mike turned the Jeep onto the unpaved dusty path, the atmosphere inside the car changed instantly.

It wasn't just the lack of streetlights. There are never street lights in those back roads. It was the way the hills seemed to meander,

almost like the road was trying to swallow the car whole. They reached the first of the hills,

then the second, and suddenly Mike felt the steering wheel vibrate.

He looked down at the dashboard.

The speedometer, which had been holding steady at 35 miles per hour, suddenly dropped the zero.

It didn't just fall, it froze.

Uh, guys, Mike said, his voice cracking.

He pressed his foot down on the gas and nothing. He pushed harder,

pedal to the metal, floorboarded. But the Jeep was barely crawling. He looked at the tachometer

and the engine was revving, but the car was capped at exactly 10 miles per hour. And then the headlights

...