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As lonely freight trains clattered through the cold nights of Cleveland, metallic scrapes entwining with the industrial din of the factories on the edges of the Cuyahoga River.

Men, women and children tucked themselves into bed in ramshackle housing built from scavenged

wood, cardboard and corrugated steel. Their home was a barren stretch of disused land known as Kingsbury

Run. Among weeds, wild grass and decaying refuse, a shantytown built out of necessity and desperation had sprung up, housing those driven to the fringes of society,

gripped by the poverty of the Great Depression.

Living among the squaller was not easy, even less so with someone skulking in the shadows holding

a penchant for decapitation.

This is dark histories where the facts are worse than fiction.

...