I remember the first Menedez brother’s trial. I was 22 and just out of college. I grew up in the Chicago area. We moved around the city and the greater Chicago land area, ending up on the North Shore shortly before my father died. We lived in the upper-crusty Winnetka after my parents inherited money from a friend and used it to build their dream home.
I hated the home. It was all brick, inside and out—with tile floors. It was always freezing cold. There was so much poltergeist activity in this house I should write a substack piece about the events, but I’ll just outline some of it. The TV would turn itself on and off. The garage door went up and down with no explanation. I used to sit in the living room and listen to the stereo, and the dial would move independently. I was pretty terrified. I felt like I was constantly being watched.
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