Buried Alive | The Box | 2
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Wondery Plus subscribers can listen to Against the Odds early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. A listener note. Against the Odds uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements, including dialogue, may be invented, but everything is based on research. Barbara Mackle lies in the backseat of her kidnapper's car as he drives through the freezing dark to who knows where.

Her head is in the lap of the kidnapper's accomplice, a young woman in a ski mask. Barbara can feel the woman's hands holding her down. Where are they going? Fifteen minutes ago, she was fast asleep in an Atlanta motel room, her mother in the bed next to hers. Then, two people burst in, one brandishing a rifle. They tied up her mother and took Barbara in their car.

She's wearing nothing but socks and a thin flannel nightgown. She's so cold. She's been fighting the flu and is so congested she can barely breathe. Her kidnappers haven't told her anything, not where they're going or why they took her. She's decided this has to be about her father. He's a wealthy real estate developer in Miami. He must have crossed someone. What else could it be?

The man driving seems cocky, conceited. Occasionally, he barks a command at the woman in the back seat to hold Barbara down or chloroform her if she resists. But the woman seems almost kind, her fingers gentle on Barbara's cheeks. Barbara feels her weight shift as the car slows, then takes a hard left turn.

The ride is bumpy now. They must be on a dirt road. She feels the brief, unmistakable clatter of train tracks beneath them. After a few more minutes, the car slows, then stops. For a moment, there's quiet. Nothing but the soft clicks from the radiator and the breathing of the three people in the car. The man grunts and opens his door. Barbara hears him step out of the car and then lean back in,

Keep her head down so she doesn't see the house. Barbara hears his footsteps crunch on dead leaves. Through the window above her, she can see the beam of a flashlight arcing through the darkness. He's going somewhere. He mentioned a house. Is that where they're going to keep her? Or is that a house she can escape to? This is the moment. She has to make a run for it.

But it's like the woman has read her mind. She feels the woman's fingertips pressing on her cheek. Then hears her voice. Please don't try to get away. We're not going to hurt you, I promise. I'll take care of you.

From outside, Barbara hears the sound of approaching footsteps. Before the man even reaches the car, Barbara hears his voice. It's louder than it needs to be, as if he wants her to hear, and what she hears makes her blood run cold. Jake and the boys dug the hole too deep.

Every muscle in Barbara's body stiffens. So that's their plan. They're going to kill her and bury her in a grave. If she doesn't escape now, she'll die. She's sure of it.

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In the pre-dawn hours of December 17th, 1968, 20-year-old college student Barbara Mackle was taken at gunpoint from her Atlanta motel room. The two kidnappers had one goal, to extract a huge ransom from Barbara's father, who was a prominent real estate developer in South Florida. And until they got their money, they had devised an innovative and terrifying way to make sure that Barbara could not possibly escape.

This is episode two, The Box. Jane Mackle ushers two DeKalb County police officers into her motel room. It's nearly 4.30 in the morning on December 17th, 1968, barely 25 minutes since Barbara was taken. After the kidnappers drove away with her daughter, Jane had hopped to Barbara's car and leaned on the horn.

It felt like an eternity, agonizing minutes, until the motel manager finally came out. The kidnappers had bound Jane's hands and feet, so the manager untied her, and then she called the police. One of the cops motions for her to sit down, and the other takes out a pad. Ma'am, tell us what happened from the beginning.

To Jane, it's all still a blur, but she tries to explain. The knock at the door a few minutes before 4 a.m. The man she thought was a police officer explaining that there'd been a car accident. Then the man and an accomplice bursting into their room, tying her up and taking Barbara away. The officers ask her what seems like dozens of follow-up questions. What was the man wearing? Did she see the getaway car? What did the man say?

Jane can't keep it all straight. They also ask her about Barbara's boyfriend, Stuart Woodward. Hearing Stuart's name sends Jane reaching for the phone. She has to call him. That's who she thought the man was talking about when he said there'd been a car accident. She dials his number, and finally he picks up. No, he tells her. He was not in any accident. Jane explains what happened, and Stuart says he'll be right over.

Jane hangs up the phone and turns back to the officers. They ask her to go over the sequence of events again. And they keep asking about Stuart. It's infuriating. Don't they realize Stuart had nothing to do with this? Every minute they spend repeating the same questions, her daughter is getting farther and farther away. Jane shudders to think what's happening to Barbara. Her baby...

And these men are just wasting time. Barbara Mackle sits up, startling the woman who was holding her down. This is it. She'll open the door and run as fast as she can toward the house the man said was nearby. He has a gun, but he wouldn't shoot her in the back, would he? But as soon as she pops up, her eyes are blinded. He's outside the window, shining a flashlight on her.

She can't see his face, but the tone of his voice is unmistakable. He's angry. I thought you were going to behave yourself. Barbara has to think fast. I can't breathe lying down, sir. I have to sit up. My nose is all stopped up. She feels the woman's hand on her shoulder. She's so cold. Here, take my sweatshirt.

The woman takes off her sweatshirt and hands it to Barbara, who puts it on over her nightgown. "Thank you. You're so nice to me." Barbara has decided that it's best to be polite and cooperative. Maybe that way they'll treat her better, or let their guard down long enough for her to escape. She looks out the car window. The man is standing there, looking around as if deciding something.

He'd mentioned someone named Jake. Maybe that's the true boss here. Maybe if she can just talk to Jake, he can be persuaded to let her go. But before she can speak, the kidnapper opens the car door. He's holding a length of cord, and he bends down to tie Barbara's ankles together.

Then he ties her wrists in front of her. Barbara struggles, but he's twice her size at least. She's losing hope. No! No! But the cord isn't tight around her wrists. She realizes she could slip her hands out if she had enough time. The man shines the flashlight directly onto Barbara's face again. I suppose you know that you are being kidnapped. We are asking for quite a bit of money.

The man chuckles and continues talking. But I'm sure your father can get it. Now listen to me, because this is very important, and I'm only going to tell it to you once. We are putting you in a very small room underground. You will not suffocate. There is a fan connected to a hose, which will draw in fresh air from above. The fan is operated by a battery. You'll have enough air for about a week.

Barbara's head is swimming. An underground room? Does he mean some kind of bunker? And what's this about a fan and a battery? The man keeps talking. He says that there's a house nearby and that someone will come down from the house every two hours to check on her. He also mentioned something about the room being under the water table and that if she makes any cracks in the walls, water will come in and she will drown.

The picture is starting to take shape in Barbara's head. They're going to bury her underground. She can hardly believe it. It doesn't make any sense. Why would they keep her underground when there's a house nearby? Barbara looks up, directly into the glare of the flashlight. You don't know what it's like to be buried. The man nods his head. Yes, I do. I've been to prison. Barbara is shaking.

She has never felt such terror. The beam from the flashlight then tracks down her arms. It stops on her hand, and the light catches the diamond chips on Barbara's opal ring, her birthstone. I'll take the ring. That's what we'll use to identify you to your father. The man tries to slide it off, but the ring is tight on her finger.

Finally, it comes loose. She's still wearing a watch, but she'd slid it up her arm earlier to conceal it. They have everything. She just wants to be able to tell what time it is. The man turns his head toward the woman. Give her the shot now. He turns to Barbara. His face is eerie, lit from below by his flashlight.

Don't worry, this will simply numb your senses and calm you. If we wanted to hurt you, why would we go to all this trouble? Barbara looks toward the woman, who's holding a hypodermic needle. She pulls up the hem of Barbara's nightgown and injects her. Barbara doesn't even feel the shot, but she knows how she's supposed to act. So she falls back into the backseat and closes her eyes.

Through her eyelids, she sees the glare of the flashlight. Then she can sense the man hovering over her. She feels his fingers on her eyelids, opening them. "She's faking! Give me the chloroform!" He presses the damp rag to her face. And now she really is feeling woozy. A terrible hammering in her skull.

She tries to push his hands away, but her wrists are bound and her limbs feel like they're not hers. She's tired, terribly tired. Now he's pulling her out of the car and lifting her up. The sleeve of her nightgown creeps up her arm and he sees her watch. He slides it down her arm and slips it into his pocket. Poor little rich girl. It's not even an expensive watch. And then he's carrying her.

toward the dark woods. A ringing phone shakes Robert Mackle from a deep sleep. He opens his eyes, still dark. For a second, he's not sure where he is. But then he remembers. He's at his villa at the Key Biscayne Hotel, 20 minutes away from his home in Coral Gables, Florida. He came here yesterday because he didn't want to be in the house alone.

He picks up the phone. Hello? Mr. Mackle, it's Stuart Woodward up in Atlanta. Something terrible has happened. Mackle immediately sits up. Stuart explains what just happened, that Barbara has been kidnapped.

He says Jane asked him to call, since the police were still questioning her. Local police. Mackle shakes his head in disbelief. By now he's out of bed, cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder, pulling on his pants. His voice is steady but firm. Stuart, listen to me. I'm going home now. You call the FBI immediately. Don't talk to anybody.

anyone else. I don't want word of this getting out until we know who these people are and what they want. Do you understand? Mackle's mind churns. Who could be behind this? His company has assets north of $100 million, so heaven knows his wealth could make him an attractive target. But

But that's speculation. And what he needs now are facts. And he wants to keep the net drawn closely. There is zero upside to this getting out in the media. Right now, he needs someone with a cool head who he can trust. As soon as he hangs up with Stewart, he's on the phone again, dialing his right-hand man, Billy Bessels. Billy has worked for the Mackle brothers for the past decade and is fiercely loyal.

Robert explains to Billy what little he knows and tells him to meet him at the Mackle home in Coral Gables. Mackle grabs his keys and dashes out the door. He sprints toward his Lincoln Continental, gets in, and tears out of the parking lot. His daughter needs him. The kidnapper lowers Barbara Mackle's limp body onto a blanket on the cold ground.

Her eyes are closed, but her breathing sounds normal. He needs to do one more thing before they put her underground. He takes the Polaroid camera hanging over his shoulder and points it down at Barbara, but her eyes are closed. He bends down and shakes her by the shoulder. Come on, beautiful. Open your eyes. Smile like your life depends on it. Who knows? It might.

Barbara opens her eyes and an eerie smile crosses her lips. Beneath her chin, he's placed a cardboard sign that reads, kidnapped. He snaps the shutter and grabs the picture as it slides out of the camera. Then he turns back toward Barbara, still on the ground. The tranquilizer shot and the chloroform are doing the trick. He bends down again, picks her up, and carries her through some trees toward the spot.

He places her sitting up, her feet dangling over the hole. She begins pleading with him, but her voice is slurred. It's almost like she's drunk. Please don't put me in the ground. Look, you'll be safe. I designed and built it myself. I even slept in it. You'll probably be free in less than three days. Just keep calm. He keeps trying to reassure her.

There's a house near here. We'll keep a close watch on you. You don't have to worry. It's a lie. There's no house. It's just like when he'd mentioned Jake and the boys. There is no Jake, no boys. It's just him and Ruth, and they won't be sticking around. He eases Barbara into the box and instructs Ruth to climb in on top of Barbara to show her where the water tube is.

It takes a few seconds and then Ruth climbs out. Immediately he lowers the plywood lid onto the box. No! No! He steps down onto the lid, then kneels to tighten the screws. He tries to ignore the weak thumps as she pounds on it from within. He has to admit, this box is a remarkable bit of craftsmanship. Eight feet long, two feet wide, two feet high.

It's not spacious, but it's waterproof. He made sure of that, even though he told Barbara it wasn't. He just told her that stuff about the water table to discourage her from pounding on the walls. The calmer and quieter she is inside, the better. Through the lid, he explains to her where the switch for the fan is, and then he hears the fan's motor as she turns it on. It's working. He hears her muffled voice telling him it's not, but he's not fooled.

Air is being drawn into the capsule from the tube that stretches up to the surface. Then he steps out of the hole, grabs a shovel, and starts dropping claws of dirt onto the box. With every shovel full, Barbara Mackle's cries grow more distant. Yes, everything is going exactly according to plan. ♪

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Barbara Mackle presses her palms against the lid of the box and pushes up with all her might. She's so weak from whatever drugs they gave her, and she can't get any leverage. Sure enough, the lid doesn't budge. This is no underground room like the man said it was. The box is so shallow, she can't even sit up in it. The sound of dirt hitting the box from above has stopped.

But she can still hear the muffled voices of her kidnappers above. She yells out, I have to tell you something. Please let me out. She hears the voice of the woman now. Don't worry, Barbara. We'll be back every two hours to check on you. Barbara wants to believe her. The woman seemed so kind. She calls out once more. Please come back and check on me. Just talk to me.

Then she hears the man's voice. All you want is human contact. And Barbara is almost certain she can hear him chuckle. And then, nothing. Only silence. She realizes they've left her. She is all alone. William O'Dowd paces the carpet in the den of his boss's home in Coral Gables, Florida.

He's staring at the red phone that sits on a desk in the corner, willing it to ring. O'Dowd is 47 and has worked for Robert and his two brothers for almost 20 years. One of the brothers, Frank, called him a few hours ago and instructed him to go straight to Robert's house. He explained that Robert's daughter, Barbara, had been kidnapped and they needed someone at the house in case the kidnapper called.

He glances at his watch. 9.10 a.m. Robert and his right-hand man, Billy Vessels, should be landing in Atlanta any minute. They caught the first flight out earlier this morning, leaving O'Dowd here to watch the phone. Just then, it rings. O'Dowd feels his heart jump. In a second, his hand is on the phone, lifting the receiver to his ear. Hello? Hello?

Robert Mackle? No, he's on his way to Atlanta. Well, tell him to look under a palm tree in the northeast corner of the property, under a rock about six inches down.

O'Dowd frantically writes down the instructions. The line goes dead. He then immediately dials the corporate office. Elliot Mackle, Barbara's uncle, is on the line. O'Dowd explains what he was told, and Elliot tells him to do nothing until the FBI arrives. They're on their way now.

O'Dowd walks to a window overlooking the front yard. He spots the palm tree and tries to imagine someone burying something here. When was it done? This is all so crazy. Then a brown sedan pulls into the driveway. He sees a man in a dark suit get out of the car and start walking up to the house. His black shoes are polished to a gleam.

O'Dowd opens the front door, and the man introduces himself as a special agent with the FBI. O'Dowd tells him what the caller said, and the agent tells O'Dowd to wait inside. O'Dowd watches through the window as the man walks over to the palm tree. He bends down to pick up a rock no bigger than his fist, examines it, and then starts digging.

After a few seconds, he leans down and picks up what looks like a laboratory test tube. He carries it back inside, takes out a pair of tweezers, and pulls from the tube three sheets of paper. It's a typewritten letter addressed to Robert Mackel. O'Dowd reads it over the agent's shoulder. "Sir, your daughter has been kidnapped by us, and we now hold her for ransom. She is quite safe, if somewhat uncomfortable.

The note explains that Barbara is locked inside a small capsule that is buried in a remote place. She has enough food, water, and air to last seven days. The kidnappers say they will reveal Barbara's location only if Robert Mackle delivers a suitcase filled with $500,000 in $20 bills. When the money is ready, the Mackle family is to place an ad in the personal section of the Miami Herald.

When the kidnappers see the ad, they'll call the Mackle home with specific instructions on where to drop the money. Within 12 hours of receiving the money, the kidnappers will call with Barbara's whereabouts. The note warns that if anyone is arrested during the money exchange, they will not divulge Barbara's location. Ergo, the note reads, Barbara will suffocate. O'Dowd shudders as he finishes reading over the agent's shoulder.

They buried a 20-year-old woman alive. Who are these monsters? He wants to say it out loud, but the FBI agent is already on the phone with headquarters, dictating the entire note word for word. At the sound of a car outside, Jane Mackle stands up and walks to the window of room 137 at the roadway in.

It's a little after 9 a.m., and she's waiting for her husband, Robert, to arrive. He and Billy Vessels had taken the 7.15 a.m. flight from Miami. The room looks different now in the light of day. For one thing, it's filled with cigarette smoke. Four FBI agents arrived around 6 a.m., and it seems like each one wants her to go over the whole story again.

They've been knocking on doors of other rooms and taking pictures. They've interviewed the night manager. They've even reserved the room next door and turned it into a makeshift command center. But why isn't anyone out looking for Barbara? When she sees her husband get out of the taxi, Jane can't help it. She starts to cry. She walks outside and Robert wraps his arms around her.

She sobs into his shoulder. "Barbara tried to stop me from opening the door, but I didn't listen to her. It's all my fault." Robert squeezes her tighter. "Jane, you had nothing to do with it. We're going to get Barbara back." Jane wants to believe him. What other choice does she have? But she can't help but think that her daughter could die because she was so careless.

Barbara Mackle tries to sit up, but the box the kidnappers buried her in is too shallow. The motor from the fans circulating fresh air is loud, but she finds the noise comforting. She doesn't think she could stand the silence. After it was obvious the man and woman had left her here, she pounded on the lid, screaming. But after a minute or so, she stopped.

She knew it would do no good, but it actually helped getting out all that energy. She could feel her heartbeat slowing in her chest. They'd left her ankles and wrists tied up, but fortunately, the cord around her wrists was loose, and it didn't take long to slip her hands out. She had to turn on her side and scooch her knees up to reach the cord around her ankles. It was a tight fit.

The box is so narrow that she worried she'd get stuck between the two walls. But she finally did it. Her arms and legs were free. Now, in the dim light of the tiny bulb, she reads some instructions she found under a box of Kotex stashed near her feet.

The note is three pages long, typed in all capital letters. She reads it aloud, if for no other reason than to hear the sound of her own voice. Do not be alarmed. You are safe. At this, Barbara laughs. Safe? The note explains the workings of the box.

There's a three-gallon jug of water that she can drink from through the tube. There's a bucket with a lid where she can relieve herself. There are tranquilizers to help her sleep and candy to eat. The note explains that the battery powering the fan will last 270 hours. Barbara does the math in her head. That's more than 10 days.

But the note goes on to explain that the light bulb is connected to the same battery and advises that in order to conserve battery power, she turned it on only when necessary. If you use the light continuously, your life expectancy will be cut to one third.

The note closes by saying she'll be home for Christmas, one way or another. Barbara puts down the note and looks up at the plywood ceiling inches above her face. She doesn't find those last words reassuring. Christmas is more than a week away. Can she really survive that long in this tiny space without losing her mind? If she doesn't suffocate first, which reminds her, the light, she should turn it off.

She reaches a hand toward it and feels its heat. It's about the size of a Christmas tree bulb. She unscrews it and then the blackness consumes her. She feels her heart race and her panic return. No, she can't do this in the dark. She feels around gently until she finds the bulb still warm. She tightens it and light illuminates the interior again. How much time has gone by? She has no way of knowing.

♪♪

He and Ruth were up all night, waiting for the right moment to burst into the motel room and take the girl. It went perfectly. But he knows that was just the first step. After putting the girl in the box and covering it with dirt and branches, he placed a call to the Mackle home. Then they hit the road for Miami. That's where the next and final scene of this drama will unfold.

He glances over at Ruth in the passenger seat. She's fast asleep.

He reaches for the radio knob and switches it on. "Please say Ms. Mackle was kidnapped from the roadway inn by a large man in a black leather jacket and dark pants. He was described as approximately 40 years old. His accomplice, who was wearing a ski mask, is thought to be a boy around 12." The kidnapper chuckles. A 12-year-old boy? He? Middle-aged? Hardly.

Still, if police are now looking for the kidnappers, they should be careful. He reaches out and shakes Ruth by the shoulder. Hey, wake up. They're looking for two people. You should get in the back seat and lie down. Stay out of sight. We still have more than eight hours before we reach Miami. Ruth opens her eyes and stretches. Okay, George.

Ruth climbs over the back seat and in a few minutes is asleep again. As he maintains a steady speed on the highway, he thinks how good it'll be to be back in Miami. The sun, the sea, the ocean breezes. It's where he and Ruth met just a few months ago. She was a grad student at the University of Miami's Institute of Marine Science, where he was working under the name George Deacon.

That's not his real name. It's the alias he's been using for almost two years, ever since he escaped from prison in California. After fleeing, he tried to go straight, but he couldn't.

He moved to Miami with his wife, Carmen, and their two little boys, so he could take a job as a research technician at the Marine Institute. The work suited him. He was always good at tinkering, and repairing the delicate oceanography equipment felt like second nature to him. That's where he also learned a thing or two about building waterproof boxes. But then he met Ruth, and it was like seeing himself for the first time.

Going straight no longer made any sense. He wasn't someone who could play by society's rules. So one night, he confessed everything to Ruth. He told her his name wasn't really George Deacon and that authorities in California were looking for him. He told Ruth he wanted to leave his wife, but he needed money to ensure she didn't rat him out to the police. And he and Ruth would need money too, so they could buy a boat and sail around the world together.

it would be bliss. It called for the perfect crime, and he was sure he could pull it off. Kidnap someone from a rich family, hide them in such a way that they couldn't escape but didn't need to be monitored, then collect the dough. He spent hours at the public library researching the richest people in Miami and finally settled on Robert Mackle.

His daughter fit the profile perfectly. Young, healthy, and most likely docile. He sees a sign approaching. It's the Florida-Georgia state line, almost halfway to Miami. The plan is all coming together. In the back seat, Ruth snores softly. In just a few days, they'll be free and rich.

FBI agent Rex Schroeder pauses outside the door of room 137 at the Roadway Inn in Atlanta. It's late afternoon on Tuesday, and he's just arriving on the scene after flying in from Washington, D.C. This Mackle guy clearly has pull, Schroeder thinks. Practically every agent in the Atlanta office is on the case, along with all of the Miami branch. He reviewed the memos on the flight down, and he said,

Mackel's a big supporter of President-elect Richard Nixon. Schroeder also learned why the name of Mackel's associate, Billy Vessels, rang a bell. It's the same Billy Vessels who won the Heisman Trophy more than a decade ago.

The people you meet in this job, he thinks. Schroeder has to admit, he's feeling energized. You don't see many ransom kidnappings. Most criminals know that they're almost impossible to pull off. So many things can go wrong. Someone always ends up in jail, and often someone ends up dead. Schroeder adjusts his rimless glasses, runs a hand through his graying hair, and opens the door.

The room is cloudy with cigarette smoke, but he can identify the Mackles immediately. Jane is lying down on the bed, and Robert is sitting up next to her, holding her hand. He reaches a hand toward Jane, and then her husband, introducing himself by name with each handshake.

I want you to know that the director, Mr. J. Edgar Hoover himself, sent me down personally. He wants you to know that the entire weight of the FBI is behind this investigation. I assure you that it is going to have a happy ending. He can see Robert's shoulders relax a little bit. Good, Schroeder thinks. He's going to need him to be in a strong state of mind over these next few days. He needs to believe this is going to work out. Mr. Mackle.

"Have you seen the ransom note?" Robert shakes his head. "Well, I have it with me. Let's go next door and look it over together, shall we?" Robert agrees and gets up, asking Vessels to stay with Jane. Robert seems to grasp immediately that Schroeder doesn't want Jane to see the note, at least not yet. She still seems pretty distraught, and the note contains some details that won't make her feel any better.

The two men step outside onto the pavement for the five-second walk to the room next door. They ignore the shouted questions from the reporters. Schroeder can see that Robert is clearly annoyed that word has already gotten out. Once they're inside, Schroeder turns to Robert and pulls several pages from the inside pocket of his blazer. This is the ransom note, Mr. Mackle.

Robert grabs the note and sits on a chair. He starts reading.

Schroeder sees Robert's hands start to shake as he reads. Schroeder guesses that he's come to the part of the note that describes Barbara being held underground. When he's done, he looks up at Schroeder, who's leaning back against the desk. Robert stares at him. Are you waiting for my reaction?

Schroeder nods, and Robert takes a deep breath. Well, it's terrifying. But on the other hand, I feel a lot better. I think we are dealing with a highly intelligent person, and not some maniac. Schroeder nods again. I agree. And what about the demands? $500,000 in ransom? Robert doesn't hesitate.

Have my brothers seen the note? They have. Then they're probably already assembling the cash. Schroeder has to hand it to the kidnapper. The man did his research. The Mackles definitely have means. Schroeder takes the note from Robert and puts it back in his pocket. The next decision is whether to stay here in Atlanta or fly back to Miami.

The note says you're to deliver the ransom. If everything we know about this case holds, you'll be needed there. Robert stands. We'll fly back to Miami today. But first, I need some time alone with Jane to tell her about the note. Everything that is except about Barbara being held underground. She doesn't need to know that. The two men walk back to room 137.

Schroeder knows it'll be tough for Robert to convince his wife to leave Atlanta when their daughter is most likely buried somewhere nearby. But they need to be in Miami to have the best shot at getting her home alive. Barbara Mackle is trying to cry. She figures it will make her feel better, but she can't.

She remembers the last time she really cried hard. It was years ago, when Sandy, their old colleague, died. Or maybe it was when President Kennedy was killed. Both times, she was alone. Well, she thinks, I'm definitely alone now. But still, she can't find the tears. What's wrong with her? She runs her fingers over the plywood lid, inches above her face.

She stretches a leg and jostles the jug of water near her feet. She knows she should probably drink, but she's really not thirsty.

her thoughts turn to the kidnappers. Specifically, the big man with the moon face. Inside the box, there's the fan, the light, the candy. Heck, he even included Kotex pads. If he wanted me to die, would he have really gone to all this trouble? But then she pictures the man and the woman in that station wagon. What if they're in a car accident? The police must be looking for him all over.

What if they find him and he's shot and killed? He'd mentioned there were others involved in her kidnapping. Someone named Jake. But what if that was all made up? What if it's just these two people and something goes wrong? Barbara feels her pulse racing again. Her breaths, which had finally slowed down, are coming again in shallow bursts. She needs to calm her mind to pass the time.

What's that? She has no idea how fast or slow it's passing. She starts to count. One, two, three. Counting off the seconds. Sixty is a minute. Then she keeps going. She counts to 3,600. An hour. She keeps going. All the way to 7,200. Have two hours really gone by? No.

Despite her congestion, she decides to sing Christmas carols. Then the entire score of Camelot. She's always had a terrible singing voice, but singing helps. And then it happens. The light bulb, the only illumination in her underground prison, flickers. And then it goes out.

She's now surrounded by an unfathomable blackness. The darkness of a tomb. This is the second episode of our four-part series, Buried Alive.

A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend the book 83 Hours Till Dawn by Jean Miller with Barbara Jane Mackle. I'm your host, Cassie DePeckel. Steve Fennessy wrote this episode. Our editor is Alyssa Adams. Sound design and Dolby Atmos mix by Joe Richardson. Audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez.

Coordinating producer is Desi Blaylock. Produced by Alita Rosansky and Emily Frost. Managing producer is Matt Gant. Senior managing producer is Ryan Lohr. Senior producers are Andy Herman and Rachel Matlow. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marsha Louis. For Wondering. Wondering.

I'm Dan Taberski. In 2011, something strange began to happen at the high school in Leroy, New York. I was like at my locker and she came up to me and she was like stuttering super bad. I'm like, stop f***ing around. She's like, I can't. A mystery illness, bizarre symptoms, and spreading fast. It's like doubling and tripling and it's all these girls. With a diagnosis, the state tried to keep on the down low. Everybody thought I was holding something back. Well, you were holding something back intentionally. Yeah, yeah, well, yeah.

Is this the largest mass hysteria since The Witches of Salem? Or is it something else entirely? A new limited series from Wondery and Pineapple Street Studios, Hysterical.

Follow Hysterical on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can binge all episodes of Hysterical early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery+.