by Roger Hayden
Table of Contents
The Haunting of Bechdel Mansion: Book 0- The Beginning
Retrospect
The Night of
Party Crashers
Welcome to Redwood
Homestead
A Stroll through Town
Unearthed
A New Discovery
Sunday Barbecue
Warning
Encounters
The Haunting of Bechdel Mansion: Book 0- The Beginning
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Retrospect
The Redwood Murders: Twenty Years Later
By Anthony Moore, Staff Writer, The Dover Sentinel
By 1975, the Bechdel mansion, located in the town of Redwood, Indiana, was considered the height of opulence. Lush acres surrounded the mansion, which dated back generations. Reportedly of Dutch descent, the Bechdel’s ancestors immigrated to America with virtually nothing, only to build a family dynasty that tragically came to an end on one quiet summer evening.
During the 20th century, the Bechdel’s wealth, power, and influence knew no bounds, but within their rise, there was also a disturbing pattern of loss. By the 1950s, however, The Bechdel bloodline dwindled after illness, disease, and death left a young George Allen Bechdel as the sole remaining heir of his family’s enterprise.
Throughout his early years, George’s twelve other siblings all perished in separate tragedies. His parents, Eugene and Reba Bechdel, were later killed when their driver lost control and jettisoned a vintage Rolls Royce into a lake with them inside. To most, it was unthinkable that a family could suffer so much loss, and a theory developed of a curse that had doomed the family line to extinction.
The “Bechdel Curse” has fascinated folklore and urban-legend enthusiasts for years. Perhaps this is why the Redwood mansion continues to bring tourists to the area to this day. There has to be something out there. There have to be answers to explain the mystery behind the curse. Whatever the reasons, the 1970s saw the last living heirs of the family name.
While running his family’s land-developing enterprise, George Bechdel found love with socialite, Anabelle Brackman. The two married and had four children. Together, they prided themselves as being among the town’s most influential families. They had three sons and one daughter. Their eldest son, Travis, was engaged to be married to a young real-estate heiress. The recent engagement was the toast of the town, and though the merging of two wealthy families wasn’t front-page news, everyone in town had heard about it.
On June 25, 1975, the Bechdels hosted a dinner party to celebrate the engagement. The parents of the bride, Victor and Holly Drake, were in attendance with their daughter, Katelyn. It was meant to be a night of new beginnings and good cheer. Instead, it ended in tragedy and disaster. Even the skeptics had to admit that the existence of a family curse made some kind of sense. Some just didn’t want to admit it.
The brutal murder of the Bechdels and their dinner guests by unidentified gunmen in the late hours of the evening shocked the small lakeside town to the core. Bodies were found the next morning by authorities in one large, bloody pile in the ballroom. Fifteen people were murdered that evening, and after lengthy investigation, the killers were never found. The case had gone cold, which to many, was something as unthinkable as the crime itself.
Much has been written about the “Redwood Massacre,” and countless theories as to who had committed the slaughter have yielded few results. The killer, or killers, are still out there, and this possibility has since casted a permanent cloud over the seemingly peaceful town of Redwood. From the onset, investigators had a variety of suspects, but nothing ever materialized, and over time, all the hype and fascination surrounding the case naturally faded, leaving behind an unending mystery.
There is no doubt that the unsolved murder of fifteen people has since torn the façade of innocence and harmony from Redwood. And many residents say that things have never quite been the same. Perhaps there is still hope in bringing the killers to justice. Only time will tell.
The Night of
Redwood, Indiana
June 25, 1975
Julie Bechdel sat on her bed, bored, as sounds of laughter and music echoed throughout her room, rising from below. Her parents were entertaining again, marking the engagement of her older brother, Travis, to a girl from a family even more wealthy than his own, the Drakes.
To Julie, the engagement seemed too soon. Her brother had just graduated high school, and his fiancé, Katelyn, was just entering her senior year of high school. But both Julie’s parents and the Drakes not only supported the engagement, they had insisted on it. Everything seemed to be happening very fast, and Julie had her suspicions.
That evening, she had been sent to her room after dinner so that the adults could “have their time,” as her mother put it. And even though her room was outfitted with plenty of games, books, and magazines, she was more curious about what was going on downstairs.
Her older brothers were all allowed to stay up, and she resented having been banished to her room only because she was eleven. Whatever the reasons, she found the party distracting. She couldn't sleep if she had wanted to, and it was time to get a closer look.
Wearing her nightgown, Julie got out of bed and approached her door, where she could smell the cigar smoke from downstairs before even opening it. With the turn of a knob, she carefully ventured out of her room and down the hallway, which led to a winding staircase. She stopped at the railing and looked below into the smoke-filled lounge.
Guests sat among plush green sofas, conversing, or stood on the white tile floor admiring the artwork that adorned the walls. Men in suits and women in their glittering gowns all looked elegant. Julie's brother, Travis, stood near a window, talking with her other brothers, John and Alex, all in long-sleeved tuxedo shirts and bow ties. A record spun on the turntable, booming with jazz music.
Past the lounge sat a long dining room table, already cleared away by the staff who had went home for the evening. Julie knew every nook and cranny of the two-story mansion and its fifteen rooms. She was born there. Her parents were protective of her and rarely let her have a social life beyond the few friends they approved of. She had spent a lot of time within the mansion and had discovered all sorts of ways to move around undetected, and with such experience under her belt, she decided to do some investigating.
From below, guests cupped wine glasses and sipped periodically as they talked and laughed. Julie could hear her mother, Anabelle, laughing out of view. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. She crept down the stairs without a single head turning in her direction. The entire affair seemed strange to Julie. She reached the bottom of the stairs, shielded from view by a nearby palm, and stayed low. No one had noticed her yet.
She rushed behind the nearest couch to her right, where a couple sat talking. She felt over the top of the couch with a certain thrill in her spying. She turned to the gaming room across the lounge and saw her parents standing next to a billiards table, mingling. Her father, George, puffed on a large cigar, talking with some men, drink in hand, as her mother chatted with the women.
Adjacent to the gaming room was the library—her favorite room in the house. She could see inside. Katelyn, her brother's fiancée, stood next to a bookcase in conversation with her parents. Julie wanted to get a listen. She moved along the side of the room, staying close to the thick red drapes that adorn
ed the windows behind her.
She dropped to her knees next to a china cabinet as one of her brothers walked past her from the opposite direction. She was sure she had been spotted, but his black pant legs kept going as she sighed with relief. She crawled to the corner of the room and crouched behind a vacant sofa chair, ready to sprint toward the library.
The music stopped for a moment as the record ended and another dropped down, taking its place. Julie waited until the next song came on and then ran across the room with stealth, reaching the open double doors of the library. The Drake family was within an earshot. Julie stuck her head into the room, careful to not expose herself. The parents had their backs to Julie. She saw Katelyn’s brown wavy hair over her parents’ shoulders.
“Well, you love Travis, don't you?” Katelyn's mother asked, her permed red hair bouncing up with a nod, as if to provide an answer. Her blue silk evening gown shimmered in the low light.
“Of course I do, but—”
“Then what's the problem?” her mother asked.
“This is all happening too fast,” Katelyn said.
Julie crept closer to the side of a tall bookshelf, taking cover.
Katelyn's father interjected with his own thought. “I understand that you're nervous. That's only natural. It will all pass soon enough.”
Katelyn shuffled in place, shaking her head. “It's not just that. What about college? I'm graduating high school next year, and all this talk about children... I don't know if I'm ready.”
Katelyn's father put his hand on her shoulder. His gray hair was thinning on top, but his stance and attitude were that of a strong and confident man. Julie couldn't see the parents’ faces but could still detect their own worries in their daughter’s concerns. “That's enough of that talk,” he said, slicing the air with his hand. “You have your entire life to do whatever you wish, but you will be marrying this boy. Our family's fortunes rely on it.”
“Listen to your father, dear,” Kate's mother added. “This is about more than…” She paused in hesitation.
Katelyn was quick to respond. “More than what? My future? My own happiness?”
Her father tilted his head back, laughing. “Of course not. Your happiness is very important to us.”
“Very much so,” her mother said. “But we all have our little parts to play for the greater good. For the family.”
“Well said, dear,” her father added.
“Thank you,” her mother said.
Katelyn threw her arms down in frustration. Julie couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her suspicions, it seemed, were true.
She recalled Travis expressing similar doubt at the breakfast table the morning prior. In response, her father had said he would not hear of it. The marriage was going to happen, as her father had put it. As she listened to Katelyn and her parents, Julie did her best to remember every word of what they were saying so that she could write about it in her diary. In the midst of her eavesdropping, her mother’s voice suddenly rang out from behind her.
“Julie Lynn Bechdel!”
Julie spun around in a panic when she saw her mother, Anabelle, standing in the doorway, pearls around her neck, glass in hand, and her face enraged. Julie struggled to speak but found herself frozen.
“What are you doing in here?” her mother asked.
Katelyn's parents turned around, surprised to see Julie hiding nearby.
Julie thought quickly. “I-I couldn't sleep. I was just going to grab a book.”
Anabelle moved to Julie like a hawk and yanked her by the arm. “We told you to go to bed an hour ago!”
Julie struggled to get loose as her mother turned to Katelyn's parents, blushing. “I'm very sorry.”
“Quite all right,” Katelyn's dad said with a smile. His wife, however, stood stone-faced and unamused.
“Let's go,” Anabelle said, pulling Julie out of the room.
“You're hurting me,” Julie cried out as heads turned in their direction from the lounge.
Her mother's grip remained as she dragged Julie toward the staircase. She saw her father peer out from the gaming room, wearing a stoic frown. She was in trouble, that much was clear. Her mother stopped at the bottom of the stairs and released Julie's arm.
“Now go to bed and stop this bad behavior,” she said.
Julie felt angry and defiant. Her brothers watched her from across the room, not getting involved. Guests attempted to turn their attention away, but it was clear that the scene had gotten their attention.
“How can I go to bed with all the noise you're making down here?”
More heads turned, and Julie could see the embarrassment and inner rage in her mother's glazed eyes. She could hear her father’s dress shoes clicking against the floor as he approached from the gaming room.
Her mother extended her long, skinny arm toward the stairs. “Go!” she hissed.
Her father stopped beside Julie and stared down at her. “What are you doing here? We told you to go to your room after dinner.” His bow tie was undone, and his short black hair was messy. Like her mother, there was a slight slur to his speech.
“I've got this under control, George,” Anabelle said.
He raised his hands defensively and backed away. “If you say so.” He turned and rejoined the party as a new jazz track came blaring from the turntable speakers.
Julie took one step up the first stair and could feel her mother’s stare. She turned her head slightly to see her still there, arms crossed.
“I'm going!” Julie said.
“Good night,” Anabelle said in a steely tone, walking away.
Her parents could be both loving and cold depending on the situation. That evening, they seemed to have little patience with her. Julie walked halfway up the staircase and peered over the side as the party resumed and guests returned to their conversations.
She then ran up the stairs and into her room, eager to write about the incident in her diary. She closed her door behind her, muffling the music and obnoxious laughter reverberating through the halls. Her blinds were open, and the night sky was a blanket of tiny stars. She approached her window and looked out into the courtyard below. Beyond the flowing fountain she saw a line of luxury vehicles, a few limos among them. Then, from the shadows of the road leading into the courtyard, she saw headlights.
Party Crashers
Julie watched as a large white van pulled into the courtyard and parked. Its rusty exterior and rattling engine made it out of place among the other guests’ vehicles. Perhaps the driver was lost. That happened sometimes as far out as they were. She kept watch as the van’s headlights shut off. The doors opened, and three figures emerged. Beyond the glow of the fountain, she couldn’t tell who they were, but she could see that they were all dressed in black.
A troubling feeling stirred in her gut. Something wasn’t right. Something hadn’t seemed right about the entire dinner party. As they got closer, she could see that they were also wearing black ski masks and were carrying guns. Panic gripped her. She turned around and rushed outside her room in hopes of warning her parents.
From upstairs, she heard someone kick open the front door as the three men rushed inside, storming past the bottom of the stairs. She crept to the railing, frightened with uncertainty. Everything felt so surreal. She couldn’t move, and as she opened her mouth, not a sound came out.
She crept back up the stairs, peering over the railing, as the three large and menacing intruders came back into her view. For a moment, everyone below remained oblivious to their approach as the music continued. One of the masked men suddenly rushed to the turntable and kicked it over, instantly gaining the attention of everyone in the room. Julie’s mother screamed, and everyone stood frozen as gasps followed. The intruders circled the room as the tallest among them waved his rifle around, corralling the guests toward the center.
“Don't make a move!” he shouted through his mask. “I want everyone to get in here, right now. Every swinging dick!”
&n
bsp; Julie crouched down behind the railing in a panic. She hadn't been seen yet, but that could quickly change. She thought of the nearest phone—in her parents’ room at the end of the hall next to her. She wanted to act, but her legs wouldn't move.
“All of you. That's right, come on out,” the lead gunman continued as terrified guests packed into ballroom the below. Julie then peeked over the railing. . Her brothers were in view with their hands up, shaking. The lead gunman paced from side to side with the rifle against his shoulder with assured cockiness.
“Where’s George Bechdel?” He paused, looking around, and then aimed his rifle at the group. “Let's go, Georgy boy. Front and center!”
From the stunned crowd, George stepped forward. He was sweating, and his hair was even more of a mess than it had been a few minutes ago. Another gunman pulled him closer, pushing him to the ground as the guests screamed in panic. Things then got even worse when her mother stepped forward.
“Leave him alone!” she shouted. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
From his knees, George raised his hand, urging her to be calm. The lead gunman, however, had his own ideas. He stepped forward and smacked her across the face, sending her stumbling backward. Further startled, another woman shrieked in response.
George jumped up, infuriated. “You son of a bitch!” he shouted, lunging at the man, only to receive the paralyzing thrust of a buttstock against his back. He then collapsed to the floor, groaning in agony. Julie shook against the railing, trying to build up the nerve to run, but her legs were locked in place.
“Don't make me do that again,” the lead gunman said.
Anabelle held her reddened face, glaring at the gunmen with contempt. She bravely approached George and placed a hand on his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, twisting and grunting.
“He'll be okay,” the gunman continued. He then looked to the rest of the crowd with a sweeping gaze, preparing to address them. “Is everyone here?” He glanced at Anabelle as she stroked George's head, pearls dangling at her neck. “Is this all of your guests? Is there anyone in the can?”