Spanish Fork, Utah 84660
eptember 11, 1996
Our devout Mormon town awoke to an ordinary sunrise. By nightfall, everything would change.
I grew up on Spanish Fork’s tractor-churned streets. In 1996, our small town was a Grandmother’s quilt of alfalfa fields and Larry’s Barber Shop on Main. Our community’s pulse ticked to Sunday services and harvest moons.
That warm September night, however, a demonic spark ignited, tearing our sacred fabric to shreds.