On Dec. 5, 1967, eyewitnesses heard a loud noise that sounded like a gunshot. In less than 20 seconds, the bridge "folded like a deck of cards," according to the West Virginia Department of Transportation. Sixty-four people -- and 32 vehicles -- fell into the river, and 46 people died.
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     Letting her twins, Manny and Maria, walk the three blocks to Horton Elementary School alone was tough. Mona had been against it. They were only five and had never been out of her sight, but Frank had proposed the plan a week earlier, and she had felt too silly to stick to her objections.

     He had been sitting at the breakfast nook, drinking a beer. "Why don't we just let them walk there?"

     "No way," Mona said, "They'll get abducted."

     Frank laughed and slapped the counter. "You are too much."

     Mona sipped her coffee. "You know," she said, "DCYF could take them away if they showed up at school alone. We'll drive them."

     "I won't drive them. They don't even have to cross the street, and it's only three blocks. We can see the school from our front porch. You're acting like a mother hen. Just let them walk. I walked two miles to school on my first day."

     "Well, your mother was crazy."

     Frank sipped his beer and said, "Then you drive them. I'll be watching from the porch and laughing at you looking for a parking spot."

     Mona eventually relented, and on that morning she stood on the porch watching her son and daughter walk by themselves, hand-in-hand, to their first day of school. The children seemed fine until about halfway there, where they suddenly stopped. Mona heard a high-pitched scream, and saw her daughter, Maria, collapse to the ground.

     Mona ran to her as fast as she could, but Frank pulled ahead and arrived first. He scooped Maria up off the ground, hugging her. She clung to him, hysterically screaming and crying. "What's wrong, Baby," Frank asked, in his most soothing tone.

     "I'll fall in the water, Daddy! The bridge will break and I'll fall in the water!"

     "No, you won't. Daddy's got you, sweetheart." Frank looked at Mona with a baffled expression as their daughter sobbed. He was as flummoxed as Mona. Maria had never been this upset about anything in her little life.

     Mona noticed the little bridge over the river for the first time. She had probably driven over it a hundred times. The bridge was tiny, only about twenty feet long, and it spanned a river, which was more of a brook, only half that width.

     No matter what they said or how they tried to calm her, Maria refused to cross that tiny bridge. She kept saying she would die if she crossed it. Mona and Frank had to take her back home to calm her down. Once calm, Maria agreed to let them drive her to school, but only if they promised not to drive over that bridge. They agreed to her demands just to keep her from becoming hysterical again.

     From then on, whether on foot or in a car, Maria refused to cross any bridges. This became a problem, so they decided to take her to a pediatric psychologist. After several therapy sessions, Dr. Margolis suggested hypnosis.

     That's when things got truly strange. A parent was required to sit in on the hypnosis therapy, so Mona joined the doctor and Maria in the examination room. Dr. Margolis successfully put Maria into a deep hypnotic trance.

     "Maria," he said, "You are safe here in my office. Your mother, Mona, is here and so am I. Do you understand?"

     "Yes."

     "Do you feel safe?"

     "Yes."

     "Sometimes, Maria, you get very frightened when you see a bridge. Why do bridges frighten you?"

     Maria's brow furrowed. She gasped, stopped breathing and squirmed in her seat.

     "Breathe, Maria. Breathe. Stay calm. You are perfectly safe here in my office with your Mom."

     She took several long, deep breaths and relaxed.

     "Why are you so frightened of bridges?"

     "Because the bridge broke, and I died."

     Dr. Margolis said, "That never happened, Maria. No bridge broke and you are still very much alive. You never died."

     "Yes, I did," Maria said, her voice deeper and more assertive. "The Silver Bridge collapsed with me on it and I drowned in my car. And, by the way, stop calling me Maria. My name is Henry."

     Dr. Margolis looked annoyed. He turned all his attention on Mona and said, "Has she been watching inappropriate movies?"

     Mona felt insulted by the accusation. "No," she said.

     "Well, she's getting this nonsense from somewhere."

     "I don't know where she's getting it. She watches Disney."

     The doctor turned back to Maria. "Maria," he said, "Who is Henry?"

     "I am," Maria said, her voice getting even more disturbingly masculine and gaining a midwestern accent. "Name's Henry Ledbetter, born and raised in Dayton. My wife's name is Peggy and I've got two sons, Henry junior and Steven. Glad to make your acquaintance."

     Dr. Margolis scoffed. He looked at Mona again. "Is this some kind of joke? Did you coach her to do this?"

     "I... coach her?" Mona said, exasperated. "I don't even recognize her voice. What's wrong with my daughter?"

     The doctor shook his head and spread his hands, seemingly without an explanation.

     "What's wrong with my baby, Doctor?"

     "Maybe.. I don't know... she's suffering from some delusional episode? Or maybe... she's autistic? We can check for--"

     "Autistic?" Mona wanted her baby back. "What the hell did you do to her? Wake her up. Wake her up now!"

     Dr. Margolis woke her from the trance and Maria seemed fine. He sent them home.

     Later, Frank showed Mona an obituary for a man named Henry Ledbetter. He had died in the Silver Bridge collapse back in 1967, and was survived by his wife Peggy, and two sons, Henry junior and Steven.

     Maria never did get over her fear of bridges.