I survived A SERIAL KILLER

Tali Shapiro was just a child when she escaped the evil clutches of Rodney Alcala

- KATIE PEARSON

Growing up in the 60s, the world was a different place. Aged eight, I often made my own way to school. Although my parents preferred me to take the bus with my classmates, I liked walking, and it was only a few streets away.

On 25 September 1968, I pulled the front door closed behind me, called goodbye to my mum, Miki, then 35, and stepped outside into the Los Angeles sunshine. I'd lived in California my whole life, and my dad, Benny, 36, ran a popular jazz bar in LA. My parents knew everyone, and everyone knew them.

So when a car pulled up alongside me and the driver wound down his window, telling me he was a friend of my parents, I believed him. I knew I wasn't supposed to speak to strangers, and I didn't recognise this man with long, shaggy hair and a beard, but, still so young, I trusted what he said. And when he offered to give me a lift to school, although I hesitated at first, I got in the car.

Lured inside

As he sped off down the road, he told me that he was a photographer and that he had a picture he wanted to show me. Moments later, the car stopped outside an apartment building. Again, just eight years old, I trusted him and followed him inside the apartment, but then, everything went black.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in hospital. Mum and Dad were by my side with tears in their eyes, telling me everything would be OK. Mum explained I'd been in a coma for around a month. I had 28 stitches to my head but I couldn't remember a thing. Despite asking questions, Mum told me to just concentrate on getting better. Months later, I was allowed home, but before I went back to school, Mum and Dad finally told me more about what had happened.