On a sunny day in 1970, Marilyn Halberg took her 8-year-old daughter, Charlotte, to Disneyland. The outing was meant to be a simple mother–daughter adventure — a tradition Marilyn cherished.

At one moment, Charlotte was taking photographs with a costumed character. The next, she was gone.

Security was minimal by modern standards. Witness descriptions were vague — “just a rabbit character.” There were no cameras in the park at the time, and no sign of struggle.

The case was treated as a missing child who wandered off in the crowd. No suspect was ever named. The trail went cold.

The 20 Years That Followed

Marilyn’s life froze in place. She poured her money into flyers, private investigators, and days off work to search. Eventually, the strain forced her to sell her home. She moved into a small Buena Park apartment, carrying the weight of that day in 1970 wherever she went.

Her only constant was the hope that somehow, somewhere, Charlotte was alive.

1990 – A Break After the Storm

Two decades later, severe flooding hit Southern California. In Stanton, near the concrete sewer channel running along Disneyland’s outer border, farmer James Beckett inspected damage on his property. The flood had washed away years of sediment.

That morning, Beckett saw a red suitcase partially buried in mud.

“I thought maybe it was just trash at first, but something about it seemed off,” he recalled. “It was old, real old. When I opened it, there was this costume inside — a rabbit costume like what they’d wear at the theme park. And underneath it, a little girl’s dress, blue with flowers on it. Everything was faded and covered in dirt. Water had gotten in over the years. When I saw that dress, I knew something bad had happened.”

He called police immediately.

Detective Nolan Berea Calls Marilyn

In Buena Park, Marilyn’s phone rang. The caller ID showed “Detective Nolan Berea.”

“Hello Marilyn, it’s Nolan Berea,” he said, his voice measured. “I need you to sit down. We found something. Something related to Charlotte’s case.”

After 20 years of false leads, Marilyn tried to temper her hope. “I don’t need this, Nolan. Every time you find some small thing, it never leads anywhere. I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

“This is different, Marilyn. This is substantial. We need you to come to the scene to identify some items.”

He explained that a farmer had discovered an old suitcase near Disneyland containing a rabbit costume and what appeared to be a child’s dress.

“Marilyn, it looks like the dress Charlotte was wearing that day at the park.”

She agreed to come immediately.

The Identification

At the scene, forensic technicians had laid out the suitcase’s contents on a tarp. Marilyn pulled on gloves, knelt, and lifted the faded, dirt-stained dress.

“This is Charlotte’s dress,” she whispered through tears. “I made it myself. See here — I had to redo this section because I’d measured wrong.”

She examined the decayed rabbit head: yellowed fur, collapsed stuffing, broken mesh eyes. Detective Berea showed her an old photograph — Charlotte beaming beside a rabbit character in front of Sleeping Beauty Castle.

“This costume,” Marilyn said, “it looks different from the one in the photo.”

Disneyland Confirms It’s a Knockoff

Police arranged a meeting at Disneyland’s corporate offices. Costume supervisor Gerald examined the rabbit head and confirmed: “This is definitely hand-sewn. Our costumes use standardized machine stitching. Also, this isn’t even meant to be the White Rabbit — look at the ear shape, the face structure. This is a knockoff of the March Hare.”

A brown tag inside the head confirmed it was not park-issued. Whoever wore it likely was not Disney staff.

Detective Berea concluded, “This was planned. Someone obtained this costume specifically to get close to children at the park.”

Marilyn’s Search for the Maker

Back home, Marilyn couldn’t sit idle. She combed the Yellow Pages for costume shops and noted one nearby: Craraer’s Costume Creations in Santa Ana.

Owner Elias Crara answered the door.

She showed him Polaroid photos of the altered rabbit head, focusing on the brown tag inside. Elias studied them.

“This tag? It’s not mine. But this costume has been altered. See these seam patterns? The way the mouth has been sewn shut, the replaced nose button. Whoever did this wanted to change the expression — make it look sad or maybe even scary.”

Elias disappeared into a back room and returned with glasses frames, a nose button, and a yellowed sketch.

“Years ago someone came in with this sketch. They wanted us to alter a costume to match it. I still had these items in stock. When I saw your photos, it jogged my memory.”

He no longer had paper receipts, but suggested his son Benjamin — who has obsessive-compulsive disorder — might have digitized them.

Benjamin’s Database

Marilyn found Benjamin working at Fresh Fields Grocery in Santa Ana. He confirmed: “Yes, I did. Every single one. Entered them all into Lotus 1-2-3.”

When his shift ended, they sat at a picnic table outside the store. Marilyn showed him the sketch. Benjamin filtered the database for 1970 alterations.

Forty-five minutes later, he stopped. “Here. Look at this.”

The entry dated May 15, 1970 read: “Costume alteration — nose button replacement, spectacles addition, facial seam work, rabbit head measurements 24 in. circumference, 18 in. height.”

The customer: Raul Drifos. Payment method: cash.

The Parking Lot Incident

Before Marilyn could call Berea, a commotion erupted. An elderly man was slamming his car door into hers. His daughter, a woman in her late 20s with light brown hair, tried to stop him.

“I’m so, so sorry,” the woman said, pressing a $20 bill into Marilyn’s hand. On the back was a single word, shaky but clear: “Help.”

The store cashier told Marilyn, “Mr. Drifos doesn’t usually seem that upset. He’s one of our regular customers.”

Marilyn realized: Raul Drifos. And the woman could be Charlotte.

Police Response

Berea arrived with officers, confirmed the name in Benjamin’s database, and traced Drifos’s beige 1984 Ford Crown Victoria to an address in Majesca Canyon. They drove there in convoy.

The house appeared abandoned, but fresh tire tracks led further into the mountains. With daylight fading, they followed the tracks until they reached a locked Forest Service gate.

Berea ordered a lookout on all roads and planned to return in the morning with warrants.

A Voice in the Woods

Driving back down the mountain, Marilyn and Benjamin fell behind the convoy. Pulling over to switch drivers, Marilyn heard a faint shout. She spotted a narrow dirt path and pushed forward, Benjamin following reluctantly.

Through the trees they saw a weathered cabin. Movement inside — a woman entering quickly. The air smelled strongly of gasoline.

“My daughter could be in there,” Marilyn said.

The Cabin and the Arrest

Officers, realizing Marilyn and Benjamin were missing, arrived on the path. Berea ordered them to check the perimeter. From inside the cabin, Raul Drifos emerged.

“I am Raul Drifos,” he said calmly. “I know you’re looking for me.”

As police took him into custody, flames appeared inside. From the cabin came a muffled scream.

“Charlotte! There’s someone in there!” Marilyn yelled.

An officer shouted for bolt cutters. Benjamin volunteered: “I’ll get them! I’m a fast runner.”

He sprinted to the police cars and returned. Without hesitation, he ran into the burning building. Moments later, he emerged supporting a woman — coughing, her hair singed.

Hospital and Confession

At St. Joseph Hospital in Orange, doctors treated Benjamin for second-degree burns and Charlotte for more extensive injuries and smoke damage.

Berea told Marilyn, “Raul Drifos has confessed to everything. He’s dying — lung cancer, stage three. He never sought medical help because he feared exposure.”

Drifos admitted stalking Marilyn and Charlotte in 1970, obtaining the rabbit costume from a storage auction, and luring Charlotte out of the park. He told her Marilyn had died, homeschooled her, and moved her when she saw a missing-person poster at age 12. He denied sexual abuse, and doctors found no physical evidence of it.

Charlotte Speaks

In her hospital room, Charlotte’s voice was weak but clear.

“I missed you so much,” she told Marilyn.

“I never stopped looking,” Marilyn replied.

Charlotte explained: “We went to the old house to clean once a year. When he saw the report about the costume being found, he panicked. That’s why we went to the store for gas.”

She had written “Help” on the $20 bill in the parking lot.

Recognition for the Rescuers

Marilyn introduced Charlotte to Elias and Benjamin Crara.

“They’re the reason we found you,” she told her daughter. “Benjamin risked his life to save you.”

Charlotte looked at him. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Benjamin said.

A nurse offered to take a photo with Marilyn’s Polaroid. The image developed slowly — four faces: two reunited after decades, two who had made it possible.