On a balmy day in June, 1983, the Space Shuttle Challenger lifted off from Launch Complex 39 in Titusville, Florida. While launches had become a regular event since the advent of the shuttle program, the Challenger was unique this day in that carried on board not just human beings but the hopes and dreams of an entire generation of young women. Among the crew was Sally Ride, a thirty-two-year old physicist and the first American woman to go into space.

It's just after midnight, I'm tied to a chair in Eli Roth's basement, and I'm about to die. Had I listened to my friends, I might not be in this situation. They'd heard the rumors and were more than eager to share them with me in hushed whispers over our free-trade soy lattes and organic quinoa wraps: That he was a woman-hating blood-freak, a mindless gorehound so wrapped up in his own lust for violence that I'd be lucky to escape his abode with my limbs intact and none of me consumed.

Sometimes, love goes on even after death. Sometimes, so does crazy; and, sometimes, the two are indistinguishable. Therein lies the appeal in the twisted tale of Carl Tanzler, aka Carl von Cosel, AKA Dr. von Cosel, AKA Count von Cosel, an early 20th century man of intrigue who rivals the Most Interesting Man in the World for the strangest life in the world: Before he turned fifty, the German national had lived in India and Australia, owned an entire island, been imprisoned in a POW camp, attempted to build his own plane, and mastered the organ.