There’s something deeply unsettling about a long stretch of empty road. Maybe it’s the isolation, the endless horizon, or the creeping sense that no one would hear you scream. It’s a setting horror has returned to again and again—most memorably in the 2001 film Jeepers Creepers, where a brother and sister stumble upon something they were never meant to see: a figure dumping what looks like a body behind an old church, followed by a relentless pursuit from a mysterious truck.
What fewer fans may realize is that the opening sequence of Jeepers Creepers bears a chilling resemblance to a real murder that took place in Michigan over a decade before the film was released. The true story of Dennis DePue and the murder of his wife Marilyn is as brutal as it is bizarre—and shares eerie parallels with the fictional horror it may have inspired.
A Quiet Drive Turns Into a Nightmare
On Easter Sunday, April 15, 1990, Ray and Marie Thornton were driving through the countryside of Coldwater, Michigan—something the couple often did to pass the time on weekends. To amuse themselves, they liked to play a game: creating phrases out of the letters on license plates from passing vehicles.
As they traveled along Snow Prairie Road, a cream-colored Chevy van with maroon stripes sped past them. The license plate began with “GZ,” prompting Marie to glance at Ray and joke, “Geez, he’s in a hurry.”
But just minutes later, they saw the van again—this time parked beside an abandoned schoolhouse. The driver was behind the building, struggling to carry what looked like a blood-stained sheet. Something about the scene immediately felt unnerving to the couple.
But just minutes later, the van reappeared—this time tailgating them aggressively, staying on their bumper for nearly two miles. It was clear the driver had seen them. And he didn’t want witnesses. While the couple weren’t able to get a good look at their aggressor, they were able to make out that the man appeared to be wearing a white skullcap.
Ray eventually turned off the highway, attempting to get away from the van. When he did, the van suddenly and unexpectedly pulled onto the side of the road. But the encounter didn’t sit right with the Thorntons. What had the driver been doing behind the school? And why didn’t he want any witnesses?
Plagued with curiosity, the Thorntons decided to turn around and try to get a better look at the license plate so they could report the driver to the police.
When they returned, they saw the man standing behind his van with the passenger door open. He appeared to be changing the license plates, but as they looked closer, the Thorntons noticed something far more disturbing: the passenger seat was covered in blood.
Uneasy and increasingly alarmed, they drove back to the schoolhouse to take another look. Something about the scene still gnawed at them. Behind the building, they discovered a blood-soaked blanket, partially stuffed into a small animal hole near the foundation. They didn’t know it yet, but they had just stumbled upon the aftermath of a murder.
A Marriage in Decline
To understand what led to the events of that Easter Sunday, it’s necessary to go back to the people at the center of the case: Dennis and Marilyn DePue.
From the outside, the couple seemed to live an unremarkable middle-class life in Coldwater, Michigan. Dennis worked as a property assessor; Marilyn was a high school guidance counselor. They had three children. But the image of domestic stability was a fragile one.
In an interview with Unsolved Mysteries, Julie DePue, the couples oldest daughter, described her parents relationship as “it’s not that they fought all the time, they just didn’t really talk”.
Marilyn’s co-worker Ann Dunkel, also stated that Marilyn would often confide in her that she was “unhappy” and that when she asked Marilyn about why she wanted to get a divorce, she recalled Marilyn saying, ‘The marriage is broken up. There’s no longer a marriage there.’
Around that time, Dennis began to withdraw from the family. He reportedly grew sullen and paranoid, convinced that Marilyn was turning the children against him.
In 1989, after 18 years of marriage, Marilyn filed for divorce.
Her attorney, J. Richard Colbeck, described Dennis as controlling—someone who wanted to run Marilyn’s life and refused to let her make her own decisions. Despite this, Dennis didn’t put up a legal fight. He allowed her custody of the children and most of the property, retaining only access to a guesthouse on the family’s land, which he used as an office. That access, however, became a way for him to maintain an unhealthy grip on his family—despite no longer living there.
The divorce was finalized in December 1989. Dennis had bi-weekly visitation rights, but the children were hesitant to spend time with him. He grew increasingly resentful, convinced that Marilyn was turning them against him. He also began abusing his access to the guesthouse—letting himself into the main house without permission.
Sometimes, Marilyn would come home to find him already inside, sitting on the couch as if he still lived there. Eventually, she was forced to change all the locks.
She wasn’t the only one who saw this change in Dennis, Dennis’s coworkers also noticed disturbing changes in his behavior. One coworker, C. Jan Markowski, recalled Dennis once saying that he was contemplating ‘suicide and murder.'”
Easter Sunday, 1990
The breaking point came just months later.
That morning, Dennis arrived to pick up two of the children for a scheduled visit. The youngest daughter, Julie, had already refused to go. Once inside, the other children were equally reluctant. An argument broke out. Dennis, increasingly agitated, grabbed Marilyn by the throat and accused her of turning the kids against him. Then, in a violent outburst, he threw her down the basement stairs and continued to assault her.
During this time, Julie, ran to a neighbor’s house to call the sheriff’s office, while Dennis attempted to subdue the other children by claiming that he was going to take Marilyn to the hospital.
In the same interview with Unsolved Mysteries, Julie stated that her mother “Wasn’t completely walking on her own” and that it appeared as if Dennis was “holding her up”
Despite Dennis’s claims that he was going to take Marilyn to a nearby hospital, the pair never showed up, prompting the local Sheriff’s office and Michigan state police to began their search for the missing couple.
Instead, Dennis drove into the countryside to dispose of the evidence. That’s when he crossed paths with the Thorntons.
After the Thorntons notified police, investigators returned to the abandoned schoolhouse and found a fresh set of tire tracks—later matched to Dennis DePue’s van—along with a pool of blood where the vehicle had been parked. It was enough to presume the worst.
They didn’t have to wait long for confirmation. The next day, a highway worker discovered Marilyn DePue’s body on a deserted road, halfway between the schoolhouse and her home. She had been shot in the back of the head.
Marilyn’s mother, Betty McClenahen, described the murder as “so brutal and premeditated” that she could never get over it. “If she had been killed in an automobile accident, I could get over it,” she told Unsolved Mysteries. “But not this.”
It’s a jarring quote—but one that speaks to the horror of intention. A fatal accident is a tragedy. A planned execution by someone you once trusted is an entirely different kind of nightmare.
Letters from a Fugitive
In the days following the murder, Dennis DePue vanished—but he didn’t stay silent.
Over the next few months, he sent a series of disturbing letters to friends, family, and former coworkers. In them, he attempted to justify his actions, blaming Marilyn and those around her for what he’d done. In one such letter, he wrote:
“Marilyn had many, many opportunities to treat me fairly during this divorce and she chose to string it out, trick me, lie to me… When you lose your wife, children, and home, there’s not much left. I was too old to start over.”
He sent 17 letters in total, postmarked from places like Virginia, Iowa, and Oklahoma. In each, his sense of grievance deepened—and his grip on reality frayed. One of the most disturbing arrived three months later: a 13-page, 5,000-word manifesto filled with twisted scripture and self-pitying rationalizations.
“I realize that vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” he wrote. “But sometimes the Lord is too busy doing other things.”
“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a lie for a lie, a life for a life.”
Despite the letters, police were unable to track him down. Dennis DePue remained a fugitive.
A Face on Television
For nearly a year, Dennis DePue vanished into the background noise of America. No sightings. No arrests. The trail had gone cold—until his face appeared on national television.
It was March 20, 1991, when Unsolved Mysteries aired a segment detailing the murder of Marilyn DePue and the ongoing search for her killer. That same night, at a house just outside Dallas, Texas, a woman—identified only as Mary—returned home to find her boyfriend, Hank Queen, acting strange. He told her his mother was gravely ill and that he needed to leave immediately. As she made him sandwiches for the road, he quietly packed up his belongings—clothes, documents, anything personal. Not the sort of packing you do for a weekend trip. Mary later told Unsolved Mysteries, “I knew I’d never see him again.”
While Mary wasn’t the one who called into the show, a friend of hers did. As she watched the broadcast, she recognized Hank Queen for who he really was: Dennis DePue. She gave Unsolved Mysteries the Texas license plate number of his van, and just hours later, law enforcement traced it to Louisiana.
What happened next wasn’t just a traffic stop—it was a final act of desperation.
Louisiana State Troopers spotted the van and attempted to pull him over. DePue didn’t stop. Instead, he led police on a 15-mile high-speed chase, breaking through two police barricades in the process. The pursuit continued across the Mississippi state line, where Warren County Sheriff Paul Barrett and his deputies joined in.
Officers were given a direct order: if he refused to stop, shoot out his tires. When he didn’t pull over, they opened fire—hitting both of the back tires.
Even with flattened tires, DePue kept driving for another half-mile before finally coming to a stop. What followed was not surrender.
From inside the van, DePue fired two shots through the windshield, aimed at the officers. Then another shot—this time through an open side window. No one was hit. But the message was clear.
And then, he turned the gun on himself.
According to Sheriff Barrett, “I think he intended to die—whether he had to do it by his own hands or get us to kill him. Otherwise, he would’ve stopped and we’d have gotten him out of the van alive. There never would’ve been a shot fired.”
Real Horror Doesn’t Need a Mask
Jeepers Creepers gave its killer wings, fangs, and a hunger for flesh. But the real story didn’t need any of that. The real story was already terrifying. A failed marriage. A man unraveling. A van. A schoolhouse. A body dumped in the dirt.
Dennis DePue wasn’t a demon from the underworld. He wasn’t ancient, or supernatural. He was just a man—a man who thought the world owed him something, and when it didn’t, he made sure someone paid for it.
There’s no comfort in a story like this. No justice, no clean ending. Just another reminder that real horror doesn’t always come with a jump scare. Sometimes, it drives a van and wears a skullcap. Sometimes, it lives in the guesthouse.
