Sanatorium Hill — Madison, Wisconsin

When Treatment Ends but the Building Doesn’t.

Madison likes to present itself as thoughtful. Educated. Reasonable. Which is exactly why Sanatorium Hill works so well as a horror story. It doesn’t clash with the city’s self-image — it hides inside it. The hill once housed a tuberculosis sanatorium, a place built with good intentions and bad outcomes, where people were isolated “for treatment” and quietly removed from the public eye. Recovery was optional. Disappearance was not.

The building itself is gone now, which is convenient. What remains is worse. Locals report footsteps on paths that lead nowhere, voices carried on the wind when the trees are perfectly still, and the persistent sensation of being followed uphill — not aggressively, just… patiently. People don’t describe fear so much as correction. Like they’re somewhere they forgot they weren’t supposed to be anymore.

This wasn’t a place of violence. It was a place of management. Patients were kept away from families, routines enforced, emotions minimized. That kind of environment doesn’t explode into hauntings — it condenses. Over time, the hill learned what the building was built for: containment. And when the structure was torn down, the function stayed. You don’t demolish purpose. You relocate it.

Walk the trails near dusk and the forest behaves differently. Sounds flatten. Distances feel misjudged. Some say they smell antiseptic. Others swear they hear coughing just beyond the trees, rhythmic and controlled, like someone trained themselves not to be loud. No apparitions. No spectacle. Just the unmistakable sense that the hill is still doing its job.

Sanatorium Hill doesn’t want attention. It wants compliance. Move along. Don’t linger. Don’t ask questions. Madison is very good at pretending this is normal. The hill is very good at reminding you it isn’t.

New haunted hometowns arrive every Wednesday.
If your town has a place everyone agrees not to talk about, tell me where it is.
Erasure is just another form of preservation. —F.

The Five Fishermen — Halifax, Nova Scotia

Some Buildings Learn What You’re Made Of.

Halifax doesn’t posture. It doesn’t need to. It has the Atlantic, centuries of loss, and a climate that encourages people to mind their business. Which is why The Five Fishermen is so effective as a haunting. It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t need a legend to prop it up. The building simply carries weight—and if you’re paying attention, it lets you feel it.

Before it was a restaurant, it was a funeral home. Not symbolically. Literally. Bodies were prepared here, including victims recovered from the Titanic disaster. That’s not folklore; that’s documented history. The problem with places like this isn’t the tragedy itself—it’s the continuity. The building never stopped being a place where endings were processed. It just changed the menu.

Staff report voices where there shouldn’t be any, doors opening and closing on their own, and the unmistakable sensation of being followed through empty rooms. Not threatened. Followed. Plates shift. Glassware rattles. People feel hands on their backs when no one is there. There’s also a recurring detail I find more interesting than the usual theatrics: employees say the activity gets worse when the building is quiet. As if whatever’s there prefers privacy.

I don’t believe the Five Fishermen is haunted because of the Titanic. That’s too easy, too cinematic. I think it’s haunted because it was designed to be transitional. A place between states. Between living and dead. When you build something to hold grief long enough, it doesn’t evaporate—it settles. And when you repurpose that space without acknowledging what it was built to do, you don’t erase the function. You just confuse it.

There’s a reason the activity isn’t aggressive. Whatever remains here doesn’t need to scare you. It already knows how fragile you are. The building has seen worse. You’re just another warm body passing through, briefly convincing yourself that history stays where it belongs.

New haunted hometowns arrive every Wednesday.
If your city has a place that feels heavier than it should, tell me where to look.
Some rooms don’t forget what they were built for. —F.

Helen’s Bridge — Asheville, North Carolina

Some Grief Doesn’t Stay Where You Leave It.

Asheville sells itself as charming. Mountain air, old stone, creative energy. That’s fine. What it doesn’t advertise is Helen’s Bridge — a narrow, moss-covered span tucked into the woods like it’s trying not to be found. You don’t stumble onto it by accident. You end up there because curiosity beat judgment, and now you’re negotiating with the dark.

The story everyone tells is tidy: a woman named Helen lost her child in a fire, lost her mind shortly after, and hanged herself from the bridge. People say if you call her name at night, she answers. Children cry. A woman appears. It’s a narrative designed to be repeated. The problem is the behavior of the place doesn’t match the script. Visitors report pressure changes, cars stalling, sudden nausea, and the sensation of being evaluated — not haunted, not followed, but measured. That’s not grief. That’s presence.

Locals claim scratch marks appear on cars parked nearby. Some swear handprints show up on windows, too small to belong to adults. Others say the bridge hums — not audibly, but internally, like your nervous system picked up a frequency your ears can’t. The woods around it go quiet in a way that feels intentional. No birds. No wind. Silence with posture. The kind that makes you aware of how much noise you make.

I don’t think Helen’s Bridge is about a woman or a child. I think it’s about convergence — grief, ritual, repetition. People go there expecting something to happen, and expectation is fuel. Call a name into the dark enough times and eventually something answers. The bridge doesn’t demand belief. It rewards attention. And attention, in places like this, is a form of consent.

Asheville may dress this site up as a ghost story, but bridges have always been thresholds. Crossings. Agreements. You don’t visit Helen’s Bridge to learn what happened there. You visit to see what still responds. And if you’re smart, you don’t stay long enough to find out why.

New haunted hometowns arrive every Wednesday.
If your town has a place people avoid without admitting why, tell me.
Some legends survive because they’re still useful. —F.

Hometown Horror: Villa Park, Illinois

Villa Park is one of my hometowns. I grew up about a block away on Myrtle Avenue, close enough to the old Ovaltine Factory that it became part of the mental landscape. When something massive and industrial exists that near you for long enough, you stop seeing it as abandoned. You start seeing it as unaddressed.

In the early ’90s, I got a telescope for Christmas. The kind of gift that’s supposed to open the universe to a kid. I couldn’t see stars—light pollution, cheap optics—but I did see something else: lights on inside the factory. Regular lights. On multiple floors. This was a building everyone agreed was abandoned. My parents didn’t debate it. They called the police. The response we got was unsettlingly casual: there were possibly homeless individuals inside, maybe starting fires. That explanation didn’t fit what I saw. Fires flicker. These were lights—deliberate, consistent, architectural.

A few months later, Villa Park residents received a community alert. Satanic rituals were reportedly being performed in the building. Police followed up through different channels over time, confirming arrests and prosecutions involving people bringing animals into the factory for sacrifice. This wasn’t a single rumor mutating online—this was law enforcement, repeatedly, saying yes, something is happening in there. Around the same time, the town’s underground mythology surfaced again: stories of rituals, symbols, and a ghost said to belong to a boy stabbed in the underground catacombs rumored to run from the Ovaltine Factory to York High School in Elmhurst.

I don’t pretend to know how much of that is literally true. I do know how memory works. I know how communities behave when something doesn’t fit the model they’re comfortable with. The factory didn’t decay theatrically. It endured. People who explored it later reported shadows moving where light couldn’t reach, footsteps echoing through sealed sections, and a low mechanical hum long after power was officially dead. No screams. No pleading apparitions. Just motion without permission. Activity without a narrative.

What makes the Ovaltine Factory disturbing isn’t the idea of ritual or ghosts—it’s the pattern. Lights where there shouldn’t be lights. Stories that didn’t come from one source but many. Police involvement that never fully resolved the situation, just contained it. Growing up that close, you don’t romanticize it. You internalize it. You learn early that some places persist beyond purpose, and when they do, they don’t go away—they get used.

Villa Park likes order. Predictability. Clean explanations. The factory never offered one. It just stood there, adjacent to normal life, daring everyone to keep walking past it. And most people did. That’s the real lesson. Not that something evil lived there—but that everyone learned how not to look.

New haunted hometowns arrive every Wednesday.

If you want me to examine your town the same way, say the word.

What we normalize is usually the problem. —F.

Morris Hill Cemetery — Boise, Idaho

When the ground remembers louder than the people above it.

Boise isn’t the kind of place you expect nightmares from—nice weather, mountain backdrop, tourists with cameras. But that’s exactly why Morris Hill Cemetery throws you off. It sits like a quiet ledger of everything the city park brochures don’t mention: poisonings, rock slides, consumption, anonymous graves stacked since 1882. Idaho Haunted Houses+1 I’ve been around enough cemeteries to know when bleakness is contrived and when it isn’t. This one isn’t pretending.

The trees hang low. The road around the older section creaks like it remembers footsteps that never stopped. Visitors report odd sensations—a breeze when there shouldn’t be one, a cricket-sized insect that hops at your heel so precisely it feels like reconnaissance. Idaho Haunted Houses+1 One ghost-hunter claimed his REM pod triggered so much he thought it broke. The detail that screws with me most? The cemetery doesn’t seem haunted by tragedy. It’s haunted by frailty. The dead died quietly, horribly, and still no one marketed the hell out of it.

What makes a place truly unsettling isn’t the scream—it’s when something accepts its job and never clocks out. Morris Hill is like that. No dramatic apparitions, no bold flickers of light—just persistent omission. A mother buried in a fenced grave, later someone’s photo proves she was there taking pics…and started crying uncontrollably. Idaho Haunted Houses+1 You see the pattern: death by neglect and decay, not by spectacle. It respects no closure. It’s simply there. Waiting.

I don’t believe in hauntings because of ghosts. I believe in places that treat people like data points. This cemetery isn’t active because the dead won’t rest—it’s active because the living haven’t left. The caretakers, the tourists, the kids taking prom pics among iron fences—they all feed it. And it feeds back. If you wander that ground at dusk, you may feel eyes on your back. It’s not watching you because it hates you. It’s watching because you should feel watched. Indifference is worse than malice.

New haunted hometowns every Wednesday.
You think your town hides something worse? Let me know.
Comfort is a lie the living tell themselves. —F.

The Witch’s Castle — Portland, Oregon

Where Irony Outlived the Architect.

Full disclosure: I’ve never been to Portland. But from what I’ve seen, I’d probably hate it. The whole “look how weird we are” branding feels like performance art that ran too long without a director. A city run by people who think self-awareness counts as substance. The kind of place where irony is currency, and everyone’s allergic to sincerity. Oregon itself, though — that’s a different story. The state is beautiful. Real forests. Real silence. Places that don’t feel the need to tweet about it.

And hidden in one of those forests is The Witch’s Castle — a moss-drenched ruin in Forest Park that manages to be creepier than the entire city it hides under. Officially, it’s the remains of an old stone house built in the 1800s, tied to a family murder that metastasized into legend. But unofficially, it’s where Portland’s bored wanderers go to cosplay darkness. The irony is that they’re right — the place is dark. Just not the kind you can hashtag.

Locals report laughter in the trees, footsteps pacing the edge of the clearing, and whispers that follow long after the trail ends. The deeper you go, the colder it gets, as if the ruin is stealing heat just to keep something alive down there. The architecture feels predatory — narrow corridors, vanishing corners, doorways that look too intentional for a ruin. The story everyone repeats — a witch, a curse, a vengeful spirit — is the least interesting part. The real danger is how the forest behaves like it’s tired of accommodating visitors.

I don’t believe in witches. I believe in territory. Some places reject intrusion. The Witch’s Castle doesn’t need to scare you — it just lets you know you’re irrelevant. It’s the opposite of Portland itself: completely devoid of self-importance. Just quiet, ancient resentment covered in moss.

New haunted hometowns every Wednesday.
If your town hides something better, I’ll find it.
Some places fake depth. Others bury you in it. —F.

Casey Moore’s Oyster House — Tempe / Phoenix, Arizona

The Kind of Haunt That Still Takes Reservations.

Phoenix doesn’t do haunted castles or foggy forests — it does sunlight, stucco, and denial. Which makes Casey Moore’s Oyster House an anomaly. The place has survived decades of college drunks, professors, and hangovers, but ask any employee who’s stayed after close, and they’ll tell you the same thing: the bar doesn’t like being empty.

The story goes that a young woman was murdered upstairs decades ago, back when the place doubled as a boarding house. But the evidence isn’t neat — just fragments of testimony, whispered jokes, and the occasional guest who felt a hand on their shoulder when the room was vacant. Glasses clink. Chairs drag. Light fixtures sway. Nothing cinematic. Just small, mechanical signals that something upstairs hasn’t accepted the end of its shift.

I’ve been to Casey’s. It feels normal, which is exactly the problem. The air is too still, the rooms too symmetrical. There’s a faint pressure, as if the walls are listening. Staff claim to hear arguments after midnight — quiet but deliberate, like a couple revisiting the same fight on loop. Some say it’s residual energy. Others say it’s the house keeping conversation alive. Both theories underestimate how patient the dead can be when they have tenure.

The best stories aren’t the violent ones. They’re the places that simply refuse to stop functioning. Casey’s doesn’t want attention. It wants participation — new voices, new movements, anything to keep the sequence unbroken. A haunting disguised as continuity. And that’s what makes it dangerous: it feels welcoming right up until it starts answering back.

New haunted hometowns every Wednesday.
Comment your city — maybe your ghosts want to be seen.
Never assume the living run the establishment. —F.

The Wilder Mansion — Elmhurst, Illinois

The Familiar Haunting of a Place That Should Feel Safe.

I’ve lived enough years between Elmhurst, Addison, and Villa Park to know the quiet suburbs have their own breed of dread — polite, manicured, and pretending it doesn’t exist. Elmhurst especially likes to package its history in neat, municipal narratives: good schools, safe streets, and the occasional art fair masquerading as culture. That’s what makes the Wilder Mansion interesting. It’s the one place in town that feels like it remembers what everyone else is trying to forget.

It’s a beautiful building — stately, symmetrical, aggressively well-preserved. Too perfect to be trustworthy. Once a private estate, later a library, now a venue for fundraisers and photo ops. Beneath the renovations, people have reported footsteps overhead when the upper floors were locked, mirrors that delay before giving back a reflection, and a piano that occasionally plays one note — never a melody, just a pulse. Precision without emotion. If this place is haunted, it’s by something organized.

During a renovation, workers found scorch marks beneath newer floorboards — no record of a fire, no explanation, just evidence of something burned and buried. One electrician left the job after hearing humming from behind a sealed wall. He said it sounded human, but disciplined — like someone keeping time. I believe him. The Wilder Mansion doesn’t dramatize. It doesn’t even warn. It observes.

Elmhurst doesn’t do gothic decay. It does maintenance. Everything here gets polished, repainted, explained away. But Wilder is different. It’s patient. It listens. It feels like the building itself is conducting a long-term study on the people who walk through its doors — as though remembering is its primary function. I’ve always said ghosts aren’t tragic; they’re persistent systems with bad data integrity.

New haunted hometowns every Wednesday.
Want yours dissected next? Say the word.
Familiar places can be the most predatory. —F.

La Carafe — Houston, Texas

Oldest Building. Oldest Ghost.

When you stroll into the bar La Carafe in downtown Houston — built in 1847, surviving fires, rebuilds, bad whiskey and worse decisions — you expect time-worn liquor. You don’t expect to feel watched by someone who used to pour it. Yet, patrons whisper of a ghost named “Carl” who doesn’t just haunt the walls — he haunts the service. Glasses tip. Cash registers open. Chairs move sideways. He’s not hiding. He’s waiting for you to notice.

The building is one of Houston’s oldest commercial structures. According to local haunt-hunters, Carl is joined by another presence upstairs: a child’s laughter, the bounce of a phantom ball when no one else is in the room. US Ghost Adventures+2Secret Houston+2 What I find interesting here is the shift: from “something trapped” to “something appointed.” Carl isn’t stuck. He’s chosen a station — behind the bar. And it means business if you cross into his zone.

Walk to the second-floor window after closing. Some bartenders swear they’ve seen a figure standing there, silhouetted in the dim street-lights. A watcher. Not an accident. Maybe one of the earliest patrons of a ghost club that didn’t yet know it was haunted. When the building was a bakery, then a hair salon, then whatever the hell Houston turned it into, this presence stayed. I like to imagine Carl’s bar shift never ended. And now he’s waiting for his last call.

If you dig deeper, you’ll find the bar rests above old market square bones. Layers of history, commerce, loss. These places are easy to dismiss as quaint. But when you’re alone, after closing, lights low, and you hear the register click — you’ll know. These aren’t echoes. They’re obligations. Carl still serves. He still expects a tab. And you’re the guest who didn’t pay. Make sure you say hi to Stormphrog too. 

New haunted hometowns every Wednesday.
Think your town’s haunted? Want it in the ledger? Comment below — I’ll see it.
Don’t mistake silence for safety. —F.

The Grey Librarian — Arlington Heights, Illinois

She Never Left Her Post

Some hauntings lash out. This one simply observes. The Arlington Heights Memorial Library has long been the subject of quiet rumors — not the childish “books falling off shelves” kind, but something colder. Staff who close up after hours report the same sensation: being evaluated. As if the rows of archived silence have grown tired of being read, and decided to start reading back.

They call her the Grey Librarian — not because of her dress, but because her presence drains every color out of the room. No one claims to see her directly. Instead, they notice changes. Elevator doors opening to an empty basement floor that was never called. The soft pad of footsteps between stacks long after the last patron has left. A chair slightly turned… toward where you’re standing. She isn’t tragic. She isn’t violent. She is dutiful. She has not abandoned her post.

One former employee swore they heard pages turning in a dark reading room — not scattered pages, but deliberate turns. As if someone were still cataloguing. Another described the heavy certainty that if they spoke aloud, someone would shush them. But here’s the detail that never makes the local newsletters: the Grey Librarian is not replaying a moment. She is engaged. You don’t terrify a presence like this. You interrupt it.

This is not a ghost caught in memory. This is a sentinel. Watching for something — or someone — out of place. And if she fixates on you, understand this: she does not want you gone. She wants you remembered. Permanently. In the kind of archive you don’t walk away from.

New haunted hometowns arrive every Wednesday.
If you want your town on this ledger, comment it. Just don’t ask me to help if something answers back.
Don’t mistake silence for safety. —F.

The Hermitage Ruins — Ancaster, Ontario

Where the Ruins Remember You Back

From a distance, the Hermitage Ruins look like history — charred stone, tangled ivy, the bones of a mansion left to rot. But step inside the perimeter, and it stops feeling archaeological. It feels observant. A forest can ignore you. The Hermitage does not. It studies. It waits. It adapts. The locals of Ancaster call it romantic. Those who’ve heard footsteps behind them when no one else was there have another word: awake.

They tell the polite version — a forbidden romance, a coachman’s suicide, a lady of the house perishing in a fire. Tragic, cinematic, almost comforting. But the reports don’t speak of sorrow. They speak of mimicry. Visitors hear pacing in the leaves beside them, perfectly in sync, stopping when they stop. Some catch a figure through the broken archways — not drifting like a memory, but standing still, facing them, as if interrupted. Intelligent hauntings don’t loop. They anticipate.

One woman claimed she heard soft weeping beyond the ruins and followed it, only to realize it wasn’t calling for help — it was leading. Another man swears he saw someone pass briefly through what used to be a doorway, but the form vanished before it touched shadow. The house is gone. The floor, gone. And yet something still travels its blueprint, room to room, as if it refuses to accept the evacuation order of fire.

This place is not content with being remembered. It wants to be acknowledged. It doesn't feed on belief — belief flatters it. What it wants is interaction. Recognition. And if you give it too much attention, it gives you something back: the dreadful suspicion that it now knows you. Places like this don’t haunt. They hunt for repetition.

New haunted hometowns rise every Wednesday.
Want me to peel back your town next? Comment it. I read everything.
Don’t mistake silence for safety. —F.

White Cemetery & Cuba Road

Where Grief Walks Without a Face

Most roads get quieter at night. Cuba Road doesn’t. It behaves like it’s waiting. Just outside Arlington Heights, it loops past White Cemetery, a place too small to justify how many people refuse to speak about it. There are no theatrics here — no guided tours, no docents selling EMF keychains. It’s the kind of haunt that doesn’t perform. It simply exists.

The legend is always simplified as: “There’s a lady in white.” Which is inaccurate. There is a figure that wears white, yes — but she is not porcelain-tragic or poetic. She has no face. Witnesses report a human silhouette but with the facial features scraped clean, like grief erased identity. She doesn’t reach. She doesn’t scream. She watches. And something primordial in the human brain understands: this is not meant to be observed.

Then there’s the phantom car — black, silent, often appearing behind you in the mirror. Tailgating. Matching your speed. No license, no lights. Try to confront it and it evaporates into the treeline like it was never made of matter at all. Paranormal crews have reported footsteps circling them through the gravestones, but no gravel disturbed. One even claimed the cemetery gate opened inward for them — amusing, considering that particular iron gate has no hinges.

There is no once-upon-a-time tragedy here. No named curse. And that is exactly what makes White Cemetery worse than theatrical haunts: there's no narrative to solve. No redemption arc. Just persistence. Cuba Road doesn’t want believers. It wants witnesses.

New haunted hometowns drop every Wednesday.
Want yours dissected? Comment it. Don’t worry — I’ll see it.
Don’t mistake silence for safety. —F.

Shadow People: Encounter at a Kentucky Gas Station

Kentucky, 2023. David Thompson, a trucker, pulled into a small, roadside gas station at 3 a.m., looking to fill his tank. But he wasn’t alone. As he stepped out, he saw them—shadowy figures moving around the station, their forms so dark they seemed to swallow the light. One even approached him, stopping just out of reach before vanishing into thin air. His encounter, one of the many reports from people experiencing shadow people in the region, suggests a deeper mystery. Are these manifestations of sleep paralysis, or something else entirely? Experts speculate that shadow people could be a psychological construct, but David's account left everyone wondering: if it was a trick of the mind, why was it so vividly real? -Frank

Source: Coast to Coast AM - Shadow People

Poltergeist Activity: The Strange Case of the Cardiff Poltergeist

If you thought poltergeists only made appearances in over-the-top Hollywood films, think again. In Cardiff, Wales, last year, the Cardiff Poltergeist became the talk of paranormal forums. For weeks, objects began flying off shelves in a house previously thought to be ordinary. Family members witnessed lights flickering uncontrollably and furniture moving on its own. Paranormal experts from the Society for Psychical Research were called in, and what they uncovered was an intriguing mix of psychokinesis and suppressed emotional energy. No matter what the cause, the event reignited debate over the true nature of poltergeist activity—whether it’s spirits or the mind itself unleashing its fury. Let us know if you’d be interested in us doing a topic/episode about this one. -Frank 

Source: The Guardian - Cardiff Poltergeist

Places that shouldn’t exist. Or did… temporarily

Catching up on some Pokémon Emerald, and I’ve been waiting for that damned island to appear. I’m not sure it ever will, however… It got me to thinking about places that have appeared, then disappeared. Not a mirage, illusion, or hallucination like in Pokémon, but I decided to take a look at some real life instances. Here’s what I found. Several eerie accounts of places that shouldn't exist, along with documented instances of people encountering such places:

The Vanishing Cave: A group of friends found a deep cave along the Niagara Escarpment that they had never seen before. The cave was unusually cold and clean, and inside they felt as if they were being touched by unseen hands. They left after losing track of three hours, but when they returned with flashlights, they could never find the cave again​ (RoughMaps)​.

The Ghost Music Store: A musician discovered a music store in his town that he had never seen before. Inside, he found and purchased a bass guitar. When he returned a week later, the store was empty and appeared to have been closed for a long time​ (RoughMaps)​.

The Disappearing ATM: One person guided his roommate to an ATM to withdraw money, but when they tried to find it again a few days later, the ATM was gone, replaced by a blank wall. Even the roommate was baffled by the disappearance​ (did you know?)​.

The Spooky Lighthouse: In a seaside town, an offshore decommissioned lighthouse sometimes illuminates at random late nights despite being locked and without utilities. By the time anyone investigates, the light has stopped, and the cause remains a mystery​ (did you know?)​.

The Phantom Town: A driver found himself in a dense fog and his car broke down in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. He decided to sleep in the car until morning. When he woke up, he found himself in the main street of a small town that hadn't been there the night before. The town disappeared from maps, and he never found it again​ (RoughMaps)​.

These stories contribute to the spooky atmosphere surrounding places that defy explanation, suggesting that there may be locations and phenomena that challenge our understanding of reality. Have you ever seen anything like this? Reach out, and let us know!

https://www.roughmaps.com/travel/people-share-their-unexplained-stories-of-being-in-a-place-that-shouldnt-exist/

https://didyouknowfacts.com/17-creepy-stories-about-places-that-shouldnt-exist/

The Tunguska event of 1908: Today in History

In the remote Siberian wilderness, a celestial symphony played out on June 30, 1908, leaving an indelible mark on the Earth. The Tunguska Event, a cosmic enigma wrapped in the silence of the taiga, unfolded as a celestial visitor clashed with our planet in a display of unimaginable power.

The Cosmic Ballet: As the sun dipped below the horizon, a blinding light erupted over the vast Tunguska region. The air crackled with an otherworldly energy as a celestial object, presumed to be a comet or asteroid, hurtled toward Earth. In a cosmic ballet unseen by human eyes, the intruder collided with our atmosphere, unleashing a cataclysmic explosion.

The Forest's Silent Embrace: The force of the impact, estimated to be equivalent to several megatons of TNT, flattened approximately 80 million trees over an area of 2,150 square kilometers. The once-thriving taiga fell into a stunned silence, the echoes of the celestial intrusion reverberating through the stillness.

Theories in the Whispering Winds:

1. Cometary Collision: One prevailing theory suggests that a comet, composed of icy and volatile materials, entered the Earth's atmosphere. The intense heat generated during its descent caused the comet to disintegrate explosively before reaching the ground.

2. Nikolai Vladimirovich Vasiliev's Black Hole Hypothesis: In the realm of unconventional theories, scientist Nikolai Vladimirovich Vasiliev proposed the existence of a small black hole colliding with Earth. While this theory lacks widespread support, it adds an intriguing layer to the speculative tapestry surrounding the Tunguska Event.

3. The Tunguska UFO Hypothesis: Some theories entertain the notion that the Tunguska Event was caused by the crash of an extraterrestrial spacecraft. This speculative idea, while captivating, lacks concrete evidence and is considered highly unlikely by mainstream scientific communities.

Sources:

1. Contemporary Reports: Eyewitness accounts from locals and early expeditions provide insights into the immediate aftermath of the Tunguska Event.

2. Scientific Investigations: Ongoing studies by scientists, including those conducted by the Tunguska Space Phenomenon Public State Fund, contribute to our understanding of the event and its implications.

3. Comprehensive Research Papers: Papers published in scientific journals, such as those in the International Journal of Astrobiology, present detailed analyses of the Tunguska Event based on modern scientific methodologies.

As the whispers of the Tunguska Event linger in the Siberian winds, the cosmic mystery endures, inviting explorers and scientists to unravel the secrets hidden within the heart of the taiga.

Why “Paranormal Evidence” cannot usually be verified, and why most of it is faked.

We’ve recently discussed this in some episodes. I’d love to open a discord about why I personally feel we should consider most “proof” of the paranormal fake.
Verifying the authenticity of photos and videos of paranormal events is challenging due to several factors:

Technological Manipulation: With advances in photo and video editing software, it has become increasingly easy to manipulate media. Programs like Photoshop and After Effects allow users to create highly realistic but entirely fake images and videos. This makes it difficult for even experts to distinguish between genuine and altered content without thorough forensic analysis​ (National Science and Media Museum)​​ (Smithsonian Magazine)​.

Psychological Factors: The power of suggestion and expectation can heavily influence what people believe they see. Studies have shown that individuals are more likely to report supernatural occurrences if they are primed to expect them. This can lead to a confirmation bias, where ambiguous or natural phenomena are misinterpreted as paranormal​ (Smithsonian Magazine)​.

Environmental Conditions: Various natural and environmental factors can create sensations or illusions that people might perceive as paranormal. For example, infrasound—sound waves below the range of human hearing—can cause feelings of anxiety and unease, and even visual hallucinations. Unusual electromagnetic fields can similarly affect perception, leading to sensations of a presence or unusual visual phenomena​ (Smithsonian Magazine)​.

Scientific Investigations: Historical attempts to scientifically investigate paranormal phenomena have often found natural explanations for what initially seemed supernatural. For instance, carbon monoxide poisoning has been identified as a cause of hallucinations and ghostly experiences in some well-documented cases. These investigations often reveal mundane causes behind seemingly mysterious events​ (Smithsonian Magazine)​.

Sleep Paralysis: Many reports of ghost sightings occur during sleep paralysis, a state where the body is temporarily unable to move while falling asleep or waking up. This condition can cause vivid and terrifying hallucinations, including the sensation of an evil presence in the room. This physiological explanation accounts for many experiences people attribute to the paranormal​ (Smithsonian Magazine)​.

These points illustrate why most accounts of paranormal events are likely to be misinterpretations, fakes, or natural phenomena rather than evidence of actual supernatural occurrences.

https://www.scienceandmediamuseum.org.uk/objects-and-stories/science-investigating-paranormal

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/five-scientific-explanations-spooky-sensations-180973436/

Frank

The Wild Number of People who go Missing in Alaska

People going missing in Alaska is a significant and mysterious phenomenon, particularly in an area known as the Alaska Triangle. Since the 1970s, an estimated 20,000 people have vanished in this region, which spans from Anchorage to Juneau and Utqiagvik. The disappearances include prominent figures like U.S. House Majority Leader Hale Boggs and Congressman Nick Begich, whose plane vanished in 1972 without a trace despite an extensive search effort.

Several theories attempt to explain these disappearances. Some suggest natural dangers such as treacherous terrain, extreme weather, and hidden crevasses in glaciers. Others propose more supernatural explanations, including sightings of UFOs, cryptid creatures like Bigfoot, and indigenous legends of shape-shifting beings known as Kushtaka. Additionally, there are speculations about electromagnetic anomalies that disrupt navigation and induce disorientation in travelers​ (The Jerusalem Post)​​ (Horror Bound)​.

These disappearances and the eerie explanations contribute to the spooky reputation of the Alaska Triangle, drawing comparisons to the infamous Bermuda Triangle. The combination of vast wilderness, potential supernatural elements, and unsolved cases of missing persons creates an aura of mystery and fear around this region of Alaska​ (The Jerusalem Post)​​ (Horror Bound)​.

https://www.jpost.com/omg/article-774019

https://www.horrorbound.net/blog/2019/10/29/alaskan-triangle

Frank

What is CE-5?

What is CE-5? What does it stand for? How do you do it? Are there benefits or risks? As some of you may remember Jessiy talked about this on a previous episode, so here are some answers to these question in case you missed the episode. What is CE-5? CE-5 stands for Close Encounters of the Fifth Kind. J Alan Hynek created the classifications for different ufo and Extraterrestrial contact and sightings. Close encounters of the first kind is when you see a craft or ufo in the sky. Close encounters of the second kind is when you see evidence of it or physical proof such as a crop circle or radiation. Close encounters of the third kind is not just an amazing movie, but it stands for when you see the occupants of the ufo outside of the ufo. Close encounters of the fourth kind is when someone is taken aboard an extra terrestrial craft. Close encounters of the fifth kind is human initiated contact. When humans try to contact extra terrestrials. Dr Steven Greer coined that term back in the 70;s.

How do you do a CE-5? Dr Steven Greer created these protocols for humans to try an contact our star brothers and sisters. There is an app called CE-5 that you can download onto your phone or computer and there are steps to follow as well as photos and videos that show examples of real contact. There are also examples of what satellites look like or meteors so there is no confusion as to if you are seeing a ufo or not. There is also a messaging section so people can network and find others that live in their area so you can form your own CE5 group. Each group does their CE5’s differently. So find the right group of people for you and give it a try.

The benefits of doing CE5s are plenty. You can end up seeing some amazing things you did not think possible. People have been healed at CE5 events. People form unbreakable bonds with each other and with other non human entities. The best advice that Jessiy has is to not have fear. Would you want to be around people that are scared of you? Probably not. If you start doing CE5s make sure you are ready and do not have fear just in case you are joined by a being that is not human. If you would like more information on this topic the film Close Encounters of the Fifth Kind is a great place to start. Good luck and have a fun.

The anniversary of “The Exorcist”

Today in history, we celebrate the release of “The Exorcist” March 16th 1973

In the dimly lit corridors of cinematic history, "The Exorcist" emerged as a spine-chilling masterpiece, a tale of demonic possession that transcended the silver screen. Yet, beneath the veneer of terror, the film's production was marked by an eerie series of events that seemed to echo the supernatural horrors depicted in its frames.

The Birth of a Cinematic Nightmare: In the early 1970s, director William Friedkin brought William Peter Blatty's novel "The Exorcist" to life, weaving a narrative that delved into the realms of faith, fear, and the demonic. As the cameras rolled, the set itself became an atmospheric cauldron, with unsettling incidents and unexplained occurrences casting an ominous shadow over the production.

The Macabre Specter of Death: Regrettably, the making of "The Exorcist" was marred by a series of untimely deaths that seemed to mirror the film's ominous themes. Actress Ellen Burstyn suffered a painful back injury during a possessed scene, mirroring the torment of her character. The unsettling synchronicity extended to other cast and crew members who faced unexpected health issues during filming.

The Tragic Demise of Jack MacGowran: The most poignant chapter of this dark tale unfolded with the death of Jack MacGowran, who portrayed Burke Dennings in the film. MacGowran's life met a premature end due to complications from influenza. His passing cast a somber pall over the set, leaving an indelible mark on the production and creating an unsettling connection between reality and the film's supernatural narrative.

The Exorcist's Curse or Coincidence?: While these incidents unfolded, speculation arose about a purported curse attached to the film. Some saw the eerie events as more than mere coincidence, attributing them to the inherently unsettling nature of the subject matter. Others dismissed the notion, viewing the unfortunate events as tragic happenstance.

Sources:

1. "The Exorcist" (1973) - Directed by William Friedkin: The film itself stands as a primary source for its impact on audiences and its cultural significance.

2. Various Interviews and Documentaries: Insights into the production challenges and the occurrences on set can be found in interviews with cast and crew, as well as documentaries about the making of "The Exorcist."

While the supernatural aura surrounding the production of "The Exorcist" remains the subject of debate, its legacy as a cinematic masterpiece endures, leaving audiences both terrorized and captivated by the blurred lines between fiction and reality.