Yosemite Valley, with its towering granite cliffs and mist-veiled waterfalls, is more than a natural wonder—it carries whispers of a curse. The Ahwahneechee people, who once called the valley home, believed the land was guarded by spirits who punished intruders. One such spirit, Pohono, the “evil wind” of Bridalveil Fall, is said to lure wanderers into the mist to their deaths, while other restless presences haunt the cliffs and forests where blood was spilled during violent clashes with settlers.

The curse’s reputation only grew with time. Yosemite has been the scene of countless accidents—visitors swept from waterfalls, climbers plunging from Half Dome, and hikers who vanish without a trace. But beyond accidents, true crime has stained the park’s history: in 1999, serial killer Cary Stayner, the so-called Yosemite Killer, brutally murdered four women connected to the park, cementing its darker reputation.

Between ancient legends, unexplained disappearances, fatal falls, and horrific crimes, Yosemite stands not just as a monument to natural beauty, but as a place where death seems to linger in the air—an eternal reminder of a land some still believe to be cursed.

Ewan Whyte’s life began in shadows he did not choose. Born and raised inside a closed-off cult, his childhood was defined not by innocence, but by control, manipulation, and abuse disguised as devotion. Behind the group’s promises of salvation lay a system built on fear—children stripped of their identities, punished for disobedience, and taught that love was conditional on obedience.

For Ewan, every day was a fight to hold on to a sense of self the cult tried to erase. He endured physical punishment meant to “purify” him, isolation from the outside world, and the constant reminder that questioning the group meant risking eternal damnation. Yet beneath the silence and scars, Ewan carried a stubborn ember of hope—an inner knowing that life beyond the cult’s walls had to be different, had to be freer.

This is the story of survival, but also of reclamation. It is not just about the trauma inflicted by a system of control, but about one man’s courage to speak out, to break the cycle, and to transform pain into purpose. By sharing the truth about what he endured, Ewan Whyte gives voice to the countless children who have suffered in similar systems of abuse, and he shows that even the deepest wounds can give rise to resilience.

This episode explores “Missing White Woman Syndrome”—the media phenomenon where missing white women receive disproportionate coverage while cases involving women of color are too often ignored or underreported. We shine a light on how this bias has left countless families without the support, visibility, and justice they deserve. This is the first installment in our series "No MORE Stolen Sisters,” where we tell the overlooked stories of missing and murdered women of color. If you want to hear the rest of this important series, subscribe to our Patreon, where the remaining episodes will be exclusively released.

In July 2020, 21-year-old Army Pvt. Richard Halliday vanished from Fort Bliss—and the Army said nothing for more than a month. When his family pressed for answers, they uncovered conflicting reports, missing details, and a silence that felt deliberate. Some say he walked away on his own. Others whisper he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. What we do know is this: a soldier disappeared from one of the largest military installations in the country, and the truth about what happened to him has never been made clear. The Richard Halliday case isn’t just a missing person story—it’s a haunting question of who to trust when the institution itself becomes part of the mystery.

In 1974, in the quiet English town of Manchester, the case of Michael Taylor became one of the most unsettling chapters in the history of exorcisms. Taylor, a seemingly ordinary man, descended into violent madness, claiming possession by dark, malevolent forces that no one could fully understand or control. The priests who attempted to cast out the demons found themselves overwhelmed by a force that defied faith and reason. The exorcism ended in chaos, with Taylor brutally attacking his wife in a horrifying frenzy before fleeing naked into the night. The failure of the ritual left a shadow over the community, a chilling reminder that some evils are not so easily banished that the darkness lurking within the human soul can sometimes be far more terrifying than any external demon.

Exorcism is a ritual practiced in various religious traditions aimed at expelling supposed evil spirits or demons believed to possess a person. These rites often involve prayers, commands to the spirit, physical gestures, and sometimes intense emotional or physical experiences.

Mental Health, on the other hand, concerns psychological well-being, including disorders like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, psychosis, and dissociative identity disorder—conditions that can sometimes manifest symptoms similar to those attributed to possession, such as hallucinations, delusions, or altered behavior.

In the shadowed foothills of Yosemite, where ancient pines whisper secrets to the wind, Cary Stayner moved like a specter born from the darkest corners of a forgotten nightmare. Behind his unassuming gaze lurked a cold void—a soul twisted and hollow, as if forged in the blackened heart of some cursed forest. Between 1999 and 2000, he became a grim reaper cloaked in human flesh, stalking the night with a quiet malice that turned the mountain’s serene beauty into a haunted cathedral of despair. His victims were offerings on an altar of silent agony, their disappearances echoing like mournful chants in the endless gloom. Stayner was no mere man—he was the embodiment of a shadow that refuses to fade, a gothic horror bleeding into the very roots of the land.

They didn’t just disappear—they were swallowed by the dark corners where light refuses to linger. Diane August vanished from her quiet Minnesota home in 1980, her fate sealed by an unseen force that slipped in without a sound, leaving only cold air and unanswered questions behind. The Springfield Three—Suzanne, Stacy, and Sherrill—stepped out on a warm Missouri night in 1992, never to return, as if the earth itself had cracked open and claimed them, hiding their screams beneath its indifferent soil. Laureen Rahn’s 1991 disappearance from New Jersey is a whisper lost in the wind, a silent scream erased before it could echo. These aren’t just missing persons cases; they are dark invitations to nightmares, where shadows stretch just a little too long and the silence grows heavier with every passing year—haunting reminders that some doors, once opened, lead only to oblivion.  The scariest part in the odd circumstance that connect the cases.... 

There was something wrong with Brian Cohee—but it didn’t show in photographs. His smile was clean, his voice even, his future seemingly mundane. But somewhere behind his eyes, something ancient and unfeeling had taken root. In March 2021, that quiet horror slipped its mask. Authorities found the remains of Shane DeWitt scattered—cut, hidden, arranged—not by chaos, but by intention. Cohee didn’t flee, didn’t deny. He confessed with the calm of someone recounting a dream, as if murder were a curiosity he’d finally indulged after years of silent rehearsal. He had studied killers the way priests study scripture. What he wanted wasn’t death—it was dominion. And when he finally crossed that line, there was no remorse. Only the realization that the monster had been awake for a long time. And now it had a name.

A targeted individual (TI) is a person who believes they are being systematically harassed, surveilled, or attacked by covert government agencies, private organizations, or unknown entities. These beliefs often involve claims of electronic harassment, gang stalking, voice-to-skull communication, or mind control technologies. While some individuals report these experiences sincerely, mental health professionals often associate such perceptions with delusional disorders or paranoia.

They say paranoia is just pattern recognition with bad PR, but targeted individuals know better—they're the unwitting stars of a Truman Show reboot funded by alphabet agencies with too much free time and not enough ethics. Every flickering streetlamp? Morse code. Every barista? Deep cover agent. Every thought they think? Monitored, molded, and mildly mocked by a cabal of invisible bureaucrats with nothing better to do than beam microwave mind-control rays through the drywall. It's not mental illness—it's government-sponsored improv, and the only punchline is their slow descent into a tinfoil-lined rabbit hole. After all, if everyone is out to get you... does it still count as paranoia, or just really bad luck?

Based on the real events of the Sagamihara stabbings

In the silent hours before dawn on July 26, 2016, a man stepped through the doors of a care facility meant to protect the most vulnerable—and turned it into a slaughterhouse.

Satoshi Uematsu was no stranger to Tsukui Yamayuri-en. Once a smiling caregiver entrusted with the well-being of residents with profound disabilities, he returned not with kindness in his heart, but with blades in his hands—and a manifesto of hatred carved deep into his mind.

Driven by a chilling ideology and a warped sense of mercy, Uematsu believed the disabled were “unworthy of life.” He moved silently through the night, choosing victims with cold deliberation, sparing those who could scream, and ending the lives of those who could not. When the blood dried, 19 innocent people were dead—unable to cry out, unable to run, unable to understand why.

He did not flee. He did not deny it. He surrendered with pride, carrying the knives still warm in his bag and a confession on his lips: “I did what had to be done.”

But the horror of Sagamihara didn’t end with the killings. It lived on in a nation forced to confront a darker question: How could such hate grow so quietly, in plain sight?

“The Quiet Knife” is a harrowing tale of a society caught off guard by the monsters it tries to forget—the ones not lurking in alleyways, but smiling in photographs… waiting.