On a November night in 1984, she stepped out of a roller rink in Lynbrook, New York. The lights were still buzzing behind her. Music still playing. Teenagers still laughing. The world she’d been part of for the last few hours kept moving forward without her.

Something had gone wrong inside. She’d been fired from her job at the snack bar. Witnesses later remembered her crying as she left. The record doesn’t preserve the exact words exchanged, or the reason it escalated to that moment. What it does preserve is how she walked out—upset, shaken, and alone.

And then she started home.

Four blocks is nothing. It’s the kind of distance that feels safe. Familiar. Automatic. The kind of walk you don’t think twice about—especially at sixteen.

Theresa never arrived home...

What followed was not just a murder, but a chain reaction that stretched across decades: fear gripping a small community, pressure mounting on investigators, confessions that later unravelled, and three men sent to prison for a crime they did not commit.

For years, the system believed it had an answer.

It didn’t.

DNA—silent for decades—eventually spoke. It overturned convictions. It reopened wounds. And it left one question hanging in the air longer than anyone should have to wait for the truth.

In this episode, we trace that four-block walk forward and backward through time. We sit in the quiet moments most stories rush past: a girl holding back tears, a parent insisting something is wrong, evidence sealed away and nearly forgotten, and the long, unbearable weight of waiting.

And then—forty years later—something ordinary is thrown away.

A small, modern detail bridges the past and the present, forcing the case to move again. Not toward spectacle. Toward accountability.

This is not a story about shock.
It’s a story about how easily someone can disappear.
How hard the truth can be to recover.
And how one name deserves to be spoken with care, even after all this time.

Her name was Theresa Fusco, we shall always remember you.

----

Thank you immensely for your patience mates on this episode! Thank you for the well wishes via email and through Patreon💜💜💜💜 lucky to have a community full of legends!

This is a confronting episode. It involves graphic violence.
I keep the tone respectful, but it’s still a hard listen — so please take care of yourself while you’re hearing it.

If you or someone you know needs support in Australia, you can contact 1800RESPECT (24/7).

Tonight’s episode is one of the heaviest I’ve ever covered on Stories Fables Ghostly Tales — a case from Aberdeen, New South Wales (NSW) in the Hunter Valley, known widely in Australian true crime as “The Butcher of Aberdeen.”

This is the story of Katherine Knight and John Price, and the events that unfolded across late February 2000 into March 1, 2000 — a 2000 murder case that remains one of the most infamous and confronting examples of New South Wales crime in modern memory.

And I want to be really clear before you hit play:
This episode isn’t here to sensationalise anything. It’s here to bear witness — and to show how domestic violence and coercive control can build quietly, behind closed doors, until the consequences become irreversible.

In this one, The Tale Teller takes you through the full arc — not just the headlines — including:

Katherine Knight was later held at Silverwater Women’s Correctional Centre, and this case remains a grim reference point in True Crime Australia — not because of spectacle, but because it forces a conversation people still avoid.

The Town of Aberdeen Australia:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Aberdeen_NSW_banner.JPG

Thank you for being here, truly.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
For supporting the show, for listening with care, and for backing storytelling that doesn’t treat real people like entertainment.

I’m your Tale Teller…
and I’ll see you in the next one. 🖤

What happens when a case goes cold — but because time got there first....

Because in true crime, some stories don’t stay unsolved due to a lack of effort.
They stay unsolved because the world simply didn’t have the tools to hear what the evidence was trying to say.

This week on Nocturne Files: True Crime, we step into the case of Kerryn Tate — last seen in daylight in Mount Lawley in 1979, and found the following morning in bushland near Karragullen.

For decades, her case lived inside a gap.
A small window of time where everything changed… and nobody could explain how.

Cold cases aren’t only about what we don’t know.
They’re about what stops moving.

Leads that run out.
Witnesses who forget.
Details that soften at the edges.
A file that stays open — but never progresses.

And yet, sometimes… the future shows up.

Not with a confession.
Not with a dramatic reveal.
But with science — patient, methodical, unromantic science — finally catching up to a question that’s been waiting for years.

This episode explores that shift.

Not with sensationalism or shock-value detail, but by sitting with what it means when an answer arrives late — and how a name can change the weight of silence, even when there’s no courtroom ending.

Because some truths don’t arrive loudly.
They arrive slowly.
Piece by piece.
Over decades.

That’s all I’ll say for now.

Thank you for being curious.
And thank you for being willing to sit with the unresolved parts — with care.

💜💛 You're all amazing, and thank you so much for your fantastic support! 💜💛

Grateful as always you living legends!!! And here's to more True Crime Episodes just around the corner....

— Your Tale Teller

There’s a quiet question that sits at the centre of this week’s episode.

What happens when someone disappears — and never comes back — but there’s no crime scene, no physical proof, and no clear ending?

In true crime, these are known as no-body cases. And they’re some of the most unsettling stories we encounter, not because they’re dramatic, but because they’re incomplete.

No-body cases aren’t about what we can see.
They’re about what stops happening.

Phone calls that never come.
Routines that never resume.
Lives that simply… pause, and never restart.

For a long time, silence is treated as uncertainty. But as years pass, that silence begins to take on a different weight. It stops feeling neutral. It starts to feel deliberate — or interrupted.

This episode explores that shift.

Not with graphic detail or courtroom theatrics, but by sitting with the idea that absence itself can tell a story, if we’re willing to listen long enough.

No-body cases ask us to rethink what “evidence” really means. They challenge our instincts. And they remind us that some truths don’t arrive loudly — they arrive slowly, over time.

That’s all I’ll say for now.

Thank you for being curious.
And thank you for being willing to sit with the unanswered.

You're all amazing, and thank you so much for your fantastic support!

— Your Tale Teller

As we all wobble toward this coming Wednesday — New Year’s Eve — I wanted to pop my head out of the shadows, dust off the trench coat, and give you a proper Patreon cuddle in words. Because you lot aren’t just “supporters”… you’re my mates. You’re the campfire crew. The ones who stick around when the story goes quiet and the air gets heavy.

And speaking of heavy…

This week’s episode is the kind that doesn’t just tell a story — it waits with you.

It’s the Bristol Cold Case: Louisa Dunne, murdered in 1967, solved 58 years later.

This is one of those cases that starts in a place so ordinary it feels sacred: a street with routines, neighbours who noticed, a woman whose life had a rhythm to it. The sort of life that says “nothing bad should happen here.”

And yet… it did.

What shook me most isn’t just the crime itself — it’s the sheer length of the silence afterwards. Decades of unanswered questions. A family living inside a question mark. A community that never quite forgot. And then, finally… the future arrives with the tools to read what the past preserved.

It’s a story about memory, patience, and the kind of justice that turns up late… but still matters when it does.

I’ve told it with one rule at the centre: Louisa is not a headline. She’s a person. A life. A name that deserves to be spoken with respect.

Now—before the fireworks start popping and someone’s uncle tries to cook sausages like it’s an Olympic sport…

I want to wish you, genuinely, a Happy New Year for this coming Wednesday.

May 2026 bring you more peace than panic, more belly laughs than doomscrolling, and fewer mysterious noises in the hallway at 2am. (And if you do hear something… well… you didn’t hear that from me. Good luck. Godspeed.)

Thank you for being here. Thank you for being the kind of people who show up for stories with heart — and for the humans inside them.

And a special, warm, slightly dramatic bow to my VIP party in the dark:

And to my epic splendiferous Earl Grey Enforcers, and all tiers thereafter, my deepest (lowest bow) thanks!

You lot keep the lantern lit.

If you listen to this episode, tell me:

What’s the one detail that stuck to your ribs? The kind you can’t shake even after you’ve turned the lights back on.

Happy Pending New Year, my friends.

Some True Crime stories announce themselves loudly.

This one doesn’t.

It begins quietly — with a late shift, a famous name, and a decision that, on the surface, feels ordinary. But beneath it sits a Murder Investigation that would stretch across years, courtrooms, and headlines, becoming one of the most unsettling Celebrity Crime cases in modern memory.

In this episode of Stories Fables Ghostly Tales, we examine the death of Lana Clarkson and the long road that followed — a case forever tied to Phil Spector, the legendary Beatles Producer, architect of The Wall of Sound, and one of the most influential figures in Music History.

But this is not a story about musical genius.

It’s a story about power, pressure, and what happens when Hollywood’s glow fades into something much darker.

On the night she died, Lana Clarkson was working at the House of Blues — a working actress doing what so many in Hollywood do to stay afloat. By morning, she was dead inside Pyrenees Castle, Phil Spector’s fortress-like mansion, and the world was left trying to understand what had happened behind those gates.

As the case unfolds, this episode guides you through:

This isn’t sensational storytelling.
There’s no spectacle here — only careful reconstruction, verified facts, and the quiet weight of accountability.

Because when a case involves a music icon, a guarded estate, and a woman whose life was reduced to a headline, the most important thing is getting the story right.

If you think you know the Phil Spector case — listen closely.
There are details here that rarely receive the attention they deserve.

Thank you all for your amazing support!!! It's almost that time of year and I'm excited for the new year ahead legends!!! Again you are all amazing and thank you for the love!! 💜💜💜

Welcome legends to your Research and True Crime Episode!

Skidmore, Missouri is the kind of town you’d usually drive through without ever taking off your sunglasses. One main street, a couple of brick buildings, fields on every side.

And in 1981, that quiet little dot on the map did something unthinkable.

In broad daylight, in the middle of Main Street, the town bully Ken Rex McElroy was shot to death while sitting in his red pickup truck.

In this story, I walk you through:

And because this is Stories Fables Ghostly Tales, we thread it all through one extra chill:

A teenager with a camera.

Maybe it’s a trick of the light.

This one isn’t about jump scares or gore.

If tiny towns, unsolved justice, and the feeling that something is still standing on that empty street at night gets under your skin…

WHAT would you have done mates....let Ken rule your town even though he's almost taken a life? Tell me your thoughts...

Hit play...and...

A black-and-white portrait of Ken Rex McElroy.

Main Street, Skidmore

• A current-day photo of Skidmore’s main drag: cracked road, small storefronts, flat Midwestern horizon. Great for getting the “tiny, worn farm town” feel.

Gratefully yours....Here's to more True Crime Stories legends!

Your Tale Teller! 💜💜💜💜💜💜

Greetings, my dearest creeps, connoisseurs of atmosphere, and candle-lit listeners —

We are diving into one of the great macabre institutions of the 1940s:

The famous creaking door opens…

“The Death of Mr Putnam” is a classic slow-burn thriller:

Expect:

This one was a joy to remaster and narrate, and I hope it brings you the same delicious unease those early radio fans felt huddled around their sets in the 1940s.

Inner Sanctum’s “The Mysterious Death of Mr. Putnam” is classic old-school spooky fun — not with ghosts or ghouls, but with people being… well, people. The whole episode leans into awkward silences, weird vibes, and side-eyed tension as everyone tries a bit too hard to act normal after Mr. Putnam suddenly drops dead under circumstances that feel just slightly off. Putnam becomes this kind of “presence” even though he’s not there anymore — his absence tells you everything you need to know, and absolutely nothing at the same time.

Everyone around him feels twitchy, defensive, or oddly rehearsed, and the story slowly tightens around those reactions until guilt and paranoia start spilling out everywhere. It’s not about what lurks in the shadows — it’s about what people hope no one ever finds out.

And of course, it wouldn’t be Inner Sanctum without that creaking door and Raymond popping in with his trademark “I shouldn’t be laughing at this but I am” style of humour. The episode moves at a snappy pace, building the tension bit by bit, until the final reveal lands with that deliciously ironic, poetic justice the series was known for. Nothing flashy, nothing supernatural — just a good, tight psychological mystery about people cracking under pressure.

“The Mysterious Death of Mr. Putnam” is one of those stories that reminds you why Inner Sanctum still holds up today: it’s eerie, clever, character-driven, and proves that sometimes the scariest stuff is just the quiet truth people are trying way too hard to hide.

Thank you so much for listening legends!!! All the love and I really enjoyed remastering this one 🌞💜💜💜💜🌞

Welcome back, wanderers of the uncanny —
it’s your midnight Tale Teller, reporting from somewhere under the canopy,
where the forest listens more intently than any living thing should.

Our story, The Grey Daughter Hollow, follows a forest with memory deeper than soil,
children who return changed,
and a detective whose grief makes him the perfect seed for something ancient.

This tale doesn’t leap —
it roots.
It spreads slow and silent,
like something growing beneath the floorboards of your mind.

Theo steps past the treeline, lured by whispers only the young can hear.
The forest consumes him softly.
What forms beneath the soil is not a boy —
but the forest’s first reshaped child.

Sadie breaks the rules, hopping the fence on a dare.
Graydaughter takes her too, but with more intention.
She emerges underground with fungus-eyes and a sharper, more knowing mind —
a second experiment.

Detective Rourke investigates the disappearances.
He hears movement beneath the soil —
hands, breathing, a forest shifting awake.
Theo and Sadie sense him.
And the forest tastes his grief.
It approves.

Rourke returns at night.
Theo surfaces, trembling, remembering his own name —
a failure the forest never intended.
Sadie rises too, violent and perfected.
Theo protects Rourke.
Gray daughter punishes them both.
The forest begins to see Rourke differently.

Rourke is pulled underground.
He sees the core:
a massive, living archive built from the fused bodies of every child the forest has ever taken.
Among them, he recognizes his daughter’s remains —
not resurrected, only remembered and badly copied.

The forest begins sculpting Rourke as its new creation —
not a creature that hides,
but one that can walk the world,
lure children,
and carry the forest’s will outward.
Theo tries to save him.
The forest tightens its grip.
Rourke’s transformation begins.

Thank you for venturing this far into the hollow.
This tale doesn’t sprint —
it burrows.
It waits.
It thrives in the quiet between breaths.

The darkest part of the story still lies ahead.
And the forest’s patience…
has grown very thin.

Stay curious, stay wary,
and if the earth moves beneath your feet tonight…

...don’t look down...

— Your Tale Teller 🕯️🌲