In 1799, the coastal town of Sullivan, Maine became the site of what may be the first documented haunting in American history. There were no séances. No mediums. Only a voice. It called itself Nelly Butler—and it spoke with purpose. Witnesses swore it came from nowhere, that it answered questions no one else could, and that it made a chilling demand: a marriage must take place. What followed was a series of events that would blur the line between testimony and belief, between the natural and the supernatural—and leave behind a silence that still resonates more than two centuries later.

For centuries, people have reported the same unsettling vision: a procession of silent figures, moving through the night. Not to frighten. Not to speak. Only to walk. In this episode, we follow the trail of these stories—across time, across cultures—and consider what it means when the dead do not linger… but pass through.

In far more than half of all murder cases, the victim and assailant know each other by name. Oftentimes, we think we know our surroundings, our families, our friends– ourselves because it gives us comfort and order in our daily lives. But, if we stop and think, we’re struck with the possibility that what we believe might be wrong, that the devil you know might be worse than the devil you don’t. 

We all go about meddling with ghosts; and in doing so, just might reawaken spirits of the past– forces that should remain at rest. Like the law of inertia, however, objects in motion tend to stay in motion, and when moved, we may not be able to stop them.

Despite their simple purpose and their best efforts– to shine bright into the darkness and save lives– some lighthouses have done just the opposite, and instead, leave us with enduring legacies that cast a long shadow over their beacons, telling us not to come in, but to stay away. Despite their simple purpose and their best efforts– to shine bright into the darkness and save lives– some lighthouses have done just the opposite, and instead, leave us with enduring legacies that cast a long shadow over their beacons, telling us not to come in, but to stay away.

Sometimes names change to conceal dark truths in the hope of protecting us from what’s lurking beneath, because sometimes our past indiscretions cannot be reconciled, and those that we’ve wronged seek vengeance, and will stop at nothing to carry it out.

The most chilling stories are those that have been lost to death and time– the ones we’ve forgotten, because maybe, just maybe they want to be remembered, and will kill to make sure that they are.