July 2023. The show was still called Mystery Inc, and Kim was working in a corner of the studio when Shane and Josh pulled her over and put a microphone in front of her. She had edited every episode up to that point. This was the first time the gang heard her voice.

We are bringing that episode back as episode 185. It is the original recording, Mystery Inc theme and all, with the Unmasked bonus that followed it, Patreon-only in 2023, included at the end.

The first half is Kim's. Shane tells how he and Kim met, which starts with a Secret Santa draw, a big bottle of wine, a supervisor who pulled Shane aside, and a last-minute run to Bath and Body Works. The wooden crate from that gift still sits on the back of her toilet. Then she talks about Amber, her oldest daughter. Amber was blonde, kind, the first one to step in when anyone was being bullied, and forever asking for extra lunch money because some other kid did not have any. She got stuck on Muncie's first roundabout right after she got her license. Kim still takes an extra lap around it for her. On October 28, 2012, after a Halloween party, Amber was riding with two boys. The driver had been drinking and tried to beat a train. Amber and the driver both died. She was a junior and a cheerleader. Kim tells how she learned the news that morning, what the years since have looked like, and why she now speaks at schools and with Mothers Against Drunk Driving. As she puts it, as a parent, you do not get over it. Shane and Josh let her tell it her way, and the three of them find the laughter in it too, because that is how this friendship works.

The second half is Josh's, and the trail leads to the crystal skulls. He has stood in a room with one at Spirit Fest at Camp Chesterfield, Indiana, and he describes what that felt like. From there he walks through the legend of the thirteen skulls, the Mitchell-Hedges skull and the book Danger, My Ally, the British Museum skull that surfaced in Paris in 1881 and was sold to Tiffany and Company before the museum bought it, the Sha Na Ra skull found in Mexico in 1995 by what its finders called psychic archaeology, and the skull named Einstein, whose owner says it is an ancient computer. Quartz holds no carbon, so radiocarbon dating cannot touch them. Josh lays out the case for 1800s fakes and the case for something older, and tells you which he chooses.

Then the Unmasked. Shane is fresh back from Europe with stories about the postcards he mailed Kim (the one from Paris read "That's one big tower"), a tiny terracotta pot from a Walmart that got Kim to pull the car over, the man who called her three times about a silo, the stranger selling his grandmother's false teeth, a hotel plunger in Tennessee, and the crystal skull conspiracies Josh saved for the bonus, aliens included. Kim picks Velma.

What you'll hear in this episode:

How Shane and Kim met, and the Secret Santa gift that almost went very wrong

Amber: the roundabout, the outside light and the bugs, the extra lunch money, and October 28, 2012

Why Kim speaks to students and works with Mothers Against Drunk Driving

Josh in a room with a crystal skull at Camp Chesterfield

The thirteen-skull legend, Mitchell-Hedges, the British Museum skull, Sha Na Ra, and Einstein

Unmasked: the postcards, the little pot, the silo, the false teeth, and the plunger

This one is for Kim, and for Amber.

If you would like more information on the Amber Nicole Morrow Memorial Scholarship and donating information please visit https://www.randolphcountyfoundation.org

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A guy Josh works with was reviewing motion-triggered footage when the wind picked up and the leaves began to move. Then a large pile of them stood up off the ground, held its shape for several seconds, and dropped back down. Josh told him to go look up elementals. Then Josh went and did the reading himself, and that is this week's episode.

Elementals are the beings folklore assigned to earth, water, air and fire. The trail leads back through Greek natural philosophy, medieval thought and Renaissance alchemy, and it gave us four families that still turn up everywhere. Gnomes hold the earth: mines, caves, stones, buried treasure, and that one hill nobody in the village will discuss. Undines hold the water, nymph-like spirits of rivers, springs and waterfalls, and the old book that carries their name is older than The Little Mermaid and considerably sadder. Sylphs hold the air, and get blamed for sudden inspiration, lost hats, and rumors that move faster than a horse. Salamanders hold fire, and have nothing at all to do with the amphibian.

Josh's framing is the best line in the episode. Elementals are what you would get if nature had a backstage crew, moving the scenery, making the fog, and occasionally setting the curtains on fire.

The folklore gets specific about consequences, and it fits the punishment to the crime. Cross the earth and you get cave-ins, spoiled foundations, and a path that stops being where you left it. Cross the water and you get floods, drowning dreams, a reflection gone missing, and a voice that knows your name a little too clearly. Cross the air and you get sudden storms, broken messages, and endless wandering. Cross fire and it skips the warning entirely.

The gang also ties it back to last week. If a thing can lift a pile of leaves, it can roll a ball back across a floor.

Before any of that, there is a solid hour of hangout. Shane brought Amish crack from a Fort Wayne bakery, which turns out to be a box of cinnamon sugar donut holes and a genuine hazard to everyone at the table. He picked up a twenty five dollar parking ticket in Warsaw and has decided to fight it in court on principle. He got locked in a coffee shop bathroom without his phone. He walked past a former Bachelor and learned that a town once built a fake fall festival for a TV shoot and then liked it enough to keep holding it. And a friend's five trading cards turned out to be worth a great deal more than anyone at that table guessed.

Plus Josh reads everyone's element, and there is a Dollywood trip on the calendar.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The trail cam footage that started all of this

Gnomes, undines, sylphs and salamanders, and what each one guards

What folklore says happens when you disturb the wrong threshold

Amish crack, a parking ticket worth fighting, and a card shop surprise

The gang is going to Dollywood in Sevierville, Tennessee, December 4 through 6. Patreons and listeners are welcome to come along.

Want to send the gang something? PO Box 690, Wabash, Indiana 46992.

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The gang skipped the mystery this week and just talked, and somehow that turned into false teeth, a haunted

house in Hartford City, and a box of Charleston groceries with something deeply unserious buried at the bottom.

It started with Shane's trash company, which has now gone weeks without picking up his can and keeps insisting

in the app that the can was never out there. Then Kim opened the listener questions, and the whole thing got

away from them.

Savannah asked what the most absurd thing was that their grandmothers ever did. Josh remembered dentures

slipping mid-hymn on a church stage, and a grandmother who simply took them out and kept right on singing.

Shane confessed to prank calling his own grandma as "John from the bank" about fraudulent charges in Nigeria

and New Zealand, which ended with her cussing him out and then driving to the bank anyway, just to be sure. And

then there is the story that gives this episode its name. One afternoon Grandma rose out of her chair, removed

her false teeth, kicked off her slippers, and went after a houseguest who had used the F word one time too many

in her house. Shane caught her mid-flight and got dragged the length of the living room for his trouble.

Kim's memories run a little differently. Her grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's while Kim was still in

high school, so the one she holds onto is a camper at Cabin Creek shaking hard enough that Grandma hollered

at Grandpa to knock it off. It was an earthquake.

Trevor wanted to know what one snack each of them would carry into a haunted house. Josh picked Doritos, on

the grounds that they burn. That set Shane off on the night he agreed to go live on Facebook from a house in

Hartford City without knowing it was a haunted house, discovered the only air conditioned room was the one

he then refused to leave, watched a curtain move behind him on camera, and turned down an invitation to the

basement where someone had just been scratched. There was a room lined with mirrors that the owner called

a portal, and a room full of dolls with a Ouija board sitting in the middle of it. He left at one in the morning for a

Holiday Inn rather than sleep on an army cot.

Kat asked whether Shane is married, and he answers that about as directly as you would expect from a man of

mystery. MT asked whether solving a case like JonBenet Ramsey with DNA would ever quiet the arguments online

or only make them louder. Nobody at this table is optimistic.

There is a tender stretch in here too. It was Amber's birthday, and Kim brought her cake for everyone. Josh brought

the news about Dolly Parton, and the room sat with that for a while.

Then Savannah's box got opened, and the trail leads somewhere none of them saw coming.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The trash company saga, and why the chat support keeps insisting it is not AI

Three grandmothers, two sets of false teeth, and one earthquake blamed on Grandpa

Shane's night in a Hartford City haunted house, the mirror room and the doll room

A care package from Charleston, a Bigfoot figurine, and an award nobody asked for

Want to send the gang something? PO Box 690, Wabash, Indiana 46992.

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No mystery again this week. Just Shane, Josh, and Kim around the table, and a conversation that gets away fromall three of them inside of ten minutes.

It starts with a word. Shane had lunch with a friend who mentioned that growing up she was not allowed to say the F word or, of all things, crevice. Crevice. That sets off an hour of collateral damage, plus a real conversation about the words that were banned in their own houses. Sucks. Shut up. Hell. Anything that even rhymed with a cuss word. Josh confesses to crawling under the bunk beds to practice swearing where Jesus was the only witness, and Shane remembers the one night in the back of Grandma's Buick when he was handed actual permission to repeat every word their aunt had said, and used it.

Which is the on-ramp to a full Grandma episode. Her purse was stocked like a pharmacy, which is how Shane once got handed two blood pressure pills in the middle of a sermon instead of Tylenol. When he asked if he was going to be okay, she said, "We'll find out." She kept the good candy bars in her panty drawer, right next to a cow taser. And years after she quit smoking, their uncle found a pile of cigarette butts in the grass under her bedroom window, told her a stranger must have been standing out there watching her sleep, and got to watch her stare at the ceiling and say, "Huh. That's weird." The rest of the evidence turned up much later, inside a heavy stone turtle that came apart in his hands. Zoinks.

Shane also finally tells the Eagles Theater story. He accepted a calendar invite with no description, showed up for what he assumed was a normal evening downtown, and looked up to see his own name on the screen between two doctorates. Two hundred people. Doors closing. A panel on community food needs that nobody had mentioned he was speaking on. What he said up there came out of nowhere and turned out to be the most honest thing in the episode: go to the people who are barely making it, because they are the ones who know what next week feels like. That opens into food bank boxes full of things they could not cook with the gas shut off, and a carton of peanut butter milk nobody in this family has recovered from.

Everything else lands where it lands. Josh's tarantula molted and then earned its keep by clearing a man out of his living room. The hissing cockroach Shane's college roommate kept spent a weekend in the freezer and survived it. Death cap mushrooms after the floods. Stop signs in this state you cannot see around until you are already in the intersection. A nine person salt water hot tub that dropped six thousand dollars because somebody drilled one light two inches too low. Josh talking honestly about labels and where he actually lands on them. And Kim stating for the record, more than once, that she is never calling Shane Dr. Waters.

The postcard wall has room on it. PO Box 690, Wabash, Indiana 46992.

Pull up a chair in the bunker. The only thing getting unmasked this week is Grandma.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The words they were not allowed to say as kids, and the one night in Grandma's Buick when Shane got permission to say all of them

Grandma's purse pharmacy, the good candy bars stored next to a cow taser, and the hollow stone turtle where the cigarette butts went

The Eagles Theater panel Shane got ambushed onto, and the food bank answer he came up with on the spot

A tarantula that molted and then cleared a man out of Josh's living room, plus the hissing cockroach that survived a weekend in a freezer

A nine person salt water hot tub discounted six thousand dollars over one crooked light

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It's a Josh mystery week in the bunker, and this one comes with a warning: Josh's reading habits are involved. Deep in the Amazon lives a freshwater dolphin that starts life gray and turns pink as it ages. By day, the boto swims the tannin-dark river hunting fish. But in stories told up and down the Amazon for generations, some nights one of those pink dolphins rises out of the black water as something else entirely: a handsome stranger dressed all in white, charming, magnetic, and always wearing a hat. The hat is not a fashion choice. It hides the blowhole he cannot quite leave behind.

He is the Boto Encantado, the enchanted dolphin, and in the legend he appears at riverside festivals as the literal life of the party. He drinks, he dances, he sings, and by dawn he is gone, slipped back beneath the river as if he was never there. The villagers are left with a vague memory of the man in white. That is, until some of the women he charmed begin to show up pregnant. In communities that believed in the boto, naming a river spirit as the father carried more honor than admitting a stranger passed through, and a boto child was a blessed child. Josh has thoughts about this arrangement, and about Mr. Boto's parenting record.

Other branches of the tale go darker. The boto can take people under the river entirely, not to drown them but to carry them down to Encante, a shimmering sunken city beneath the Amazon, the river's own Atlantis. For centuries, that one legend quietly explained the river's drownings, its disappearances, and its surprise pregnancies all at once, in a jungle where jaguars, anacondas, and fast black water gave it plenty to explain.

Josh walks Shane and Kim through where the legend came from, why water spirits in folklore are almost always women (nymphs, sirens, mermaids, even Nessie) and what it means that this one is a man, and how the myth still protects the real animal today. Along much of the Amazon the pink dolphins are treated as sacred, and fishermen work around them rather than against them, a striking contrast with their propeller-scarred saltwater cousins. The species is genuinely endangered, which makes the old story one of its stranger guardians.

Also in the bunker this week: Kim's birthday celebration rolls on with cake and gifts, Shane's grandma's full-sheet-cake miscommunication gets told at last, the robot mower fails to make it home two nights running and has to be rescued from a flower bed, and Josh lands the "multiple porpoises" pun he is far too proud of. Plus a tease for next week: the gang takes on the Idaho student murders and Netflix's College Nightmare.

**What you'll hear in this episode:**

- The real pink river dolphins of the Amazon, and why they turn pink

- The man in white with a hat over his blowhole

- Unexplained pregnancies, blessed children, and folklore as social cover

- Encante, the glowing city beneath the river

- Why the legend still protects an endangered species today

- A sheet-cake miscommunication, a runaway robot mower, and birthday week in the bunker

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August 7, 1968. The number one song in America is "Hello, I Love You" by The Doors, Richard Nixon is being nominated in Miami Beach, and Congress has just spent a day asking scientists whether UFOs are real. It's also the day Kim was born. So for her birthday, the gang investigates the strangest thing that happened on her actual birth date: the Buff Ledge abduction, one of the best-documented UFO cases in American history, which played out on a quiet Vermont lake the very day she arrived.

Buff Ledge Camp sat on the shore of Lake Champlain, just north of Burlington. That Wednesday evening the camp was nearly empty, the swim team away at a meet. Two teenage staffers, sixteen-year-old Michael Lapp and nineteen-year-old Janet Cornell, were on the boat dock watching the sun go down when a bright light appeared in the darkening sky. It descended, flattened into a disc, and released three smaller craft that looped and fell like leaves over the water. One of them plunged into the lake, resurfaced, and glided straight toward the dock.

What Michael described next has kept this case alive for more than five decades: a transparent dome, two childlike beings inside, a strange feeling of mental contact, and then a beam of light so intense he said he could see the bones in his own hand. His last clear memory of that stretch of evening is screaming "We don't want to go!" When the world snapped back, the sky was fully dark, time was missing, and Janet was groggy beside him.

Then came the silence. The two never reported it, went their separate ways after camp, and said nothing for about ten years, until recurring nightmares drove Michael to the Center for UFO Studies. Investigator Walter Webb spent roughly five years on the case, regressing both witnesses under hypnosis, separately, after a decade with no contact between them. Their recovered accounts matched on the small, strange details, and Webb tracked down other former camp staff who remembered unexplained lights over the lake that same night. He published the full investigation in 1994.

Jinkies, and that's only half the episode. This one is also a time capsule of the world Kim was born into: the Doors on the radio, Cream taking over the album chart, Rosemary's Baby and 2001: A Space Odyssey in theaters, six-cent stamps, and a country that spent the summer of 1968 staring at the sky.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The world on August 7, 1968, from the number one song to the news that night

Two teenagers, an empty camp, and a light that fell like a leaf onto Lake Champlain

The beam, the missing time, and ten years of silence

Walter Webb's five-year investigation and the separate hypnosis sessions that matched

Where the case stands today, and what the skeptics say

Happy birthday, Kim. The universe apparently threw you quite a party. Join the gang for the case, the time capsule, and the question nobody has answered in fifty-eight years.

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No mystery this week, just the gang around the table with snacks, big travel plans, and way too many cemetery stories.

Shane, Josh, and Kim start with a follow-up on the Herb Baumeister case after watching more of the Fox Hollow Farm documentary on Hulu, including the detail about the original detective that Kim could not stop thinking about. Then some very cool news: one of the show's Patreon members is going to be in Indianapolis on Monday, and she has offered to take Shane and Kim to see the Fox Hollow memorial in Westfield honoring the victims. Full report next week.

From there it turns into a tour of every famous grave the crew has ever hunted down. Muhammad Ali and Colonel Sanders in Louisville. President James Garfield in Cleveland, plus a certain sun-baked death angel statue that people still leave offerings for. John Dillinger at Crown Hill in Indianapolis, unmarked on the map, with concrete poured over the grave so nobody could dig him up. The Wright brothers. Tammy Wynette's mausoleum in Nashville, which you can only reach by walking through a working funeral home. And the little memorial pond where families scatter ashes, which instantly gets named ghost soup. Zoinks.

There is also a genuinely useful travel tip in here: if you are ever trying to find a famous grave in a huge cemetery with no map, open Pokemon Go. The notable stones are almost always PokeStops.

The rest of the night wanders exactly where you would expect. A robot lawn mower gets christened Muhammad Ali. Banana chips and Fiber One bars get reviewed, along with a cautionary tale about half a gallon of unpast- eurized apple cider. Josh mixes up Death on the Nile with Death on the Lanai, a Golden Girls cozy mystery, and somehow both end up on the watch list. Alton Brown is coming to the Honeywell Center. And Kim reports back from her guest spot on the Thriving Wabash County podcast, where she accidentally roasted the nicest member of the panel.

Pull up a chair in the bunker. The only mystery this week is what that smell was.

What you'll hear in this episode:

A Fox Hollow Farm documentary follow-up and the plan to visit the victims' memorial in Westfield

Famous grave road trips: Muhammad Ali, Dillinger, Garfield, the Wright brothers, Tammy Wynette, and the Cleveland death angel

Ghost soup, the Pokemon Go grave-finding trick, snack reviews, and a Golden Girls cozy mystery mix-up

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Shane took the documentary pick this week, and he brought the bunker home to Indiana. Both Fox Hollow documentaries on Hulu, the Emmy nominated 2025 series The Fox Hollow Murders: Playground of a Serial Killer and the brand new July 2026 follow-up Return to Fox Hollow: New Victims, Darker Secrets, plus the parts of the story neither film had room to tell.

A heads up before you press play. This is a heavy one. It involves the murders of at least 25 men, most of them gay men taken from Indianapolis bars in the early 1990s, and their families are receiving answers right now, in 2026. We handle the victims with care, we attribute every theory to its source, and we keep the focus where it belongs: on the men who were lost and the people still working to bring them home.

The story: Herb Baumeister was a married Westfield thrift store owner with a Tudor house, an indoor pool, and 18 wooded acres called Fox Hollow Farm, about 90 minutes from where we record. In 1996, after a witness's tip and a two year investigation that could not get past his front gate, his wife consented to a search while he was away. Investigators recovered roughly 10,000 charred bones and bone fragments from the woods. Baumeister fled to Canada and died by suicide before he could be arrested. Eight men were identified in the 1990s. Then the county closed the case, and the remaining bones sat in boxes for 26 years.

That is where the documentaries begin. Hamilton County Coroner Jeff Jellison reopened the identification effort in 2022 after one message from a victim's cousin, and Fox Hollow started giving up its answers: Allen Livingston in 2023, Daniel Halloran in 2025, a memorial in Westfield with room left for more names. The 2025 series brought the case 500 new tips and the first on-camera interview with the witness whose story started everything, and then changed. The 2026 special picks up the hardest question of all: could one man really have done this alone?

Shane, Kim, and Josh walk the whole timeline, sit with the identification effort that is still running at this hour, and then step onto the show's home ground: the haunting claims at Fox Hollow Farm, the red shirted figure, the pool, the recordings, and the honest question of what it means to tell ghost stories at a place where the victims are still being named.

If you have information about the Fox Hollow victims, the Hamilton County Coroner's tip line is (317) 770-4415.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The full Fox Hollow case, start to finish, including what both documentaries leave out

The 2022 to 2026 identification effort and the names it has returned to their families

What the new 2026 special adds: new interviews, unreleased case files, and the accomplice question

The haunting claims at Fox Hollow Farm, reported with respect and a healthy dose of skepticism

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Shane's pick this time. The challenge is always the same: grab a documentary off a streaming service and let the gang talk the whole thing through. Shane went with Should I Marry a Murderer? on Netflix, and it might be the most unsettling one yet, because the story is not really about the killer. It is about the woman who got engaged to him first.

The gang follows Caroline Muirhead, a Glasgow pathologist who matched with Highland gamekeeper Sandy McKellar on Tinder in October 2020. He proposed within months. Then, during a visit to the estate where he worked, he told her something that changed everything: three years earlier, he and his twin brother Robert had struck and killed a cyclist named Tony Parsons on a remote Highland road, and buried him on the property rather than call for help.

What Caroline did next is the whole show. She did not go straight to police. She stayed engaged to a man who had just confessed to burying a body, secretly recorded him for more detail, and left a marker near the burial sitefor investigators, all before formally reporting him about a month later. Shane, Kim, and Josh dig into whether that is bravery, self-preservation, or some tangle of both, and what nearly four years of not knowing did to Tony Parsons's own family while his killers kept working a few miles down the road.

They also get into the detail that might be the hardest part of the whole case: by the best-corroborated accounts, Parsons was still alive after the crash. The brothers left, came back in a different vehicle, and still never called for help. A charge that started as murder ended as culpable homicide, and the two men who did this got a combined seventeen years.

Along the way the gang wrestles with the bigger, uncomfortable question the documentary itself raises. It is billed as the first version of this story told from Caroline's point of view, and some UK critics have already said that framing buries Tony Parsons a second time. Shane, Kim, and Josh do not let him disappear from this conversation the way he nearly disappears from the film.

Pull up a chair in the bunker. No ghosts this week, just a fiancée who became the whole case against the man she almost married, and a conversation about who these stories are actually supposed to be for.

What you'll hear in this episode:

How Caroline Muirhead and Sandy McKellar met, and how fast he proposed

The month she spent secretly building a case against her own fiancé

Why the crash itself might not be what actually killed Tony Parsons

The seventeen year sentence, and the question of whose story this documentary really tells

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The gang investigates three mysteries stitched together by one date on the calendar: the Fourth of July. This week Josh brings the holiday and everything strange hiding inside it. What starts as hot dogs and bottle rockets turns into a night sky that changed forever, a coincidence that still makes historians shiver, and a cold case that has gone unanswered for more than three decades.

First, look up. On July 4th in the year 1054, Chinese and Japanese sky watchers recorded a brilliant "guest star" that flared in the constellation Taurus. It burned so bright it was visible in broad daylight for weeks, then faded into the glowing cloud we now call the Crab Nebula. Josh brings word of its modern echo too, a recurrent nova called T Coronae Borealis that astronomers keep predicting could blaze into view any night now. Like, what if the greatest Fourth of July fireworks show comes from deep space?

Then, a coincidence that reads like fiction. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, rivals, founders, the second and third presidents, both signed the Declaration of Independence and then both died on the very same day, July 4th, 1826, exactly fifty years later, within hours of each other. Adams reportedly slipped away believing his old rival had outlived him. Jefferson had already been gone since that morning.

And then the mystery that still has no ending. On the Fourth of July in 1988, two teenagers, Sally McNelly and Shane Stewart, drove out to Lake Nasworthy in San Angelo, Texas, to watch the fireworks. They were seen on the shoreline late that night, and then they were simply gone. Months later their remains were found miles away near the Twin Buttes Reservoir. The trail leads into the strange heart of 1980s Satanic panic, through rumors of a cult the two had been trying to escape and a person of interest named decades after the fact, and it stops cold. The San Angelo murders remain unsolved to this day.

Three mysteries, one holiday, and the hosts pulling every thread they can find while keeping things gloriously off the rails in between. Grab a cold drink, settle in, and stay a little bit spooked.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The Fourth of July "guest star" of 1054 and the supernova that could still light up our sky

The eerie same-day deaths of two founding fathers, fifty years to the day

The unsolved 1988 San Angelo murders and the cult rumors that surround Sally and Shane's case

Got a theory, a mystery of your own, or just want to send the gang some snacks? Find us and join the conversation, and come back next week when the bunker door opens again.

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This week Shane handed the pick to Josh, with one rule: choose a documentary worth talking through start to finish. Josh chose Trust Me: The False Prophet on Netflix, and it turned into one of the heaviest, most gripping conversations the bunker has had.

A heads up before you press play. This episode deals with a polygamous sect and the abuse of children. We handle it with care, we keep the focus on the survivors, and we do not sensationalize what happened to them. Everyone named as a perpetrator here has been convicted.

The story centers on Samuel Bateman, a man who grew up a minor figure inside the FLDS community of Short Creek on the Arizona and Utah border. When the imprisoned prophet Warren Jeffs banned his followers from marrying or having children, Bateman saw an opening. He told the community Jeffs had died, declared himself the chosen successor, and started granting the one thing his followers had been denied. Within a few years he had built a small faction and accumulated more than twenty wives, many of them children.

What makes this documentary different is how it was made. A cult expert named Christine Marie and her husband, a videographer, moved into the community, earned Bateman's trust, and recorded him from the inside while feeding everything to the FBI. The camera was the weapon. Shane, Kim, and Josh walk through the whole timeline: the undercover footage, the moment a stranger spotted small fingers poking through the slats of a trailer on a Flagstaff street, the federal arrest staged inside a warehouse, and the kidnapping Bateman ordered from jail that sent eight girls across state lines before police recovered them.

We also cover what the series could not, because it happened after filming wrapped. Bateman is now serving fifty years. Eleven of his adult followers have been convicted, one of them sentenced to life for handing over his own daughters. And we sit with the hardest questions the story raises. Why did the children who were removed break free while many of the adults stayed loyal? What do we make of a couple who deceived a man for a year to stop him? And what does it mean that he still calls his followers every day from prison?

This one is sobering, but it is also a story about ordinary people who refused to look away. Come sit with us in the bunker for a serious one.

What you'll hear in this episode:

How Warren Jeffs's prison decree created the opening Bateman exploited

The couple who infiltrated the cult and handed the FBI its case

The trailer stop, the warehouse arrest, and the kidnapping from jail

The convictions and fifty year sentence that came after the cameras stopped

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Shane handed the reins to Kim for this one. The challenge was simple: pick a documentary off a streaming service, and the gang talks the whole thing through. Kim picked The Jewel Thief on Hulu, and honestly, it is one of the most jaw-dropping true crime stories you will ever hear.

The gang investigates the life of Gerald Blanchard, a Canadian thief who treated high security like a personal insult. Adopted, raised in poverty in Omaha, dyslexic and bullied, he started by forging receipts and returning stolen electronics for cash, and he never really stopped climbing. By the time he peaked, money was not even the point anymore. As one detective put it, he had a genuine compulsion to beat the system.

The centerpiece is the crime that made him famous: in 1998 he walked into Schoenbrunn Palace in Vienna and swapped a priceless imperial diamond star, the Sisi Star, for a replica he bought in the gift shop. Or did he parachute onto the roof from a small plane in the dark, like he claims? A parachute was found near the palace. The director spent years trying to verify the story and could not. That uncertainty is part of the fun, and Shane, Kim, and Josh dig right into it.

From there the gang follows Blanchard through a bank heist so elaborate he built a full replica of the target room to rehearse, mounted handles on the drywall so he could pass through the walls, and beat the bank's high-security locks by loosening the screws that held them in place. We get into the international fraud ring run by a shadowy figure known only as The Boss, the Cairo ATM scheme his crew pulled off in disguise, and the small, almost silly mistake that finally brought the whole thing down. We talk through the eight year sentence that should have been a hundred and sixty, the deal that kept all seven of his accomplices out of prison, the priceless jewel he hid in his grandmother's basement for nine years, and where Blanchard has landed since.

Along the way Shane, Kim, and Josh wrestle with the part that makes this story stick. Nobody got hurt, which is exactly why it plays like a comedy, and the detectives who caught him ended up touring the country praising how brilliant he was. Is that admiration earned, or is celebrating a thief part of the problem? And if a man can rewrite his own legend at will, does it even matter what actually happened on that palace roof?

Pull up a chair in the bunker. No ghosts this week, just one of the strangest, most charming criminals of the modern era, and a conversation about why we cannot stop being fascinated by him.

What you'll hear in this episode:

How a bullied, dyslexic kid from Omaha became a master thief

The Sisi Star heist, and the parachute story nobody can prove

The bank job he rehearsed in a full-scale replica room

The eight year sentence, the bargaining chip, and where he is today

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The Michigan Dogman has claw marks, a police report, grainy film footage, and decades of eyewitness accounts. It also has a birth certificate: April 1, 1987. This week Shane brings the gang a mystery about how legends get made, and a radio prank that refused to stay a joke.

Steve Cook, a DJ and production man at WTCM in Traverse City, needed an April Fools bit. So he wrote "The Legend, " a spoken-word song over a cheap keyboard, credited to a singer who did not exist named Bob Farley. Morning host Jack O'Malley slipped it into rotation with no setup and no warning. Within an hour, the phone lines lit up. Listeners were not calling to laugh. They were calling to report their own encounters, including one man who swore he had seen the creature back in 1937 while fishing the Muskegon River and had never told a soul. Cook later admitted to the Detroit Free Press that he made the whole thing up from his own imagination. It did not matter. "The Legend" became the station's most requested song within a month, and Cook eventually cataloged more than one hundred reports, selling the song on cassette and donating the money to animal shelters.

The detail Shane could not shake: the song invented its own history. It placed the first sighting in 1887, exactly one hundred years before it aired, with eleven lumberjacks at a Wexford County logging camp, and it set a pattern of sightings in years ending in seven. Yet no newspaper, diary, or logging camp record from before 1987 describing a Michigan dog man has ever surfaced. Not from believers, not from skeptics, not from anyone.

The gang investigates what grew around the prank: Robert Fortney's black dog with blue eyes near Paris, Michigan, a story whose date drifts between 1937 and 1938 depending on the telling; the July 1987 cabin near Luther, Michigan, clawed up badly enough that DNR officers and the county sheriff investigated and Paul Harvey carried the story nationally; and the infamous Gable Film, the shaky footage that anchored MonsterQuest's series finale until a man named Mike confessed on camera, ghillie suit, coat-hanger ears, and all.

So, case closed? Not quite. Josh wants to know what separates a dogman from a werewolf, and Shane plays devil's advocate: maybe a Dogman really is out there, and the timing is one strange coincidence. Black dog legends reach back through Scottish and Irish lore, and truckers still trade their own versions. Why does this one keep finding believers?

Also in the bunker: a snack box from Thailand turns chaotic the moment the gang meets durian, a fruit so foul that some hotels in Thailand ban it outright. Zoinks. Kim tastes it anyway, and the bunker may never smell the same.

What you'll hear in this episode:

How a 1987 WTCM radio prank invented the Michigan Dogman

The Luther cabin attack that made the papers and a police report

The Gable Film hoax and the on-camera confession that ended it

A durian wafer taste test that nearly cleared the bunker

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Shane and Kim are back from Las Vegas, and the bunker has some catching up to do. Josh spent the week working twelve-hour shifts, so the gang skips the mystery, pulls up chairs, and settles in for a full CrimeCon debrief instead. No Unmasked this week. It all got folded into one long hangout, exactly the way these conversations want to go.

The trip got off to a rocky start. Caesars Palace, home base for CrimeCon this year, hid its elevators, parked Shane and Kim a half-mile hike from the front desk, and kept the minibar fridge locked unless they paid thirty dollars a night to open it. Shane tried to outsmart the system and scored a free fridge. Jinkies, what a victory, until a maid arrived carrying a cooler barely big enough for eight cans. Then there was the TUMI store in the fancy mall next door, where Shane walked in to browse and walked out with a confession he swore he would never make, least of all into a live microphone.

The CrimeCon sessions themselves were some of the most powerful the gang has ever sat through. Detectives who worked the 2017 Las Vegas shooting walked the audience through what happened inside Mandalay Bay. Epstein survivors sat down with Chris Hansen, and one of them described being warned that holding everyone in the files accountable could topple governments. Her answer: let it fall. At the Clue Awards, the survivors were honored with the Crime Fighter of the Year award. And in a backstage hallway, Shane gave directions to a friendly stranger, then walked into the survivors session the next day and realized exactly who he had been chatting with. Hansen even invited Shane to join an upcoming sting operation in Michigan, an offer he is still grinning about.

Then Las Vegas itself took over. The Wizard of Oz at the Sphere came with wind effects, seats that rattled through the tornado, and drones standing in for flying monkeys. The gift shop nearly did more damage than the twister, with one shirt priced at a hundred dollars. There was Fremont Street at five in the evening, despite an Uber driver's warning that nothing gets going before eleven. And there was the gentlest driver in all of Nevada, whose calm, precise "Yes, ma'am" became the trip's unofficial catchphrase.

Mix in Kim's neighbor saga, the great tipping-screen debate, and a postcard from Greenville, South Carolina, and you have a proper night in the bunker. CrimeCon heads to Orlando next year. Shane's mystery returns next week.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The CrimeCon sessions that stuck with the gang: the Las Vegas shooting detectives, Epstein survivors with Chris Hansen, and the Clue Awards

Chris Hansen inviting Shane on a sting operation in Michigan

The Wizard of Oz at the Sphere, complete with wind, rumbling seats, and flying monkey drones

The locked fridge standoff at Caesars Palace and the tiniest free fridge in Nevada

A tipping-screen showdown and the Uber driver the gang will never forget

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The gang investigates a mystery where the legend came first and the archaeology came second.

In 1883, Northern Paiute author Sarah Winnemucca published something extraordinary. In "Life Among the Piutes," she described an ancient enemy her people called the Si-Te-Cah. Red-haired. Cannibals. According to Paiute oral tradition, the tribes united against them, cornered them in a cave, and set it on fire. Winnemucca wrote that she personally possessed their hair, handed down through her family for generations.

Twenty-nine years later, two guano miners cracked open a cave eighteen miles south of Lovelock, Nevada. Under six feet of bat droppings, they found thousands of artifacts, mummified human remains, and something that stopped researchers in their tracks: some of the mummies had red hair.

The oral tradition was on paper before anyone touched the cave.

Tonight, Shane brings this mystery to the gang. They walk through the full timeline: Winnemucca's 1883 account, the 1911 guano mining discovery, the formal excavation that recovered ten thousand artifacts from a single cave, and the 1924 discovery of eleven duck decoys now recognized as the oldest waterfowl decoys in the world. Nevada made them the official state artifact in 1995. The originals sit at the Smithsonian.

Then the story takes a turn. A 1931 newspaper claimed skeletons measuring eight and ten feet tall had been found near Lovelock. The "red-haired giants" narrative exploded across fringe media, YouTube, and at least two History Channel segments. But when physical anthropologist Dr. Sheilagh Brooks examined the so-called giant bones in the 1970s, she found people about six feet tall. Some of the bones labeled "giant" turned out to be from cows.

Jinkies.

So the giants were debunked. The 2018 DNA analysis confirmed the Lovelock Cave people carried Native American haplogroups. The science explains the red hair as a chemical reaction: dark hair changes color in dry, alkaline cave environments over centuries.

But the science does not explain everything. The Paiute described the Si-Te-Cah as people who used spear-throwers instead of bows. The archaeological record at Lovelock Cave shows a documented weapons transition from atlatls to bows in the tool layers. The legend matches a detail in the dirt.

And Winnemucca said they had reddish hair before anyone pulled a mummy out of that cave.

The mystery stays open. The gang explores it all.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The full Sarah Winnemucca quote about the Si-Te-Cah and the mourning dress

How two guano miners accidentally uncovered four thousand years of history

The world's oldest duck decoys and why they matter

What Dr. Sheilagh Brooks actually found when she measured the "giant" bones

The atlatl-to-bow detail that nobody can fully explain

Two Shit Fire stories from Nevada that have to be heard to be believed

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There's a five-story hotel in the Nevada desert where guests wake up to find a single pearl on their pillow. Nobody brought it. Housekeeping didn't put it there. The staff keeps a guest ghost story book at the front desk. The pearls keep filling it.

The gang investigates the Lady in Red — the ghost of the Mizpah Hotel in Tonopah, Nevada. USA Today named it the #1 Most Haunted Hotel in America in 2018. Shane flew to Vegas early for CrimeCon, Jennifer joined them, and he brought a Lady in Red mystery worth the trip.

The legend says a woman named Rose, working out of the hotel in the early 1920s, was strangled on the fifth floor by a jealous lover. Her pearl necklace broke in the attack. Pearls scattered. For years, across multiple ownership groups, guests have reported waking up to a single pearl on their pillow — same floor, same hallway outside Room 502. The Lady in Red's official room is 504, red curtains and a canopy bed. But the activity isn't in 504.

Zoinks! Here's the problem. Shane went looking for Rose and couldn't find her. No contemporary newspaper coverage of a murder at the Mizpah in that period. A name attached to the legend, Evelyn Mae Johnson, born Baltimore 1879, doesn't match any of the fifty-two Baltimore birth records from that year. The hotel built its entire identity around a woman the historical record cannot confirm ever existed. 

And yet the Lady in Red keeps leaving pearls.

When Ghost Adventures filmed at the Mizpah for Season 5, Episode 2, broadcast September 30, 2011 — about a month after the hotel reopened from a twelve-year shutdown — cameras caught elevator doors opening on their own, a shadow blocking light from under a closed door, and an EVP of a female voice saying "I'm Evil. " THB rule: we report what cameras recorded. We don't tell you what it means.

Like, what if a town of eighteen hundred people, with the darkest sky in the lower forty-eight, a 117-year-old operating elevator, a cemetery next to a clown motel with six thousand clown figures, ends up haunted not because of Rose, but because the place outlived its purpose and the building didn't know how to stop?

This is the special Vegas drop. Recorded the night before CrimeCon. Three voices in a hotel room with Nevada laws that sound made up, a bar that built a rooftop to watch nuclear weapons detonate at sixty-five miles, and three Mirage dolphins relocated to SeaWorld San Diego before the casino shut its doors in July 2024.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The pearl that keeps appearing on the pillow across multiple ownership groups

The Lady in Red legend and the historical hole at the center of it

What Ghost Adventures caught at the Mizpah in 2011

The other Mizpah ghosts — children, miners, a soldier — none of whom get the marketing

Why Tonopah itself might be the haunting

Shit Fire storie: the Yellow-billed Loon, one of the rarest mainland-breeding birds in North America, that shut down the Bellagio fountains,.

Join the gang. The mystery stays open. The pearl stays on the pillow.

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Le Nain Rouge has cursed Detroit for three hundred years. Antoine Laumet made up the name "Cadillac, " stole a coat of arms off a gate in France, and founded the city under a lie. Three weeks after he arrived, something small and red stepped out of the riverbank fog, and he swung his cane at it.

The fortune teller in Quebec had warned him. His wife recognized it. He hit it anyway.

Tonight is a special. Our friend Jennifer brought this one from Detroit. She's sharing the mystery of Le Nain Rouge — the Red Dwarf — while Shane and Kim get to listen.

The gang investigates a creature reported in Detroit for over three hundred years. Every time the city has fallen, somebody reported seeing the little red man again. The 1763 Battle of Bloody Run. The Great Fire of June 11, 1805, the one that gave Detroit its motto, Speramus Meliora — we hope for better things; it shall rise from the ashes. The 1812 surrender, when General Hull gave up the city without firing a shot. The 1872 sighting by Jane Dacy in the Detroit Free Press. The 1884 newspaper account of a woman attacked by something she called "a baboon with a horned head, brilliant restless eyes, and a devilish leer. " The 1967 Riots. The 1976 ice storm.

Like, what if Detroit's whole identity, from its founding to its bankruptcy to its rebirth, is wrapped around a creature it can't actually find?

Jinkies! Here's where it gets stranger. The first written record of the Nain Rouge doesn't appear until 1884, one hundred and eighty-three years after Cadillac's encounter. Marie Caroline Watson Hamlin, a descendant of Detroit's earliest French families, gathered the oral tradition into Legends of le Détroit that same year. Either Hamlin influenced the sightings, or the sightings influenced Hamlin, or both responded to the same Detroit anxiety.

Plus: the Marche du Nain Rouge, founded 2010 by Wayne State law students Francis Grunow and Joe Uhl, modeled after New Orleans' post-Katrina Mardi Gras revival. The annual parade banishes Le Nain Rouge in effigy on the steps of the Masonic Temple at 500 Temple Street. Indigenous scholars have argued since the parade began that the Nain Rouge has roots in Anishinaabe protector-spirit traditions, and a mostly-non-Indigenous parade banishing it enacts colonial logic. That debate hasn't gone away. Neither has the curse.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The con man who founded Detroit — Antoine Laumet and the noble identity he invented

Marie-Thérèse Guyon, Cadillac's wife, called the "First Lady of Detroit" by the Detroit Historical Society

The fortune teller's warning Cadillac ignored

Every documented sighting from 1701 to 1976, including the 1872 and 1884 Detroit Free Press accounts

Father Gabriel Richard — the priest who gave Detroit its motto, then died September 13, 1832, treating cholera patients

Three competing theories: French lutin vs. Anishinaabe spirit vs. literary creation

The Marche du Nain Rouge, the Masonic Temple, and the Indigenous protest

Two Shit Fire stories: Officer Matthew Jackson at Zoom court without pants, and a Michigan bear who wore a plastic drum lid for two years

Join the gang. The cane stays raised.

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Dave brings this mystery to the bunker with Kim and Josh this week, and the gang explores a case where an entire city's survival may have depended on keeping the music playing. The Axeman was never identified, never caught, and left behind only questions.

Some researchers believe the letter wasn't written by the killer at all, but by a musician hoping to sell copies of a song called "Don't Scare Me Papa, " inspired by the events. The Axeman's attacks resumed briefly afterward, with possible additional murders as late as 1920, before the killer simply vanished from history. Theories about his identity range from a lone drunk who turned violent to mafia enforcers targeting grocers who may have been laundering money or refusing to cooperate. 

That Tuesday happened to be St. Joseph's Day. The city erupted in music. Jazz poured from every window, every open door, every club. Those without instruments or records rushed to any establishment playing music. The streets were alive with sound. And nobody was killed that night.

Then came the letter. On March 13, 1919, the Times-Picayune newspaper published a letter from someone claiming to be the Axeman himself. Written with theatrical flair, the author declared himself "a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell" and made a demand: at 12:15 AM on the following Tuesday, every home must have a jazz band playing in full swing. Anyone without jazz would "get the ax."

The first known attack claimed the lives of Joseph and Catherine Maggio in May 1918. Joseph's brothers discovered them after hearing strange groaning through the walls. Catherine was nearly decapitated. A straight razor had been used alongside the axe. The back door panel had been knocked out. And in the months that followed, the same pattern repeated across the city. Italian grocers, doors chiseled open, the household axe turned against its owners, nothing taken.

Between 1918 and 1919, a mysterious figure terrorized the Italian grocers of New Orleans. The attacker's method was consistent and chilling: chisel through a panel in the back door, enter the home behind the grocery store, pick up the family's own axe, and attack. Nothing was ever stolen. The victims, who somehow survived more often than not, could never remember what happened. And the city had no idea who was responsible.

Jinkies! The gang travels to early 1900s New Orleans for a mystery that demanded an entire city play jazz music or face the consequences.

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Zoinks! The trail leads from a Cleveland bank vault to a quiet Massachusetts life, and the only person who ever knew the full truth took most of it to his grave.

Josh brings this mystery to the bunker this week while Kim and buddy Dave join him, asking the questions that remain: How did a man who supposedly couldn't find his own socks maintain a double identity for five decades? How did he explain away his missing family, his absent past? And perhaps most intriguing of all, did he really do it just because of a movie?

The case remained open for over half a century. Tragically, the original detective who worked the case died just two years before its resolution. In 2021, on his deathbed, Thomas Randall finally confessed to his wife and adult daughters that he was really Theodore Conrad, the bank teller who vanished with nearly $1.9 million in today's money.

From Cleveland, Conrad fled to Washington D.C., then Los Angeles, before finally settling in a small Massachusetts town where he reinvented himself as Thomas Randall. He worked as a golf pro at a country club and sold high-end cars. He married in 1982, raised two daughters, and became well-liked by his neighbors and local police. For fifty-two years, he lived an entirely fabricated life while his case appeared on both America's Most Wanted and Unsolved Mysteries.

What makes Conrad's story so captivating isn't just the robbery itself. It's everything that came after. The all-American boy, popular student council member with a high IQ, simply evaporated. He left behind a note to his girlfriend confessing what he'd done, and his buddies told police he'd been obsessed with the 1967 film The Thomas Crown Affair, often joking about how easy it would be to steal from the bank. They never took him seriously. Why would they?

On July 11, 1969, twenty-year-old Theodore Conrad walked into the vault at Society National Bank's Cleveland headquarters, stuffed $215,000 in cash into a brown paper bag, and walked right out the front door. Nobody stopped him. Nobody questioned the bag. And because he left on a Friday evening, the theft wasn't discovered until Monday, giving him a two-and-a-half-day head start that turned into a lifetime.

The gang investigates one of the most audacious bank heists in American history, and the five decades of silence that

followed.

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Zoinks! What do pheromones, the Pentagon, and an elite ancient Greek army have in common? More than you would ever guess, and Josh is here to connect the dots in one of the wildest episodes the gang has tackled yet.

It started with cologne. Josh has been on a lifelong quest for the perfect scent, one powerful enough to, as he puts it, land a big hairy silver fox. While researching pheromone-based fragrances, he stumbled onto something the United States government would probably rather forget: the Gay Bomb. Yes, that was the actual name. In the late 1990s, the Pentagon explored the idea of a non-lethal weapon that would release pheromones into the air and make enemy soldiers so attracted to each other that they would stop fighting. The theory was that an explosion of airborne hormones would trigger a mass battlefield romance, effectively ending combat without a single bullet fired.

The proposal made it far enough to appear in official Pentagon records as part of a broader study into non-lethal chemical weapons. It was never built, and for good reason. No scientific evidence has ever demonstrated that any scent or pheromone can alter a person's sexual orientation. Companies have been making that claim since the 1970s with musky colognes and supposed attraction sprays, and the science has never backed it up.

But the trail leads somewhere unexpected. Josh discovered that an all-gay military unit actually existed, and it was one of the most feared fighting forces in the ancient world. The Sacred Band of Thebes consisted of 150 male couples, 300 soldiers total, who fought side by side as lovers. The idea was simple and effective: a soldier fights harder when the person he loves is standing next to him on the battlefield. The unit was active from 378 BC and remained undefeated for decades until Alexander the Great finally overcame them in 338 BC.

The gang investigates how ancient Greek culture viewed homosexuality in the military, including passages from Plato's Symposium that praised the bond between male soldiers as a source of extraordinary courage. As Plato wrote, no man is such a coward that love cannot inspire him with bravery equal to the bravest born. In ancient Greece, these relationships were not hidden or merely tolerated. They were celebrated as a military advantage.

From a Pentagon proposal that treated attraction as a weapon to an ancient army that proved love actually could win wars, this episode covers ground that history books tend to skip. Josh brings his signature humor and genuine curiosity to a story that is equal parts absurd, fascinating, and surprisingly moving.

What you'll hear in this episode:

The real Pentagon proposal to weaponize pheromones and why it never left the drawing board

The Sacred Band of Thebes, 300 elite gay soldiers who were undefeated for 40 years

Plato's take on why love makes better warriors than fear

Josh's personal quest for the perfect cologne and how it led to a classified government document

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