Chambers of the Occult - EP# 31 A Killers Glow & The Screaming House: O Bandido da Luz Vermelha and The Screaming House of Union, Missouri

Episode Date: March 6, 2025

Send us a textIn this episode of Chambers of the Occult, we delve into two terrifying tales—one of a ruthless criminal whose reign of terror cast a red glow over Brazil and another of a house so horrifying that people refused to walk past it.First, J takes us into the dark streets of São Paulo, where a masked predator known as O Bandido da Luz Vermelha—The Red Light Bandit—terrorized the city. Inspired by Hollywood outlaws, this elusive criminal left a trail of burglaries, assaults, and murders under the eerie glow of a flashlight. But who was the man behind the myth, and what led to his shocking downfall?Then, Kai leads us to Union, Missouri, where a seemingly ordinary house became the site of relentless paranormal torment. Dubbed The Screaming House, this residence was plagued by violent poltergeist activity, chilling voices, and an oppressive malevolence so strong that even passersby would cross the street to avoid it. When one unsuspecting family moved in, they faced horrors so intense that their story became one of the most disturbing modern hauntings on record.Crime and the supernatural collide in this chilling episode of Chambers of the Occult. Lock your doors, keep the lights on, and get ready for a journey into fear.

Have you ever heard the phrase, money can't buy happiness? Back in the 1960s, it couldn't buy safety either. The wealthy thought they could. They built their homes like fortresses, gated, bolted, wrapped in steel and stone. They slept easy, convinced that whatever prowled the streets belonged in the slums, the gutters, to the shadows they'd never have to see. But fear doesn't follow rules. It doesn't stop at gates.

It doesn't check bank accounts. It didn't matter who you were. A student in his dorm. A man at the bar. A businessman in his grand estate. A guard standing watch. And it always started with the lights. A flicker. a stutter.

That moment when your stomach knots, when the air feels wrong but you tell yourself, it's just a bulb, just a hiccup in the power. Then, you see it. A glow. Thin, sharp. Red as fresh spilled blood, sliding up the walls, crossing the ceiling, not searching, hunting, and then click. It lands on you.

You don't even have time to scream. No one ever saw his face. Just that red glow. Because by the time it found you, you were already dead. Chambers of the Occult may contain content that might not be suitable for all listeners. Listener discretion is advised. Music Oh Shit That was a great cold open, I'm glad that you liked it

hmm I I was not you were like describing it. It's like a red glow climbing up the walls. And I was like, whoa, like, okay, straight up. And then it's on me. Okay. What are we talking about? Yeah. Yeah.

All right. Way to set the scene. Welcome everyone. Anyway, welcome. Chambers of the occult episode... 31. I am Jay. I'm Kai. And... Yeah.

We hope you're ready for some more of the usual... I was gonna say nonsense, but that's the wrong episode. What's going on there? Uh, welcome back to some of the morbid and Weird yeah, yeah, we can put it like that. Yeah You know you know what you're getting into you clicked on the episode I mean, there's definitely something weird about this red fucking blur that hunts and murders Yeah

1960s okay, let's get into it. We're heading straight to Brazil. Nice. Love that place. I realized that we really haven't covered anything in South America, so I was like, hey, Brazil. We have. Whoa, yeah, we have it. No. Because I was going to be like a boy painter of like, but I was like, wait, Spain is not in South America. No, no, not even in the same part of the globe. No it's not. I'm not, yeah. I'm not racist, I swear.

No. Yeah, okay. Yeah. So, we're heading to the state of Sao Paulo. And it's a city with towering skyscrapers, looming over winding alleys where, like, wealth and poverty exist side by side, what you typically expect in a big city. Now, one fateful night, a shadow figure would emerge from the darkness, leaving terror in its wake. Because...

That's what they do, right? Yeah. Either that or, you know, they follow you because it's your shadow. What if you don't have a shadow? What if... Whoa, what would you do if you just didn't have a shadow? What if... Whoa, what would you do if you just didn't have a shadow? I would be very concerned. Yeah, me too. And I would say talk to your doctor, but they can't help with that. Well, maybe they could. There might be some medical thing behind it. Who knows?

Some medical thing? I don't know. behind it. Who knows? Some medical thing. No. Um, no. I think I would just probably lose it. Hahaha. Alright, so shadow figure. Yeah. It starts popping up. Our story begins on the night of October 3rd, 1966. Alright.

So, in the quiet tree-lined street of Sumer, it's in Portuguese. I can do my best, but there will be some names butchered. It was a wealthy yet unassuming neighborhood. Most of the residents at the time were settling for the night. There was a distant hum of traffic from the city center. And the houses were well-kept, they sat behind iron gates, and the occupants were oblivious to the horror that was about to unfold. Aren't they always?

I mean, I think even now we are. Yeah. Yeah, I definitely am. I have no clue what's about to happen. No, I mean, like, right now, like, we're oblivious to the things happening around us. Oh, 100%! Yeah. Yeah.

Always. So instead, one of his homes was a 19-year-old named Walter Bedran. Bedran. Okay. He was alone. Perhaps he was buried in his studies, or he was unwinding from a long day. A routine evening, no different from other nights before. There was a soft glow of his desk lamp

casting a flickering shadow across the wall. And without warning, darkness. Walter's... Like in his room? Yep, his lamp flickered once, twice, and then it died. It just plunged his room into darkness. Yep. His lamp flickered once, twice, and then it died. It just plunged his room into darkness. And of course, that's when a chill runs down people's spine, they're like, oh, like, what happened? What happened? Where the fuck did the lights go?

A power outage, perhaps. But... Everything had been working fine just moments ago. So, he hesitated for a second, he was listening, the house was silent, too silent, the kind of sound that just feels wrong. So slowly and uneasy, he stood from his chair, moving cautiously through his corridors, his footsteps barely making any sound as he walked through the room, and then he reached for the light switch. Nothing.

But something wasn't right, of course. His heart began to pound, the quiet ticking of the clock suddenly deafening in the darkness, and he turned towards the backyard, drawn by an instinct he couldn't really quite explain. Step by step he moved towards the door, and as he reached the threshold, the air felt heavier. A single breath escaped his lips, a smell cloud of the cold night air, and then a flash. A thin, piercing red beam, cutting through the darkness, slicing across his face like the unblinking eye of a predator. And before he could react, a gunshot shattered the silence.

So like a laser! Oh, so like a laser. Oh, okay. Oh, okay. Oh, okay. Oh, okay. I- When you started this, it was like a red blur that crawled up and dropped

up, like got me thinking like some creature, like paranormal. Oh, and you're like, Jay, you're not doing this. That's my story. Yeah, I was like, but this is a true crime case. Yeah. I was like, it's not a... Yeah, that makes a lot more sense.

Yeah. So, it's not like a rifle sniper laser. It's more of a flashlight. Gotcha. Just like a red flashlight. Yeah, exactly. Gotcha. Just like a red, like, flashlight. Yeah. Exactly. Like the ones that we use in Paranormal Investigations. Yeah. Yeah, yeah.

It's a red light. Yeah. It makes your eyes easier to adjust through the darkness. In the dark, yeah. So, in the silent of the night, he got that red light on him him and a gunshot went off. Walter's body jerked violently. The impact sent him sprawling backwards. His breath hitched on his throat.

His limbs were already growing numb and as he collapsed to the ground, dead. That quick. Then just as quickly as it had appeared, that light was gone. Wow. The quiet neighborhood of Sumer had just witnessed its first brush with a terror that was only beginning.

Did this terror have a name? I guess don't spoil it if you don't need to. There is one. Would you like to guess? The Red Light Bandit. Yes! What? Yes! So this is known as the red light bandit but because it's in takes place in Brazil they know it as o bandido da luz vermelha but this is a red light bandit. Didn't you just cover a red light bandit? Yes! Yeah okay that's why I'm that's why I was like so surprised. Yeah, so

So this is Brazil's red light bandit. Yep. Okay The thing is I actually just wrote that here somewhere. Let me find it real quick Brazil had their own version of the red light bandit, but this one was far more dangerous because this one was killing people. Gotcha. Because unlike Chessmen, who was eventually caught and sentenced to death, this red light bandit was still out there roaming free, striking at will, and proving that no one was safe. If you guys don't know what we're talking about, it was episode 29, right? Yeah. Yeah, episode 29. Jay covered Carol Chessman?

Carol Chessman, yes. Carol Chessman, the red light bandit. So we've got kind of back to back. The thing is, when I was originally searching for, you know, doing research on the red light bandit, I was doing research on this one and then without knowing I was doing research on the other one. I was like, wait, how do we transition from Brazil to California? Does it make sense? And that's when I realized that there's two.

Ah, and then you were like, wait, these would both be good stories. Yeah. So that's why I started with the California one because that's the original red light bandit. Okay. This one was, you could say, the second one. Because the Red Light Bandit in the United States was a decade earlier. Carol Chessman had gained that infamy, and now we're in Brazil with a new Red Light Bandit. What year was this again?

Let me pull it up right now. This was in 1990 1966, okay So once again, that's funny anyway, no, I'm actually very glad that you're like they're red light and it's like it's not gonna be I did not think it would be the red light bandit because you just covered The red light bandit. It was so funny I don't know if you saw but I literally opened up a new tab right now and I looked up Carol Jessman I was like it is the red light bandit. I was like what? Yes, so this one is the Brazilian red light bandit. Yeah, tell me more

Okay, so just ten days after the shocking murder of Walter Burden the city of Palo Alto, uh, Sao Paulo remain, of course, in high alert. Palo Alto back in California. Oh no, wrong red light. Wrong bandit. Wrong bandit, yeah. So once again, the crime, a young man gunned down in his own backyard by an unseen assailant.

So, it had sent fear through the community. Neighbors double-checked their locks, they whispered of a faceless killer, and of course, newspaper headlines warned that danger lurked in the shadows. But life in a big city never really stops, as we've covered in a lot of true crime stories. Like, people have this fear, but they just have in a lot of true crime stories. People have this fear, but they just have to keep going with their daily routine. So now we're going to be moving to a different neighborhood, the neighborhood of Bella Vista.

And Bella Vista was known for its vibrant nightlife, working class roots, and cultural diversity. The streets were still alive after the sunset. Bars and cafes brim with patrons, fueling the air with laughter, conversation, and of course the occasional debate. So among this area, we're going to be looking at 23-year-old worker Jose Enas de Costa. He had a long day of grueling work and like many others, he thought, I'm going to go to a bar and just enjoy a drink. So inside the bar, it was a lively oasis compared to just a lively backdrop against the city on the edge.

You could hear the glasses clink, people talking, laughter. It was a kind of atmosphere that men just kind of enjoyed after a hard day's work at the bar. Gotcha. Swapping stories over drinks. So he took a sit at the wooden counter, resting his elbows on the well-worn surface. The bartender was pouring him a drink when another customer walked in. The door saw him open, the slight creak drowned out by the sounds of the bar,

a figure stepped inside. To any casual observer, this was just another person. Yeah. Just blending in that crowd. Yeah, why would it be? It's someone walking into a bar. Yeah, but something about him was off. His presence, his demeanor, or the way that he cared himself. No one knew what started the confrontation. Maybe it was a misunderstood glance, a misplaced word, or maybe it was just the volatile nature of the stranger himself.

Okay. Maybe Jose recognized him. Maybe he didn't. Just gave off weird vibes. Yeah. What is certain is that the tension blew in between these two men, thick as smoke, and voices rose. There was yelling, screaming at each other. At first, a sharp word. Accusations. An exchange that grew too heated, too fast. The nearby customers turn their heads. Their conversations come into a quiet to see what was happening.

The shift in atmosphere. And the stranger's posture grew rigid. His hand moved swiftly. And in a flash, a gunshot tore through the bar. Mm-hmm. Just... Yep. All right. The...

I was off about him. Oh, yeah. He was intent on pulling out that gun. Yep. The explosion just shattered the moment, reverberating off the walls, and Sally and seeing the once lively establishment a split second later. Jose collapsed, his body crumpling to the floor, his blood pulling beneath him and for that moment there was only stunned silence for that quick second, and then panic. Yeah. I mean, a guy walks in, who's odd, everybody's staring at him.

He walks up, pulls a gun, and he kills a man? It's like, you're in shock, and then you're like, what do I do? What the hell is going on? Do I run? Do I get out of here? There's that quick second of everyone hears a gun, quiet, and then they realize it was a gun, and then everyone starts to panic. Yeah. Yep. Women screamed,

chairs scraped against the floor, people ran, knocking over glasses, ducking behind tables, pushing towards the exit. The bartender stood frozen behind the counter, his mouth just wide open, the bottle in his hand slipping from his grip and shattering to the floor.

The attacker was already moving at this point. In the chaos, he slipped through the panic crowd, his face burned into the memories of those who had a glimpse of him, but they would later struggle to recall any defining features. He was a ghost, a shadow, and before anyone could react, he was in and he was gone. He was out. So, by the time the authorities got to the bar, the scene had already settled into just an eerie stillness. The lifeless body of José lay where it had fallen.

The echoes of the gunshots still ring in some of the patrons who witnessed it. But the real horror wasn't just the death itself. It was the pattern. Two murders, ten days apart, two victims, both shot. Um... One in the supposedly safety of his own home, the other one in a crowded public space. No motive, no connection, and as you saw, no warning.

The police and the media began to piece together the similarities between the killings and speculations started to go rampant, rampart. Was this a serial killer? A deranged madman? A ghostly figure just striking from the shadows? And the press had a field day. Oh, of course. Plastering headlines across morning papers, stirring speculation about a faceless killer haunting the streets of Sao Paulo.

But one question loomed above all the others. Who would be next? Oh, who would be next? Yeah. So, after a month of the silence, the city of Sao Paulo dared to believe that the nightmare had finally come to an end. I'm sure dared to believe is a key choice of words. Key word, dared.

Or believed, or you know, yeah. The newspapers had shifted focus, turning their attention away from the string of violent crimes that once dominated the headlines. But theories about the mysterious assailant who had been responsible for the murder sprees began to fade from public conversation. Had he fled? Had he been caught because of an unrelated crime? Or was he simply

laying in wait? For a city that had been held hostage by fear, normalcy started to slowly return. The paranoia that once gripped the people of Sao Paulo, the wealthy and elite, they began to wane. Social gatherings resumed, security measures were relaxed, and the one persistent whisper of the masked intruder dissipated into the background. But, as we know, peace, as so often it does, it's a fragile thing. Yes it is. So he disappeared for a while, just completely. We will get into that. Because it was very difficult to find more information, and we'll talk about why later as well. Gotcha.

Okay, but people kind of thought he was gone. Yeah. And then... It was 10 days between the first murder, a month before he would be seen again. On June 7th, 1967, we're headed to a different neighborhood. This one's called Jardim America, and it's one of Sao Paulo's most affluent neighborhoods. The district was home to politicians, business tycoons,

foreign people, they had grand estates, people of wealth lived there. Gotcha. So, among these homes stood the residence of John von Christian and... You got this. It's a Hungarian last name. Oh, John von Christian and then... And... You got this. It's a Hungarian last name. Oh. John von Christian and then...

John von Christian de Sars-Petak. Okay. Yeah. Yeah. There's a Z in there. There's... Yeah. Anyway.

Yeah. Those guys are weird over there. An industrialist of Hungarian descent. He was known for his business acumen, an aristocrat, and his home, of course, a testament to his success. Just a sprawling villa, gated, heavily secured. And inside, John was settling for the evening. You know, the world outside of his estate seemed distant after all. Hardim America was a pinnacle of security.

A neighborhood where crimes were meant to be an afterthought. Yeah, a fluent area. They weren't worried. No. But that night, his home was being watched. Once again, that same figure moved through the darkness, completely undetected by the state security. The intruder was patient, calculated, watching from the shadows, studying the property, and he had evaded capture for nearly a year.

It was a year at this point? So that's what we'll get into. Okay. Because it didn't start with that first victim. Ah, okay. Yep. So as the household settled for the night, the intruder made his move. A window cracked open.

The sound was barely audible. And like a specter drifting through the halls, he got into the house. His gloved hands moved, quickly rifling through drawers, pocketing volvo's. His trained eye was scanning just dimly lit rooms for anything worth taking.

That's what he did best. Slipping in, taking what he wanted, and vanishing before anyone knew he was there. Yep. But this time he wasn't alone. Oh. A sharp sound echoed down the hall, a door opened, and that's where John von Christian had stirred. Perhaps he said that there was something happening in the hall, a door opened, and that's where John von Christian had stirred. Perhaps he said that there was something happening in the house, maybe it was a nightly routine.

Either way, the moment he stepped into that dark corridor, his fate was sealed. He was done. His eyes landed on the shadowy figure standing at his home. For a split second, There was only silence. Then Gene lunged. He lunged at the intruder, but there was a gunshot as that happened. Fuuuck. So, the bullet threw the stillness like always.

It's a quiet night. It's super loud. John staggered backwards, his body hidden in the colic marble floor, as blood spread across his chest. That's when the masked intruder didn't hesitate. He loomed over his victim, watching the light fade over John's eyes. Then he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving nothing behind but a corpse that lingered to the scent of gunpowder. Bastard. That's one way to put it, yeah.

The morning after, you can imagine, Hardim America woke up in horror. News- What just happened? What happened last night? How did somebody break in? So news of the industrialist brutal murder spread like wildfire. Headlights screaming of the red light bandits return.

The whispers that once faded into background had roared back to life, more urgent, more fearful than ever before. The police arrived in full force, their frustration mounting, the killer had been silent for months, only to return with a chilling display of confidence and brutality. Sal Paul was no longer just afraid. It was waiting. Waiting to see who would be next.

What would happen next? Now the fear didn't subside. If anything, it just intensified. The murder of John sent shockwaves through the city. No longer was the Redlamp Band-Aid merely a phantom thief lurking in the shadows. He was now brazen, unpredictable, and the wealthy elite were on high alert. Their once lavish lifestyles

overshadowed by the creeping paranoia. And no amount of money could buy them safety. 100%. I mean, they slipped past the security. Yeah. Some of the wealthier people got, because they had the money, they hired more guards. Some installed stronger locks, and some of them even armed themselves for protection. Others, because they had the money for it, of course, chose to leave the city altogether. Yeah. Because they went to their country estates.

Mm-hmm. Far away. Just hoping to escape the horrors that were feeling inevitable. But the bandit, of course, had no intention of stopping. On the night of July 6, 1967, in the... Ipingra neighborhood, Iparanga neighborhood. There's an R in there.

This was a historic district known for its colonial architecture, affluent residences, security guards, and this is where security guard Jose Fortunado patrolled the perimeter of a grand mansion. It was a quiet night, the night that people find comforting. But Fortunado, quiet wasn't reassuring. Quiet meant something was coming. The reason headlines had already put him on edge. A thief turned to murder, terrorizing Sao Paulo's richest citizens.

The thought was enough to keep any guard on... off. There's somebody out there hunting at night who slips past everyone and gets out unseen. Yep. Fortunado had been extra-villaging that night. His hand hovering near his revolver. His eye scanning the shadows just beyond the iron gates.

And somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Ah, there it is. A normal sound, but too fortunado, it was a signo. A sign that something or someone was moving nearby. He tightened his grip on that flashlight

and took a careful step forward. Then, he saw it. A figure just beyond the gate. Too still. Too patient. The man was dressed in dark clothing, his posture unnaturally calm, as if he belonged

there. Fortunato called out, the man in the man to identify himself. No response. He took a step closer, shining his flashlight towards the intruder. And that's when he saw it. A small red beam flashing across the darkness. Fuck, man. The moment Fortunato recognized the light,

it was already too late. A gunshot cracked through the light. It was already too late. A gunshot cracked through the night. The bullet tore through his chest. He staggered backwards, gasping. His revolvers slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the pavement as his knees buckled beneath him. He hit the ground hard. His vision blurred, his lungs burning for air, and above him, the intruder, looming,

the red beam flashing once more as if confirming the kill. Then suddenly as it appeared, the bandit was gone. The only trace of him left behind was a single spent bullet casing, glinting under the pale glove of the nearby streetlamp. It would be the next morning when they would discover Jose's body. And once again, more panic. Another murder. Another victim who had tried to stand in the way of the bandit. At this point, the city wasn't just fearful, it was desperate. The wealthy class had once

pride themselves on their untouchable status, now lived in constant fear. Their grand estates, once a symbol of power and security, had become hunting grounds for a killer who seemed to just strike at will. The Sao Paulo police, already struggling to contain the chaos, were now under immense pressure to stop the red light bandit before he struck again. The question is, how do you catch a ghost? You don't. The bandit left no fingerprints, there was no real witnesses, and no clear pattern. Only death and terror.

Yeah. One thing was clear. Go ahead. That's the thing that I was thinking of, like, there really is no pattern. Like, it seemed like he wanted to target people who were previously as like unattainable the rich and whatnot but then he just sort of killed george inside his house like just because he managed to wake up and now he kills the security guard so does it seem like he necessarily has a set target? It's just like specific groups of people and if he comes across somebody, well...

The thing is, he wasn't finished yet. Of course not. So as the body count rose, so did the public fear and their fascination. The killer wasn't just another faceless criminal lurking in the night, he was different. He struck without warning, moved like a phantom, he slipped into people's home undetected, and he vanished before anyone could get to him. So it wasn't just his unpredictability that sent chills through Sao Paulo. It was his signature.

A small piercing red beam, cutting through the darkness, the only warning the victims ever had. There's barely even a warning because at that point they were already dead. Yes. By the time that you saw it, it was too late. It was this chill and detail that first caught the attention of the media. And at first, reporters scrambled to describe the elusive figure, relying on fragments of witness accounts and police speculation. But as the crimes escalated, the home invasions, the murders, the eerie red glow, the press needed a name and they found one, as we've been talking about.

They began calling him Bandido de Luz Vermelha, the red-light bandit. The name quickly spread through the newspapers, radio broadcast, brought fear to the wealthy, to the public, everyone was desperate for answers. And like I mentioned, we talked about this also earlier, this moniker wasn't just a reflection of his crime, it was a nod to another criminal legend. Like I said a decade earlier, Carl Chessman had gained infamy under the same title. So now Brazil had their own version, and he was still out there roaming free, striking at will, and proving that no one was safe. For nearly a year, São Paulo had been held hostage by fear.

The bandido da luz vermelela had become a legend of terror, a name whispered, hushed in conversations, newspaper columns. But with each crime, he became bolder. The killings of John Von Christian, a security guard, had sent a clear message. This was no longer a burglar who operated in the shadows. He served with a student, he then went to a bar, and then he moved up to the wealthier folks. He was a killer and he wasn't afraid to pull that trigger. By the mid-1967, authorities had dedicated an entire task force to tracking down this elusive red light bandit. Yeah, I mean, the pressure was immense.

The elite people were demanding results, and who has power over the cops? The elite. people were demanding results and who has power over the cops? The elite. But there was no clear fingerprints, no known associates, and only a vague description. It seemed that the ghost would never be caught. But there was a single clue. What? A stolen car. Oh. Abandoned near... go ahead. I was gonna say like stolen, was it stolen out from like Sao Paulo or? Yeah, so it was abandoned near Parana, which was nearly 400 kilometers from São Paulo. Police cross-reference previous stolen vehicles linked with the red light bandits spree.

And when they retraced its origins, it led them to one man. A man who shouldn't have existed. So this man was named Roberto de Silva. On August 8th, 1967, in the city of Curitaba, officers closed in. A small boarding house tucked away in the city streets had become his hideout. A temporary refuge where he likely thought he'd disappear. He wasn't living in Pao Salo. Sal Paulo. But the law was catching up. Under the alias of Robert da Silva, his real name was Jau Acácio Pereira da Costa. He had been living in plain sight, just blending into the ordinary citizens.

No more lavish estates to rob, no more grand escapes into the night, just a cheap rented room and the weight of the crimes that made him the most wanted man in Brazil. Wow. Maybe he knew his time was running out. Maybe he thought he could escape one more time. But there was nowhere left for him to run. Yeah. The police stormed the boarding house.

In a swift coordinated operation. They catched him completely off guard. As officers forced their way into his room, they found the legend of Sao Paulo's most feared criminal, reduced to nothing more than a desperate man. There was no red beam flashing in the dark, no gunfire breaking the silence. It was just a man surrounded by cops. Yep. They cuffed him and they let him out of the building to the streets of Curitiba. They saw the face behind the legend for the very first time.

And Sao Paulo, as the news spread, the city let out its breath of relief that they've been holding for almost a year. Wow, we finally got caught. This man who terrorized the city's elite, who had stolen, killed, he was finally behind bars. But even in captivity, his story is far from over. And I mean far from over. Really? Um, the capture of, I'm just gonna go call him Zhao, for shorter, um, had been, of course, a triumphant moment for the authorities for nearly a year. He evaded justice, leaving behind a trail of death, fear, mystery.

But now the ghost that haunted the city was no longer lurking in the dark. He was standing in broad daylight, shackled, and waiting for judgment. As the news of his arrest dominated headlines, The people of Sao Paulo demanded justice. They wanted to see the monster punished. No leniency, no mercy. But what the courts decided would ultimately stun the nation. What? No, I'm...

Okay. What the hell do they do? The moment that Zhao walked into the interrogation room, the room felt heavy. Not just with the presence of a man who had held an entire city hostage, but with the weight of his crimes stretching across months of terror. Broken lives. Um, for the in- go ahead. I was just like, yeah, like all of this people wanted to see him punished for it. And for the investigators and prosecutors, there was no doubt that they had their man.

He was born in Santa Catarina State, where he started his robbery life. Gotcha. Trying to run away from the Santa Catarina police, he moved to Sao Paulo state, and that's where he continued his crimes. So that's what you meant by it. Okay. Um, but what no one expected was that Jao Caio wasn't going to fight it. He didn't beg for mercy.

He didn't try to escape his fate. He confessed to everything. Okay. Weird choice, but... Uh, there's a lot more. Yes, I did. Sitting across from the detectives, his hands shackled, his face devoid of remorse, Zhao Cao spoke with a cold detachment.

Not as a man filled with regret, but as someone recounting a list of achievements. Yes, I killed them, he said. His voice even more casual. He detailed the murders with chill and precision, described how he had broken into mansions, how he had crept through their darkness, how he had watched his victims before striking. So we talked about the four murders. Yeah. But there was also many robberies that he did.

Yeah. Um. They asked him about 77 robberies. Whoa, that's a lot. Yep. What did he, what was the conclusion? What did he talk about? He shrugged.

It was easy. The rich had everything. I wanted what they had. So he just essentially confessed to all 77 of his robberies. Yep. With no hesitation, he walked into the... He walked the investigators through each of his crimes, from the early burglaries to the escalating violence that turned him into a thief, into a killer.

He also explained his methods. How he chose his targets, the wealthiest homes, the ones with the weakest security. I see, that makes sense. How he escalated the walls, slipped past the guard and enters the homes undetected. How he used the red flashlights sometimes as a tool of fear, sometimes as a warning.

And how when he encountered resistance, he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger That's what it seems like When they asked him about the murders, he didn't flinch Walter Burdon, he surprised me. I shot him Jose Enas de Costa, he was in my way John von Christian, he tried to fight back. I won. Jose Fortunado, the security guard. I warned him. He didn't listen. Warned him?

Um, I know. Each death, each robbery, each moment of terror, he recounted without hesitation. As if he was just replaying a film that he had just seen. The detectives pushed him, expecting some kind of emotion, remorse, regret, even satisfaction. He gave them nothing. The most chilling part, when they asked why he did it, why he killed, why he became the terror of Sao Paulo, his answer was simple.

He smiled and said, because they could. I mean, at least he's honest about it. Like, at least he doesn't... it. At least he doesn't... He's not making himself out to be on a high horse or some savior or like... Oh yeah. He's some awesome, intelligent, genius killer or whatever. He's just like...

Because I wanted to. Because I could. Because I could. Yeah. And with those three words, Jau Acayo Pereira da Costa cemented himself as one of the most terrifying criminals Brazil had ever known. He had confessed to everything and now he was ready for whatever came next. By the time his trial began, Joe Cascio had a reputation that grown into something more monsterous.

He was no longer just a thief. He was a cold-hearted killer. The Red Light Bandit. And inside the courtroom... Let's get into this. Yes. Inside the courtroom. What happened?

The mysterious shadow was gone. In his place stood a man in a plain prison uniform. He was now just reduced to a suspected suspect trapped under the weight of his crimes. The prosecution laid out a staggering scope of his offenses. Four confirmed murders, seven attempted homicides, and 77 robberies. That's a shit ton of charges. Oh yes. Witnesses came forward recounting the horrific nights where their homes had been violated,

their loved ones were held at gunpoint, and their presence shattered by the glowing red light. Some were lucky to have escaped with their lives, others were not as fortunate. But as damning as the evidence was, Jiao Casio didn't fight it. He confessed to everything. He admitted to the killings, he admitted to the robberies, and while he was not formally charged with sexual assault, reports suggest that he may have raped over 100 women during his crime spree. On May 23rd, 1968, the verdict was handed down.

handed down. Jau Casio was sentenced to, care to guess how long in prison? 200 years. An astonishing 351 years. Oh, shit. You were a little too lenient to the people in Brazil. I guess I was, I guess I was. Holy shit.

So, 351 years, 9 months, and 3 days in prison. That's literally like 4 lifetimes. If not more. What? If not more, yeah. Yeah. What? Yeah, so for many, this was just deserved. If not more. If not more, yeah. Yeah. What? Yeah. So, for many, this was just just as served.

For the families of the victims, it was a chance to finally sleep in at night, knowing that the man who tormented the city would never be free again. You said for many, though. Does that mean that some didn't think it was just it? The thing is, the sense of closure wouldn't last. Okay. Because despite the overwhelming sentence, the law of Brazil told a very different story. What? So, at the time of Jau Casio's conviction, the Brazilian law had a maximum prison sentence of 30 years. No fucking way!

Yes! Only 30 years? Yes! So, no matter how many crimes a person committed, no matter how high the sentence, the legal system was kept for 30 years. This meant that no matter how much blood was on this man's hand, no matter how many families he destroyed, Jauquacio would never serve more than 30 years behind bars.

And the public was outraged. How could a man... I am outraged. I mean, yes! When I read this as well, I was like, yeah, 300 years. And I was like, 30? Yeah. So...

You can imagine how people felt. You know, a man responsible for so much devastation, who had been sentenced for over three and a half centuries in prison, was to walk free in three decades. That's crazy. But the law was clear. And so, Joe Cascio waited. For 30 years, he sat behind bars, watching the world change, knowing that as long as he remained alive, his freedom was inevitable. On August 24, 1997, the unthinkable happened.

Wow. The red light bandit walked out of prison a free man. Wow. The red light bandit walked out of prison a free man. Wow. Is he still alive? Well, we'll get into that. Okay. Because the nightmare wasn't quite over.

For 30 years... He was still recently like, young, right Because he was probably what, like in his like 60s? Yeah, I found his thing of like find a grave. Sure, I didn't say that. But he was relatively somewhat young. Okay. For 30 years, people of Sao Paulo believed that the nightmare was over. The bandido de luz vermelha had been locked away. But the law was clear no matter how many lives he'd taken, how many homes he violated. Only 30 years. On August 26, 1997 he walked free. The most feared criminal stepped out of prison a free man carrying carrying nothing but the clothes on his back, and the legacy of fear.

Now, he didn't return to Sao Paulo. Instead, he traveled south, back to Joinville, a city where he was born. As if he was trying to erase his past and start again. But a man like this could never really disappear. He was instantly recognizable. His face was plastered across newspapers and television reports for decades. The people of Brazil hadn't forgotten him. The moment he stepped back into the world, he became a spectacle. And something about him had changed.

That's kind of ominous. Perhaps it was prison. Maybe it was the weight of his own infamy. Or perhaps he reveled in the legacy that he created. Because now Joe Acasio refused to wear anything that wasn't red. Oh, he really took on the red light bandit. Wow, he made that his identity. Red shirts, red pants, red jacket, red shoes.

He embraced it. He embraced the legacy that he had created or that created for him. He has a walking stop sign. People whispered that he had become obsessed with the color, that he was wearing his crimes like a badge of honor, a walking reminder that no

justice, no justice could truly erase the past. But the strangest part is that the attention didn't seem to bother him. If anything, he loved it. People would approach him out of curiosity, out of morbid fascination, out of the desire to say that they met the red light bandit, and ask him for an autograph. Dude.

Dude. Dude. Dude. Uh. So this is the I don't know what this man was thinking but instead of signing his name he simply scribbled one word across the page.

Autografo. Signi- Yeah. Autograph. Yep. No signature, no message. Just signature. I have a picture of it, so I'll definitely be sending you that as well. Yes, please. Just a cold, impersonal acknowledgement.

A man who knew exactly what he was, what he had done, and how he still casts a shadow over Brazil. For some, of course, it was a disturbing act of arrogance and for others it was proof that he had never really changed. Now, Joinville didn't welcome him at all. Most people didn't want anything to do with him. They avoided him on the streets, crossing the road when they saw him coming, how can you miss a man walking in all red?

He had been a myth for so long, a faceless figure, but now he was real, he was alive, and he was right there walking among them. For... Oh, wait. I... I wonder if that must have been more satisfying to him than the actual killings themselves. Do you think he knew that he would not get sentenced more than 30 years

and that's why he's like, might as well get caught? Potentially. But like, even so... Like, maybe, yeah, like he lets everybody know of all of his crimes. He only gets 30 years, so he knows he's gonna be back out in society. And he knows he can't be retrialed over something else because they're like you trialed me over all those things already And it's like he doesn't need to he doesn't need to like commit any more crimes because he still just Terrorizes the community by simply existing. Yeah by being about and I wonder if that's like just as satisfying like knowing that your Literal existence is causing people so much like fear and making them uncomfortable.

I'm sure he got like a high out of it. Yeah. For the first time in three decades, the red light bandit wasn't behind bars. The question that you had earlier is, how long would he remain free? For 30 years, Joe Cascio da Costa had been locked away. How long would he remain free? For 30 years, Jauh Casio da Costa had been locked away.

But in four months since his release, he had become something else entirely. A relic of crime, curiosity, a spectacle, people watching like a ticking bomb. Like, would he do something else again or was he done and he just reveled in this? Those who have lived through this, his reign of terror, watched him with a mix of fascination and unease. Like I said, he wore red from head to toe, he signed autographs with the word autografo, and he made his presence known wherever he went. And then one night,

it all came to an end. It was January 5th, 1998, just a few days into the new year, in Joinville, Joe Cascio found himself where he had often in the past, inside a bar, surrounded by people, drinks. The details of what triggered the altercation remain unclear, but one thing was certain. He was not a man who knew how to back down. According to the reports, an argument broke out between Jao Cascio and another man, a

local resident whose brother had allegedly been threatened by the ex-convict. Some say Jao Cascio made an inappropriate comment, others claim that he was already on the edge, carrying the kind of tension that came with being a man who refused to be forgotten. What is known is this. The argument escalated, voices were raised, and a knife appeared in Zhao Casio's hand. In a flash, the bar once buzzing with casual conversation and laughter became a site of violence. The moment the blade was branded, the figure turned into something else entirely.

The other man, fearing for his own life and his brothers, acted first. Before Jiao Cassi could strike, before he could make a move, the sound of a single gunshot cracked through the air. Ooh. Now the turntables. Yes. A sharp, violent end to a man who had lived by the gun most of his life would be ended by the gun.

The bullet hit its mark, Jau Casio staggered, his infamous red clothing darkening with blood. For a moment the bar fell silent, and then with one final, unceremonious collapse, the red light bandit was gone. Oh yeah. The news of his death spread quickly, but it didn't send shockwaves through Brazil like his crimes did. To many, he was already dead. His story had ended the way that... His story ended the day he was arrested in 1967. He was just a ghost of himself, many people said. His killer that night was taken into custody, but the case never reached the level of the public outrage

that might have been expected for the murder of a former criminal. The man claimed self-defense, stating that Jau Casio had posed an imminent threat. And in November 2004, after years of legal proceedings, the Joinville court ruled in favor of the killer, determining that the shot was justified. The case was closed. The last page of the Red Light Bandit's story had been written. There was no funeral, no mourning.

Public didn't care. He died the way he had lived. In violence, in confrontation, and in the shadows of a life shaped by crimes. The man who terrorized Sao Paulo for so long... was gone. He disappeared quickly, just like he had always done before. Exactly. Some criminals become nothing more than whispers in their dark, but others become legends. And his is a story that would live on even after his death. Because in 1968, the world saw a new version of the Red Light Bandit.

No way. Not in a police lineup, not in prison, but on the silver screen. Oh. Yeah. So, Director Rogério Sanguesla, he was 22 years old at the time, he turned Sao Paulo's most feared criminal into an artistic masterpiece. The film is called O Bandido da Luz Vermelha, The Red Light Bandit. It wasn't just a crime thriller, It was loud, fast, unpredictable. It was a mockery of the media.

It was a critique of Brazil itself where poverty and corruption could create a man like Jaucao. And in many ways, it was more surreal than the truth. Unlike traditional true crime film, this wasn't a documentary. This followed a character named George who was a burglar, much like the real Joe Cario, a cast, you know, who terrorized the elite people of Sao Paulo. But instead of a straightforward retelling, the film just jumped through time in mixed styles. It blurred the line between reality and fiction. Critics and audiences didn't know what to make of it.

But one thing was clear, it was unforgettable. And in 2010, the band had returned with a sequel. In 2010? Yes! Now, I tried watching it but I could only find it in Portuguese and I was like, ah! I'll have to find somewhere that has subtitles. And that, my friends, is the story of Jao Cascio, the bandido de la luz, Vermella,

the man who terrorized Sao Paulo, captivated the media and became a legend. Both in crime and film history. A thief turned to killer, a prison turned celebrity. And ultimately, a man who met his end the same way that he lived. Through violence and chaos. And I know what you're thinking. Jay, that was wild. But what about ghosts?

Well, lucky for you, Kai is up next. What a segue. What a segue into the paranormal case. Thank you for the Red Light Bandit 2.0 number number two. Yeah, so Kai Take it away and try not to scare me too much unless you're planning to keep me up all night But yeah, what did you think of the red light bandit? Oh that was a good case Honestly, I think that was fun. I mean it would have been scary as hell to be living in Sao Paulo, right? Oh, that was a good case. Honestly, I think that was fun. Um, I mean, it would have been scary as hell to be living in Sao Paulo, right? Oh, of course.

Um, the craziest part is that he only got 30 years, right? Because of the law. Yeah. At the time, I don't know now if like that's changed, but at the time, the maximum they could sentence someone was 30 years. And that's what he got. I mean, I think, I think Brazil in in general like nowadays is much more like hardcore on crime. I think I don't know I would be talking on my ass

I mean, I'm sure people were probably outraged that he only got 30 years and I'm sure at some point something else happened where people Were like they need more time and something was done about that. Yeah but yeah, I don't know I felt like that moment was like a... Like I could see him smirking when they're like, oh he's only going to get 30 years out of 300. Same, like he's just sitting back casually. He's like, like 30 years. Like I'll make it out. Yeah, that's gonna go by quick. Yeah. That's gonna go by quick. Yeah. Boom.

All right, well, time for some Spokes. Yeah, whatever your, time for, time for Kai. Yeah. All right. Well, my case, it takes us to 2001 in Union, Missouri, here in the United States. Okay. So the Lachance family had been through a lot.

Life was tough the past couple of years. Living situation wasn't great, being crammed into a small apartment with the father, Stephen, and his three kids. And they finally found a house in Union, Missouri. It was nice. It was a great deal. It felt like a fresh start. A place to heal, to rebuild from what they had been struggling with. It seemed perfect at first, quiet, peaceful. It was honestly surprising. You know, they were kind of flabbergasted with this new house that they had managed to find just in the nick of time.

Okay. Peace. But peace didn't last long. It never does. We just talked about it too. It never does. And much like the red light bandit, it happened quick. For the Lachance family, it started almost instantly.

What started instantly? Strange creeks, cold chill in the air, you know, things you could chalk up to just being an old house. But then came the screams. I'm assuming not from people, not from the family members. Unexplainable. The kind that made you want to run out of the house. Got it. That's exactly what the Lachance family did. But it wasn't just the screams.

It was so much that happened. The house rumbling, the constant shadows, were living about. Rumbling? Is this Monster House? Kind of? No. All of these things that made the Lachance family feel trapped, you know, it felt more like a prison than like a sanctuary like they had hoped it would be. They were desperate for refuge,

and they very quickly realized that their new dream home was a nightmare. Oof. No. And they thought it was just a dream home in the nick of time. Yeah. But isn't that like how a lot of like haunted house things start? Like, these different moves and they're so excited about this new place They found a great deal on the house, which is a red flag in itself. It's like why is it so cheap? But also like if you can if it's cheap, I like I'll take it to no seriously. It's like oh nothing's wrong with it It's just an old house for a good deal and I'm about to get kicked out of my apartment Yeah, I'm gonna buy it. The last owner has died in here

Cool. They're not buried here. Are they? No, great Yeah No, no In this economy, I'll take it so The lechance family, um, they were living in missouri. It was was father Stephen along with his three kids two sons and a daughter Okay, he was a single father a couple years prior to this in 2001 his wife divorced him in some

Readings I've seen that his wife died. I don't think she died. I don't know where I Think they got lots of mixed information. Like they separated, yeah. Okay. So, Stephen was a single father living with his kids. He was just a simple, like, worker, but his lease was running out. It was May 8th I believe. Yeah and so their lease was running out. So Stephen was desperate to find anywhere that he could move his family into. And he found this great listing. It was a house in Union, Missouri.

He took a tour with the sales lady and it seemed great. It was a house in Union, Missouri. He took a tour with the sales lady and it seemed great. It was like this big open space, sort of just like a normal white country house type of thing, like countryside house. Do you know how many bedrooms? Three bedrooms. Okay. Bathrooms. Three bedroom house. I'm just asking you like if you're like the real estate agent, you don't have to give me that information if you don't have it.

Welcome, welcome. But that's kind of the thing though, you know, you would think that the real estate agent would be like really like invested in selling the house. Oh, were they not? No. Steven described this sales lady as actually kind of weird, very strange, oddly uninterested. It almost like she seemed like she wasn't even trying to really show off the house. Like she's just going through the motions. Yeah, he said she treated it more like a museum rather than a home, pointing things out, making

their way on through. But it didn't bother him. That's an interesting way to do that. Yeah. But it didn't bother him because all he saw was a nice house. He sent in the offer. He knew it was going to be competitive. He saw other families taking the tour. Oh, so a few days go by and he gets a call. The landlady has chosen his family to live in the house. He's so Excited so you know he's getting ready to meet her inside of the house To sign all the paperwork fill out all of the forms

But Stephen gets kind of disappointed Why because the sales lady wants to meet at a restaurant? Sure for some reason wants to avoid being in the house. But you know, he bushes it. Oh, like, I'll give you a tour of the house, but like, we can't meet here anymore? Yeah. That's weird. That is weird.

Right? Anyway, Steven and his three kids, they move in. May 8, 2001. They're so excited. Was it a one story house? It was one story. No, it was two story. Sorry. Okay. It was a two story house. Yeah. Two story, three bedroom home. It was nice. You know, kitchen area, family room. One of the things, there was lots of open space to hang up pictures. So that's exactly what Stephen and his family did. It was a picture of Jesus, I believe. Do you believe it's a picture of Jesus or do you just...

I don't believe, not again. I don't believe that's a picture of that man. I think, yeah, yeah. Who even is Jesus? Like, what does he look like? I don't know. Yeah. It's like he's too white in that picture.

This man was a Jew. He was in the sun all day. He was a little darker. Exactly. Sorry, no. It was a picture of two angels, not Jesus. Okay. You know what? I like to imagine that somewhere in that house they did have a picture of Jesus. So you're not too far off. They probably did.

So you're not too far off? They probably did. And that's really when things started. They had barely even finished unpacking. They just started hanging up pictures on the walls, this picture of these angels. Okay, it was right after they hung up the angels. Yeah, because that picture did not want to stay on the wall. Oh. Steven had to hang it up three different times because each time he would turn around, it would crash onto the ground, sliding over the wall. What? So it seems small.

It was things like weird things like that. The small subtle signs that something was off about the house. Yeah. I'd be very curious about that as well. Right? You're like, what's going on? I'd be like, looking at whatever I'm hanging it on and then looking at the picture and I'm like, yeah, can I?

But it's this weird old house, I got it for a good deal, I'm just gonna overlook all of this. No, like I wouldn't even think it's the house. I would think it's either something with a frame or something with like the nail or the hook. It just keeps falling out, right? Yeah. I wouldn't even think it's the house. I would think it's either something with a frame or something with like the nail or the hook. It just keeps falling out, right? Yeah. I wouldn't even think it's in the house. Yeah. And that's when things became more prominent. You know, the kids constantly reporting how cold it would get into the house.

The temperature changes and all of a sudden it would get warm all over again. The times when the kids started hearing noises and for a time the kids didn't want to sleep in their own bedrooms. They all slept with their dad, Steven, in the same room and eventually three, three kids. And so they were trying to live their life. They, you know, they pushed past the warnings that things were awry, things weren't good. Like the neighbors avoiding the house as they were walking by the street, literally crossing over to the other side. Oh. So it's like little things that you would notice like,

hey, did you, hey honey, have you ever noticed that like, the neighbors cross the street to walk not on this, yeah. That's weird, but whatever. Yeah, so once again, little things. Or like the time when a neighbor drove by and kind of suspiciously said, oh, I hope you guys get along well here at this house. That's... Yeah.

That's a weird way to put it. Or the time when the kids and their dad, Stephen, were in the kitchen, just having conversation, and all of a sudden Stephen sees a black figure of a man standing in the doorway of their family room, just watching. A shadow figure. A shadow figure, but something may be a little more formed than that. Oh, okay. This figure, it moves into the room. Stephen moves over to check, and it's still there, watching. Just figure it moves into the room. Steven moves over to check and it's still there, watching.

Oh! And it starts to come closer. No, stop it. It starts to come closer and Steven, he is the good dad that he's going to be and he gets his kids out of the house. Good. As soon as they open up that door, they hear a loud, guttural scream coming from inside of the house. Was it his wife?

No, his wife wasn't there. He was a single father, you know, living there at the house. And this was a man's scream. Okay. So it definitely was not. They get the hell out of the house. They leave for days. They stay at Steven's mom's place, uneasy, scared to even make their way back into this

house. How do you even explain that to your parents? I have no clue. It's like, hey mom, I brought your grandkids because there's a shadow figure in the house. Yeah. Things subside for a little bit because they're away, you know, they don't have to deal with it. Steven battling with the decision of going back to the house or leaving, but no, he can't afford to leave. He bought this house. Yeah.

He can't. You can't. It's a huge down payment and everything else. He gave everything he had to get this place. So they go back and things just start to get worse. And you know, I could talk about them myself, but I think I'd like to read a direct recount from Steven himself. I think he'd be like, I'd like to show you. He pulls up the CCTV or something.

There's actually a lot of interviews from Steven LeFou. I am all ears. This is something that he wrote. It's a little long, not too long, but I like to read this. This was posted in 2004 by Steven LeChan. Do you believe in ghosts? I used to be like many of you. I was a true skeptic. A true disbeliever. That was me until three years ago. Now I do believe.

I wish I didn't. It would be easier for me to sleep at night. Even now, three years later, I am still waking up in the night by the memory of the screaming man, the child in pain and the dark ghostly image that turned my world upside down. And changed my beliefs forever. I do believe in ghosts. It was in May 2001. I needed desperately to find a place for myself and three children to live in Union, Missouri.

Our lease was up at the apartment where we had lived for two years. I was a single father and about to find myself and my children homeless. Like many, I had answered just about every ad in the newspaper for rentals. One evening, I received a call from this woman telling me about this house. She said it was a rather large, old house in perfect shape. She invited me to an open house that was to be held that coming Sunday. Sunday rolled around. You can't imagine the surprise when my daughter and I rolled up in front of this large white

house. We walked in. The smell of baking cookies hit us immediately upon entering through the front door. To our surprise, we were standing in a living room with sheriffs surrounding the top of the walls around the room. The original woodwork was intact and a large wooden pole ran to the ceiling, creating a divider separating the living room from the family room. The house had two floors with three bedrooms and a large family kitchen with a mudroom that led to the back door. The

upstairs bedrooms had a breezeway that could be accessed from all rooms. The basement had an old butcher's shower and a fruit seller. It was more house than we ever imagined for the price, and we immediately decided we had to have it. Anyone who has lived in an apartment for two years with three children would understand our desperation. We had to have this house. We spoke with the landlady and she gave me an application to fill out. Many people were there looking at the house so we knew we would have to compete to be its tenants. I handed my application to the landlady.

Quote, you understand the responsibility of living in an old house like this? She asked. Oh yes, I understand. It's beautiful. I quickly replied, not understanding what I agreed to. Well then, I will get back to you. She quickly retorted and was off to peddle her wares to another of the visiting house hunters.

She was a strange old lady. And the way she showed the house wasn't in a real estate type manner. She showed the house as if she were showing a museum. We felt like we were on one of those house tours often given each year for charity. A week went by before the phone rang one evening. The strange landlady was overly excited to

tell me that she had selected me, my daughter, and two sons to live in the old house. I was to meet her that following day at a restaurant to settle all the paperwork and payment. I thought this was a little strange, and I was a little disappointed because I couldn't wait to see the house that would now become our home. The papers were signed on the following day. That weekend was Memorial Weekend, and we were all set to move in. It seemed like years before Friday came that week. But we were finally there. Moving day.

The move was typical and before we knew it, our belongings were safely hidden inside the old White House. I was remembering the last few items from the moving truck when a car slowed down, almost stopping in front of our new home. From the window of the slow movingmoving car, the passenger said, Hope you get along okay here, and then sped up and drove away. What do you think of that? my puzzled daughter asked. Friendly neighbors, I suppose, I replied as I shut the sliding door to the truck.

The first night in the house went by without fanfare, maybe because we were so tired from the move or perhaps because the house wanted to draw us in a little closer before beginning its series of attacks and assaults upon me and my family. The next morning started like most any other day, except I did notice one strange thing about the house. Each of the house's interior doors had an old-fashioned hook and eye latch, but not on the inside of each room's doors to keep someone out. The latches were on the outside of the room's doors as if to keep something in Oh What is it dad? My youngest son asked me from behind. Oh nothing. I replied and unpacked our things

The first instance happened in the living room when I was hanging a large picture of two angels The daughter thought that this would compliment the sheriffs that surrounded the room. I hung the picture and turned to walk away. CRASH! I turned to see that picture had fallen to the floor. Rehanging the picture once again I turned away. CRASH! The picture was once again on the floor. Hanging it for a third time I felt a rush of air when I started walking away and something hit the back of my ankles. What the hell? I turned to see the picture lying at my feet. More determined than ever, I hung the picture again

and stated loudly, stay there, dammit. I had to laugh because I was alone. Who did I think I was talking to? The kid playing on the front porch. Dad, come see this. My daughter's voice rang through the front door. I stepped out onto the porch. Sit down and watch this, she said excitedly.

Watch what? I replied. No sooner were the words out of my mouth when my daughter pointed to an old man walking down the sidewalk to our house. However, when he reached our property line, he quickly crossed the street and walked on the opposite sidewalk. They don't like walking in front of our house, dad. Isn't that weird?

My daughter, breathless with excitement, stated. And right she was. I sat on that porch for three hours, watching our neighbors across the street from our house whenever they walked along our street. A couple of times I mentioned as if to say hello, but they just dropped their heads and continued at a brisker pace. Maybe they are uncomfortable with new neighbors, I rationalized, trying to make sense of the senseless situation.

We went inside for dinner and the rest of the night went usually without incident. Sunday. The kids came home from church excited because we had set aside the day to work on our yard. This was a big deal for us because the only outside area our apartment provided was a front balcony. We mowed the grass and cleaned the leaves from under the porch and in the front yard. Strangely enough, the trees seemed to be shedding their leaves as if it were fall. Strange tree behavior, I thought, and I made a mental note to mention it to the landlady when I talked to her next. I asked my youngest son to go inside and bring out the garden hose from the basement so he could clean off the walkways and wash down the weathered white of the house. A few moments passed when I heard him screaming from inside the house. Running

frantically into the house, I found him standing in the kitchen, shaking in the middle of a puddle of urine. What's wrong? Nooo. What happened? Looking at me with scared eyes of a child, he said, something chased me up the basement steps. What chased you? I asked, already thinking the overactive imagination of a little boy was at play here. I don't know daddy, but it was big.

My two other children and I checked the basement but found nothing except the garden hose that had been dropped during his frightened escape. Let's get you cleaned up, I said. Naturally, there was a teasing from my other two children about the proverbial basement monster. Better watch out when you go into the basement because the glare of my eye finished my middle boy's sentence. The rest of Sunday and Monday went without any other incidents and we were so happy those first few days in the house. My daughter was

making plans about gardens and decorating and my boys thought walking to their baseball games would be easy because the park was very close. It was a normal, happy time, which unfortunately did not last long. Monday came, the last week of school for my kids and a long week of work for me. Each day we would leave the house and return each evening to find if every light in the house turned on. I blamed the children for leaving the lights on in the morning. However, my daughter and I sent the boys to the car on Friday while we toured the house, ensuring every light was off. The night we returned home to find again every light burning.

When I walked into the house, I was a little shaken. There was no logical reason for all the lights to be on other than someone in our house. Searching the house in a panic, I found nothing. Daddy, it's cold in here, my daughter stated from the living room. What was she talking about? Sweat was pouring down my back and across my brow. However, the temperature dropped 30 degrees when I stepped into the living room. This was the first time I felt its presence.

That's a lot. Yeah. 30 degrees is a lot. I. 30 degrees is a lot. I can't describe it any better. It felt like an electrical current running through my body, bringing tears to my eyes and bumps to my arms. It passed quickly. I remember thinking, what the hell was that?

Soon, my daughter stated, daddy, it's getting warm in here. Sure enough, the temperature was rising as I watched the thermostat climb. That night, my children slept with as I watched the thermostat climb. That night, my children slept with me. What little sleep I got. Sunday night, we were sitting in the living room talking. I was getting ready to take a trip the following morning to Indianapolis for work, and we were discussing their plans for a stay at Grandma's. The kids had their backs to the living room, for which I am still thankful because the memory of what happened next still haunts my dreams.

I noticed at first out of the corner of my eye. A quick glance. Standing at the kitchen doorway leading into the family room, something was moving. Not something, someone. I looked toward it again. It was a dark figure of a man, even though there was full light. He was solid in form, except there was a moving, churning, dark grey, black smoke or mist that made up his form. I looked down because I was sure I

wasn't seeing this and my eyes were playing tricks on me. One or two good rationalizations and we could go on with our lives without incident. A few moments passed, and I was sure it would be gone when I looked up again, but he was still there and he began to move. Moving into the family room and pausing in the center, his form was still a churning mass, turning blackness. He stood there for what seemed an eternity, but it was only a few minutes before he melted into the air. Gone.

I remember the thoughts that were racing through my head. I have two choices. We could run out of the house screaming into the night like those crazies you always see in the movies. You know, the ones that are always based on fact. Or the other choice, we could get up quietly, leave the house and figure all of this out. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. That's what we'll do. We'll go quietly, orderly as if nothing was wrong. Standing on shaky legs, I said in my calmest daddy voice, let's go get a soda and see grandma. My youngest was instantly excited at the prospect of a soda before bed. And the older two looked at me as if I lost my mind. Come on guys, it'll be fun. Thank God my car keys were on the coffee table before us us We moved orderly out of the front door and I turned to lock the door when a loud

Painful scream of a man came from inside the house It sounded as if he was screaming in pain so loud that could be heard throughout the neighborhood and the dogs began to bark To hell with orderly get in the car. I screamed at my children At a dead run we headed to the car and then to drive to my mom's house, which is still a blur to this day. I panicked knowing we had to escape the old White House. But before we were away from the neighborhood, my youngest son in a terrified voice said, Daddy, the basement monster is standing in the upstairs window. No, I looked back and sure enough, the black form stood in the window, watching us leave.

That night we stayed at my parents' house. I gathered my things early the next day and left for my business trip. I had a whole week of rationalizations when I returned home to pick up my children. Where else were we to go? I had put everything I had saved and then some into the move. We had no choice but to return to the big old White House. Besides, after a week of talking myself out of the events of that night, I was ready to return.

So on Friday night, we returned to the house. The weekend went by without incident, though we got very little sleep. I was taking another extended weekend to make up for my kids for my week away. On Saturday, we explored the big shed at the back of the yard, and in it, we found several personal belongings that appeared to belong to different people. My parents convinced me that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to call the strange old landlady and ask her some straightforward questions about the house. It was to be one of the most awkward and strangest phone calls of my life. Once I could reach her, I carefully chose my words and asked in a normal voice if any of the previous tenants had ever

mentioned a ghost. Well of course, she said at first that she could not remember. However, she said that one female tenant had claimed that her dead father had come to visit her, but the old woman always thought she was crazy. The landlady said that the girl had left behind some of the stuff in the shed, but she couldn't get her to come pick it up. The other stuff in the shed evidently belonged to a man who had lived there, but left in the middle of the night leaving behind his thing. But no, she had never heard of anyone talking about the house being haunted.

I asked her how long ago did these people live there, and she said, It's been much more than a year, honey. Why do you ask? The phone call wasn't of much help, and it didn't Much more than a year, honey. Why do you ask? The phone call wasn't of much help, and it didn't calm my fears much, but what else could I do? The rest of the long weekend came and went. I had convinced myself that it was just a one-time ordeal because nothing more was happening. That was until Monday night. I was on the phone with my mom.

The kids were off playing in my bedroom, which was located on the first floor. While on the phone, I began to hear the inside doors rattling. Listening closely, they rattled again, and I yelled at the kids to quit playing games. I told my mom everything was okay, just the kids playing tricks. They rattled again, this time harder. So this time louder, I scolded the children to behave and stop playing tricks. They rattled again. At this time, they rattled louder, but before I could scold, my daughter's scared voice

cut me off. Daddy, I'm in here reading, and my brothers are asleep. Now I will try to recreate what happens next to the best of my memory. Some of it I remember clearly, other parts are a blur to this day. Just as soon as I heard my daughter, the temperature in the house instantly dropped a good 30 degrees. With it came the feeling of an electrical charge running through my body. Its energy and a horrible stench that I cannot describe permeated the room. And then, the screaming started.

No. It was off the at first, but building momentum. I yelled through the phone to my mother to help. We were getting out. Then the whole house began to shake and come alive. From the above, I could hear something large coming down the stairs. Boom, boom, boom.

The screaming of the man over and over. The screaming of my daughter daddy. What is happening? kids and go Along with this came the thought that one of my two bedroom doors connected to the stairs Boom boom it was coming down those stairs I had to get to my children the whole house was alive with noise the floor beneath me was shaking as I approached the bedroom door I felt something behind me, and I knew I didn't want to turn around to see it. Boom. Screaming. A new scream mixed in with a man's scream. This one from a child. Boom.

Screams. Boom. I made it to my bedroom door, but it wouldn't open. By this time, I, too, am screaming. Throwing myself against the door, it still wouldn't budge. I repeatedly threw myself against the door until it finally slammed open My daughter was in shock at this point I instructed my middle son to grab his brother ran out the front door and head for the car boom boom screams My daughter won't move and I finally had to slap her to bring her to life finally respond slap her to life. Finally responding, I grab her and head for the door as I hear the other bedroom door slam open behind us. It was on our trail and I knew I couldn't let it reach us. The

whole house was still shaking and alive with noise and something big on our heels. When we reached the front door and out onto the porch, I slammed the front door behind us. As we got into the car, we could still hear the noise from the house. I drove away and parked at the top of the street where I could still see the house and wait for my parents to arrive. We could see it searching through the house. Searching, searching for us. It's blackness moving from room to room methodically. That was our last night in the house. My children never returned. I never went alone when I returned to get a few of our things on several occasions. Everyone I brought into that house with me would also witness something happen. A scream,

whispers, pounding from the floor above. It was not selective anymore at who let it hear its fury. I remember what the old lady said as I turned over the key. Standing there, the whole side of my arm and torso still bruised from throwing myself against that bedroom door. She said, Some people are meant to live in an old house like that, and some people aren't. I never thought you were the old house type. And I guess she was right. About a month after moving out of the old house, a friend sent me a website address she wanted me desperately to see.

Put John T. Crow, Union, Missouri into your search engine. She said, When I did, the face of a man came onto my screen. The same face that showed up in a picture my brother took in the fruit seller one afternoon while I was packing for the move. The man was famous. The land is famous dating back to the Civil War. About a year ago, someone I know saw a police car race up to that house one night and witnessed a family running out of its front door in their night clothes. As for the house today, the old lady turned into a dog kennel this past fall. I guess she ran out of people that could live in an old white house like

that. You see, I do believe in ghosts. I still drive past that house occasionally and when I get enough nerve, I look up at the upstairs window. And it's there. Watching. Waiting. Angry. Sometimes its screams still wake me from my sleep. Its infectious scream creeping into my dreams, turning them into nightmares. I still don't sleep very well. In my dreams, I see a faceless man standing in that basement, washing away blood from his naked, blood-covered body.

Grunting. Panting. Breathing. The breathing you'd hear when you were alone with it in a room. The breathing you would hear when you knew it was there. Heavy, labored breathing. Yes, I do believe in ghosts. I do believe in ghosts. And maybe you should too. And that is what Stephen Lachance first-hand has to say about his experiences What's interesting is that this is like a first-account record from the person that lived in the house

Yeah, I feel like normally like it gets like Sensationalize, what's the word? Like I know what you mean like yeah Sensationalize, what's the word? Like, I know what you mean, like yeah, it's sensationalized. Like TV shows and like writers. And it's retold by like different people. And like it's over dramatic, but like this is just what he wrote. Yeah.

Yeah. So there was a point in this that he mentioned, a man named John T. Crow. And he said how it was the same face that showed up in a picture his brother took. Well yeah, doing a little bit of research into the history of the land itself, the Union House was found to have actually been built upon land that was owned by John T. Crow. He was a captain in the Civil War. So he was actually the captain of the Missouri militia in the Civil War. And so he lived on there with his wife until after she passed away. Apparently the actual house itself was built on the slave quarters of the property. But it's not, of course, John, the captain, he never actually admitted he owned slaves.

It's not documented, but it's what people say. Yeah. Okay. Yeah, and so something else people say is that John's wife Minerva was actually Messing around with at least one of the the male slaves. Oh I thought it'd be like messing around with black magic and it's like, oh no, like she was messing around with one of the slaves Yeah, yeah, okay And apparently that led to I guess John Killing the slaves and so there's been talk of there is alleged like lots of death

Surrounding the property in the land that property okay. Yeah So the House itself yeah, so it has some sort of bloody history in a way, right? Like a lot of that land in that area of Missouri is sort of connected to the Civil War. And actually just a few blocks down in the neighborhood there's actually a cemetery. Oh, I thought you were like, there's another haunting. That'd be kind of cool.

Oh, I think we're like, there's another haunting. That's kind of cool. Some other accounts say that the house across the street, apparently, there was an axe murder in the house. Wow. So just adding on to these like recounts, these tellings of death that surround the property. Yeah. Yeah. So with all of that background info, with all of the direct firsthand recounts from Stephen LaChance, it seems like there is so much evidence really pushing the fact that this was a haunted house. Yeah. Right. You know, he brought in investigators, like I mentioned, Steven himself turned into a paranormal investigator

because he was just ignited with this sort of draw to investigate the un- Oh, okay. So like that's what he did afterwards? Yeah, that's pretty much what he did. He spent his time being like a paranormal investigator, which is kind of cool, yeah. He spent his time being like a paranormal investigator, which is kind of cool. Yeah.

But then I started looking at more info and more info, looking at more interviews and more interviews because Stephen has so many interviews out there. The thing is, this was in the early 2000s. So there was a lot of, I would imagine there's a lot of interviews, like people could actually record conversations with this man. 100%. So there's a lot of interviews out there on YouTube, other articles. And actually, Steven wrote an entire book about his experiences living in that house. And it got me thinking. After watching these interviews, a multitude of them, he pretty much says the exact same thing in every one, which isn't alarming at

first, but it almost feels like it's kind of memorized. It's rehearsed. And I was like, what's up with that? Like, I get that your story's not gonna change. Yeah. Go ahead. I get that, but I don't know. My mind goes in multiple places. I see where you're coming from. It's like, hey, it sounds almost like it's rehearsed, because it's always the same story. There's no deviation. There's no... It's always the same points that you bring up. But I'm also thinking, the things that we remember from childhood are the traumatic things. That's true.

Because we remember them in detail years after because they were traumatic. Not saying that, you know, like he was traumatized to that extent, but I think we tend to hold bad memories with, I don't know, better memory with better detail. I get what you're saying. So like the reason he focuses so much on the specific things is because that's the worst of it. Like that's what he really paid attention to, I guess, in a way. I guess that makes sense. I see both sides.

Yeah, I mean, the cynical, like, skeptical side of me is like, oh, well, he saw this as an opportunity, right? Yeah. He got his popularity, his notoriety. Okay. By giving all these interviews, by writing this book. When did this haunt take place? May 2001. Okay, and do you know when the book was released, published?

It's called The Uninvited. The Uninvited, let's see, published in 2008. Okay, so it wasn't Yeah, it wasn't right off the bat. Okay. That's true, so there was some time I don't know It just

It like doesn't almost Sit right with me, like I don't mean to diminish No, I get what you mean. Yeah. But another thing that really is crazy to me is that he had three children. Yeah. That also lived through this haunted house. Are any of the children interviewed? He has a mom who was told all about this. Apparently the mom was on the phone while the big rumble, the big climax of the haunting happened.

Ah. But there's nothing. There's no interviews that I could find of the children of my mom. Like nothing with the kids. How old were they at the time? He never specifies. Got it.

They're just young children. I'm just trying to figure out. Like young, you know, probably like 12 and under. I'm just trying to figure out like like young you know like 12 and under I'm just trying to figure out yeah Maybe they didn't speak to like the media because they were like underage there were too little that's true. That's true I mean if they spoke out now, I'm sure they're like of legal age, but at the same time Yeah, I haven't they spoken out. I think the most recent interview that I watched him do was February 2023, two years ago. Oh, wow. So even 22 years later, he's still doing interviews. Okay, but he's like a full blown investigator, right? At this point in time, I don't he is anymore but he did. Okay that's interesting yeah. I want to know if if he's getting paid for the

interviews or if he's just talking about it to talk about it. I don't know a lot of them are just like on YouTube or okay um there's a couple that have been on some like sort of like media stations but I doubt he's really getting paid. Okay so I think it might just be I to talk about the experience or because of the exposure for the book but the book came out eight years later so it's true. But how of... How did you come across this story? Because I've never heard of this case. Well, I was looking through, as I do. I was like, page upon page upon page of like, paranormal stories.

Okay. Of like, houses or buildings that aren't quite normal. I try to look up... I try to look up hauntings of people. Got it. Like, I try to find specific names sometimes and Steven Lachance is the name that popped up. Got it. The haunting of his house.

Yeah, so I was like, I couldn't find anything of the kids or whatever, so that sort of brings my expectations down a little bit. Yeah. But, you know, the media really tacked on. It gained a lot of popularity. Like I've mentioned a few times, you know, the media really tacked on. It gained a lot of popularity. Like I've mentioned a few times, you know, lots of investigators came in.

And in fact, it got so chaotic, it got so crazy that the Roman Catholic Church stepped in. That's unheard, like that's not commonly heard of. What did they do? So they did like a whole investigation. They did a cleansing of the house. And I haven't been able to find the exact document. I've tried following links to get there, but all the links have been closed or like down or whatever. But apparently, the, let me pull up the exact wording. Apparently, the, so the Roman Catholic Church, they came in, they did their little investigation, and they ended up writing a 156-page report on this house.

What? Mm-hmm. And it's a small house. Yes. Three-bedroom. Yes. Wow. So, this was unprecedented.

You know, the Catholic Church stepping in writing this long-ass report, which I'm not able to find, though I will keep looking for it. Fair. And the church classified the Union Screaming House as a demonic infestation. Oppression, obsession, and possession. So the church specifically used the word infestation. Yeah, which means I'm really glad that the family lived out. Yes, me too, because demonic infestations are the worst of the worst. Yeah, I'm also very, find it very interesting that they stepped in, like, I want to know what was a red flag that they saw that they're like, okay, we need to step in because Ed and Lorraine Warren didn't know No, they didn't. Um, I

Think it might have it might have come because of the experiences that Stephen like directly described, you know of Like this black mass that was hunting and so probably just seemed Evil it seemed demonic. And so the Catholic Church stepped in maybe because it was in Missouri. Missouri is really religious. They probably sent a priest and then like a bit, I don't know.

I don't know how it worked. They probably sent, they started with a low low, and it escalated at some point. And they were like, yeah, we need to do this. So what happened after that investigation? Not much. I mean, from what I've heard. I'm not exactly sure when the investigation took place There's not really a timeline on that. Okay, but after the Lachance family moved out I think it would just for a bit of time a couple of years. It stayed on

Nobody was in there but Reports have said that maybe one or two families have lived in the house since that time. Okay. But currently it's left unoccupied. I don't know if it, I know Stephen, he mentioned it turned into a dog kennel in his 2004 reading that I read.

Yeah. I'm not sure it's whereabouts now. I mentioned earlier in the episode, it's incredibly difficult to find any information on the current Stance of this house. Yeah, there's no like unless you're like living in Missouri or like in town So if anyone's from Missouri or Union, Missouri even let us know that would be awesome Yeah, like what do you know about this house? Were you one of those kids that like crossed the street to not walk? Yeah, it was like never. Yeah.

Literally monster house. Yeah, that is literally monster house right there. Yeah. Wow. Yeah. Um, now I mentioned Ed and Lorraine Warren were contacted. Mm-hmm. And Ed and Lorraine Warren were contacted. Now in, I don't think they ever got directly involved, but I do think it eventually caught their eye because of media attention.

So I don't have much detail, but there is a short article written again by Stephen Lachance in September of 2014. Okay. And so in this, he writes, the great paranormal investigator Lorraine Warren gave Helen, the house's current owner, and I, the house's former owner owner a piece of advice right after the doors to the Union Screaming house were closed to us she said it is far from over oh and that's how I'm gonna wait was that it story yeah was that it I thought there was gonna be more okay that's all I could find at least no

that's great I mean I'm glad that the information is out there somewhere, but you know, somewhere. Wow. I don't know. This case is a confusing one to me because it seems so real. Because there's all these first-hand accounts, but then it's like, hmmm... How scripted are they? How rehearsed is it? Where are all these details that I'm... I can't find where is... Where is that 156 page report by the Roman Catholic Church? I don't know. I'm going to try to find that very soon.

We'll keep the listeners posted. Yeah, we'll keep everybody posted. But yeah, that is the story of the LaChance family in the screaming house of Union, Missouri. Thank you. Yeah, never heard of this case. Crazy how much detail there is, especially first handed. But yeah. Most um, when you hear stories like this also of like moving into a house, and oh, gosh, we got a such a great deal on it.

Well, turns out it's haunted, you know, as they all are so common. What's very interesting is that this started right off the bat when the family moved in. Most of the time, it's after remodeling or restoration or construction. Yeah. And this leads me into the point I was just about to make, is that I think before this, I forget exactly which house it

was, but the shortest time that a family had been recorded to live in a home before this was 28 days. So like, 28 days. Well, 28 days before they moved out because of the hauntings. I forget which exactly house this is. But for the Union house and the LaChance family, they only lived in the house for 13 days. 13 days? They only owned it for 13 days. Yeah. And everything already had happened and at that point, after 13 days. I also find it very like

heartbreaking because they were looking for this like little dream house for him and his kids. They found it. It's like oh it's too good to be true and then they're like I'd love for us to stay, but I'm not going to put my children at risk. So we're leaving, especially with the demonic infestation. Yeah, that he didn't know it was at the time. No, no. So thank God he got him and his family out of that house. And I hope to God nobody's living in there now. Yeah, yeah, Airbnb or something.

Even then, no, actually no, that's more people in the house. No, no. As I'm thinking of it, I'm like, no, no, that's many more people in the house. Wow, thank you. Yeah, well, that's the episode. Thank you folks for tuning in. Thanks for tuning in. Thanks for tuning in.

For you guys, it sounds very nice. For us, there was technical difficulties. But hey. Yeah, so if you notice some cuts in the video towards the end here, or if you notice that we look different right now than how we looked like 20 minutes ago. Well it's a new day so yes yeah thanks for tuning in folks yeah thanks for being here appreciate y'all and we'll see ya smurf

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