Every Town - TIME SLIPS: Real Phenomenon or Perfect Illusion?

Episode Date: October 31, 2025

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Are you ready to dive into the unknown? Join me, Peyton Moreland, on Into the Dark, the true crime podcast from Ono Media with a hint of horror and mystery. Each week, I dive into a different case, breaking down the facts and pondering the age-old question, why do people do what they do? Now, sometimes the answer isn't so clear, and that's why I'll also explore conspiracy theories, hauntings, and all things spooky. From the Green River Killer to the Mothman incident, we will unravel all of the questions that keep us up at night. So don't miss out. Subscribe now on your favorite podcast platform. New episodes drop every Wednesday. Into the dark, where true crime meets the eerie unknown.

Every town has a dark side. Every single town has moments when reality blinks. The air goes heavy, noise thins, and for a moment or two, the world feels, misfile. You see shop signs, you don't remember ever being there, engines that sound all wrong, clothes perhaps from photographs you've only seen in family albums. Then in an instant snap in your back, standing exactly where you were, except now you're not sure when you were. Now these stories surface everywhere, in big cities, on farm roads and suburban crosswalks, and the details always repeat like a fingerprint.

Witnesses don't just say it felt weird. Now they crossed into a moment that shouldn't exist at all. A time slip. Hey guys, it's Andrew. This is every town and today we're chasing time slips. Why so many accounts rhyme, what real physics say about clocks that bend, and how the brain can make or unmake our sense of now.

Is something out there glitching or are we? On August 10th of 1901, two Oxford academics, Charlotte Mowberley and Eleanor Jordane step off the train in Versailles, expecting nothing more than a quiet stroll and chat. The Mowgli run St. Hughes College, Jordane is soon to be your deputy. They're in France to get acquainted before working together, so it's all an ordinary summer afternoon, at least at first. Versailles, however, is a letdown. There's too many people and too much noise. They decide to walk to the Petit Trinon, Marie Antoinette's private retreat tucked deeper in the grounds.

With guidebooking hand and their good shoes on, they set off, totally unaware that they're about to wander out of their sentry altogether. On a hush lane as they make their way the mood tilt, the air suddenly feels thick, The baseless dread settles over both women. The sunlight fades off with no cloud cover. The world feels wrong. Mowberley notices it first.

The trees look oddly flat like scenery on a stage. The very atmosphere seems to press down. The loss now and thumbing through their guidebook, they spot two men ahead, surely gardeners. But their clothes are wrong. long gray-green coats, small three-cornered hats. The sort of uniforms abandoned a hundred years earlier. These men gesture them onward, faces curiously vacant.

They point toward the petite trianon, the creepiness of the whole place for the women deepened with every step they take. As they move forward by an ornate Chinese pavilions, it's a man with dark pitted skin and a watchful expression. only his gaze seems to be passing through them, almost as if they aren't even there. Both ladies feel the primal urge to turn and run, but to where, and probably more precisely, to when exactly. Something is profoundly out of join here. They hustle across a rustic bridge, move beneath an arbor, and at last break into bright sun where the little palace comes into view.

That's when Mowberley sees her. A woman sits on the terrace, sketchbook poised. A wide white hat shades fair hair. A summer gown falls in soft, old-fashioned lines no one wears anymore. As Mowberley stares, she can't believe it. She's looking at Maria Antoinette. The queen who died on the guillotine? 108 years before.

What really happened in the gardens of Versailles that day? Well, if Charlotte and Eleanor are to be believed, believed, they stepped through an unseen doorway, out of 1901 and straightened to another century, and then somehow walked back to tell us. A time slip, sometimes called retrocognition, is the claim that a person doesn't just glimpse the past, they enter it. Not a ghost paying us a visit, but the living intruding on history, moving through scenes that feel fully alive. There's clothes that rustle, gravel that crunches and voices that answer back. It's as if yesterday is still running and for a few

impossible minutes, you're inside it. And they're rare and controversial. Most scientists wave them away, but the people who report them are often the exact opposite of attention seekers. They're pilots, professors, police officers, the kinds of witnesses who risk their reputations by speaking up. Which brings us back to the two officers. Oxford women at Versailles. That evening in Paris, both were so rattled, and they stayed silent about the whole situation. A couple of weeks passed before Mowberley, right into Jordain finally asked the question that wouldn't let her sleep.

Do you think the petite Trianon is haunted, she asked? Jordain's answer was simple. Yes. When they compared notes, the specifics lined up too neatly to ignore. The wave of dread, the gardeners, and out. coat-moded coats and tricorn hats, the repulsive man by the Chinese pavilion, and the sensation of moving through a dream. Three months later, they wrote independent accounts and began to dig, the findings made no sense. The Chinese pavilion, where they'd seen the unsettling man,

will officially gone by 1800, absent from their 1901 guidebooks. Decades later, researchers uncovered 18th century plans placing a pavilion, existing, exactly where they described. A woman on the terrace, whom Mobley took from Marie Antoinette, matched detail for detail, a 1789 gown described in the journal of the queen's own dressmaker. Green silk bodice, white fechew, a skirt tinged yellow. The date of all this pointed to August 10, 1792, 109 years to the day before their visit, the day the French monarchy began its final collapse.

And their book, which was titled, An Adventure, which came out in 1911, set off a firestorm. To believers, it was a sober account of a crack in time. The skeptics misremembered paths, suggestibility, or worse, a contrived tale altogether. But still, Mowberley and Jordane held their ground. And they weren't the only ones to claim they'd stepped briefly into another era. The countdown is on, the holiday shopping season is officially here. Uncommon Goods takes the stress out of gifting with thousands of unique, high-quality funds you won't see anywhere else, so don't wait.

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To get 15% off your next gift, go to Uncomcom slash Everytown, that's Uncommon Goods.com slash every town for 15% off. Uncommon Goods, we're all out of the ordinary. All across the world, from busy shopping streets to derelict airfields, ordinary people claim to have slipped through time. Their stories echo the same unnerving beats. A sudden heaviness in the air? Period perfect details no one could fake, locations that simply can't be found again. Are these true glimpses into the past?

Is time more elastic than we think, or is something else playing tricks on us? Well, let's dig into the evidence. Bold Street and Liverpool, in just another city center strip at first glance. There's trendy boutiques and indie cafes, students drifting between lectures. Yet since 1996, this unassuming stretch has earned a reputation as the world's most active time slip hotspot. Frank was a police officer, 26 years on the job, trained to notice what others miss. On a sunny Saturday in July of 1996, he and his wife Carol split up to run some errands.

She was going to browse Dylan's bookshop on Bold Street, and he dipped into a music store for a CD, and meet her back there. He grabbed what he wanted and headed to meet Carol, but then, while passing the Lyceum, the grand 19th century building at the entrance to Bold Street, Frank, just like the women in Versailles, felt the world tilt. The noise of all those weekend shoppers fell away, replaced by an eerie hush. A small box van lunged towards them, its driver blasting a comically old horn as it swerved passed. And painted on the side, Cardens. Frank turned to Dillans and froze.

A sign above the door didn't say Dillins anymore. It said Crips. The entire street had completely shifted. There were now men in suits, and women in calf-length skirts and blouses, and cars straight out of his grandfather's photo albums. Even the road service felt different underfoot. Frank, modern and casual, unmistakably out of time, stood in what looked and sounded like the 1950s.

And that's when he saw her. A woman in her 20s, clearly from his era, lime sleeveless top, contemporary handbag, walking toward Crips. And she wore the same bewildered look he felt on his face. Their eyes meant there was a silent agreement that this isn't right. They stepped through the doorway of the store together and the spell shattered. In an instant, the racks of vintage dresses vanished, replaced by shelves of paperbacks. They were in Dillans again, and Carol was inside, calmly browsing fiction, oblivious to anything unusual. And back home, Frank started digging, and what he found shouldn't have been possible.

Cripps was, in fact, a woman's outfitter that occupied that exact spot in the 1950s. And Cardens was a Liverpool delivery firm from that same time as well. Frank had stumbled onto specific historical details he had no reason to know. And his experience was actually only the beginning. Because since 1996, Bold Street has racked up dozens of eerily similar reports. The pattern repeats like a bad dream. The air goes heavy, the soundscape muffles, and vintage cars roll past. And people wear clothes from another era.

And shop fronts flashed names that disappeared decades ago. And takes Sean a 19-year-old shoplifter in 2006. sprinting down Hanover Street with a security guard on his heels. He ducked into Brooks' alley to catch his breath. Minutes later, he stepped back out, and Liverpool had shifted. The street construction zone he had just passed was now gone. No orange cones or signage. The pavement was completely in place.

Pedestrians wore oddly formal, old-fashioned clothes. The cars looked like museum pieces. At Bold Street, he spotted traffic lights where there hadn't been any moments before. A kiosk display stopped him cold. The Liverpool Daily Post was dated Thursday, May 18, 1967, a newspaper from almost 40 years in the past. Then there's Jane, a university student, walking Bold Street the same year when her mobile phone abruptly cut out. She glanced up and thought she'd wandered onto a film. set, period coats and hats, and worn light pooling under old street lamps. The whole street

dressed for the 1940s. An elderly man sweeping outside a shop shoot her aside with an impatient flick. The spell lasted maybe a minute. She checked her phone and tried her friend again, and the street snapped back to normal. Later her friend swore she had tried calling back immediately, but Jane's phone wouldn't connect. And stories like these keep stacking up, so what is it about Bold Street? And why do the seams of time, if that's what they are, seem to fray on this one unremarkable strip of Liverpool pavement? Well, one theory looks beneath the ground. In Bold Streets, it's almost exactly over the hub of Liverpool's underground rail, high voltage lines tracing a near-perfect loop beneath the very blocks where most time-slip reports occur.

Some researchers argue those powerful electromagnetic fields could scramble neural signaling just enough to bend perception and maybe even time. And while it sounds crazy, this isn't pure sci-fi. Canadian experiments have shown that targeted EM fields can induce startingly real visual and auditory experiences by nudging the brain's electrical rhythms. But, as it turns out, Bold Street's weirdness may predate the trains altogether. In 2010, shopworker Chris Gibson and a colleague found a locked door in a basement off Bold Street. Behind it, a warrant of chambers and tunnels running directly under the road, older than the shopping district, built when the area was still fields. No records explain who dug them or why exactly. the walls offered warnings.

One message carved in February of 1966 read, God have mercy on all who enter here. Another from 1969 said, it's no joke. Gibson said the tunnels carried an unsettling sound, part low hum, part mechanical clatter. In other words, by the very decade many witnesses claim to slip back to, people beneath Bold Street were already leaving signs that something here wasn't right. And the reports have not stopped.

As recently as December 13th of last year, two friends out Christmas shopping stepped into a sports shop they never noticed. Ritzy Sports. Inside it, retro trainers, period clothing, oddly cheap prices, and customers dressed out of time. The moment one woman picked up a woman picked up a little. a vintage shoe, the scene snapped away. They were now standing in a different business altogether, a.k.a. sushi, where Ritzie Sports should have been. This isn't a relic of the past. It's an active, modern city phenomenon.

But Bold Street isn't unique, and across the Atlantic lies a far more controversial tale, one that swaps accidental slips for intentional experiments, and coincidence for conspiracy. And this is the story of Project Pegasus. Meet Andrew Basiago, a Harvard law grad, practicing attorney, former journalist, and by his own account, a child recruit in the most secret program in U.S. history. In 2004, Andrew began sharing a story that sounds impossible. Yet the resume, the study retelling, and the granular detail of kept it in circulation. Between 1968 and 72, he says he was enrolled in a defense-advanced research projects agency,

a.k.a.a. project called Project Pegasus, which was early U.S. experiments in time research that he claims used children as test subjects. To understand where this legend begins, you have to rewind to the 1950s and a Benedictine monk named Father Pellegrino Ornetti. Ernetti wasn't a typical clerk. He was a respected musicologist, with an interest in physics who, according to sensational claims from the 1960s, helped build the first device to view the past. He called it the chrono-visor. It wasn't a time machine in the sci-fi sense, no stepping into a capsule and vanishing,

but a kind of historical receiver, a screen that tuned in to yesterday. Ernetti said a team of 12 scientists, allegedly including Nobel laureate and Rico Fermi, and rocket pioneer Warner von Braun, developed a method to capture and reconstruct faint electromagnetic traces, supposedly left behind by events as they unfolded. Every word, movement, and moment he claimed imprinted itself on space-time like a recording that could be decoded and then displayed. The Vatican, by this telling, took notice. A device like that could settle theological questions at a stroke.

Did the crucifixion occur as described? And what did Jesus look like? If you could replay history, or faith in scholarship would collide on a single screen. And that, Ernetti said, was precisely the danger. According to him, Pope Pius X.12, ordered the chronovizer suppressed, warning that such a machine could restrain the freedom of man. Whether you see this as mythology, disinformation, or a buried breakthrough,

it's the prologue to the story Andrew Basiago would later tell. Because if the past, in fact, can be viewed, as it is out there imprinted in the spacetime continuum, then perhaps there was a way to actually enter it. And this is where Andrew's account begins. In 1943, inventor Nikola Tesla died alone in a New York hotel room. That's when federal agents reportedly seized all his papers. And among them, Andrew says, were schematics for a teleportation system powered by what Tesla called Radiant Energy.

According to Andrew DARPA spent the next decades turning those ideas into hardware. By the late 1960s, he claims the government hadn't just replicated the Vatican's alleged chronovisor. They had a leapt past it. They could now send people through time. There was a catch, though, and the process was brutal. Adults suffered catastrophic, psychological strain. Paradoxes, duplicate memories, temporal dislocation, and some broke, so children, Andrew says, adapted better. The developing brains were pliable enough to bend without snapping. In 1960, In 68, 7-year-old Andrew was recruited into Project Pegasus. His first trial was straightforward, point-to-point teleportation in the present.

Using a device he describes as two eight-foot gray elliptical frames with a shimmering curtain of energy between them, built from Tesla's plans, he was transported from New Jersey to the New Mexico State Capitol. The sensation, he says, felt like being pulled through a vortal tunnel. disorienting and terrifying but survivable. After it worked well, training escalated. Short hops backwards, hours, then days, then years. Eventually, he claims he was dropped into major historical moments, and one scene stands out.

Gettysburg, November 19, 1863. A small boy in an oversized Union uniform drifts to the edge of the crowd as a Lincoln prepares to speak. A photographer lifts his camera, and Andrew's telling, the boy is him. And a real Civil War photograph in the National Archives shows his face among the onlookers. It all sounds a bit intense. If any of this is actually true, well, there would be good reason why we haven't heard anything about it.

You would think time travel would be front-page news, but not so fast. The motive for secrecy is simple, power. If you control yesterday and can preview tomorrow, that means you own today. But still, it's a towering if. And plenty of time-slip photos have made the rounds online, making people believers or skeptics, but almost all collapse under a closer look. The famous 1941 South Fork Bridge Time Traveler, A.K.A. the Time Traveler, A.K.A. the Time traveling hipster is just a guy in period-accurate sunglasses and a sweater with a sewn logo.

Common then. The 1928 Chaplin's cell phone clip almost certainly shows a handheld ear trumpet or hearing aid, not a phone decades early. A woman on a cell phone in a 1938 factory is holding a portable two-way radio battery pack, not a smartphone. The often shared 1898, Greta Thurneberg, mining photo, is simply a look-alike. And worst of all, because I wish it were real, is that time traveler at the Mike Tyson fight. They're not holding a smartphone.

It's almost certainly an early compact digital camera, like the Cassio QV-10, released in 1995, the same year as the Tyson-McNeely fight. Now those had a small lens in the corner and a rear LCD, so people naturally held them up the way we hold phones today. In short, the viral images rely on anachronism at a glance, but when you check the clothing, consumer products, and provenance, they line up with their own era, leaving time slips as compelling stories, but not photographic proof.

But beyond those images, we still have all these stories. people who have experienced strange things. Are these actually, quote-unquote, time slips, a physics glitch, or maybe the brain under siege? Einstein has showed us that time isn't a rigid grid the way we perceive it. It bends with speed and gravity. Not the same universal clock ticking the same for everyone. How fast your personal clock runs depends on how fast you're moving and how deep you sit in gravity. So, astronauts, for example, return microscopically younger.

Up there, they're moving very fast, which makes their clocks run a tiny bit slower. GPS only works because we correct for time dilation. The signal that makes it work is high above the earth, just like the astronauts. Ignore time dilation and your GPS map could be off by miles. These examples are tiny moments that show time can be stretched. or condensed. And if that is a fact, then how far can you take it? And could nature ever pinch it? Some physicists speculate that intense electromagnetic environments, exactly like the rail power beneath Bold Street might nudge space-time at the tiniest scales. And quantum theory already tells

us reality sits in overlapping possibilities until something observes it. But maybe, just maybe, consciousness has a vote in which now wins. Then there are warm holes, mathematically legal shortcuts through spacetime. Building a stable one would demand exotic matter with negative energy density, something we've never found, that nature plays with forces and scales we're only beginning to understand. If shortcuts exist, well, they may not care whether a shopping street is important to us and that it should stay the way we perceive it.

And the simpler, perhaps scarier answer, could be inside our skulls. The brain is a prediction engine, forever stitching yesterday to tomorrow. When its timing slips, the world does too. Temporal lobe storms can produce crushing deja vu. This association can render familiar streets eerie and wrong and disrupt the brain's internal GPS and nothing lines up. Memory research shows how convincingly we can manufacture scenes that never even happened and how real they feel. You've probably at some point experienced something like this, even if, just for a moment.

So which is it then? Physics with a tear in its fabric, or psychology with a tear in ours. Maybe both. If time is relative and observation shapes outcomes, then on rare days our awareness might catch the gears mid-term. and slide between congs. From the tracks of Liverpool to the gardens of Versailles, from sealed labs to the subatomic haze,

the question won't let go. Is it physics glitching or perception misfiring? The past keeps grazing us and then disappearing the second we focus on it. Maybe time slips are real, maybe we're the one slipping. And either way, the next brush could be yours. So that's a wrap on today's episode.

of Everytown, thank you so much for tuning in. If you want more from us, we'll check out our future film called An Angry Boy, which is available on all rental platforms right now. It's a dark revenge thriller, and I know you guys will enjoy. Remember to come on back here next week. Same place, same time for another episode of Everytown, filled with strange and mysterious stories. Because you never know.

Maybe your town will be next. These guys have been out there doing God knows what for too long. This is heaven!