Killer Stories with Harvey Guillén - Heaven's Gate: Rehearsing for the Apocalypse

Episode Date: June 1, 2026

A charismatic leader convinces his devoted followers that salvation awaits aboard an alien spacecraft trailing a comet—leading the Heaven’s Gate cult to a tragic, otherworldly mass suicide that exposed the dangerous power of blind faith and cosmic delusion.Sources for this episode include: Heaven's Gate: The Cult of Cults (HBO Max)Heaven’s Gate: America’s UFO Religion by Benjamin E. ZellerBounded Choice: True Believers and Charismatic Cults by Janja A. Lalich Keep up with Killer Stories! Instagram: @killerstoriespodTikTok: @killerstoriespodX: @killerstorieshq Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

This is the 29th of September 1996. I'm Doe. The purpose of this tape is to warn you that this planet is about to be recycled, and that it's going to happen very soon. There's a parable in the Bible about a merchant who finds a pearl of great price. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. ever seen. So, he sells everything, his house, his business, his entire life, just to own it. The point of the story is supposed to be about faith, about what you're willing to sacrifice

for something you believe in. The members of Heaven's Gate knew this parable well. They've referenced it in their own writings. They sold everything, their careers, their families, their names, And in the end, they sold their lives too. I'm Harvey Guillen, and this is Killer Story. It's 1972. Watergate is leaking into every headline. The Vietnam War is still dragging on. America's homes are full of avocado green carpet and wood-paneled walls.

The country feels tired in that specific, heavy way that comes from realizing the future you were promised isn't quite... materializing, which makes this a very good moment for a story about his escape. Marshall is 41, and by most conventional measures, his life is falling apart. His marriage is over. He just got fired from his job as a music professor. He's struggling with his identity, with his purpose, with questions he doesn't know how to answer. See, Marshall grew up in Texas, the son of a Presbyterian minister. For a while, Marshall tried to stay inside that structure.

He studied theology, he considered becoming a minister himself, then he doesn't. The reasons aren't tidy, but one truth sits under almost everything that comes later. Marshall is a bisexual man raised in a deeply conservative, religious world. And most of his adult life is spent trying to reconcile who he is with who he thinks he's allowed to be. So he pivots. That's when he meets Bonnie Nettles. Bonnie is 44, a registered nurse with four children and a husband. On paper, she's got a stable life.

But Bonnie has always been drawn to the mystical. She's into astrology, seances, and spiritualism. She believes she's in psychic contact with a dead monk named brother Francis. who gives her spiritual guidance. Well, I mean, we all got hobbies, so... The details about how Marshall and Bonnie meet are a little fuzzy. Some accounts say he was visiting a friend at the psych hospital where she worked and others suggest he was there as a patient.

Either way, they strike up a conversation, and something just clicks. Marshall later said, I felt I had known her forever. Bonnie happens to be a self-proclaimed astrologer, Anne Marshall has always wanted someone to do his birth chart. As it turns out, he's got his birth certificate with him that day. Once Bonnie reads his chart, she says,

their souls are linked. They'd known each other in a past life. That's why there had been this feeling of recognition when they first met. It's not romantic. Both of them are clear about that. It's something else. A cosmic partnership.

They've been brought together for something important. They just have to be patient and figure out what that mission is. By early 1973, patience gives way to action. Bonnie leaves her husband and her children in Houston. Marshall cuts off contact with his family. They walk away from their old lives entirely and hit the road. Difting through the American West, camping in the woods, staying in cheap motels, sleeping in cars, living on almost nothing.

They don't call themselves prophets yet. For a while, they go by Guinea and Pig. They believe they're part of an experiment being conducted by a, higher intelligence, and they're the test subjects. They spend their days in public libraries piecing together a belief system from the Bible, science fiction novels, and New Age philosophy. He and Bonnie land on a passage from the Book of Revelation. It describes two prophets who will appear in the last days to deliver God's message. According to Scripture, these two witnesses will prophecy for over three years.

Then they'll be killed by their enemies, lie dead in the street for three and a half days, and be physically resurrected and taken up to heaven in a cloud while the whole world watches. To Marshall and Bonnie, it sounds like a job posting, and they've decided they're the perfect candidates. Once they believe they're the two witnesses, everything else starts falling into place. They start thinking of the Bible as a coded record of aliens' contact with humanity.

The angels, the crew members of an advanced civilization, the kingdom of heaven, a literal physical place somewhere in outer space. And the cloud that will carry them to heaven, that's not poetry. That's a spacecraft. They start calling their expected martyrdom and resurrection the demonstration. They believe it'll happen in public, probably on television, and it'll prove everything they've been saying. Now they just need a crew. So how do you recruit for an alien rescue mission?

Well, turns out you put up flyers. In 1975, Marshall and Bonnie print out posters that say things like UFO, Why they are here, who they have come for, when they will leave. Catchy. They're calling themselves bow and peep, and start holding public meetings across the American West, in motel conference rooms, community centers, anywhere they can get space. They claim to represent beings from another planet called The Next Level,

and they're looking for people to join an experiment. In April, they address about 80 people, in Studio City, Los Angeles, around 25 sign up on the spot. And here's the thing about those early recruits. They're not what you expect. They're not runaways or dropouts. They're teachers, nurses, artists, college graduates, people with careers and families. And one early member was a Republican ranch owner who'd nearly won a seat in the Colorado

state legislature. Another was a respected computer programmer. another an accomplished violinist. These were people who had tried the conventional path and found it lacking. They'd been to church, they'd read self-help books, and they were still searching for something, something they couldn't quite name. Bo and Peep offered an answer. Not a religious answer.

Marsha was actually pretty dismissive of traditional religion. To him, churches were part of the problem. What he offered was more like a scientific hypothesis, that human beings were capable of evolving into something greater and that he and Bonnie had figured out the method. Then in September, they arrived in Walport, Oregon. Walport is a tiny coastal town, maybe 600 people, lighthouses, whale watching, tide pools. Doesn't exactly screen UFO group recruitment hub. In the early 70s, Walport had become a landing spot for what locals called Lost Souls from the hippie period.

People who drifted west looking for meaning and settled into communes along the foggy Oregon coast. When Marshall and Bonnie post-flyers around town, about 150 people show up to their motel lecture. That's roughly one quarter of the town's entire population packed into a single room to hear two strangers talk about spaceship. and spiritual evolution. Marshall and Bonnie take the stage as Bow and Pete. They're dressed alike and have the same cropped haircut, pretty unassuming. One former follower says they look just like your folks, only nicer. The lecture itself is an old fire and brimstone.

Marshall and Bonnie speak calmly. They say their representatives from outer space, sent by God, destined to be martyred. The spaceship is coming. Anyone who wants to join them in the next level has to commit to the change and fast. It sounds bonkers when you say it out loud, but in that room, on that night, to people who were already searching for something they couldn't name. It made a strange kind of sense. One attendee later describes the atmosphere as almost compulsive.

You couldn't explain why you were drawn. to it, you just were. Within days, 20 residents pack up their lives, say goodbye to their families, and drive off with Marshall and Bonnie. They leave behind jobs, mortgages, relationships. One woman left her kids with relatives and never came back for them. In such a small town, that's impossible to ignore. The police launched an investigation. One headline reads, 20 persons reported missing, lured by UFO Pied Piper. The New York Times picked up the story. Walter Cronkite reports the disappearance on the CBS Evening News.

But the missing people hadn't been taken anywhere sinister. They'd gone to Colorado to join a gathering of over 400 people who believed they were about to meet aliens. You might be surprised to learn that meeting never happened. Aliens didn't land in Colorado. But it did work out for Marshall and Bonnie because along the way they picked up some new recruits

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Before the break, I dropped one of the most notorious fringe-sect names in history. Heaven's Gate. A lot of you probably know the way this story ends. You may even remember the TV coverage and news articles, or maybe you've heard the name but don't know the whole story. You're like me, a 90s kid who was more interested in Nickelodeon than the evening. Evening news. So I won't tell you how it ends yet. No spoilers here, but I do want to tell you how it all happened. Because the thing that strikes me about Heaven's Gate is that it's weirdly normal. Sure, there's the alien stuff, but it doesn't feel like what you expect.

There's no screaming, no aggression, no wild-eyed intensity. The vibe is calm. Members speak softly. They listen carefully. they come across like people who've really figured something out. And Marshall isn't the violent, charismatic leader we've come to expect. He's soft-spoken, almost fragile. He talks about feeling lost, about searching for answers, about a calling that won't leave him alone. And he mixes those confessions with just enough cosmic mystery that people lean in instead of pulling away.

Right now, Heaven's Gate is less of an organized group, more a loose collection of like-minded people. Marshall and Bonnie actually disappear for months at a time, leaving their followers to their own devices. There was no compound, no armed guards, just a bunch of seekers camping in the wilderness. One former member even describes it as a rather dull routine. But there are a few rules, ones that are. that really explain why that member says it's dull. The whole point of the group is to kind of stop being human. See, the way Marshall tells it is like this.

Earth is a school. Your body is just a temporary container, a vehicle you're using while you learn your lessons. But the school is closing. A spacecraft is coming to pick up the students who are ready to graduate to a higher level of existence. No more pain, no more death, no more human weakness. So that means you can't really enjoy the human pleasures. There's no reading, no music, no chit-chat, and definitely no sex. They weren't even supposed to make friends.

That was too human. So most of the time, they sit around in silence. I mean, they couldn't even sing. I would have never lasted. Thank you. You can't hear about everyone's cheering. Even with a dull routine, Marshall and Bonnie attract a couple hundred followers by 1976. But they also realize a crowd is harder to control than a small committed crew. The demonstration, their expected assassination and resurrection, still hasn't happened.

The press is mocking them. Families are begging their loved ones to come back home, so they decide to go underground. They take the remaining followers into the wilderness, the rocky mountains, the high desert of the southwest, living in tents, moving constantly, they're not recruiting anymore, they're pruning, letting the uncommitted leave until only the true believers remain.

And then they rebrand. Again, first new names, Bow and Peep become Doe and Coe and Peep, the first and last notes of a musical scale. The group is now called The Class, and members aren't followers anymore. They're students, and their bodies? Oh, those aren't bodies.

They're vehicles. Temporary containers. And like any vehicle, they have to be maintained with precision. See, the members of Heaven's Gate want their day-to-day lives to mimic what they believe life is like in the next level, where people live on spaceships and everyone's a cog in the wheel

happily doing their assigned duty to serve the whole. So that's what life in the class becomes. A spaceship simulation on Earth in suburban rentals. Marshall creates something called the 17 steps, a set of behavioral guidelines covering basically every waking moment.

There's a procedure for eating, there's a procedure for cleaning, there's a procedure for how to think about your own thoughts. I mean, everything is regimented. Members are put on controlled diets. They get assigned sleep shifts. Two hours of sleep, two hours awake. Over and over.

They all get matching bowl cuts, androgynous clothes, no jewelry, nothing that says I'm an individual with preferences. Because that's the whole point. You're not supposed to be an individual anymore. You're supposed to be a crew member, ready to board the ship whenever it arrives. And then there's the sex thing. Or more accurately, the no-sex thing. In Marshall's theology,

sexuality is basically the anchor keeping you tied to your human body. It's the thing that makes you want to stay human. So, it has to go. Members are paired up with partners of the opposite sex, not for romance, obviously, but for accountability. You and your Czech partner are supposed to be together 24 hours a day, eating together, working together, sleeping in the same room. The idea is to create constant friction, to force you to confront your human emotions and overcome them. And sometimes they pair you with someone you're attracted to on purpose, which means, which means, all day, every day you're sitting next to someone you find desirable and you're supposed to just not. You're supposed to rise above it to prove you're ready for the next level. Fun! Some members

decide that even having the equipment is too much temptation. Eight of them, including Marshall himself, undergo voluntary castration. To remove the problem entirely, surgically. A former member told Newsweek that afterward, the guys who did it could have stopped smiling and giggling. Smiling and giggling after castration.

I need you to understand. These people felt like they just leveled up, which is maybe the wildest part of this whole story. It's not that they were forced. It's that they were excited. Here's the thing about the 17 steps and the sleep deprivation and the matching outfits and all of it, okay?

From the outside, it looks like torture. It looks like punishment. But former members don't describe it that way. They describe it as relief. No more decisions, no more wondering if you're doing life right. No more anxiety about what to wear, what to eat, or who to be. You just follow the program, trust the process, and wait for the ship.

Which sounds nice, until things take a darker turn. Okay, so it's 1985, and Bonnie, aka.T, is quickly succumbing to cancer. She'd already lost an eye to the disease two years earlier. Now, it's spreading. In June, she dies in a Dallas hospital. She's 57 years old. This is a problem, a big one.

Remember the whole point of the demonstration? They were supposed to be physically taken up to a spacecraft in their bodies. That was the promise. If Bonnie's dead, if her body is lying in a hospital bed instead of ascending to the heavens, then what exactly are they all doing here? But Marshall proves he can adapt. He tells the grieving group that Bonnie didn't die? She graduated early.

Her vehicle was too damaged to hold her soul, so she moved on to the next level ahead of schedule. She's up there now, on the spacecraft, preparing for their arrival. It's a brilliant pivot, honestly. He takes what should be a catastrophic failure and turns it into evidence that the mission is more urgent than ever. From this moment on, the theology shifts.

The next level isn't a place you travel to in your body, it's a place you reach by leaving your body behind. And one more thing happens after Bonnie dies that I need to tell you about. Shortly after her death, Marshall comes to the group with a strange offer. He'll give each member $100 to buy something for themselves. After years of sharing everything, of giving up all personal possessions, the question is baffling. What do you even buy for yourself when you've been told that wanting things is a human weakness? Eventually, Marshall gives them the answer.

They should each buy a gold wedding ban. And then he holds a ceremony, a group wedding, where every single member, marries themselves to him. From this point forward, the loyalty isn't just to the message. It's to Marshall himself. All right, when we left off, Bonnie had just died. Marshall had pivoted the theology to explain it and married himself to all of his followers.

Things are about to get darker. But first, they need money. So, the group moves out of the will. wilderness and into suburban rentals, and they get jobs. They become model employees, cooks, programmers, warehouse workers. They don't drink, they don't smoke, they don't date. Never miss a shift, never complain. Every boss's dream, honestly.

They also get really good at computers. By the early 90s, they're running a web design business called Higher Source. Clients describe their work as clean and professional, good enough to keep them under the radar. Think about that for a second. By day, they're building websites for San Diego businesses. By night, they're preparing to leave the planet. That's commitment to a side hustle, I gotta say.

In 1993, Marshall places an ad in USA Today. The headline reads, UFO cult, resurvices with final offer. The ad warns that Earth is about to be recycled because humanity has failed to evolve. This is the last chance to escape. The language is urgent. Apocalyptic.

This is your last chance to escape before the planet gets wiped clean. It costs them $30,000. The response? Crickets. A few curious people, mostly mockery. They hold recruitment meetings across, across the country over 20 states in nine months.

But attendance is thin, 30 or 40 people at most. And when they tried to spread their message on early internet forums, they basically got roasted by trolls. Even in 1993, the internet was brutal. By 1995, they've built their own website, purple text on a black background. Very web 1.0, very... My nephew built this in his garage. But the message stays the same.

The end is coming. The spacecraft is on its way. Are you ready to graduate? In 1996, astronomers discover comet hailbop heading towards Earth. For scientists, it's a predictable celestial event. Happens roughly every 2,500 years. Pretty to look at. Good excuse to buy a telescope, nothing to worry about.

For heaven's gate, it's a signal they've been waiting 20 years to receive. See, there's a rumor circulating on the early internet that a spacecraft is hiding in the comet's tail. The rumor starts when an amateur astronomer calls into the late night radio show Coast to Coast A.M., he claims he's photographed a large object following the comet. Professional astronomers quickly identify it as just a background star, but by then, the The conspiracy has taken hold. Marshall latches onto it hard.

He becomes convinced the spacecraft is real, and that Bonnie is aboard waiting to pick them up. The comet's closest approach to Earth is scheduled for late March 1997. That's their window. After 25 years of waiting, the ship is finally coming. At October, the group rents a mansion in Rancho Santa Fe. Seven bedrooms, 9,200 square feet, pool, tennis court, $7,000 a month. Neighbors describe the new tenants as the quietest people on the street.

A polite, friendly, almost invisible. They have no idea what's happening inside. In December 1996, members of Heaven's Gate throw a Christmas party. And I mean a real party. Garlands, lights, stockings, wrapped presents, a talent show where people juggle and perform tricks, a choir, conducted by Marshall himself. You know, for a group that's spent two decades rejecting human attachments,

it's surprisingly festive. In January, once they set their exit date, they rent a charter bus and take a pilgrimage. Gold Beach, Oregon, near the site of that first Walport meeting where everything started. They visit SeaWorld, the San Diego Zoo, they hit the Las Vegas Strip, staying at the Stratosphere Hotel, probably because the architecture looks like a flying saucer.

Their ledger notes, they budgeted 1900 for gambling. They ended the trip in the black, winning almost $60 from the tables, plus the 20 bucks they found on the sidewalk. So, you know, good trip overall. In the final weeks, they prepared. They sew matching uniforms, black fabric, long sleeves, pleading on the front, almost like tuxedo shirts. On each left shoulder, a triangular patch that reads,

Heaven's Gate Away Team. Because they're not dying, they're going on a mission. They buy 39 pairs of matching sneakers, black and white Nike decades. Marshall chose them because he liked the way they looked and reportedly got a great deal on the bulk order. Those sneakers will become one of the most haunting images of 1997. Now they're collector's items. People sell them online for thousands of dollars.

35 members sit for what they call exit videos. They're calm, almost cheerful. They speak directly into the camera, like they're recording a birthday message for a relative. The exit happens over three days. In waves. 15. Then 15. Then 9.

The members mix phenobarbital into applesauce or pudding. Wash it down with vodka. They light down and they're assigned bunks and someone stays with with each person until the breathing stops. Then covers them up with a purple shroud. Purple was Bonnie's favorite color. There's no record of hesitation. No one is running.

No one is screaming. Investigators will later say that the detail that haunts them the most is not the death itself, but the calm. And here's something that rarely makes the news. The doors aren't locked. Multiple exits, no guards. Anyone who wanted to leave could have walked out at any time.

They stay because leaving means missing their only chance to graduate. Marshall is nearly the last to go. He waits until most of the others have crossed, then assigns two people to stay alive long enough to handle his body. When he takes the poison, they follow the protocol, lay him out, arrange the shroud, position his belongings, he's just one more passenger boarding the ship, and then they follow him.

For three days, the house sits silent. Deliveries pile up on the porch, then a former member named Rio DiAngelo receives a package in the mail. VHS tapes, floppy disk, a letter. By now, you should be aware that we have exited our vehicles. Rio drives down from Los Angeles. He needs to see it for himself. When he arrives and confirms what he already knows, he calls 911 and reports a mass suicide.

Shockingly, you can find the video of the San Diego Sheriff's discovering the crime scene online. Detectives film bunk beds lined up against the walls, each with a body covered in a purple shroud. They're dressed the same way, down to the black Nike sneakers on their feet. The camera lingers on clipboards, schedules, and label tapes. All left exactly where they were used. Everything looks deliberate. Everything looks finished.

Detectives find schedules, lists, receipts, pages of instructions. They find every pocket containing exactly $5.75, a $5 bill, and three quarters. A former member later explained it was a reference to an old Mark Twain story, the cost to ride the tale of a comet to heaven. Initially, reports claimed all the deceased were male. That's because of the haircuts. Everyone had the same short, androgynous cut. Eventually, authorities confirmed 21 women and 18 men,

ages 26 to 72. One investigator says scenes like this usually show signs of hesitation. Someone panics, someone fights, someone tries to run. Here? Nothing like that. Some former members later said they regret it leaving the group before the end. They believe the others had completed what they were meant to do, and that they themselves had failed to follow through. Today, the mansion is gone, demolished.

Artifacts from the suicide scene, including clothing, bunk beds, and personal items are primarily housed and on display at the Museum of Death in Los Angeles. And it attracts a lot of tourists. And then there are the exit videos, still online, still watchable, 35 people looking into a camera, calm and cheerful, explaining why they're about to die. If you want, you can watch them right now. And the website? Oh, it's still alive.

Same purple text, same clunky graphics, like a time capsule from when Titanic was in theaters. It's maintained by two former members in Arizona who answer emails and ship out VHS tapes to this day. To them, the away team isn't gone. They're just on assignment. The rest of us are still here, still carrying the weight of being human. and still hoping the next self-help book or morning routine or life hack will finally turn us into the people we're supposed to be. Maybe that's the real lesson. Not that some French groups are dangerous, we already knew that, but at the hunger, driving people toward them isn't as foreign

as we like to believe. We all want to level up. We all want to believe there's a version of ourselves that doesn't hurt, doesn't doubt, doesn't feel stuck. We all want someone to tell us that there's a system, a program, a path, and that if we just follow the instructions closely enough will finally become the people we're supposed to be. The members of Heaven's Gate weren't stupid, they weren't crazy, they were searching for something real, connection, purpose, transcendence, and they found someone

who claimed to have the answer. The difference is, most of us, don't sell everything for the pearl. Most of us hedge our bets. We keep one foot in the normal world just in case. Thanks for tuning in to Killer Stories,

the Spotify podcast, new episodes release on Mondays. If you like today's story and want to learn more, we drop some of our favorite sources in the episode description. Until next time, I'm Harvey Guillen. Stay safe off there.

Three decades ago, a young woman named Angie Dodge is found brutally murdered in Idaho Falls. Police put a man behind bars. But as the years pass, doubts emerge about whether the real killer was ever caught. That's when Angie's own mother embarks on a decades-long mission to uncover the truth.

Listen to The Snare, a new series from ABC Audio. Listen now wherever you get your podcasts.