Money Crimes with Nicole Lapin - The Devil's Cosmonaut: Horror on a Space Station | Creepypastas

Episode Date: July 19, 2026

In 1976, Soviet cosmonaut Boris Volynov endured a catastrophic solo stint aboard the Salyut 5 space station: contaminated air, a crumbling support system, and a rescue that nearly ended in disaster. The creepypasta "The Devil's Cosmonaut" takes that real mission and asks one quiet question: what if it wasn't just the air? Built on documented failures, classified silence, and the psychological terror of absolute isolation, this story blurs the line between breakdown and haunting in ways that are hard to shake. For more follow Twisted Tales wherever you listen to podcasts: https://pod.link/1839058226If you’re new here, don’t forget to follow Scams, Money, & Murder to never miss a case! To hear episodes ad-free, subscribe to Crime House+. Join at crimehouseplus.com or if you’re listening on Apple Podcasts, tap “Try Free” at the top of this show’s page. Scams, Money, & Murder is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios.🎧 Need More to Binge? Listen to other Crime House Originals Clues, Crimes Of…, Crime House 24/7, Serial Killers & Murderous Minds, Murder True Crime Stories, and more wherever you get your podcasts!Follow me on SocialInstagram: @CrimehouseTikTok: @CrimehouseFacebook: @crimehousestudiosX: @crimehousemediaYouTube: @crimehousestudios

Hi listeners, it's Vanessa. Before today's episode, I want to tell you about another show I think you'll love. Crime House and A&E are teaming up on the podcast version of the famous true crime series, The First 48. Each week, Carter Roy takes you inside a landmark homicide case, the interrogations, the dead ends, and the breakthroughs in the critical first 48 hours. Listen to and follow the First 48 every Thursday on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen to podcasts. This is Crime House.

A man alone on a space station with no way down, a thermometer that reads the exact same number every single day while the air slowly cooks him alive. Footsteps in a place where they shouldn't be possible. A notebook that's been recording his every move, written in his missing crewmates handwriting, and a friendly voice on the radio that's the only thing keeping him sane,

but it's the one thing that's the one thing he should never have trusted. Today, I'm taking you straight up into orbit for the loneliest, most claustrophobic horror story the internet has ever set in space. Welcome to Twisted Tales, a crimehouse original. I'm Heidi Wong. Every week I'll take you deep into humanity's darkest stories and the creepiest corners of the internet. If you've ever had a haunted moment or a twisted tale of your own, I want to hear about it. Drop it in the comments, the creepier the better. Crimehouse exists because of listeners like you. Want to support Twisted Tales and get episodes a day early and ad-free, subscribe to Crimehouse Plus.

To join, go to CrimehousePlus.com, or if you listen on Apple Podcasts, tap try free at the top of the Twisted Tales show page. We're also on YouTube with full video episodes. Just search and subscribe to Twisted Tales with Heidi Wong so you can watch the horror come to life. Today, I'm telling you the story of a creepypasta called The Devil's Cosmonaut. It's about a man trapped on a crumbling Soviet space station slowly coming apart while something or someone closes in on him. And what makes it unforgettable is that the author didn't make up the setting. He built his nightmare on top of a real space mission, a mission so strange that even today, we don't fully know what happened up there.

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Quick heads up before we start. This one gets into some pretty intense psychological territory. We're talking isolation, a mental breakdown, drug use. and a bit of body horror. Nothing gratuitous, but it does get pretty intense. The Devil's Cosmonaut was written by an author who goes by Babylon, sometimes credited as The Babylon Project,

and it first showed up on the creepypasta wiki back in 2016. The author has stayed anonymous, which honestly suits a storyline like this, because the whole thing was designed to feel less like fiction and more like a classified file that someone wasn't supposed to read. What I love the most about this one is the setting, Almost every creepypasta we cover is set somewhere that you've been before, a bedroom, a hallway, the woods behind your house.

This one drops you somewhere, you'll probably never go. A tiny metal can in the freezing vacuum of space, where if anything goes wrong, there's absolutely nowhere to run and no one to come and save you. And here's the hook that sets it apart. The author used the names of real cosmonauts on a real station on a real mission. So as I tell you the story of Boris, just know he's a fictionalized version of an actual person. We'll get into who that man really was at the end, and trust me, the truth is somehow even more unsettling than fiction. This is a slow burn.

There's no creature jumping out at you in the first two minutes. The horror creeps in the way real fear does through a smell, a sound, something that doesn't look right. And by the end, it's hard to know what's real. Picture a space station in the late 1970s, not the gleaming high-tech international space station we know today. This is older from the Soviet Union. It's a crampled tube of beeping radios, flickering lights, and blaring alarms with about 100 cubic meters of stale recycled air. It's the kind of place where every surface is within arm's reach and there's not much to separate you from the endless vacuum of space. There's only one man aboard.

His name is Boris. He's a cosmonaut and he's supposed to have a partner up here, a flight engineered named Jolabov, but he's gone now. While climbing out of the airlock one day, he brought the hatch down on his hand and severed three of his fingers. Boris was the one who had to bandage him, listened to him sob through the night, and in detail I can't stop thinking about,

scrape the fingers off the inside of the hatch. It wasn't the type of injury that you can recover from up there, so a rescue capsule came and took Joelabov home. But after that, Boris can't reach mission control. They've been silent for days. Apparently, solar flares are knocking out long-range communications. So now it's just Boris, alone. But he's not completely alone up there.

There's a voice on the radio. It belongs to a commander named Zudov on another spacecraft, a Soyuz capsule, with his own flight engineer. Zudov does his best to keep Boris spirits up. Every conversation ends the same way, only a few more days. Dutov's ship was on its way to relieve Boris, just a handful of days and he won't be alone anymore. It's Boris's only tether to another human being in the entire universe. The first thing that goes wrong is the heat.

It's too warm on the station. Boris wakes up soaked in sweat, the sleeping bag clinging to his skin, the air uncontrollably thick. He's practically swimming through it. So he figures, okay, the temperature control must be malfunctioning. So he checks the thermometer. It reads 19.8 degrees Celsius, which for reference is 67.64 degrees Fahrenheit. So it should be nice and comfortable. But the air still feels too hot.

So Boris checks it the next day, 19.8. The day after that, 19.8. The number on the screen says everything is perfectly fine, while Boris is dripping with sweat and gasping in air that feels like soup. He runs diagnostics, but the computer insists there's no problem. And that little crack between what the instruments say and what his own body is screaming at him becomes the first thing that starts to break him. He tells Zudov about it over the radio, and Zudov tells Boris to report back if it gets worse,

and to drink plenty of water. Boris laughs it off because, what else can he do? Then comes the noises. It's a deep, echoing thump from somewhere in the station. Boris flinches every time he hears it. But he's a trained cosmonaut, so he explains it away. It's just space junk hitting the hull, or the metal expanding and contracting as the station passes from sunlight into shadow.

That's all. Things don't fall in zero gravity. They drift. They definitely don't thump. He tells himself that, but it reminds him of something else. The sound the hatch made when it slammed down on his crew, mate's fingers. And here's where the heat starts doing something to Boris's mind. He keeps slipping into feverish flashbacks of Jolabov's last day, replaying the accident, the hatch coming down,

the thumb of the metal on bone. The line between memory and the presence start to blur. He can't think straight. The mechanical manuals he tries to read seem to melt and twist in front of his eyes. At one point, the migraine gets so bad, he genuinely feels like his skull is splitting open and his brain is spilling out in front of him. That's when he does the thing he swore he'd never do. There's a bottle of sleeping pills in the very back of the medical cabinet. At the start of the mission, he promised himself he would never touch them, but Boris can't take the heat, the noise, the spinning thoughts anymore. So he takes the pills, and he goes out like a light. When he wakes up, the heat is gone. The station is cool and dark, almost peaceful. For a moment floating there in the

quiet with stars out in the porthole, he feels safe. And then he hears a clatter. Then there's movement, just at the edge of his vision. Boris spins around. Of course, there's nothing there. He tells himself it's impossible anyway. Things don't clatter in space. It's just his imagination getting the better of him.

To help himself calm down, he calls Zudov, and this time something's different. The warm, chatty commander sounds distant, distracted even. Boris tells him the temperature problem fixed itself, and Zudov barely seems to care. There's a coldness creeping into his voice that Boris can't quite name. But Boris is exhausted and relieved to be cool again, so he lets it go. He shouldn't have. Okay, so the thermometer.

That detail is so much smarter than it looks. Most haunting stories show you that something is obviously wrong. Blood on the walls, a figure in the corner. This story shows you something is wrong in the plainest way possible. a number that won't change. Your body says that you're burning up. The screen says you're fine. And that tiny contradiction is the first thread that once you pull it unravels everything. Because if you can't trust the instruments, what can you trust? I also want to point out how good the pacing is here. The author makes you sit in the mundane stuff, the sweat, the recycled air,

the daily radio check-ins, until it feels real and lived in and almost boring. And that's the trap. By the time the thump starts, you're already so locked into Boris's tiny world that one wrong sound makes your skin crawl. And here's the part that gets me personally. Boris has one lifeline, one friendly voice in the entire void. We've all had that. The one person that you cling to when everything else is falling apart. So watch what the story is setting up.

It's not threatening that lifeline yet. It's just letting it go a little cold. a little distant, and that somehow is scarier than if the radio had just cut out. So Boris settles into an uneasy routine. Sleep with the pills. Wake up, check the thermometer, still 19.8. Talk to Zudov. Try not to think too hard about the thumps.

And then one morning, he wakes up and notices the medical cabinet is open, just slightly, a couple inches. But it has a sliding door, the kind that can't just drift. open on its own because there's no breeze up there to push it. Boris floats there, staring at the cabinet, trying to remember if he left it open when he got the sleeping pills out. And he realizes he can't remember. He can't remember if that was last night or the night before. His memory is going soft and slippery, events sliding out of order. He searches the cabinet. Nothing's missing. Nothing's moon. He tells himself he must have left it open. But it's the first time. He's the first time. He's the station itself has done something he can't explain.

And once you notice one thing like that, you start noticing everything. The next night is when it gets bad. Boris wakes up and there's a cloud floating in the middle of the cabin, a swirling black cloud, hundreds of tiny dark specks drifting in zero gravity, like a little galaxy gone dark. For a second his brain can't even process it. It's carbon powder.

The dark dust from one of the station's air filters. He swims towards it and grabs the source of the leak, a small metal box about the size of a paperback book. This filter is supposed to sit deep inside the air filtration system behind a sealed access panel. The kind of thing you'd need tools and a reason to open. And when Boris looks up at the panel is hanging wide open. The filter's been pulled out. Now this is genuinely dangerous. The air filters are a part of what keeps him alive.

So Boris gets on the radio and tells Zudov something is very, very wrong, that a filter came loose or got knocked out, or he can't even finish the thought because the implications are too terrifying. Filters don't unscrew themselves from behind a sealed panel, and Zudov's response chills him more than the filter does, because he doesn't panic or sound alarmed. He just asks flatly if it's fixable, and tells Boris the ground is still unreachable.

The warmth is almost completely gone now. The man who fussed over Boris drinking enough water can barely be bothered to react to a life support failure. Boris runs the diagnostics again. The computer reports zero errors, no alarms triggered, nothing detected, while a filter floats in pieces in the middle of the room. That night, Boris is half asleep when he hears it.

A thump. From the far side of the station near the front, flight deck, then another, closer, than another, closer still, and the gaps between them are shrinking, getting closer, each one rattling the whole station, and Boris, frozen in his sleeping bag, finally lets himself understand what he's hearing. There are footsteps, heavy, deliberate, impossible footsteps walking across a space station in zero gravity, getting closer and closer to the little compartment where he's strapped down and helpless. He's thrashing to get out of the restraint, sobbing when the footsteps reach his door.

And stop. Silence. He presses his ear to the plastic. Nothing. Then something slams into the door so hard he's thrown backwards against the wall. And then silence again. For the rest of the night. When morning comes, Boris is barely holding it together.

He calls Zudov. He needs that voice. He needs his friend to tell him it's going to be okay. Instead, what comes through the radio is music. Crackling through the static, where Zudov's voice should be, is a piece of classical music. Chikovsky, a piano concerto swelling and falling through the speakers. Boris is screaming Zudov's name through the microphone. Answer me, please. And the music just keeps playing. like the station is mocking him. And in that moment, Boris realizes the thing he's been refusing to think for days. He might not be alone up here. There's only one place on the station that Boris never goes to,

Jolabov's old sleeping compartment. It's been sealed shut since the day his crewmate left and it's locked, and Boris doesn't have the key. So he gets a night from the kitchen and he forces his way in. The smell hits him first, dried blood and sweat. The ghost of the night Jolabov bled into that room. And then he sees them. Pill bottles, at least ten of them, floating around the compartment.

They're all painkillers and they're all empty. A horrible new thought forms in Boris's mind. There are enough drugs in here to knock out an elephant. Was Jolabov an addict? Or did he take them on purpose all at once so that when the hatch came down on his hand, he wouldn't feel a thing? Did Jolabov want to get a cat? get hurt? Did he want to do something to himself just to get a ticket off of this station?

And then Boris finds the notebook. It has a small black cover wrapped in brown paper. He opens it to a random page and there's Joel Lobov's handwriting. And it's about Boris. Boris woke up 545, took shower for 12 minutes, shaved for approximately five minutes, missed several spots, drink approximately 200 milliliters of water, ate breakfast. Page after page after page, a minute-by-minute log of everything Boris did. Every meal, every shower, every conversation, how long he spent on the toilet. All of it recorded in this cold, clinical, obsessive detail. There's an entry for every single day of the mission, right up until three days before the accident,

and then it just stops. Boris feels sick. This man that he felt sorry for whose fingers he scraped off a hatch, that man had been watching him, studying him like a specimen. And Boris had no idea why. That's the moment this story stops being a creepy, empty house in space story and starts becoming something that genuinely crawls under your skin. Because up until now, the horror has been environmental. The heat, the filter, the footsteps. stuff happening to the station seemingly in Boris's mind.

Like, I really thought pretty much up until this point that Boris was just, I don't know, deprived of oxygen up in there and was losing his mind, hallucinating, you know, the normal black mirror stuff. But the notebook makes it personal. It means that this entire mission, while Boris thought he was just doing his job, someone was two feet away, logging his every breath. And it had been happening before anything supernatural started. And think about what that does to the timeline of the whole story. The footsteps, the filter, the open cabinet.

Your first instinct is, okay, this all started recently. Something is probably wrong with Boris. But the notebook tells you the wrongness goes back to day one. It reframes everything that we just read. Here's the detail that I find genuinely brilliant, though. And it's a question, not an answer. The notebook stops three days before Jolobov's accident, but why? The author never tells you.

And that empty space, those missing three days, is scarier than anything he could have written in them. And I have to say, because we've all done a version of this, Boris keeps explaining things away. The thumps are space junk. The cabinet, he must have left it open. The heat, it's a sensory problem. He's doing the thing that every person in every horror story does. building a little wall of irrational excuses behind himself and a truth he doesn't want to face. We judge those characters.

Just leave the house. But put yourself up there, alone with no way down. Wouldn't you also tell yourself it was nothing? Because the alternative is admitting you're trapped in a metal box with something you can't explain. If you're not unsettled yet, stay with me. Because this next part is when the floor finally drops out. you get groceries just the way you like, with no markups at select retailers.

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So no matter what, you're already a winner. Want no markups just how you like? Download the Instacard app today. Fees and in-store off exclusions apply. Boris is unraveling now. He takes anxiety pills to slow his racing heart. He starts hallucinating, vivid, terrifying hallucinations where he's falling out of orbit, plummeting towards the earth, the atmosphere burning white hot around him. He keeps jerking away from these visions, drenched and gasping, never quite sure if he's still dreaming. And then he overhears something

that he was never meant to hear. He goes to use the radio and there's already a transmission coming through. But it's not his usual frequency. It's a dial that has been changed. Boris knows that he didn't change it. And through the static, he hears Zudov's voice. Except Zudov isn't talking to him. He's talking about him. Boris only catches fragments of it. Zudov is describing a subject who is having visual and auditory hallucinations, along with paranoia and a loss of appetite. And then another voice answers, a voice that's not Zudov or his flight engineer. It's a third man, someone else. And the voice says, keep observing him. And then there's more. Something about the air. The air is contaminated and Zudov confirms it, saying the concentration is up to 21%. And the stranger

replies, carry on observing. Nothing more. The communications with the ground were never down. There were no solar flares. Zudov has been able to reach mission control this entire time, which means every reassurance, every only a few more days, every gentle reminder to drink his water, it was all theater. That he's not here on a mission, he's here to be watched. The notebook wasn't his crewmates stalking him. It was the reason that he was there. And that word, contaminated, 21%. The air that Boris is breathing is poison, which means maybe the heat, the footsteps, the clattering, the cloud of carbon dust, maybe some of it really is in his head, a brain slowly suffocating on toxic air. Or maybe it's all real and the poison is just the excuse. Boris will never know, and neither will

you. That's the trap the whole story has been building. He can't trust the instruments. He can't trust his senses, and now he can't trust the one voice that kept him human. He confronts Zudov on the radio, asks him point blank if they've been able to reach ground control yet, and Zudov smoothly says, no, comrade, still out, solar flares, and something in Boris just breaks. That's when he hears the breathing, a deep, wet, rasping breath, coming from inside the walls. In, out. In, out.

The slow rhythm of something alive sealed inside the guts of the station. Boris grabs his knife and presses his ear to a maintenance panel and the breathing is right there on the other side of the metal. Then a bang from inside and scratching, fingernails dragging on steel. He confronts Zudov one more time, tells him that there's something breathing in the walls. And for the first time, Zudov sounds nervous. He insists it's just the ventilation, a ruptured airpipe, nothing more. He'll take a look when he arrives. In fact, he's making his approach right now. Boris isn't sure which is worse, the thing in the walls or the smiling

liar about to dock with his station. He tells Zudov to stay away, that he has a knife. There's a long, cold pause. Then Zudov says quietly, I'm so sorry, and the radio goes dead. Now everything happens all at once. Boris watches paralyzed with fear as the screws on that maintenance panel begin to turn by themselves, one slow screeching rotation at a time, something on the other side, patiently unscrewing its way out. Boris does the only thing left to do. He pulls himself to the airlock right next to the old bloodstain from Jolabov's

accident and he waits for the capsule to dock because whatever Zudov is, at least he's human, at least he's a way off. There's a heavy clunk as the relief capsule connects. The seals hiss, Boris pounds on the hatch. Behind him, he can hear the entity behind the panel finishing its work, something coming free in the cabin. The airlock hisses open and Boris looks into the capsule, into the tiny space where Zudov should be sitting, but it's empty. Look, this ending answers basically nothing, and that is one of the reasons why it works and is so memorable. The capsule is empty. So either Zudov was never real, and every conversation that Boris ever had with him was a hallucination,

a poison brain inventing a friend to survive the isolation, or something has been wearing Zudov's voice this whole time to keep Boris calm, compliant, and exactly. where it wanted him. If you ask me either way, it's devastating, and the story refuses to pick one. What this whole thing is really about underneath the space station and the monsters is that the most basic fear there is, is not being able to trust your own mind. Boris notices weird little details first, then he loses his memory and his senses, then finally, the one voice keeping him sane. By the end, there's no solid ground left to stand on, and he's the only one who can't tell whether the thing hunting him is in the walls or in his own head.

The fan theories on this one are great, by the way. Some readers think the whole thing is a slow, toxic gas death, and the supernatural stuff is just a dying man's brain. Others think that there's a genuine entity and that it got to Jolob first, that he started feeling watched, became obsessed, and started keeping that notebook, because he thought that Boris was the one stalking him. And then there's the question that breaks everyone's brain. If Zudov was never really there, then who sent that capsule? So here's what I have to tell you. And it's the part that took this story from really good creepypasta to I can't stop thinking about this.

Almost everything in the setting is real. The author didn't invent Boris. He's based on a real Soviet cosmonaut named Boris Volanov. Jolabov, Zudov, and his crewmate, all real too. The station, the mission, all of it really happened, and not all that differently from this story. In 1976, Boris and Jolabov launched to a military, Soviet space station called Salupe. Their mission was supposed to last roughly two months, but it ended early and so suddenly that even the Soviet state radio was caught off guard when they were told that men would be back on the ground in 10 hours.

And the cosmonauts came down in darkness hundreds of miles off course. So why did they bail out early? For years, the official story was vague. But here's what reporting eventually pieced together. A strange acrid odor developed inside the station's air system. Later accounts point to the atmosphere becoming contaminated, possibly with toxic fumes from a fuel leak. A crew's health and mental states spun out of control. Soviet press at the time talked about the cosmonauts.

experiencing sensory problems. One account described a crew member becoming psychotic. They reported landing in genuinely a bad physical and mental shape. And this is the detail that gives me chills. Ground psychologists had started playing music up to the crew to ease the effects of the isolation. And it gets better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it. The relief crew, Zudov and his flight engineer, really did launch to take over that station.

a couple months later on a Soyuz capsule, and they never made it aboard. Their docking system failed, and they couldn't link up with the station at all. So they aborted and headed home straight into a blizzard. Their capsule came down in the middle of a half-frozen lake in the dark dragged underwater by its own parachute. It took rescuers nine hours to pull them out.

They almost drowned. So think about what the author did here. In real life, the relief crew never made. made it to the station. And the creepypasta ends with that relief crew's capsule docking completely empty. The fiction in the history line up in a way that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. Oh, and the real, Boris? Seven years before all of this, on his very first space flight, his capsule service module failed to separate during re-entry. He came screaming back through the atmosphere, facing the wrong way, hanging in his straps, the hatch seal smoldering and filling

the cabin with fumes as the spacecraft burned around him, writing itself right before the hatch melted through. Then the landing rockets failed. He slammed into the frozen ground and the impact shattered some of his teeth. He climbed out and walked through 40 below cold to find help. In the creepypasta, Boris hallucinates burning up as he falls towards Earth. The real man actually lived it. Of course, none of the supernatural stuff happened. The real Jolabov didn't cut off his own fingers, he got sick and he went home. There was no no bug, no monster in the walls, no sinister voice. The real men weren't villains and they weren't crazy. They were cosmonauts pushed to a breaking point by genuinely dangerous and terrifying situations. And they survived it all.

By the way, Boris is still with us. He's in his 90s and he's a legitimate hero. And that's exactly what makes this the devil's cosmonaut so effective. The author didn't have to invent the fear. He just took the real story, a poisoned space station, a crew coming apart from the isolation, and a rescue that ended in a frozen lake and asked one quiet question. What if it wasn't just the air? What if it was something up there with them? And that question lands so hard because of where it's set.

Remember in the story, the scariest betrayal isn't the thing in the walls. It's that ground control was lying to Boris the whole. time. And the real Soviet space program was the exact kind of place that could make that feel believable. Failures getting buried. Disasters being kept quiet for decades. The world only found out about Boris Volanov's near fatal flight years later after it happened. So when a story tells you about a cosmonaut that was secretly being watched, his crisis hidden from the world, that doesn't exactly feel like fantasy. It feels like something that could have been classified. Space is already the one thing where if something went wrong, nobody could ever hear you.

No one could come. Add a government with every reason to keep the door locked and you got the perfect setting for a secret nobody will ever dig up. That's the real horror of the night sky. It's not aliens. It's the science. It's the empty vacuum between you and every other living soul. And the slow creeping suspicion that you might not be as alone in that nothingness as you. you think. So the next time that you look up at a bright little dot moving across the stars, just remember that there are people up there right now in a small metal can, trusting their instruments, trusting their crewmates, trusting the voice on the radio, and hoping with everything that they've got that the number on the screen is telling them the truth. Thanks so much for joining me on this

episode of Twisted Tales, a crimehouse original. I'd love to hear from you. What did you think about the devil's cosmonaut. Could you survive months alone in space? And if you started hearing things, would you trust your own mind? Leave a comment or review wherever you're tuning in. If you want to support Twisted Tales and get episodes a day early and ad free, subscribe to Crimehouse Plus. To join, go to CrimehousePlus.com or if you listen on Apple Podcast, tap try free at the top of the Twisted Tales show page. And be sure to follow Twisted Tales so we can keep building this community together. I'll be back next week with another story guaranteed to keep you up at night. Until then, stay curious. And remember, there's no reason to fear the dark unless you try to hide from it. Ready to level up? Chumba Casino is your

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join Crimehouse Plus to listen to all four episodes now, add free. To join Crimehouse Plus, subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or at Crimehouseplus.com. Hi listeners, it's Vanessa. Before today's episode, I want to tell you about another show I think you'll love. Crime House and A&E are teaming up on the podcast version of the famous true crime series, The First 48. Each week, Carter Roy takes you inside a landmark homicide case, the interrogations, the dead ends, and the breakthroughs in the critical first 48 hours. Listen to and follow the first 48 every Thursday on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen to podcasts.