The Why Files: Operation Podcast - The Alien Files: Three Bodies, Three UFOs

Episode Date: August 29, 2026

-Ready to reach your goals? Visit https://hims.com/thewhyfiles to get a personalized, affordable plan that gets you. -Discover how to move your IRA or 401k into physical gold and silver — with no taxes or penalties. Get your free portfolio review and free gold & silver guide from GoldenCrest Metals: visit https://GoldenCrestMetals.com/thewhyfiles or call [phone] now. Three Deaths Filed as Alien Encounters A man walks out for potatoes and doesn't come home for five days. He turns up on a coal pile in a clean suit, freshly shaved, with chemical burns on his neck and no explanation for where he's been. Two television repairmen climb a hill outside São Paulo carrying handwritten instructions, cut lead into masks, and never come back down. The note in their pocket told them exactly when to lie down. A fisherman crosses a quiet reservoir alone and never crosses back, and what's left of him has no wounds, no struggle, and no organs. Three cases, three continents, and in every one, the file ends the same way: no suspect, no cause, no answer. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Search free until August 31st. Visit Ancestry.ca for details. Terms apply. gather round this happened in england in 1980 Trevor Parker was walking his coal yard after a rain and wanted to make sure the runoff was draining he stopped at a 10-foot pile a man in a suit was laying on top of his coal

maybe a drunk sleeping it off but it's hard to climb coal sober wet coal drunk would be impossible Trevor crawled up the man wasn't moving Trevor's hands were black from the climb but the man's suit was spotless like he just appeared there or was placed there. Five days earlier, a coal miner 20 miles away, went to the store for potatoes.

That was the last time anybody saw Zygman Adamski alive. Somebody had him for five days. Then they sent them back. Zygman Ziggi Adamski was 56 years old, and he spent his whole life working on the ground. But he was done. His chest hurt all the time, and his heart couldn't take much more. Besides, his wife, Lottie was in a wheelchair. and needed him home.

So he asked the coal board for an early retirement. They said no. But he didn't let it spoil the week. A cousin was over from Poland with her boy, and the three of them went to town and had fish and chips. And the next day was the wedding. Adamski was giving his goddaughter away. He even wrote a speech.

About 3.30 that afternoon, he grabbed his jacket, told Lottie he was going for potatoes and went out. The shop was just down the road. A neighbor said hello as Ziggy walked past, but Ziggy never reached the shop. Lottie waited until dark and then she called the police. She thought he was kidnapped. And this hurts.

The day after he vanished, Ziggi got a letter from the coal board. They changed their mind. He could retire. All Lottie could do was put the letter in the drawer. There was nobody to tell. The police searched the village and the papers ran his photo. They didn't get a single tip. Then five days after he vanished,

the police got a call from Trevor Parker at a coal yard in Todd Morden. Somebody found a body. Constable Alan D. Godfrey and his partner went to investigate. Parker said he was in the yard until 11 that morning. There was no body, only coal. The yard was on a busy road in the middle of town and nobody saw a thing. Godfrey climbed. He was blacked to the elbows by the time he reached the top. And when he got there, he was a foot away from the dead man's face. He said, those eyes were staring up at me. Those eyes sent the shutter down my spine. They were wide open. The man wore a suit jacket and

trousers, and the jacket was buttoned into the wrong holes, and his shirt was gone, but he was wearing a white string vest. His watch and wallet were gone. His shoes were on, but they weren't tied correctly, like they were tied in a rush. And the coal around the body wasn't disturbed. No slide marks, no footprints, nothing to show how he got up there. The police checked the missing persons list and found a photo. The man on the coal was Ziggy Adamski, 20 miles from home, In a town he had no reason to visit, but this was a strange case. The back of Ziggy's head was shaved, and around the shaved patch was a ring of burns, and out of a wound on his neck was seeping a slimy yellow-green substance.

Ziggi was gone five days, but only had one day of stubble. Somebody shaved him. Somebody cut his hair, too, but not well. It was chopped and uneven. The pathologist ran an autopsy, and the first thing he learned was, Zygmante Damski wasn't dead for days. He died just a few hours ago. By June, everybody's talking about their summer body.

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The autopsy showed a full stomach. He was well rested. Whoever had him kept him fed, kept him shaved, and kept him indoors for five days while his photo ran in the papers. The burns were odd. They were chemical burns,

something corrosive on the skull and the neck and across his shoulders. The marks look like electrodes have been stuck to his skin. But after, somebody burned him, they treated him. There was ointment on the wound. The police checked with every doctor at every hospital in the county. Nobody saw him. They tested the ointment against thousands of known chemicals. Nothing matched. That was all the damage. He had a scrape on his leg,

a few cuts on his hands and knees, but no sign of a struggle. The burns didn't kill him. His heart did. The pathologist said this was a classic case of a man who was scared to death. The coroner spent all summer trying to figure out what happened. A senior officer on the case thought it was murder, and murder was Godfrey's first instinct too, but there were no suspects, no wounds, no struggle, no witnesses, and no way a sick man in a suit climbed 10 feet of wet coal without getting dirty. The coroner wouldn't call it murder, but he couldn't call it natural. He said it was a heart attack, but left every other question open. He called it the strangest case of his career. That summer, something else strange was happening in the area. Orange Fireball,

in the sky. Lights and objects reported for weeks before Ziggy vanished and for weeks after. People started calling the valley UFO Alley. Five months later, the constable who climbed that coal pile stopped his car on a road a mile away. He had to. There was no room to drive around the spaceship. That November, near the end of a night shift, Godfrey got sent to find some cows wandering around an estate a mile from the coal yard. At five in the morning in the raid, cows were the job. Cows were the job. He passed a big black dog sitting by the roadside thought nothing of it. There were headlights ahead. He thought it was a bus until it got close enough to see it was something

else. A diamond 20 feet wide hanging five feet over the road. The bottom was half turned and there was a row of windows around the middle and it hovered so low that the bushes under it were shaking. He tried the car radio, dead. His walkie talkie also dead. He got out his notebook and started drawing the diamond. That's the last thing he remembers. Then he was a hundred yards down the road still driving and the thing was gone. His watch was off by almost 20 minutes and the sole of his boot was split open. He went back with another officer. The road was wet everywhere except for one round patch and the leaves around it were swept in an outward circle. The cows turned up after sunrise standing in a soaked field but completely dry with no hoof prints and

anywhere near them. Godfrey didn't report it. But then he heard that a Halifax patrolman saw a blue-white glow drop out of the sky the same night. He filed his report. Months later, he went with a hypnotist back to the road, and he learned that the light got into the car and then the engine died. Then the next thing he knows, he's in a room, and he wasn't alone.

He said, they're horrible, small, like five-year-old lads. There are eight of them. They keep touching me. Their heads were shaped like lamps. The black dog from the roadside was in the room with him. And there was a man, tall with the beard. He was dressed like something out of the Old Testament and he said his name was Joseph. Then a man who said he was from the ministry came to see Godfrey and said he was now under

the official Secrets Act. Not a word about Adamski, not a word about the road, the diamond, the dog, nothing. The story got out anyway. A Sunday paper put Godfrey on the front page. His bosses thought he was crazy and sent him to a doctor for tests. He passed. He said the object was real and he'd never changed his story. And after he retired, he said he wished he never saw the thing.

They still ask him about Ziggy, the man on the coal, and he always gives the same answer. Something or someone put him on top of that pile of coal and something scared him to death. Ziggy's goddaughter's wedding was the day after he vanished. He never got a chance to give that speech. the typical gold pitch. Some guy in a call center script in hand telling you rates are about to spike and you need to act before midnight. That's the industry, high pressure and low information. Golden Crest Metals runs the opposite playbook. Rich Jacoby, the company's actual CEO, personally calls every single client after they complete a purchaser rollover. Not to upsell you,

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Visit goldencrestmedals.com slash the Y files or text the word files to metals. That's 63825. Goldencrestmeddles.com slash the Y files, or text the word files to medals to receive a free investor kit, a free portfolio review with no obligation, no hard sell, and a qualifying purchases, up to $25,000 in bonus silver. Gather round. This happened in 1966. A kid in Brazil flew his kite into a tree on a hill above town. He climbed up after it and stopped when he smelled something, something rotten. Then he saw them, two men lying side by side in suits. Beside their heads, masks cut from lead shaped like sunglasses.

No eye holes, just solid metal. Both of the men were dead. One of them had a note in his pocket, step-by-step instructions. What time to be on that hill, what to swallow, and to wait for a signal. They followed every step. The kid ran home and called the police. It was late in the afternoon in the rain, and the only way up that hill was a footpath through the brush, so the bodies waited another night.

The next morning, it took the police more than two hours to reach the clearing, a patch of open ground the size of a living room right at the top. But they weren't alone. Words spread overnight, and firefighters, volunteers, and reporters climbed up with them. The men were four days dead, and the smell reached the clearing before the police did. Both men wore raincoats over their suits, new ones with the store tags still on, and the masks lay next to their heads. They were on their backs on a mat of palm leaves, the kind you can't tear by hand. Somebody cut those leaves with a blade and lay them out flat, but there is no blade anywhere on that hill. And there was blood on the leaves.

Each man also had a little blood at the nose and the mouth, and nothing else. No wound, no bruise, nothing that said how they died. The papers said who they were. Miguel Jose Viana, 34, and Manuel Pereira de Cruz, 32. two TV repairmen from Campos, a five-hour bus ride up the coast. Their pockets had a little cash, cigarettes, and the deposit slip for a bottle of mineral water lying beside them, almost empty. Next to it, a package with two towels, cups folded out of foil,

and a newspaper from the day they left home. Miguel's watch was in his trouser pocket, not on his wrist. His wedding ring was inside his jacket, wrapped around his reading glasses. Then there were the things that were even stranger. A folded handkerchief with the initials AMS stitched into it. Neither family knew it, and neither man had a friend with those initials. Squares of cellophane soaked in some chemical, and a stack of handwritten notes. One had Olm's law worked out on it.

Normal for men who fix TVs for living. One was written in code, numbers, and letters nobody can read. One was the instructions. 1630, be at specified place. 1830 ingest capsules after the... effect protect metals weight signal mask and the last one was schedule Sunday one capsule after meal Monday one capsule in the morning while fasting Tuesday one capsule after meal Wednesday one capsule went lying down the bodies have been up there since Wednesday

they took that capsule they lay down they never got back up but three months earlier those same two men they blew a hole in the beach At 9 o'clock one night in May, a beach 40 miles from Campos exploded. A fireball lit the sky. People heard it six miles away. Houses shook and a movie theater emptied in a panic. By morning, the story was that a flying saucer crashed into the sea. The Navy even said people.

A cop walked the sand and found a hole about the size of a truck tire, and he smelled sulfur. Four men from Campos were on that beach. Miguel and Manuel fell down. deer who strung antennas for them, and Elkio, who helped them out at the shop and ran the show that night. Elkio was a spiritist. He believed the dead speak through the living, and that Mars has people on it. He chatteled the spirit he called Dr. Samuel. Miguel had asthma, but the spirit cured it. Manuel always had a stomachache, but Dr. Samuel cured that too. Dr. Samuel gave them all advice, and the four men held long sessions at the shop after hours. On a shelf in that shop,

was a book about life on Mars, written down from a spirit with their notes in the margins. Miguel and Elkio were the believers. Manuel was the doubter in the room. That night at the beach, Elkio told the others to wait in the car. He walked out toward the water alone. Ten minutes later, he came running back. Behind him, a huge red and purple light came down toward the sea, and he just started screaming, get in something bad is coming, and Valdeer smelled sulfur the whole way home. A month later, a device Manuel built blew up in his backyard. A few days before he left home, Manwell told someone, I'm going to watch a definitive experiment. After that, I'll tell you if I believe or not. On Friday, a neighbor walked into Manuel's yard and found the two of them

hammering a lead pipe flat. He asked what that was for. They didn't answer. He asked again. We are creating something that will prevent the end of the world in 1968, when the great cyclone will devastate a large part of our planet. And they said nothing else. Four days later, Manuel's wife watched them cut masks out of that pipe. He told her they were for work. That night, he woke her up. He told her he and Miguel had to go to Sao Paulo in the morning for a used car and some parts for the shop. So they wrapped a bunch of cash and paper and a friend drove them to the bus station, and Elkio met them there to see them off. The bus they boarded went to Niteroy. They stepped off the bus at 2 in the afternoon in the rain and walked straight to an electronic shop.

The owner knew them. They asked him for parts. He didn't carry. And they knew he didn't carry them. They invited him to come to Sao Paulo, but he declined. So they left. Around the corner, they bought two raincoats and walked back out into the rain without putting them on. The clerk said they were nervous.

Ten minutes earlier at the other shop, they were calm. At a quarter past three, they walked into a bar at the foot of the hill and asked for a bottle of mineral water cold. Miguel kept looking at his watch. They waited for the deposit slip so they can bring the bottle back for a refund. Then they started up the hill in the rain. The note said be in place by 430. Nobody saw them alive again. Four days later, their bodies were sent to the morgue. But the morgue was already busy. The morgue had a murdered detective on the table. The detective got the doctor. Miguel and Manuel got an assistant. He cut out their organs and set them aside for testing. Except the morgue had no chemicals to run the tests. By the time a reporter

went looking a few days later, the organs had been thrown out. A toxicology report came out anyway. Years later, the cop who ran the case, admitted on camera that he couldn't fight the administration. And on the autopsy itself, the first examiner's name was scratched off and another name was written over it. The official cause of death came back as unknown. The Thursday before the kite kid found them, another kid was up on that hill hunting birds. He saw the two men lying there and ran to the house of a cop who lived nearby, but the cop wasn't interested. The police report blamed the capsules, washed down with mineral water, but nobody could prove it and there was nothing left to test. So they brought in Elkio. He was the last one to see them off. Elkio said,

when I said goodbye to them, I was sure they were going to Sao Paulo. After that day, I know nothing. Then a lawyer, he said he never met, filed papers, and the police let him go. Two days later, he showed them an auto parts receipt from Campos for the afternoon they died, and neighbors saw him out front working on his car. Valdeer said Elkhio ran that night on the beach. Elkio said it was the other way around, that Valdeer was in charge. But Elkio did explain one thing. The note in code were part numbers for TD tubes.

He wrote them down and asked Miguel and Manuel to bring the tubes back, but he had nothing to say about the earth. other notes. Police timed the walk from the bus station to the bar. There were 20 minutes they couldn't account for. That route passed two spiritous centers. The men left home with enough money to buy a car, but the police said they found about $70. Around seven on the night the men climbed the hill, a woman drove past it with her three kids in the car. Her seven-year-old pointed up. Above the hilltop hung a bright orange oval inside a ring of fire, shooting blue light in every direction and moving up and down. They watched it for four minutes, then she drove home and told her

husband, and he drove back up the road to look. Whatever it was, it was gone. Miguel Manuel weren't alone up there. Somebody cut those palm leaves. Somebody dropped that anchorchief. They were at the place by 4.30. They took off the watch and the ring. They swallowed the capsules. They picked up the masks. They waited for the signal. In 1980, a scientist flew in from California. and climbed the hill he wanted to see the spot. 14 years had gone by. The grass never grew back. Gather around.

This happened. September 1988, a boy hunting birds with a slingshot on the southern edge of Sao Paulo saw vultures over the reservoir, about 20 of them, fighting over something in the mud on the far bank. He worked his way around the water

to see what they had. He figured it was a dog. It was a man, in his underwear, face down in the mud, and dead. Most of his face was gone. Brown holes were cut into his armpits, his belly and his groin,

and every edge was clean. There was no sign that he fought anyone. The boy ran for the village. Nobody in Sao Paulo had a name for what he found. Researchers in the American West did. They sought hundreds of times with cattle. But now, it's happening to people. Going on vacation?

We're here for it. With kids, who turned the backseat into a courtroom drama, over whose tablet is louder, whose charger is faster, and while watching the same cartoon for the hundredth time is a human right? Yep, we totally have vehicles to handle that, because whether it's a road trip or a business trip,

where your flight's delayed, your phone's at 2% and your dinner is, whatever is open? Yeah, here for that too. Enterprise, we're here for it. Corpses turn up on those banks all the time. The reservoirs south of Sao Paulo is where the death squads dump their bodies. and the police who walked in that morning expected another one and another morning of paperwork.

They didn't get one. Nobody shot this man. Nobody tied him up. There wasn't a rope mark on him or a bruise on his wrists. And nothing about him looked like he was in a fight. But both his eyes were gone. Part of his left ear was gone. And the lips were gone.

And when they opened his mouth, the tongue was gone too. The skin on the lower half of his face was cut away in one sheet. The cup was so straight, it looked like something a razor blade would do. The crime scene expert wrote the only thing he was sure of, no signs of violence. The round holes went deeper. Two under the arms, one where the naval used to be, and one at the left groin, and one between two toes. None of them was bigger than a coin. The body was across the water from the road, so the police called the fire brigade to help float them over. They floated the body back on a tarp, stretched between two boards. On the near bank, the police took seven photos and

sent them to the morgue. Then they found his clothes. They were in a small case hidden in the brush a few yards from where the boat launched. Pants, shirt, shoes, and a fishing bag with a packed lunch still in it. The kind of thing you leave behind when you're coming right back. Nobody dumped this man. They came here alive, stripped with shorts, hit his things, and swam 80 meters across the reservoir to fish the quiet side. You could walk around the arm of the water to that bank, but it took an hour through brush, so nobody. he did. That was the point. The police had no name for this guy. They filed him as an unknown white male about 40 and buried him in a pauper's grave. It was weeks before a family came looking and put a

name on the file, Joaquin. He was 53. He lived across the city and he fished that spot for years. He left on a Sunday morning with his gear and told nobody where, because he'd never had to. By Monday, his family was asking around. By Thursday, a boy with a slingshot found him. He died on that bank, alone with nobody to hear him. And when the coroners opened him up, they found why he was so quiet. Every organ in his abdomen was gone, and the only way in was a hole the size of a bottle cap. Two coroners signed the report. The lab took 20 milliliters of his blood and ran it for poison, drugs, anything that could explain a man lying still while this happened to him. It came back clean. The abdominal cavity was empty.

stomach, intestines, everything below the ribs, taken out through a three-centimeter hole where the navel used to be. They measured the hole. A human stomach doesn't fit through it. They wrote that the cuts came from a cutting instrument. And for how the organs left the body, they wrote down the only word that fit. Aspiration. Something put an instrument through that hole and sucked them out.

The report went further. The wound showed vital reaction, which is the same. the coroner's way of saying the tissue was alive when it was cut. It bled the way living tissue bleeds, and the skin around every cut swelled the way living skin swells. The coroners used the word torture. Joachim was awake for at least part of this, and he didn't fight it. Not a mark on him said that he tried. Something held him still while it worked. It didn't hold his heart still, though. The coroners listed vagal inhibition as the cause of death. Trauma so extreme that the the nerve running from the brain to the heart shut the heart down.

The Homicide Squad got the report and called it a heinous crime, which is the only thing in the file that sounds like a cop talking. Then they sent four questions back to the morgue. What instrument did this? What made those dark stains around every wound? Could animals have done any of it and has the state's medical examiner ever seen anything like this before? Well, the coroners answered that first question in one sentence.

We know of no machine with the capacity to do this. They never answered the second or third questions, not in file, not in print, not anywhere. But they answered the last one in four words. Yes, several similar cases. Then the file went into a drawer under unknown where a case with no name and no suspect goes, and it stayed there for five years. It finally came out because a crime scene technician retired by then still had the seven photos.

He showed them to a cousin, a dermatologist, and the dermatologist showed them to a friend. Carnacion Zapata Garcia. She was a UFO researcher. She said a chill went through her whole body the moment she had those photos in her hands. She went over them with a magnifying glass and wrote down everything she saw. By the second photo, she knew where she'd seen this before. Not on a man, on cattle. Thousands of them. Across the American West over 20 years. The same missing tongue and eyes. The same holes with the same clean edges. The same organs gone through an opening too small to pass those organs. No tracks around the carcass.

No blood in the grass. And the rest of the herd refused to go near that spot for months. Nobody caught anyone near those animals. Not ever. Garcia tracked down the district prosecutor. He remembered the body. She sent him a stack of cattle files, and he called her back the next morning,

a Saturday, because he read all of it overnight and wanted to keep going. It took him two months to find the police file because it was buried under a dead man with no name. When he finally found it, he offered to dig Joaquin up. Sounds fine. When she got to the cemetery, the grave was already empty. The family got there first and moved him. In September 1993, five years to the month, she published everything.

The photos, the report, the four questions, and the two answers. She left the names blank. The first documented human mutilation on record. The same thing that took the cattle took a fisherman. And the case went around the world. A tabloid put the seven photos on the front page under the headline, Secret Photos, and a television host announced the real name of the reservoir on live TV, like it was a clue.

And for nine years, that was the only new fact that anybody turned up. Garcia wrote a second article a year after the first, and the title was the whole story. The discussion continues. She ended the first one with a question, and she never took it back. They've dissected our animals for decades. Wouldn't it be natural for them to start on us? In 2002, the same magazine printed a new article on the case.

Its writers went out to the bank three times. They filled in the blanks. They found a neighbor 83 years old who still remembered the morning the boat went out and the boy who ran for help. Then they took back everything the first article said. They called Garcia before it went to press, and she said she was done talking about it, and then she hung up. Joachim went fishing on a Sunday. He hid his clothes so he can change back into them, and he packed a lunch he never ate. He picked the quiet bank because nothing bothered him there.

Then something did. Then it left him in the mud with his eyes gone and his belly empty and not a mark on him that said he tried. The writers found the fire brigade sergeant too, the one who rode Joachim across the water on a tarp. Fourteen years on, he could still see the boat, the neighbor who lent it and the weight of the man under the canvas. And he had one more thing to tell him.

And in 14 years, nobody asked. 10 days after that morning, the same sergeant got another call, same reservoir system but a different part of it, but a different body. He said it in three words, exactly the same. Nobody wrote an article about that one. Thank you so much for hanging out today. My name is AJ. This is the Wi-Files, and that was a campfire story.

No debunking, no analysis, just a creepy story to scare you in the kids. And that one is true and unsolved. Now, if you had fun, I'd appreciate it if you can like, subscribe, comment, and share. That stuff really helps. And like most topics we cover here, today is was recommended by you. So if there's a story you'd like to see, go to thewifiles.com slash tips or send us an email. We'd love to cover that story. And if you'd like to hear any of these campfire stories expanded into a full episode, there's a few I'd like to do. Then definitely let me know. Remember the Wi-Files is also a podcast. You can take us on the road. I post deep dives into the stories we cover on the channel. I also post episodes that wouldn't be allowed on the channel.

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And that's going to do it. Until next time, be safe. Be kind. And know that you are appreciated. Scenario 51, a secret code inside the Bible said I would. I love my UFOs and paranormal fun as well as music. So I'm singing like I should. But then another piece, theory, see theory becomes the truth.

friends and it never ends no it never ends side males home with mk. out of being only two of with shadow people the name was cold young dirt and wet the dark watcher