The Why Files: Operation Podcast - True Internet Horrors: Chip-Chan, Local 58, and The Plague Doctor

Episode Date: April 3, 2026

Gather round for three stories the internet found and couldn't put down. A DVD arrived in Sweden with no return address — on it, a figure in a plague doctor mask standing inside an abandoned psychiatric hospital where hundreds of people were executed. The audio carried photographs hidden in frequencies the human ear can't detect. In Seoul, a woman livestreamed herself 24 hours a day from a filth-filled apartment, claiming a corrupt police officer had implanted a chip in her ankle to control her sleep. Thousands watched. Nobody came. And somewhere in West Virginia, a public access TV station started broadcasting messages that didn't belong to it. The signal told you not to look at the moon. Then something reversed the signal. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

When West Jet first took flight in 1996, the vibes were a bit different. People thought denim on denim was peak fashion, inline skates were everywhere, and two out of three women rocked, the Rachel. While those things stayed in the 90s, one thing that hasn't is that fuzzy feeling you get when WestJet welcomes you on board. Here's to Westjetting since 96. Travel back in time with us and actually travel with us at westjet.com slash 30 years. Gather round. This happened in 2008.

A user on 4chan discovered something on an unsecured webcam. a feed from Seoul, South Korea, a woman's apartment. She was lying motionless on a thin mat surrounded by towers of boxes and trash. The 4-chan user thought she was dead. Then she moved. The woman sat up, wrote something on a whiteboard, and held it to the camera.

Broken English. My name is Chip Chan. Police officer put Chip in my ankle. He control my brain. She collapsed back onto the mat, unconscious. 20 hours later, she was still there. Same position, she hadn't moved a muscle. The Internet had found its new obsession.

Before the stream, she was normal. Jane, a Korean woman in the 30s who wrote a blog. She talked about restaurants. She gave movie reviews. She talked about her weekend plans, her friends, her job. Ordinary life documented in ordinary ways. Then around 2006, the post changed. She wrote about footsteps in the hallway that stopped outside her door,

cars that waited outside her window. She constantly felt like she was being watched. She wrote about a police officer who kept showing up places she went. Coffee shops, the grocery store, where she worked. Always the same man. Always watching. She wrote about waking up exhausted with no memory of falling asleep. Her apartment was rearranged.

Objects moved from their normal places. Windows open that she remembered closing. She would suddenly be missing time. She lost hours at a time and had no idea why. The blog post became frantic and paranoid. Then they stopped. But two years later, she was back. She live-streamed herself 24 hours a day for an apartment that looked like a hoarder's tomb.

Boxes stacked to the ceiling. Trash bags lined every wall. The floor was buried under food containers, empty bottles, and crumpled paper. Her windows were completely covered with newspaper and cardboard. No natural light made it inside. She called him P, a corrupt police officer who had implanted a Vera chip in her ankle sometime in the late 1990s. The same technology nightclubs were using to identify VIP customers. The same RFID technology medical facilities use to store patient data. An implant about the size of a grain of rice that could be read by external scanners.

These chips are real, and they could be read by scanning equipment passively, meaning you don't have to activate them. They just work. According to Chip Chan, her chip was different. P could trigger it remotely from anywhere in the city. He could force her to go unconscious with the push of a button. He controlled exactly when she slept and when she woke up. She lived entirely within his schedule. She was a puppet, and P held the strings.

The apartment had three webcam's position in the corners. These were professional setups with good angles and clear resolution. She installed them herself to document what happened during the hours of missing time. She said she was looking for evidence. Proof that P was controlling her, she wanted to document the crime. What she created was a window into hell, and the world started watching. The stream never stopped. The cameras captured everything. She ate ramen noodles with plastic spoons.

She wrote desperate messages on whiteboards in broken English. She slept in contorted positions for 18 to 20 hours straight without moving a muscle. During these sleep periods, she looked dead. She didn't shift or turn over. She didn't twitch. You had to concentrate just to make sure she was breathing. This death-like stillness went on for almost every day. Early viewers timed her blackouts with stopwatches. They created detailed spreadsheets.

The pattern was consistent and unnatural. She suddenly collapsed into a deep sleep at the same exact time every day. Then she woke up at the same time. Day in, day out. Like she was programmed, like she was being controlled. Humans don't sleep like this. Even heavily sedated patients shift position occasionally, not Chipchamp. She slept like she was paralyzed.

And every day, people watched. They wanted to help her expose the corrupt police officer who was controlling her. Imagine how surprised they were when the police showed up. Thousands of people watched. The stream spread from 4chan to the rest of the internet. Viewers form communities dedicated to watching her 24 hours a day. They called themselves the investigators. They analyzed every frame of footage.

They worked in shifts, documented her health decline with scientific precision. They set up rotation schedules to monitor her breathing during the 24-hour sleep periods to make sure she was still alive. They watched her waist away in real time. As the months passed, her apartment got messier. Chip Chan got thinner and thinner. Her clothes hung loose. Bruises appeared on her arms and legs for no apparent reason.

The dark circles under her eyes got darker. Her hair became stringy. She never washed it. Her writing became shakier, harder to read. But the messages are what frightened people the most. They became even more frantic. P-watching always. Chip makes pain in head.

Help me please. Nobody believe. dedicated viewers in Seoul tracked down her address and called the police. Two officers knocked on her door. Chip Chan opened it. She was disheveled and stunned. Then she panicked. She ranted.

She pointed at her ankle. She pointed at the cameras. She showed them her whiteboards, her messages. She tried to show them the implant site. She begged them to scan her ankle for the chip. The officers looked around the apartment, the filth, the chaos, the bizarre webcam set up, the paranoid writings that covered every surface. What they saw was a mentally ill woman living in squalor,

and after five minutes, they left. Chip Chan wrote a new message for the cameras. Police are P's friends. They help him. Viewers were outraged. In real time, they watched a police completely dismiss her. People posted angry comments about Korean mental health services. They organized more calls to the authorities. They started fundraising campaigns to help her.

And through it all, they never stopped watching. And something else bothered her viewers. technical details that didn't add up. Sometimes camera angles shifted while she slept. Not a lot, just slight adjustments, better framing, better lighting, cleaner shots of Chip Chan lying unconscious. She was never awake when the cameras moved, and she was always alone.

The cameras were being operated remotely. Someone was directing the production, adjusting the angles, making sure the global audience had the best possible view of her suffering. The investigators debated this, Was it P controlling the cameras along with her mind? Was it Chich-Chan herself, using automation software she'd set up during lucid moments? Or was it something more disturbing? A third party monetizing her breakdown.

The stream became their daily dose of tragedy, their mystery to decode, their community center. They logged on every morning to check if she was still breathing. They posted details when she shifted position. They celebrated when she woke up and wrote new messages. People created wikis to document her slithes. to document her sleeping patterns. Others analyzed time stamps looking for a hidden meaning. They turned her isolation into their connection. Her pain became content. Her psychological breakdown became entertainment. Viewers donated money to her PayPal account. She used it to order

food delivery, the only contact she had with the outside world. They felt generous, helpful, like they were participating in her care. They never realized they were participating in her destruction. The stream ran for years. Different platforms. different cameras, different angles of the same broken woman and the same filthy apartment. When her stream crashed, dedicated fans found new hosting. Whenever she was banned from a platform for violating its terms of service, she would show up somewhere else.

Chip Chan's current status is unknown. The last confirmed sighting was several years ago. Some say she died for malnutrition and neglect. Some say she was finally institutionalized after a neighbor complained about the smell. Some say she's still there in that apartment, still broadcasting to whatever audience remains, still waiting for someone to save her from P's control.

The dedicated subreddit still exists, posts from people claiming to have found new streams, screenshots that might be her, IP addresses that might lead back to Seoul. The investigation never really ended, it just got quieter. The tragedy isn't whether the chip actually exists, they do. These are real devices used for real purposes. But these chips don't control minds,

that technology doesn't exist, at least not that we know of. The tragedy is simpler and more universal. Thousands of people watched a woman's life fall apart, but they enjoyed the mystery. She wasn't a person to save. She was a puzzle to solve. She was content. And we're still doing it.

Every day we carry tracking devices in our pockets. We broadcast our locations to corporations and governments that aren't looking out for us. We stream our lives to strangers who'll never help us. We invite surveillance into our most private moments and call it connection. We live in voluntary versions. of Chip Chan's apartment.

We just have better Wi-Fi and cleaner floors. Chip Chan was the extreme version of what we do willingly. She lived totally connected, yet totally alone. The cameras never stopped rolling, the audience never stopped watching, the show never ended. The archives still exist, thousands of hours of footage, screenshots of desperate cries for help, videos of a woman slowly disappearing while the world watched.

If you search long enough, you'll find them. You can watch a few minutes and see them. see what everyone else saw, a woman sleeping unnaturally still on a thin mat for hours, writing messages that nobody answered, begging for help that never came. But remember while you're watching her, you're not investigating a mystery. You're participating in one. And the mystery isn't what happened to Chip Chan. The mystery is why we watch.

Gather around. This happened, and leave the TV off for this one. In 2015, a YouTube channel appeared called Local 58. It looked like recordings from a public access station out of Mason's County, West Virginia. Call sign WCLV TV. The videos were short, two or three minutes each. Weather bulletins, emergency broadcast, kids shows, the kind of programming that aired at 3 a.m. on stations nobody watched. But the broadcast kept getting hijacked, and the hijacked messages all said the same thing. Don't look at the moon. The first video is called weather service. A standard weather alert fills the screen, white text on a colored background, the kind of message

your local station runs during a tornado warning. the screen glitches, the alert changes, then the words appear, do not look at the moon tonight. The station is trying to warn its viewers, but something else is taking control of the signal. The text flickers, distorts and flips. Now the message reads, look at the moon, his throne, his crown. Whatever hijacked that broadcast didn't just override the warning, it reversed it. The station tried to protect you, the thing that took over the signal wanted you outside. The next video is, It opens with the presidential seal and an emergency broadcast tone. The voice is calm and measured, the kind you'd hear during a real national crisis.

Come to pass, despite the sacrifices of our citizens and the might of our armed forces, the United States has been forced to surrender to her enemy. Though they may occupy our borders, our streets, and our homes, the enemy will never occupy our spirit. That is why all Americans are now called up to act, to preserve the memory of the memory of the United States, clear and bright, untarnished, and uncompromised. America has lost a war. A foreign power controls the country. There is no path to victory. But the government has one final plan. It's called the victory position. The broadcast walks viewers

through it step by step. Live face down on American soil. Press your body to the earth. Place your hands behind your head, close your eyes. The instructions are precise. The tone is reassuring. They tell you this is your duty as a citizen. They tell you the pain will be brief. They tell you this is how you win. It takes a few seconds to register. The government is telling its citizens to kill themselves, and it's framing suicide as patriotism. The broadcast ends with a waving flag in the words, Victory is Yours America. The national anthem plays over footage of rolling hills and farmland. And the delivery is so convincing that your body responds before your brain catches up. Your pulse rises, your hands go cold, because you've heard that tone before.

Every tornado warning, every Amber Alert, every emergency broadcast you've ever received, use that exact voice. Calm, authoritative, trustworthy, the voice that says, do what we tell you and you'll be safe. In January 2018, about a year later, every phone in Hawaii received an emergency alert, ballistic missile inbound. Seek immediate shelter, this is not a drill. Oh, gosh, what happened? Holy crap. Did something happen? It says this is not a drill.

Missile threat inbound to Hawaii. Seek immediate shelter. This is not a joke. They called the nuclear bomb strike on us, and I'll try and keep you updated on what happens. Let's go, Dad. They're not going to tell us. What we need to know, like people vacationing out here.

Oh, man, look at. This ain't no joke. If you're watching this video, that means I didn't make it because of the missile. that's coming towards Hawaii. I had a good life. For 38 minutes, people believed it.

Some said goodbye to their families. Some hid their children in storm drains. It was a false alarm. An employee clicked the wrong button on a computer. But for 38 minutes, a million people obeyed a message on a screen without question. But contingency was just the beginning. The next broadcast didn't just tell you to go outside. They showed you what happens.

to the people who do. Where are my gloves? Come on, heat. Winter is hard, but your groceries don't have to be. This winter, stay warm. Tap the banner to order your groceries online at voila.ca. Enjoy in-store prices without leaving your home. You'll find the same regular prices online as in-store.

Many promotions are available both in-store and online, though some may vary. The next video is called You Are On the Fastest Available Route, Dashcam footage. Someone driving at night. A GPS voice gives directions. Turn left, continue straight. The road gets darker, the turn stopped making sense. The GPS tells the driver to follow signs for, do not enter.

It tells them to turn off their headlights. The driver does it. Every time, the driver obeys. The road disappears into trees. In the final frame, a single flash of light. There's a figure standing in the woods. Not a person. Something taller, thinner, standing per se.

perfectly still between the trees. Then there's real sleep. It looked like a sleep aid program from the early 80s. Soft music, a calm voice telling you to relax. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. The screen shows gentle patterns. Your eyes get heavy, and that's the point. Then the instructions change.

Stand up. Walk to the door, open it, step outside, look at the sky. The voice never changes pitch. Never gets urgent. It guides you outside the way a meditation app guides you through breathing, And behind the text on screen, almost too faint to notice on first viewing, there are faces. Distorted, stretched, watching from behind the broadcast. Thousands of viewers didn't notice the faces until their third or fourth time through the video.

They went back and checked. The faces were there from the first frame, watching the whole time. Skywatching starts as an astronomy program. A cheerful host points out constellations. Then the footage cuts to a field at night. cuts to a field at night. No crickets, no wind, dozens of people standing completely still. Heads tilted back at the same angle. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. They're all staring at the same point in the sky. Viewers who went frame by frame found something above the field. A shape in the sky

barely visible, looking down at the people who are looking back. Nobody knows why. Show for children opens with a cartoon skeleton named cadaver doing a little dance. Silly music plays. It looks like an 80's kid show. Then the moon rises in the cartoon. The skeleton stops dancing. The animation shifts from cartoon to photorealistic. A real human skeleton fills the screen. The music is gone. What replaces it is the music. The pattern across every video is the same. Weather alerts, government broadcasts, GPS navigation, sleep programs, children's shows. Every system designed to keep you safe has been turned into a weapon. And every one of them is trying to get you to do the same thing. Go outside, look up, and the people who do, the ones in the field, the ones following

the GPS, the ones lying face down in the victory position, they don't come back the same, and some of them don't come back at all. One person made all of this, a cartoonist named Chris Straub. He made the first video weather service in 2015 using iMovie, posted it on a shared YouTube channel nobody was watching. It got a few thousand views and sat there. Two years later, he created the dedicated local 58 channel and started uploading the rest, seven videos over eight years. The longest, a 30-minute piece called C-L-O-S-E, came in 2023 with an alternate reality game attached. A real website, Local58.tv, filled with hidden messages and coded transmissions, fragments of a story that had been building since the first

upload. No behind-the-scenes, no interviews explaining the lore. Straub never broke character. The channel exists the way a real hijacked TV station would. The broadcasts are there, but nobody's explaining them. Before Local 58, there was no name for this kind of horror. Creepy VHS-style videos existed, but nobody had put together the broadcast format, the institutional authority, and the slow corruption of trusted systems into a single concept. After Local 58, there was a name, analog horror, the Mandela catalog, Gemini Home Entertainment, Monument Mythos, the back rooms, dozens of channels, hundreds of videos, millions of views. All of it traces back to one cartoonist who made a fake weather bulletin on iMovie and told you not to look at at the moon. But here's the part nobody talks about. Straub also wrote a creepypasta called

Candle Cove, a forum thread about a kids' TV show that never existed, broadcasted a local station nobody could find records of. The puppets had human teeth. The show aired screaming and static, and the station that broadcasted was called W-C-L-V, the same call letters as Local 58. Candle-C-C-L-C-L-E, W-C-L-L-V. Straub also created a webcomic called Broodhaw. set in a town where reality is thin and something ancient watches from the edges. One of its characters, a skeleton named Cadaver, is the same skeleton that dances in Local 58's show for children,

the same skeleton that stops dancing when the moon comes up. Broad Hollow, Candle Cove, Local 58, all set in or around the same fictional town in West Virginia, all connected to the same thing. Straub has never explained what it means. The channel has over half a million subscribers and 20 million views. The website is still still looking. live, the signal is still broadcasting.

And if you're watching this late at night, alone in the dark, don't look out the window. Not because something is out there, because some part of you, trained by a lifetime of obeying screens, might actually do what the broadcast tells you. Why are you still watching this? Gather out. This happened in 2015. A tech blogger in Sweden opened his mail. Inside was an envelope, no return address.

It was postmarked from Poland. It held a DVD. He figured it was software someone wanted him to review. He grabbed a spare laptop the kind of use when you don't trust what you're about to run. There was no software. Just a two-minute black-and-white video of a figure in a plague doctor mask, standing in a ruined building, holding up one hand with a blinking light in its palm. The audio underneath was a voice repeating the same phrase.

I would love to kill you. He posted it online and asked for help, and the internet answered. The video had 700,000 views within a week. Thousands of amateur cryptographers, puzzle solvers, and horror fans picked apart every frame. The footage showed a figure standing inside a crumbling building. Through two holes in a brick wall, trees swayed in the wind. graffiti covered the walls. Debris littered the floor.

The figure wore a long dark cloak with a hood pulled up. On its face was a plague doctor mask. Long leather beak curved downward, round black goggles. The kind of mask doctors wore during the black death. stuffed with herbs because it hit the smell, a costume designed to visit the dine. The figure raised one hand palm out. A light blinked in the center of its palm.

Irregular pulses, not Morse code. The audio was almost unbearable, distorted, buzzing, electronic screaming. At the end, the figure pointed directly at the camera. People analyzed the hand signals. Three fingers, then one, then two. They pulled apart the metadata. They ran the audio through spectrogram software. a tool that turns sound into visual image.

Showing frequencies, the human ear can't hear. Spectrograms showed a skull, and underneath the skull encoded text. But that wasn't the worst part. Hidden in the audio frequencies were photographs, not glitches that look like faces, actual images, deliberately encoded into the sound. Women's bodies, mutilation, close-up of wounds. One image matched a crime scene photo from the Boston Strangler case, Albert Salmo's victims from the 1960s.

Another came from a German exploitation film called Slasher. A third was from The Bunny Game, a horror movie so extreme it was banned in the UK. Real murder victims mixed with stills from banned films. All of it buried in frequencies, only machines could read. And the deeper people dug, the worse it got. The video was packed with coded messages, different ciphers, different encryption methods,

different languages. The title 11bx 1371 came from a hidden code, a base 64 string, on the DVD's menu screen, and binary code in the YouTube description decoded to Mueerte, death in Spanish. The description also read, Tequera uno a year-oneumeno-menos, you have one less year. A geometric symbol near the end of the video, a box divided into triangles. This turned out to be pigpen cipher, which uses geometric symbols to represent letters of the office. alphabet. Decoded it read Adopaniare hominis, Latin for to attack men. More text buried in the spectrogram. You are already dead. Then along our message, the eagle equals infected will spread his disease. We are the antivirus. We will protect the world body. And strike an arrow through the heart

of the eagle. The American eagle. The number 1371 in the title matched the year of major plague outbreaks in medieval Europe, the Plague Doctor costume, the messages about disease, about infection, about targeting America. People started talking about bioterrorism. Forms debated whether to alert the FBI. The Washington Post ran a piece. Gizmodo, Slate, everyone wanted to know the same thing, whether this was a manifesto, a threat, were the work of a killer documenting his crimes. The light blinking in the plague doctor's palm looked like a countdown. Then someone identified the building. A Polish internet user recognized the windows and the graffiti. The video was filmed inside Zofyufka Sanatorium, an abandoned psychiatric hospital outside Warsaw in a town called Outswick.

The building had a history that made everything worse. Zofiufka opened in 1908. A group of Polish Jewish doctors raised money to build a mental health facility for Jewish patients. They call their organization the Society of Poor Jews with Nervous and Mental Illnesses. By 1935, the Sanatorium had 275 beds. It was built as a place to heal people. Then the Nazis came. In 1940, Zovivka fell inside the Outswok ghetto. Nearly 400 patients started starving. The Germans weren't going to waste resources on people they planned to kill anyway. On August 19, 1942, German soldiers and Ukrainian guards rounded up all the patients and staff into the first pavilion. They shot between 100 and 140 people where they stood. The survivors, along with the

entire Jewish population, about 7,000 people, were loaded into trains. A few doctors tried to escape by ambulance. Most didn't make it. Some staff chose suicide over the camps. The sanatorium never reopened. The buildings were left to rot. Out of every abandoned building in Poland, someone chose this one. They dressed as a plague doctor, a figure from the era of the Black Death, a costume designed because of the dying, and filmed a video about disease and killing in a building where patients were executed. The graffiti in the video wasn't present in the photos of the room taken November 2013. The video was made sometime between then, and its upload in May 2015.

Someone spent months planning this, building the costume, encoding the images, layering the ciphers. And the video had been online longer than anyone realized. Before the DVD arrived in Sweden, before the blog posts, a YouTube account called AETBX had uploaded it on May 9, 2015. The account had no other content. When reporters tracked down the user, he said his name was Daniel. He was from Spain, and a girl he didn't know had emailed him the video after finding it on a park bench. Nobody could explain AETBX. Nobody could explain the DVD.

The video had appeared on 4chan's paranormal board even before the YouTube upload. Someone was seeding copies across the internet through channels nobody could trace. Discs in subway stations, files on park benches, anonymous uploads on obscure forums. The mystery had layers inside layers. Every answer opened a new door. Then someone decided to walk through one. In late November 2015, a Twitter account appeared under the name Parker Warner Wright. The owner claimed to have made the video.

Other people were making the same claim at the same time, but Wright did something none of them could. On New Year's Eve, he uploaded a sequel, 11B31369, same plague doctor, same sanatorium, same style, new ciphers. The figure appeared outside in the forest first, then inside the building. Later in the video, a woman in a white dress with bandages covering her face joined the plague doctor. Three weeks later, the Daily Dot published an interview.

Wright said he was an American living in Poland. The videos were an art project, an elaborate cryptographic puzzle. He'd left copies on discs, hidden in a Warsaw subway station and a park, and posted an early version to 4chan's paranormal board. The Swedish blogger got his DVD because he'd handed it. Wright a business card at a tech convention. Wright said he had built the plague Dr. Mask himself from scratch. He challenged anyone to make an exact copy and nobody ever did. In April 2019, a third video appeared, 11B45 1T8, more ciphers, more encoded messages. The project

had been running for four years. An IMDB listing credited a second person, someone named Amir Yakimos. Nobody has ever identified who that is. Wright, his He needed eight USB drives around Warsaw with GPS coordinates for his followers to find. Each one held encrypted bonus content. His last known video, the trigger, appeared in 2021. His YouTube channel still exists. Wright never showed his face, not once. He communicated only through text, social media posts, emails to reporters, encrypted

messages to followers. An American living in Poland wearing a handmade mask no one could copy. Filming inside buildings where people were murdered, encoding crime scene photo, into sound frequencies. He called it art. He spent months designing the costume, encoding photographs of real murder victims into audio, and layering ciphers in three languages across every frame.

He chose a building where Nazi soldiers executed psychiatric patients. He mailed anonymous DVDs across international borders to a stranger in another country. Art. The Swedish blogger eventually accepted right story. The costume details matched between videos. The cipher style was consistent. The mask challenge went unanswered.

Wright was almost certainly the creator. But knowing who made it doesn't make it less disturbing. The spectrogram images are still there. Every time someone plays the video, the audio carries photographs of real victims. Encoded in frequencies, the ear can't hear, but software can see. Two minutes of a plague doctor staring at the camera in a room where patients were shot.

The families of the people in those spectrogams were never contacted. Never told their loved ones' crime scene photos were buried in the sound of an anonymous internet video. The video is still on YouTube. You can watch it right now. Two minutes, black and white, a blinking light, and in the frequencies underneath, the dead are still there, just waiting for someone like you to look.

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.

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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 we received. And it's never ever.

No, it never ends. Cat and got stuck inside males hole with MK Ultra Being only two of a way Would the shadow be pulled The inches fucking was cold The secret city underground Mysterious number stations, planets are folding And where the dark watchers found