Reports of violence erupted today in the research facility known as Blind Town located in White County, Tennessee and home to over 300 residents. Emergency services have gathered to the isolated location as smoke rises from somewhere on the property. The first time most people heard about Limetown was on the night of February 8th, 2004. 911, what is your emergency?
Hello? Hello? Hello? Are you there? Hello? Can you hear me? Yes, ma'am. This is the nature of your emergency. We need emergency services online. Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. Ma'am, are you still there? 17 minutes later, the first responders arrive to the outside gate. followed shortly thereafter by local news station WVPK, where they uncovered the troubling reality. No one was allowed access into Limetown. Samantha, can you tell us what's going on?
Thanks, Ron. We're standing at the outer security gates of Limetown, and as you can see, there is a large gathering of police officers and firefighters here, but they are not being allowed into the facility. Not being allowed? What do you mean they're not being allowed? Who's not allowing them, Samantha? Well, we can't get any...
to speak to us right now but we can see that there is a sizable security presence on the other side of the fence and there seems to be an ongoing conversation. Can someone tell us what's happening? Sorry we're being told to clear the area now. There seems to be a lot of confusion. The reason or reasons for their denied access remains a point of contention. The next morning, there was no visible activity within the community.
No one on the grounds that I can see, but there does appear to be a large smoldering bonfire, I would guess. There's one large stake in the ground. Hard to make out from here what I'm looking at. For the next two days, Limetown was dormant. All attempts at contact failed. And on the morning of February 11th, the security team left their post. Police officers on the scene were prevented, presumably by their superiors, from stopping the security team for questioning.
The security at the front gate is now driving away from the facility. Sir, can you tell me what is happening? The gate to Limetown was left open. What the world discovered was the complete disappearance of every man, woman and child in Limetown. 327 people. Officer, what can you tell us about the investigation? Where is everyone? Don't make me ask you again.
Nobody's here. Nobody's here? What do you mean by that? Everybody's just gone. The story exploded gaining international attention. Our top story from the United States this evening. You've just been listening to an indecisible 911 call. And then, just as suddenly as the story of Limetown landed, it evaporated back into the 24 hour news cycle.
swallowed by the first legal same-sex marriage in San Francisco, the announcement of successful human cloning in South Korea, war in Iraq, war in Afghanistan, marriages, scandals, weather, drugs. The story of Limetown became a tragedy. among countless other tragedies. A ghost story you can barely remember.
My name is Leah Haddock, and I am an investigative reporter with APR. I was 17 years old as the events of Limetown unfolded, and I became somewhat of a Limetown news junkie. In the spirit of full disclosure, it is also a personal story to me. As an uncle on my father's side, granted, one I only ever heard stories about and never met beyond infancy, Dr. Emil Haddock is counted as one of the missing.
All things considered, it's fair to say that Limetown and the questions it left in my family played a large part in why I became a reporter in the first place. The infamous photo of the devastated father collapsed to his knees outside the gates of Limetown. his hands pulling his hair in outrage and confusion, hangs on the wall above my desk. It seems I was always supposed to tell the story. So, without any further delay, the following report is the first of seven.
That's right, seven-part series on Limetown, starting with everything we know up to this point, then quickly moving to the people it most affected and what it means to them today. Our aim, simply, to remember. to honor, and to attempt to give a voice to the missing through the ones who love them most, and who cannot, who will not forget them. Please, stay tuned.
What makes the Limetown tragedy unique, what makes it worth a continuing discussion in spite of the collective moving on, is the complete lack of context. In the ten years since, no one group or individual has taken responsibility. No explanations have been uncovered or given with any credibility, and most tragically, no survivors have been found.
Limetown was established in June of 2002 in an undeveloped region of White County in Middle Tennessee. The township was owned by Real Lore, which we now know was a private corporation. owned entirely by Bernard Brom Villard, or R.B. Villard, as his father dubbed him for the sake of efficiency. That's Hunter Garrett, Mr. Villard's biographer. Hello. Hi, how are you? We'll get back to him in a bit.
Ground was broken on a corporate campus in the fall of 2002. This is Terry Hilkins. I'm a reporter for the Spartan Sentinel in Sparta, Tennessee, and I have been loosely covering the Limetown story on and off for the past... Well, 10 years or so. And Terry told me that Limetown was originally built to house up to 1,000 researchers and their families. Which is estimated to have cost somewhere between $1.7 and $2 billion for the construction loan.
Whoa. Yeah, well, like I said before, nothing about this construction was secret or hidden. Those numbers are public record. There were the necessary permits and forms filled out, as well as the token acknowledgements to the public. So what was the publicly stated purpose, then? Well, that was always a little vague, but I think they're...
PR director, if they bothered to have one, would tell you that their intent was to gain a full understanding of the human brain. What? A full understanding of the... What does that mean? I have no idea, Leah. None of us did. This was... From the beginning, R.B. Villard's passion play. Here's Hunter Garrett again. He privately revealed to his friends that he felt, and this is a quote, mind you, that this could change the destiny of the species.
which explains the confidence he had in his investment and the confidence he had in Oscar Totem, all of which ultimately makes him... somewhat of a tragic figure. He's Don Quixote. Yes, yes, that's quite right. When Villard's relationship with Dr. Oscar Totem started remains unclear. But we do know that Dr. Totem was named the lead researcher of the facility before construction even began. Back to Terry.
The idea of an actual town that is a community with restaurants, bars, hardware store, even that ridiculous movie theater seems to have come from Dr. Totem, who felt he needed the touches of home to get the... brightest minds in his field to flock to the wilds of White County, Tennessee, I guess. It is rather remote. It's not exactly South Beach. What did his press release say? You have that, right?
Yeah. We want this town to be a place that researchers and their families want to live. A place where work, family, and fun come together for the betterment of the world. Wow. So he made it sound like Disneyland or something. So, together with Dr. Totem's vision and R.B. Villard's investment, it was built and they did, in fact, come.
Researchers and technicians at every level of the neuroscience field, including my uncle, came from each corner of the globe, most leaving their current jobs, with others even coming out of retirement. There was a buzz. as it was described to me by those familiar with that initial recruitment. But the cause went undefined to everyone on the outside.
It should be made clear here that while the greatest mystery surrounding Limetown remains its final days, an almost equally frustrating question surrounds the town's real purpose. Why did it require such a massive undertaking? What about this particular research justified the amount of workers Dr. Tonum felt was necessary to execute it? Speculation ranges from the basic curing of disease to the almost impossible task of brain mapping.
The truth in this circumstance, however, remains uncertain. The facility was opened on June 3rd, 2003. 327 people were housed there. Not only those in the neuroscience field and their families, but other personnel to actually run a town. Cooks, janitors, landscapers, plumbers, electricians. A lot of people pulled double duty.
So, brain researcher by day, barber or janitor by night? Well, they'd alternate days, but yeah, basically, it was Mayberry. Only it was run by some of the smartest people on the planet. For a little over eight months, things... as undefined as those things are for our purposes, appear to have run smoothly.
Initially, there was mild regional interest in Limetown, but outside of some anonymous chatter in the smaller corners of the internet, things proceeded without any substantial public scrutiny. And then, very suddenly... In the end these are the facts. 327 men, women and children have vanished. In the ten years since, not one survivor has been located. In 2007, Nighttime Primetime scored an interview with Kyle Walensky, a contractor who stated he worked on security detail at Limetown.
So you're saying you have no idea what happened in those three days? We were just told to keep everyone out and shoot anyone who didn't listen. We rotated shifts at the perimeter barracks. Day shift, night shift, day shift, night shift. That morning we were just told to leave the gates. Was there no security detail in the town itself? No, not from our group. Who told you to leave then? I don't know. You don't know? We never knew. A voice on a phone. Then how were you paid? In cash.
Mr. Walensky also revealed in the interview that he and his fellow contractors had been held in detention for 18 months at Guantanamo Bay for questioning, an accusation later confirmed by the State Department. Mr. Walensky could not be reached for comment for this story. His current whereabouts are unknown. And then there's the aforementioned R.B. Villard, the former telecommunications titan and one of Forbes magazine's most wealthy men on the planet.
The man who personally bankrolled the entire Limetown project, the man who should know more than anyone, revealed almost the least when called before Congress in May of 2004. Replayed here is the most infamous exchange with Minority Leader Pitney. Mr. Villard, you've yet to provide a single useful piece of information about the purposes of this institution. Are you honestly going to sit here and act like you don't know anything?
Congresswoman, I couldn't expect you to understand the invective and the hysteria I've endured over the previous three months. I suppose it's not so different from the vitriol I've endured throughout my entire career. I still believe that one day the work of rail lore will be assigned its rightful place in the annals of history. And you, Congresswoman, you and the rest of the inept 108 will go down in the annals of nothing.
Mr. Villard, what do you mean still believe? My client refrains from any further testimony. RB Villard also could not be reached for comment, as he has hidden from public view since the hearing. Then there's Dr. Oscar Totem, the relatively young neuroscientist in whom R.B. Villard invested. I could find no one to speak on record about his life, but this is what we know.
Oscar Totem worked in a private lab based out of Sydney, Australia, before being named the head researcher at Limetown. He has been universally described as brilliant, but also volatile and difficult to work with. What cannot be denied is his almost childlike optimism. Played here is a clip from a speech he gave in 2002 at the International Neuroscience Winter Conference in Solden, Austria.
Because I am an optimist when it comes to my fellow man. I do not think we are as limited or as powerless as we sometimes feel. We shouldn't look to the stars and feel smaller. We should look to the stars in defiance and be able to reveal the power, the magnitude of the uniquely gifted human mind. The human... Mind. There is a mystery there we must live in, must thrive in. It is there, in the darkness, where we will find the light that unites us all. Thank you.
By all accounts, Dr. Oscar Totem was a remarkable man, revered by some, feared by many, but respected by all within his field. But, as stated earlier, no one would go on record for any part of the story, perhaps out of fear of a potential link of their name to his. Despite his fall from grace, Dr. Totem remains remarkable for another reason.
His were the only human remains found in the town on the day of the disappearance. His teeth were recovered from the charred remnants at the base of the stake on the execution site. It is presumed he was burned alive. Why is the question no one can answer, a question no one can answer at nearly every turn of Limetown?
The only meaning of Limetown remains subjective, something each individual must piece together from the chaos and project back onto its blank canvas. It is a tragedy, like any real tragedy. that forces us to confront our worst fears, and exposes an underlying hope that there is a larger narrative to everything, that there must be meaning in all, the moment it hits you.
The same moment you attempt to rebuild again, for better or worse, is where I started when I spoke with the families of the victims. While I did have a family member living in Limetown, Because of familial disputes and distance, he was never much more than a man who had to be pointed out to me in photographs. Out of respect for their wishes, neither the family members I spoke with or the victims will be identified in this montage of voices.
I was standing in my kitchen. I was in my office just sitting down with my coffee. My sister called me in my car. I was sitting right here where I'm talking to you. I was at the grocery store. I still see her face. Everywhere. I don't want to. And then I worry if I don't. It's like someone just, um, I don't know, took my arm from me. How do you live without an arm? You keep living, but everything else is just that much worse. I've had issues since his disappearance. I can't feel... I'm sorry.
That car was hers. It's sitting out in the backyard. We covered it with a tarp about a year after she was gone. I like to go inside and just sit. She said, Dad, I'm scared. That's all. That's the last thing she ever said to me. I'm haunted by the ghost of another present. He told me he was sorry. He didn't say why. I think they knew something. No one can convince me different. I couldn't understand her. Bad reception. My last conversation with my daughter.
Had bad cell reception. I dream about him. He talks to me. We talk about everything. Nothing. When I wake up, that's the reason I'll fight to do it all over again. I know one day I'll see him. When each family member was asked, Do you think your loved one is still alive? There was a surprisingly unanimous response. Yes, absolutely. Yes, she is. I know she's alive still. I can feel it. That's the only thing that keeps me going. He's not gone. I know they're coming back.
When I spoke with now-retired federal agent Ron Calhoun and I worked with the Federal Bureau of Investigation during the Limetown incident Ron told me that the sense of optimism shared by the victims was pretty standard in an unresolved case like this
Yes, ma'am. When people don't see a body and have no reason to think that their loved one has been harmed, it is pretty standard for the grieving party to hold out hope, at least in my experience. As they should, specific to this case. As they should.
You personally believe that they are still alive? Yes, ma'am. Why do you believe that? Well, I worked for the FBI for nearly 32 years. And in 32 years' time, you can see some pretty troubling things, to put it delicately. You grow a pretty thick skin to most stuff.
And I have worked many crime scenes involving disappearances or kidnappings or other events of that nature. But nothing, nothing sticks with me like Limetown. There was nothing left behind. We dusted for prints, combed every surface for hairs, fingernails, hell... Even some spit somewhere in a toothbrush. And look, look, we have visual proof that there was a large population on that site February 8th. And on February 11th, it's like no one ever was. What do you make of that?
That this was purposeful. It was following a plan. And it was done masterfully. I have never seen anything like it. I'm sorry, I don't understand how... How could 327 people be moved under complete surveillance without anyone noticing? Well, now you've hit my cutoff of understanding.
No ideas? No theories? As far as I'm concerned, those yahoos selling plastic alien ships and rapture trinkets out next to Limetown have as good an idea as any. Not a day goes by, I don't think of it. Did we miss something? Did we all miss something? I don't know. I don't know.
My first view of Limetown, what remains of it, was on a bright autumn day last October. I was with Terry Hilkins again, this time in the field. Well, it's just over the ridge here. You can see the top of the central research facility. My first impression of Limetown. That's it. Wow, yeah, I see it. It's a lot smaller than I imagined it would be. Yeah, it's pretty common for people. Camera heads ten pounds, I think.
This electrified, barbed-wired fence is new. The original perimeter was about a mile back, but otherwise take away the decade of unchecked wildlife and the youthful vandalism, and you're seeing it. That is Limetown. The houses literally all have white picket fences. Yeah, the dream within the dream. Can we get closer? Oh, absolutely.
We walk through the abandoned streets towards the central research facility, past the beautiful homes with their fenced-in yards now turned against them, past the shops, the restaurants, all of them empty, hollow. So where did the name Limetown actually come from? From the caves. All these houses are connected to caves. They're built over for temperature control. The facility itself was built deep into the earth, presumably using the caves as a way to...
cheaply keep their massive electronic construct things from overheating. So, limestone caves, town built sort of into the caves. Of course the rumors go that the caves might have been used for other reasons, but... What other reasons? Well, anything you can think of. There's an entire conspiracy the industry built on the main road. It weighs back if you're looking for campfire spook stories.
They have shirts, tree ornaments, all kinds of stuff. There was actually a problem with people getting lost in the surrounding cave systems because they fancied themselves spelunkers, I guess. They actually had to seal several cave entrances to keep people out. The domed research facility is at the far end of town, built directly into the hill, with only its front end visible. It almost feels dynamic, as if the structure is actively crawling from the earth, or...
being dragged back down into it again. Everything about it says, keep out. Anyways, you can see this has been closed down to the public. Well, it's never really open to the public. But now... I have to say, this is a pretty eerie place. Well, as soon as this facility could have been boarded up and locked away, it was. The only reason it hadn't been destroyed outright is to give the illusion of hope.
Which is to say, you are not alone in feeling spooked. Hope is the last thing I feel standing here. Yeah, it's not much to look at, that's for sure. You want to check out one of the houses? Standing in one of the homes, I was struck with how normal everything was. Not just furniture arrangement or other aesthetic touches of domesticity.
but the overwhelming feeling of being a voyeur in someone else's home while they quickly ran to the grocery store. Photos on the walls, clothes in the closets, even junk mail sitting on the kitchen table. They got mail? Sure, yeah. I guess I just assumed they didn't get mail. Why do you say that? I don't know. It just seems very... Against the idea of the entire venture as you know it? Yes. Like, these people were supposed to be off the grid. Right.
Nothing says grid quite like a seer's catalog. The mail would come in one very large delivery to the guard shack we walked past by the fence, and then they would distribute it within the town themselves. No one was hiding. That gets lost in time a bit. This town was not hidden from the world. It was built in plain sight. It operated in plain sight. We knew something unique was happening, but no one really cared. Not until after, of course. Why would they?
It's hard to think about now, but these were real people. Or real people. Sorry, I'm an optimist. To say these houses were pristine images of the past would not be accurate, however. Animals and intruders alike had certainly taken their shots before the lockdown of the site. But the most noticeable thing, and the most difficult thing to ignore... The smell, right? What is that? It's dry rot.
All the living quarter houses have them. Is that due to the abandonment or... That's part of it, yeah. But the full answer is actually pretty silly. The designer of this city was given a... Pretty healthy budget to work with. That meant constructing this town of beautiful, well-built homes made of the best materials. However, in doing all this, for whatever reason, they forgot to put kick-out flashing on the gutters. It's simple oversight, but every time it rained, water would feed.
Right into the walls. A dry rot is a misnomer. It comes from wet conditions and then, if left untreated, it spreads like cancer. While the people lived here, I'm not sure many of them even noticed. Not enough time to. But over the years since, all these houses have become just riddled with it.
These beautiful shrines to the American dream just rotting from the inside out. All these brilliant minds, all these geniuses of industry, you know, the future of this, the future of that. And they didn't plan for the rain. When we arrived to the site of the execution, all that remained was a stake buried in the ground, a dark memorial to the madness of that night. Seemingly out of reverence, no plants surround the base.
The only reminder of tragedy can be found in the darkened wood of this stake from the flames. Terry remained silent as we got closer, his demeanor changing from tour guide to reverent observer. What do you feel standing here? I feel exactly how I feel about all of this. Which is how? Like I've stared at something too long. And I don't know a damn thing. And that was supposed to conclude part one of my report. Then something happened.
Hello? God, I'm sorry. My heart's pounding. It's okay. Just take your time. How do I start? Okay. I have someone you need to talk to. What do you mean? Who? Leah, it's a survivor. She wants to speak to you. And only you. I'm gonna put her on now. But Tara, I don't understand. I mean, why does she want to talk to me? I feel like we should tell someone... No. Excuse me? Miss Haddock, you and I, we are the only ones to speak.
How could I believe you? I'll leave the details with Mr. Hulkins. Terry? Is this real? Okay, stop recording.