Season 04 Episode 03: I See You (Rerun)

then the letters started to arrive. Back in February twenty nineteen, long before it became a hit Netflix show with a questionable ending. This is Unexplained, Season four, Episode three, I See You. We open on a pristine, tree lined avenue of some affluent North American suburb as a paperboy cycles merrily along, casually tossing papers towards the grand mansion houses

that line the street. The camera pans to the left, centering on one such mansion, its perfectly manicured front lawn and grand facade, offering up a vision of wealthy domestic perfection. But as we move in closer beyond the facade, we find a very different story. In an upstairs bathroom, a bedraggled and hair suit. Henry Morrison, early forties and in casual dress, stands at the sink, staring intensely into the mirror,

his face covered in blood. After removing a pressed and clean suit from a pre prepared suitcase, he steps into the shower and washes the blood from his face before shaving his beard and trimming his hair. Moments later, he stands once again in front of the mirror, the image of a calm go getting professional. Soon, the smartly dressed Henry, now with a briefcase in his hand, is walking down the stairs past a blood stained wall covered in happy

family portraits of Henry with his wife and kids. Finally, as he steps down into a large entry hall, stopping calmly to write a knocked over chair, we see the true horror within, ignored by Henry as he makes his way to the front door. The floor of the living room behind is littered with the blood and bodies of those same wife and children. Paying no attention to the dead, bloodied body of a young girl clutching a teddy bear in the foreground. Henry lets himself out and closes the

door behind him. Outside, he breaks into a whistle and collects the paper from the lawn, then steps into the quiet of the street and disappears up the road. The opening scene of Joseph Ruben's nineteen eighty seventh film The Stepfather is widely considered one of the most effective and shocking in cinematic history. Sadly, it is also loosely based

on a true story. In nineteen seventy one, John List was a well respected father of three and church going resident in the town of Westfield in New Jersey, USA, with a well paid job at Jersey City Bank and a mansion on the hill to go with it. In November of that year, however, unbeknownst to his family, Liszt had been laid off and found himself heavily in debt after surreptitiously skimming money from his elderly mother's credit card

to pay the bills. Liszt's reaction to his predicament, in an all too common act perpetrated by men in similar positions, was to murder his entire family rather than reveal to them the truth of it all, believing the shame of it would have been too much for them to bear. After carefully lying the bodies down together, he made arrangements to stop the milk and the mail, then packed a

bag and fled. Understandably for a small town like Westfield, which prided itself on its reputation as one of the safest towns in America, the shock of John List's crimes, a violent reminder that all is never quite as it seems, opened a chasm of horror that took many years to repair, but as so often happens, no doubt, aided by the old List family home being mysteriously burned down the following year, the events were eventually expunged from the collective memory and

passed off as an aberration until it was as if they had never happened at all, and before too long, the illusion of pretty perfection was soon restored to the small but cultured town. Forty years later, however, as the summer of twenty fourteen approached, all that was about to change.

You're listening to Unexplained and I'm Richard McLean Smith. Located just twenty miles west of Manhattan, the leafy town of Westfield, described by the New York Times as west small town meets urban, was first established in seventeen twenty as a small village enclave of the much larger Elizabethtown, first founded

by English settlers in sixteen sixty four. Today, Westfield, comprised roughly of thirty thousand residents, is considered among the most wealthy in all of the United States, with average household income coming in at just under two hundred thousand dollars

per annum. Chances of becoming a victim of violent crime in the town are listed by the website neighbourhood scout dot com as being one in six thousand eighty seven, compared say, to the town of Bessemer on the outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama, which the site lists as being one in thirty four, all of which made it the perfect location for Derrick and Maria Broadus, who a few years previously adjoined the increasing number of affluent young families relocating

to the town as they looked to escape the big city for a quieter life. In two thousand fourteen, now with three young children in tow, they were hoping to upsize, and after months of searching, had finally found everything they were looking for. Built in nineteen o five at almost four thousand square feet of prime real estate, six five seven Boulevard was located in a neighborhood described by local paper, The Westfield Leader as one of the most beautiful in

all the town. With its grand colonnaded front porch and imposing facade, and boasting six bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms, it was every inch the dream home, and on June second, two thousand fourteen, after a short bidding war, it was all theirs sold for just over one point three million dollars. Eager to move in and begin their new life on Boulevard, the Broadesses immediately set about renovating

the property, employing construction workers to help. On June fifth, however, Derrek Broadus was at the property alone, having decided to carry out some light redecorating himself after work. It had just gone ten p m. When Derreck finished up and wandered out into the front porch and took a moment in the warm summer air to enjoy the serenity of his new surroundings. As he pictured himself waving neighborly helloes to pass his by, and his wife and kids welcoming

him home from work. There was just one last thing to do before heading back to the old house. Reaching into the mail box, he found the usual bits of junk mail and some post for the previous owner, but then also something else, Julia looking letter made out to the new owner, with curiously no return address. Derek examined the thick black lettering for a moment and then opened the envelope.

My grandfather watched the house in the nineteen twenties, and my father in the nineteen sixties. It is now my time, It continued, Do you know the history of the house? Do you know what lies within the walls? Why are you here? I will find out. I see already that you have flooded it with contractors so that you can destroy the house as it was supposed to be. You don't want to make six five seven Boulevard unhappy. You have children? I have seen them so far. I think

there are three that I have counted. Are the more on the way. I asked the woods to bring me young blood, and it looks like they listened. Was your old house too small for the growing family? Or was it greed to bring me your children? Once I know their names, I will call to them and draw them to me. Who am I? There are hundreds and hundreds of cars that drive by the house each day. Maybe I am in one. Look at all the windows you can see from six five seven Boulevard. Maybe I am

in one. Look out any of the many windows and six five seven Boulevard, at all the people who strolled by each day. Maybe I am one of them. The boulevard used to be these street to live on. You made it if you lived on the boulevard. Welcome, my friends, Welcome, Let the party begin, Signed the Watcher. Derek stood for a moment in a complete state of shock. Then, remembering where he was, looked toward the street, scanning hurriedly for any sign of a figure lurking behind a tree or

a face at the window of the houses opposite. Seeing nothing, he dashed straight back inside, locking the door behind him, then switched off every light in the house before returning to the window to check on the street as he dialed nine to one one. The officer arriving soon after, wondered aloud if Derek had any idea why anyone would do such a thing. Did he have any enemies perhaps that he was aware of. Derek couldn't think of anyone.

After suggesting that he moved any construction equipment inside lest someone try to throw it through a window, the officer could offer little else than to suggest that Derek remained vigilant and to let them know if anything else occurred. That night, as he made his way back to his family, Derek went through all the possibilities as to what this could be. A prank by kids, a disgruntled former owner, or was it perhaps even neighbors who had missed out

on purchasing the place themselves. Though he hadn't wanted to worry Maria, there would be no hiding this from her. That night, the couple did their best to reassure themselves that it wasn't anything to worry about, but couldn't help being drawn to one line. In particular, they read it again. I asked the Woods to bring me young blood, and it looks like they listened. The Woods were the former owners of the house. Was it possible that they were

already aware of this before they sold her? The couple emailed John and Andrea Woods that night. The next morning, Andrea replied though they had experienced nothing remotely like it in the twenty three years they had lived at the property, she claimed. They did, however, receive a similar letter a

week before they sold the house to the Broadesses. The letter, also signed off by the watcher, had made it clear that whoever it was, was well aware that a new family would soon be moving in, and that the watcher believed themselves to be the true owners of six five seven Boulevard. Stunned and angered by the revelation, with the sale having already gone through, there was little option but to do what they could to find the culprit and

nip the whole thing in the bud. Later that day, on Maria's insistence, Andrea and John Wood drove down from their new home in Massachusetts to accompany her to the Westfield Police Department. Detective Leonard Lugo, who was assigned to the case, offered to do whatever he could to look into it, but, just as the officer had explained the previous night, in the meantime, with little elves to go on, it was a case of doing their best to ignore

it and looking out for any other suspicious activity. Just as Andrea had suggested in her earlier email, Lugo also speculated that the culprit could well be one of their new neighbors. Maria did her best not to seem too awkward as she made small talk with the other guests, whilst also keeping an eye on her three young children, who were busy making the most of the spacious garden.

Under any normal circumstances, receiving an invitation to a neighbor's barbecue would have been something to celebrate, a perfect reflection of the general sense of benevolence they had first associated with the area. Now, however, despite their host's obviously good intentions, it had become little more than an elaborate line up, as the Broadesses found themselves treating every one with suspicion.

It didn't help that the family was still to move in to the property, but it was impossible to ignore the sense conjured up by the anonymous letter that they were still very much outsiders here, something which was especially hard for Maria, who had grown up in the town

across the other side of the garden. Derrick was on high alert when he soon found himself talking to John Schmidt of two doors down from six five seven, who inquired if Deryck had yet to have a chance to meet the Langforts who lived in the property between them.

As revealed in an article written by Reeves Wiederman for The New Yorker magazine, the house was occupied by ninety year old family matriarch Peggy Langford, along with a number of her children, who were all in their sixties, one of whom Michael, was described by Schmidt as somewhat of a reclusive character. The following day, after Derreck informed Detective Lugo about his conversation with Schmidt, Michael Langford was brought

in for questioning. However, after denying all knowledge of the letters, he was promptly released. Despite letting him go, Lugo informed the Broadesses that they were unlikely to be receiving any more letters. Though by no means conclusive, the detective's assessment offered some relief, and as the days went by the broadesses tried to focus their energy on completing renovations so

they could finally move in to their new home. And so it was with a cautious optimism that Maria arrived at the house on June nineteenth to check on the progress of the works and to pick up any mail. But as she pulled the jumble of letters from the mailbox, Maria's heart sunk. This time addressed directly to a mister and missus braddus, it read, welcome again to your new home at six five seven Boulevard. The workers have been busy and I have been watching you unload castles of

your personal belongings. The dumpster is a nice touch. Have they found what is in the walls? Yet? In time? Will I am pleased to know your names now? And the names of the young Blood you have brought to me? You certainly say their names often. Having claimed to have seen one of the daughters using an easel on the back porch, the watcher asked, is she the artist in the family? It has been years and years since the young Blood ruled the hallways of the house. Have you

found all of the secrets it holds? Yet? Will the young Blood play in the basement or are they too afraid to go down there alone? I would be very afraid if I were them. It is far away from the rest of the house. If you were upstairs, you would never hear them scream. Who has the bedrooms facing the street? I'll know as soon as you move in. It will help me to know who is in which bedroom. Then I can plan better. Who am I? I am the Watcher and have been in control of six five

seven Boulevard for the better part of two decades. Now the Woods family turned it over to you. It was their time to move on and kindly sold it when I asked them to. I passed by many times a day. Six five seven Boulevard is my job, my life, my obsession, and now you are too. Bradha's family, Welcome to the product of your greed. Greed is what brought the past three families to six five seven Boulevard, and now it has brought you to me. Have a happy moving in day.

You know I will be watching. The following day, Derrick and Maria led Detective Lugo through to the back porch and pointed out the easel that was still set up there. Lugo looked out to the garden beyond, searching for any clear sight lines from the neighboring properties, since no one could have seen their daughter painting from the street, either the watcher lived directly next door or behind the house, or they had walked up off the street and observed

her while hiding in the garden. Once again, however, Lugo had nothing but circumstantial evidence to go on, and though they had by then established that the letters were being rooted through a northern New Jersey distribution center, there was no way to pinpoint the culprit through the letters alone. Frustrated by the police response, the Broadesses took matters into their own hands. Webcams were installed and diagrams drawn up outlining which of their neighbors could possibly have seen or

heard the various incidences referred to in the letters. Some nights, Derrick would just sit alone in the house, surveying the street for any sign of the enigmatic watcher. On July eighteenth, a third letter arrived six five seven Boulevard is turning on me. It is coming after me. I don't understand why what spell did you cast on it? It used to be my friend, and now it is my enemy. I am in charge of six five seven Boulevard. It

is not in charge of me. I will be patient and wait for this to pass and for you to bring the young blood back to me. Six five seven Boulevard needs young blood, It needs you back. Let the young blood play again like I once did. Let the young blood sleep in six five seven Boulevard. Stop changing it and let it alone. It cries for the past and what used to be in the time when I

roamed its halls. The nineteen sixties were a good time for six five seven Boulevard, when I ran from room to room, imagining the life with the rich occupants there. The house was full of life and young blood. Then it got old, and so did my father. But he kept watching until the day he died. And now I watch and wait for the day when the young blood

will be mine again. With the arrival of the third letter, it was clear that the Watcher was not about to go quietly, so the Broadesses decided it was time to take their investigation to the next level. They began by

hiring a former FBI agent to analyze the letters. Though such an approach is by no means concrete, their assessment presented two intriguing notions, one that the writer was more likely to be female or at least not aggressively masculine due to the general inoffensiveness of the language, and the other being that they were not merely a prankster, but someone with a genuine sense of resentment toward the new owners.

A private detective was also hired, but proved ultimately ineffective, and all the while, the couple found themselves in an increasingly precarious position. Having already sold their current home, they had to decide whether to bite the literary bullet and move in to their new home or seek alternative accommodation.

In the end, being too afraid to risk their children's safety and crippled by the pressure of keeping the truth about the letters from their neighbours, they decided eventually to forego the switch to six five seven and moved in with Maria's parents instead. In early December, having run out of leeds, Detective Lgo informed them that the police were ending their investigation by the end of the year. Seeing no other option, the couple made up their minds to

sell the house and be done with it all. In February two thousand fifteen sixty five, seven Boulevard was put back on the market for an asking price just short of one point five million dollars, over one hundred thousand more than the Broadesses had originally bought it, taking into account the recent renovations. Having felt lied to in the original sale, the couple also decided to be completely open about the sinister letters to any prospective buyers. Only there

was one problem. Rumors about the letters had already begun to circulate. Within three months, the couple had dropped the asking price by a quarter of a million dollars, but it was to no avail. In the end, there was no need to disclose the letters because nobody made an

offer and the house was taken off the market. Having continued to make mortgage payments, not to mention spending thousands of pounds on property taxes for a house they didn't want, the couple reached their last resort in June two thousand fifteen. They filed a legal complaint against the former owners for

failure to disclose their awareness of the watcher. Since all such legal disputes become a matter of public record once they are filed, it wasn't long before the extraordinary story of the Westfield Watcher was picked up by the press and soon after became international news as the Broadesses and

Woods prepared to battle it out in court. The sudden spotlight on the picturesque town and the sinister goings on concerning six five seven Boulevard left many residents feeling exposed and the local police scrambling to explain why they hadn't caught the suspect. Yet another, detective, Baron Chamberliss, was promptly assigned to look into it again. When a DNA sample taken from the envelopes was found to be from a female, he turned his attention to Abbey Langford, the Broadess's neighbour

and sister of Michael Langford. One afternoon Joon, after instruction from Detective Chamberlas, a security guard at the local department store where Langford worked, waited for the perfect moment before secretly confiscating a plastic water bottle she had been using. The bottle was in turn tested for DNA, but the result wasn't a match. The investigation was back to square one,

and soon another theory was beginning to emerge. For those who aren't familiar with the Netflix documentary Making a Murderer, directed by Laura Richardi and Moira de Moss, It details the trial of two men whom many believe may have

been wrongfully convicted of murder. Watching as the story progressed and the prosecution's case became increasingly problematic, what struck me as particularly interesting, almost more than the possible injustice of it all, was the forerocity with which many members of the local community refused to accept that there was any

doubt to the guilty verdict. It is a strangely common reaction, this compulsion for a community to come together and, in the absence of any clear truth, commit to some kind of closure, whatever the cost, be it by finding a hapless scapegoat who best fits the profile, or by denying that a crime was even committed in the first place.

It is almost as though the continuation of the illusion that nothing bad could ever happen, or at the very least, finding a way to neutralize that bad thing, is more important than getting to the real truth of the crime, or, in the case of making a murderer, for many in the local community, having somebody locked up for the crime and being able to move on from it appeared to take precedence over whether the accused were innocent or not.

In the case of the Westfield Watcher, no doubt scarred by the not two distant crimes of John List the community prompted for the latter, Driven by concern for house prices and local reputation, many began to wander aloud, a view shared on social media and in homes throughout the town if the Broadesses hadn't merely got out of depth with their purchase and made the whole thing up to cover themselves. After attempting to sell the house in twenty sixteen,

the Broadesses once again came up short. As a last resort, they put in a bid with the local planning authority to sell the property to a developer who would replace it with two separate homes. The proposal was later defeated at a town hall meeting when over one hundred local residents, including Abby Langford, turned up to vote against it. By then, Derreck and Maria had spent over one hundred thousand dollars

in taxes for the house with no compensation. Some relief arrived, however, when soon after they finally succeeded in renting the place. Out efforts continued meanwhile, to put the house back on the market. Despite all the ensuing drama, it had been almost two years since the Broadesses had received their last letter from the Watcher. Perhaps their luck was beginning to

turn after all. Two weeks after the Renters moved in, Derek arrived at the property to carry out some routine maintenance work when they handed him a familiar looking letter. It was dated February thirteenth, twenty seventeen. You wonder who the Watcher is? Turn around, idiots. Maybe you even spoke to me, one of the so called neighbors who has no idea who the Watcher could be. Or maybe you do know and are too scared to tell anyone. Good move. I walked by the news trucks when they took over

my neighborhood and mocked me. I watched as you watched from the dark house in an attempt to find me. Telescopes and binoculars are wonderful inventions. Six five seven Boulevards survived your attempted assault and stood strong with its army of supporters barricading its gates. My soldiers of the boulevard followed my orders to a t.

for suggesting this week's story. This episode was written by Richard McClean smith Unexplained as an Avy Club Productions podcast created by Richard McClain Smith. All other elements of the podcast, including the music, are also produced by me mcin Smith unexplained. The book and audiobook, with stories never before featured on the show, is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Waterstones, and other bookstores.

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