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and save twenty percent with promo code unexplained. Again, save twenty percent with promo code unexplained at onmolecule dot com. Like all the places we give names to, the town of Tobmendon, located in the Upper Calder Valley in the north of England, was conjured into being once non existent until one day it was an intangible boundary line thrown out over the land, becoming solid and fixed within the
minds of anyone willing to participate in this fiction. Yet ultimately it is as loose as the breeze destined, Like everything ever given a name to one day be erased, And what even is a fixed point on a planet that spins unceasingly on an axis that orbits the Sun, that cycles the Milky Way, a galaxy that in turn is hurtling through space toward the Andromeda Galaxy, its nearest neighbor.
In truth, nothing is ever truly fixed. Nothing is permanent, because if there is one universal constant, it is change, a fact easily demonstrated by how a place and our associations with it will evolve over time. Take the town of Tobmaden itself, once a sustained dynamo of the Industrial Revolution, at the heart of the British cotton industry. Today it stands as a picturesque and progressive jewel in the thick of the Yorkshire countryside, at the heart of a weird
and vibrant local music scene. Once in a while, however, something so extraordinary occurs that, if not able to resolve in permanence completely, can leave its mark so deeply on a place that it appears destined to shape our impression of it forevermore. For Todmiden, that something occurred just over forty years ago. Today, it'll be some time before it's forgotten.
You're listening to Unexplained, and I'm Richard McClain smith. Some claim the name Todmerden originates from two old Saxon words meaning death, Todd and mort, giving the modern English translation
of death death wood. Others, however, believed the name has a rather more prosaic topographic origin, meaning simply Totter's Boundary Valley, being as it is nestled at the confluence of three valleys of the Pennines, a rupture of mountains and hills that dangles like a crooked spine through the north of England.
It was there, not far from Tommadon Town Center, late in the evening of June tenth, nineteen eighty, that a young couple were roused from sleep by a peculiar noise, like a great surge of water moving to and fro, as they described it, that seemed to be coming from somewhere high above their house. Grabbing their jackets, the couple raced to the front door and stepped out cautiously into
the cool night air. A thick mist had formed in the sky, from which a light drizzle was now falling, through which they could just about hear that peculiar sound, now moving further and further away. When all was silent once more. The couple turned to head back inside, when suddenly there appeared a soft light from somewhere deep within the mist, pulsating steadily from green to red. The couple watched in quiet awe as the light moved higher and higher,
and then completely disappeared from view. It was just approaching three forty five pm the following day, as thirty three year old police officer Alan Godfrey took another drag of his cigarette and gazed out at Tobendon's rain splattered high Street. Though he loved it here, there was little more miserable than being lumbered with street patrol on days like these, when the clouds hung dark and low and all color seemed leached from the surrounding hills and fields. Then Alan's
radio crackled into life. It was a call out for any officers in the area to make their way to Tomlin's coal yard at the back of Tobladen train station. Alan answered the corps, telling them he could be there in ten minutes, then asked what the situation was. A body's being found came back the blunt reply. Alan's eyes widened. Taking a final drag on the cigarette, he flicked the butt into the street and had just stepped into the rain when a patrol car pulled up fast beside him.
Much to Alan's relief, PC Malcolm Agley rolled down the window and shouted for Alan to jump in. Is there something interfering with your happiness or preventing you from achieving your goals? Better help will assess your needs and match you with your own licensed professional therapist. Sign up today and start communicating in less than forty eight hours. You'll get timely and thoughtful responses. Plus, you can schedule weekly video or phone sessions so you won't ever have to
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start living a happier life today. It was still raining as they made their way up the long dirt track behind the station toward the yard, Pulling into it at just after four p m. It was hard to miss the ambulance parked up in the center, sitting stark and
white against the black and gray of the yard. Stepping out of the car, Allan and Malcolm put on their hats and made their way toward the three men sheltering under the coal hopper in the middle of the yard, next to which was a large pile of anthracite coal roughly fifteen feet high, stacked up against a wall of railway sleepers. I think you have a murder, said one of the paramedics, glumly. Allyan looked about the yard for
any sign of the body. It's up there, said another of the men, pointing to the top of the coal heap. The man was Trevor Parker, the yard owner's twenty five year old son. As he went on to explain, he'd seem nothing unusual when he arrived for work at eight a m. Having stayed at the yard until eleven a m. He then left to carry out some checks at the family's other coal yards before returning at four p m. That was when he saw the body lying in plain
sight at the top of the central coal pile. He'd assumed it was a drunk at first, sleeping off a hangover, but then the horrible realization had eventually dawned on him, the eeriness of it amplified by the quiet and bleak industrial surroundings. Allyn took notes as Malcolm scrambled up the sleepers and peered over the edge, then turned back to Allan with the strange look on his face. As everything all right, asked Allyn. You'd better take a look, replied Malcolm.
Alan waited for Malcolm to jump down before making his own way up, then almost fell back, startled by the sight of the man's face appearing only inches from his own as he looked over the wall. It wasn't the first dead body he'd seen by any stretch, such things being an unfortunate occupational hazard, but this was different. The way the man's eyes seemed to be staring straight up at the sky, along with the slightly parted lips bent into a grimace. It looked for all the world as
though he died of fright. Despite the initial shock at seeing the man's face, Alan's professionalism soon kicked in. From then on, things only got stranger. Although the man was wearing a brown suit jacket, and quickly noticed there was only a string vest underneath, while there was something odd about the fit of the trousers too, as if they'd
been buttoned up in the wrong way. Then he noticed something else unusual through the man's short hair, which appeared to have been cut recently in a rough and crude manner. Alan noticed a series of small burn marks no bigger than a penny around his crown, and the same type of injury on the side of the man's neck, while at the nape of the neck there was a small open wound and something viscous smeared over the top of it.
Though there was nothing obvious to suggest the man had been murdered, it was odd how clean his clothes were, considering he'd been found on top of a coal heap in the rain, suggesting that at the very least, whether he'd been murdered or not, somebody had put him there with no sign of rigor mortis. It was clear that whatever had taken place had happened fairly recently. Alan lent back and took a moment to gather his thoughts, then
shouted down to Malcolm to call it in. A short time later, as Allan and Malcolm were coordining off the area, a Sergeant Neverson and PC Birmingham arrived from the local Criminal Investigation Department or CID, along with Jack Parker, the owner of the yard, to take a look. They were joined soon after by a police surgeon, Doctor AD's Head, who, after a rudimentary assessment, was unable to determine the cause of death, nor was any wallet or forms of ID
found on the body. By five thirty pm, another seven police personnel had arrived to inspect the scene, including the divisional head of CID, Detective Chief Inspector Baynes. Alan lit another cigarette and watched them all busying themselves, unable to shake the image of the man's terrified face from his mind as the rain continued to fall. By six thirty the body was finally brought down from the heap and
taken to nearby Hebden Bridge for a post mortem. After taking everything into account, it was concluded that the man had most likely been murdered, but just how exactly would remain to be seen. As dusk fell across the yard and the rain finally eased up, Alan and Malcolm looked for clues as to how the man might have got to the top of the pile. No cold deliveries had been scheduled for the past few days, so there was no chance he'd been dumped accidentally from an unsuspecting truck driver.
As for finding a useful footprint amongst all the scuffs and impressions made by the many individuals who had been on the site that evening, they could that too. In the end, they found only an unfamiliar set of tire tracks close to the base of the coal heap that Jack Parker, the site's owner, was sure did not belong to any of the vehicles used on site. With a little else to go on, however, and with CID now formally taking over the case, at eight PM, Alan and
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doctor Alan Edwards conducted the postmortem on the body. Despite the initial suspicions, Edwards came to a startling conclusion the man had died simply of heart failure, most likely due to a combination of emphysema and yschemic heart disease. In other words, he died of natural causes. Edwards determined the man's death to have occurred sometime between eleven fifteen am and one fifteen pm that day, suggesting that whatever had happened had occurred at precisely the moment that Trevor Parker
was away from the yard. As for the peculiar markings on the man's scalp and neck, Edwards suggested they were caused by contact with some kind of destructive liquid, most likely and acid. Interestingly, these injuries were estimated to have been inflicted on June ninth, two days before the man's death. Edwards was less sure about the large wound at the base of the neck. However, a sample of the strange substance found smeared across it was sent to a home
office lab in nearby Weatherbee for testing. After receiving doctor Edwards's findings, CID decided they were not dealing with the murder investigation after all, believing instead that the man, most likely homeless and in an inebriated state, had simply crawled up onto the coal pile and fallen asleep, only to
then die there. As a result, c I D effectively passed on the case, leaving Allan and Malcolm, in their capacity as first responders to the scene, with the responsibility of finding the man's identity and informing his next of kin about his death. For the next few days, while ads asking for information were run in the local paper, Allan and Malcolm trawed local pubs and shops armed with images of the mysterious man, asking members of the public if they'd ever seen him before, but no one claimed
to know him. It was almost a week later when Allen was sent the profile of a missing person's report whose details tallied closely with those of the unidentified man. The missing person was fifty six year old Sigmund Yan Adamski, who'd been missing for six days, not from Tommidon, but Tingley, a smaller town located about twenty miles away, and so it was on June eighteenth, that Allen and the detective constable who'd been placed in charge of the case, made
their way to Adamski's house in Tingley. After arriving at the modest property on Hornfield Crescent, the two police officers were greeted at the door by a concerned looking young man, who promptly invited them inside and dushered them into the living room. Allan and his colleague walked into the living room to find a frail looking, middle aged woman in a wheelchair with a look of intense worry on her face.
The woman introduced herself as Sigmund's wife, Leo Cadia Adamski, but asked them to call her Lottie and invited them to take a seat. Still hoping that the police had made a mistake, it was only when she saw the photos they'd brought of the man in the coal yard that the reality of it all came crashing down on her. Through tears, she explained that her husband, Ziggy as she called him, had gone missing back on Friday, June sixth, after leaving the house around three thirty pm to fetch
some groceries from their local store. His disappearance was completely unfathomable to her, since the store was barely two hundred yards away, and they were due to attend the wedding of Sigmund's goddaughter the next day, something they'd all been looking forward to. When Alan explained where they'd found the body exactly, Lottie was confused, since she was certain that
her husband had never even been to Todmidon before. With Lottie unable to escort the police back to hebden Bridge to formally identify the body, the young man who opened the door for them went with them instead. Later that afternoon, he confirmed the dead man's identity as Sigmund Adamski. It was strange, though, he said, when going through Adamski's clothes shortly after, he wasn't wearing any of it when he
left his house for the last time. His hair was also different, with the man certain that it must have been cut since he'd gone missing. As for the injuries, as the coroner suggested they had indeed happened some time after he left the house, it was all a little peculiar, to say the least. Later that day, Alan and the detective constable turned to Lottie and Sigmund's home to see
what more they could find out. Both Lottie and Sigmund arrived in England as refugees from Poland, having fled from the German army's invasion of Poland in nineteen thirty nine. The pair had then met in Leeds and eventually married in nineteen fifty one. On the day he disappeared, Sigmund went shopping in the morning with his cousin Laska, who had been staying with him and Lottie for the previous
couple of months. When they returned, the family sat and ate lunched together, after which Sigmund left the house, saying he was going to buy some potatoes from the local store, something they needed for the food they were going to prepare for the wedding. As Lottie recalled, it had been a bright, sunny day when she saw her husband for the last time, and that he'd taken his wallet with twenty pounds cash and had worn a stripy jacket, none of which was found on him in the coal lyard.
The couple had been happy, she said, as far as she knew, and her Ziggy a devoted husband. In fact, he'd recently decided to retire from work in order to become her full time career as she suffered from multiple sclerosis. The decision had also been prompted by Zigmund's own ill health, namely his chronic bronchitis, brought on by twenty three years of working as a miner at the nearby loft House Colliery. The mining company had refused his application at first, but
eventually agreed to the request after an appeal. Lottie had received the letter confirming their decision two days after her husband went missing. Lottie just couldn't understand what possibly could have happened, telling the officers that her husband was well
liked and respected and had no enemy anywhere. Unable to shake the feeling that, despite the fact he died from natural causes, something more sinister had taken place, Alan too, had begun to suspect something a little more complicated had occurred. Soon after speaking with Lottie, Alan and the DC made a visit to the local grocery store, where the owner confirmed that Zigmund had indeed bought potatoes from his shop shortly after three thirty pm on the sixth, making him
the last known person to see a Damski alive. Back at the station, Malcolm was busy calling round hospitals to see if they had any record of a fifty six year old man fitting Zigmund's description being treated for burns or any other injuries, but they had nothing. A few
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A man Allan knew that volunteered as a sub officer at the local fire station, who also happened to work at Tomlin's coal yard, told him that he'd visited the yard the day Adamski's body was found, around one o'clock. The man was adamant that there was no body there at that time. Allan quickly realized, if the man's recollection and the coroner's calculations were correct, Adamski must have died before his body made it to the coal yard. In
other words, somebody must have put him there. Alan let the revelation eat away at him for a few days before finally compiling a report of his findings, strongly advising CID that they should treat the case as a possible murder. In response, a senior CID officer was sent down from their headquarters in nearby Halifax to discuss the case with him. Their meeting proved to be a very brief one, however, when the man told Alan in no uncertain terms to
forget the case and move on. A little put out, but with no choice to accept the man's instructions, Alan did his best to forget it and concentrate on the rest of his many responsibilities, And though he still couldn't quite shake that gruesome image of the terrified look on the man's face, he soon began to put the whole thing behind him. Then, in September, something else unusual occurred. It was Malcolm who alerted him to the front page article in the local paper regarding the result of the
inquest into Sigmun Dadamski's death. The coroner had returned an open verdict in the case. It was strange because, as far as Alan could make out, the decision had been reached without drawing on the vital information he'd uncovered. The full report only seemed to cloud things even further. Wherever Adamski had been in the five days between leaving his house and being found dead, he'd been eating well and was found to have only one day's worth of stubble
growth on his face. He was also judged not to have been sleeping rough in that time. No evidence of a stroke or any other brain injury was found that might account for the suffering of temporary amnesia. As an explanation as to why he hadn't returned home, Clearly Sigmund Damski, either by his own volition or under duress, had been somewhere, and when you take into account the recent and crudely cut hair, some one had most liked he beam with him.
In that time, little was added about the peculiar burns, only that it wasn't clear if they'd been inflicted accidentally or not. As for the peculiar liquid found smeared on the wound at the base of the neck, forensic scientists at the Home Office laboratory were unable to identify it. By mid November, with the nights having long ago closed in and the shadows of the valleys growing darker, the
fresh chill of winter had descended. On one especially dark night, two police squad cars made their way into the hills about ten miles east of Tommidon, toward Cold Edge Dams, a small spot of countryside just to the north of Halifax. Their headlights beamed momentarily through the black hedgerows lining the road.
They turned in and out of the corners. Inside the first vehicle, w PC Julie Baxter and PC Howard Turnpenny kept their eyes firmly on the road as they drew closer to a local dog kennel where a number of stolen motorbikes were apparently being stored. Meanwhile, behind them, PC Porter, traveling with his police dock, suddenly found himself distracted by a peculiar electric blue light hanging in the sky above them. Unable to keep his eyes off it, he couldn't shake
the sense that it was following them. After finally arriving at the kennel, Porter jumped out of the car and beckoned his colleagues over to join him. Pointing at the sky, he drew their attention to the strange light, now moving at incredible speed from one side of the valley to
the other. And there they stood for the next few minutes in the quiet darkness, wrestling with what it was exactly they were looking at, until the light turned suddenly, swooped down toward them, and shot off down the valley, heading toward Todmodon. A week later, but just before ten pm on November twenty eighth, down at Tobodon police station. Allan, now working the night shift, laced up his standard order Doc Martin boots and stood up to check his uniform
in the mirror. Then, after brushing some dust from the shoulder of his jacket and straightening his hat, he headed out to begin his shift. It was the night that would change his life forever. You've been listening to Unexplained Season six, Episode two. Valleys of the Uncanny Part one, Part two will be out next Friday, except twenty fourth. If you enjoy Unexplained and would like to help support us, you can now do so via Patreon. To receive access to add free episodes, just go to patron dot com
forward slash Unexplained pod to sign up. Unexplained, the book and audiobook, featuring ten stories that have never before been covered on the show, is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Waterstones, among other bookstores. All elements of Unexplained, including the show's music, are produced by me Richard McClain smith. Please subscribe and rate the show wherever you listen to podcasts, and feel free to get in touch with any thoughts or ideas
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