On a stormy night on the small island of Guernsey, a young paranormal expert joins a skeptical history teacher to record the first in a series of podcasts based on the island's incredible folklore and paranormal history. As the expert regales his horrifying stories, the teacher learns that we all have our own truth, our own story ghosts that haunt us.
Starring Olivier nominated actor and former Blue Peter legend Peter Duncan, When Darkness Falls is a spine chilling ghost story that delivers a twisted, terrifying and thrilling tale that the Guardian said will leave you cowering in your seat. Catch the brand new UK tour of When Darkness Falls from September fifteenth in a town near you. Select nights will also
feature myself delivering a live episode of Unexplained. For more details or to book tickets, visit When Darkness Falls dot co dot uk if you dare One frigid morning in the early winter of nineteen hundred, Fred McLeod, chief factor of the Hudson Bay fought Lyard Trading Post in Canada's Northwest Territories, sat alone at his desk, attending to some paperwork when the front door opened suddenly and a blast
of cold air whipped through the store. A man stepped inside, wearing little more than a caribou hide streaked with dirt, carrying a pair of snowshoes in one hand and a rifle in the other. McLeod assumed at first that the lean, dark haired figure was De Nay, a broad and diverse group of First nationers that were indigenous to the north Lands.
But something about this individual was different, not least of all how strangely underdressed he was for someone native to a region where the mercury could drop as low as minus twenty four celsius in the winter months. Fred watched with a studied curiosity as the man perused the post's few shelves of items, then grabbed what he needed and headed up to the counter, trailing snow under his moccasins
as he went. Fred was about to turn the man away when he reached into a small medicine pouch tied around his neck and pulled out a handful of bright gold nuggets. Now he had Fred's complete attention as spread proceeded to process the items. He did his best to get the man talking. Where was he coming from, he asked, and where was he heading to? And more importantly, where
on earth did you find that gold? The man gave little away at first, before eventually revealing that he'd discovered it along the banks of the Flat River, about a hundred and ten miles to the north, not far from where it met with the South Nahani River. And then it finally hit fred. The man was Nahari himself, or Naha, another indigenous group who lived mostly in the valleys and hills further up to the northwest of Fort Lyard, in
what the Europeans called the Mackenzie Mountains. Many a strange tale had been told of the giant sprawl of wilderness encompassing the Mackenzie Mountains, in particular the region known as Nahana Valley, a three hundred mile stretch of vast canyons, gorges, and rolling pine covered hills that flanked the South Nahani
and Flat Rivers. Due to its positioning and unique geology, the valley was completely untouched by the Last ice Age, leading some to claim that despite temperatures there routinely dropping below freezing for half of the year, whole sections of it never froze over at all. Psalm even claimed that hidden deep within it was a tropical oasis overgrown with gigantic ferns and vines, where tremendous herds of moose and caribou roamed, bigger and fatter than anything anyone had ever
seen before. There were rumors two of other creatures, giant fur covered things that left eighteen inch wide three toed impressions in the earth, as if whatever it was had emerged from some kind of prehistoric portal that penetrated the valley's floor, which led to some other world entirely. The Dunae had their beliefs about it too, Stories passed down from generation to generation, a bridge to a distant and
ancient time. They told tales of malignant elemental forces that held sway over the valley, and also equally terrifying but more corporeal dangers like than Akanne, a race of giant head hunting wild people who were said to hide deep inside unreachable caves carved high up into the canyon walls. Fred McLeod had heard it all, but this was the first time he'd ever seen any evidence there might be gold there. Two. You're listening to unexplained, and I'm Richard
McClean smith. In nineteen hundred, the Hudson Bay Company or HBC, was the most prominent fur trading business in Canada, with hundreds of posts stretched out across the entirety of the continent. Fought Lyard, located on the Lyard River at the southern edge of the Northwest Territories, was one of its most westerly posts. It was a place which for Europeans would be considered about as close to the frontier as one
could get. However, for those who'd been indigenous to the surrounding lands for thousands of years, it was but just another spot in a rich and vast expanse, of which some parts were better known than others, and some remained completely uncharted. For twenty two year old Fred, who like the rest of his brothers and sisters identified as MATEI on account of them being descended from both European and
First Nation heritage, this great wilderness was merely home. As such, he, like anyone else in his family, would think nothing of heading out into the mountains for months on end, arm'd with little more than a gun and a few pounds of flower. Whether they be hunting for fur or gold as chief factor. However, it was also Fred's responsibility to
oversee all trade that came through Fort Lyard. It was a position of great responsibility that had been passed down to him by his father, and one which he was contractually obliged to maintain, and so, despite his adventurous urges, he had little choice but to simply bid farewell to the young a Harny man and try to forget about his curious pouch of bright gold nuggets. It was a good three years later when another and a Harny hunter appeared at the Fort led trading post with yet another
pouchful of gold. This man, too, claimed to have found it while panning on the banks of the Flat River, in a spot roughly five miles south from where his compatriot had found his hall those few years before. This time, the by then twenty five year old Fred did not hesitate.
Although he wasn't free to make the journey himself. Fred sent word to his thirty two year old brother Willie, who was living some seven hundred and fifty miles away in Edmonton, Alberta at the time, explaining to him that there might be a fortune waiting to be discovered in
the Naharani Valley. Ever ready for adventure, Willie immediately made his way to Fort Nelson in British Columbia to visit his and Fred's older brother, thirty five year old Frank, who was also employed by the Hudson Bay Company at the time. Feeling somewhat less loyal toward the HBC as his brother Fred, Frank agreed to accompany Willie into the valley, and so it was in late nineteen oh three that the two brothers made the lengthy journey up to Fort
Lyard before heading on to the South Nahani River. Some weeks later, they arrived at Nahani Butte, a striking mound of sheer limestone cliff that like an ominous giant's finger, seemingly directing travelers away from the mouth of the South Nahani. Here the brothers loaded their packs into a narrow canoe and paddled on upstream into the valley. It was a few months later when the brothers returned to Fort Lyard, having only succeeded in venturing a short way into the
valley and failing to find anything significant. Undeterred, they headed back the following year, accompanied that time by their younger brother, Charlie. Months later, they returned to Fort Lyard again tired and draggled, with a hellish story to tell, having managed to paddle and trek along endless miles At the South Nahani River, they were prospecting at one of the many creeks that split off from it when they uncovered a rich deposit
of gold. With winter closing in, the men loaded what they could into their canoe and pushed out into the water, only to unexpectedly crash into some treacherous rapids. The canoe capsized and they lost everything save for a small eno fruit salts bottle full of placa gold, which Willie had managed to stuff under a sash that he tied around his waist. Proof, they said that the gold really was
out there. Despite the disaster of their last trip, the McCloud brothers returned hardened and more convinced than ever that there was a huge fortune to be found in the Nahanni Valley. However, being unable to raise credit due to their well known gambling habits meant an agonizing weight as they worked to say what they could to take another
stab at it. It was sometime in nineteen oh five when a man introducing himself as Robert Were, a steamboat engineer from Scotland, arrived in Fort Providence in the Northwest Territories to deliver supplies for the Hudson Bay Company. Weir was then introduced to Fred McLeod, who had recently been installed as Chief Factor of Fort Providence. While speaking to Fred, Weir couldn't take his eyes off his watch, especially the
bright gold chain that secured it around his wrist. Noticing Weir's curiosity, Fred explained that it had been a gift from his brothers, constructed from the very gold they'd found on their last trip into the Mackenzie Mountains. Intrigued, were promptly quit his job with the HBC and boarded a boat bound for Fort Simpson, another trading post about two hundred miles west of Providence, where Willie and Frank were
living at the time. After tracking the brothers down to a local inn, Weir gave them a proposition he would foot the bill for their next gold hunting expedition if they agreed to let him go with them. The brothers took little convincing and agreed on the spot to take him up on the offer. Charlie mc cloud, having had enough of an adventure the first time around, neglected to
join them on this occasion. A few weeks later, a spring was just beginning to burst, the three men set off for the fabled Naharni Valley as October crept into November. Back in Fought Providence, Fred mc cloud had yet to receive any word from his brothers regarding their latest adventure, but since both Willie and Frank were seasoned outdoors people,
he had little reason to panic. In Edmonton, Alberta, However, younger brother Charlie, who long sinced he had a feeling for this type of thing, was beginning to get nervous, and when winter came and went and there was still no sign of Willie and Frank, it soon became clear to him that something was very wrong. In spring nineteen o seven, Fred and Charlie received word about an abandoned canoe found caught up in a pile of driftwood on
the banks of the South and the Harney River. It didn't mean anything as such, but was said to have borne a striking resemblance to the canoe used by the brothers and Robert Weir. Then another message, as recounted by writer and explorer Philip Godsell snaked its way out of
the wilderness and arrived eventually at Charlie's door. It involved the sighting of an emaciated and haggard looking man reportedly seen at the Telegraph Creek trading Post, some two hundred and fifty miles southwest of the Nahanni Valley, smelling of dead, rotting flesh. The man was said to have revealed that he'd been prospecting for months in the wilderness with two partners before they were ambushed by members of a local tribe.
Forced to go their separate ways, the man had spent the last few months trying to get back to civilization. The hideous smell, he explained, was due to the large caribou he'd shot, which he'd been stead eating over the last few days while sleeping inside its rancid carcass at night. One night, soon after Charlie McLeod awoke from a restless sleep with the complete conviction that he had to make
his way to Vancouver. Once there, he walked straight into the nearest bar, where inside he found a heavily inebriated Robert Weir loudly holding court. When Charlie demanded to know what had happened to his brothers. Weir gave another story, claiming that although they had been ransacked a few times, they still managed to find a rich vein of gold. After working it for a few weeks, however, they had decided it was safer to get out while they still could,
in order to return with the much bigger party. He and the brothers, he said, had last seen each other Nahani Butte before going their separate ways. More determined than ever to find the truth about his brothers, Charlie, accompanied by his younger brother Donald, pert five man search party together.
Among the group was former Royal Northwest Mounted Police officer and well respected trapper Paul Field, who, as one of the first outsiders to venture into the Nahani Valley, had forged good relationships with many of the First Nation people who populated the region. In May nineteen o seven, the team arrived at the mouth of the South Nahani River and over a number of weeks steadily made their way through the rivers silty et crew waters, each day taking
them deeper and deeper into the valley. At just over thirty miles up river, a mist descended as the men approached the first of the river's grand canyons, the surrounding pine covered foothills giving way to a thousand meter high limestone cliffs that shot up vertically from the ground on both sides and on. They continued in almost complete silence, save for the gentle splash of the oars as they broke through the water, while the men kept their eyes
peeled for any sign of human activity. Then a strange, high pitched whale rang out from somewhere overhead. Charlie glanced nervously up toward a small line of caves carved out of the limestone, perched up high ahead of them, remembering all those unnerving tails he'd heard of, the mysterious head hunting and cave dwelling the carne. It's just the wind,
said Paul, doing its best to reassure him. It was sometime later when the men finally pushed through out of the canyon into a wide bowl of rolling hills and lush green vegetation. As they continued to paddle, one of the men spotted a manufactured clearing in the trees, which appeared to have been hacked back some time ago. The men paddled over and jumped out of their canoes to make a quick search of the area when Charlie spotted
an iron sled runner in the long grass. Holding it up to the light, he found a message scrawled across it in pencil, which read, we have found a fine prospect, and Charlie's heart jumped it was his brother Willie's handwriting. Finding little else of note in the clearing, Charlie and his search party jumped back into their canoes and continued to scour the banks of the river As they made
their way toward the Second canyon. They were just approaching the entrance to it when they spotted another clearing and what appeared to be the remnants of a long ago abandoned camp. As they eased closer to the bank, the full horror of the scene slowly began to reveal itself. Charlie stepped out of his canoe and stumbled forward. The long, snuffed out ashes of a camp fire was flanked on both sides by two spruce bough beds, each occupied by
s eatle remains. One skeleton lay on its back under a weathered, moth eaten blanket, while the other lay on its chest, its blanket twisted up around it as if whoever it was who had been in a hurry to get out of their bed, its right arm was stretched out in the direction of what Charlie then saw was a rusty rifle leaning against a nearby tree. Turning back to the skeletons, it took him a moment to realize
that both their heads were missing. Charlie drew closer and, with shaking hands, pulled back the blankets to reveal a gold ring on one of the skeleton's fingers. It was Willie's ring. A golden pocket watch was then spotted hanging from a nearby branch, which Charlie identified as Franks. Charlie looked up and all about the valley as he tried
to fathom what exactly had taken place there. While all about were silent and still shaken by their find, Charlie and the rest of the team searched the area for more clues and found a number of neatly stacked crates fully laden with supplies, as well as a box full of large chunks of gold bearing quartz. It seemed Weir and the brothers had struck rich after all, but there was no sign of the missing heads. Just then, another
ominous shriek reverberated around the valley. Growing suddenly anxious, the men hastily dug two graves for what was left of Willie and Frank, and hastily clambered back into their canoes. After making it back to fort Lyart, Charlie informed the Royal Northwest Mounted Police about what they'd found, and a short time later led a small unit back into the
Nahanni Valley to analyze the scene. In the end, they surmised that Wea was most likely the culprit, killing his partners after they struck it rich before making off with as much of their find as he could carry. Or conversely, they really had separated with were heading off in a different direction, and the brothers perhaps dying from an illness after getting stranded in the wild. As for the heads, they had no answer, but Charlie was not quite convinced.
Both his brothers were far too experienced to get stranded, and if Weir truly had murdered them, how much could they have found exactly that he would have been comfortable leaving so much behind. It has been reported that the condition of the skeletons at the point where the skulls should have been had given some pause for thought, with the spines having apparently been crushed and twisted at the top, as though their heads had been ripped off with brute force.
Whether this had occurred before or after death, however, was impossible to determine. Others claimed the heads had in fact been surgically removed, suggesting it was a deliberate act perpetrated by whoever had killed them. It's believed that Charlie returned to Vancouver at the first chance he got, hoping to quiz Weir further on the ma, but the man had long since moved on. In the end, the deaths were
classed as accidental and the case was closed. As news of the grim discovery filtered through the Northwest territories and out into the wider country, many began to talk once more of strange mystical goings on in the Nahani Valley, while others, especially those of Denay heritage, speculated that the entire region was being watched over and protected by an ancient vengeful spirit who had grown tired of outsiders encroaching
on its land. Others, like trapper Martin Jourgensen, were far more interested in the bit that many people left out of the story the bit about how much gold the brothers had reportedly found. In time, the notion of a lost gold mine also grew to mythical proportions, and in
nineteen oh nine Jourgensen set out to find it. In nineteen thirteen, with Jorgenson having been gone for some time, a local Denay trapper named Jules arrived in Pelley, a small village in Saskatchewan, with a letter addressed to one Billy Atkinson. Billy was an old acquaintance of Jorgensen's who just so happened to be serving a prison sentence for
violent assault at the time. As a result, Jules was directed to Billy's wife, Mary, who, in a complicated but apparently amicable arrangement, had actually separated from Billy and married his friend Paul Field while Billy was in prison. Jules explained to Mary and Field that he'd just returned from the Naharni Valley, where he'd been accompanying Jourgensen on his
travels there, and then handed them the letter. Though a little damp and smudged, it comprised of a hand drawn map detailing the location of a cabin about a mile west of the mouth of the flat River itself, about eighty miles west of the mouth of the South Nahari, with a message written below it that said simply, Billy,
come quick. I have struck it rich. With Billy's permission to act on his behalf while he was locked away, paul Field promptly assembled a team and headed once more into the Naharani Valley in search of Jourgensen and his apparent bonanza. After one failed attempt in nineteen fourteen, Field and his team returned the following year, where after months of arduous but fairly uneventful trekking, they soon found themselves at the mouth of the flat River, inching their canoes
toward its gently flowing waters. A little further beyond, after veering off down a narrow creek, they spotted the frame of a long abandoned shelter with what appeared to be
a note nailed on to one of its columns. The note was another message from Jourgensen, explaining to whomever might find it that he'd moved on to another location and could be found living in one of two cabins he'd built for himself, one being located at the confluence of the Flat and South Nahanni River, and the other along the banks of another creek a short distance upstream from there.
Not wanting to miss out on the Norwegians apparent find Paul, Field and his team made sure to carry out their own prospecting as they steadily made their way to the first of Jorgenson's suggested rendezvous points, With each day yielding greater and greater amounts of gold deposits, Field grew excited
at the prospect that Jorgensen was on to something. Then one afternoon, on the shores of a creek about a day's journey from the mouth of the flat, Field spotted slash marks on a row of spruce trees lining the banks of the river. Recognizing the beginnings of a human made trail, he moored up beside it and followed it into the forest, eventually winding up at a small clearing in the middle of which was a rudimentary cabin, but
there was no sig if Jorgensen. Field was just about to head back to his canoe when he spotted an axe in the bracken about fifty yards back down the path. He was just inspecting the thick rust on its edge when something else caught his eye something white and rigid peeking out from behind a tree. It was a large, broad shouldered skeleton that he could only assume was all that remained of Martin Jorgensen, and just as it had been with the McCloud brothers, Jorgenson's head was also missing.
Field saw too that Martin's gun lay right next to the remains of his body, cocked and loaded. It was, he thought eerily, as if Jurgensen had been stalking something through the trees, hadn't even had time to get his shot off before it got him. Paul Field stared out into the silent stillness of the forest beyond, at the row upon row of pines that stretched out before him, merging into a distant, hazy darkness, and for the briefest of moments, as a chill ran up his spine, he
had the absolute certainty that he was being watched. And with that Field and the others buried Jorgensen's bones and paddled out at the valley as quickly as they could. No satisfactory cause for Jourgensen's death was ever found in Hammerson Peter's twenty eighteen book Legends of the Nahani Valley by far and away the most comprehensive detailing of the
many stories associated with the region. It is said that at some point in nineteen twenty six, but then forty year old Charlie McLeod was visiting a trading post just outside of Edmonton in Alberta, when he spotted a man browsing fox pelts who looked oddly familiar. The men eventually got to talking without really introducing themselves, and soon found their discussion turning to the mysterious tales of the Nahanni Valley.
Before long, the man began talking about two brothers who he'd apparently accompanied into the valley many years before, who'd both met with the sticky end. As a matter of fact, he said, leaning in closer, it was me who buried those fellows. Only then did Charlie realize who the man it was, Robert Wea. Having also then realized who he was talking to, Wea is said to have bolted from the shop, leaving Charlie scrambling once more for his whereabouts.
After a tip off, he is said to have eventually tracked him down to a small farm just outside of Viking, Alberta. As the story goes, Wea is said to have seen Charlie approaching his home, at which point he made a run for the barn and bolted himself inside. A shot was then heard, but before Charlie could enter the barn to investigate, it promptly went up in flames. The remains
of Weir's body were later found among the ashes. After returning a few more times to the Nahani Valley in the hope of determining what exactly had happened to his brothers, or indeed the rich seam of gold they'd apparently found their Charlie McLeod eventually gave up the ghost. He died in Coquitlam, British Columbia in nineteen sixty nine. Others tried to find the gold too, with many also losing their lives in the process in often strange and unusual circumstances.
To this day, although the memory of the Mcloud's unsettling story lives on with new names such as dead Men's Valley since being bestowed on the place where their bodies were found, the mystery of their deaths remains unexplained. In nineteen seventy two, Pierre Trudeau's government designated Nahanni Valley a Canadian National Park outlawing for good all serious prospecting in the region. Thank you to Thomas Aldred for suggesting this
week's episode. 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 Patreon 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 regarding the stories you've heard on the show. Perhaps you have an explanation of your own you'd like to share. You can reach us online at Unexplained podcast dot com or Twitter at Unexplained Pod and Facebook at
Facebook dot com. Forward Slash Unexplained Podcast