Hello, it's Richard maclin Smith here, not the impostor you've been listening to on the podcasts, the real one. Join me for Unexplained TV beginning Tuesday, December third at YouTube
dot com Forward Slash Unexplained pod. For almost as long as the written word has been around, at least, humanity's predilection for inflicting curses on others has been well documented, from ancient Egyptian inscriptions written on the entrances to tombs with the intention of protecting sacred property, to the well known mark of Cain placed upon the eponymous biblical figure from the Book of Genesis. Curses have played a vital
role in setting moral boundaries for millennia. It should come as no surprise that, given our inherently superstitious nature, curses, as well as blessings, have become a fundamental aspect of our most cherished belief systems. Curses have filtered into every day speech in the form of taboo words and phrases. They are still invoked as powerful psychological tropes to be deployed in movies and popular stories associated with the horror genre.
Despite the archaic nature of curses. In other words, the idea of another person wishing us ill still has the power to generate fear. We see omens in magpies and void breaking mirrors. We cross the street to avoid walking under ladders. We change our path when we encounter black cats, and carry religious medals, crucifixes, and sage to ward off evil. Perhaps because of our need to give narrative to our existence, we are predisposed to find connections between seemingly unrelated events.
In his nineteen fifty eight publication The Onset of Schizophrenia, An Attempt to form an Analysis of Delusion, German psychiatrist Klaus Conrad coined the term apophenia to describe this exact phenomena. He described it as being an unmotivated seeing of connections accompanied by a specific feeling of abnormal meaningfulness. Comrade's formulation has been used to pathologize magical thinking in everything from
gambling to the promotion of conspiracy theories. But what about in cases where the connection between cause and effect isn't quite so random? What do we do when we learn that someone wishes us ill and we are suddenly stricken with an inconvenience or tragedy. It's fair to say that even the most rational among us would probably be spooked even if we were eventually able to put those thoughts
to bed. Perhaps you've heard of the Curse of the Kennedys, so called because of the strange number of premature deaths and tragic events associated with the United States' most famous political dynasty. Since rising to prominence under the stewardship of the family's patriarch, Joe Kennedy, two of his sons, President John F. Kennedy in nineteen sixty three and presidential candidate
Senator Robert Kennedy in nineteen sixty eight were assassinated. His eldest son Joseph, was killed on active duty during the Second World War, while his eldest daughter Rosemary, received a life changing lobotomy in nineteen forty one, leaving her incapacitated and catatonic for much of the rest of her life.
Joe's youngest son, Teddy, had his future presidential aspirations dashed when it was revealed that on the night of July eighteenth, nineteen sixty nine, he'd been drink driving on chap Equidick Island, Massachusetts, with a young woman named Mary Joe Kopecne riding alongside him. Not only was Mary Joe eight years Teddy's junior, but at the time in question, was rumored to be involved in an extramarital affair with Teddy. She drowned in Teddy's
car after he accidentally flipped it off a bridge. Perhaps not so much in keeping with the curse, he received only a two month suspended jail sentence for his part in the accident, mainly just for leaving the scene. He never fully recovered his former clean cut rie reputation. This is just one example of a supposed curse which has entered public consciousness, and despite having no identifiable cause behind it, it's easy to see why so many otherwise rational people
might think twice about its origin. Perhaps even more alarming is when cause and effect seem more closely aligned. When a radio DJ from Raleigh, North Carolina, say, moves to Seattle to take up work as a music executive for an organization called the Musak Holdings Company. Perhaps through his work he has afforded the time to travel, and because of a niche he's developed in tracking down recordings of ancient melodies, he meets a fellow enthusiast who shares its passion.
Maybe something goes wrong, and the young music executive puts its foot in it, and the person he initially thought of as a kindred spirit wishes harm and evil on his soul. The executive spirals and undergoes a series of trials during the next few days, and when the situation concludes, friends and relatives are left utterly bewildered by it all. This is the story of Christopher Case. You're listening to Unexplained,
and I'm Richard McLean Smith. It was a crisp spring day in northern California, and despite feeling tired from his flight that morning, thirty five year old Christopher Case was in high spirits. He'd been to San Francisco before and always enjoyed his stay, though his visits were invariably short, and he'd never quite managed to take in the full view of the Golden gate Bridge in all its glory, nor experienced the famous fonc that rolls thick across the
wharf at San Francisco Bay. As he stood by the shoreline and sipped at his coffee, he allowed himself a smile at the thought that he was experiencing both that morning. It was Thursday, April eleventh, nineteen ninety one, and Chris still had work to do in preparation for a meeting later that afternoon. He'd come to the city on behalf of the Musac Holdings Company based in Seattle, regarding the procurement of rights to some melodies sourced from the Middle East.
He was particularly interested in music that dated back to ancient Egypt, and thought that the addition of ood music to his roster would allow him to ascend even further in the company. Thankfully, the meeting went well, and he was treated to lunch by some local executives at a well known sushi restaurant. As the group assembled and sat down with their chopsticks, they were joined by a woman whom Chris had never met before. She made her apologies
for not being present at the meeting. When Chris was introduced to her, he was given to understand that she was some kind of consultant with expertise in exactly the kind of music he was looking for. The woman was in her fifties and had long, dark hair, and seemed possessed of a strange magnetism that drew the group around her.
Chris also couldn't help but be attracted to her. And the longer the meal continued, he found himself getting deeper and deeper in conversation with her, specifically about the inherent sophistication of ancient Egyptian burial rites and the influence the culture had had on parts of the Mediterranean, as well as the development of the dulcimer and the lyre in Greek and Roman barred traditions. As the night went on and more wine and beer was drunk, the woman with
whom he was speaking made a startling proposition. She wanted to go dancing at a club she knew, and after that she wanted Chris to escort her back to his or her hotel room. Startled by her frankness and a little self conscious about the age gap, Chris politely turned her down. There was no denying the woman's appeal, but something about the intensity of her manner, coupled with what he took to be a strange dark flash in her eyes when she spoke, unnerved him. At first, Chris attempted
to be polite. He insisted that he hadn't early flight the following morning, but the woman just laughed him off, then became a little more tactile. The two were now drinking in a bar beside the restaurant, and with most of the party gone, the woman seemed more emboldened than ever, But Chris finally had enough. He told the woman that he didn't feel comfortable going home with her. That wasn't
the sort of person he was, he said. Eventually, the woman seemed to accept the situation, but then her demeanor shifted and a scowl came over her face. You're going to regret this, the woman apparently told Chris. Never reject a woman who practices witchcraft, for she might just put a curse on you. Chris laughed this off orbit somewhat tactlessly, but when he looked in her eyes again, he found that the stair she fixed him with made him feel sick.
You will be dead within one week, she said, According to Chris's friend and spiritual adviser, Sammy Suda, when Chris returned to Seattle, he seemed unfazed by the exchange. He'd met a host of eccentric people in his role as a music executive, and chalked his encounter with the self proclaimed witch in San Francisco down as just another quirk of the jomb He otherwise loved It was three days later, on Sunday, April fourteenth, when Sammy noticed a change in Chris.
She'd known him since his early years back in North Carolina. When he moved out west, the two friends kept in regular phone contact, both sharing their deepest thoughts on everything from struggles with mental health issues to their respective successes and failures when it came to romantic issues. On that Sunday night in April, Sammy received another call from Chris,
but this wasn't the Chris she knew. Clearly rattled, he told her that he'd been up all night, kept awake by strange, disembodied voices whispering in his apartment with no identifiable source. He was seeing shadows too, moving out of the corner of his eye, and no matter where he went in the limited space of his flat, he couldn't shake the feeling that somebody or something was watching him. The following day, the phone rang once more in Sammy's
home in Lafayette, North Carolina. It was Chris again, in an even more agitated state than before, as he explained to Sammy not long after he got off the call from her the day before, Though shadows seen previously out of the corner of his eye had now taken on tangible shape, and the whispering voices had gotten considerably louder. Somehow, he'd managed to get himself to sleep, only to wake up in a state of paralysis. It was then he
felt his neck being throttled by an unseen presence. As Chris went on to explain, the attack was apparently so violent that at several points he felt himself being lifted off its mattress and thrown back down again. He had cuts all over his hands and arms. To prove it. His bed sheets were streaked brown with his own blood. Whatever this thing was, he said, it was quite clearly
malevolent in nature. For Sammy, it was heart wrenching to hear the fear in Chris's voice, and being powerless to help from so far away in North Carolina, the only advice she could offer was to find spiritual help immediately. About two minutes walk from Chris's apartment on North one hundred and forty second Street was a store called Evangel Incorporated, a religious bookshop specializing mainly in books to help guide
people in their faith. It had been a quiet morning on Tuesday, April sixteenth, when store manager Rodney Haguci noticed a man enter the shop looking a little worse for wear. Rodney watched as the man, who was deathly pale and seemed a little wired, browsed the shells for a moment before heading to a small section of books they kept about demonology. A short time later, the man approached Rodney
at the till, carrying a handful of crucifixes. It was Chris, of course, Is there anything I can and help you with? Rodney asked, with a matter of factness that Rodney found disturbing. Chris looked him straight in the eye and said, please, I need something to help protect me from malevolent forces. My apartment is being disturbed by something violent and supernatural, and I'm worried that if I don't fight it, I'll just continue being harmed. Rodney had never seen such genuine
fear from someone in his shop before. As it happened, however, he was something of an amateur authority on the subject of demonology. He was well aware that such things often had rational explanations, and that the mind could be as destructive as the supposed supernatural forces assailing it. He did what he could to allay Chris's fears, recommending some books
on psychology and the occult. He gave Chris a potted lecture on how the problem of supposed demonic infestation was handled by different cultures, and sent him away with a sense of reassurance that if he needed anything else, to call back at any time. Chris thanked him for his help, purchased the crucifixes, then left Back in Lafayette, North Carolina, Sammy couldn't stop worrying about her friend. She couldn't believe just how much he'd changed in the week since meeting
the mysterious woman in San Francisco. Chris had always been a skeptic when it came to the paranormal, and had valued his solitude as a necessary component for living a peaceful and happy life. Now it was as though he'd become obsessive to the point of mania. He'd lost all his usual self confidence and seemed to need constant reassurance. But what she couldn't shake was just how terrified he
sounded when he spoke to her. It was clear that at the very least, he believed wholeheartedly in the deadly power of whatever it was that was affecting him. It wasn't only Sammy who was worried either. For the past few days, Chris had failed to show up for work. Chris was a workaholic above all else, and in all the time he'd been working for the Musac Holdings Company, he'd never missed a meeting, let alone called in sick,
unable to contain her concern for Chris. Later that evening on Tuesday, Sammy tried to get hold of him at his apartment, but her cause just rang out. The following morning, feeling that something was terribly wrong, she contacted the police and asked them to do a welfare check at Chris's property. It was some time later when the police called back to let her know that although they hadn't been able to gain access to the property, there was no reason
for her to worry. There were no signs to suggest that any one had tried to force their way into the apartment, and no signs of a struggle. Having peered through the windows, they were also able to see that none of Chris's furniture or possessions had been disturbed. But Sammy wasn't convinced. After a long and fretful day wondering about Chris's whereabouts. She returned home from work and poured
herself a large glass of wine. She had just taken off her coat and was about to sit down when she noticed the light on her ant'swer machine was pulsing. Sammy hit play. It was a message from Chris. She listened with concern as his voice played out in the silence of her apartment. He seemed eerily calm and resigned, she thought, as he detailed a series of strange events
from the night before. It was a garbled story about how an unspecified they had almost got to him, forcing him to flee his home in terror, Although he was feeling better now he'd been forced to spend the night in a hotel. Then he ended his message with a line that chilled Sammy to her core. This is my last evening on earth, he said, before hanging up. Sammy grabbed the receiver and immediately tried to call Chris back,
but once again he failed to answer. When Chris failed to pick up again the following morning, Sammy called the police once more, and so it was on the morning of Thursday, April eighteenth, that two officers were despatched back to Chris's apartarpment in the thirteen hundred block of North one hundred and fifty second Avenue. When they arrived, everything looked just as it did before. There were no signs of forced entry, no signs of a struggle, and all
his furniture remained unmoved. But then one of the officers spotted something. A single door lying ajar with light flooding out of it. Nothing especially strange in and of itself, but when the officers failed to get a response after repeatedly knocking at the front door, it was enough to alert their suspicions. Together they forced the door open and made their way into the apartment. Once inside chris Is Flat,
the officers discovered a strange and unnerving scene. The dark apartment was adorned throughout with crucifixes, bibles, and fotive candles, some still flickering in the darkness. Feeling something underfoot, they looked down to see that a line of salt ran across the floor, clearly poured out deliberately, as if attempting to seal off the doorway in some a colt way. Looking about, they noticed the same lines of salt had been placed at the threshold of every door in the apartment.
There was music playing too, coming from another room, a plaintive religious piece. They followed it into Chris's bedroom, where they found it playing from a stereo, but no sign of Chris. One of the officers switched off the music, plunging them into a stark, eerie silence. Back in the main room, a quick search revealed a host of strange books on the occult, as well as a series of bizarre notes Chris had written to himself about fighting off demons.
The last room to check was the bathroom, where the light was emanating from Sir, They called out as they tiptoed quietly through the space. Sensing something was off, both officers unholstered their guns as they crept a little closer to the door, until finally they were close enough to push it open. There inside, fully clothed, his face turned away from them, kneeling in the bath with his head resting against the wall was Chris, Sir, the officers said again.
As they approached him, one of them nudged him in the back, but Chris didn't move. Reaching round to feel for a pulse, they found his neck icily cold and there was no sign of life, with his body stiff from rigor mortis. It'd clearly been dead for some time. He was thirty five years old. Chris, it was determined by the coroner, had died of acute heart failure or what is more commonly known within the medical community as myocarditis.
It's a disease thought to effect roughly one in every one hundred thousand people, and though it is not genetic, there is little consensus either as to what the causes are. The h profile of those affected by myocarditis is generally thought to be between twenty and forty, and experts have noted a link between the disease's prevalence among athas, fleets, and health enthusiasts, in particular, perhaps owing to the strain
that intensive exercising can place on the heart. It's been noted by his friend Sammy that Christopher Case was a gym fanatic. He liked to keep healthy and was serious about his diet and exercise seemed to give him a
sense of purpose away from his otherwise solitary life. It is possible, therefore, that Chris's myocarditis was triggered by a combination of the physical strain he placed on his body over the years, coupled with the severe psychological stress he'd evidently been under in the last few days of his life, but it doesn't explain what was behind the psychological distress
in the first place. In nineteen forty two, then chairman of the Department of Physiology at Harvard Medical School, Professor Walter Cannon diagnosed what he called voodoo death to explain the phenomenon of sudden death brought about by emotional shock or fear. The anomaly, he said, was often caused by suggestion in the subject, which, if it provoked a strong enough reaction to an outside force or trauma, could lead
to psychosomatic death without the build up of symptoms. Cannon had observed this in evidence obtained from concentration and prisoner of war camps, but also observed that, depending on the culture, superstitious conditioning could also play a part. The most famous example of this phenomenon is perhaps the wave of sudden deaths which affected the Laotian humue community who emigrated to the United States between nineteen seventy seven and nineteen eighty one.
According to reports, Laotian males aged between twenty and forty who fled from the fallout of the Cambodian genocide were found to be ten times more likely than their white American counterparts to pass away in their sleep as a
result of sudden death. As previously mentioned on the show, director Wehres Craven used this strange trend as the basis for his nineteen eighty four horror masterpiece A Nightmare on Elm Street, recounting a story he'd heard about a refugee child who was afraid to fall asleep, he told Vulture Magazine. When he finally fell asleep, his parents thought this crisis was over. Then they heard him screaming in the middle of the night. By the time they got to him,
he was dead. It was as though he died in the middle of a nightmare. Perhaps Chris too, succumbed to something similar. Could it be that simply by believing it enough himself, Chris had brought the curse to fruition. And if that being possible, wouldn't that power be a kind of curse in itself, perhaps the greatest curse that haunts humankind. Whatever you believe, it seems, the full tragic truth of what exactly caused the death of Christopher Case will forever
remain Unexplained. This episode was written by James Connor Patterson and produced by me Richard McLean Smith. James is a brilliant writer and poet. His debut collection of poems, titled Bandit Country, Exploring the Hinterland between the North of Ireland and Republic, was shortlisted for the twenty twenty two T S. Eliot Prize and is out now to buy. Do check it out. Thank you, Thank you as ever for listening to the show. Please subscribe and rate it if you
haven't already done so. Unexplained will be coming to YouTube very shortly in video form, so please watch out for future developments there. You can subscribe to the channel at YouTube dot com. Forward slash at Unexplained Pod. You can also now find us on TikTok at TikTok dot com. Forward slash at Unexplained Podcast. Unexplained is an AV Club Productions podcast created by Richard McClain smith. All other elements of the podcast, including the music, are also produced by
me Richard McClain smith. Unexplained. The book and audiobook is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Waterstones and other bookstores. Please subscribe to and rate the show wherever you get your 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.
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