Deep within Mount Elgon National Park, on the border of Kenya and Uganda, there is a cave carved not by water, but by the relentless tusks of elephants. Kitum Cave stretches over 600 feet into the mountain, its walls scarred by generations of animals mining the rock for salt.

At night, under the flickering glow of the African moon, herds of elephants venture inside, using their tusks to break off mineral-rich chunks. They chew the rock, grinding it down to extract the salt—a vital nutrient in their diet.

After the elephants leave, the cave fills with scavengers. Buffalo, hyenas, and smaller creatures pick through the remnants, licking at the salt-streaked stone. It is a rare natural phenomenon, a subterranean oasis in the wilderness.

But beneath its quiet beauty, Kitum Cave holds a darker secret—one that has earned it the chilling title of the deadliest cave in the world...

The events of September 11, 1997, remain one of the most debated moments in late-night radio history. Art Bell was hosting Coast to Coast AM from his Arizona studio, delving into the unexplained as he often did.

Around 1 AM Eastern Time, he made a spur-of-the-moment decision to dedicate the First Time Callers line specifically for Area 51 employees. At the time, lawsuits against military contractor E.G. & G. over worker health issues at Area 51 lent credibility to the idea that insiders might speak out.

Then, a call came through that would become radio legend...

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On a summer afternoon in 1936, Max Hahn and his wife were walking along Red Creek in London, Texas, when they spotted something peculiar: a piece of wood protruding from a chunk of rock. What they found would become one of archaeology's most contentious artifacts—a hammer that some would claim challenges our understanding of human history.

When the Hahns' son finally cracked open the stone a decade later, he revealed a hammerhead with properties that seemed defy easy explanation.

The hammer itself seems ordinary enough: six inches of iron head with a wooden handle, similar to tools once used by nineteenth-century miners.

However, analysis showed the metal to be 96.6% iron—a purity that some claim would have been impossible to achieve with nineteenth-century technology. Strangely, the wooden handle seemed to be partially fossilized.

But it's the rock encasing the hammer that has sparked the most debate. The limestone concretion holding it has been variously dated to the Cretaceous period, the Ordovician, and the Silurian—geological spans stretching back hundreds of millions of years before humans walked the Earth...

On a humid July evening in 1990, Officer Kenneth Hicks spots a van with a broken taillight on Shoreline Drive in Gulf Breeze, Florida. Inside, he finds nineteen-year-old Michael Hueckstaedt – an NSA intelligence analyst who should be seven thousand miles away at his post in West Germany.

What began as a routine traffic stop would expose one of the strangest military desertion cases in American history: six NSA analysts, a Ouija board, and supernatural messages that reached the highest levels of the Pentagon.

Days earlier, Hueckstaedt and five colleagues had abandoned their posts at Field Station Augsburg, the National Security Agency’s largest listening station outside the U.S.

These weren’t ordinary AWOL soldiers; they were elite analysts with top-secret clearances, trusted with some of America’s most sensitive surveillance operations.

Authorities quickly rounded up the remaining deserters: Sergeant Annette Eccleston, 22, the group's senior-ranking member; Specialists Kenneth Beason and Vance Davis, both 25 and seasoned intelligence analysts; and Privates First Class William Setterberg and Kris Perlock, both 20.

They were found scattered between a local apartment and a nearby campground, carrying thousands in cash and extensive handwritten notes detailing communications with supernatural entities.

How did six of America's most trusted intelligence analysts come to abandon their posts for messages from beyond? The answer began on a winter night in 1989, with a Ouija board session that would change their lives forever.

“Relax. Let your thoughts wander free.”

A deep, measured, baritone reverberates through the air. The voice belongs to Anatoly Kashpirovsky, a man seated behind a simple desk in a dimly lit studio.

Dressed in black, his piercing gaze fixes on the camera, seemingly penetrating the television screens of 300 million viewers across the Soviet Union.

It is October 8, 1989. As night falls over Moscow, the streets empty. Inside cramped Soviet apartments, families huddle in the pale glow of their televisions as the evening news fades to silence.

In its place appears a haunting image: a misty, desolate lake, accompanied by gentle guitar strings as white letters materialize on screen: Health Séance of Doctor-Psychotherapist Anatoly Mikhailovich Kashpirovsky.

The camera trembles slightly, zooming closer to Kashpirovsky’s unblinking eyes. His voice, hypnotic yet commanding, continues: “Look around your space. There should be no sharp objects, no fire. Sit in a stable position.”

Since mid-November, 2024, reports of large drones hovering over critical infrastructure at night have left residents and officials across New Jersey searching for answers.

These strange aerial sightings have been linked to everything from national security concerns to theories about missing radioactive material. Yet, no one knows for sure where the drones are coming from or why they’re there.

A viral video on the r/UFOs subreddit captures the uncertainty surrounding these events. Shot at night from the window of a commercial aircraft, the footage appears to show a large object with flashing red and green lights hovering eerily in midair over New Jersey.

The clip sparked a frenzy of speculation and garnered 17,000 upvotes before it was identified as a regular Embraer E175 jet flight. But what if the explanations for other sightings aren’t so simple?

A flicker of light caught the edge of a metallic spiral as researchers in the Arctic settlement of Dikson stepped back from their contraption. It was Christmas Eve, 1990, and the air was already heavy with anticipation.

Inside the reflective aluminum structure—known as a Kozyrev Mirror—volunteers reported strange sensations: floating, timelessness, and a heightened sense of intuition. Outside, something even stranger was taking place. Aurora-like lights danced over the building, and witnesses swore they saw a disc-shaped object streak across the sky, leaving behind a fading trail.

Named after the astrophysicist Nikolai Kozyrev, these mirrors weren’t reflective in the conventional sense. Instead, they were designed to manipulate what Kozyrev called “energy-time” — invisible flows of information thought to connect every moment in history. Though he didn’t invent the devices, Kozyrev’s theories inspired their creation by Soviet researchers in Novosibirsk.

Kozyrev theorized that certain materials, particularly aluminum, could focus and amplify these flows of energy-time. Constructed from spiraled sheets of aluminum, these mirrors could house a single person in their reflective core, isolating them from external interference and amplifying internal phenomena.

Positioned above the 73rd parallel north, Dikson was chosen for its unique geomagnetic properties, thought to be a gateway to anomalies in time density.

The initial experiments produced unsettling results. Participants reported vivid visual patterns, sensations of leaving their bodies, and even glimpses of historical or ancestral scenes. But it wasn’t just subjective experiences that excited the scientists. Data from later large-scale trials revealed strange temporal anomalies...

In March 1971, the submarine USS Trepang was on one of its first missions, operating beneath the Arctic polar ice cap while carrying out a number of geological tests and other scientific experiments.

Many years later, in 2015, photos came to light which had allegedly been taken by this Naval attack submarine. Some hailed these photos as the greatest evidence of alien visitations that has ever been found.

The black and white images were apparently taken from the USS Trepang from the surface of the ocean, during a journey from Iceland to Norway's Jan Mayen island in the Atlantic Ocean.

They appear to depict some form of spacecraft bursting out of the sea and into the sky. Some suggested that these images reveal top secret US aircraft testing, or that they point to aliens searching for hydrocarbon deposits under the ocean.

The appearance of the triangular and cigar-shaped objects in the photos is in keeping with that of other alleged UFO sightings, although the photos are too low-resolution for details to be discernible.

The photos themselves are said to have been inscribed, quote, “Official Photograph. Not to be Released” and “Unauthorized Disclosure Subject. Security Certificate SSN 674. Criminal Sanction.”

Their tattered, worn appearance suggests that they may have been folded and stowed away somewhere safe since the early ‘70s...

The noise called to them, like a warped ambulance siren echoing across the marsh.

On a Tuesday in May 1973, two seven-year-olds, a girl named Fay and her friend were walking through a park in the town of Sandown on the Isle of Wight, when they heard the sound.

Curious they tracked it across a golf course to a narrow wooden bridge over a small lake. As they approached, a blue-gloved hand emerged from the water under the bridge, clutching a book. The figure that followed looked nothing short of otherworldly.

Towering at nearly seven feet, with a neckless head perched directly onto his shoulders, the figure that would later be dubbed the “Sandown Clown” wore a patchwork of odd colors: a yellow pointed hat, a green tunic with a red collar, and a white face bearing triangular eyes, a square nose, and fixed yellow lips.

Antenna-like slats jutted from his sleeves, and he had only three fingers on each hand. Startled but intrigued, the children watched him drop his book into the stream, clumsily splashing to retrieve it.

Instead of fleeing, Fay and her friend watched as he hopped towards a metallic hut nearby, moving with exaggerated, high-knee steps. Soon after, he reemerged holding a black microphone with a white cord. Another siren blared, louder and sharper, prompting Fay’s friend to sprint back in fear. Then, just as suddenly, the siren cut off. Through the microphone, the clown spoke as if he were right beside them: “Hello, are you still there?”

Despite the somewhat frightening situation, the children edged closer, encouraged by the clown’s soft, friendly voice. When they were close enough, the figure scribbled in a notebook and held it out to them. “Hello, and I am all colors, Sam.”

Hidden in the dense woods outside Pripyat lies one of the most unsettling remnants of the Chernobyl disaster: a colossal steel claw, frozen in its final act. The claw, once part of a crane used in the cleanup after Reactor Four exploded, has become an unintentional monument to the catastrophe—so radioactive that mere contact could be deadly.

This digger claw, nicknamed "The Claw of Death," began its terrible legacy in the chaotic weeks following April 26, 1986, when Chernobyl’s reactor erupted in an explosion of steam and flames. The blast was so intense it hurled control rods, fuel, and radioactive graphite blocks—some weighing hundreds of pounds—onto the rooftops surrounding the reactor building.

This graphite, which had absorbed massive amounts of radiation from the reactor core, turned the rooftops into some of the most radioactive places on earth. Standing on these surfaces for even a minute would lead to fatal radiation sickness, the lethal doses accumulating faster than any protection could counter.

In those early days, the Soviet cleanup teams faced a desperate dilemma: the graphite had to be moved to avoid further contamination, but neither humans nor most machines could survive prolonged exposure. Robots were deployed to remove the graphite, but they lasted only minutes before the intense radiation fried their circuits.

With few other options, Soviet workers turned to machines like the crane, whose claw became part of the final line of defense in pushing radioactive debris back into the shattered core...