Every file we've opened, reported like a case file — sourced, documented, and corrected in public. Filter by status, then read the ones that won't let you go.
She told her sister she'd be back before the rain. The trail logged her in at 6:02 a.m. and never logged her out. Twenty months later, the case is still open — and so are the questions.
A salesman checks in for one night in 1994. The room is paid through Friday. He is never seen again.
Forty-one boarded. The manifest counted forty when it docked. It took thirty years to learn who was missing.
Every night at 3:14 a.m., the county dispatch line rang once. No voice — just breathing, and running water.
When the developers cleared the Harlan orchard, the backhoe stopped forty centimeters down. Then it stopped again.
A disconnected landline logged nine outgoing calls in one night — three years after the house burned down.
She boarded at Dunmore with a single suitcase. By the next station, the suitcase was hers and the seat was empty.
He surfaced four minutes after going under, and could not say where the other eleven minutes went.
The library's overdue copy of a 1971 atlas came back with a name, a date, and an apology in pencil.