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EVIO Creative

The Devil Within is a cinematic podcast about the stories that refuse to die — the legends, disappearances, curses, and supernatural encounters that linger long after the world moves on.

Each episode blends history, folklore, and investigation to explore what really happened… and why these stories still haunt us.

From mythical creatures and haunted places, to strange crimes and unexplained phenomena, The Devil Within starts where the facts end — and the unanswered questions begin.

New episodes weekly. Bring a light. You may need it.

BINGE THE FIRST FOUR SEASONS NOW!

Season 1: The Jersey Devil - The brutal slaying of BETTY ANN SULLIVAN shocked the small town of Jefferson Township, New Jersey. The violence of that evening shocked the nation for the perpetrator... was her own son, a boy of fourteen who would take his own life only hours later. What the investigation revealed left a community in tatters, unwilling to believe the evil that had befallen them.

Season 2: The Demons of Yorkshire - In 1974 after experiencing financial hardship, Michael Taylor joined a local church in the rolling hills of Northern England. After falling in love with a young, beautiful preacher, Michael’s personality began to change. The mild-mannered family man became abusive and unhinged. His new church believed he was possessed by no fewer than 48 demons and would require an exorcism to save his soul and protect his family from evil. But the supposed remedy would come at a very steep price... 

Season 3: A Season in Hell - In the late 1970's New York City had it all: Hip Hop, Punk Rock... and the Son of Sam. The third season of The Devil Within takes listeners into the belly of the beast and explores the wicked origins, reign of terror and ultimate capture of one of the most feared serial killers in history. With exclusive interviews from journalists, FBI agents, historians and mental health experts this season promises to be the most comprehensive - and most terrifying - account of how one man brought New York City to a standstill.

Season 4: Satan's Shadow - In the 1980s, California learned that fear doesn’t always lurk in the dark.

Sometimes, it walks right through the door.

SATAN’S SHADOW follows the terrifying rise of Richard Ramirez — the Night Stalker — while tracing his crimes alongside Dante Alighieri’s Inferno. As Ramirez descends deeper into violence, we descend with him through Dante’s circles of hell, asking what happens to a city — and a soul — when darkness becomes a spectacle.

Across nine episodes, each chapter pairs the facts of the case with a brief lesson from Dante: desire twisted into obsession, cruelty masquerading as power, betrayal, violence, and the chilling fascination that draws us closer instead of pushing us away.

Because Ramirez didn’t just kill.

He captivated.

He made the world watch — and forced us to confront the part of ourselves that can’t look away.

Bonus episodes explore the trial, aftermath, and the myths that followed — along with glimpses into Purgatorio and Paradiso, and whether redemption or meaning is possible after horror.

SATAN’S SHADOW isn’t only about a murderer.

It’s about a culture slowly walking toward darkness…

and what it costs to climb back out.

The Devil Within

THE NEW MONSTERS: THE LOVELAND FROGMAN

Episode Three: The Monster Loveland Kept

By the summer of 2016, hunting monsters had changed. Armed with smartphones and Pokémon Go, two teenagers wandered near Ohio's Little Miami River and reportedly encountered something that wasn't supposed to be part of the game. Their footage was ambiguous, but the name attached to it was unmistakable: the Loveland Frogman.

The alleged sighting resurrected a legend stretching back decades—mysterious humanoid figures beside an Ohio road in 1955, police encounters in 1972, and the wonderfully bizarre story of a frog-like creature carrying a wand that produced sparks. But the renewed attention also brought former Loveland police officer Mark Mathews back into the story. Mathews had encountered and shot the animal associated with the legend in 1972, and his explanation was considerably less supernatural: according to him, it was a large, tailless iguana, probably an escaped or abandoned exotic pet.

That should have killed the legend.

Instead, Loveland kept the Frogman.

In the conclusion of our three-part investigation, we explore what happens when a monster outlives the eyewitnesses who created it. From the arrival of the internet and the 2016 Pokémon Go encounter to the transformation of regional cryptids into hometown mascots, merchandise and cultural identities, the Frogman reveals something important about the way modern folklore survives. Evidence may weaken a legend, but once enough people inherit the story, evidence isn't the only thing keeping it alive.

We also bring The New Monsters full circle, from alligators beneath Manhattan and the Bunny Man of Northern Virginia to the strange amphibious resident of the Little Miami River. Cameras, smartphones and instant communication were supposed to make monsters obsolete. Instead, technology gave folklore a distribution system.

Maybe the Loveland Frogman really was an iguana.

If so, the iguana lost.

The monster survived.

LISTEN, FOLLOW & REVIEW

Listen to The Devil Within wherever you get your podcasts, and make sure you're following the show so you never miss a new episode. If you enjoy the series, please leave us a five-star rating and review—it remains one of the best ways to help new listeners discover the show.

WATCH & SUBSCRIBE

Watch The Devil Within and more from the Evio Creative network on the Evio Creative YouTube channel. Subscribe and turn on notifications so you know whenever a new episode drops.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Follow @thedevilwithinpod for clips, stories, archival material and more from The Devil Within.

Have a strange story, unexplained encounter, case or legend you think we should investigate? Send it to info@eviocreative.com.

The Devil Within is written and hosted by Branden Morgan and produced by Evio Creative.
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The New Monsters: The Loveland Frogman - Part Three

THE DEVIL WITHIN

THE NEW MONSTERS: THE LOVELAND FROGMAN

Episode Two — The Creature Gets a Name

Before the Loveland Frogman became one of America's strangest regional cryptids, it may have been something else entirely.

The story takes us back to Loveland, Ohio, in 1955, where a businessman or traveling salesman supposedly encountered three small humanoid figures beside a country road near the Little Miami River. Later versions describe creatures standing three or four feet tall, with leathery skin, deeply wrinkled heads and vaguely frog-like faces. Then one of them reportedly raised a strange metal rod above its head—and sparks began shooting from it.

A Frogman is strange enough.

A Frogman with a magic wand requires considerably more explanation.

In Episode Two of The New Monsters, we investigate how a handful of separate encounters gradually became the mythology of the Loveland Frogman—and why the creature's bizarre origins may have more in common with America's flying-saucer obsession than traditional cryptozoology.

The problem begins with the 1955 encounter itself. Unlike the better-documented police sightings that followed seventeen years later, there is no readily available contemporary police report establishing the version of the story we know today. Its famous details reach us largely through later researchers, paranormal literature and decades of retelling, meaning the Frogman's origin story belongs much more securely to folklore than verified history.

And then there's that wand.

America in 1955 was deep in the first great age of flying-saucer fascination. UFO reports were multiplying, science-fiction theaters were filled with extraterrestrial visitors, and stories of strange humanoids carrying mysterious technology occupied a very different corner of the American imagination. Three small beings beside a road carrying a sparking device don't necessarily sound like unknown amphibians at all. They sound suspiciously like visitors. The documentary trail is too weak to conclude that the Frogman began as a UFO story, but the possibility reveals just how dramatically a story can change depending upon the name we eventually give its creature.

Then came 1972.

Loveland police officers Ray Shockey and Mark Mathews encountered unusual animals near the Little Miami River seventeen years after the alleged 1955 incident. Suddenly, the older story had something it had previously lacked: recognizable witnesses and the authority of a police uniform. Three mysterious humanoids from 1955 could become earlier examples of the same creature encountered by police in 1972, while those later encounters appeared to prove that something had been returning to the river for decades.

Separate stories became sightings. Sightings became a pattern. And eventually, the pattern became a monster.

Once the name Loveland Frogman took hold, the transformation accelerated. Paranormal books, cryptozoology collections and eventually the internet standardized a creature that eyewitness testimony had left frustratingly incomplete. Artists supplied enormous eyes, long limbs, webbed hands and unmistakably amphibian features until generations of people who had never seen the creature nevertheless knew exactly what a Loveland Frogman was supposed to look like.

And somehow, through every transformation, the sparking wand survived.

This week on The Devil Within, we follow one of America's strangest cryptids from an uncertain roadside encounter through police reports, paranormal publishing and the internet, examining how folklore can create a coherent history from stories that may never have belonged together in the first place.

Because the Loveland Frogman wasn't simply discovered.

It was assembled.

Next time, the Frogman enters the smartphone age when teenagers playing Pokémon Go near Loveland encounter something strange beside the water. We'll also meet the police officer who publicly tried to kill his own legend by insisting that the Frogman he encountered in 1972 was actually a tailless iguana—and discover why Loveland kept its monster anyway.

Listen & Follow: Follow The Devil Within wherever you get your podcasts.

Rate & Review: Leave us a 5-star rating and review to help new listeners discover the show.

Watch & Subscribe: Watch The Devil Within on the Evio Creative YouTube channel. Subscribe and turn on notifications so you never miss a new episode.

Join the Conversation: Follow @thedevilwithinpod and send your stories, sightings and tips to info@eviocreative.com
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The New Monsters: The Loveland Frogman - Part Two

THE DEVIL WITHIN

THE NEW MONSTERS: THE LOVELAND FROGMAN

Episode One — Encounter

There are places where the modern world seems to thin after dark. Outside Loveland, Ohio, the Little Miami River winds through wooded banks, bridges and stretches of road where everything beyond the headlights can disappear into darkness. It was along this landscape in March 1972 that Loveland police officer Ray Shockey reportedly encountered something strange near the roadway—an unusual creature that moved toward the guardrail and vanished in the direction of the river.

Then another Loveland police officer encountered something in roughly the same area.

This week, The New Monsters investigates the legend of the Loveland Frogman, one of Ohio's strangest and most beloved cryptids. But beneath the stories of upright amphibious creatures and mysterious encounters is something even more interesting: a collection of separate incidents that gradually became the history of a single monster.

We begin with the landscape itself and the Little Miami River, the waterway that helped shape Loveland long before anyone imagined a Frogman living beside it. From Indigenous history and early settlement to farms, mills, railroads and the growth of Cincinnati, the river became both an economic corridor and a natural boundary between civilization and the remaining woods. Even as modern development spread outward, the river preserved precisely the sort of places where folklore thrives: dark water, wooded banks, blind curves and roads that surrender to the landscape after sunset.

Then we travel back to 1955, when the earliest and most mysterious chapter of the Frogman legend supposedly occurred. Later versions describe a motorist encountering several short, upright creatures with leathery, frog-like bodies—and even claim that one carried a bizarre rod or wand capable of producing sparks. The problem is that the original encounter is difficult to document cleanly, and many of its most famous details reach us through later retellings.

Seventeen years later, the story becomes considerably harder to ignore.

In March 1972, Officer Shockey reported encountering an unusual animal while driving near the Little Miami. Fellow officer Mark Mathews subsequently encountered something in the same area and fired at it. Years later, Mathews would insist there was nothing supernatural about what he saw: according to him, the creature was a large iguana missing its tail, probably an escaped or abandoned exotic pet.

That should have killed the legend.

Instead, it helped create one.

Because once the name Frogman entered the story, separate encounters began fitting together. The mysterious creatures of 1955 became earlier sightings of the animal encountered by police in 1972, while the credibility of the later police encounters reached backward and gave the older story an authority it had never possessed on its own. Loveland no longer had an unexplained animal sighting; it had a history.

And that's where our investigation begins.

IN THIS EPISODE

The Little Miami River and the history that shaped Loveland; the mysterious and difficult-to-document 1955 encounter; Ray Shockey's 1972 roadside sighting; Mark Mathews and the alleged tailless iguana; the exotic-pet explanation; and the strange process by which separate stories became the mythology of the Loveland Frogman.

Next time on The New Monsters, we'll go deeper into the bizarre 1955 encounter, investigate the Frogman's infamous sparking wand, and discover how paranormal books, local storytelling and eventually the internet transformed a handful of uncertain encounters into one of America's most recognizable regional cryptids.

Listen & Follow: Follow The Devil Within wherever you get your podcasts.

Rate & Review: Leave us a 5-star rating and review to help more listeners discover the show.

Watch & Subscribe: Watch The Devil Within on the Evio Creative YouTube channel. Subscribe and turn on notifications for every new episode.

Join the Conversation: Follow @thedevilwithinpod and send your stories, sightings and tips to info@eviocreative.com.
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The New Monsters: The Loveland Frogman - Part One

THE DEVIL’S LEDGER

Week of September 21, 2026

Football is back, fall is finally arriving, and the Evio Universe has assembled a particularly strange collection of stories this week.

We begin with The Creepiest Thing I Heard This Week, where an unsettling internet trend has transformed one of Dr. Seuss’s most beloved characters into nightmare fuel. AI-generated images of a sinister Cat in the Hat lurking outside homes and schools have prompted police investigations across the country, juvenile arrests—and, in Canada, a bizarre real-world incident involving someone in costume allegedly chasing a teenage girl through a neighborhood.

Then, on The Devil Within, we head to Ohio for the conclusion of our investigation into the Loveland Frogman. From a murky 1955 encounter involving strange humanoid figures and a supposedly sparking wand to two police encounters in 1972 and a wonderfully appropriate Pokémon Go sighting decades later, we examine how separate stories became the biography of a single monster—and why even a police officer’s decidedly unromantic explanation involving a tailless iguana couldn’t kill the legend.

On Criminal Mischief, Carolyn Ossorio investigates the developing case surrounding Philadelphia’s so-called “House of Horrors.” Authorities are investigating an Olney home in connection with at least seven missing women, as police and the FBI work through disturbing physical and digital evidence recovered during the investigation. With no remains yet confirmed at the property, Carolyn separates what investigators actually know from the speculation surrounding a case that is still unfolding.

Over on The Slippery, Scott and Nancy enter the heavily filtered world of Adva Lavie, the Israeli-born former flight attendant and social-media personality accused of using dating apps and aliases to enter the lives of wealthy older men and steal luxury property. Then the story acquires a billionaire, an engagement and an even stranger investigation. Lavie has pleaded not guilty to the criminal charges against her, and the latest allegations remain under investigation.

Finally, This Week in Horror takes us onto the highway with Passenger, the new supernatural road-trip nightmare from director André Øvredal. A young couple leaves New York for life on the road, only to discover that something demonic may have joined them for the ride.

And with that, we say farewell to summer and welcome back pumpkin spice, football weekends, open sweater cabinets, earlier sunsets, changing leaves and—hopefully—a slight slowing of the relentless pace of life.

Listen and follow the shows of the Evio Creative network wherever you get your podcasts. If you enjoy what we’re doing, leave us a five-star rating and review and help other listeners discover the Evio Universe.

Watch and subscribe on the Evio Creative YouTube channel, and turn on notifications so you never miss a new episode.

Until next week, we’ll see you across the Evio Universe.
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The Devil's Ledger - Week of September 21st, 2026

THE DEVIL WITHIN

THE NEW MONSTERS: THE BUNNY MAN

Episode Three: Midnight at the Overpass

By the 1990s, everybody in Northern Virginia seemed to know the rules.

Drive out to Bunny Man Bridge after dark. Wait until midnight. Turn off the headlights. Say his name three times. Maybe get out of the car. Maybe come on Halloween. Nobody could agree on exactly how you summoned the Bunny Man, but that hardly mattered.

Because everybody agreed that if you stayed beneath that railroad bridge long enough, something would happen.

In the final chapter of our three-part investigation into The Bunny Man, we follow one of America's strangest urban legends through its most important transformation. What began with two reported encounters with a rabbit-costumed stranger in Fairfax County in October 1970 eventually became something teenagers could actually participate in.

This week, we head back beneath the railroad tracks outside Clifton, Virginia, during an era when American suburbia was developing some very particular nightmares of its own. Stranger danger was reshaping childhood. Parents inspected Halloween candy for razor blades and poison. The Satanic Panic warned that secret cults might be hiding behind otherwise ordinary American life, while a new generation of slasher movies discovered that the safest-looking suburbs made particularly effective places for monsters.

The Bunny Man fit right in.

His rabbit costume corrupted something associated with childhood innocence. His axe gave him the silhouette of a horror villain. Better still, you didn't need to travel into some remote wilderness to find him.

You needed a car, a few friends and enough nerve to drive into the woods.

Folklorists call it legend tripping: traveling to a supposedly haunted place specifically to test the story. Haunted railroad crossings, Crybaby Bridges, cemeteries, abandoned houses and mirrors capable of summoning Bloody Mary all operate on variations of the same brilliant idea. They don't merely give you a monster to believe in.

They give you something to do.

Bunny Man Bridge became one of those places. Every group of teenagers who drove beneath the tracks created another opportunity for reality to misbehave. A deer moving through the woods became a person. A branch became a weapon. A reflection became a pair of eyes. Then a freight train thundered overhead, somebody screamed, and by Monday morning four people remembered the same ten seconds four different ways.

Then the internet arrived.

The Bunny Man had spent decades traveling through newspapers, playgrounds, school buses, parties and word of mouth. Home computers and dial-up connections suddenly removed geography from the equation. The abandoned asylum could be repeated from website to website. An escaped inmate could acquire a name, a biography and a body count. Eventually, repetition itself began impersonating evidence.

That makes the Bunny Man an important creature in the evolution of The New Monsters. He wasn't born online like Slender Man, and he wasn't collaboratively constructed on the internet like the Backrooms.

The internet didn't create the Bunny Man. It inherited him.

But before we leave Fairfax County, we return to the question buried beneath more than half a century of mythology:

Who was actually inside the bunny suit?

Strip away the asylum. Strip away the escaped inmates, mutilated rabbits, murders and supernatural bridge rituals, and two reported incidents remain. In October 1970, witnesses described a rabbit-costumed figure carrying weapons and angrily complaining about trespassing. During the first encounter, a hatchet reportedly came through the window of a car. Ten days later, a similarly dressed person was reportedly encountered near an unfinished house, again armed and again furious about trespassers.

Was it an elaborate Halloween prank that escalated? An attempt to frighten people away from private property? Someone angry about the relentless development transforming Fairfax County around him?

All are possibilities.

None is an answer.

More than half a century later, the person beneath those rabbit ears remains unidentified. And perhaps that's why the Bunny Man survives so well. Remove the supernatural mythology and the story doesn't become ordinary.

The strange part was there from the beginning.

A newspaper story became a playground story. The playground story acquired a bridge. The bridge acquired an asylum. The asylum acquired escaped inmates and murders. Teenagers turned the bridge into a pilgrimage site, and eventually the internet gathered every version into a sprawling digital mythology.

No single person created the Bunny Man we know today.

Thousands of people did.

NEXT TIME ON THE NEW MONSTERS

THE LOVELAND FROGMAN

Next time, we're heading west to Loveland, Ohio, where another distinctly American monster emerged along the Little Miami River.

The story begins with a murky 1955 account involving several short, upright creatures reportedly encountered near the river—one of them, wonderfully, supposedly holding something resembling a wand or metal rod that produced sparks. Then, in March 1972, a Loveland police officer reported encountering a strange leathery animal near the roadway.

Another officer would soon encounter something as well.

And this time, he shot it.

Decades later, that officer would insist the famous Frogman wasn't a monster at all. According to him, he'd encountered a large, tailless iguana, probably someone's escaped exotic pet.

That should have killed the legend.

It didn't.

Next time on The New Monsters: The Loveland Frogman.

LISTEN • FOLLOW • WATCH

Follow The Devil Within wherever you get your podcasts and leave us a 5-star rating and review. It remains one of the best ways to help new listeners discover the show.

Watch The Devil Within on the Evio Creative YouTube channel, subscribe, and turn on notifications for new episodes and videos.

And join us on Instagram at @thedevilwithinpod.

The Bunny Man: Episode Three — Midnight at the Overpass.
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The New Monsters: The Bunny Man - Part Three

THE DEVIL WITHIN

THE NEW MONSTERS: THE BUNNY MAN

Episode Two: The Bridge

There is a railroad bridge outside Clifton, Virginia, where Colchester Road narrows into a single lane and disappears beneath the tracks. For generations of Northern Virginia teenagers, it has been known by another name: Bunny Man Bridge.

According to the legend, this is where the Bunny Man lived, killed and perhaps died. Some versions claim he was an escaped asylum patient who vanished into the surrounding woods after a transport bus crashed. Others add mutilated rabbits hanging from trees, murdered children, bodies suspended from the railroad tracks and a killer who eventually returned from the dead.

It's a spectacular horror story.

There's just one problem: almost none of it appears to have happened.

In Episode Two of our three-part investigation, we follow the Bunny Man away from the documented encounters on Guinea Road and into the place that transformed him from a bizarre local mystery into a full-fledged American monster. Research by Fairfax County historian and archivist Brian Conley found no evidence of the asylum, the escaped inmates or the Bunny Man massacre supposedly connected to the bridge. The two documented incidents from October 1970 happened miles away.

So how did the Bunny Man get to Clifton?

We travel back through the history of the village itself, from the arrival of the Orange and Alexandria Railroad in 1858 to its importance during the Civil War, when the tracks became part of the military infrastructure connecting a country tearing itself apart. After the war, a railroad village grew here, preserving a pocket of older Northern Virginia even as suburban Washington expanded around it.

That landscape gave the legend something Guinea Road eventually couldn't: permanence. Construction sites become houses. Woods are cleared. Empty lots acquire addresses. But a secluded railroad overpass surrounded by trees can remain unsettling for generations. Better still, it gave teenagers somewhere they could actually visit. The Bunny Man stopped being merely something people heard about and became something they could go looking for.

From there, the mythology began building backward. An asylum appeared where historical research has found none. A bus crashed. Patients escaped. Rabbits were slaughtered. One fugitive supposedly died while another became the Bunny Man. Eventually murders, Halloween rituals and supernatural encounters were attached to the bridge, creating an elaborate origin story for a monster whose real identity had never been established.

We'll explore why those additions were so effective, how the abandoned asylum became one of American horror's favorite shortcuts for hidden evil, and why the Bunny Man's axe survived the transformation from reported weapon to unmistakable horror icon.

Most importantly, we'll see the moment when folklore becomes interactive. Teenagers began driving beneath the bridge after dark, turning off their engines and waiting for something to happen. Every movement in the woods, unexpected car or freight train thundering overhead offered another opportunity for the story to reproduce itself.

Because the Bunny Man didn't become immortal when somebody died beneath those railroad tracks.

He became immortal when people started going there to find him.

NEXT TIME

In the final chapter of our Bunny Man story, Midnight at the Overpass, we follow the legend through the 1980s and 1990s and into the early internet, when a regional Virginia ghost story suddenly gained access to a global audience. We'll explore Halloween pilgrimages, stranger danger, Satanic Panic and the peculiar rituals that taught generations of teenagers how to summon a monster.

Then we'll return to October 1970 and the question that none of the mythology has ever answered:

Who was actually inside the rabbit suit?

LISTEN • WATCH • FOLLOW

Listen & Follow: Follow The Devil Within wherever you get your podcasts so you don't miss the final chapter of The Bunny Man.

Rate & Review: Leave us a 5-star rating and review. It remains one of the best ways to help new listeners discover the show.

Watch & Subscribe: Watch The Devil Within on the Evio Creative YouTube channel, subscribe, and turn on notifications for new episodes and videos.

Join the Conversation: Follow @thedevilwithinpod and tell us: Would you spend midnight beneath Bunny Man Bridge?

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The New Monsters: The Bunny Man - Part Two

THE DEVIL WITHIN

THE NEW MONSTERS: THE BUNNY MAN

Episode One: The Man on Guinea Road

In October 1970, along a dark stretch of Guinea Road in Fairfax County, Virginia, a young couple sitting inside their car saw someone emerge from the woods. The stranger appeared to be wearing a white suit with long rabbit ears. He began shouting about private property, claimed to have their license plate number—and then hurled a hatchet through the passenger window. The couple escaped. Police recovered the weapon. The man in the rabbit costume vanished.

If that were the end of the story, the Bunny Man might have survived as little more than a spectacularly bizarre newspaper clipping. But ten days later, another encounter was reported nearby. This time, security guard Paul Phillips discovered a rabbit-costumed figure at an unfinished house, carrying a long-handled axe and reportedly chopping at the structure while complaining about trespassers. Two incidents had given Northern Virginia something much harder to dismiss: a pattern.

In Episode One of our three-part journey into The Bunny Man, we go beneath the legend to the landscape that created it. Long before suburban Washington pushed into Fairfax County, this was a place shaped by Indigenous history, colonial Virginia, George Washington and George Mason, the American Revolution and the Civil War. By 1970, another invasion was underway as farms and forests disappeared beneath subdivisions, highways and construction sites.

That transformation provides an irresistible backdrop for what happened on Guinea Road. The original Bunny Man emerged from woods being consumed by development, repeatedly complained about trespassing and carried the very tools traditionally used to clear the landscape around him. Whether any of that symbolism was intentional is impossible to know, but the timing helped create an almost perfect American monster: something lurking along the uneasy boundary where countryside was becoming suburbia.

We'll also trace how two documented encounters began mutating almost immediately through newspapers, telephones, school buses and playgrounds. Before the internet could make legends viral, children and teenagers were already remarkably efficient distribution networks, repeating stories, changing details and filling unanswered questions with increasingly elaborate explanations.

And somewhere along the way, the Bunny Man moved.

The famous Bunny Man Bridge near Clifton was not the location of either documented 1970 encounter. Yet as the original construction sites disappeared and unfinished houses became ordinary homes, the secluded railroad overpass remained beneath the trees. Eventually the legend acquired the bridge, an asylum, escaped killers, mutilated rabbits and murder—transforming an unidentified man in a bizarre costume into something supernatural.

But before we get to the ghost stories, we begin with the part that remains considerably stranger because it appears to have actually happened.

Someone wore the rabbit costume. Someone carried the weapons. And more than half a century later, nobody has conclusively established who was inside it.

Listen & Follow: Follow The Devil Within wherever you get your podcasts so you don't miss Episode Two: The Bridge.

Rate & Review: If you're enjoying The New Monsters, leave us a 5-star rating and review. It helps new listeners discover the show.

Watch & Subscribe: Watch The Devil Within on the Evio Creative YouTube channel, subscribe, and turn on notifications for new episodes and videos.

Join the Conversation: Follow @thedevilwithinpod and tell us: What do you think was really happening on Guinea Road in October 1970?
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The New Monsters: The Bunny Man - Part One

THE DEVIL’S LEDGER

Week of September 14, 2026 — Twenty-Five Years Later

This week on The Devil’s Ledger, we mark the 25th anniversary of September 11, 2001 and remember the 2,977 people whose lives were taken that day, along with the first responders and rescue workers who ran toward unimaginable danger while thousands were desperately trying to escape. We also honor those who have died in the years since from illnesses connected to their work at Ground Zero. Twenty-five years later, “Never Forget” remains more than a phrase; it is an obligation to remember the victims, teach the history and honor the extraordinary courage witnessed that morning.

THE CREEPIEST THING I HEARD THIS WEEK: THE CURSE OF DUDLEYTOWN

Deep in the forests of northwestern Connecticut lie the remains of Dudleytown, an eighteenth-century settlement that eventually became one of New England’s most enduring haunted legends. Stories of a centuries-old family curse, insanity, mysterious deaths and strange creatures transformed an abandoned settlement into the so-called “Village of the Damned.” Historians have challenged much of the mythology, offering far more ordinary explanations for Dudleytown’s disappearance, but the legend proved harder to kill. Ghost hunters still seek it out despite the former settlement being privately owned and closed to the public.

THIS WEEK ON THE DEVIL WITHIN: THE BUNNY MAN

The New Monsters heads to Northern Virginia for the story of The Bunny Man, a legend that began with genuine 1970 reports involving a mysterious man in a rabbit costume carrying a hatchet or axe. From those strange encounters grew Bunny Man Bridge, tales of escaped lunatics and an abandoned asylum, alleged murders and a midnight summoning ritual. Across three episodes, we separate the documented incidents from the mythology and follow the Bunny Man from newspaper reports and playground whispers into teenage legend-tripping and eventually the internet.

THIS WEEK ON CRIMINAL MISCHIEF: JAYCEE DUGARD

Carolyn Ossorio examines the devastating 1991 kidnapping of Jaycee Dugard, who was just eleven years old when she was abducted near her South Lake Tahoe home and held captive for more than eighteen years. Joining Carolyn is legendary investigator Paul Holes for a conversation about the investigation, the evidence, the opportunities authorities missed and, most importantly, Jaycee’s extraordinary survival and reclamation of the life that was stolen from her.

THIS WEEK ON THE SLIPPERY: THE DEADLY SECRET BEHIND WELCOME TO SWEETIE PIE’S

Behind the family drama of the hit OWN reality series Welcome to Sweetie Pie’s was a crime more shocking than anything television producers could have manufactured. The Slippery examines how Tim Norman became the architect of a murder-for-hire plot targeting his own 21-year-old nephew, Andre Montgomery. Investigators from the FBI, ATF and local law enforcement eventually unraveled a trail of life-insurance policies, burner phones, cell-tower records, financial transactions and accomplices that exposed the machinery behind Andre’s murder.

THIS WEEK IN HORROR: BLACK ZOMBIE

Director Maya Annik Bedward’s documentary BLACK ZOMBIE travels beyond Hollywood’s flesh-eating undead to explore the zombie’s origins in Haitian history and spiritual tradition. Moving through films including White Zombie, Night of the Living Dead and The Serpent and the Rainbow, the documentary examines how a figure rooted in enslavement, stolen agency, resistance and survival was transformed into one of modern horror’s most recognizable monsters. Featuring historians, artists and horror figures including Tananarive Due and Tom Savini, BLACK ZOMBIE asks what was lost when Hollywood took the zombie out of Haiti—and what can be reclaimed by putting that history back.

We close this week where we began: September 11, 2001. Remember the people who went to work and never came home, the passengers and flight crews, the firefighters climbing the stairs, the police officers and paramedics running toward danger, the passengers who fought back aboard Flight 93, and the families whose lives were forever divided into before and after. Life is short. Call somebody you love, take the trip, have the dinner, laugh too loudly, make something, and tell people what they mean to you while they are still here to hear it.

Listen & Follow: Follow The Devil’s Ledger and the entire Evio Creative lineup wherever you get your podcasts.

Rate & Review: If you enjoy the show, please leave us a 5-star rating and review. It remains one of the best ways to help new listeners discover us.

Watch & Subscribe: Watch The Devil Within, Criminal Mischief and more on the Evio Creative YouTube channel. Subscribe and turn on notifications so you never miss a new episode.

Join the Conversation: Follow @thedevilwithinpod on Instagram, and send stories, tips and feedback to info@eviocreative.com.

Never forget.
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The Devil's Ledger - Week of September 14th, 2026

THE DEVIL WITHIN

The New Monsters: Alligators in the Sewers — Episode Three: The Monster Under Manhattan

By 1980, the alligator had escaped.

The legend that began with misplaced reptiles, a very real 1935 newspaper story and Teddy May’s extraordinary tales of an underground colony had finally crawled out of the sewers and into American popular culture.

Hollywood was waiting.

In the wonderfully excessive 1980 creature feature Alligator, a little girl brings home a baby alligator named Ramon. Her father eventually decides reptile ownership has run its course and flushes the animal down the toilet. Twelve years later, Ramon has survived beneath the city by eating discarded laboratory animals pumped full of experimental growth hormones.

The adorable souvenir has become an enormous, man-eating monster.

And the remarkable thing is that audiences barely needed the premise explained. By then, everybody knew the story.

Baby alligator. Toilet. Sewer. Darkness. Monster.

In the final episode of Alligators in the Sewers, we explore how one of America’s greatest urban legends escaped New York and became part of our shared cultural imagination.

Robert Daley’s 1959 book The World Beneath the City gave Teddy May’s stories a permanent home. Thomas Pynchon’s 1963 novel V. populated Manhattan’s sewers with albino alligators. Books, newspapers and word of mouth continued adding details until ordinary abandoned pets had evolved into enormous, pale, blind creatures supposedly feeding on New York’s endless population of rats.

By the 1970s, the city itself had become the perfect setting. Aging infrastructure, graffiti-covered subway cars, crime, disinvestment and the fiscal crisis transformed New York’s underground from a symbol of nineteenth-century engineering triumph into something darker. The tunnels beneath Manhattan became a place where anything might be hiding.

Then Alligator gave the legend its monster movie.

But reality has an irritating habit of occasionally helping folklore along.

In 2001, a caiman appeared in Central Park’s Harlem Meer. In 2010, police found a young alligator beneath a parked car near a storm drain in Queens. And in 2023, workers discovered an emaciated four-foot alligator in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park. None were evidence of some secret breeding colony beneath New York. They were almost certainly abandoned or escaped exotic pets.

Which, of course, was exactly how the legend supposedly began.

Nearly ninety years after East 123rd Street, New Yorkers were still finding alligators where alligators had absolutely no business being.

And perhaps that is why this particular monster refuses to die.

The sewer alligator was assembled from pieces of reality. Americans really did buy baby alligators. People really did abandon exotic pets. Crocodilians really have appeared in New York. Beneath the streets really does exist an enormous hidden geography of sewers, subway tunnels, utility corridors, buried waterways and infrastructure most of us will never see.

Folklore simply connected those facts and populated the darkness between them.

Today, New York has gone one step further and embraced the creature. In 2023, artist Alexander Klingspor’s NYC Legend placed an enormous bronze alligator atop a manhole cover in Union Square. The monster supposedly hunted beneath the city had finally returned to the surface as public art.

First New York feared the alligator.

Then it laughed at it.

Eventually, it made the thing a mascot.

And that may make the sewer alligator one of the prototypes for everything we’ve been exploring in The New Monsters. Long before Slender Man spread through internet forums, before the Backrooms became a collaboratively constructed online universe, and before millions of people analyzed pixels searching for the Fresno Nightcrawler, New Yorkers were already creating folklore in real time.

They simply did it with newspapers, books, schoolyards and stories passed from one person to another.

New York built an extraordinary artificial wilderness beneath itself.

And every wilderness eventually gets a monster.

NEXT TIME ON THE NEW MONSTERS: THE BUNNY MAN

Next time, we leave Manhattan behind and head for the rapidly expanding suburbs of Northern Virginia, where another distinctly American monster emerged from an entirely different landscape.

Our backdrop this time isn't the sewer.

It's the suburb.

In October 1970, police began receiving reports of a strange man wearing a rabbit costume who allegedly threatened people with an axe. Newspapers picked up the story. Then came another encounter.

Over the decades, those incidents accumulated escaped mental patients, mutilated animals, murdered children and a lonely railroad overpass that generations of teenagers would eventually visit after dark.

The strangest part of the Bunny Man legend isn't that much of what people believe about him never happened.

It's that something really did happen first.

Next time on The New Monsters: The Bunny Man.

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The New Monsters: Alligators in the Sewers — Part Three

THE DEVIL WITHIN

The New Monsters: Alligators in the Sewers — Episode Two: The Man Who Saw Them

They kept seeing alligators.

Sometime in the 1930s, New York sewer inspectors began returning from beneath the city with an increasingly ridiculous claim: there were alligators living beneath Manhattan. Their boss, Theodore “Teddy” May, had a more reasonable explanation.

Whiskey.

According to Robert Daley's 1959 book The World Beneath the City, May became convinced his workers had discovered somewhere underground to hide booze. He sent men to investigate. Nobody found the whiskey.

But the alligator sightings continued.

Eventually, Teddy May decided to descend into the sewers himself—and according to the story he later told, his flashlight swept across the water and revealed something he hadn't expected to see.

Several alligators.

In Episode Two of Alligators in the Sewers, The Devil Within heads back beneath 1930s New York to meet the men whose jobs took them into a hidden world most New Yorkers would never see.

We explore what it was actually like to work inside Manhattan's enormous underground infrastructure, where sewer inspectors navigated brick tunnels by flashlight during the lowest-flow hours of the night. The dangers were very real: rapidly rising wastewater, powerful currents, blockages and deadly gases. And the things moving through those tunnels could be bizarre—barrels, Christmas trees, jewelry, false teeth, weapons and practically anything else New York managed to lose down a drain.

Then we meet Teddy May.

Part sewer worker, part foreman and apparently one hell of a storyteller, May would become the central figure in the sewer-alligator legend. His claims transformed the documented discovery of a single reptile beneath East Harlem into something much larger: an entire population living beneath Manhattan.

And then, according to the legend, New York fought back.

Daley's account describes an extraordinary extermination campaign in which sewer crews supposedly used poisoned food, powerful trunk-sewer currents and, in some versions, .22-caliber rifles to eliminate the animals. It's an irresistible image: Depression-era municipal workers disappearing through Manhattan manholes carrying flashlights and guns to hunt alligators beneath New York City.

There's just one problem.

The evidence for a citywide infestation—and the war supposedly waged against it—is considerably thinner than the story. No substantial contemporary municipal paper trail has emerged documenting an organized extermination campaign. What survives largely depends upon testimony recorded more than twenty years later.

But folklore was already taking over.

The ordinary reptiles of the earliest stories became pale, blind subterranean monsters, supposedly transformed by generations without sunlight and sustained by Manhattan's endless supply of rats. The biology doesn't work, but the mythology is perfect. An ordinary alligator beneath New York could simply be lost. A pale, blind alligator belonged there.

This is the story of the men beneath the manholes, the raconteur who gave their stories life, and the moment an escaped exotic pet became something uniquely New York.

This is The Man Who Saw Them.

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Join the Conversation: Follow @thedevilwithinpod and tell us what you think Teddy May really saw beneath Manhattan.

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The New Monsters: Alligators In The Sewers - part Two

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