Welcome back to Beyond the Silence Whispers Across
America. I'm Sammy, and tonight we're heading
back to Paulding, Ohio, a place I always picture
as one of those postcard towns where just about
everybody knows everybody. In 1960, Paulding
wasn't just small, it was insulated. It was a
place where doors were left unlocked, neighborly
trust was absolute, and a child could walk three
blocks home. from the picture show After Dark
without a second thought. This insulation wasn't
just physical, it was psychological. The residents
believed they were immune to the violence that
plagued larger cities. Quiet streets, kids riding
their bikes to the local theater. Community life
centered on the church and the town square, and
honestly, we often forget how rare a true, inexplicable
tragedy felt in places like that. The innocence
of a whole community was about to be obliterated.
At the heart of this story is Nancy Eagleson.
She was the oldest child in the Eagleson family,
14 years old, a middle schooler at Paulding Junior
High, and truly full of life. Nancy loved helping
out at school and church, was a popular member
of her class, and she had this handwritten joke
book, a simple youthful artifact that now feels
impossibly poignant. Her parents, Don and Betty,
both worked hard. Don was a local auto mechanic,
and Betty was an active homemaker, creating a
stable, loving environment. I remember my first
local tragedy. I saw how people locked their
doors for the first time, how a dark cloud would
settle over the friendliest streets. That's what
happened in Paulding after November 13, 1960.
That feeling of absolute safety vanished overnight.
Replaced by the crushing realization that evil
wasn't just something you saw in the movies,
it could be waiting on your very own street corner.
The lights on the square seemed dimmer, and every
unfamiliar car became a source of immediate terror.
Sunday morning, November the 13th. The Eaglesons
went to the First Christian Church, following
their fixed weekly routine. After lunch, Nancy,
full of the excitement only a young teenager
can possess, and her five -year -old sister Cheryl
set off. They were headed to see a double feature,
likely the crowded sky and college confidential,
at the local Paradise Theater, just a few blocks
from their home on Jackson Street. But there's
this detail I can't ever shake, one that highlights
Nancy's transition from girlhood to young womanhood.
Nancy was wearing her very first pair of high
heels that day. She'd begged her mom, Betty,
for months, perhaps saving her own allowance,
to finally make that purchase just so she could
feel a little more grown up, a little more independent.
Those new heels, intended as a marker of burgeoning
adulthood and a personal step toward her future,
instead became the final heart -wrenching accessory
in the crime. They represented the life she was
reaching for, a life that would never progress
beyond that single tragic Sunday. When the movie
let out, it was getting dark around 5 .30 p .m.,
but there was still that little time where the
familiar streets felt safe. The girl stopped
for a soda at the Fountain Cafe, just blocks
from home. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary,
except maybe this. Nancy told a friend the day
it was her unlucky day because they'd missed
their ride earlier and had to walk. In hindsight,
that small throwaway comment just hits different.
The walk home should have been a simple ten minutes.
It was a route Nancy had taken countless times,
a path of total familiarity, where the only danger
was tripping over a crack in the pavement. But
once they crossed over the iron bridge on Jackson
Street, which spanned the murky Auglaize River,
the girls noticed a car on their tail, a dark
sedan, described by Cheryl as being big, old,
and shiny. Near the intersection of Jackson and
3rd Street, the car pulled up alongside them.
The driver, a white man, wearing what Cheryl
distinctly recalled as church clothes, a dark
overcoat, Dark horn -rimmed glasses and a fedora
offered them a ride. The driver's calculated
choice of attire was a terrifying psychological
tool, meant to project an immediate sense of
trustworthiness, respectability, or even professional
authority. Designed to bypass a child's natural
caution, he persisted, making the girls uncomfortable,
until Nancy firmly declined, holding on to Cheryl.
The car zipped ahead, turned the corner, and
then menacingly came back for a second crucial
pass, eliminating any pretense of neighborly
kindness. This time, the driver didn't bother
with conversation. He got out of the car with
frightening speed, moved toward them, grabbed
Nancy violently by the arm, shoved the tiny five
-year -old Cheryl aside, and forced Nancy into
the back seat of the sedan. Cheryl, just five
years old, tried to fight back, desperately clinging
to her big sister's coat, and was knocked hard
to the ground. The force of the abduction was
brutal and swift, suggesting someone who knew
exactly what they were doing and was prepared
to use overwhelming physical control, ensuring
no struggle could be sustained. The sight of
her big sister going limp and vanishing as the
dark sedan Sped off into the deepening dusk is
a scene of raw, primal terror that would shape
Cheryl's life forever. Cheryl, abandoned on the
side of the road, rushed, terrified, to the nearest
house, the Hull's residence, screaming for help.
The last fragments of Paulding's calm were annihilated,
replaced by the wail of a terrified child. The
search was immediate and frantic, involving dozens
of local volunteers and law enforcement from
several surrounding counties. Every available
citizen with a flashlight combed the roads. Less
than six hours later, around 11 .30 p .m., two
men out raccoon hunting stumbled across a body
in a densely wooded clearing about a mile and
a half from the abduction site, a place soon
known grimly as Nancy's Woods. Nancy's body was
found gently laid out, still buttoned up, her
coat neatly positioned, and those hard -earned
high heels still on her feet. But her undergarments
were found off to the side. This staging, the
careful presentation of the body alongside the
evidence of violence, suggested the killer was
not panicked, but controlled, perhaps even deriving
a sick psychological satisfaction from the final
macabre arrangement. contrasting the victim's
purity with the horror he inflicted. The initial
autopsy found a single gunshot under her chin
was the assumed cause of death, along with definitive
evidence of sexual assault. There was no sign
of a prolonged struggle at the disposal site,
suggesting the violence was swift and potentially
perpetrated elsewhere. The initial police assessment
of the scene failed to secure the area adequately.
allowing the critical first hours to slip away
amidst chaos and community grief. The investigation
that rolled out was massive for a rural place,
but fundamentally flawed from its foundation.
Deputies interviewed classmates, combed through
rumors, and conducted dozens of polygraphs on
suspects, all of whom were eventually cleared.
A huge reward of over $6 ,000 was raised by the
grieving desperate community. But the most important
asset, forensics, was severely limited to basic
ballistics. And the most crucial lead was the
testimony of five -year -old Cheryl, a lot of
weight for one traumatized child. Investigators
relied almost solely on the shaky recollections
of a panicked child. focusing too heavily on
the car description and the suspect's appearance,
while fatally ignoring or losing the hard physical
data that could have spoken for Nancy. If you
asked why this case is still cold, I'll tell
you. It's lost evidence, a monumental failure
of chain of custody that echoes a systemic indifference.
At some point, everything went missing. The original
blood samples, foreign hairs, and fibers collected
at the scene, Nancy's actual clothing, which
could have held vital trace evidence like skin
cells or unknown fibers. And most critically,
the original bullet fragment recovered from the
first autopsy. This loss wasn't just a simple
mistake. It was a systematic eradication of the
physical proof that could have solved the case
decades later, using modern DNA and ballistic
technology. The disappearance of the bullet rendered
any potential match with a recovered firearm
impossible. When evidence disappears in such
a comprehensive manner, justice isn't just delayed,
it's actively denied. In Paulding, the immediate
fear and sorrow curdled into a corrosive suspicion
that law enforcement might have been covering
for someone local and powerful. a dark theory
that took root and never truly left. This brings
us to a name that comes up again and again. Claire
Budd. Paulus. In the late 50s and 60s, he was
a deputy in Pauling, working for the very department
investigating the murder. Decades later, people
came forward alleging that Paulus, who wore glasses
and drove a dark -colored car, matching some
elements of Cheryl's description, abused them
when they were children. Their accounts felt
eerily similar to Nancy's case, including the
alleged use of his official position to lure
victims. Paulus died by suicide in 1987 after
he was finally indicted for multiple counts of
child abuse. The timing and nature of his death,
combined with the subsequent allegations, provided
a chilling, albeit circumstantial, shadow over
the entire original investigation. As a deputy,
Paulus would have had the means, access, and
procedural knowledge to know what evidence was
critical and, more worryingly, how to make it
disappear, aligning precisely with the monumental
chain of custody failures. Records concerning
Paulus are sparse and some are missing. feeding
the persistent unsettling theory that he was
never fully investigated for Nancy's murder,
or that his colleagues actively protected him
due to his affiliation with the sheriff's department.
Fast forward to recent years, Nancy's family
made a major final move for the truth. In 2022,
after years of persistence, they successfully
petitioned to have her remains exhumed. This
was a direct acknowledgement that the initial
1960 investigation was tragically and fundamentally
inadequate. The new forensic autopsy, conducted
by experts with modern technology, was stunning.
It overturned the single most fundamental fact
of the crime. It turns out Nancy was shot twice
with a .22 caliber weapon, once under the chin
and fatally a second time in the right eye. This
finding fundamentally altered the understanding
of the crime, changing it from a single, desperate
act to a more prolonged, targeted execution that
speaks to greater malice and intent. The family
was forced to absorb a second wave of trauma
learning this new, brutal truth. Crucially, experts
also found previously overlooked evidence, fibers
and animal hair. potential trace evidence from
the killer's clothing or vehicle that had been
missed or ignored six decades prior, a stark
contrast to the sloppy scene processing of 1960.
Nancy's sister, Cheryl, who now works as a victim
advocate, has continued to fight creating new
composite sketches with a forensic artist, hoping
the clearer image refined by adult memory and
technology might finally jog the memory of a
witness who has been silent for decades. The
case is a heartbreaking testament to one family's
refusal to let their loved one be forgotten.
That's where we'll leave it for now. No neat
answers, only the questions that refuse to stay
quiet. I'm Sammy, and I'll keep telling these
stories because someone out there knows something.
And for people like Nancy, silence should never
be the end. If a detail stood out to you, Don't
let it go. Share it. Question it. Talk about
it. Stay with us. This story isn't over and neither
is our search for answers. For more chilling
mysteries and untold stories, follow and listen
to Beyond the Silence. Whispers across America
on all major podcast platforms.