Why I Finally Told the Story Behind Six Missing
For years, people have asked me where the name Six Missing came from. And for years, I’ve danced around it.
I’d say it was a feeling, a phrase that stuck. Something with weight. Something personal.
And all of that is true.
But recently, I decided to share the full story—the real story—behind the name. A story I’ve carried with me since a recording trip in Pennsylvania many years ago. A story that, at the time, shook me to my core and left me wondering what exactly had happened to me in the middle of the night, deep in the woods, far from home.
This week, I released a longform video on YouTube that tells the full ghost story behind Six Missing.
It’s something I’ve only ever shared in fragments—at shows, in interviews, maybe over a drink or two with close friends. But putting it into a visual format, with intention and atmosphere, felt like the right way to honor it.
Because the truth is: I don’t know what happened to me that night.
And I think that’s what makes the story powerful.
The Story in Brief (no spoilers)
I won’t spoil the full video here—if you haven’t seen it yet, I hope you’ll watch. But I will say this:
It happened during a late-night walk back to the cottage where we were staying while recording an album. There was a feeling…
Then silence.
Then cold.
Then something else. Something that felt ancient. Heavy. Not quite malevolent—but not indifferent either.
In the days that followed, I started researching the land. The deeper I went, the more unsettling the connections became. When I came across an old casualty report listing six missing soldiers from a nearby Revolutionary War battle, something inside me clicked.
I knew that name—Six Missing—was mine to carry.
Why I’m Sharing It Now
I’ve always believed that the unknown deserves to be respected, not ignored. Whether you call it spiritual, energetic, ancestral, or just part of the great cosmic mystery… I don’t pretend to have answers. But I try to listen.
And for me, telling this story is a way of listening back.
A way of acknowledging that something happened.
And that maybe we’re not as alone as we think.
Over the years, I’ve shared this story with listeners in casual conversations, during ambient sets, and occasionally in interviews. Every time, someone leans in. People feel it. They recognize something familiar in the shape of the unknown.
That’s why I wanted to finally tell it right.
In my voice. In my words. With the same care and intention I put into my music.
Watch the Full Video
This video is part personal memory, part ghost story, part tribute to the unseen.
I hope it gives you chills. I hope it makes you wonder.
And maybe—if you’ve ever had an experience you couldn’t explain—I hope it reminds you that you’re not alone in that mystery.
In Honor of What We Can’t Explain
Naming this project Six Missing wasn’t just about a ghost story.
It was about honoring something that doesn’t fit neatly into language.
It was about giving space to the things we can’t pin down—whether that’s grief, memory, or something more spiritual.
It was about trust.
In the unseen.
In the unexplained.
In the resonance of feeling something beyond words.
Thanks for listening.
Thanks for watching.
Thanks for being part of this story now, too.
— TJ
(Six Missing)
Six Missing: The Ghostly Encounter That Inspired My Name
Some moments never leave you. They linger in the back of your mind, shifting and reshaping over time, but always present. My ghostly encounter was one of those moments, and it ultimately led to the name Six Missing—a name that now defines my music, my sound, and the unseen layers of existence I explore through ambient composition.
A Haunted Recording Session
Years ago, my band and I traveled to West Chester, Pennsylvania, to record an album at a studio near the Brandywine Battlefield, a site steeped in Revolutionary War history. The property had an eerie stillness to it, an almost unsettling quiet that seemed to hum beneath the surface.
We stayed in a small cottage on the grounds, separate from the main studio. Late one night, after a long session, I realized I had left something behind in the control room. I made the short walk alone, stepping into the darkened space, where the only sounds were the occasional creaks of an old building settling into the night.
As I retrieved my gear and turned to leave, a sudden, overwhelming sensation crept over me—an unshakable feeling that I was being watched. The air felt thick, pressing against my skin like static before a storm. I hurried back to the cottage, convincing myself it was just my imagination. But what happened next made me question everything.
A Presence in the Night
I climbed into my bunk, trying to shake the unease, when the silence was broken by the slow creak of the screen door opening. My body froze. I strained to listen, waiting for the sound of footsteps—someone from the band, maybe—but there was nothing. Just an emptiness stretching through the dark.
Then, without warning, a piercing, ice-cold sensation shot through the center of my back. It was as if something—someone—had pressed into me, sending a wave of despair and weightlessness through my entire body. I tried to move, to turn, but I was completely paralyzed. A deep, sinking feeling overtook me, a sensation I can only describe as slipping into the void.
I don’t know how long it lasted, but at some point, I remembered something I had seen on a ghost hunting show—speak with authority, take control. Summoning every ounce of strength, I forced out the words: LEAVE ME ALONE.
The moment I spoke, the weight lifted. My breath came back in a rush, my limbs unlocked, and the air in the room shifted. Then, just as clearly as before, I heard the screen door creak open again—and then softly close.
The Missing Six
The next morning, I hesitantly brought it up to the rest of the band, expecting them to laugh it off. But one of them turned pale. He had woken up in the night and heard the door open too, thinking it was one of us stepping outside.
Later, curiosity got the best of me, and I started researching the area. That’s when I came across the historical records—six soldiers from the Battle of Brandywine were documented as missing. Their bodies were never found, their stories lost to time.
I couldn’t shake the connection. Whether what I experienced was tied to them or not, it felt like more than a coincidence. The idea of something unseen but present—of spirits lingering just beyond perception—stayed with me. It resonated deeply with how I think about sound, about atmosphere, about the spaces between notes where emotion truly lives.
The Sound of the Unseen
When I started releasing music under the name Six Missing, it wasn’t just a nod to that night. It was about everything the experience represented: the unseen, the unknown, the way sound and memory intertwine. My ambient compositions aim to capture that—textures that feel both present and distant, melodies that drift like echoes through time.
There’s something powerful about what exists just beyond our reach. Whether in history, in memory, or in sound, the missing pieces often tell the most compelling stories.
That’s what Six Missing is about—creating music that lingers in the in-between, that resonates in the quiet spaces, and that, maybe, just maybe, touches something beyond what we can see.
A Soundtrack to the Unexplained
If you’ve ever felt something inexplicable—an eerie presence, an unshakable familiarity with a place you’ve never been—then you understand the feeling I chase in my music. My compositions are not just about melody or harmony; they are about atmosphere, memory, and the spaces in between.
I want my music to be a soundtrack for those moments when reality feels just a little thinner, when time slows, and the unseen world brushes against our own. Whether you listen for meditation, for deep focus, or simply to lose yourself in sound, know that you are stepping into that same ethereal space—where stories linger, where echoes fade, and where the missing are never truly gone.
Until next time, Your fellow human just being.
Six Missing