LANSDOWNE STATION, Nova Scotia — Six months after siblings Lilly Sullivan, 6, and Jack Sullivan, 4, vanished from their rural family home in the dead of night, the quiet hamlet of Lansdowne Station is fracturing under the weight of whispers and wild theories. As winter’s chill sets in and volunteer searches yield nothing but frustration, neighbors who once waved from porches are now breaking their silence with words that hang like fog over the dense Pictou County woods: “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.” The phrase, uttered by multiple locals in exclusive interviews this week, isn’t just a philosophical musing—it’s a gut-punch accusation that the kids didn’t simply wander off into the underbrush, as police maintain, but that something far more sinister unfolded under the cover of darkness.

The case exploded into the national consciousness on May 2, 2025, when the children’s mother, Malehya Brooks-Murray, and stepfather, Daniel Martell, reported the pair missing around 10 a.m. from their isolated property on Gairloch Road. The siblings, last seen in public with family the afternoon prior in nearby New Glasgow—captured on grainy surveillance footage that police have confirmed but won’t release—were presumed to have slipped out during the early morning hours. No Amber Alert was issued; instead, vulnerable persons bulletins blanketed the region. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) launched what they called an “intensive” probe, deploying helicopters, cadaver dogs, and ground teams that scoured over 40 kilometers of treacherous terrain riddled with rivers, ravines, and black bears. Yet, as of November 25, 2025, Lilly—with her shoulder-length light brown hair and bangs—and her towheaded brother Jack remain ghosts in the mist.

What makes this disappearance so maddeningly enigmatic? Court documents unsealed in August paint a picture of exhaustive scrutiny on the parents: bank records, phone pings, GPS data, even polygraph tests. Brooks-Murray and Martell both underwent the exams, with results deemed “inconclusive” due to physiological issues, but an unidentified investigator noted, “At this point… the disappearance is not believed to be criminal in nature.” The biological father, Cody Sullivan, passed his test with flying colors and hasn’t seen the kids in three years, per police. Forensic analysis on a torn pink blanket—confirmed as Lilly’s by family, with shreds found in the woods and a trash bag at the driveway—yielded no DNA matches to the children. Boot prints matching Lilly’s size 11 Walmart kicks from March turned up nearby, but led nowhere. And despite witness reports of a vehicle idling on the gravel road around 2 a.m. on May 2—hours before the 911 call—surveillance reviews found zilch.

Enter the neighbors, a tight-knit crew of farmers, retirees, and loggers who’ve watched the Sullivan home like hawks since the frenzy began. Speaking exclusively to Fox News Digital from their kitchens overlooking the fog-shrouded property, three locals dropped bombshells that clash hard with the RCMP’s “misadventure” theory. “We ain’t seen nothin’ like this in 40 years here,” says Earl Thibodeau, 62, a lifelong resident who farms the adjacent field. “Kids don’t just evaporate. That night? I heard tires crunchin’ slow, like someone creepin’, then silence. Come mornin’, no tracks, no toys left out—just gone.” Thibodeau’s account echoes two others: a widow named Marlene who swears she glimpsed taillights vanishing into the treeline around 1:30 a.m., and a young couple, the MacLeods, who reported “an unnatural quiet” after what sounded like muffled cries piercing the pre-dawn hush.

Their collective verdict? Foul play, covered up slick as ice on the Middle River. “Absence of evidence ain’t evidence of absence,” Thibodeau reiterates, a line he’s borrowed from online true-crime forums buzzing with Sullivan speculation. “Police say no vehicle? Fine. But we know what we heard. And that blanket in the trash? That’s no accident—someone’s hidin’ somethin’.” The MacLeods go darker, whispering about “family secrets” in the Brooks-Murray-Martell household, fueled by rumors of domestic tensions and a baby sister born just months before the vanishing. “Malehya and Daniel? Nice folks on the surface, but you hear things—arguments echoin’ at night,” says Sarah MacLeod, 28. “Those kids were the light of that place. Now it’s cursed.”

Theories have metastasized online like wildfire, with X (formerly Twitter) ablaze under hashtags like #FindLillyAndJack and #SullivanSiblings. Self-styled sleuths point to a geocache box unearthed during a November 16 volunteer search by Ontario’s Please Bring Me Home group—containing a notepad entry with Martell’s name dated May 3, 2014 (a year before the kids were even born)—as “proof” of planted alibis. The group, led by Nick Oldrieve, braved waist-deep rapids and thorny thickets, hauling out a child’s T-shirt, blanket scraps, and a tricycle. “High possibility” they’d find the kids that day, Oldrieve told reporters beforehand. RCMP dashed hopes: none of it linked. Cadaver dogs sniffed 40 klicks last month—zero hits on remains. But the phrase “absence of evidence” ricochets through posts, with one viral thread from true-crime YouTuber Sunny Austin garnering 500,000 views: “Cops cleared the woods six times. If they’re gone, someone’s got ’em.”

Family fractures deepen the chill. Paternal grandmother Belynda Gray, clutching first-day-of-school photos in her Middle Musquodoboit kitchen, accuses the RCMP of tunnel vision. “They grilled us like criminals, but ignored the obvious,” she told The Globe and Mail. Aunt Cheryl Robinson, who spearheaded the latest river dive, echoes the sentiment: “We waded through hell—downed trees, freezing water—and found jack squat that fits. But those vehicle sounds? That’s evidence they won’t touch.” Step-grandmother Janie MacKenzie’s polygraph flopped due to “unsuitable physiology,” per docs, fueling whispers of evasion. Brooks-Murray and Martell, holed up with their infant, have gone radio silent, their last statement a tearful plea in July: “We’re broken, but we won’t stop.”

RCMP’s Northeast Nova Major Crime Unit, bolstered by 11 specialized teams including behavioral analysts and the Canadian Centre for Child Protection, insists the probe’s “coordinated and deliberate.” Cpl. Sandy Matharu: “A tremendous amount of work is underway… until we determine the circumstances with certainty.” Nova Scotia’s upped the reward to $150,000 for tips of “investigative value,” but tips have dried to a trickle amid the rumor mill. International eyes—from U.S. true-crime pods to AI-generated “reenactments” on YouTube—have turned Lansdowne into a circus, with online harassers doxxing relatives and peddling “Missing 411”-style supernatural spins (David Paulides, author of the series, tweeted solidarity last week).

As snow dusts the evergreens, the neighbors’ words linger like a curse. “We’ve searched every inch—everything’s been searched,” Martell said in an October clip, his voice cracking. But Thibodeau shakes his head from his porch vigil: “If they’re out there, winter’ll take ’em for good. And if they ain’t… God help whoever does know.” The clues—the phantom vehicle, the trashed blanket, the eerie silence—pile up like unanswered 911 calls. In a case where evidence absents itself, the real horror is the void: what did they see? What do they believe happened? And why, six months in, does the truth feel more buried than the kids themselves?

The RCMP urges tips at 902-896-5060. Lilly: blonde, blue-eyed, 3’6″, last in pink pajamas. Jack: fair hair, hazel eyes, 3’2″, Spider-Man PJs. Their faces stare from posters fluttering in the Atlantic wind—a reminder that in Lansdowne, absence screams louder than evidence ever could.