Children Who Remember Past Lives: True Cases

Welcome to Tales of the Twisted, where true stories of the strange, weird, bizarre, and eerie remind us that the world will always be stranger than we can comfortably accept. Today’s story ventures into territory that challenges science, psychology, spirituality, and perhaps the very concept of identity.

Across cultures, continents, and decades, children as young as two and three begin recalling detailed, emotionally charged memories that seem to belong to someone else. Not imagined, not vague, not dreamlike—but names, places, addresses, professions, and deaths, often later confirmed through records. Researchers have collected over 2,500 cases of such children worldwide.

This episode will explore four of the most compelling and documented cases—the children whose minds seemed to hold memories not their own. This is the boy who remembered his past life.

Parents often describe it the same way: the child begins speaking about their “other mommy,” their old home, or a life before they were born. But the case of James Lininger stands above almost all others.

James’s story began with a nightmare—a recurring one. Night after night, James woke up screaming, thrashing in terror, crying words far beyond a toddler’s vocabulary: “He’s going down.” “Little man can’t get out.” “Airplane fire.”

His mother tried to comfort him, assuming he’d seen something on TV. But James didn’t watch violent shows. He watched Barney.

As his speech developed, the details deepened. He said he flew a plane named a Corsair. He described the way its wheels folded underneath in a unique pattern and insisted Corsairs “always had blue tires.” He described the smell of the cockpit. He explained how the harness buckle worked. He talked about being shot down.

His parents were overwhelmed. This wasn’t imagination—this was procedural knowledge, something adults trained for.

When asked who shot him down, James answered immediately: “The Japanese.” He said he had flown from a ship named the Natoma Bay, that he died near Iwo Jima, and that he had a friend named Jack Larson.

Bruce and Andrea Lininger began investigating, and here’s what they found.

The USS Natoma Bay was real. It fought at the Battle of Iwo Jima. A pilot named James Houston Jr. died there—shot down by Japanese fire. The ship’s logs matched every detail James gave. A pilot named Jack Larson served on that ship, exactly as James claimed.

James identified Houston’s photograph among 200 others without hesitation.

There’s also a lesser-known detail: when shown pictures of Houston’s family home, James pointed to the dining room and said, “That’s where I ate.” He recognized Houston’s sister by name—decades after her death.

For the Liningers and researchers, this went well beyond coincidence. One psychologist noted, “This child’s memories behaved like trauma, not imagination.”

The next case, the story of Ryan Hammons, carried a different kind of weight—emotional memories that felt lived-in, full of regret and longing.

Ryan’s mother first noticed something odd when he was barely four. He pretended to direct movies. He arranged his toys like actors. He yelled “Cut!” with startling authority. He talked about casting calls.

Then came the nightmares. Then questions about his “other home.” Then the word Hollywood.

He said, “I used to live there. I had another mommy. I had a big house with a pool. I worked in the movies. I had a wife who was mean to me.” And the heaviest statement of all: “I didn’t spend enough time with my family.”

Ryan also remembered the number of cars he owned, the street he lived on, and the name of a nightclub he frequented.

Dr. Jim Tucker investigated.

After months of studying old Hollywood photos from the 1930s and ’40s, Ryan was shown a still from the film Night After Night. He immediately pointed to a man in the far background—not an actor, not a speaking role—and said, “That’s me.”

The man was identified as Marty Martin, who later became a prominent Hollywood agent. Researchers verified everything: the number of cars, the street, the cities he traveled to, the marital tension—and even his correct age at death. Ryan said he died at 61. Records falsely said 59. Researchers later confirmed Ryan was correct.

When shown Martin’s home, Ryan cried. He said he missed it. His mother reported the memories faded by age seven, a pattern common in reincarnation cases.

In Scotland, a boy named Cameron began talking about another life before he could form full sentences. He spoke of a remote island near Barra, nearly 200 miles from his home in Glasgow.

He described a white house near the beach, a black dog, three siblings, a mother with long dark hair, airplanes flying so low they rattled the windows, and a father named Shane Robertson.

The family had no connection to Barra, but Cameron begged to visit.

Researchers finally took him. Cameron walked the island with uncanny confidence. He identified beaches, roads, flight paths—and then found the white house. It existed exactly where he said it would.

The Robertson name appeared in island records. Even the number of siblings matched.

Cameron became emotional, telling his mother, “I’m happy I finally found my home.” His mother said it felt like watching someone remember—not imagine.

In India, reincarnation stories are culturally accepted, but some cases still shock families.

Titu Singh began speaking of another life by 18 months old. He told his grandfather, “Take care of my wife and children.” He spoke of wealth, of living in Agra, and of being murdered outside his electronics shop.

Researchers followed him to Agra. To their astonishment, Titu walked straight to the victim’s house. He embraced the widow. He knew the layout of every room. He pointed to where his tools had been. He identified the victim’s children by name.

He cried, saying, “You didn’t do the funeral right.” Witnesses described the moment as devastatingly real.

So what do we make of this?

Dr. Ian Stevenson and Dr. Jim Tucker documented over 2,500 reincarnation cases, noting consistent patterns.

One: strong emotions—often linked to the previous person’s death. Two: memories start early and fade by age six or seven. Three: birthmarks or physical features sometimes match fatal wounds. Four: memories usually involve obscure people, not celebrities. Five: details are often verifiable through documents families didn’t know existed.

Skeptical theories include cryptomnesia, confabulation, coaching, and coincidence. But these fail to explain cases where children identify strangers from photos, name spouses, hometowns, and causes of death, or navigate unfamiliar places correctly.

The most haunting aspect is how the memories fade. As children grow older, the vivid images dim. The emotional weight disappears. Life moves on.

But for a brief window of childhood, they remember someone else’s life more clearly than their own.

Thank you for listening to Tales of the Twisted. Cases like these force us to confront the possibility that consciousness may be far deeper and far stranger than we imagine.

Join us next time as we uncover another true story from the eerie edges of reality. Until then—stay curious, stay unsettled, stay twisted.