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Je free.

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C (1:11)

Hello there. My name is Nikki and I'm the daughter of a murdered woman. Welcome back to this special unplanned bonus episode of Poppy Killed Mommy. I didn't plan to make this episode until this morning. I am on the struggle bus, guys, and I need to talk it out. It's been one week since I hit publish on episode 12. One week since I said out loud, this is the end of season one. And in that week I have unraveled. If you follow me on TikTok, you have watched my crash out in real time. When I started this podcast, I did not understand what it would feel like to close a season about my mother's murder. I didn't understand that finishing this would feel like losing her all over again. I thought there would be relief. I thought there would be release. It has not been relief. It has not been release. It has felt like grief. It has felt like panic, like sickness, like no air in my chest. Because for me, ending season one didn't feel like an accomplishment. It felt like failure. It felt like a death. And I need to talk it out. I need to talk about what season one really was and what it did to me and why I cannot will not let this story go. Because I'm not okay. Because I just can't walk away from this. Because this is not finished. And because in less than 100 days, my mother's story comes back to me. And when that happens, I'm gonna need you. So this is not just a recap. This is where we are now. This is where I am now. Season one began with the night my mother was killed. July 1993. My mother is in the living room. The lights are low. There's a candle burning. There's a glass of wine on the table. And she's on the phone for hours, making plans to leave. The man she's with. Not my father. The man who fathered my little sister. I was 10 years old. I told her I brushed my teeth or I walked the dog. I don't remember which. But I remember I lied. That lie, that tiny kid lie, was the last thing I ever said to her while she was alive. And that's where this podcast started. Season one walked every one of you into that living room, into that air, into that moment. And you sat there with me. And when we moved into the hours that followed, the gunshot, the 911 call, the flashing lights, the way the Sedona police came into the house, me being pulled out of bed, the white light in my face, the squad car, my little sister whispering over and over, poppy killed Mommy. And me not believing her because 10 year olds don't know how to process that sentence from their three year old little sister. That was episode one. That was our ground zero. I was shaking through those sessions. I was swallowing tears between sentences because I wanted it to be clean for you. I want you to understand what it looked like in that house. I wanted you to feel the timeline minute by minute. Because for 32 years, people have acted like this was just a bad night. And I need you to understand, it was not just a bad night. It was a homicide. And I said that on tape, out loud, over and over again. When we moved into the interviews, you heard law enforcement. You heard the way the story was told to them. You heard the way it never lined up. You heard Russell Peterson's voice. You heard the way he explained what supposedly happened. You heard the way he tried to place the gun. You heard the way he tried to angle it so it sounded like my mother just did this to herself. You heard the pauses. You heard the self protection first. You heard the absence of shock, the absence of horror, the absence of the woman I love is dead. Instead, you just heard excuses that mattered. Because for so long, there has been this version of events told to the public that sounds clean, that sounds almost convenient. She did this to herself. Case closed. Everyone move on. It's just a sad Tragedy Season one tore that apart in real time. We slowed down the 911 call. We walked through the crime scene details and the timing. We walked through the statements. We talked about where the gun was, where her body was and what they claimed, when they claimed it, and how impossible his claims are if you actually look, we did what should have had done in 1993. And I say we, because I didn't do this alone. I sat down in front of a microphone and I opened my chest. But you, you listened, you shared, and you repeated my mom's name. And you said, no, this doesn't add up. And you said, why wasn't this handled? And you said, how was this not prosecuted? And you became witnesses, too. And I can't explain to you what that has meant to me. For 32 years, it has felt like I was screaming into the desert. And season one was the first time the echo came back. Then I brought you into the aftermath. And this part hurts in a different way, because everybody wants to talk about the night of the killing. That's the part that sounds like a true crime story. Almost nobody talks about what happened the next day or the next year or the next decade, what it does to a child to grow up in that kind of a shadow. I told you what it was like to be taken away. I told you what it was like to be split apart from my sister. I told you what it was like being a kid and having adults move around you like you're a piece of evidence, like you're a problem that needs placement, not a person who needs answers. I told you what it was like to hear people talk about my mother like she was a situation instead of a human being. And then years later, I told you what it was like to sit across from my dad, Craig, this man who loved me and was broken and angry and trying to explain to police something that should have been obvious to them without him. And I told you about my Aunt Wendy, this woman who refuses to let Stacy disappear, who wrote letters, who called, who pushed every door she could find, who would not let them bury my mother under the word suicide and just walk away. I read to you from that 1999 letter written by Yavapai County Attorney Jim Landis, a letter that basically says, this case is not what you think it is. This needs attention. This was not handled. That letter matters, and it will always matter because it's proof. It's proof that even inside the system, there were people who saw what this was, who said, wait a minute. And who said, no, and yet nothing has happened. And that is why I'm still here. When you have a letter in 1999 from a county attorney saying something is wrong, and it's 2025 now and we're still having this conversation, you have to ask why? Why is my mother still not considered a victim of homicide in the eyes of the county attorney? Why is this man still not charged? Why am I the one having to make a podcast to make anyone listen? Why am I the daughter doing the job that a system full of adults and titles and badges chose not to do? That question is, why? I can't let it go. I need to tell you honestly what this last year did to me. This show was not content for me. This was not a hobby. This was my coping mechanism. Every script I wrote felt like getting to sit in a room with my mom for an hour. Every edit felt like I was touching her face just for a second. Every late night research session, every phone bill I dug out, every line from an interview, every police note, every contradiction. All of it felt like proof that she existed, proof that she mattered, and proof that I'm not crazy and I'm not making this up. Because when you grow up in trauma, the world tries to gaslight you. The world tells you, move on. The world tells you it's over. Season one was me saying, it's not over. I have been living in that fight for a year straight. Editing at night, recording when I was exhausted, talking through memories that I never wanted to say out loud again. Putting pain on a timeline, taking apart the most violent night of my life and laying it on a table for strangers to see. Not because I like hurting, but because I love my mother. And then I finished. I published episode 12 and it went quiet. And in that quiet, my body panicked. I have had panic attacks all week. I have felt sick all week. I have barely slept. I have been walking around with this pressure in my chest like I'm underwater. And I just can't get to the surface because for the first time in months, I didn't have an episode to build. I don't have a cut to edit. I don't have a next to chase for her. And it felt like she was slipping out of my hands all over again. I don't think people understand this part. Everyone hears season finale and they hear accomplishment. They hear celebration. I hear silence. And in that silence, I feel like I'm losing her. That's where I am right now. That's why I can't just roll credits and disappear for six months. And come back to be like, hey, guys, season two. Welcome back. I can't do it because I'm still in it. I'm still in this with her. There's another reason why I can't close this. My sister. I'm still looking for her. I'm still hoping she will talk to me. I'm still hoping that she will talk on this show. You've heard about her. You've heard about her as a little girl in the back of that squad car, whispering the words I couldn't yet say, yet you haven't heard. And what I need you to understand is that I just don't want her as a witness. I want her as my sister. I want to know who she's become. I want to know what she remembers. I want to know what she was told. I want to know what she's had to carry alone after we were separated and sent into different worlds. I like pieces of evidence instead of two children in the middle of a nightmare. I want her voice to exist inside this story because this was her life, too. And I don't just mean her. I mean all of them. My aunt, my father, my cousins, my mother's friends, her coworkers, her neighbors, anyone who ever sat in a kitchen with her. Anyone who ever heard her laugh, anyone who saw her scared and tried to help. Anyone who knew she was planning to leave and maybe didn't know how to save her. I want to sit them down. I want to record. I want you to hear the human being, not just the case file. I don't want her to be just the victim. I want you to know, Stacy. So I'm asking right now, directly, again, I'm begging, if you knew my mom, please reach out to me. If you were part of her life, please reach out to me. If you think you're too small a character to matter, you're definitely not too small. You can reach me@poppykillmommymail.com. this is not fan mail. This is not PR. This is my lifeline. Because every story about her that I can record is one more way she stays alive. And I'm not done building her yet. Now we're going to talk about what happens next. Because the natural next step after a podcast like this is a documentary. That's where this goes. That's how pressure gets built. This is how cases like this get dragged publicly in front of people with power. And, yes, that process already started. In February of 2024, I signed with the production studio. They told me they believed in this story. They Told me they were going to build a pitch deck. They were going to take my mother's case out into the world, and they were going to sell it to a network so that this story could become a docu series. They told me this is going to take time, but it's going to happen. I believed them. It's now 20 months later. Let me repeat that 20 months. And here's where we are. Nothing has been sold. No network has picked it up. No documentary has been greenlight, no cameras have rolled. And the explanation I keep getting is it's hard to sell a story that doesn't have an ending. Networks want an ending. Let me say this as clearly as I can, because I'm done swallowing this part to be polite. I'm done. My mother does not have an ending because the people in charge refuse to give her one. This is not a creative problem. This is a justice problem. And I'm not going to sit here and let the there's no ending be the excuse for doing nothing for her again, because this is what has happened to her for 32 years. It's always a version of there's just not enough to move forward. We can't get a jury. We can't prove it. We can't present it. We can't sell it. Meanwhile, I can tell you, as someone inside the true crime community, stories get told without endings all the time. Women get covered without endings all the time. Missing people get documentaries without ending all the time. Do not tell me that my mother, murdered in 1993, doesn't qualify for attention because a prosecutor didn't sign some paperwork. Do not tell me you can't sell a murdered woman because the man who benefited from the lack of prosecution is still walking around without a charge. And while we're being honest, do not tell me words like no ending excuses your inaction. Because I've watched someone I love do exactly what I'm fighting to do right now. I've watched a daughter fight for her sister in public, nonstop, without an ending handed to her. I have watched her take something that everyone said was unsellable and make the entire country know that girl's name. Alyssa Turney. Sarah did that. And if she could do that for her sister, I can do that for my mother. And I want you to hear this and really hear it. I am not going to let no ending be used as a reason to let my mother be forgotten. Not by a studio, not by a network, not by anybody. Now, here's where this becomes urgent. I'm under contract that contract is ending. I am down to under 100 days. Roughly like 90 something days until the agreement expires. And when it expires, my mother's story comes back to me. Her life, her death, her footage, her rights, they come back to me. Which means after those 90 days are up, I'm free. I can take my mom's story and go anywhere. I can walk into a newsroom, any journalism program, any independent filmmaker's hands. I can even hand it to an investigative reporter. I can hand it to a documentary grad student at asu. I can hand it to someone, a Dateline. I can hand it to Netflix. I can hand it to a person who actually cares. And I'm going to. Because if a major studio doesn't want to act because there's no ending, then I will do what I have already proven I can do. I will build it myself. If you build it, they will come. I built this show. I built this audience. I built this pressure. I built this movement. One microphone, one laptop, one daughter of a murdered woman. Do not underestimate what I can do with a camera. If you work in film journalism, documentary reporting, investigative audio, visual storytelling, if you're at ASU studying documentary film, if you're trying to build a capstone, if you're a freelance producer, if you're at a local station and you're hungry, if you're at Dateline, if you're at Netflix, if you're at a true crime YouTube channel with a reach, if you know someone who actually has the budget and a spine, I'm asking you, contact me. No, I'm begging you. I'm not asking for fame. I'm not asking for attention. For me. I'm asking you to help me put pressure on the places that have ignored this for three decades. Because this is what I know. Attention creates movement. When people start emailing the county attorney asking why this case isn't being revisited, things move. When people start asking Sedona PD why this was written off, things move. When local media starts getting calls saying, why aren't you covering this? Things move. When the community refuses to shut up, things move. That is the power of story. That is what a documentary does, that a podcast alone can't always do. It forces officials to face cameras instead of quietly not replying to emails. So if you can help me do that, I'm asking for your help. And I'm not embarrassed to ask. I'm proud to ask because she was worth asking for. You can reach me@poppykillmommymail.com. that's the direct line to me. How many times can I say it in an episode? I don't know. Maybe I can squeeze it in another two or three more times. I'm going insane. Guys, if you're real, if you can help build, if you can put a lens where I've already put a microphone, please reach out. We're on a countdown. 90 something days. After that she's mine again. And when she's mine, I'm moving with a purpose. I've already started the Wheels in Motion with a documentary Contact Today and they asked for a pitch doc so I got right to work with ChatGPT. I just finished. Would you like to hear it? Oh, of course you would. All right. Pitch Document Poppy Killed Mommy A True Crime Documentary Project created by Nicole Excuse me Created by Nikki wasolation logline in 1993, a young mother was found shot to death inside her Sedona, Arizona home while her 10 year old daughter slept and her three year old toddler witnessed the crime. Thirty years later, that oldest daughter, now an adult, returns to uncover the truth about her mother's murder. A case everyone thought they knew, but one the justice system never truly solved. Overview Poppy Killed Mommy is a deeply personal investigative documentary that exposes how domestic violence, small town politics and flawed police work allow a mother's killer to walk free. Told through the eyes of her daughter, Nikki Wasolishin, the film follows her decades long pursuit for answers about the night her mother, Stacy Wassalishin, was murdered by a suspect who was supposed to love her. The project expands on the viral true crime podcast Poppy Kill Mommy where Nikki shares her firsthand account of the night she was awoken by police lights and taken from her home the night her life changed forever. What began as one woman's search for the truth has evolved into a national movement of listeners demanding accountability, transparency and justice for Stacy. This documentary will weave Nikki's narration, original police record, the 911 call, and newly uncovered evidence into a haunting yet hopeful narrative. One that exposes the systematic failures that silenced her mother's story and highlights the strength of a daughter who refuses to be silenced herself. Why this story Matters at its core, Poppy Killed Mommy is not only about one woman's murder, it's about every woman who was told her death was an accident or a domestic dispute gone too far. It's a case study in how victims of intimate partner violence are failed by the system meant to protect them, and how one family's grief can spark a national call for change. This story has urgency authenticity and impact. It's grounded in official records, supported by public advocacy, and propelled by a creator who has already built a powerful following without a studio backing. With professional production and distribution, Poppy Killed Mommy has the potential to reach millions not just as a documentary, but as a movement. About the Creator Nikki Was Lishin is the creator and host of Poppy Killed Mommy, a chart topping true crime podcast that has earned over 210,000 downloads and is ranked as high as 14 on Apple podcast, top series and top 20 in true crime. Her story has resonated across the true crime community, earning attention from major shows like Morbid Voices for Justice and Generation Y and inspiring countless listeners to advocate for justice in domestic violence homicides. Nikki appeared at CrimeCon Denver 2025 where she hosted a booth dedicated to her mother's memory and connected directly with other families of victims, investigators and media professionals. A teacher by profession and a storyteller by calling, Nikki blends emotional authenticity with journalistic integrity, offering a rare combination of credibility and vulnerability that captivates audiences. Format and Tone Poppy Killed Mommy can be adapted as either a limited documentary series, four to six episodes, or a feature length documentary film. Anywhere from 90 minutes to two hours running. The tone blends raw emotional truth with forensic detail, creating a cinematic experience similar to the Keepers and Mommy Dead and Dearest. It balances investigative reporting with a deeply personal lens, a daughter's voice guiding the audience through the evidence, the grief and the pursuit of closure. The Vision this project is both an expose and an act of love. It honors Stacy's life while confronting the silence that has surrounded her death for over three decades. The documentary invites audiences into the intimate space between memory and investigation where pain, truth and perseverance collide. Through Nikki's storytelling, case file, materials and interviews with key witnesses, the film will reconstruct that night in 1993, reveal how justice slipped away, and follow Nikki's ongoing fight to bring national attention to the case. Ultimately, Poppy Killed Mommy is about resilience one woman's refusal to let her mother be forgotten and her determination to force the world to listen. Next Steps Nikki seeks professional collaboration and industry partnership to bring Poppy Killed Mommy to screen. If you have inquiries, materials, press assets, please contact nikkipykilledmommymail.com or you can also contact me at nicolewassolishan on TikTok. So there you have it. My vision for a cinematic future that finally gives my mother the voice she was denied. If what you heard moves you, don't hesitate to reach out. I won't stop until my mother's story. Her face, her truth is seen by the world. But anyway, moving on to this really important part. If you're listening to this, you can help. Even if you've never met me, even if you've never met her. Here's how. Number one, just keep saying her name. Stacey Wassolichen. Say it out loud. Post it. Talk about her story. Share the podcast. Make people hear. Number two Email and call. Ask questions they don't like being asked. Ask the Yavapai County Attorney why this case has never resulted in any charges. Ask the Sedona PD why a woman can die like this and be left with no ending. Ask local media, including the Red Rock News, why they're not currently covering the fact that this case is being raised publicly again right now by her daughter with evidence, timelines and interviews and public pressure. You have a voice. Use it. You're absolutely allowed to ask why nothing is being done. Number three Sign the petition. Share the petition. Keep pressure on this case and keep numbers moving upward. Every signature is proof there is still public interest. Number four follow and amplify. Oh my God. Please follow my TikTok where I have documented this process in real time. You've gotta watch my crash outs. I am totally not afraid to have a panic attack on camera. It's probably why I'm so good behind the mic, because I don't give a fuck. Share my clips. Boost them. Tell people this is not entertainment. This is evidence. This is my life. Number five Stream every episode of season one on every platform you listen on. I'm not asking for vanity metrics. I'm telling you this because numbers matter. When I sit down with anyone in film or media, when I sit down and say people care, this matters. This has been downloaded over 200,000 times. It's not a dead story.