As the search for missing siblings Jack and Lilly Sullivan stretches into its third week, the once-unified concern over their disappearance is showing signs of fracture—most notably online.

What began as a community-wide effort to locate two vulnerable children has been rapidly consumed by a darker force: viral speculation, misinformation, and opportunism. On platforms like TikTok and YouTube, the tragedy unfolding in Lansdowne Station, Pictou County, has become fodder for clicks, conspiracy theories, and amateur investigations. The grief and uncertainty of a family and community are now competing with the noise of content creators chasing virality.

On TikTok, videos under hashtags like #JackAndLilly or #NovaScotiaMissing generate hundreds of thousands of views. Some are well-meaning tributes or calls for awareness, but increasingly, the platform is being flooded by declarations that the children have been found—none of them true. These clips often feature dramatic audio, edited police scanner chatter, and ominous captions like “BREAKING: FOUND IN BASEMENT?” or “New Evidence Just Dropped.” A quick scroll through the comments reveals a troubling split: concerned citizens hoping for news, and others seemingly hooked on the drama of a real-life mystery.

It doesn’t end there. On YouTube, true-crime channels have seized on the story, producing slickly edited videos featuring drone footage of Lansdowne Station and still images of the missing children, overlaid with voiceovers that speculate about foul play, parental guilt, or stranger abduction. These creators often quote local news outlets out of context or remix RCMP press conferences to support sweeping—and often baseless—claims. Titles like “THE PARENTS ARE HIDING SOMETHING” or “THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING” are designed not to inform but to lure clicks.

The situation is deeply distressing for those closest to the case. A family friend, speaking anonymously, described the impact this online content is having on the Sullivan family: “They’re already living their worst nightmare, and now they have to see strangers on the internet turning their kids into a spectacle. It’s cruel. It’s not helping.” The RCMP has also issued a warning urging the public to refrain from spreading unverified information, emphasizing that it could compromise the investigation or hinder leads. But the wave of online content shows no signs of slowing.

This is not the first time social media has fed off tragedy, but the case of Jack and Lilly exposes a uniquely modern paradox: the same digital platforms that can amplify awareness and help locate missing persons can also distort facts, sow distrust, and exploit pain. What makes this case especially vulnerable is its mystery. There is no crime scene, no known suspect, no confirmed abduction. Just silence—and in that vacuum, content creators feel free to insert their own narratives.

Some online sleuths claim to be “just trying to help,” pointing to past cases where digital crowdsourced investigations have uncovered key clues. But experts in digital ethics and criminology warn that such efforts often do more harm than good. “When people with no training try to solve active investigations based on online speculation, they often end up misidentifying individuals, spreading falsehoods, and retraumatizing families,” says Dr. Nicole Hanley, a professor of media ethics. “Worse, they create an atmosphere where truth becomes optional, and engagement is everything.”

It’s not just individuals making content for attention—it’s also part of a growing economy. Social media algorithms reward sensationalism. The more extreme a title or thumbnail, the more likely it is to be recommended. This system incentivizes creators to prioritize drama over accuracy, emotion over empathy. For every thoughtful post asking people to share the children’s official missing poster, there are five more hinting at “suspicious behavior” or dissecting grainy aerial images of the family’s property. The children become props. The family becomes a character study. The community becomes a stage.

People in Lansdowne Station and surrounding towns are beginning to push back. Some residents have asked journalists to stop filming their homes. Others have posted warnings online telling outsiders to stop trespassing in their search for “clues.” There have been reports of self-described “investigators” showing up uninvited, flying drones over private land, and even questioning neighbors under the pretense of doing their own “documentary.” This intrusion is not only disruptive—it’s dangerous.

Social media’s hunger for real-time narratives means that nuance is often discarded. The longer a case remains unsolved, the more its coverage morphs from empathetic to sensational. Missing children become episodes in an unfolding drama. The pain of families is rebranded as “suspicious behavior.” Silence is framed as guilt. Every public statement by the RCMP is dissected not for insight, but for perceived inconsistencies.

The result is a toxic blend of entertainment and exploitation. And as the real-life search grows more difficult, the online spectacle only intensifies. The RCMP continues to plead for tips grounded in fact, not speculation. Search teams continue to return to areas already combed, hoping for a missed clue. The family waits for a phone call, a doorbell, anything.

In this fog of uncertainty, truth matters more than ever—but it is being drowned out by conjecture. The question is no longer just what happened to Jack and Lilly Sullivan, but what our reaction to their disappearance says about the world we’ve built. A world where empathy competes with algorithms. Where grief is content. Where facts are secondary to engagement.

It’s possible that someone out there does know something—that a memory, a detail, or a sighting could break the case wide open. And yes, social media has played a role in solving some past mysteries. But the exploitation of Jack and Lilly’s story is not about finding them. It’s about feeding an audience that confuses tragedy with entertainment.

There is still hope. There are still people sharing verified flyers, sending in tips, and holding vigils in small towns across Nova Scotia. There are still people lighting candles, printing posters, organizing prayer circles. These people understand what’s at stake. They are not performing grief. They are living it.

For now, Jack and Lilly Sullivan are still missing. That is the only fact that matters. And until they are found, the focus should remain where it belongs—not on speculative videos or viral theories—but on the real, human urgency of bringing two young children home