It was a Tuesday evening in July 2016. The kind of humid, golden Midwestern night where you can almost hear the corn growing in Fulton County. Sierah Joughin, a 20-year-old University of Toledo student with a smile that could light up a room, was doing something she’d done a thousand times. She was riding her purple bicycle.
She wasn't alone, at least not at first. Her boyfriend, Joshuah Kolasinski (often referred to simply as Josh in local circles), was riding alongside her on his motorcycle. They were young, in love, and just spending a typical summer evening together before she headed home to Metamora.
But then they parted ways.
Josh turned around to head back home, and Sierah kept pedaling toward her grandmother’s house. It was just a few miles. She never made it. Honestly, it’s the kind of story that makes every parent in a small town lose sleep. You think you're safe because everybody knows everybody, but sometimes, a monster is hiding in plain sight.
The Disappearance That Rattled Metamora
When Sierah didn't show up, the panic didn't take long to set in. Josh was actually one of the first people to realize something was wrong. He’d sent her a text—no reply. Another one—silence. By 9:30 p.m., he was calling her mother, Sheila Vaculik.
They didn't wait. They got in a car and started driving the route she should have taken. What they found on County Road 6 was a nightmare: Sierah’s bike was lying in a cornfield, and there were signs of a struggle. Josh’s own motorcycle helmet was quickly accounted for, but there was another helmet found nearby—a black one with reddish-brown stains.
The community didn't just sit back. Hundreds of volunteers swarmed the fields. The FBI joined in, trying to use Sierah’s Fitbit and her smartphone to ping a location. But the corn was tall, and the trail was getting cold.
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Who Was the Man in the Cornfield?
While the search was on, investigators were canvassing the neighborhood. They knocked on the door of a guy named James Worley. He lived less than two miles from Sierah.
Worley's story was... shaky. Kinda weird, actually. He told police his motorcycle had broken down on the same road where Sierah vanished. He said he’d lost his helmet, some fuses, and a screwdriver. Funny thing was, those were the exact items found at the crime scene.
Then things got darker.
Worley wasn't just some unlucky neighbor. It turns out he had a history. In 1990, he’d kidnapped another woman, Robin Gardner, while she was riding her bike. He’d hit her with his truck, handcuffed her, and threatened her. She escaped, but he only served three years for it.
When police finally searched Worley’s property, they found what can only be described as a "dungeon" in his barn. A green crate, hidden rooms, restraints, and a carpet-lined freezer. It was a premeditated environment for abduction. On July 22, three days after she went missing, Sierah's body was found in a shallow grave in a nearby field.
The Brutal Truth of the Trial
The trial was a gut-punch for Josh and Sierah's family. We learned that Sierah hadn't died instantly. She had been bound, gagged with a plastic dog toy, and kept in that barn. The cause of death was asphyxiation.
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Worley tried to claim it was all circumstantial. He even tried to say his DNA at the scene was from him just being in the area when his bike broke down. But the evidence was overwhelming.
- DNA: Sierah’s DNA was on a mattress and duct tape in his barn.
- The Helmet: The bloody helmet found by a farmer matched Worley.
- The History: He’d once told a therapist that he "learned from each abduction" and would "bury" the next one.
In 2018, a jury found him guilty on all counts, including aggravated murder and kidnapping. He was sentenced to death. As of early 2026, he remains on death row, though he’s still filing appeals, most recently challenging DNA evidence in late 2025.
Why We Have "Sierah's Law" Now
The most frustrating part of this whole tragedy? If there had been a way for the community to know a violent kidnapper was living among them, Sierah might still be here.
Because Worley’s 1990 crime wasn't a sex offense, he wasn't on a public registry. He was just a guy in a farmhouse. Sierah’s family, led by her mom Sheila and her aunt Tara Ice, decided that had to change. They fought like hell for Sierah’s Law (Ohio Senate Bill 231).
Basically, it created Ohio's first Violent Offender Database. It requires people convicted of murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, and abduction to register with their local sheriff's office for at least 10 years after they get out of prison.
It’s not a perfect public website like the sex offender registry—you usually have to go to the sheriff’s office to check—but it gives law enforcement a massive head start. Since it went into effect in March 2019, hundreds of violent offenders have been added to the list.
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Actionable Insights for Community Safety
Sierah’s story is a heavy one, but her legacy is about more than just a law. It’s about being proactive in a world that isn't always as safe as it looks.
Check Your Local Resources
Don't just assume you know everyone in your neighborhood. You can visit your local County Sheriff’s office in Ohio to ask about the Violent Offender Database. If you live in another state, look up if they have a similar "Sierah's Law" or a general violent offender registry.
Personal Safety Tech
Sierah’s Fitbit and phone were used to help track her, though it wasn't enough to save her. If you’re a runner or a cyclist, use "Live Track" features on apps like Strava or Garmin. Share your real-time location with a partner or parent every time you head out.
Support "Sierah Strong"
The family started the Justice for Sierah organization. They run a program called Sierah Strong that teaches self-defense and situational awareness to kids in grades K-8. Supporting these programs helps ensure the next generation is better prepared.
The Power of Community Watch
In Sierah's case, a motorist saw a man bent over in the cornfield but didn't realize the gravity of it until later. If you see something that feels "off"—a bike on the ground, someone acting strangely in a rural area—report it immediately. It’s always better to be wrong than to stay silent.
Sierah Joughin was more than a headline or a "keyword." She was a daughter, a student, and a girlfriend who was loved by a guy named Josh who did everything he could to find her. Her story changed the laws of an entire state, and her name continues to protect people she never even met.
Next Steps for You:
If you want to support the ongoing mission to protect communities, visit the Justice for Sierah website to see how you can bring the Sierah Strong curriculum to your local school district. You can also contact your state representatives to advocate for similar violent offender registries if your state doesn't already have one.