I usually don't include stories sent in to podcasts, but this one was too creepy to ignore.
A fellow named Archer, who lives in Georgia, sent an MP3 containing this story into the Anything Ghost podcast...
Archer had bought a white noise machine to help him sleep. You've probably seen these machines before, they produce various different sounds - rain, a flowing creek, etc. - to act as background noise, and cancel out other noises that may interfere with a person's sleep. Archer liked the creek setting, and would turn it on as he went to bed.
One night, a friend of Archer's was visiting from out of town. The next morning, he asked Archer about the talking machine that had been on all night. Archer explained that it was not a "talking machine" but a white noise machine, and that it had been playing the sound of a flowing creek. His friend insisted that he heard it speaking, though he couldn't understand the words, but Archer heard no such thing and figured that his friend was joking.
Later, another friend came to visit, and reported the same thing. After this visit, Archer decided to try turning the machine on and visiting different bedrooms in his home to see if there was something about the acoustics of the place that would cause the machine's noises to sound like speech. He found nothing, and just thought it was odd, without giving it much more thought.
A short time later, Archer went on a trip to another city. He brought the white noise machine with him, and turned it on when he was ready to go to sleep. This time, though, he didn't just hear the flowing creek, but rather the strange voice, and it was screaming in a deep, angry tone. While the screaming occurred, a hot wind began to blow through the hotel room. Archer hit the power button numerous times, but to no avail. He finally unplugged the unit from the wall, causing the sound to stop and the wind to stop blowing in the room.
He threw away the machine and has stated that he hasn't bought a replacement.
Commentary: So, this is the second "haunted object" that I have written about here. This is also an interesting one in that, given that it apparently hosted an angry spirit, it could also fall into the "demons" category, and might be thought of as a possessed object.
Unlike some of the other stories on this blog, my interest in this story comes not from an intellectual interest in the structure or elements of the story, but simply from the fact that it is a damn effective scary story. I have told the story to, or played the podcast for, several people, and all of them have been suitably creeped out by it.
I discovered the hard way that telling this story to your girlfriend late at night is a good way to get her both unnerved and angry with you. Thankfully, I have also discovered that this can be neutralized to a degree by suggesting that she imagine that, rather than a deep demonic voice emanating from the machine, the voice of Bill Cosby telling a rambling anecdote that goes nowhere is coming from the machine. Really, it's hard to be frightened when you imagine that the eternal damned babble incoherently about Jello pudding through a set of cheap speakers.
It's worth noting that devices that produce white noise, including white noise generators, but also including items such as electric fans or televisions and radios set to static, as well as devices that simply produce other types of random noise, can be thought to produce speech because of a phenomenon known as pareidolia - the tendency for the brain to perceive distinct patterns even when there is only randomness, in this case to hear voices or language where none actually is. This is likely the phenomenon behind most electronic voice phenomenon and the claimed backward messages on rock albums* as well as the tendency for people to see things such as religious figures in burn marks or alien spaceships in cloud formations.
But, of course, that wouldn't explain a machine screaming at the owner. Whether this is a case of something strange actually happening to Archer, or a case of someone simply wanting to tell a scary story to an audience via a podcast, I haven't a clue. But it makes for a damn good ghost story.
For more on how paradolia can cause us to hear things that aren't there, check out these two podcasts: this one and this one
Sources: Podcast (the story starts at the 30:14 mark)
Friday, January 22, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The Aztec Skull
Updated May 12, 2010
There is a curious artifact sitting in the British Museum in London: a skull carved of rock crystal (a clear and colorless variety of quartz) that is purported to be from an Aztec site in Mexico. The skull was bought by the British museum in 1897 from Tiffany and Co., New York, who had bought it from French antiquities collector Eugene Boban, who in turn claimed to have bought it from an english collector who had bought it from a Spanish officer who had served in Mexico in the 1850s and 1860s. Like other similar crystal skulls, people claim that the British Museums Aztec Skull gives off energy and likely has psychic powers or properties, and may have healing powers. None of this makes it appropriate to a ghost story blog, though.
What does, however, make the Aztec Skull appropriate to a ghost story blog is the fact that it is claimed to move on its own, that museum personel allegedly insist that the skull be covered when the museum is closed because it freaks them out otherwise, and that various odd sounds and eerie feelings are tied to the skull. In other words, leaving aside the baggage that comes with it being a mystical crystal skull, it's also a haunted object.
If you look up "aztec skull british museum" via Google, you'll find all manner of web sites that, in addition to promoting the usual stories associated with crystals skulls (claims of ties to Atlantis, or aliens; claims of healing power; claims of magical properties) also tell of vague but eerie stories concerning this particular skull. These stories are consistent with what people describe when talking about haunted houses: the skull allegedly moves on its own, sometimes when nobody is looking and sometimes when someone is watching it through the glass of its display case. Nobody has ever caught this on film or video, but the stories persist. It is also claimed that museum employees insist that the skull be covered at night, when the museum is closed, in order to not see it move and to stave off creepy feelings often associated with it, though getting confirmation of this claim from the British Museum seems impossible. Also, it is claimed that museum employees, working after closing, report symptoms typical of those in haunted houses - feelings of being watched, unexplained sounds, sudden fear or general creepiness - when working in the vicinity of the skull.
Although the skulls are usually viewed as either odd baggage of the New Age movement's crystal power claims, or as elaborate hoaxes, the Aztec Skull, sitting in its display case at the British Museum, should be viewed as an object of interest for ghost story enthusiasts.
photo from the British Museum
Commentary: The story of the Aztec Skull is fascinating in and of itself. Bought by the museum in the late 19th century and documented as coming from a well-known French antiquities collector, the skull was thought to be a pre-Columbian artifact from the Americas. As time went on and more crystal skulls came to light, archaeologists and socio-cultural anthropologigists began to get suspicious.
Many of the cultures of Central and South America did manufacture carved skulls out of locally available stones. People living in the Americas during the 19th century discovered that European and North American museums were hungry for pre-Columbian artifacts, and would also carve many new ones, possibly including small skulls, out of whatever materials were at hand (sometimes including authentic, but less beautiful, ancient stone artifacts). These skulls were usually highly stylized in keeping with local traditions, however, and were quite different from the style of the crystal skulls of modern fortean lore.
The crystal skull craze began to pick up when Anna Mitchell-Hedges, daughter of adventurer and shameless self-promoter and teller of tall tales F. A. Mitchell-Hedges, produced a skull that she claimed to have found at an archaeological site in Belize while working with her father. The skull was mentioned very briefly in F.A. Mitchel-Hedge's 1954 autobiography, but it dodn't become well known until the late 1960s, when Anna began to tour it for profit. It, along with other crystal skulls that began to be better known, increased in public attention and popularity throughout the 1970s as a result of the New Age movement's belief in the alleged powers of crystals.
Many of the crystal skulls, including the Aztec skull, have been subjected to tests by numerous research institutions. The popular narrative holds that these tests have routinely shown that the skulls don't have toolmarks, that they are carved in such a way that would have been impossible without destroying the crystal, etc. etc.
Photos of the skull on display, taken May 2010
The truth is rather different. The tests have consistently shown that the skulls do have tool marks, and that these tool marks are consistent with European crystal-carving tools dating from the late 19th century through the modern day. Some folks claim that different researchers have performed tests on crystal skulls but are refusing to release the results or acknowledge that the tests have been done - which is usually code for "this is all nonsense, but we have to say something unfalsifiable as a way of saving face". In other words, the crystal skulls are fakes. Several, including the Aztec Skull and the Mitchell-Hedges skull, appear to have come from Eugene Boban, who probably bought them in Oberstein, Germany, where such crystal work was routinely done in the late 19th century. The others either are not submitted for proper study or have revealed similar results.
Me, looking dissaprovingly towards the Aztec Skull
Okay, so much for the legend of the crystal skulls. what about the Aztec Skull as a haunted object? Well, that's more interesting.
As said above, most of the symptoms of the skull's haunting are typical of haunted house symptoms - something with which Lononders would be very familiar. If I have to venture a guess, I'd say that, as the crystal skulls became the manifestation of the creepy side of the crystal power craze, the Britons working at the museum began to attribute the same sorts of symtpoms to the skull.
One thing that is missing, though, is the true and detailed history of the Aztec Skull. Yes, it was probably bought in Olberstein by Boban, but were there any interesting stories involved in its creation or existence prior to purchase? Probably not, but a ghost story collector wants to know.
Note: the skull is on display in the museum, but is hidden away in a corner, hard to find without help. If you'd like to see it, ask museum personnel to direct you towards it.
Sources: The British Museum, How Stuff Works, The Smithsonian Institute, Hometown Tales Podcast, Podcast, Internet, Internet
There is a curious artifact sitting in the British Museum in London: a skull carved of rock crystal (a clear and colorless variety of quartz) that is purported to be from an Aztec site in Mexico. The skull was bought by the British museum in 1897 from Tiffany and Co., New York, who had bought it from French antiquities collector Eugene Boban, who in turn claimed to have bought it from an english collector who had bought it from a Spanish officer who had served in Mexico in the 1850s and 1860s. Like other similar crystal skulls, people claim that the British Museums Aztec Skull gives off energy and likely has psychic powers or properties, and may have healing powers. None of this makes it appropriate to a ghost story blog, though.
What does, however, make the Aztec Skull appropriate to a ghost story blog is the fact that it is claimed to move on its own, that museum personel allegedly insist that the skull be covered when the museum is closed because it freaks them out otherwise, and that various odd sounds and eerie feelings are tied to the skull. In other words, leaving aside the baggage that comes with it being a mystical crystal skull, it's also a haunted object.
If you look up "aztec skull british museum" via Google, you'll find all manner of web sites that, in addition to promoting the usual stories associated with crystals skulls (claims of ties to Atlantis, or aliens; claims of healing power; claims of magical properties) also tell of vague but eerie stories concerning this particular skull. These stories are consistent with what people describe when talking about haunted houses: the skull allegedly moves on its own, sometimes when nobody is looking and sometimes when someone is watching it through the glass of its display case. Nobody has ever caught this on film or video, but the stories persist. It is also claimed that museum employees insist that the skull be covered at night, when the museum is closed, in order to not see it move and to stave off creepy feelings often associated with it, though getting confirmation of this claim from the British Museum seems impossible. Also, it is claimed that museum employees, working after closing, report symptoms typical of those in haunted houses - feelings of being watched, unexplained sounds, sudden fear or general creepiness - when working in the vicinity of the skull.
Although the skulls are usually viewed as either odd baggage of the New Age movement's crystal power claims, or as elaborate hoaxes, the Aztec Skull, sitting in its display case at the British Museum, should be viewed as an object of interest for ghost story enthusiasts.
photo from the British Museum
Commentary: The story of the Aztec Skull is fascinating in and of itself. Bought by the museum in the late 19th century and documented as coming from a well-known French antiquities collector, the skull was thought to be a pre-Columbian artifact from the Americas. As time went on and more crystal skulls came to light, archaeologists and socio-cultural anthropologigists began to get suspicious.
Many of the cultures of Central and South America did manufacture carved skulls out of locally available stones. People living in the Americas during the 19th century discovered that European and North American museums were hungry for pre-Columbian artifacts, and would also carve many new ones, possibly including small skulls, out of whatever materials were at hand (sometimes including authentic, but less beautiful, ancient stone artifacts). These skulls were usually highly stylized in keeping with local traditions, however, and were quite different from the style of the crystal skulls of modern fortean lore.
The crystal skull craze began to pick up when Anna Mitchell-Hedges, daughter of adventurer and shameless self-promoter and teller of tall tales F. A. Mitchell-Hedges, produced a skull that she claimed to have found at an archaeological site in Belize while working with her father. The skull was mentioned very briefly in F.A. Mitchel-Hedge's 1954 autobiography, but it dodn't become well known until the late 1960s, when Anna began to tour it for profit. It, along with other crystal skulls that began to be better known, increased in public attention and popularity throughout the 1970s as a result of the New Age movement's belief in the alleged powers of crystals.
Many of the crystal skulls, including the Aztec skull, have been subjected to tests by numerous research institutions. The popular narrative holds that these tests have routinely shown that the skulls don't have toolmarks, that they are carved in such a way that would have been impossible without destroying the crystal, etc. etc.
Photos of the skull on display, taken May 2010
The truth is rather different. The tests have consistently shown that the skulls do have tool marks, and that these tool marks are consistent with European crystal-carving tools dating from the late 19th century through the modern day. Some folks claim that different researchers have performed tests on crystal skulls but are refusing to release the results or acknowledge that the tests have been done - which is usually code for "this is all nonsense, but we have to say something unfalsifiable as a way of saving face". In other words, the crystal skulls are fakes. Several, including the Aztec Skull and the Mitchell-Hedges skull, appear to have come from Eugene Boban, who probably bought them in Oberstein, Germany, where such crystal work was routinely done in the late 19th century. The others either are not submitted for proper study or have revealed similar results.
Me, looking dissaprovingly towards the Aztec Skull
Okay, so much for the legend of the crystal skulls. what about the Aztec Skull as a haunted object? Well, that's more interesting.
As said above, most of the symptoms of the skull's haunting are typical of haunted house symptoms - something with which Lononders would be very familiar. If I have to venture a guess, I'd say that, as the crystal skulls became the manifestation of the creepy side of the crystal power craze, the Britons working at the museum began to attribute the same sorts of symtpoms to the skull.
One thing that is missing, though, is the true and detailed history of the Aztec Skull. Yes, it was probably bought in Olberstein by Boban, but were there any interesting stories involved in its creation or existence prior to purchase? Probably not, but a ghost story collector wants to know.
Note: the skull is on display in the museum, but is hidden away in a corner, hard to find without help. If you'd like to see it, ask museum personnel to direct you towards it.
Sources: The British Museum, How Stuff Works, The Smithsonian Institute, Hometown Tales Podcast, Podcast, Internet, Internet
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Gateway to Hell
On behalf of the people of Stull, Kansas, I wish to say that none of this story is true, in any way shape or form. Okay, let's begin...
In the small town of Stull, Kansas, there is an old cemetery that contains one of the seven gateways to Hell* known to be on Earth. It is one of two spots - the other being an isolated spot in India, where Satan himself appears at midnight on Halloween to gather those who died violent deaths to have a final cavort across the surface of Earth. Some say that Satan again appears in Stull on the first day of Spring to visit a witch buried in the cemetery.
People have visited the burial ground for decades, waiting to see the Devil appear. Although nobody has reported a visit by the Father of Lies, many people have reported strange happenings, including a malevolent force that manifests as a strong wind that can knock a grown man down and keep him on the ground, as well as unattended vehicles moving from where their drivers parked them. Other reported incidents include mysterious voices, and invisible hands clutching at trespassers.
Rumor holds that Satanists routinely meet in the cemetery, especially near the ruins of an old church - which is said to be the precise location of the gateway to Hell - in order to carry out their rituals. And sometimes demons, even Satan himself, will come to these gatherings of the evil faithful to sanctify (or diabolize) their rites.
Commentary: The town of Stull, Kansas is a small settlement in an unincorporated part of Douglas County. The town was, like so many rural towns throughout the U.S., a pleasant place for the residents, but uninteresting to most people passing through (that is not an insult, merely an observation, and I say this as someone who came from just such a rural, unincorporated town). That changed in 1974, when the student newspaper at the University of Kansas in Lawrence published an article describing weird cult activity at the cemetery. After that, legend trippers began to visit the cemetery, looking for an encounter with the supernatural. These visitors have engaged in a good deal of vandalism, and as a result the local residents and law enforcement are keen to keep visitors away.
The local antipathy towards tourists creates a weird sort of dynamic. People who have visited and been chased away have described that they feel as if the locals have something to hide. The locals, on the other hand, have nothing to hide but simply are tired of outsiders coming in and doing damage. As a result, the story has probably gotten more inadvertent fals confirmation than it should, and the locals have to deal with idiots and vandals.
The question that I would like to have answered is what is the deal with this being one of the seven gateways to Hell? Despite a good deal of searching on the internet and in libraries, I have never been able to figure out where the other six gateways are. Apparently one is in some isolated location in India, never specifically named by anyone who mentions it. But there are no answers as to where the other ones are. I wonder if the "seven gateways" got attached to this story so that it seemed somehow more ominous.
Videos: Sometimes it seems like Hometown Tales has a video for every occasion...
Sources: Wikipedia, Prairie Ghosts, Internet, Hometown Tales (see video embedded above), Internet
In the small town of Stull, Kansas, there is an old cemetery that contains one of the seven gateways to Hell* known to be on Earth. It is one of two spots - the other being an isolated spot in India, where Satan himself appears at midnight on Halloween to gather those who died violent deaths to have a final cavort across the surface of Earth. Some say that Satan again appears in Stull on the first day of Spring to visit a witch buried in the cemetery.
People have visited the burial ground for decades, waiting to see the Devil appear. Although nobody has reported a visit by the Father of Lies, many people have reported strange happenings, including a malevolent force that manifests as a strong wind that can knock a grown man down and keep him on the ground, as well as unattended vehicles moving from where their drivers parked them. Other reported incidents include mysterious voices, and invisible hands clutching at trespassers.
Rumor holds that Satanists routinely meet in the cemetery, especially near the ruins of an old church - which is said to be the precise location of the gateway to Hell - in order to carry out their rituals. And sometimes demons, even Satan himself, will come to these gatherings of the evil faithful to sanctify (or diabolize) their rites.
Commentary: The town of Stull, Kansas is a small settlement in an unincorporated part of Douglas County. The town was, like so many rural towns throughout the U.S., a pleasant place for the residents, but uninteresting to most people passing through (that is not an insult, merely an observation, and I say this as someone who came from just such a rural, unincorporated town). That changed in 1974, when the student newspaper at the University of Kansas in Lawrence published an article describing weird cult activity at the cemetery. After that, legend trippers began to visit the cemetery, looking for an encounter with the supernatural. These visitors have engaged in a good deal of vandalism, and as a result the local residents and law enforcement are keen to keep visitors away.
The local antipathy towards tourists creates a weird sort of dynamic. People who have visited and been chased away have described that they feel as if the locals have something to hide. The locals, on the other hand, have nothing to hide but simply are tired of outsiders coming in and doing damage. As a result, the story has probably gotten more inadvertent fals confirmation than it should, and the locals have to deal with idiots and vandals.
The question that I would like to have answered is what is the deal with this being one of the seven gateways to Hell? Despite a good deal of searching on the internet and in libraries, I have never been able to figure out where the other six gateways are. Apparently one is in some isolated location in India, never specifically named by anyone who mentions it. But there are no answers as to where the other ones are. I wonder if the "seven gateways" got attached to this story so that it seemed somehow more ominous.
Videos: Sometimes it seems like Hometown Tales has a video for every occasion...
Sources: Wikipedia, Prairie Ghosts, Internet, Hometown Tales (see video embedded above), Internet
Thursday, December 17, 2009
The Hookerman Lights, Morris County, N.J.
According to legend...
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, railroads employed "hookermen" who used hooks to grab lanterns, mail, and other such items from poles along the side of the railroad tracks*. One night, somewhere along the rails in Morris County, New Jersey, the hookerman was thrown off balance and fell off of the train. He was knocked unconscious, and his arm was severed when the train ran over it. Some say that he died then and there of blood loss, others that he survived but had a hook put in place of his missing limb. Either way, the accident and the loss of his arm linked him permanently to that stretch of track.
Since then, people walking the railroad tracks at night have reported strange balls of light that appear above the track, and move along the track, changing color as they go. These lights are said to the the ghostly lantern of the unfortunate hookerman, looking for his lost arm.
Sometimes witnesses claim to approach the light only to see it move away from them, as if controlled by an intelligence. Even the removal of the tracks in the late 70's didn't result in the end of the lights. To this day, if one wanders the old route of the railroad through Morris County, there is a chance that you'll see the hookerman's spectral lantern.
* I have no idea if this is true. I have tried doing internet searches to find out, but my web-fu is weak...no doubt there's a sixteen year-old reading this who got an answer in a matter of minutes.
Commentary: This is a classic urban legend, variations of which can be found all over North America, but one of the best known versions is from Morris County, New Jersey. There are a few variations on the story even within Morris County, with some claiming that the hookerman was on the train, others that he was a railroad employee walking the line who was struck by the train. Some versions have him living through the incident, but having an arm replaced with a hook, while others hold that he had used a hook on a pole as part of his job and was killed by the train.
So, there's a few different things to talk about here. First off there's the fantastic urban legend nature of the story itself. Unlike most non-urban legend accounts of hauntings, the hookerman is given a goal: to find his arm. This is classic Urban Legend stuff, the ghost has a goal and is restless because that goal can never be reached. Then there is the fact that the legend has some very wide and strange variations - did the hookerman live or die? Is the hookerman called that because he worked with a hook or because his arm was replaced with one? - that is also class ic urban legends stuff. And, of course, there is a place given where one can go and see the ghost, which leads invairably to legend-tripping. This is a great story for these reasons alone.
But then you get the fact that, ghost story aside, there is a class of reported phenomonon known as "ghost lights", "spirit lights", "will-o-the wisps", or "spooklights" into which this can plainly be put. These spirit lights are widespread and include the Marfa Lights in Texas, and the Brown Mountain Lights of North Carolina, and the Min Min Lights of Australia. The causes of the lights are variable. The classic Will-o-the wisp appears in swamplands or marshes, and is likely due to nothing more than combustible gasses in the swamps. The other lights may be similar natural features, or may also be lights from mundane sources (automobiles, campfires, etc.) that are rendered unidentifiable due to atmospheric oddities (such as the movement of differentially heated air as the ground cools at night) or have simply been mis-identified by witnesses due to unfamiliarity with the landscape. Many people claim that these lights are caused by the Piezoelectric effect - wherein minerals such as quartz release electricity when struck.
I think that invoking the piezoelectric effect is overkill, as there are many other potential light sources available where most of the spooklights are reported, and they tend to be dismissed with little scrutiny by most paranormal researchers. However, it is interesting that even within the paranormal believer community, one is far more likely to hear a naturalistic explanation - even if it is a far-fetched naturalistic explanation - for these types of lights than to hear a supernatural one. What that means, if anything, I haven't a clue. But I find it interesting.
One other thing worth mentioning: most famous hauntings have completely subjective experiences - someone sees an apparition or hears a sound when nobody else is around, someone gets a "feeling of being watched", or someone notices that they are getting cold for no reason. These things are damn near impossible ot verify or test. What's cool about the spooklight phenomenon is that they are a visible, observable, testable phenomenon (which is perhaps why even many paranormal enthusiasts prefer naturalistic explanations), which means that A( if they are real, they can be shown to be real (at least hypothetically), and B) if they are found to be real, they can be studied.
And that is really damn cool.
Special Stuff: I loves me some Hometown Tales videos:
...and because you can never have enough videos:
Sources: Urban Legend, Local Folklore, Hometown Tales Podcast, Weird N. J., Horrorfind Weekend, Associated Content, Internet, Internet Forum, Another Internet Forum
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, railroads employed "hookermen" who used hooks to grab lanterns, mail, and other such items from poles along the side of the railroad tracks*. One night, somewhere along the rails in Morris County, New Jersey, the hookerman was thrown off balance and fell off of the train. He was knocked unconscious, and his arm was severed when the train ran over it. Some say that he died then and there of blood loss, others that he survived but had a hook put in place of his missing limb. Either way, the accident and the loss of his arm linked him permanently to that stretch of track.
Since then, people walking the railroad tracks at night have reported strange balls of light that appear above the track, and move along the track, changing color as they go. These lights are said to the the ghostly lantern of the unfortunate hookerman, looking for his lost arm.
Sometimes witnesses claim to approach the light only to see it move away from them, as if controlled by an intelligence. Even the removal of the tracks in the late 70's didn't result in the end of the lights. To this day, if one wanders the old route of the railroad through Morris County, there is a chance that you'll see the hookerman's spectral lantern.
* I have no idea if this is true. I have tried doing internet searches to find out, but my web-fu is weak...no doubt there's a sixteen year-old reading this who got an answer in a matter of minutes.
Commentary: This is a classic urban legend, variations of which can be found all over North America, but one of the best known versions is from Morris County, New Jersey. There are a few variations on the story even within Morris County, with some claiming that the hookerman was on the train, others that he was a railroad employee walking the line who was struck by the train. Some versions have him living through the incident, but having an arm replaced with a hook, while others hold that he had used a hook on a pole as part of his job and was killed by the train.
So, there's a few different things to talk about here. First off there's the fantastic urban legend nature of the story itself. Unlike most non-urban legend accounts of hauntings, the hookerman is given a goal: to find his arm. This is classic Urban Legend stuff, the ghost has a goal and is restless because that goal can never be reached. Then there is the fact that the legend has some very wide and strange variations - did the hookerman live or die? Is the hookerman called that because he worked with a hook or because his arm was replaced with one? - that is also class ic urban legends stuff. And, of course, there is a place given where one can go and see the ghost, which leads invairably to legend-tripping. This is a great story for these reasons alone.
But then you get the fact that, ghost story aside, there is a class of reported phenomonon known as "ghost lights", "spirit lights", "will-o-the wisps", or "spooklights" into which this can plainly be put. These spirit lights are widespread and include the Marfa Lights in Texas, and the Brown Mountain Lights of North Carolina, and the Min Min Lights of Australia. The causes of the lights are variable. The classic Will-o-the wisp appears in swamplands or marshes, and is likely due to nothing more than combustible gasses in the swamps. The other lights may be similar natural features, or may also be lights from mundane sources (automobiles, campfires, etc.) that are rendered unidentifiable due to atmospheric oddities (such as the movement of differentially heated air as the ground cools at night) or have simply been mis-identified by witnesses due to unfamiliarity with the landscape. Many people claim that these lights are caused by the Piezoelectric effect - wherein minerals such as quartz release electricity when struck.
I think that invoking the piezoelectric effect is overkill, as there are many other potential light sources available where most of the spooklights are reported, and they tend to be dismissed with little scrutiny by most paranormal researchers. However, it is interesting that even within the paranormal believer community, one is far more likely to hear a naturalistic explanation - even if it is a far-fetched naturalistic explanation - for these types of lights than to hear a supernatural one. What that means, if anything, I haven't a clue. But I find it interesting.
One other thing worth mentioning: most famous hauntings have completely subjective experiences - someone sees an apparition or hears a sound when nobody else is around, someone gets a "feeling of being watched", or someone notices that they are getting cold for no reason. These things are damn near impossible ot verify or test. What's cool about the spooklight phenomenon is that they are a visible, observable, testable phenomenon (which is perhaps why even many paranormal enthusiasts prefer naturalistic explanations), which means that A( if they are real, they can be shown to be real (at least hypothetically), and B) if they are found to be real, they can be studied.
And that is really damn cool.
Special Stuff: I loves me some Hometown Tales videos:
...and because you can never have enough videos:
Sources: Urban Legend, Local Folklore, Hometown Tales Podcast, Weird N. J., Horrorfind Weekend, Associated Content, Internet, Internet Forum, Another Internet Forum
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Underground of Old Town Sacramento
Sacramento, like San Francisco, was a city born of the 1849 Gold Rush. Located along the primary river route, it served as a lifeline for supplies to the gold fields of the Sierra Nevada. The original waterfront of the town, part of which has been preserved as the Old Town Sacramento district, does not sit at ground level. Floods from the Sacramento River damaged the goods and properties of the people working and living in this area, prompting them to construct an upper level to which most businesses and homes were moved. To the casual observer, the upper level appeared to be the ground level.
The lower level did not vanish, however, it simply became invisible to those who lacked access to the tunnels via the former-first floors (now basements) and various tunnel entrances. While the tunnels were likely used for numerous legitimate activities (storage, lodging, etc.), they likely also served the (now literally) underground economy as a home to prostitution and opium dens. The tunnels are no longer readily accessible - you have to have access to a property with a connecting basement to get into them - but are still there and can be entered by those who know a way in (mostly owners of buildings with connecting basements, although some other folks find access as well). Much like similar tunnels in Portland, Oregon, these tunnels eventually gained a reputation for being the dwellings of unnatural horrors.
Rumors abound of strange lights and unexplained shadows in the tunnels. Property owners (and those who work in the area) with access to the tunnels are rumored to report a strong sense of malice directed at them when they enter the tunnels. One rumor holds that even transients won't sleep in the tunnels due to constant feelings of being threatened by some unseen force.
Although there are likely more specific hauntings known for the area, these are hard to find through research. It's the ambiguous lighting and feelings of menace that one finds mention of when looking for information on the tunnels.
Commentary: Abandoned places attract ghost stories like Paulie Shore attracts loathing, and a place that is not only abandoned, but hidden? Well, that's a recipe for stories of hauntings. So, the fact that the subterranean portion of Old Sacramento is reputed to be haunted is not surprising.
What is surprising is how little information is in any way specific. While I have no doubt that had I the time to go and interview people who have spent time in the tunnels I would have heard at least a few specific stories (a particular location where lights are seen, a ghostly voice that calls out, an apparition of a person or animal, etc.), in trying to research this remotely online, all I can find are rumors, references to vague feelings of dread or evil, and announcements that some people refuse to enter the tunnels.
It's a bit anti-climactic.
So, in the end, the idea of a town buried under your feet is a bit creepy to begin with, and the fact that this town is reputed to be haunted amps up the spookiness level. But if you look too deep, you tend to find no meat to sink your story-collecting teeth into. It's frustrating.
Oh well, at least it's still a cool location.
Extra Stuff: A series of photos of exposed underground locations can be found here.
Sources: Internet, Internet, The Illustrious Internet, Internet
The lower level did not vanish, however, it simply became invisible to those who lacked access to the tunnels via the former-first floors (now basements) and various tunnel entrances. While the tunnels were likely used for numerous legitimate activities (storage, lodging, etc.), they likely also served the (now literally) underground economy as a home to prostitution and opium dens. The tunnels are no longer readily accessible - you have to have access to a property with a connecting basement to get into them - but are still there and can be entered by those who know a way in (mostly owners of buildings with connecting basements, although some other folks find access as well). Much like similar tunnels in Portland, Oregon, these tunnels eventually gained a reputation for being the dwellings of unnatural horrors.
Rumors abound of strange lights and unexplained shadows in the tunnels. Property owners (and those who work in the area) with access to the tunnels are rumored to report a strong sense of malice directed at them when they enter the tunnels. One rumor holds that even transients won't sleep in the tunnels due to constant feelings of being threatened by some unseen force.
Although there are likely more specific hauntings known for the area, these are hard to find through research. It's the ambiguous lighting and feelings of menace that one finds mention of when looking for information on the tunnels.
Commentary: Abandoned places attract ghost stories like Paulie Shore attracts loathing, and a place that is not only abandoned, but hidden? Well, that's a recipe for stories of hauntings. So, the fact that the subterranean portion of Old Sacramento is reputed to be haunted is not surprising.
What is surprising is how little information is in any way specific. While I have no doubt that had I the time to go and interview people who have spent time in the tunnels I would have heard at least a few specific stories (a particular location where lights are seen, a ghostly voice that calls out, an apparition of a person or animal, etc.), in trying to research this remotely online, all I can find are rumors, references to vague feelings of dread or evil, and announcements that some people refuse to enter the tunnels.
It's a bit anti-climactic.
So, in the end, the idea of a town buried under your feet is a bit creepy to begin with, and the fact that this town is reputed to be haunted amps up the spookiness level. But if you look too deep, you tend to find no meat to sink your story-collecting teeth into. It's frustrating.
Oh well, at least it's still a cool location.
Extra Stuff: A series of photos of exposed underground locations can be found here.
Sources: Internet, Internet, The Illustrious Internet, Internet
Saturday, October 31, 2009
The Bandage Man of Cannon Beach
On the roads outside of Cannon Beach, Oregon, and especially an old, now bypassed, section of Highway 101, a strange and disturbing creature stalks the night. Drivers have long reported seeing a man, clad from head-to-toe in bandages stained with blood and other less identifiable fluids. Those who have come close enough report that the ersatz mummy smells horribly, as if he is rotting. And those who slow down, or who are unlucky enough to be walking when the creature comes out towards the road, have been savagely attacked. Sometimes it is claimed that the bandage man can simply appear in passing vehicles, without any obvious entry. Oddly, the bandage man is also said to eat dogs. Sometimes the bandage man leaves behind bits of putrescent bandages that fell off during attacks.
Stories of the origins of this being are variable, some holding that this is the ghost or re-animated corpse of a logger who had been severely injured in a sawmill, and died while in bandages. Others hold that this is a vengeful spirit of no earthly origin. Whatever the story, the bandage man is said to be violent, malevolent, and to be avoided.
Commentary: Now that I am back home after seven months on a time-consuming project for work, Halloween seems like a great day to begin posting stories on this blog.
This is a beautiful urban legend, complete with claims of physical evidence left behind (the bandages are often said to mark the scenes of his attacks, much like the hook left behind by a serial killer in one popular urban legend. The story is pretty damn creepy (although the part about eating dogs, while probably intended to be horrifying, simply sounds rather silly), and as someone who has driven on California's forested coastal highways late at night, I can attest that it is easy to let one's imagination run away and start seeing all manner of evil creature out of the corner of your eyes. In addition, the presence of a specific location allows legend tripping for the youth of the Cannon Beach area. It is also delightful to note that one of the sources listed below even contains a "friend-of-a-friend" story that fits the urban legend perfectly.
What is somewhat unique is that, as far as I have been able to determine, the bandage man is a one-of-a-kind, location-specific urban legend. Although elements of the story are common in many wide-spread urban legends, I have not been able to find anything quite like the bandage man anywhere outside of Cannon Beach, Oregon. And that makes this a story worth remembering.
Sources: Published Book, Internet, Internet, Internet
Stories of the origins of this being are variable, some holding that this is the ghost or re-animated corpse of a logger who had been severely injured in a sawmill, and died while in bandages. Others hold that this is a vengeful spirit of no earthly origin. Whatever the story, the bandage man is said to be violent, malevolent, and to be avoided.
Commentary: Now that I am back home after seven months on a time-consuming project for work, Halloween seems like a great day to begin posting stories on this blog.
This is a beautiful urban legend, complete with claims of physical evidence left behind (the bandages are often said to mark the scenes of his attacks, much like the hook left behind by a serial killer in one popular urban legend. The story is pretty damn creepy (although the part about eating dogs, while probably intended to be horrifying, simply sounds rather silly), and as someone who has driven on California's forested coastal highways late at night, I can attest that it is easy to let one's imagination run away and start seeing all manner of evil creature out of the corner of your eyes. In addition, the presence of a specific location allows legend tripping for the youth of the Cannon Beach area. It is also delightful to note that one of the sources listed below even contains a "friend-of-a-friend" story that fits the urban legend perfectly.
What is somewhat unique is that, as far as I have been able to determine, the bandage man is a one-of-a-kind, location-specific urban legend. Although elements of the story are common in many wide-spread urban legends, I have not been able to find anything quite like the bandage man anywhere outside of Cannon Beach, Oregon. And that makes this a story worth remembering.
Sources: Published Book, Internet, Internet, Internet
Sunday, July 26, 2009
The (alleged) Death Bed Terror of an Archaeologist
This story is about a real person, but it should be noted that the entire story is based on second hand accounts and rumor, and I do not claim that the story is true, though the information contained in the commentary is accurate.
Clarence "Pop" Ruth was a significant figure in Santa Barbara County archaeology in the early-through-mid 20th century. Professionally a teacher and later principal of Lompoc's school, Ruth collected artifacts in his free time and displayed them in his home in Lompoc (in northern Santa Barbara County) and in a small museum next door to his home. His collections formed the basis of those at the Lompoc Museum, and by providing a tangible link to the past, did promote local archaeology. However, his means of collection, falling short of archaeological standards (especially as they developed in the later half of the 20th century) was considered by many member of the local Chumash Indian community (as well as many archaeologists) to be grave robbing. As a result, Ruth is a controversial figure, to say the least, in the history of Californian archaeology.
Some years back, I worked with someone who had known Clarence Ruth. He told me the following story concerning Ruth's death:
As Ruth was dying, he was uneasy, and seemed to be seeing things that no one else could. in his final moments, he became terrified, and began to scream that the spirits of long-dead Chumash Indians were coming to drag him away to Hell for disturbing their graves. And with that, he died.
Commentary: As noted above, this story is based on rumor and hearsay, I don't claim to know if it is true. It is, perhaps, worth noting that I have only heard this story from my colleagues in archaeology, and those of them who know it tell the story with a certain strange and unnerving relish. Part of this may come from the fact that most archaeologists are abhorred at the destructive way in which many non-archaeologists and self-styled "avocational archaeologists" remove artifacts from sites. The fact that one such person allegedly died while suffering for these methods gives some of my more bellicose, and perhaps less empathetic, colleagues a sense of justice.
It's important to remember that during Ruth's time, the non-systematic removal of artifacts from sites was a common activity and generally frowned upon only by the Native American community who held that this activity was nothing more than theft and grave robbing. Archaeologists, Native Americans, and law enforcement now refer to this sort of activity as looting, and when it is done on public lands (or on private lands by anyone other than the land owner) it is considered theft and carries legal penalties including prison time.
It is however important to note that, during most of Ruth's life, this sort of activity was acceptable, and the fact that Ruth made his collection public and used it to help establish a museum does indicate that he was something more than just a simple treasure hunter or artifact seller. Whether or not this was an acceptable excuse for Ruth is open to debate. As an intelligent and educated man, Ruth certainly would have had access to information on modern archaeological techniques, should he have chosen to make use of them. Also, as a resident of Santa Barbara County, Ruth may have had the opportunity to learn more about proper archaeological methods from the leading anthropologists of the day, many of whom frequented Ruth's home turf. In the early 20th century, this would have included Alfred Kroeber, J. P. Harrington, and David Banks Rogers. In the mid and late 20th centuries, this would have included James Deetz, Michael Glassow, Brian Fagan, and Albert Spaulding. And this is just a small sampling of the notable anthropologists and anthropological archaeologists who have lived and/or worked in the area.
While Ruth's activities were not out of the ordinary for people of his generation and his willingness to share was rather unusual, Ruth did have ways to gain the resources to do better. And so, when the Lompoc Museum's web page explains simply that Ruth was a "man of his time", the statement is both accurate and disingenuous. And so, right or wrong, some of my colleagues may enjoy this story simply because it is a way of expressing disapproval.
Another reason for the telling of the story amongst archaeologists may have something to do with our own profession's rather checkered past. In the late 19th and early 20th century, much archaeology was little more than grave robbing. Even those archaeologists who practiced the most advanced methods and used the latest techniques did so without regard to the Native American communities that were often affected by the archaeologist's work. While times have changed and archaeologists are better about this now, even many of my current colleagues view the modern descendants of the people being studied as irrelevant, though this view is increasingly a minority opinion.
So, this story may also serve to confirm to us that we are different from the "grave robbers" of the past. We use better methods, are less destructive, and are more likely to consider the descendants of our study subjects. And, so we tell ourselves, we don't have to worry about being dragged to Hell by angry spirits.
Of course, when all is said and done, it should be remembered that one definite reason why this story continues to be told is simply that it is a creepy story, and those stories, whether true or false, always carry on.
Sources: Personal Accounts
Clarence "Pop" Ruth was a significant figure in Santa Barbara County archaeology in the early-through-mid 20th century. Professionally a teacher and later principal of Lompoc's school, Ruth collected artifacts in his free time and displayed them in his home in Lompoc (in northern Santa Barbara County) and in a small museum next door to his home. His collections formed the basis of those at the Lompoc Museum, and by providing a tangible link to the past, did promote local archaeology. However, his means of collection, falling short of archaeological standards (especially as they developed in the later half of the 20th century) was considered by many member of the local Chumash Indian community (as well as many archaeologists) to be grave robbing. As a result, Ruth is a controversial figure, to say the least, in the history of Californian archaeology.
Some years back, I worked with someone who had known Clarence Ruth. He told me the following story concerning Ruth's death:
As Ruth was dying, he was uneasy, and seemed to be seeing things that no one else could. in his final moments, he became terrified, and began to scream that the spirits of long-dead Chumash Indians were coming to drag him away to Hell for disturbing their graves. And with that, he died.
Commentary: As noted above, this story is based on rumor and hearsay, I don't claim to know if it is true. It is, perhaps, worth noting that I have only heard this story from my colleagues in archaeology, and those of them who know it tell the story with a certain strange and unnerving relish. Part of this may come from the fact that most archaeologists are abhorred at the destructive way in which many non-archaeologists and self-styled "avocational archaeologists" remove artifacts from sites. The fact that one such person allegedly died while suffering for these methods gives some of my more bellicose, and perhaps less empathetic, colleagues a sense of justice.
It's important to remember that during Ruth's time, the non-systematic removal of artifacts from sites was a common activity and generally frowned upon only by the Native American community who held that this activity was nothing more than theft and grave robbing. Archaeologists, Native Americans, and law enforcement now refer to this sort of activity as looting, and when it is done on public lands (or on private lands by anyone other than the land owner) it is considered theft and carries legal penalties including prison time.
It is however important to note that, during most of Ruth's life, this sort of activity was acceptable, and the fact that Ruth made his collection public and used it to help establish a museum does indicate that he was something more than just a simple treasure hunter or artifact seller. Whether or not this was an acceptable excuse for Ruth is open to debate. As an intelligent and educated man, Ruth certainly would have had access to information on modern archaeological techniques, should he have chosen to make use of them. Also, as a resident of Santa Barbara County, Ruth may have had the opportunity to learn more about proper archaeological methods from the leading anthropologists of the day, many of whom frequented Ruth's home turf. In the early 20th century, this would have included Alfred Kroeber, J. P. Harrington, and David Banks Rogers. In the mid and late 20th centuries, this would have included James Deetz, Michael Glassow, Brian Fagan, and Albert Spaulding. And this is just a small sampling of the notable anthropologists and anthropological archaeologists who have lived and/or worked in the area.
While Ruth's activities were not out of the ordinary for people of his generation and his willingness to share was rather unusual, Ruth did have ways to gain the resources to do better. And so, when the Lompoc Museum's web page explains simply that Ruth was a "man of his time", the statement is both accurate and disingenuous. And so, right or wrong, some of my colleagues may enjoy this story simply because it is a way of expressing disapproval.
Another reason for the telling of the story amongst archaeologists may have something to do with our own profession's rather checkered past. In the late 19th and early 20th century, much archaeology was little more than grave robbing. Even those archaeologists who practiced the most advanced methods and used the latest techniques did so without regard to the Native American communities that were often affected by the archaeologist's work. While times have changed and archaeologists are better about this now, even many of my current colleagues view the modern descendants of the people being studied as irrelevant, though this view is increasingly a minority opinion.
So, this story may also serve to confirm to us that we are different from the "grave robbers" of the past. We use better methods, are less destructive, and are more likely to consider the descendants of our study subjects. And, so we tell ourselves, we don't have to worry about being dragged to Hell by angry spirits.
Of course, when all is said and done, it should be remembered that one definite reason why this story continues to be told is simply that it is a creepy story, and those stories, whether true or false, always carry on.
Sources: Personal Accounts
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