Folklore and Folktales

Boo Barn

Waylan stood in the dim light of the early morning, his truck parked at the edge of a forgotten dirt road. He bent down and laced up his knee-high snake boots, pulling the strings tight to make sure they fit just right. The boots were tough and made for rough […]

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The Last Fire Watcher

I do not tell this story to people anymore because nobody believes the story about the fire lookout tower. Even the friends who were with me that night at the fire lookout tower refuse to talk about what happened at the fire lookout tower. It is one of those things

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I Took A Job In Northwestern Vermont: Entry Three: The Great Mouser

So I’ve been busy going through the archives and you know, doing my job, so I haven’t had a lot of time to type up much. Tall Jim needed to start work shortly after he relayed the stories I posted before but he said I could hit him up during

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I Took A Job In Northwest Vermont: Entry One: Wendigo Psychosis

Read part one here So I thought I’d take some time to go over some of the Abenaki legends in the area. I mentioned some stuff about the Tall Men and Skadegamutc in the last part but this whole place is rife with some truly weird legends. This place is

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The Shadow From The Stars

Horror begets horror. Seldom do instances of demoniacal dread possess the common courtesy to inflict themselves upon us in isolation. Rather, they enter our world accompanied by all manner of nighted terrors and hellish abnormalities. What at first appears to be a unique and singular event leads down only to

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I Took A Job in Northwest Vermont: Entry One: The Witch’s Children

I took a digital archiving job with the van der Voort Estate Historical Society. It’s an old manor home dating back to the 1800s on a soft cliff overlooking Precipice Bay in upstate Vermont. I’m majoring in Library Science with an English minor at Castleton University but was feeling pretty

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Followers of the Flaming Hand

The camera didn’t look like something that should still work. Didn’t feel right from the start. When my sister handed me that box on my birthday, I could tell it’d be a pile of garbage. She’d always been a cheapskate, the woman can’t walk past a yard sale without stopping.

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Into The Mangrove Forest

I stand on the beach, watching the great waves of the Southern Ocean roll toward me like endless rows of undulating beasts, their white crests sparkling blindingly under the harsh July sun. The briny scent of the sea drifts upward, carrying with it that familiar ache of melancholy, a feeling

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The Thing behind me wants me to turn around

A degree in wildlife management. It sounds so exciting, and the $70,000 piece of paper has certainly ensnared many bright, nature-loving youths with the allure of grand vistas and endless adventures, and I am one who heard the sirens call. From a young age, I knew people weren’t for me.

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That Which Is Molded

I was born into this world made from the Earth from soil and bones, from that which is dead and that which is living. My creator formed me in the crude shape known as man, but I am not like them. My form is coarse, jagged, with no warmth to

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My dog is walking on two legs

I live alone in a secluded house in the mountainous region near Petrópolis. It’s a quiet place, surrounded by dense forest, perfect for anyone looking to escape the chaos of Rio de Janeiro on weekends and holidays. My only constant companion is Barnaby. Barnaby is, or was, a four-year-old Golden

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The Fallen Leaves Tell A Story

The fallen leaves tell a story…They tell of our sacrifice, the pledge we must make for our survival…Our offerings of worship, our offerings of life…Through our planes it drove. The shrilling cool wind of the coming autumn. With its passage came a change in the trees, and the slow fall

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Lost Traditions

1 This was a long-time coming writing this. Not even completely sure what you would call it, but for me it’s an explanation to what had occurred so many years ago, a record so that the events and people who were hurt won’t be forgotten. Finally, an apology. As you

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The Naga Cave

“Delta squad, clear that building!” The command ripped from Tim Brinley’s throat, echoing through the blistering desert air, a phrase so familiar to him it was more reflex than speech. This was his second deployment, and he knew with weary certainty it would be his last. The monotony of military

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The Wood Witch’s Ritual

A lot of questions have been asked of me lately by many different parties. My parents want to know why I almost refuse to leave the house anymore. My doctor wants to know what has been causing my insomnia. The police want to know my whereabouts and actions on the

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