The Rougarou: A Fictional Story About Louisiana Folklore

Categories
Featured Horror Mystery and Lore Indie Horror Indie Horror Creation Indie horror writers Short Horror Stories

Houma, Louisiana, July, 1985

Tara Stillman shouldered her black Guess purse, closed the door to her brown Pinto, and bent down to the side mirror to check her make up. She stood up, tucked her straight blonde hair behind her ears, and walked around the front of the car. Tara was a junior at Ellender Memorial, and she scored a baby-sitting job with the Miller’s this past year.

Mr. Miller worked for her dad, Don, who married Sandy Lockhorn back in 1964. A year later, he started a contracting business called Stillman’s Quality Painting and Contracting. He hired Tim Miller on as a project manager back in April of ‘84, and the two hit it off pretty well. Tim and his wife, Diana, wanted to start going out a little more, you know, rekindle the ole flame, so they were in need of a sitter for their seven-year-old son, Eddie. Don volunteered Tara, and the rest as they say, was history. Tara likes the gig okay. It’s nice to have some money in her pocket, even though little Eddie can be a real snot at times.

She walked down the brick sidewalk and up the wooden steps of the dark stained porch and knocked on the door. She heard the pattering of little feet on the wood floor, as Eddie scurried to answer the door. She could hear him fiddling with the lock, which he was finally able to turn over. The door opened and a boy with a flat top and two missing front teeth was there to greet her.

“Tara!” Eddie ran and gave her left leg a tight embrace.

Eddie was always excited to see her–at first anyway. Then after a while, he would descend into his cave of brattiness and not climb out till morning.

One time, Tara decided to do the whole “breakfast for dinner” thing and made Eddie pancakes. When she was done serving him his food, she walked out to go to the bathroom. When she returned about 3 minutes later, there was Eddie, standing on the kitchen island with a bottle of empty syrup. Its content was dripping from the ceiling. Eddie had wanted to see how far it would squirt out the bottle, and he thought the ceiling would be a good target. When Mr. and Mrs. Miller got home later that night, Tara told them what had happened. They assured her they would deal with it–yeah, right. Then there was this other time that Tara walked away from her glass of sweet tea. Eddie saw his opportunity. He poured baking soda in it and waited for her reaction.

“Hey bud!” Tara rubbed his head like she was petting a dog. “Where’s your mom and dad?”

“Tara? That you?” She could hear Mr. Miller from the kitchen.

“Yessir, its me.”

Eddie let go of her leg and ran to the kitchen. Tara followed, walking through the dining room to her left, and through to the kitchen to the right. Mr. Miller was there by the fridge, sucking down a Budweiser before they hit the road. He was a ruddy looking man with a nice tan and head full of brown curls.  

Mrs. Miller was at the sink, loading the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Tara always thought Mrs. Miller was very pretty. She had strawberry blonde hair that seemed to wave at you when she walked. Her complexion was a little on the fair side, but her blue eyes were her most striking feature.

“Hey, honey.” Mrs. Miller reached for a dishtowel that was hanging on the oven handle, dried her hands, and gave Tara a hug. “I’ve got some spaghetti in a pot there on the stove for when y’all get hungry. We should be back around 10:30 or 11”

Tara looked at her watch. It was 5:52 p.m.

“Also, Mr. and Mrs. Walker are home this evening, so if you need anything, just walk next door and ask.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Oh, and bedtime is 8:30’ Mr. Miller interjected.

Tara has been sitting for the Miller’s for just over a year now. She knows the routine, but they still deem it necessary to spell it out for her. She guessed it’s just what parents did. Made them feel better about leaving their kids behind while they go off.

“Yessir.”

“Thanks, dear.” Mrs. Miller gave her a smile.

“You two run along. Don’t want y’all being late. We’ll have fun as always.” Tara smiled back.

Mr. Miller escorted his wife by the arm and out of the kitchen. Tara heard the door open and shut, and she could hear the sound of their voices flutter off into the distance.

That evening her and Eddie played basketball, He-Man, and watched an episode of the Twilight Zone. 8:30 rolled around and Tara proceeded to get Eddie ready for bed. Eddie wasn’t having it. He started to get into one of his little snotty moods.

“Eddie, you need to go brush your teeth. It’s 8:30. Time for bed.” Tara got off the couch, walked over to the television, and switched it off.

Eddie, who was sitting on the floor about three feet away from the television, started to mount his protest. “But I’m not tired! Please let me stay up and watch the next episode. I won’t tell mom or dad, honest to goodness.” It was more like “honeth to goodneth” with his missing front teeth.” Eddie peered up at her and gave his best puppy dog eyes.

“No way, kiddo. I like the money I get for this gig.” Tara held out her hands to help him up. Eddie scooted on his booty, turned away from her, and crossed his arms.

“You’re mean. A mean buttface poo poo head.”

“Eddie, let’s not end tonight on a bad note.” Tara held out her arms again.

“Buttface poo poo head! Buttface poo poo head!” He chanted it over and over, and louder and louder.

“Okay, we will do this the hard way.” Tara grabbed Eddie and threw him over her shoulder. He kicked and screamed and flailed, all the while continuing his chant of “Buttface poo poo head.” Tara walked out of the living room, into the hallway, and then turned and headed up the stairs.

“Are you ready to walk up the stairs on your own ,or do I have to carry you like a baby.”

“Buttface poo poo head!”

“Okay, like a baby.”

Tara lugged him up the stairs and into his bathroom. She set him down on bathroom counter next to the sink. “Are you ready to do the right thing and brush your teeth?”

Eddie blew a raspberry and splattered spit all over Tara’s face.

“That’s it, you little monster. I’m going to tell your mom and dad.”

Eddie grabbed the tube of toothpaste next to him, which was uncapped, and squeezed, hard. Toothpaste shot out of the tube in a blue snake, and slithered its way into Tara’s neck and hair.

“You freaking little brat,” she gasped. “I’m gonna bend you over my knee!”

“Do it and I’ll tell.” Eddie stuck out his tongue.

Tara stepped away from Eddie and whipped a towel off the rack by the bathtub. She wet the towel in the sink and began to wipe the blue goo off of her.

Eddie sat there on the counter, arms crossed and head down. She glared at him so hard, Eddie swore her eyes were burning holes in him.

“I hope your dad belts you so hard that you butt blisters and you can’t sit down and take a crap for a week.” Tara worked some of the toothpaste out of her hair.

Eddie let out a rebellious humf.

“Better yet,” Tara paused. “I hope the Rougarou gets you.”

Eddie’s head popped up like a jack-in-the box.

“Roog a what?”

“Rou-ga-rou.”

“What’s a Roo-ga-roo?” Eddie scrunched his brow.

“You mean your momma and daddy haven’t told you about the Rougarou? Oh, you of all the little boys in this town should hear about the Rougarou.” Tara eased her way over to the counter where Eddie sat. She placed both hands out beside his, leaned in close and looked him dead in the eyes.

“The Rougarou is the dog of death. He’s pale white in color, and wanders the streets of small towns like this one, looking for someone to deliver him from his wretched curse. Once he picks you out, he will torment you until you kill him.”

“Ohhhh scary.” Eddie rolled his eyes and a sarcastic scowl came over his face.

“I ain’t done yet.” Tara’s grimmaced. “When the first drop of blood is drawn from the deathblow, the Rougarou will turn back into a person, and will reveal to his attacker his real name. Before the dying person takes their last breath, they will warn their deliverer that he or she can’t mention a word of this to nobody whatsoever for an entire year. If you do, you will suffer the same fate and become the Rougarou.”

“It ain’t true” Eddie’s eyes looked away.

“It is so. I heard that just last year over in Larose, a man reported being followed and pestered by a white dog while he was jogging one morning. The dog started to become violent, so he trailed off into the woods, got a big ole stick and went to town on that dog. Next thing you know, the man went missing.”

Tara could tell Eddie was getting scared. He started to twitch and fidget, and wouldn’t look her in the eye.

Good. Maybe he’s so scared, he’ll just go to bed.

“I think I’m going to brush my teeth and go to bed,” Eddie said

“Good.” Tara removed her arms from the counter and backed away.

Eddie jumped down, grabbed his toothbrush from the holder, squirted the blue goo on it, and then scrubbed away. When he was done, Tara walked with him to his room.

“Want me to tuck you in,” Tara asked.

“No, I don’t need you,” Eddie huffed.

“Okay, suit yourself.”

Tara watched as Eddie wobbled his way to the bed, hoisted his foot up, and climbed in. He pulled back his Transformer covers, nestled in, and rested his head against his pillow.

“Goodnight Tara.”

“Goodnight Eddie. Oh and Eddie?’

“Yeah?”

You might want to leave your closet light on. I also hear that the Rougarou likes to sneak into bad little boy’s rooms at night and nip at their heels.”

“Shut up, Tara.” Eddie rolled over so she couldn’t see the fear in his eyes.

“Goodnight, sleep tight, and don’t let the Rougarou bite.” Tara giggled.

“Shut up!. Goodnight and leave me alone.”

Tara backed out the door and shut it with a gentle click.

When he was sure she was gone, Eddie pulled out his G.I. Joe flashlight from under his pillow, flicked it on, and did a spot search of the premises from the safety of his Transformer sheets. Seeing all was clear, he lied down and tried to go to sleep. But all he could think about was the Rougarou.

The next morning Eddie woke up, went down stairs, fixed himself a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, grabbed a T.V tray, and sat down on the floor (in the exact same spot where he was the night before.) to eat his cereal and watch Super Friends. His clanking in the kitchen, along with the T.V. pumped up to full blast, woke up Diana. She shuffled into the living room, unnoticed by Eddie, walked up behind him, and bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She startled Eddie, and he sloshed his cereal onto the tray.

“Loud enough for you, Eddie?” Diana walked over to the television and turned the volume down to half way. ‘How was last night? You and Tara have fun?”

“Mmm it was okay.” Eddie said slurping his cereal from his spoon, eyes fixed on Superman breaking open a cave wall with a punch.

“Okay? Tara told me that you refused to get ready for bed, and then squirted toothpaste all over her?”

Eddie ignored his mother. This time, Batman and Robin were jumping into the Batmobile to answer a call for help.

Diana pushed the power button and the television flickered to grey.

“Watcha do that for?” Eddie dropped his spoon and dribbled milk down his chin.

“No T.V. for you this morning. Especially after that stunt you pulled last night. Tara is supposed to come over again tonight because your father and I are going to the Mayeaux wedding. We’ve never asked her to do two in a row before, but she said she wouldn’t mind. You pull something like that tonight, buddy, and I’ll make sure your daddy gets a hold of your rear end. You understand me?” Roses were blooming in Diana’s pale cheeks.

“Yes ma’am,”

“When she comes back over here tonight, you’re gonna apologize to her. Understand?’

“Yes mamma.”

“Good. Now run along and go play outside.”

Eddie bounced to his feet and turned to make a break for it.

“But not before you put away your tray!”

He stopped mid stride, did an about face, and headed back for his tray.

After he finished putting breakfast away, Eddie went up to his room to prepare the necessary gear for going outdoors in southern Louisiana. He dawned his blue jeans and camo shirt, shouldered his canteen, and belted his survival knife.

Eddie then raced down the stairs like a jack rabbit and bounced out the door. He ran around the back of the house and grabbed his red and black BMX, mounted it, and took off. He made his way down the long, concrete driveway and out to the gravel road. The Miller’s lived on the outskirts of town, about eight miles away from LA 24. There were a few neighbors who lived close to them, like the Walkers and the Donahue’s, but other than that, they were by themselves.

Just about every Saturday during the summer, Eddie would ride his bike down the gravel road. About a mile and a half down, the woods opened up to a little field about fifty yards long. In the middle of the field stood a monstrous oak tree. Its’ branches were so long, they touched the ground. Eddie would play on the tree for hours, pretending he was fighting COBRA or saving Eternia from Skeletor. But today, since he didn’t get to finish watching Super Friends, he was going to be Superman, and the tree was the great Octoserpent that threatened the lives of mankind.

As soon as Eddie pulled up to the tree, he jumped off his bike, one fist outstretched and the other pulled close, and flew towards the great Octoserpent. “Your tentacles are no match for my super strength.” Eddie grabbed a low hanging branch and pretended to rip it from the tree.

After about fifteen minutes of fighting the Octoserpent, Eddie got thirsty. He picked up his canteen that he had tossed to the ground when he was flying to save the world and sat on the same branch he was just wrestling with. He gulped some water from the opening. He stared out into the brush just beyond the field and a large, white dog poked its head out from around one of the bushes. Its eyes locked with Eddie’s. Eddie jolted up like the tree had just run an electric current up his rear end. He dropped his canteen and stood to his feet. He could see the dog had black eyes, long, pointy ears, and was growling.

The dog made its way from out behind the bushes and Eddie could see just how big it was. “It can’t be.” Eddie whispered. “The Rougarou!” His shout set the dog in motion.

Its paws pounded the grass. It bared its teeth and its ears were pinned back.

Eddie squealed, ran to his bike, mounted it, and peddled as hard as he had ever remembered peddling.

“Help help help!” He pumped his legs, but the dog was gaining ground. He made it out to the road and was able to pick up speed. “Momma! Daddy! Help, help! Mr. Walker!” Eddie looked back over his shoulder, and the dog was only about ten yards behind him. He leaned in and tried to go faster. He was crying, but the wind on his face was drying his tears just as fast as he could spit them out.

“Rougarou! It’s the Rougarou! He’s gonna get me, Tara said so!”

Eddie heard what sounded like a muffled clap. He looked back again and saw that the dog was at his rear wheel, nipping at his feet. He kept peddling and the dog kept snapping, coming within hairs of sinking its teeth into his achilleas. Seconds later, Eddie’s bike came to a crashing halt. The dog had bitten down on the back tire. Eddie flew forward over the handle bars and landed on the ground with a thud. With the breath knocked out of him, Eddie could hear the growls getting closer. He got to his knees and stood up.

The dog leaped for him.

All Eddie saw was a white flash. Back on the ground. Eddie wrestled to get free from the white cloud. The dog let him up, so Eddie kicked up dust and high tailed it out of there on two legs.

The white dog took chase. It got close to Eddie again and started nipping at his heels. Eddie tripped and crashed to the ground again.

The dog circled Eddie with head down and eyes fixed.

Eddie was sobbing and breathing so hard his lungs felt like they were on fire.

“Go away, you dumb dog. I know what you are, you stupid Rougarou. Get out of here.”

The dog lunged in and bit Eddie on the calf, but not hard enough to pierce his skin. Eddie screamed and kicked his legs like he was peddling his bike. Then he remembered his knife. He released it from its sheath and buried it deep in the dog’s neck. Blood sprayed out of the dog’s neck like someone had just turned on a sprinkler. The dog yelped and backed away from Eddie.

He could see its white coat turning crimson. The dog got down on its belly and crawled towards Eddie, wincing. When it got closer, that’s when Eddie noticed. It’s front paws started to lose their hair, and the nails elongated to fingers. Its tail looked like it got sucked in to the rest of its body. The ears started to shrink, and the hind legs were growing bigger. Eddie then looked at its face. The snout shrunk and the teeth began to flatten. In a matter of moments, there was a naked man lying curled up in a fetial position. The man had black matted hair, thick eyebrows, and was shivering as blood still poured from his neck. Then he spoke.

“Come here, boy. I got something to tell you.”

Eddie was a block of ice.

The man continued. “My name is Larry Bordelom from Metairie. I went down to New Orleans because I heard there was a witch there who could cast spells of prosperity.” Larry coughed and then placed his hand over the hole in his neck. “I don’t have long…but the witch tricked me. She cast the spell and said I would be visited by someone who would bring me great fortune.” Larry’s teeth started to chatter. “As soon as I left and started walking to my car, that’s when I saw it, the Rougarou. It charged me and knocked me over. I didn’t know what it was…thought it was just a dog, so I pulled out my gun and shot it dead…that’s when I found out…Listen boy, the curse is now yours. If you want it to pass, you can’t tell no one about this for a year…can you do that son?”

Eddie nodded his head.

“Good son, good.” The man then dissolved to a pile of dust.

Eddie went home and spent the rest of the day in his room.

Eddie’s dad came and knocked on his door around 5 p.m.

“Come in.”

“Hey son, you’ve been awful quiet this afternoon, You okay?”

Eddie was sitting on the floor playing with his He-Man action figures. Man-at-Arms had Beastman on the ground, clubbing him away with his yellow battle club. “Yeah dad, just playing.”

“Oh, okay…Well, Tara is going to be here soon. Why don’t you go ahead and take a bath before she does.”

“Sure dad.”

Tara showed up around 5:30. They did their usual routine, except basketball. Eddie didn’t want to go outside at all. Around 7:00 they ate hotdogs. Eddie was docile all evening, and Tara thought he might be getting sick. She had never seen him this quiet before. They were sitting at the kitchen table, and Eddie chewed away relentlessly at his hotdog.

“You feeling alright, Eddie?”

“Mmhmm” Eddie said under a mouth full of food.

“You been pretty quiet this evening. Not like you at all. Something on your mind?”

Eddie shook his head. He thought for sure Tara could see the terror lurking behind his eyes. He didn’t know what acting was like, but he was sure that he was doing a good job of it.

“Wanna go watch some television,” Tara asked.

“Sure.”

Eddie slid out of his chair and headed towards the living room. Tara cleaned up their mess, and then joined him. When she walked into the living room, Eddie wasn’t sitting in his usual spot. He was on the couch, knees to his chest.

“You care if I sit by you tonight,” he asked.

He’s finally warming up to me, Tara thought.

Tara smiled. “Sure buddy, you can sit right here by me. I’ll even put my arm around you. Cool?”

“Cool.”

Eddie dozed in and out while the television played. He perked up a little when Fall Guy came on, and stayed awake for the entire episode.

Then 8:30 came.

Ok, here we go. Time for Monster Eddie to show his face, Tara thought.

“Eddie, its 8:30. Time to get ready for bed okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie scooted off the couch and headed upstairs to his room.

Tara’s jaw dropped a tad as she thought her eyes and ears were playing tricks on her. Nope, sure enough, Eddie didn’t even utter a cross word to her.

Upstairs in the bathroom, Eddie locked the door, put the toilet lid down, and sat. His knees were trembling and his teeth where chattering. Fear crept down his spine like a spider going for its prey.

Maybe it’s not real. Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe it’s not true. Maybe I should tell Tara. No, no, what if it’s real?

A knock on the door. Eddie jumped to his feet.

“You brushing away in there”

“About to.” Eddie brushed his teeth, opened the door, and walked down the hall to his room.

Tara was standing in the doorway. “Gonna tuck yourself in tonight big boy?”

Eddie reached out and held her hand. “No, will you?” Tara knelt down and gave him a big hug. “I sure will.”

Tara helped Eddie into bed and pulled back the Transformer covers. Eddie slid in, and Tara pulled the covers up to his chest. “Goodnight, Eddie.” Tara kissed him on the forehead and turned to walk out of the room.

“Tara, wait. Can I talk to you?”

Tara sat down on the edge of his bed. “Sure. What’s up?”

Eddie recounted to her the events from earlier today with the Rougarou. Tara did her best not to laugh, because she could see the seriousness on Eddie’s face and hear the fear in his voice. After he was done, Tara smiled and tried to comfort him.

“Eddie, that story I told you last night, it’s not true. It’s made up. It’s what’s called an urban legend, a story that’s told just to scare people.”

“No, it’s not!” Eddie jerked away from her. “You don’t believe me and you think I’m making it up and that I’m just a stupid little kid but I’m not and now I’m gonna turn into the Rou..ga…r” Eddies words were swallowed by a torrent of tears. Tara place her hand on his back. Eddie turned around and flung himself on Tara. She held him until the tears subsided.

“Listen, Eddie.” Tara whispered in his ear. “Whatever happened to you today, I want you to know that it wasn’t the Rougarou. I’m not saying that you didn’t see something weird or whatever today. I’m just saying it ain’t the Rougarou. Okay?”

“Tara?” Eddie let go of his embrace and sat back against his pillow. “Please don’t tell momma and daddy? Please?” Eddie sniffled and slid back under his covers.

“I promise.”

Eddie grinned. “Thanks.”

“You betcha. Now go to sleep.” Tara kissed him on the cheek, rolled off the bed, and walked towards the door and turned off the light.

Mr. and Mrs. Miller walked through the front door at around 9:45. Tara was sitting on the couch reading Stephen King’s Pet Sematary.

“Hey Tara, how’d he do tonight?” Mr. Miller loosened his blue tie.

Tara pulled her head out of the book. “Perfect lil angel.”

Mrs. Miller snorted.

“No, seriously.” Tara marked her place and put the book down. “He was quiet all evening. We played some, watched T.V., and when it was bed time, he gave me no fuss.”

“Yeah, he’s been awful quiet all day. Just sat in his room and played all afternoon.” Mr. Miller plopped down in his recliner. “He say anything to you? Anything bothering him?”

“No. Nothing. Wonderin’ if me might be comin’ down with something.” Tara played it cool. “You might want to go and check on him before you go to bed. See if he’s running a fever.”

“Sure. We will.” Mrs. Miller assured her. “Thanks again for everything. We’ll see you tomorrow at church.

They said their goodbyes and Tara headed home. Later that night, before they went to sleep, Diana went up to check on Eddie. He was sound asleep. She put her hand to his forehead and he didn’t feel feverish. She kissed cheek and left him to sleep in peace.

Morning came, and it was time to get ready for church. It was 8:00 a.m. and Eddie still wasn’t up. Tim Miller went up to Eddie’s room and knocked on the door.

No answer.

He turned the knob and cracked the door open. “Hey, sleepy head, time to…” Eddie wasn’t in his bead. Tim headed back down stairs into the kitchen. Diana was sitting at the table finishing off her second cup of coffee.

“Seen Eddie this morning,” Tim asked

“No, Tim. He hasn’t gotten out of bed. I been up since 6.” Diana sipped her coffee.

“Well, he’s not in his bed. I just checked.”

The Miller’s searched every room in the house. When they were sure he wasn’t inside, they made their way outside.

Eddie wasn’t there either.

They got in their car and drove down the road to Eddie’s tree, but no sign of him there.

When they got back to the house, Diana called the Stillman’s and asked for Tara.

“Hello.”

“Tara, this is Mrs. Miller. We can’t find Eddie.”

A lump was swelling in Tara’s throat like a balloon.

“Do you know where he could be? Did he say anything to you yesterday that might…”

Mrs. Miller’s voice started to shake. Tara decided she needed to spill the beans.

“He…he told me…that he saw the Rougarou. He was scared last night. Thinks he’s gonna turn into it.”

“The Rougarou? Where on earth did he hear that story from? We’ve never said anything to him about it.”

“I…I told it to him Friday night to scare him. He was being bad. It was after he squirted me with the toothpaste. I’m sorry.”

“Tara, honey, I’m not mad. And I don’t really see what that has to do with him being missing. Thanks though.”

“You’re welcome Mrs. Miller. Goodbye’

“Goodbye.”

The Miller’s didn’t go to church that day. They drove around town looking for Eddie. The afternoon came and went, and still no sign of the boy, so the Miller’s decided to call the police. They filed a missing person’s report, and the police jumped on it right away.

Two weeks passed, and still no sign of Eddie. Wanting to have some normalcy back in their lives, Tim and Diana asked the Stillman’s over for Sunday lunch. This was a routine that they started this past February. Every other week they would rotate. Sandy tried to talk Diana into having it at their house, but Diana insisted. She said it would make her feel better, so Sandy agreed.

Sunday rolled around, and the Stillmans and the Millers pulled into the driveway of the Miller’s home. They exited their vehicles and went to the door. Tim turned the lock and went inside–and there it was on the stairs, growling.

Tim flinched back. “Oh holy…what the…Everyone stay back! Back!”

Instead, they all rushed forward to see what was going on. Don pushed his way to Tim.

“When’d y’all get a dog,” Don asked.

“We didn’t.” Tim opened the door all the way. “Maybe if we just back up, it will run out the door and go away.”

The white dog, with its black eyes and pointed ears, made a slow descent down the stairs, growling with every step. The Stillmans and the Millers stepped through the door, and huddled together near the wall, Don and Tim in front. Rather than going out the door, the dog circled towards them.

“Don,” Sandy spoke up. “I don’t think it’s going away.”

Tim directed the huddle down the hall. “Our bedroom is right there to the right. We’ll back up slowly into it. Shut the door. I’ll go get my 12 gauge.”

A solemn fear seized Tara. “No, no, no, you can’t kill it. It’s Eddie. Its’ Eddie. He’s the Rougarou!”

Don snapped his head back at Tara. “Hush, girl. Don’t you start the crap again.”

Tara looked at her mother, then to Mrs. Miller. “You can’t let them. You can’t. It’s Eddie I’m telling you.”

Diana glared at Sandy as if to say, “You need to shut her up or I’ll do it for you.”

Sandy grabbed Tara by the shoulders and shook her. “You stop! Stop that now!”

“Enough!” Tim Miller took control. “Everyone back up now, go to the room.”

The dog inched towards them, saliva dripping from its teeth. Tara, Sandy, and Diana backed into the room. Don followed suit, but before Tim could make it past the doorway, the dog pounced. It knocked Tim to the ground, and bit down hard on his shoulder. Tim screamed in agony. “The gun Don, get the gun. Top of the closet. Shells are in the nightstand.”

Don dashed to the closet and got the gun. He then went to the nightstand and slapped some shells in the double barrel 12 gauge. He snapped it closed with a thump.

Tim took his thumbs and jammed them into the dog’s eyes. It let go of his shoulder and backed away. Tim scooted into the room, but there was no way he was getting that door closed. The dog crept back in after him. “Shoot it Don, shoot it now, before it gets closer!”

“No daddy no,” Tara shrieked.

The hallow blast of the shotgun echoed through the bedroom.

Tara screamed, and the dog went airborne, flying out into the hall.

Don helped Tim to his feet, and the two moseyed over towards the dog.

That’s when they saw it, and that’s when Tim Miller screamed.

Laying in a pool of blood, with a hole in his chest, was Eddie Miller.

Tara, Diana, and Sandy hurried over just in time to hear Eddie speak.

“It’s me, daddy, Eddie. I’m not the Rougarou anymore. You are.” Eddie then disintegrated into a pile of dust.  

Next time you’re in southern Louisiana, and a white dog crosses your path, you better hope and pray that it’s not the Rougarou. If it is, you better hope you can keep a secret.

Advertisements

Join "The Horror List" for Weekly Horror in your inbox






The True Abilities of a Poltergeist

Categories
Horror Mystery and Lore

The Mysterious History of the Poltergeist

Poltergeist reaching for the clown doll
Artwork by Mary Farnstrom

Poltergeists are often connected with ghosts, and while it’s true that ghosts can be poltergeists, poltergeists are not always ghosts. Categorized by their noisy nature, their ability to move objects, as well as various other physical disturbances. The term poltergeist comes from the German language, poltern, “to knock,” and geist, “spirit,” and in England the poltergeist is often synonymous with the boggart. These mischievous and often malevolent spirits date back to ancient Rome, as well as medieval Germany, China, Wales, and they continue to be reported from elsewhere in the world to this day. These impish spirits have not changed much over the year in how they present, except for taking into account the evolution of technology. In ancient reports, the reports showed that would throw rocks, dirt, and other objects, cause loud noises, knocking, strange lights, and unexplainable shrieks, as well as physical and sexual assaults that would leave their victims shaken. Modern reports have included lightbulbs spinning in their sockets and telephones repeatedly dialing the same number.

Physical assaults—scratching, spitting, biting, pinching, punching and sexual molestation—usually only appear in a small number of cases, but they are still consistently prevalent among cases over the years. Overall, the activity doesn’t just peter out, it stops as suddenly as it starts, but the length of time the victims are affected varies so widely that the end is never predictable. Whether the victim ends up suffering for a few hours, a few months, or a few years, it is never a permanent affliction. One intriguing aspect of poltergeist infestations is the fact that the activity is usually centralized around a single individual, or “agent”.

Researching the Poltergeist Phenomenon

The phenomenon of poltergeists has been researched in-depth at a scientific level since the late 1970s by parapsychologists and they have come up with several theories as possible explanations. Alan Gauld and A.D. Cornell, English researchers of the time collected the data from 500 separate instances of poltergeists dating back from the 1800s. Among the characteristics that these cases had in common, about two-thirds of all cases included small objects moving from their original location.  Over half of the cases showed that the poltergeists were most active at night, and many individual incidents lasted longer than a year. Some other disturbing coincidences were that quite a few cases were focused around females under the age of twenty.

Before the 19th century, poltergeist activity was blamed primarily on the paranormal—spirits, witches, demons, and most often the Devil. At the turn of the century, however, a large spiritualism movement began, where mediums would routinely allow themselves to become temporarily possessed as a conduit to those who have passed. There were several researchers who began to investigate the idea of unconscious psychokinesis, alluding to the idea that the individual that the activity centralized around, was, in fact, the cause of it all. This isn’t to say that they were being accused of faking the activity, but more likely causing it without their own knowledge and although this theory began to be explored in the 1930s, it is still considered fairly controversial in nature. It’s important to take into consideration that the majority of these reports were recorded between 1840 and 1920 before the phenomenon came under the scrutiny of modern scientific research.

Poltergeists in History and Modern Culture

The Amityville Haunting

Ron DeFeo Jr., the infamous murderer of Amityville still lives and he continues to serve his six 25-year life sentences in the New York Correctional Facility; his initial story consisted of him claiming to hear voices that were convincing him to kill his entire family, but then his story changed, multiple times since. While DeFeo now claims that he didn’t murder his entire family, the details have gotten so fuzzy over the years that it’s still incredibly difficult to tell if this was an actual case of possession—which later resulted in poltergeist activity for the Lutz family—or if the entire thing was a hoax propagated by the Lutz family. It’s widely theorized by skeptics that the Lutz family intended to cash-in on the mass murder committed by DeFeo, due to a problematic financial and legal condition so they could take advantage of the publicity. It makes sense to take the view of the skeptic, it’s never a good idea to accept anything on blind faith, but much of the evidence and first-hand accounts disagree with the skeptic’s point of view.

Why do we believe them? Well, even though it’s been proven that lie detector tests are not infallible, George and Kathy Lutz weren’t trained to pass them, yet they did so to prove their innocence and ended up passing. There are also claims that George Lutz had a history of dabbling in the occult, we’re not so sure where we fall on this matter—this could mean that either Lutz was incredibly familiar with the symptoms of a poltergeist haunting, or it means that he was more open psychologically to the idea and the poltergeist took hold. The entire family apparently experienced foreign odors, cold spots in certain areas of the house, and reported a slime that would randomly ooze out of the walls and keyholes. One tidbit that could be an embellishment, was the allegation that George Lutz would wake up at 3:15 AM every morning, which was when Ron DeFeo Jr. was said to have committed the murders.

Aside from observers from outside of the Lutz family, there was the priest that was called in to bless the home, who reported having heard a voice scream to, “get out!” Due to his own personal experience, he advised the family to never sleep in that room again. The paranormal activity within the house only increased from there, with a garage door opening and closing, as well as a knife being knocked down in the kitchen by invisible forces. This all escalated even further to every member of the family except for George, who observed the phenomenon, levitating off of their respective beds. Daniel Lutz, one of the sons continues to have nightmares about this house even to this day.

The Truth Behind Amityville?

The following video addresses both skeptics and believers when it comes to the Amityville haunting, so why not hear both sides?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvXU11Kyj5E
Amityville Horror The True Story

The Ash Manor Haunting

Poltergeist as an apparition on the bed
Photography by Jrwooley6

Investigated in 1936, Dr. Nandor Fodor became incredibly popular for his controversial poltergeist theory about the Ash Manor Ghost. The actual case reports that shortly after moving into the old house, the owner, Mr. Keel and his wife began to encounter a strange apparition dressed in an Elizabethan era smock—as well as hear strange loud knocking—upon trying to confront this intruder, Mr. and Mrs. Keel found that trying to touch the apparition that their hands would go right through it. Fearing the worst for his family, Keel hired a medium, as well as various psychic investigators. This resulted in the medium suggesting that all of these happenings were the result of strained family life, a tell-tale sign of poltergeist activity. The final result of Dr. Fodor was that people, “who put themselves in an unguarded psychological position,” are likely to be more vulnerable to hauntings and poltergeist attacks.

The Enfield Haunting

In the book, This House is Haunted (2011), the account of the Enfield Haunting is given in full, which also inspired The Conjuring 2 (2016), part of the great paranormal franchise that follows the investigations of Ed and Lorraine Warren throughout the years. The Enfield case is possibly one of the most famous poltergeist hauntings ever recorded. Originating late August of 1977, in the suburb of North London, the house in Enfield was inhabited by a single mother and her four children; the initial report was of the two middle children experiencing their beds shaking violently, and shuffling sounds when the children were in their shared room. At that point, the mother Peggy, was not entirely convinced that it was actually happening.

Peggy and her two middle children were all witness to when sudden furniture movements and loud knocking with no origin began, at which time Peggy sought the help of her neighbors. Once her neighbors witnessed the knocking but had no explanation for it, the police were called in. The police were even hard-pressed to find an explanation behind the knocking and furniture movement that they ended up witnessing upon responding to the call. The Enfield case eventually subsided for a time, before being reignited a short while later lasting for a few years in total.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHPYriXhNW8
The Enfield Haunting – A Real Life Haunting (2016)

Films that feature poltergeists

blank

Advertisements

Join "The Horror List" for Weekly Horror in your inbox






The Urban Legend of Frenchtown Road – Central, Louisiana

Categories
Featured Haunted Places Horror Mystery and Lore

By: Ezekiel Kincaid

Railroad tracks Frenchtown road

The Tetromet Chronicles is one of my forthcoming books from Stitched Smile Publications. It is a collection of shorts which center around an evil entity called the Tetromet. The stories were inspired by an urban legend I grew up with. In this article, I am going to share with you the portion of my book which talks about this urban legend and how it has influenced these stories and me as a horror author. I hope you enjoy.

For most writers, myself included, stories begin with one simple idea or moment of inspiration. Then they evolve into a grand universe. My Tetromet stories are no different. I grew up in the small town of Central, Louisiana, which is on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. I am also one of those privileged folks who got to grow up in the best decade ever–the 1980’s. What made this decade so fascinating in the world of horror was the obsession with urban legends and Satanism.

As a kid who was raised in church, I remember this well. I heard people go on and on about the dangers of 80’s rock ‘n roll (Anyone out there remember the documentary Hell’s Bells? No? Okay, never mind). I’m not here to bash church or rock ‘n roll, because both have played positive influences in my life. My point is, the topics of Satanism and Satanic cults were all the buzz in the 80’s.

I can’t help but remember a radio show my mom used to let me and my brother listen to after she picked us up from school. The name of it was “Talk Back” and Bob Larson was the host. He would debate Satanists and cast demons out of people right there on the radio show. I remember one show with clarity. A Satanic cult abducted the daughter of one of its members and planned on sacrificing her to the devil on Halloween. Yes, I know, trope, trope, trope, and more trope.. Since then, Bob has been proved a fake, but as a young kid it sure seemed real to me! I even went and saw him in person when he came to a church in Baton Rouge during the late 80s! I’m not questioning the sincerity or reality of Bob Larson’s faith, I’m just pressing the point about Satanism being the buzzword in the 80’s.. It was in the movies, on the radio, in the music, and talked about in churches and barber shops. Such bombardment couldn’t help but have an influence on my mind as a horror writer.

Now, back to the urban legends…

In Central, there’s a haunted road. It goes by the name Frenchtown and was known for its ferocious curves. Toward the end of the wooded road, it opened up a little, and ahead of you would appear a bridge. This bridge was a once functional railroad trestle. The foreboding, rusty structure would glare down at you, covered in satanic graffiti. Near this bridge was where most of the paranormal activity had been reported. But it’s not just about the bridge. Rumors of a Satanic cult in the woods near the bridge, along with a witch who lived in the last house on the left (yes, Wes Craven would be proud) are the prominent legends which once swirled around this trestle. It was said that if you crossed under the bridge, the cult members would kidnap you and drag you back to their lair. In the forest behind the bridge was where the rituals took place. Some have even reported seeing dead cats hanging from underneath the trestle.

With new construction, and the addition of a BREC park, Frenchtown road has changed somewhat, but still retains its curvy, wood laden scenery. During the height of Satanic rumors, graffiti not only tattooed the bridge, but the road before the bridge. People recall such words as “Go back now” and other symbols from Satanism and witchcraft being spray painted on the road. Having been out there myself in the 80’s, 90’s, and even early 2000’s, I can attest that this part of the legend is true. Town folks also said there used to be “Welcome to the Gates of Hell” spray painted across the side of the bridge. The road was indeed marked, and as you can see from the pictures below, so was the bridge. Over the years, well-meaning people have spray painted over most of the markings in an attempt to exercise the place of its demons. If you go today, you can still catch a glimpse of these symbols when you view the bridge up close.

Check out the pictures I took below:

Road under railroad tracks
Railroad support beam

On this beam you can make out “Portel [SIC] to hell”. “Portel” is written diagonally, and “to hell” vertically.

satan graffiti written on railway support

“Satan”

death graffiti on railway support

This is the side of the trestle where it used to read “Welcome to the Gates of Hell” You can still make out he word “OF” to the right and also a faint “H”.

abandoned road

Now, let’s move on to the good stuff, shall we? I want to talk about the types of paranormal phenomenon and strange encounters people have reported happening at the end of Frenchtown Road. My personal favorite is the one about the school bus getting hit by the train which used to run across the bridge when the tracks were operational. Don’t ask me how in the world a school bus got up there–its urban legend so facts and physical improbabilities don’t matter! I’m just telling the story. So yeah, a school bus got hit by a train and killed all the kids. If you turn your car lights off under the bridge for a few seconds, then flip them back on, bloody hand prints are supposed to appear on the windshield.

In continuing with the theme of vehicles, the most reported phenomenon was if you turned your vehicle off under the bridge, it wouldn’t start again. One person relayed to me the story of how he and a few of his buddies took some girls out to the bridge one night in the early 90’s. They wanted to give them a good scare, so they told the story about turning off the car engine and it not cranking again. They killed the engine. When the guy tried to start his car, the engine wouldn’t turn! The dudes panicked, in a macho way of course, without letting the girls see the fear in their eyes. After fifteen minutes of unadulterated terror, a bright light appeared in the distance. It was a spotlight, and it was headed toward them at a rapid pace. The angst in their heart escalated as the phenomenon continued. As the light grew closer, they realized it was just a hunter coming to help them. He had heard them trying to start the car.

Another man also told a similar “no start” story. His took place in the late 80’s. Instead of the bridge, he had the nerve to pull his car into the witch’s driveway. After killing the engine, he went to start the car and back out, but the engine wouldn’t crank! Still another person reported their car dying, and then someone coming out of the woods and burying an axe into it. I could go on with multiple accounts similar to these, but you get the idea.

Other reports include people seeing dead chickens hanging in the woods near the bridge, owls flying into windshields, dead cows, upside down crosses with burn marks in the field, stones in the shape of a pentagram under the bridge with burnt animals in them (I witnessed this myself), and car radios flashing 666. I’ve also heard from several people who said they have been chased away by vehicles, a crazy cat lady, and a creepy bald guy in a trench coat.

In my research, I’ve discovered Frenchtown Road has had reports of all types of different phenomenon and urban legends associated with it besides devil worship and cars that won’t start. Below is a detailed list of what I found through conversations, social media posts, and local articles.

  1. People laying on the bridge smoking weed. They hear something banging on the bridge piling below them. They go down to check it out and nothing is there.
  2. A man hung himself from a tree. People have reported seeing his ghost.
  3. Many reports of people hearing chanting coming from the field and woods.
  4. People seeing “watchers” staring at them on either side of the road.
  5. Another legend was about a man who murdered people and dismembered them. The body parts were found buried in the woods at the end of Frenchtown road.
  6. Reports of seeing people involved in casting spells, performing rituals, reading Satanic bibles, and carrying black crosses.
  7. Legend of a little girl who was run over by a train on the railroad trestle. Now, whenever a train comes, you can hear her scream.
  8. One person swears they got pushed into a huge hole that wasn’t there a few minutes earlier.
  9. A group of friends reported that they were all standing in the field, when one of their cars, which was off and locked, started flashing its lights.
  10. Some groups that have gone out there reported hearing the train, the screams of the little girl, and seeing the train lights… but no train would ever come.
  11. Demonic animals have also been spotted. One was said to have yellow eyes, boney, distorted skin, and was growling.
  12. There is a noticeable change in the air when you get close to the track. It cools off (I’ve experienced this one myself).
  13. At the last house on the left, red lights flash in the window.
  14. Lights in the woods have supposedly chased after people.
  15. Dead body found in the water.
  16. One person reported something jumping in the back of a truck. The passengers turned around to look and nothing was there.
  17. Radio goes off when getting to bridge, then comes back on when leaving.

As one can see, there are quite a number of reported eerie happenings. However, the most popular was of a Satanic cult and witch. This is the theme I went with in my Tetromet shorts. If you will bear with me a moment longer, I want to tell you a little bit about the Tetromet series.

First, it’s more than just stories about a Satanic cult at the end of Frenchtown Road. The stories span a time frame of around 200 years, and each one is different. Some are atmospheric, some are gritty, and others are twisted. They are listed in chronological order, but there are major gaps in the storylines of each. Why? Because just about every one of these stories will be developed into a novel, so don’t expect answers right away nor all the pieces to fit. This is not the point of the collection. The point is to introduce you, the reader, to the main characters of the series and the driving story lines. When the books come out, all the dots will be connected, I promise.

I hope you have enjoyed this little piece of history. I can’t wait to get this book in the hands of my readers!

About Author Ezekiel Kincaid

Twitter: @EzekielKincaid
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ezekethefreak/
Website: https://ezekielkincaid.wordpress.com/
Books and other anthologies
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=ezekiel+kinciad&ref=nb_sb_noss_2
Free reading can be found on Stitched Smile’s WordPress site
https://stitchedsmilepublications.wordpress.com/
And Horror Bound
https://www.horrorbound.net/?author=5de80c37c09a8973f9c333cf

blank

Advertisements

Join "The Horror List" for Weekly Horror in your inbox






The Utterly Wicked Truths About “Dark” Magic

Categories
Featured Horror Mystery and Lore Lifestyle

The occult, by definition, boils down to an involvement in the supernatural, mystical, or magical beliefs, practices, phenomena. In the sixteenth century, the term occult sciences was used to refer to astrology, alchemy, and natural magic. In the nineteenth century, occultism emerged in France and began to be associated with various esoteric groups therein connected to Éliphas Lévi and Papus, then in 1875, it was introduced into the English language by esotericist, Helena Blavatsky. During the twentieth century, the term was used to describe a wide range of different authors and their particular eccentricities—finally, during the twenty-first century, it is commonly used to describe a certain esotericism and the several different categories that it encompasses, including but not limited to spiritualism, theosophy, anthroposophy, the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, and New Age practices. Then again, to be fair, the occult has been used since the twentieth century to also reference a more broad category of supernatural, including the beliefs in vampires, fairies, UFOs, and parapsychology.

When it comes down to it though, what is most often thought of when the occult is considered? The occult is this unknowable magical thing that is mostly considered to have a nasty nature about it—but that’s not always the case, while the occult in the broadest sense it can be more than just witchcraft and esoteric cults; far be it for this witch to say what every other practitioner of the esoteric arts does in their own craft, I can only speak from my own experience.

What is Dark Magic?

There is a misconception about dark magic–even those that practice magic may believe that dark magic, some people refer to it as “black” magic, is always a malevolent thing–this isn’t even remotely true, although there are two sides to that coin. There are many practitioners of dark magic who don’t even appreciate the connotation that what they practice is inherently negative or malevolent at all. Here we refer to it as dark magic because it is the most recognizable way to refer to this type of magical practice, so what we really mean when we are discussing dark magic is any type of magic that is not regarding the free will, emotional, mental, or physical state of the recipient. Now you might be thinking that those parameters automatically make this magic negative or malevolent, but love spells, legal justice spells, and so much more fall under this umbrella, as it benefits the caster, but not necessarily the target. Curses, hexes, jinxes, and other negative forms of magic may also be–as an example, cursing an addict to no longer be able to stand the thought of drug use–that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, now is it? In this writer’s opinion, dark magic can be anything that the practitioner casts that they use an excess of emotion–something that mentally, emotionally, and physically drains them of any existing energy that they may possess.

This is especially true of curses, hexes, and other unsavory forms of magic … It has … to do with the emotion that fuels them: that raw, untamed emotion goes way beyond peel-me-off-the-ceiling anger and can only be termed as livid pissed. And livid pissed is exactly what we are by the time we get around to even consider such things. The old adage of adding fat to the fire doesn’t even begin to cover it when fueling magic with this sort of emotion. In fact, it’s more like adding a hefty dose of jet fuel to a hearth fire. There’s going to be more than a minor flare-up. There’s going to be an explosion to end all explosions. And anyone who thinks that a simple [magical] shield is going to deflect that sort of energy definitely has another thing coming.

Dorothy Morrison, Utterly Wicked: Hexes, Curses, and Other Unsavory Notions

Fallacies of Dark Magic

Dark Magic Practices
Photography by Eduardo Cano

Dark Magic, or as it is more often (and inappropriately) referred to as “black magic,” is not at all what it seems to be. There is an argument that there is no “color” in magic, but even within the practice, there are references to different colors of magic–black, grey, white, green, etc. ad nauseam. To be honest, if you’ve been a part of the witchcraft community for almost two decades, you’d find the use of color within magic as a tad bit pretentious. Those who practice the darker aspects of magic tend to refer to it as baneful magic–it’s honest and unpretentious and it says exactly what it means.

Whatever you’ve experienced, be cautious before you utter: someone cursed me! I cannot honestly tell you how many times I have heard this uttered from someone who was down on their luck–to be completely honest it is the most unlikely reason for someone having bad luck, sometimes bad things just happen. While it may be possible that a witch is pissed off enough to have cursed you, more often than not the best curse is someone’s conscience–that’s not a curse, it’s just your own ethical code telling you to take a look at what you’re doing to other people or, more likely, yourself.

Recount the related problems you’ve experienced to the present, and try to pinpoint the time they began … Then look for any semblance of reason for their occurrence … give some serious thought to what led you to … the conclusion that a hex had been tossed your way … look for reasonable explanations … Because if you can find plausible reasons for any of the … trials and tribulations connected to the time period, it could be that a curse may not be the culprit at all … It’s quite possible that you, yourself, are at fault.

Dorothy Morrison, Utterly Wicked: Hexes, Curses, and Other Unsavory Notions

Are you sure that I haven’t been cursed? Yes, we’re pretty sure, and mostly because this author has personally cursed someone before–cursing, crossing, or hexing someone is definitely not as easy as it seems. It takes energy that is derived from our personal emotional, mental, and physical reserves. Most of the time, even if we’re really angry at someone, we realize that the nasty person that we’re angry at isn’t worth the time and energy it takes to do any dark work. If you’re an awful person though, we might take the time and sacrifice the energy, but that’s a personal choice.

… Cursing someone takes an inordinate amount of energy. Your energy. Energy that you’ve stored for other things, like the simple business of everyday living. And cursing someone effectively is going to wipe out all your reserves. But even if that weren’t the case, it’s important to remember that you’re going to be transferring that energy to the person on the other end of your magic. So, there’s a good chance that you’re inadvertently going to pick up some of that person’s energy along the way too. Do you really want that nasty stuff on you? Probably not.

Dorothy Morrison, Utterly Wicked: Hexes, Curses, and Other Unsavory Notions

Another thing I have heard in my time of practicing witchcraft is that blood magic is evil magic. That is absolutely not true–blood magic is just more powerful and potent magic. If a witch is practicing blood magic that usually means they know what they’re doing. If we’re using our own blood it means it is going to affect us personally, if we’re using someone else’s blood it means that they are going to be personally affected.

You Can’t Get Cursed if You Don’t Believe is probably the most laughable thing I have ever heard in my life–because if it were true there wouldn’t be any instances of curses at all. If you found out that someone was cursing you and you decided that you just didn’t believe, it would be quite ineffective, right? Truly, if you don’t believe it curses, it actually is more effective to let the person know in some way that they have been cursed. There is nothing more effective than using someone’s imagination against them.

Dark Magic Among the Different Practices

There are so many different religions and secular occult practices that have darker leanings–while not all of the practitioners utilize the darker aspects of these religions or occult practices, they are still there and they are still very legitimate practices.

Voodoo, Hoodoo, Rootwork, Conjure, Appalachian Folk Magic, & Santeria

These are four different titles for some very similar practices–Voodoo, is perhaps the exception among the bunch, as it is based within a religious practice and the occult practices that are utilized are done so within the context of that religion. Hoodoo, rootwork, and folk magic are unique in the fact that they are not necessarily tied into a religion but can be practiced by anyone and everyone–so long as they have the proper knowledge to utilize the techniques that are a learned aspect of these decades-old traditions that are typically passed down through familial lines. While many of these occult practices exist solely in the southern United States, such as Louisiana, Florida, Georgia, etc.–there are also the folk magic practices that are known as Appalachian folk magic which occur throughout the Appalachian Mountains.

Voodoo, Vodou, and Vodun are the variations upon the spelling of the same practice–it really just depends upon where the religion is practiced. It’s a religion that practices a sort of folk magic, but differing from other types of folk magic, it is entirely tied into the Christian or Catholic faiths. Voodoo also ties in African folk magic, however, by adding in the veneration of spirits or loa. If you’re looking for a movie that most accurately depicts voodoo, even if it is a bit campy and over-the-top, take a moment to watch The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988). You’ll get the feel of voodoo without having to delve too deeply into it. If you’re looking to get revenge on someone, while we certainly don’t recommend jumping into something as complex as Voodoo and getting in over your head, crossing is what you’re after when it comes to the Voodoo religion. It usually utilizes personal objects or bodily fluids–that’s an entirely different topic on its own.

If you’re looking to make someone bend completely to your will, you’re probably thinking of Haitian zombification. Zombies are some of the darker aspects of the Voodoo religion–as a whole, the religion doesn’t typically approve of zombification, you can learn more about the practice in one of our older articles.

Voodoo Dolls and Doll Babies are always portrayed in a negative light in Voodoo, but that’s not entirely undeserved, it’s definitely not as alluring to think about making a voodoo doll out of love for someone. When we think of voodoo dolls we immediately think of that idealization of acting out your anger and frustrations out on your target. We definitely believe that they are worth investigating more thoroughly before anyone might utilize such a technique for revenge.

Within Hoodoo, Conjure, Rootwork, & Appalachian Folk Magic you’ll find a lot of diversity, but a surprising amount of similarities considering the different terms to refer to this type of practice. This practice is generally considered separate from any religious practice, but isn’t exempt from including it either. Hoodoo, conjure, and rootwork are primarily practiced in the Southern United States, as well as the Caribbean and some other regions. Appalachian Folk Magic is quite similar to the hoodoo, conjure, and rootwork practices, but this particular folk magic practice only naturally occurs in the Appalachian Mountains.

The religion of Santeria is quite complex–the beliefs are more difficult to follow because a lot of the details of the practice are hidden to those who are not inducted into the religion. It has a poor reputation due to the newspaper articles that deteriorate the image of Santeria as a whole.

Satanism and Daemonolatry

Satanism is one of the most misunderstood occult practices, but it is also an umbrella term that encompasses quite a few different practices and religions. The witchcraft that follows along with the different practices of Satanism are not at all like what they show in the movies, in fact, the practices are generally a surprisingly vanilla expression of magical practice.

Daemonolatry is more of a practice that is considered separate from satanic practices–it is a less religious practice and can be compared to hoodoo the same way that satanism can be compared to voodoo.

Witch giving sacrifice
Photography by Halanna Halila

Traditional Witchcraft

You don’t have to be any of the above mentioned practitioners in order to practice baneful magic–you can be of pretty much any magical background (except for, possibly, Wicca) and practice magic that is aimed to harm another person.

If you’re looking for more information on stuff like this, leave us a comment and let us know!

blank

Advertisements

Join "The Horror List" for Weekly Horror in your inbox






The Witch Eunice Cole – Urban Legend

Categories
Featured Haunted Places Horror Mystery and Lore NA

Witchcraft isn’t exactly a new concept in New England. The Salem witch trials have been studied for centuries by scholars and scare-lovers alike, and many still visit the city to see the tombstones and experience the witchy vibes that inhabit the cobbled streets. But there is one New England witch in particular that you need to know about – and she didn’t reside in Salem, Massachusetts. Eunice Cole, also known as The Witch of Hampton or Goody Cole, was the only woman to be convicted of witchcraft in the state of New Hampshire. Three times, to be precise. 

Accusations of Witchcraft

Court Documents of accusations of witchcraft of Eunice Cole from 1673

Many assume that being accused of witchcraft in the late 1600’s was a death sentence – both in the literal and figurative sense due to loss of reputation. And while Eunice Cole certainly suffered a great deal after being accused for the first time in 1656, she fought hard for over a decade to clear her name and assert that she was not a witch. Technically, she succeeded. After multiple prison stints and a lengthy trial in 1673 where the jury reluctantly cleared her of all charges, Cole lived out the rest of her days in isolation until her passing in 1680. However, if the urban legends are true… she had far from a quiet death. 

The Legend of Eunice Cole

According to legends, the townspeople were quite frightened of Eunice Cole, and continued to call her “The Witch of Hampton” amongst themselves. Before they buried her, they are believed to have driven a wooden stake directly through her heart to prevent her from haunting them beyond the grave. She was a powerful woman who had escaped not one, but three punishments due to her supposed witchcraft… and the people of the town were willing to get violent to avoid her malevolent spirit. Did they succeed? The stories say no. 

A strange series of events began to take place not long after her death, and continued on for 300 years. The most notable was when a boat capsized after a sudden gust of wind, with everybody on board drowning – although they were not far from shore and easily could have swam to safety. With every unorthodox event that happened in Hampton over the next century, people began to blame Goody Cole and assume that she was taking revenge on them for the way she was treated. There are some, however, who believe Goody still gets a bad rap. 

The Town of Hampton

Hampton NH hotel post card from 1910

Eunice Cole has developed a cult following of supporters that resent the way she has become known as an evil force, insisting that she is purely a wronged soul that took the fall for other people’s prejudices. In 1938, for the 300th anniversary of the town of Hampton, a group of people organized to clear Cole’s name, forming “The Society in Hampton Beach for the Apprehension of Those Falsely Accusing Eunice (Goody) Cole of Having Familiarity With the Devil.” And while this was decades ago, the people of Hampton will still tell you all about Goody Cole and the mark she has made on the town in New Hampshire – for better or for worse. How many women formerly accused of witchcraft can say that they’ve had a doll modeled after them, which was then sold in local gift shops? Only Eunice Cole, the Witch of Hampton.

Sources:

http://www.hampton.lib.nh.us/hampton/biog/bonfanti.htm

http://www.seacoastnh.com/goody-cole-accused-as-nh-witch/

blank

Advertisements

Join "The Horror List" for Weekly Horror in your inbox






Join The Horror List