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In 620 AD there arose from the Seine a reptilian monster thence named Le Gargouille. It had scales, fins, and a serpentine neck, which spewed forth a tsunami, flooding the land, causing death and devastation. It was also partial to human flesh




Emeline and her young daughter, Ann Eliza, were brutally murdered on Christmas day in 1843. Emeline’s sister-in-law, Polly Bodine, considered a fallen woman, was accused and dubbed “The Witch of Staten Island.” (Img Columbia Spy)




What could possible be a better fit for than attending the session of on Dark tourism?



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I've given my Folklore characters a facelift ready for today's and fast approaching ! Let me know what you think!




As a young girl my otherworldly nan used to tell me terrifying stories about the Banshee and other Irish folklore spirits ☘️






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In 18thC rural SE France the Beast of Gévaudan was blamed for 80-100+ ppl's murder and mutilation, + savaging scores more, over 3 yrs. 20,000 ppl hunted for it, but not til later when a massive 6ft wolf was shot did the rampage stop pic




the Greek version of the vampire - the “vrykolakas” - a creepy looking fellow who visits you in the darkness of night



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I've always enjoyed the ghostly tales of Kitty the Hare found in She usually told a story from her own fireside or the hearth of a household she was visiting.



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Something might be lurking in the water.. Dangerous water spirits occur in many folklores. In Scandinavia the ‘nøkk’ (Norwegian) was feared as it tried to lure people to lakes and waters, and drown them. Sometimes it took the shape of a beautiful, white horse.




Visitation by a bird was considered a death portent but in Dorset it was believed that the dead could return in animal form, folklorist Rev Baring Gould reporting on a woman's brother who took the form of a rook, to warn her of a crook. (art: Crane)




Flying through the forests near the Great Lakes, the baykok (Ojibway Nation) preys upon warriors to feast upon their livers.




We've been racking our brains all day for a suitably . While there are lots of things in the , we really cant think of anything scarier than as classics grads if you don't wanna teach or do law...!




Beware the Olteg, a Quatrian spirit said to take the shape of a smiling man wearing a tall hat. If he catches you late at night without a whistle, he'll show you his one black tooth and lift his hat, revealing a pair of moth antennae.




Some believed familiars made requests of witches and weren't simply servants. In Macbeth, a familiar summons one of the witches! More about familiars here ->




The Devil, known locally as Dewer, has long been a visitor to On the way to Widecombe church, to claim the soul of local miscreant Jan Reynolds, he stopped off at the Tavistock Inn at Poundsgate.



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Fairy hooses, wee mushies, epic trees, a magical castle and ma wee man! What more could I ask for? Bliss. 😊💜🐶🌲🌳🏰🌳🌲👍



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In 1954, police were called to 's Southern Necropolis, where they found a crowd of children with knives & staves patrolling the . They announced they were hunting the 7-foot, metal-fanged 'Gorbals Vampire' who they accused of devouring 2 boys.



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And if that doesn't scare you maybe another of their traits will. "He no kappa" meaning "a kappa fart," is a Japanese phrase used something like English "piece of cake!" to say that something is easy to do, because kappa are believed to be very good at farting.



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"I wasn't frightened, as I had always been told that the dead can't hurt you"- eyewitness, 1998. Who/what is the mystery figure in white at Furness Abbey?



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From colds to acne, mouth sores and athlete’s foot - the humble garlic has MANY uses and here in the All Hallows Hamlet, our resident ‘Vampyre Slayer’ Monsignor Suárez and his unique vials of garlic potion are the popular 'go-to’ to see off any night walker!

And if you are in need of some too, the doors to the Crooked Hen Etsy Emporium are open from dusk ‘til dawn!

Today’s “Folklore Thursday” theme over on Twitter is “transportation” ~ and I was reminded of these wee tiny Baba Yaga Chicken Shack paintings I did last year for a show at @gristletattoo

“Baba Yaga in the Morning” is based on the comic/graphic novel I’m working on called Cicada Season. 

“Baba Yaga in the Evening” is an accurate picture of how I spend my evenings. 

(You don’t want to see a image of “Baba Yaga at Suppertime”. Eeek.)

Legends involving horses litter the folkloric landscape, but the tale of the White & Black Horses of Beeley is one that rarely gets an airing.

It was early April in 1985, me and my wife, Wendy, are driving along the narrow roads traversing Beeley Moor in Derbyshire en-route to the Devonshire Arms, a pub that sat in the tiny village of Beeley at the foot of the moor.

It was a cold, crystal, moonlit night and, as any good travelling across the moors tale would inevitably have it, the car ground to an unexpected and sudden halt. At probably the highest and most remote spot on the road the feeling of isolation was palpable, the only living things around were a half dozen sheep and a dirty, old, white horse.

Wendy initially thinks it’s the traditional “Oops we’ve broken down what CAN we do to keep warm?” ruse, but this time it’s genuine.

I popped the bonnet latch, got out the car and, at that time being somewhat useless when it came to issues of car maintenance, poked around the engine bay aimlessly and rather futilely.  

Wendy had her window open and while offering advice, of various degrees of unhelpfulness, she was interrupted when an unfamiliar voice called out of the darkness.

“Try the alternator connection”.

“Good idea” I shouted back to Wendy, to which she responds “What is?”.

I initially admonished her for messing about, but it began to dawn on me that it was, in fact, a rather strange voice that I had heard. This didn’t prevent us bickering until we were stopped dead when that same voice called out again.

“Try the alternator”.

Now, being a longtime horror connoisseur and knowing all the urban legends about escaped lunatics, I leaped back into the car, wound up all the windows and locked the doors.

After a few breathless minutes looking nervously through the windows, a task helped by the night’s lunar clarity, we convinced ourselves that there was nobody around and that our imaginations were obviously running riot.

There was however, leaning over the dry-stone walling that separated the moor from the road, a shaggy white horse that seemed to be showing an inordinate amount of

interest in the contents under our bonnet.

My first thought was that there was obviously somebody with the horse and, with that, a chance they may be able to assist us. I rather gingerly got out of the car, but despite shouting out a feeble “Hello?” it was evident that we were still in fact alone. Or at least we were bereft of human company as the horse remained, patiently staring into the bonnet.

I got out and walked around the back of the car, to avoid getting too close to the horse, but as I reached the front the same voice, quite clearly coming from the horse, rang out.

“Try the alternator”.

At this point I felt ice running through my veins and my legs turning to jelly, but I somehow managed to blindly reach into the bonnet, push the connection on the alternator, and stumble back inside the car.

With my heart threatening to burst out of my chest and run away across the moor I turned the ignition key and, to my overwhelming relief, the engine fired up.

We raced away, in a shower of gravel and tyre smoke, and made it off the moor in record time.

On our arrival at the pub, very shaken and somewhat stirred, we both rapidly imbued a trio of whiskies before beginning to calm down.

The barman could clearly see that we were in a state and sidled along the bar to ask why we were so nervous and twitchy. I regaled him with the full story whilst he shook his head and tutted at all the right places.

Once I had concluded he put down the glass he had been polishing, leaned over to me and Wendy, beckoned us closer, and whispered.

“You were lucky, damn lucky. Lucky that it was the white horse and not

the black horse”.

At this point the ice returned and my heart decide it was up for another escape attempt and I stammered “Why?” to which he replied.

“Well, the black horse, see, he knows bugger all about cars”

Lughnasadh and Crom Dubh Sunday: A Look at the Irish First Harvest

Yesterday was the first day of August, and, in Irish tradition, the festival of Lughnasadh. So for today’s Folklore Thursday, I’m writing about Lughnasadh, its historic roots in the culture of ancient Ireland and other Celtic countries, and its possible connections to one of the most obscure and demonized figures in Irish myth. It’s a long post - I’ve sunk so many hours of research over several years into these festivals while researching Irish myth for my novels - so I’ve put the content under a read more.

Celebrated every year on the first of August, Lughnasadh is one of the four major festivals of the ancient Irish world, along with Samhain, Imbolc, and Beltane. These festivals served as important markers of seasonal changes and yearly milestones in the daily lives of the ancient Celts - in the case of Lughnasadh, a celebration of the first harvest. They’re mentioned in Irish myths, heroic texts, pseudohistorical accounts, and historic records. And festivities related to these festivals, or at least likely descended from them, continue to this day.

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#FolkloreThursday: Prince Swan

There was once a maiden all alone in the middle of a large forest. Suddenly, a swan came flying up to her. It had a ball of yarn and said: “I’m not a swan. I’m an enchanted prince, and if you unravel the yarn to which I’m attached, then I’ll be released from a spell. But take care that you don’t break it in two. Otherwise, I won’t be able to return to my kingdom and won’t be saved. If you unravel the yarn, you’ll become my bride.”


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Suggested Adaptations:

Wilderhark Tales: The Swan Prince (The Wilderhark Tales) (Volume 1)

Grimm, Jacob; Grimm, Wilhelm (2014-10-19). The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm: The Complete First Edition (p. 194). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition. 

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