Irish people; The faeries aren’t real
Irish people; No fucking way will I go in that faerie ring
#look#you don’t go in a fairy ring and you don’t fuck with a stone in the middle of a field#these are just facts#nobody does it#fairies will fuck you up#Ireland#folklore#fairies (Via @false-dawn)
Look, I don’t believe in God, but I will not disrespect the Good Gentlemen of the Hills. That’s just common sense.
Between this and the Icelanders with their elves I do not understand what is going on above the 50th parallel.
My general rule of thumb: you don’t have to believe in everything, but don’t fuck with it, just in case.
^^^ that part
This is truer than true. Especially the Irish part.
Let me tell you what I know about this after living here for nearly thirty years.
This is a modern European country, the home of hot net startups, of Internet giants and (in some places, some very few places) the fastest broadband on Earth. People here live in this century, HARD.
Yet they get nervous about walking up that one hill close to their home after dark, because, you know… stuff happens there.
I know this because Peter and I live next to One Of Those Hills. There are people in our locality who wouldn’t go up our tiny country road on a dark night for love or money. What they make of us being so close to it for so long without harm coming to us, I have no idea. For all I know, it’s ascribed to us being writers (i.e. sort of bards) or mad folk (also in some kind of positive relationship with the Dangerous Side: don’t forget that the root word of “silly”, which used to be English for “crazy”, is the Old English _saelig_, “holy”…) or otherwise somehow weirdly exempt.
And you know what? I’m never going to ask. Because one does not discuss such things. Lest people from outside get the wrong idea about us, about normal modern Irish people living in normal modern Ireland.
You hear about this in whispers, though, in the pub, late at night, when all the tourists have gone to bed or gone away and no one but the locals are around. That hill. That curve in the road. That cold feeling you get in that one place. There is a deep understanding that there is something here older than us, that doesn’t care about us particularly, that (when we obtrude on it) is as willing to kick us in the slats as to let us pass by unmolested.
So you greet the magpies, singly or otherwise. You let stones in the middle of fields be. You apologize to the hawthorn bush when you’re pruning it. If you see something peculiar that cannot be otherwise explained, you are polite to it and pass onward about your business without further comment. And you don’t go on about it afterwards. Because it’s… unwise. Not that you personally know any examples of people who’ve screwed it up, of course. But you don’t meddle, and you learn when to look the other way, not to see, not to hear. Some things have just been here (for various values of “here” and various values of “been”) a lot longer than you have, and will be here still after you’re gone. That’s the way of it. When you hear the story about the idiots who for a prank chainsawed the centuries-old fairy tree a couple of counties over, you say – if asked by a neighbor – exactly what they’re probably thinking: “Poor fuckers. They’re doomed.” And if asked by anybody else you shake your head and say something anodyne about Kids These Days. (While thinking DOOMED all over again, because there are some particularly self-destructive ways to increase entropy.)
Meanwhile, in Iceland: the county council that carelessly knocked a known elf rock off a hillside when repairing a road has had to go dig the rock up from where it got buried during construction, because that road has had the most impossible damn stuff happen to it since that you ever heard of. Doubtless some nice person (maybe they’ll send out for the Priest of Thor or some such) will come along and do a little propitiatory sacrifice of some kind to the alfar, belatedly begging their pardon for the inconvenience.
They’re building the alfar a new temple, too.
Atlantic islands. Faerie: we haz it.
The Southwest is like this in some ways. You don’t go traveling along the highways at night with an empty car seat. Because an empty car seat is an invitation. You stick your luggage, your laptop bag, whatever you got in that seat. Else something best left undiscussed and unnamed (because to discuss it by name is to go ‘AY WE’RE TALKING BOUT YA WE’RE HERE AND ALSO IGNORANT OF WHAT YOU’RE CAPABLE OF’ at the top of your damn lungs at them) will jump in to the car, after which you’re gonna have a bad time.
If you’re out in the woods, you keep constant, consistent count of your party and make sure you know everyone well enough that you can ID them by face alone, lest something imitating a person get at you. They like to insert themselves in the party and just observe before they strike. It’s a game to them. In general you don’t fuck with the weird, you ignore the lights in the sky (no, this isn’t a god damn night vale reference, yes I’m serious) and the woods, you lock up at night and you don’t answer the door for love or money. Whatever or whoever’s knocking ain’t your buddy.
^ So much good advice in this post right here
I live in the south and… you just… don’t go into the woods or fields at night.
Don’t go near big trees in the night
If you live on a farm, don’t look outside the windows at night
I have broken all these rules.
I’ve seen some shit.
If it sounds like your mom, but you didn’t realize your mom is home…. it’s not your mom. Promise.
One walked onto the porch once. Wasn’t fun. But they’re not super keen on guns. Typically bolt when they see one.
You think it’s the neighbor kids.
It’s not the neighbor kids.
Might sound like coyotes but you never really /see/ the coyotes but then wow that one cow was reaaaaaally fucked up this morning. The next night when you hear another one screaming you just turn the tv up a little more. Maybe fire a gun in the air but you don’t go after it. If it is coyotes then it’s probably a pack and you seriously don’t want to fuck with that and if it’s the other thing you seriously REALLY don’t want to fuck with that.
So in the south, especially near the mountains, you just go straight from your car to inside your house, draw your curtains and watch tv.
If you see lights in the fields just fucking leave it alone.
Eyes forward. Don’t be fucking stupid. Mind your own business. Call your neighbors and tell them to bring the cats in. There’s coyotes out. Some of them know. Most of them don’t.
Other than that everything’s a ghost and they died in the civil war. Literally all of everything else is just the civil war. We used to smell old perfume and pipe tobacco in the weeks leading up to the battle anniversaries.
Shit’s wild and I sound fucking crazy but I swear to god it’s true.
Every time this post comes around, it’s my favorite to open up the notes and read the stories. Probably shouldn’t have since I’m sleeping alone tonight, but you know, it’s fine. 😂
Austrian girl here who has lived in Ireland for 5+ years. This shit is LEGIT. I’ve seen it with my own two Catholic eyes.
Sure, visit during the day. That’s alright as long as you’re respectful. But you couldn’t PAY ME ENOUGH to go there at night. These are also the last places where you wanna start littering.
I grew up in southwest Pennsylvania which is a weird mixture of American cultures and environments. I was in the heavily forested mountains (northern Appalachia) but had lots and lots of corn fields and cow pastures. Like the Smoky Mountains and fields of Kansas combined. And being so cut off from a lot of the world, we had our fair share of ghost stories.
We had ‘witches’ in the mountains (more like ghost-women who will snatch you up by making you wander in a daze around the forest like the Blair Witch before killing you or letting you back out into society but you’re… different). Or devils in springs or abandoned wells (don’t look too long into one or something will follow you).
But we also had the cornfield demons. I’ve witnessed this many times. You’ll be in the passenger seat looking out the window and see red glowing eyes in the cornfield. No light shining in that direction. Just two red dots a few inches apart faintly glowing in a pitch black cornfield. They’re not the glow of deer eyes in the headlights. More like the embers of a dying fire. Sometimes, as you drive away, you’ll look out the back window or side mirror and you can see the eyes have moved to the edge of the corn field, still watching you. If you bring it up with the driver, they’ll call you paranoid, but grip the wheel a bit tighter and driver a little faster.
I was walking to a friend’s house one night. It was about 20 minutes down a dirt road with forest on one side and a cornfield on the other. I’ve walked past it many times and wasn’t really concerned. My main worry was coming across a skunk or porcupine. I didn’t have a flashlight because the moonlight was bright enough and I knew the walk really well. Then I saw the eyes. I immediately averted mine (because for some reason that’s how to not annoy it) but they kept wandering back. They were still there, watching. I heard rustling and saw the eyes come closer and I took off running. I got to my friends without a scratch, but I was terrified. I mentioned it to my friend and that’s when I found out it was A Thing. Her parents agreed and shared their stories. I brought it up more and almost everyone knew what I was talking about. It was a phenomenon a lot of folks around town experienced but never mentioned. To this day, I don’t linger around poorly light cornfields at night.
Faeries and Wee Folk and Liminal Spaces, oh myyyy…
I just…yes. This. All of this. And then some.
You don’t have to understand it. You don’t have to believe in it.
But if you know what’s good for you, DON’T FUCK WITH IT.
I was born and raised in the city. My grandparents lived in the outskirts, but then decided to move back to a small mountain town my grandmother’s family used to live in. By small I mean it has less than 20 houses, and everyone knows everyone. It is an old little place, perched on the side of the mountain, with buildings made of stones. Right under it, there are fields, and then the woods.
The first time I visited (more or less 7 years ago) my grandomother was very careful to warn me not to go out when it’s dark. She’s the same woman who taught me about myths and legends, and told me that there are things wandering around. We don’t know who they are, or what they are, but they like to stroll through the town when they know it’s quiet. Usually they are calm, but sometimes they try to get people to come with them back into the woods. They make you see things, imitate noises and voices. They won’t let you come back.
I was skeptical, but I obeyed.
Fast forward to 3 years ago.
I was spending the month with my grandparents, and it was only the three of us since my family decided to stay in Rome. One day around 9 pm (the sun had just set) I was in the kitchen on the second floor, reading at the table, when I my grandmother called me from the garden. The window was open, so I clearly heard her shout “Giorgia! Can you come down a second?”
It wasn’t the first time it had happened: my grandmother had a dog who was pretty old and had trouble walking, so she’d call me down into the garden from time to time to help her move him back inside. But she never asked me to go out at night.
“Is everything okay?” I yelled, still sitting at the table “You need help?”
“Can you come down a second?” she repeated.
I just thought “Meh” and stood up to go downstairs to the lobby and reach the garden-
-and I met my grandmother in the hallway.
I asked her “You don’t need help anymore?”. She just stared at me, so I explained that I heard her call me from the garden.
“You didn’t look down from window, did you?”
I shook my head, and she calmly walked into the kitchen and closed the window.
“You shouldn’t go out, it’s dark.” she told me, getting a bottle of water from the fridge. Like nothing had happened.
“But I heard you call-”
“It’s dark, Giorgia.”
That’s when I fully realized that it wasn’t my grandmother who tried to get me to go out in the night.
And that’s why I don’t fuck with the unknown.
Local legend time.
Here in Central Indiana, there are two local paranormal sites less than ten minutes from my house. The first is Sunken Road.
Sunken Road is this little, one-lane dirt road that runs between two country roads. It runs through a relatively low-lying area that floods a lot, and is pretty marshy in general, covered in this patches of scraggly marsh-forest (a horrible description, but you know what I mean). At one point in the road, it drops down real sharp about five feet, levels out for maybe fifty yards, and goes back up. There’s where the problem is: way back when, they were trying to build a bridge over this dip, because it especially floods. No ones ever said why- I myself probably think it’s an Indian curse, as related to the second legend- but A LOT of people died trying to make this damn bridge. Horses and men drowned or went missing, to the point that they gave up building the thing. You don’t go down this road on a full moon; personally, I think moonless nights are just as bad. People say, on the right night- Halloween, the solstices, New Years, it varies depending on the version- you can still hear the horses scream as they or their masters sink into the muck.
The other legend is Thirteen Graves. Long story short, back in the 1800s, the locals hung a bakers dozen of Indians. Instead of handing the bodies back to the tribe, they buried them in unmarked graves in this local cemetery; I’ve been here only because some of my ancestors are buried there, and Tobago was in broad daylight. Anyway, when they buried these guys, they put these big slabs of rock- limestone or concrete- on top. Can’t remember why, but I’d guess it was to prevent either the locals or the tribe digging them back up. One of the graves particularly is special. Walk along and count them, and you’ll get thirteen; turn and walk back the other way, and you might only get twelve. Supposedly, this one grave, it the right amount of moonlight, gives off a certain glow, though none of the others do. I wouldn’t know; when my friends dragged us there one night, I never got out of the car, and made sure to lock the doors.
Okay look, people always say “Let’s go to Bali for a holiday”, but Bali isn’t known as the Island of the Gods for nothing. Those candle offerings you see next to statues all over the road? And next to trees? They contain beings that you MUST be respectful to. I have heard so many stories of people snuffing candles out, only to accidentally end up in a hospital one way or the other.
Point is, don’t fucking mess with the other side, and be respectful for cultures and old myths even if you don’t believe them.
There’s places in Connecticut where the graves are from the 1600s, and trust me, perfectly fine during the day, but people want to try and be hot shots and go to them at night.
You don’t go to those cemeteries at night. People have been grabbed and shoved to the ground by nothing. You lose your way when you JUST saw the exit and spend the next three hours stumbling through trying to get out and praying you won’t get caught by police or worse.
Then there’s the reports of people sneaking into Norwich State Hospital and being picked up, thrown across the room and waking up hours later and their friends have been trying to wake them up.
Lake Erie has a Nix like spirit called the “Stotm Hag” thats supposedly responsible for all the boats that have sunk in an area of the lake called Misery Bay.
A LOT of boats sunk in that lake, a lot of people gine missing in that lake still.
The only ghost/other worldly thing I ever experienced was the Black Dog. Basically, I was driving out to Mohave desert. It was roughly 2am. I’m tired from work with my coffee cup empty. My eyes are heavy and the road started to shift. First it was the road swaying to the right then the left. As I cleared my eyes to see straight again. I saw this two red dots appear. Glowing a dark red. Almost like a ember ready to catch again. I get closer almost within range of my head lights. A slight figure begins to come out, shape of a dog with those glowing red eyes. Now I know what’s gonna happen after that. I either die in a Caiden’s and dragged to hell or I end up killing someone else with my truck. I immediately pull over. Hit my hazards, leave all my lights on and I went to sleep for an hour or two. Wake up and the dog was gone. Scariest shit i ever experienced.
I’ve had my fair share of run ins with things people tend not to speak openly about. But I just keep seeing this one thing and its always in the same way. I live in Texas and tend to drive through the evening/nights. Fill the seats, turn on a podcast, and keep going as fast as legally possible. But whenever I’m driving through the plains between Lubbock and Junction, or the roads north of Lubbock in the flatlands, you see them. You only see glimpses of the four legged things, running across the fields and letting out screams that sound *just* a bit too much like someone you knew once. Their eyes are always red, a pale glow you might mistake for the car you just passed on the highway, but they’re out in the fields. They’re always out there, and on full moons you can see them more than ever and see their horrific, twisted bodies as they gallop along the roads. They tend not to go into the hill country, but between Kerrville and Junction are things worse, lurking in the hills and around the corners.
http://www.lorepodcast.com/episodes/?offset=1431949862776
Episode 5: Under Construction
Tells a nice little story about the elves that inhabit some stone in Iceland iirc…
Each if these stories gives my soul new strength.
As a Utah native, I can verify that everything in here about the Southwest is true. Utah is interesting. We’re known as the Crossroads of the West and that is true in more ways than one. Salt Lake City sits at a junction between the Wasatch Mountains, Colorado Plateaus, Great Salt Lake, and Great Basin (desert). Salt Lake is also the intersection between I-80 (which runs from San Francisco to New Jersey) and I-15 (Canada to Mexico). We’re a border. To Everything. Most of the time, Things are just passing through. If you leave them be, they’ll leave you alone in return.
When you head south toward St. George, that’s when things get dicey. West turns into Southwest, with all the terms and conditions that apply. There are things that will call you by name, things that look like a person but smile too much and too wide. You must not make eye contact with them. Sometimes they look like an animal but walk like a man. The local Navajo do not call them by name. You must not, either.
In Okinawa, Japan, there kijimuna, red-headed wood spirits. They often live in trees. Military members coming to the island are told to be respectful of Okinawan beliefs and traditions. One barracks in particular has a single lone banyan tree behind it. Everyone is told not to mess with the tree. Leave a beer or some food but to not be disrespectful. Guys who were stationed and stayed at this barracks at the beginning of their career then back years later still remember to not mess with the tree. Of course there is always the one guy that crossed the line. Disrespects the tree and the spirit that lives there. And everyone in the barracks knows someone did something because shit would just start happening. Washers exploding, the AC blasting heat randomly when nothing was wrong with it. Dumpster cans flipped over in the night, trash everywhere. Something foul smelling would just hang in the area with no source. Those on barracks duty (usually a few people to make sure things are okay during the day and night, they keep guard and keep everyone in line) would hear bare feet running through the halls and giggles but see no one. The TV in the common area would turn on loud as fuck. Doors slamming shut or open.
After a few weeks of this, everyone is looking for the culprit. Quietly among ourselves. Someone comes to me because apparently for some reason I have a look that says I know how to handle this kind of shit. They tell me one of their new guys peed on the tree a while back. And that’s when all this shit has been happening and he keeps having dreams of red-headed person sitting on his chest and he is freaking out. I never thought I would scold someone for having peed on a tree pissing off a trickster spirit that lived in it.
We figure out what to do, an offering (fish and some expensive ass sake just to be sure) and an heartfelt apology. But the spirit took a liking to the guy and continued to fuck with him for the rest of the time he was stationed there.
Going back to the Appalachias, never go into the woods alone unless you are known.
And if you hear a baby crying or a woman screaming don’t go to it. Could be a panther or it could be something else.
Y'know that and you might get shot by some moonshiners.
I dunno. I tend to find the American versions of these stories sound all the same wherever they are from. And they sound like bad horror stories.
The others don’t necessarily outright claim to see anything. For that reason they sound more realistic.
I went ghost hunting once, went to a place called Sensabough Tunnel, lots of myths attached to the place but they’re all basically “a family was butchered in their house, and a girl was killed in this natural tunnel (which has been expanded and reinforced for a railroad)
I’m a sceptic but there was some shit going on that night.
We had a huge group, something like a dozen. The guy leading it was big on occult, so he does a summon sort of thing. Well people hear some stuff but a few members are just freaking themselves out so we leave, get some waffle house, and decide to go back.
This second time only four of us go in, it was occult guy first, me, and two past me. And shit got real in there.
We had knocking coming closer to us with each question. Finally I was looking down and the knock very clearly happened between my foot and occult’s. He asked if it wanted to harm us, it knocked for yes, we got out.
We were all just kinda sitting in our cars talking when another guy (who had done a lot of ghost hunting before) just ran over, slapped the car, and said "We are leaving!” And that’s when we heard the scream. It was bone chilling, and came from towards the tunnel.
