#united states folklore

[hecatesdelights]

The Rougarou (original French loup-garou) is a familiar legend throughout French Louisiana. There are many variations, but the story generally involves a person who gets cursed, and becomes a flesh eating werewolf (or, occasionally, some other type of were-creature). Frequently the curse can be passed to another individual by biting them or draining their blood.

[psychopomp-recital]

2/18/24

Feeling like I wanna work with the folk devil and/or Satan. Anyone got any good resources or recommendations?

[whereserpentswalk]

They say there's a city, somewhere in the US, nobody is allowed to know exactly where, where nobody lives. It could be in any state, some people say it's between Philadelphia and New York along the roads of New Jersey, some people say it's out in the Californian desert in the shadow of Los Angelos, others say it's out in the fields of Illinois south of Chicago. Maybe it's in all of them, maybe there are many, maybe they move.

People have driven through it. They're not allowed to say that they did but some of them do. It looks like a normal city at first, not particularly interesting, very modern in all the worst ways, with an endless sprawl and built up downtown, no way to walk anywhere and no public transportation, it would be a small unremarkable city if not for the emptiness. If you're there during the day there just aren't any people, there at all. If you look closely, you'll notice there aren't any animals or plants either, the lawns are Astroturf, and the trees are plastic, rats and birds and crawling bugs know well to avoid it. Even the cryptids and vampires and flying saucers know to steer clear of it. Only humans lack the instincts to avoid it.

Most who come by it just drive through it, maybe it'll seem off, but most forget it, cities built like that are rather empty anywhere. But if you have to get out it becomes so much worse. You'll step into a gas station, or a store, or fast-food place. And you'll just be faced with nothing. Oh, everything they need to have in there is there, it's perfect, everything is so very clean, and well stocked, it's the perfect model location. But there's nobody there, there's nobody anywhere. You can go anywhere there, from the Starbucks to the 7-11, and it'll be the perfect model that even a ceo would be proud of, like an ad, like a stock photo, everything in it's perfectly regulated place, it's just empty. The only thing everything is missing is people. It's not abandoned, just empty.

Now, fewer have been there at night, so we cannot be sure of this, but there are of course theories. Some say, that when it gets dark, truly dark, when there's no sun at all, under the starless sky of a country filled with light, the residents come out of their homes. They may look human at first, but the smell, the blank eyes, the pale skin, will make it clear they are not. The living dead, in every house there's at least one, and most houses have more, zombie husbands and wives with their 2.5 zombie children. They're not slobbering monsters though, they may be zombies, but they're civilized zombies, and at night they go about their business, copying the human world perfectly.

Undead businessmen will get in their cars and drive to their offices, typing random nonsense on their computers, and going to meaningless meetings, with their zombie bosses yell at them. Zombie housewives will expressionlessly take their children to school, where they'll sit as their zombie teachers babble word salad, something that almost sounds like human speech but has no meaningful words, at them, pretending to teach them something humans would learn. And zombie service workers will happily go to their jobs as cashiers, exchanging money they could never know the amount of, for good and/or services, and in their restaurants making food for customers to look at, and sit with, and pretend to eat, even though they of course cannot it. It's all unconfirmable, but it's at least been officially denied. And of course, for those foolish enough to stay the night there, the town will find itself with new residents.

And some even say the zombie's necromancer is somewhere in the city. Perhaps she's a lich now, having built up the city from a small town of zombies decades ago, now living somewhere at the center of the city, pickled in a glass tank, or siting on a throne of humming wires and tubes all grey and shriveled. Or perhaps she has passed on the torch, and it's now her granddaughter or great granddaughter, watching over the city, making sure it runs perfectly, sitting there in secret with a little black dress and sunglasses and a black hat over her golden hair, somewhere in the endless sprawl, making sure her children are all well behaved and functioning properly. It's normal to wonder why she does this. They say a witch's or warlock's mind is unknowable but it's safe to speculate. Some people think she's building an army, but there are faster ways to do that, ways that don't require an entire city. Some say she makes money off of it somehow, but I know enough about these things to know she can't. Personally, I think she was just trying to create her idea of the perfect city, a place with no social problems, a little lobotomized utopia in the void.

[crypt1d-z]

SCP-6448 [NOT DEER]

CONTAINMENT CLASS: KETER DISRUPTION CLASS: KENEQ RISK CLASS: WARNING

SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES

Containment of SCP-6448 should be focused on investigation of deer exhibiting anomalous traits within and around the Appalachian area.¹ All civilian sightings of SCP-6448 should be attended to by Mobile Task Force Gamma-4 (“Green Stags”). Possible deaths resulting from SCP-6448 should be attributed to hiking accidents, and sightings are to be blamed upon Chronic Wasting Disease.²

The Site-44 Cryptozoology Division is tasked with ongoing research into the ‘not deer’ phenomenon. Should an SCP-6448 instance be captured, it is to be brought immediately to Site-44 for containment and study.³

DESCRIPTION

SCP-6448 is an anomalous branch of the Cervidae family.⁴ All members of this group display heightened intelligence and are presumed to be sapient. Many specimens exhibit some form of physical malformation, causing them to stand out from non-anomalous deer. While the exact details of physical abnormalities differ between instances, repeat commonalities are as follows:

Legs bent backwards

Barrel chested/bloated abdomen

Emaciation

Eyes belonging to unrelated animals

Forward-facing eyes

Jerky movements

Loss of fear towards humans

Tendency to walk on two hind legs

General bodily disfigurement

Aside from physical disfigurement, instances show severe divergence from the behaviour of other cervids. Namely, SCP-6448 are known to watch, observe and stalk humans, often for hours or days. This includes following humans to and from their homes, wherein they will proceed to steal belongings, weapons and food. Very rarely will SCP-6448 attack victims while they are indoors.

SCP-6448 are most commonly encountered in deep woodland, particularly at night or dusk, when a person is alone. Any form of direct acknowledgment of SCP-6448’s anomalous traits in these situations will always result in the victim’s termination.⁵ In such situations, personnel are to observe the extract of Cervus Protocol attached below immediately.

CERVUS PROTOCOL

Presently, SCP-6448 are known to inhabit only the Appalachian region of North America.⁶

HISTORY

SCP-6448 was officially assigned anomalous classification in 1980, though they have been recognised by local people since 1947. SCP-6448 is a firmly cemented figure in Appalachian folklore, known colloquially as the "Not Deer" due to their striking similarity to the species they imitate. Many locals claim to have encountered instances of SCP-6448, or possess knowledge of an individual who has. A majority of local communities living in rural areas of high activity are aware of the precautions required to avoid hostile encounters, primarily due to urban legends and stories involving the entities.

SCP-6448 were previously researched at Site-41, located in ████, North Carolina. On 11/01/1994, a group of 3 SCP-6448 instances broke into the Site utilising a tunnel system carved over an extended period of time. This triggered containment breach alarm systems and the Site entered lockdown protocol. The single instance kept in containment, being prepared for dissection, was lost in the breach and not recovered. Over the following decade, a further 5 SCP-6448 instances would be captured and contained, all of which would escape the Site through tunnels carved by other SCP-6448 entities. The decision was made to transfer all instances to Site-44, overseas, to prevent further breaches. Since this decision, no capture attempts have been successful.

ADDENDUM 6448.1: Recently Recorded Civilian Encounters

The first reports of SCP-6448 surfaced around the week of 07/07/1947. In the time since the genus’ discovery, many members of the public have encountered the entities, though most accidentally stumbling upon them do not alert local authorities. This is typically due to the SCP-6448 instance either merely watching the subject or becoming hostile. The following is a log of all recorded 911 calls related to SCP-6448 phenomena since the year 2000.

02/01/2000

Victim (aged 41, female) dialed emergency services after hearing their name being called from the woods near their home. The victim recounts the vocalisation being likened to a scream in a voice that they do not recognise and requested assistance in locating the source. Emergency personnel requested the subject place their phone on the floor outside the home to listen for the alleged sounds. After 2 minutes, a vocalisation was heard that was calling to the subject by name, emanating from the nearby forest.

The subject was instructed to investigate the disturbance themselves and keep services updated on the situation. The victim then begins to walk into the woodland, getting about 50 metres into the underbrush before inexplicably stopping. They claim there to be a noticeably large deer standing in the way of the path. She begins to walk closer, though states it does not move. Subject diverts from the path and begins walking in a different direction. After 30 minutes, no source of the voice is determined. The caller returns to their residence.

13/06/2002

Victim (aged 28, male) calls 911 regarding a home break-in. The caller notes numerous items to be missing from their residence and requests an investigation. Operators dispatch two investigators to visit the home and discern a potential perpetrator. The pair note that, based on earlier CCTV images, all cutlery, sharp objects, firearms, lightbulbs and a single copy of the novel ‘The Day After Roswell’ are missing. Also noted is that there is a complete lack of any fingerprints at the scene, with no doors or windows having been broken into. Analysis of the home’s CCTV footage revealed there to be a two hour period of missing film, with the exception of a single frame containing a Cervus nippon⁷ on its hind legs, reaching towards the camera. Its frontal hooves have been warped to resemble fingers. No footage of the entity exiting the home was discovered.

19/11/2005

A cattle farmer (aged 54, male) reported to local authorities the sudden disappearance of over 30% of his largest herd. Response teams searched the nearby area for 4 hours though found no trace of the cattle. The victim was recommended to set up trail cameras and note any unusual activity overnight. At 01:11 AM, two SCP-6448 are seen walking through the field before fleeing. One places an object into the ground, later discovered to be a single fork. A week after this discovery, 200 discarded bovine hooves appear at the location.

04/03/2009

Victim (age unknown, gender unknown) dials 911 to request assistance from animal services. The victim is stood within a forest in front of a Cervus elaphus⁸ which is violently contorting. The animal is repeatedly ramming itself into a tree, covered in blood and viscera. The victim begins to state "You'd better get a vet or something, I don't think it's well" before a piercing screech is heard and the line falls silent. Recovered footage depicts the aforementioned animal squirming, seemingly in pain. A viscous churning is audible as a black mass erupts out of the instance and the video turns to static.

11/10/2012

Victim (aged 23, male) is a junior wildlife officer at Cherokee National Forest, Tennessee. They radio their supervisor in early evening regarding a herd of Odocoileus virginianus⁹ within the reserve. Supposedly, there is a single animal that upon first glance appears average, though possesses divergent attributes including backwards joints, an enlarged abdomen and forward-facing eyes. Upon stating this, a distant whistle is audible and the victim stumbles slightly. They begin to say “What the he- did it just whistle at me?” before the sound of hooves rapidly getting closer is heard. Notably, the hoof steps did not sound to be in the traditional gallop of a cervid.

12/10/2012

The aforementioned victim’s supervisor calls authorities following the victim’s absence from the reserve night shift. Following this, their radio begins to crackle. The victim’s voice can be heard on the other end and he requests the supervisor’s attention.

He calls regarding a herd of Odocoileus virginianus within the reserve. They claim there is a single animal that upon first glance appears average, though possesses divergent attributes including backwards joints, an enlarged abdomen and forward-facing eyes. Suspecting the creature to be a rare genetic malformation, the victim requests their supervisor to come to the location. The supervisor questions the victim about what happened the night previous. There is no reply. Upon the supervisor’s and law enforcement’s arrival at the site, a herd of approximately 80 Odocoileus virginianus was present. A single entity is in the field’s centre and appeares to be standing separately from the rest of the group. It flees the scene upon realising the law enforcement’s presence. Where it formerly stood layed a park ranger's standard two-way radio.

08/04/2016

Victim (aged 35, female) dials 911 using a satellite phone, distressed. They state that they are in ████ County Woods and are being followed. She claims that, despite seeing no one for the duration of her hike, she “feels as if she’s being watched” and has heard someone walking behind her at various points in the trip. The victim is unable to give an adequate description of her location, but knows the route to return to her residence. Operators request the victim to return to a point wherein she can provide a sufficient geographic description of her position.

The victim remains on the line for the duration of the hike back to a readily used portion of the wilderness trail. Along the journey, various unnatural sounds can be heard. These include footsteps, rockslides, coughing, whispering and whistling. Nearing the main trail, all woodland noises such as birds and wind cease suddenly, and the victim states she can see a malformed deer carcass coated in a thick layer of a black slime-like substance. At this time, human screams can be heard in the distance. Operators request the victim continue and ignore other stimuli. Agents embedded in local law enforcement, suspecting SCP-6448 involvement, notify Gamma-4 to the situation. 20 minutes later, the victim returns to the main trail. Gamma-4, now operating the 911 call, inform the victim to not respond to any further unusual activity and briefly outline Cervus Protocol. For the duration of the victim’s journey to her home, two sets of breathing are audible.

The victim successfully returns to her residence and shuts the door behind her. Now out of sight from SCP-6448, agents inquire upon the victim’s address and the victim promptly complies. Operatives instruct the victim to have possession of all firearms and weapons on the premises and to barricade herself inside a safe space with one exfil point. The victim swiftly begins grabbing all available weapons and throwing them inside a wardrobe. It is at this time that there is a knock on the front door. The victim does not respond and continues to hoard sharp objects from kitchen drawers. The knocking becomes more violent as the handle is being jostled and shaken incessantly. A voice on the other side repeats the phrase “Hello, it is me. Hello, let me in.��� in a calm manner as the door begins to shake. The victim retreats to her wardrobe, armed with a small firearm. Upon sealing herself in the space, the knocking ceases and footsteps can be heard, decreasing in volume. The sound of galloping is audible as the front door caves in. Hoof steps can now be heard inside the home.

The entity continues to repeat “Hello, it is me. Hello, let me in.” as it searches the small building. A bright light flashes overhead, seemingly circling the house. Eventually the entity enters the victim’s bedroom. Through a small slit in the wardrobe door, the victim can see a Cervus canadensis¹⁰ standing on its hind legs and surveying the room. Its movements are crooked and stiff, seeming to struggle to stand in a bipedal fashion. It slouches down to a quadrupedal crouch, similar to the stance of an arachnid. It inhales heavily, and its head locks on the view of the wardrobe. It is noted as possessing human eyes. It scampers towards the subject and opens the door. A single gunshot is heard. Responders found no trace of either SCP-6448 or the victim.

It should be noted that this represents a small fraction of human to SCP-6448 encounters, as the majority of occasions go unnoticed and undocumented. On each of these occasions, all associated video, photographs and objects were confiscated by MTF Gamma-4, whom also called off public investigation. Cover stories 356α “Home Break-In” and 898Γ “Missing 411” were successfully implemented.

ADDENDUM 6448.2: INCIDENT 6448-ALPHA

On 29/11/2019, MTF Gamma-4 (“Green Stags”) successfully detained and captured an instance of SCP-6448, with the assistance of MTF Nu-7 (“Hammer Down”)’s heavy vehicles division and highly experimental shock rifles. The resulting skirmish left a single instance unconscious, which was swiftly placed aboard an armoured CH-47 Chinook helicopter en route to Site-44 in England to prevent outside assistance. Upon reaching the Site, the sedated entity was transferred to a containment cell without incident. The following is a log of events thereafter.

DATE: 30/11/2019. LOCATION: Site-44, Foulness Island, England

[BEGIN LOG]

SCP-6448 instance is contained within a large reinforced steel containment cell, having just awoken from heavy sedation. Cryptozoology Specialist F. Ozz stands in front of a large one-way glass window that encompasses the room’s South side.

Researcher Ozz: Greetings, SCP-6448.

The instance suddenly bolts upright and stares at the intercom.

Researcher Ozz: Can you understand me? We’ve seen your genus speak English just fine in the past.

The instance does not respond. It begins licking its arm.

Researcher Ozz: Please, we know your secret.

The instance pauses.

Researcher Ozz: Admittedly it wasn’t exactly well kept. If you’d just look at yourself for more than a few seconds, it is very clear that you’re not… normal.

The instance is stood facing away from the window. Its neck swivels 180°, visibly breaking multiple vertebrae as there is an audible crack. It does not blink.

Researcher Ozz: (To containment staff) I thought you said this was one-way? (Staff mumbling) It is?

The instance’s gaze remains locked on Researcher Ozz.

Researcher Ozz: Are you something imitating deer? It is clear that, if so, you possess basic anatomical knowledge on them, though details are faulty. In fact, a better question would be… how? Assuming you are not what you pretend to be.

The instance opens its mouth, which contains abnormally sharp teeth. Its jaw moves in a manner that seems to imitate speech. No intelligible dialect is heard, rather, a sound similar to gagging or choking is audible.

Researcher Ozz: Shall we move on? What I’m more concerned with here is why you take our people. Is it to settle a vendetta? For food? Spite?

The instance blinks for the first time in the interview. The movement is noticeably forced.

Researcher Ozz: Responding is mandatory.

The instance shows no reaction.

Researcher Ozz: (Sternly) If you will not comply, maybe you’d like to see your brand new containment cel-

SCP-6448: R-

Researcher Ozz: (Pauses)

SCP-6448: R- Rasaerch. Research. (The instance speaks in a distorted version of Ozz’s own voice)

Researcher Ozz: Research? What kind of-

SCP-6448: July 7, 1947.

The instance suddenly rams the 20 inch thick one-way glass, cracking it slightly.

Researcher Ozz: (Stumbles backwards)

The instance begins to collapse. It contorts violently and begins screaming. Its abdomen bulges and writhes.

Researcher Ozz: Get the Stags in here now!

A black, viscous, tendrily mass erupts out of the instance's side. It leaps and squirms around the cell before shattering the viewing window. The remaining carcass is entirely hollow.

Site-44 Breach System: Containment breach detected. All personnel report to the nearest safe room. Containment Sector 4 blast doors will seal in 10 seconds.

The tendrilous mass swiftly manoeuvres outside of Sector 4 in seconds, clearing the lockdown area. It travels in the direction of the main exit.

Site-44 Breach System: Full Site lockdown initiated. Locking main exit in 5 seconds.

The mass clears the main desk. It shatters the glass on the front exit and disappears into the outside shrubbery.

[END LOG]

A two month long search proved inefficient in locating the escaped anomaly. Additionally, since this incident, there has been an unprecedented increase of CWD afflicted deer and UFO reports in the area surrounding Site-44. Further research is ongoing.

FOOTNOTES

Appalachia is a mountainous region in the Eastern United States that is known for its dense woodland.

CWD, sometimes called zombie deer disease, is a prion-based illness affecting members of the Cervidae family. It causes extreme loss of motor function control, may affect decision making and is always 100% fatal. While CWD is a legitimate disease, the majority of cervids in Appalachia exhibiting traits are known instances of SCP-6448.

Site-44 is located in Essex, England. See History for details.

More commonly known as deer. This includes true deer, muntjac, reindeer, elk and moose.

Though treating SCP-6448 instances as normal cervids triggers no reaction.

[UNDER REVIEW FOLLOWING INCIDENT 6448-ALPHA]

Sika Deer

Red Deer

White-Tailed Deer

Elk

[phatstory]

Sweet code on the dining table

[thefaezoo]

Rawheadandbloodybones was first cited between 1548-1550, which lists “Hobgoblin, Rawhed, and Bloody-bone” with punctuation that implies the latter two are separate beings. It wasn’t until the 19th century that the names were joined together and became known as one.

Around 1693, John Locke (the enlightened thinker, not the guy from Lost) wrote a nursery rhyme about the creature. Yeah, I know. I thought that was random as fuck too.

Rawhead and Bloody Bones

Steals naughty children from their homes

Takes them to his dirty den

And they are never to be seen again

Although originally from East Anglia, Lincolnshire, Warwickshire, Lancashire, and Yorkshire, Rawheadandbloodybones appears quite a bit in folklore from the American midwest and south. He is a pretty traditional boogeyman in behavior - he lives in dark cupboards or under the stairs, and captures children. In many stories, he appears either as a skinned pig or as a hog skeleton. But in Ireland they say he looks like a hairy, goblin-like creature.

[rachel-sylvan-author]

"The United States of Cryptids: A Tour of American Myths and Monsters" by J.W. Ocker

Thank you @thecaseofbooks for the rec! ❤️

[nickysfacts]

When you’re such a bad neighbor that the locals start to believe that your wife gave birth to a literal devil!

😂😈

[ariel-seagull-wings]

THE LITTLE BOAT THAT COULD SAIL ON LAND AND ON SEA

@isareadsandwatches

@themousefromfantasyland @adarkrainbow @the-blue-fairie @thealmightyemprex @piterelizabethdevries @thevampiricnihal @princesssarisa @professorlehnsherr-almashy @amalthea9 @barbossas-wench @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales @fairytaleslive

@strawbebehmod @softlytowardthesun

(French-American Folktale from Missouri)

It's good to tell you that once upon a time there were an old man and an old woman who had three sons.

The old king had said that anyone who could make a boat that would sail on land and on sea would have his daughter in marriage.

The oldest of the couple's three sons said to his mother, "I'm going to make one of those."

He made some biscuits for himself in the ashes and went on his way.

When he got into the woods, he met and old Grandmother. She said, "Good day, little boy."

He answered, "Hello, old witch."

"Where are you going, little boy?" she asked.

"It's none of your business," said the boy. "I'm just going to make wooden plates."

The old woman answered, "Well, then, wooden plates is what I wish for you."

The boy arrived in the woods and began to cut down some trees. But all of the chips that he got changed immediately into wooden plates. He chopped until around noontime, but all he had for his efforts was a pile of wooden dishes.

So finally, he tucked one or two of his wooden dishes under his arm and left. When he got home, his mother asked him what he had gotten done.

"I made some wooden dishes," he answered.

Then the second of the three brothers said, "I'm going to go out and try to make the boat tomorrow morning." The next morning, he fixed his little lunch and left as the first one had.

When he got into the woods, he too met the old Grandmother. She said to him, "Good morning, little boy."

But her answered, "Hello, you old hag!"

"Where are you going, little boy?" asked the Grandmother.

"I'm going out to make some wooden spoons," he answered.

"Well, wooden spoons is what I wish for you," she said. He got into the woods and began to chop down trees, but everything that he chopped turned right away into wooden spoons. After a while, he got tired of making all those wooden spoons.

He took two or three of them and brought them to his mother and said, "Here's what I made today."

The next morning, the youngest son said that he was going to go out and try too. He said, "But I don't know what I'll end up making."

The next morning, he fixed his little lunch and left.

He met the old Grandmother, too. She said to him, "Good morning, little boy."

He answered, "Good morning, Grandmother."

Then, she asked, "Don't you have any biscuits that you could left me have?"

"Ah!" he answered. "I do have some, Grandmother, but they are so unappetizing that I'm kind of ashamed to give them to you. I made them myself in the ashes this morning."

He got out his little sack, and the old Grandmother took a piece of one biscuit. The youngest son said, "But take a whole one, Grandmother!"

"Oh, no," she said, "I just wanted to see what would you do. Where are you off to, little boy?"

"Well, I'm going to try to make a ship that can go on land and on sea."

"Well, that's what I wish for you," she answered, "a ship that will go on land. You'll have it all made before the sun goes down."

All the trees that Little John cut down were already hewn, notched, and put in their place. Around three o'clock, Little John began to look at this ship.

"I think it's done," he said. "I don't see anything left to do on it."

The old Grandmother arrived where he was, while he was looking at his ship.

"Have you finished, Little John?" she asked.

"I don't see anything else that it needs, Grandmother," he answered.

She said, "All it needs now are the sails. We can't finish those tonight," she said.

"Go and collect all the old rags you can find in the town," she told Little John.

"Put as many as you can carry on your back and bring them here. Tomorrow morning I'll come back to help finish your ship."

So the next morning, Little John brought all the old rags he could carry on his back.

The old Grandmother came back to help him, and they spread the rags out on the ground. She took her little magic wand and touched the rags with it.

They all turned into beautiful sails and appeared where they belonged on the ship.

The old woman said, "Now, get onto your ship and take on all the man you meet along the way."

He went quite a way and met a man who was lying next to a spring. He stopped his ship and asked the man what he was doing there.

The man said, "I've drunk up all the water in this spring twice now, and I'm waiting for it to come back again."

"Leave the spring alone," said Little John, "and come with me."

"That's all right with me. I'll be glad to come," said the man. Little John told the man his name, and the man answered, "My name is Great Drinker."

He went a little farther and saw a man who was licking stones. He said, "What are you doing, friend?"

The man answered, "Well, they used to make bread here. These stones were part of an oven seven years ago. I can still taste the bread."

"Well, leave your oven behind," Little John said to him, "and come with me. You might be able to find something better than that."

The man said, "My name is Great Eater."

They went a little farther and found a man who was blowing across the sea. His cheeks were all puffed out. Little John stopped the boat and asked him "What are you doing, my friend?"

"I'm turning a mill on the other side of the sea," answered the man.

"Leave your windmill alone and come with me," said Little John.

"I'll be glad to go with you," said the man. "My name is Great Blower."

They went a little farther and came upon a man who was lying down on a field that had just been plowed.

"What are you doing, my friend?" asked Little John.

"I'm listening to see if I can hear my oats growing. My name is Great Listener," answered the man.

"Leave your oats alone and come with me," said Little John to him.

"It's all the same to me. I'll come with you," answered the man.

Then, a little farther on, he met another man who was running behind a rabbit, and this man had millstones tied to his legs, to keep him from running so fast, so that he wouldn't outrun the rabbit.

Little John said to him, "What are you doing, good man?"

"Well, I'm trying to catch that rabbit, but I keep running too fast and passing him right by," answered the man.

Little John answered, "Well, leave that rabbit be and come with me."

"I'll be glad to go with you," answered the man. "My name is Great Runner."

When they got to the King's house, Little John stopped his ship right on the square in front of his house. He went in to tell the King that he had made the boat that could float on land and on sea and said, "Now will you give me the Princess to marry?"

"No," answered the King. "Not before you find a man who can drink all the liquor I have in my cellar."

Little John went back to his ship, angry.

Great Drinker asked him, "What's the matter, Little John?"

"Oh, he doesn't want to give me the Princess unless I can find a man who can drink up all the liquor he has in his cellar."

"Well, go tell him that you have found the man. I'll drink up all his old liquor!"

So Little John went and told the King that he had found the man. The King said to him, "Bring him here at nine tomorrow morning."

The next morning at nine o'clock, the King had all his barrels of liquor outside in the front yard.

Great Drinker began to tap into them. He grabbed them, drank them dry, and then threw the empty barrells away over to the side.

When he had drunk the last one, he called to the King to bring him some more.

But the King said, "That will be enough for you today." Well, then Little John said to the King, "Now will you give me your daughter to marry?"

But the King said "Not before you can find me a man who can eat all the food off a table that is set for one hundred persons."

Great Eater was standing behind Little John and said, "Well, tell him that you have a man who can do that." Little John said to the King "I have that man."

The King told him, "Bring him here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

So the next morning at nine o'clock, the table was all set up.

Great Eater ate his way all around the table, and he ate every last crumb. He even ate the tips of the chicken thigh bones. Then he called out to the King, "Bring me some more!"

The King answered, "No, that's enough for you today. If that doesn't kill you, we'll do better for you another time."

Then, Little John asked the King, "Well are you going to give me your daughter now?"

"Not before you find me a man who can win her by racing against her," answered the King. "Three miles from here there is a spring. They have to go to the spring to fill their bottles, and the man who will the Princess has to get back here to the Palace before her."

Little John said, "I have a man who can run fast."

The King answered, "Go get your man."

So Little John came back with Great Runner, and Great Runner and the Princess started their race.

Great Runner got to the fountain, filled his bottle of water, and was halfway back before he met the Princess still on her way to the spring.

He said to himself, "I think I'll take a little rest," and he lay down.

After awhile, Great Eater said to Little John, "Great Runner ought to be back here by now."

Great Listener said, "Wait a minute, I'll tell you where he is."

He put his ear to the ground and began to listen. "He's lying down asleep. I can hear him snoring. And the Princess has gotten ahead of him."

Great Blower said, "Wait a minute. I'll push the Princess back."

He puffed up his cheeks and began to blow. The wind got so strong that the Princess had to turn her back to it.

It also woke up Great Runner, who looked at the path and saw the Princess's tracks going back to the castle.

Great Listener said, "Stop blowing now. He's awake."

In just a few moments, Great Runner had arrived back at the castle. He brought his bottle of water to the old King.

It was a long time before the Princess got back too. The King asked her, "What were you doing?"

She answered, "Don't ask! I was ahead of him once, but this big wind came up that pushed me halfway back to the spring. That woke up Great Runner who was lying down taking a nap, and he beat me."

Then, Little John asked the King, "Well, are you going to give me the Princess now?"

"Yes," answered the King.

"I should have given her to you right away. I would have saved my liquor, and all the food Great Eater devoured. That would have been enough for the wedding feast."

So Little John and the Princess got married. Great Drinker, Great Eater, Great Listener, Great Runner, and Great Blower all stayed with Little John and the Princess for the rest of their days.

[crunchyhummus]

[supercharged78]

Theres five types of United States folklore:

It knows where you are. It’s always here. It’s gonna kill you

These cool guys did so many amazing things long ago and then died

My cousin saw a big frog in a pond ‘round ‘ere

literally just aliens

something weird happened nearby so be careful

[psychopomp-recital]

What is your favorite folklore story or mythological tale relating to death/death-associated entities?

[call-me-maggie13]

If anyone is wondering what the United States Navy listens to on deployment, I will tell you. It is mostly @taylorswift. There’s a little bit of Disney music and some country songs, but it’s mostly Taylor Swift.

Now picture this: the scariest man you know, big and mean and scary, screaming and crying and singing Marjorie into a mop handle. Now picture 20 or so young men choreographing a dance routine to Style. In their uniforms. Now picture a guys vs. gals dance-off to I Forgot That You Existed.

My chief would yell at anyone who tried to play a non-Taylor’s version of any of her songs. We would argue about the best Taylor ballads during watch and had album release parties the day after folklore and evermore dropped. You have not lived until you have dissected Taylor Swift song lyrics with four grown men in dress blues while an officer tries to redirect us. Nothing will ever compare to my SLPO sending us home early because he found out she was releasing folklore and he needed to “emotionally prepare” himself (he bought three bottles of wine).

I know everyone assumes we talked about sports or whatever but you can’t really keep up with those in the middle of the ocean, so we spent a lot of time listening to music because there are only so many stories a person can tell. Unless you’re Taylor Swift, then there’s a never ending supply.

These are the people the US government has defending the country.

One of my buddies just got back from deployment and she’s a submariner so they really really don’t get any news from outside the boat and she sent me a multitude of snaps of her reacting to midnights and the eras tour. There was a lot of screaming and crying and curses. I have never been happier to be out of the military than I was when I realized she has to catch up on the last six months of Taylor lore and Easter eggs.

[everydaym0nstrosity]

This is an authentic ghost photograph taken at the infamous "Zombie Road" in Wildwood, Missouri. It is said to be one of the most haunted places in all of North America. Located just 30 minutes outside of St. Louis, the original name of the road was Lawler Ford Road, and it was constructed in the late 1860s. It was originally built to gain access to the Meramec River and the railroad tracks located alongside it.

The road started to be referred to as Zombie Road as early as the 1950s. One of the most common sightings are that of shadow people who seem to lurk around every corner... Unfortunately entry and exploration is prohibited by local law enforcement. Some people who live in the area say the place is cursed, which further adds to its lore. If you do decide to explore the road, do NOT go alone by any means!

[facts-i-just-made-up]

let's hear some good old-fashioned american folklore 🦅🦅🦅

The bald eagle was not always the symbol of the United States of America. Other symbols include the wild turkey, a foot stepping on a snake, wheat grass, the steering wheel of a 2013 Ford Focus, a lake of mead, the mustache of Robert Goulet, a flat rock with a smiley face on both sides, and a shopping cart covered in bees.

[dvesinthewind]

Heartbeat | Demetri Volturi

In which, you've never believed in superstitions or folktales, but a particular encounter leaves you convinced otherwise.

A/N: I, for one, have never been to Italy so excuse any misconceptions or misinformation. This is my first piece in what feels like forever, as well as my first ever smut. Please enjoy, and I may publish a second part. WC 3.6K

Warnings: 18+, f!reader, smut, language, mentions of blood, mentions of death/murder, smoking, alcohol, Demetri is mentioned to be taller than the reader, sex in public

The city of Volterra is a unique one-- full of ancient architecture, a versatile climate, and a few believers of creatures with fangs and an appetite for human blood. Nevertheless, it became home relatively quickly. Naively, you assumed most of the irrational folklores and legends were left behind lingering in the United States while you remained overseas. This was far from the case, however. Abroad, you met Germans who spoke fearfully of Krampus, and Eastern Europeans who drunkenly confessed their acknowledgement of vampires. As a young visitor in the European city, you were aware of the culture, but you were simultaneously aware of the stories, rumors-- men with crimson irises and women who never showed up to class the next day. To you, it was ridiculous. Another excuse to keep women in check, or inside for that matter. You had to see it to believe it. Yet, as unserious as it seemed to yourself, your roommate was far from a skeptic.

Suspiciously quiet inside her own bedroom, you decided to knock carefully. Your clothed feet tapped onto the wooden floors impatiently, feeling the chill of the floorboards only slightly through the fabric with each rhythmic thump. A soft voice echoed, and you twisted the knob mindfully. Her window was open, allowing sweet spring air to filter the muted room. Her back facing you, she eyed you curiously through her vanity mirror. Curtains danced gently along to the breeze, washing in and out similarly to fresh waves amongst a sanded shore. "Is something wrong?" Maria asked. You shook your head, stepping further into the girl's bedroom. A pair of black heels rested beside her wardrobe, that was cracked open barely enough to peer into. Fuzzy, black cat ears laid innocently on the duvet clad on her mattress, next to a small cocktail dress. Watching your curious gaze, Maria spoke up. “Boring, right? If only I gave myself more time to plan something much... more creative.” A frown etched along her lips, and suddenly you remember your initial concern.

"To be honest, I'm really surprised you're going out at all." You shifted your weight onto one foot, crossing your arms like a concerned parent. A true Italian Catholic, Maria was familiar firsthand with the ghost stories, as well as the guilt. In addition to the generational anxieties, she was taking a course on The Origins of Myths, Monsters, and Vampires, making her excessively paranoid. Weeks had gone by where her flashy clothes collected dust in her wooden wardrobe, and her gaudy jewelry remained unpolished in it's casing, seemingly losing it's initial shine. So, as she clasped a golden bracelet around her wrist, bewilderment nested between your brows.

"It's Halloween," she states simply. "Though," Maria inhales sharply, dropping the makeup brush onto the vanity desk with an audible crash. "I can't help but to think about her--"

"Maria, she--"

"Was found torn apart!" She sobs, tears swelling at her waterline and threatening to ruin her existing foundation. The brunette drops her head into her manicured hands.

Your touch finds her back, caressing where her silk nightgown meets her curled hair. It seemed preposterous-- something subhuman feeding on women you knew personally, something monstrous lingering in alleyways just blocks from an ancient church. Her fears had to be irrational, but as you glanced at her brown eyes and the terror imbedded in them, you wondered if there was a semblance of truth. Just weeks ago, a student was reported missing after a night out. She was familiar to the both of you, yet her remains exhibited anything but. Found with multiple bite marks indented into her tanned skin, she sported a gash so deep within her torso that she could've been split into two. The young woman was nearly unrecognizable. An open-toe heel absent from her manicured foot, she was noticeably brutalized. Her skin was cruelly decorated in maroon hand prints, as if one had skillfully painted them on her mutilated corpse. "You don't have to go out tonight, honey."

Maria tosses her hand up dismissively, then softly dabbed a tissue at her tear-stained cheeks. "I promised Giada, besides, I cannot hide forever," she mumbled. Your roommate returns to her beautification, only to pause and point the edge of her brush at you. "Come with me." Head already shaking, Maria disregards your protest. "It would make me feel better having someone, you know?"

“Must I draw on whiskers too?” You jest.

Maria scoffs, “there will only be one sexy pussy in the club tonight. Find your own costume.”

Singing loudly in the backseat of the taxi, Maria's mood was much brighter. As she moved vigorously to the music, her body continuously knocked into yours, making it difficult to light the cigarette in your hand. Your legs were crossed before you, a small purse resting in your bare lap. Your red cape was tucked behind your sitting frame, and you mentally hoped your costume was easily guessable. Giada was beside Maria, stretching over the console to speak to the driver. You didn’t particularly loathe her, but she was certainly not your favorite of her friends. The blonde was unpredictable, slightly problematic, and was quick to get with any guy Maria showed interest in.

The nightclub exhibited a stone staircase, leading guests down a strenuous journey with a singular railing to trust your balance with. Candles were upholstered against the elongated walls, mirroring something medieval. The wax dried trickling against the chipped paint. Cursing the constructor of the ancient steps, Maria looped her arm around your own. The bass shook the ground beneath you, vibrating against your heels. Amongst the sea of people, remained a variety of costumes and glasses with miscellaneous alcoholic potions, yet under the LEDs, it all appeared the same. Giada swiftly dragged Maria to the dance floor, as Maria gave a pitiful look, and you found yourself residing at the bar counter.

That's when you noticed him. A man with indescribable features remained idly across the bar. His hair could've been blonde, or white, but the lighting only allowed so much to be revealed. You eyed him curiously as he nursed a glass of his own, dark irises staring back at you. Goosebumps rise carefully along your spine, allowing you to feel the tightness of your dress around your torso. Strobe lights flash in, and the mysterious man flashes out-- nowhere to be found once it lights the room again. Trying to shake the image of his gaze, you bring your glass along your lips and force some of the liquor down. It should bother you, shouldn't it? Had he not been strikingly appealing, warmth would not be burning below your waist and teasing along your underwear. You had to be practical, and perhaps there was no man at all. So as a quick hand found it's way along the dip of your waist, you reacted swiftly. "Jesus, Maria!" You hissed, softening as soon as she sat beside you. Eyeing the chilled glass resting before you, the girl smiles. As she reaches out, you watch while the condensation melts into the palm of her warm hand, dripping down her chin as she brings the crystal to her lips. “I would’ve bought you your own,” you scoffed.

Maria hums, taking one last gulp before gesturing to the bartender. She wipes the remaining drops from her mouth, and watches the bartender take away the lipstick-stained glass. “Giada disappeared.” Your eyebrows furrow.

“Disappeared where?”

The brunette audibly shrugs. Seemingly not her first drink of the night, she smiles graciously at the pristine glasses set down before the two of you. Leisurely wrapping her long fingers along the clear cup, her brows shoot up. “With a very large man.” Maria paused, gears visibly turning as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “You know, I promised I’d teach you Italian.”

Any semblance of relaxation had vanished once again. You hated babysitting. You wondered how many drinks Maria had scored whilst you sat longingly on the bar stool. It’s peculiar, her mood now—sitting at the bar, watching as the liquid in her hand swished around the ice cube. “You’re not worried?”

“About Italy?”

“No, Maria, not about Italy. About Giada.”

The woman is unfazed. Perhaps she hadn’t heard you, or perhaps she was apathetic to Giada’s whereabouts. Regardless, you hated repeating yourself— especially when competing with the vigorous bass ricocheting off the warm bodies beside you. Allowing the cold liquid to escape down to the pit of your stomach, you glanced towards the other end of the counter. The same man from earlier was standing confidently once again, except he was no longer alone. His counterpart was nearly a head larger than he, staring over the crowd like a lighthouse would the ocean. His lights surveyed towards your position, and the same chills struck against your spine. This man was easier to make out, with pitch black eyes and tusks of curled hair that pressed against his forehead. It was noticeably tousled, and had you not been staring so long, you wouldn’t notice his shorter companion glance back at you. Maria’s phone begins vibrating on the wooden countertop, dragging your attention away from the attractive duo. “Are you going to get that?”

Maria slowly flips her phone over, revealing Giada’s contact reflecting back at you. Your shoulders lose the built up tension. She's alive at least, you say to yourself. Your roommate mumbles something of needing to meet her in the restroom, and again you search for the man across the bar.

Several drinks later, and you’re stumbling through the stoned streets of Volterra. Thin stiletto heels facing difficulty traveling on the crooked roads, you’re left balancing on the walls beside you. It’s a cruel similarity to the staircase in the night club, only this time there’s no railing to trust your life with. The streets are not always this barren, and for once you’re unappreciative of the lack of the typical chaotic symphony of voices vibrating against the ancient homes you’re sandwiched between. There is no aroma that’s thick of freshly baked bread, or the occasional clang of currency clashing against each other and into the palms of the merchants. There is no chatter of shoppers as they mesh into the bustling market streets. The stalls are devastatingly empty, and as your buzz begins to fade into paranoia, you yearn for someone to guide you home.

A clatter rings behind you, raising the small hairs along the back of your neck. If you could only walk a little faster. You can see the university from where you stood, proud and tall from behind the strip of buildings ahead of you. It’s mighty, and for a second you feel like a devout Catholic approaching the Vatican. Yet, your heart thumps inside your chest, and you find your muscles straining with each quicker step. The organ vibrates louder inside your ear drums, and footsteps are nearing behind you. This is it, you think. I am going to be found with one less stiletto, and bite marks along my corpse. Turning quickly, you’re expecting to meet your fate, but it’s something unexpected. A furrow meets along your brows, and the man raises his hands defensively. “A young woman should never walk home alone, especially not one with your beauty.”

Heart skipping a beat, you internally curse at your nervousness partially calming at the sight of him. A stranger. A man who stared longingly at you from across the club, following in your shadows as you lead him to your residence. And somehow, you’re pleased to see him. Perhaps because he didn’t sport fangs, a massive collar, and a long cape that trailed behind him. Seeing him under the yellow hue of the street lights, only now can you see him perfectly. Nevertheless, you reply, “do you always follow women home?”

The stranger chuckles, and takes yet another step towards you. He is undeniably attractive with a jawline so prominent and a porcelain complexion. His eyes seem peculiarly dark, and then you notice it. An audible hitch in your breath is heard. The man eyes your attire, dragging his crimson irises from your forehead down to your heeled feet. “And what exactly are you supposed to be?”

Perhaps it’s the alcohol lingering somewhere in your system, but his accent sends heat directly where it shouldn’t. You peer up at him, angling your head to get the full visual. “Little red riding hood,” you all but choked. The man smirks down at your frame. “I saw you in the bar.”

“Did you, little one?”

“I think I’d recall,” you hum, somewhat trapped beneath him. You’re engulfed by his cologne, as if he could possibly be anymore enchanting. His maroon eyes still strike bewilderment in you. If he was in costume, did he stop at the contacts? Your curiosity gets the best of you. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“My name is Demetri, and you are?” Demetri brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against it. Only then do you notice how cool his touch is. The man is clad in a black dress shirt, along with black dress pants. On a warm European night like this one, you doubt he's running cold. Unfortunately, your desire gets the best of you.

“What cold hands you have.” You tease. “Maybe I can help with that.”

Demetri wastes no time in swiftly bringing you into a nearby alleyway. Your back is pressed against the hard wall, as he kisses along the skin of your neck, stopping at the ridge of your collarbone. Demetri audibly inhales, the action bringing chills along your exposed skin. Your heartbeat thumps gently against his cool lips and the man lingers for a moment longer. "You're intoxicating." He whispers. A strong hand grabs along your clothed waist, and Demetri's lips finally find your own. You moan into his mouth, arching your back to press your body into his. Your fingertips toy with the material of his dress shirt, fumbling teasingly with his belt before they explore underneath. The man hisses as your manicured nails scratch mindfully along his hardened abdomen. The man is strangely cold to the touch, but as his hand travels below your waist, grasping at the exposed skin where he's pushed up your skirt, any concern is washed away mindlessly.

Whilst pulling at the dirty-blonde hair on his skull, you watch Demetri skillfully unveil your bare breasts. A moan trips over your stained lips, and chilled fingertips toy at your hardened buds. "I wanted you from the moment I saw you across the crowded room." He admits. "Now you're writhing beneath me. You want me to touch you, darling?" His hand cups your warm cheek. The temperature difference makes you lean into his touch. You nod, and the man clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Tell me, or I will not go further."

"Please." But, it isn't enough. The man holds your waist and part of you feels he's holding your entire weight off the ground. Your knees have grown weak, and yet he hasn't touched you where it's truly aching. "Please, Demetri. Touch me."

A man of his word, Demetri expertly swipes a finger inside your underwear. His fingertip borders your entrance, and you watch as he smirks at the readiness of your sex. "So ready for me, I should just fuck you now." His vulgarity prompts your impatience, wanting to just force his fingers inside of you now. "How attached are you to this particular pair?" You wished your mind was clear enough to remember exactly which pair he was speaking of.

"I mean, why do you ask?" You ask flirtatiously.

"Because I am going to rip them off of you." Desire is imbedded in Demetri's eyes, and yet he's still searching for permission in yours.

"Could always buy me another pair."

The man chuckles, tugging at the soaked, lacy fabric and with seemingly no effort, it is audibly torn off of your body and discarded. You gasp, and Demetri catches it with his own mouth. His gentle digits sink into your entrance, collecting the moisture as he pumps in and out intentionally. Heat floods and flushes across your cheeks, and you bury your face into his chest. The euphoria is unlike any other. You wonder where he had been when you truly needed him. Your sex swallows his fingers generously, pulsating around him like a blood pressure monitor. Demetri brings his thumb to simultaneously toy with your swollen clit, prompting a moan to echo in the empty street. "You take my fingers so well, my love. I can't wait to have you around me." Your companion doesn't stop until your face pinches, that familiar warmth explodes in your abdomen. Your knees buckle, and you feel a strong arm bring you in closer to prevent you from collapsing. As your toes uncurl within your heels, you stand carefully. Weak, standing similarly to a newborn doe, you waste no time in grabbing at Demetri's belt. He stands tall before you, and watches as you loosen it. Seemingly amused, the permanent smirk on his face is wiped into pleasure. Your warm hand frees his length, stroking leisurely. Demetri growls as you unwrap your grip from his throbbing erection. Your knees hit the ground in record pace, and you carefully bring his member to your plump lips. "Gods." The man groans, thrusting subconsciously inside the warmth of your mouth. The street is rough on your bare skin, rocking back and forth with every forward push in your throat. The act is loud inside the alleyway. The clash of suction and his own grunts are pleasantly displayed from your position on the ground. As he stands above you, the throb tenses against your clit. He sounds heavenly. Had you known he tasted this delectable, you would've approached him much sooner. Demetri clears his throat. "As much as I would love to spread my seed down your throat, I would much prefer for it to be inside of you." The man brings you to face him again, his jaw visibly strained with pleasure.

Bringing him down to meet your lips, the kiss you share is far too domestic for strangers. You can't say the experience was expected, but part of you wishes it would never end. The attraction you feel towards him is intoxicating, and as he lifts your leg and positions himself at your entrance, you pray he lasts for hours.

Demetri's length slides into you with little struggle, prompting an immediate pulsation from your vaginal walls. He groans into the crevice of your neck and shoulder, placing his teeth gently along the exposed skin. Part of you wishes he would bite down, but he never does. Instead, he swallows your moans with his lips, thrusting into you with such precision you feel him entirely. The size of him seems almost made for you, as he fills and stretches your entrance expertly. "You take me so well, darling. Who knew a little human would be made for me?"

Little human? You're so drunk off of his length, each stroke leaves you thoughtless. "God, I can't even-"

Demetri hushes you, using his strength to rock your hips into his. His attention finds your nipples once again. This time, he brings his mouth down to suckle carefully. The new sensation brings goosebumps scattered along your chest, and your nipples harden against his tongue instantly. "Such a good girl for me." Your body reacts so well to his touch, melting with every gesture he makes. You feel somewhat like a puppet, with Demetri pulling all of your strings. Yet, the interaction is so rewarding. With him inside of you, his length seems to hit an overwhelmingly sweet spot each time. Your weight is once again supported completely and entirely by the man you met less than an hour ago. The hardness of his biceps only ignites the flame more aggressively.

He shudders faintly, and you feel his length twitch inside of you. "I will have you walking home with my cum dripping down your thighs, little one." You moan at the thought, embracing Demetri's strong frame as he finishes inside of your sex. The secretion slightly frozen inside of you, you hiss at it's attempt to seep out. The contrasting temperature from the warmth of your pussy is intriguing. It leaves you somewhat displeased, yearning for another round. Having him inside of you was so fulfilling, feeling him pull out prompted an audible groan of disapproval. To this, Demetri chuckled. As if he could read your mind, he assured you. "Soon enough, darling. We should get you home."

The entire walk home was a blur. Your sobered mind thought of Maria. Demetri pressed his lips against yours at the university gate, promising to see you again soon, and disappearing as soon as your back turned to face him. You wondered what Maria would say if she caught you in such a position. A man-- undoubtably inhuman, fucking you senseless against a residential building. A man, whose skin was frozen to the touch, kissing you passionately before your residential gates. It's almost comical, until you think of the murdered girl. His cool touch, and eyes uncannily crimson, could this be the creature you heard violent murmurs of? Surely, it could not be the same man that handled you so gently. Had he wanted to feast upon your flesh and blood, he would've done so much earlier on, right? The thought of him sinking his teeth into your neck was no longer as appealing, and it somewhat brought nerves to your stomach. Had you encountered the very folklore you protested the existence of?

As you nestled further into your sheets, your mind wandered to Demetri. Had you slept with the enemy?