Podcasts about strange new england

In 1959, a quiet missionary village in Papua New Guinea became the site of one of history's most astonishing UFO encounters—where a priest and his flock not only witnessed a hovering craft but exchanged waves with the humanoid figures aboard.Darkness Syndicate members get the ad-free version. https://weirddarkness.com/syndicateInfo on the next LIVE SCREAM event. https://weirddarkness.com/LiveScreamInfo on the next WEIRDO WATCH PARTY event. https://weirddarkness.com/TVIN THIS EPISODE: The English and Americans aren't the only ones with vampire problems – in China they have a nasty vampire that is also a master of disguise. (Jiangshi, The Vampire) *** Papua New Guinea had an avalanche of UFO sightings in the late 1950s – and one of the most infamous involved a priest and his parish. (Father William and the Flying Saucer) *** “It looked like a baby's body with long arms and legs. It had a big head about the same size as the body, it was sort of melon shaped.” That's how Bill Bartlet described the strange create he saw in 1977. (The Dover Demon Returns) *** Murdered in Montana in 1983, Marie Philbrick was killed in the days before DNA analysis. Bernard Pease Jr. was convicted of her murder, but was he really her killer? (The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick)CHAPTERS & TIME STAMPS (All Times Approximate)…00:00:00.000 = Disclaimer and Show Open00:01:54.305 = Father William and the Flying Saucer00:10:10.647 = The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick00:22:47.250 = The Dover Demon Returns00:42:24.449 = Jiangshi, The Vampire00:46:39.935 = Show Close00:47:22.405 = Final Thought & BloopersSOURCES AND RESOURCES FROM THE EPISODE…Episode Page at WeirdDarkness.com (includes list of sources): https://weirddarkness.com/PriestAndUFO“Jiangshi, The Vampire” by A. Sutherland for Ancient Pages: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/2tvsk3n7“Father William and the Flying Saucer” from Anomalien: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/2cycfdnp“The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick” from CrimeTraveller.org: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/aez456w“The Dover Demon Returns” by Mark Sullivan for Boston.com: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/tbuu3vcw and Strange New England: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/jztfkrsn=====(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46= = = = =WeirdDarkness® is a registered trademark. Copyright ©2025, Weird Darkness.=====Originally aired: March 05, 2023

IN THIS EPISODE: The English and Americans aren't the only ones with vampire problems – in China they have a nasty vampire that is also a master of disguise. (Jiangshi, The Vampire) *** Papua New Guinea had an avalanche of UFO sightings in the late 1950s – and one of the most infamous involved a priest and his parish. (Father William and the Flying Saucer) *** “It looked like a baby's body with long arms and legs. It had a big head about the same size as the body, it was sort of melon shaped.” That's how Bill Bartlet described the strange create he saw in 1977. (The Dover Demon Returns) *** Murdered in Montana in 1983, Marie Philbrick was killed in the days before DNA analysis. Bernard Pease Jr. was convicted of her murder, but was he really her killer? (The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick)SOURCES AND REFERENCES FROM THE EPISODE…“Jiangshi, The Vampire” by A. Sutherland for Ancient Pages: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/2tvsk3n7“Father William and the Flying Saucer” from Anomalien: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/2cycfdnp“The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick” from CrimeTraveller.org: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/aez456w“The Dover Demon Returns” by Mark Sullivan for Boston.com: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/tbuu3vcw and Strange New England: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/jztfkrsnWeird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. = = = = =(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46= = = = =WeirdDarkness® is a registered trademark. Copyright ©2024, Weird Darkness.= = = = =Originally aired: March 05, 2023PARTIAL TRANSCRIPT: https://weirddarkness.com/jiangshi-the-vampire/

In the Northwestern corner of Rhode Island, there is a dark swamp. Inside this swamp lives an ancient being. A being so horrible that residents of the area (and two of history's greatest horror writers) simply called the being... "IT". This is the story of the Glocester Ghoul. _________________________________________ Episode Written and Produced by Tyler Liston Music used with full permissions and licenses from Artlist.io _________________________________________ Want to be a part of a future bonus episode of The Timber? Send your true paranormal story to timber.paranormal@gmail.com ! _________________________________________ Sources: Deininger, K. (2020, November 19). Stephen King's it: Why pennywise is basically a lovecraft monster. ScreenRant. Gencarella, S. O. (2022). Lovecraft and the Folklore of Glocester's Dark Swamp. Lovecraft Annual, 16, 90–127. Girard, M. (2017, October 25). The glocester ghoul. Strange New England. http://www.strange-new-england.com/2017/10/22/the-glocester-ghoul/ Native american legends: Hobomock (chepi). Hobomock, evil spirit of Wampanoag legend (Chepi, Chipi, Hobomok). http://www.native-languages.org/hobomock.htm _________________________________________ Book Recommendation Links! Adam Nevill: The Ritual- bit.ly/3NrhUcA Last Days- bit.ly/3NyAcJc Paul Tremblay: A Head Full of Ghosts- bit.ly/43YbmJH John Langan: The Fisherman- bit.ly/3PEj5Z3 Joe Chianakas: Rabbit in Red- bit.ly/44o9aLl B.C. Jackson: Cigarette Man- bit.ly/447XI6N T.J. Tranchell: Cry Down Dark (Book 1 of the Blackhawk Trilogy)- bit.ly/46xsvM8 --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/the-timber/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/the-timber/support

Help spread the darkness! VOTE FOR THIS EPISODE at https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/mvjsnkbz – you can vote up to 3X per day! Find Weird Darkness in your favorite podcast app at https://weirddarkness.com/listen. PLEASE SHARE WEIRD DARKNESS® in your social media and with others who loves paranormal stories, true crime, monsters, or unsolved mysteries like you do!IN THIS EPISODE: The English and Americans aren't the only ones with vampire problems – in China they have a nasty vampire that is also a master of disguise. (Jiangshi, The Vampire) *** Papua New Guinea had an avalanche of UFO sightings in the late 1950s – and one of the most infamous involved a priest and his parish. (Father William and the Flying Saucer) *** “It looked like a baby's body with long arms and legs. It had a big head about the same size as the body, it was sort of melon shaped.” That's how Bill Bartlet described the strange create he saw in 1977. (The Dover Demon Returns) *** Murdered in Montana in 1983, Marie Philbrick was killed in the days before DNA analysis. Bernard Pease Jr. was convicted of her murder, but was he really her killer? (The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick)SOURCES AND ESSENTIAL WEB LINKS…“Jiangshi, The Vampire” by A. Sutherland for Ancient Pages: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/2tvsk3n7 “Father William and the Flying Saucer” from Anomalien: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/2cycfdnp “The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick” from CrimeTraveller.org: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/aez456w “The Dover Demon Returns” by Mark Sullivan for Boston.com: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/tbuu3vcw and Strange New England: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/jztfkrsn= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =Weird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. Background music provided by Alibi Music Library, EpidemicSound and/or StoryBlocks with paid license. Music from Shadows Symphony (https://tinyurl.com/yyrv987t), Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ) Kevin MacLeod (https://tinyurl.com/y2v7fgbu), Tony Longworth (https://tinyurl.com/y2nhnbt7), and Nicolas Gasparini (https://tinyurl.com/lnqpfs8) is used with permission of the artists.= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46WeirdDarkness™ - is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. © 2023, Weird Darkness.= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =TRANSCRIPT: https://weirddarkness.com/archives/14662

Be sure to check out our website, strangeology.com and be sure to sign up to our newsletter!Also give us a follow for daily updates and goofy memes over at Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and TikTok!If you love cryptid & alien merch like t-shirts, hoodies, stickers and mugs, check out our gift shop which helps me out a lot to help keep Strangeology running!Strangeology is accepting listener submissions for future listener story episodes. If you've encountered a cryptid, witnessed a UFO, experienced something paranormal or unexplained you can DM me on Instagram/Facebook or shoot me an e-mail at strangeologist@gmail.com or call the Strangeology Voicemail at 802.448.0612Want to send me something?Please send any regular mail/letters to: Strangeology PO Box 681 Barre, VT 05641Send parcels to this address: Strangeology 3 South Main Street #681 Barre, VT 05641-0681Intro/Outro music composed by StrangeologyTransition Tracks licensed by Epidemic SoundDuplex Heart - Second Guessing CynicMattie Maguire - Racing Hearts

“JIANGSHI, THE VAMPIRE” and 3 More Terrifying True Stories! #WeirdDarknessLike the podcast on Facebook – https://facebook.com/weirddarkness, join the Weirdos Facebook Group – https://facebook.com/groups/marlarhouse, and sign up for the fee email newsletter - https://weirddarkness.com/newsletter! Please SHARE Weird Darkness with someone who loves paranormal stories, true crime, monsters, or unsolved mysteries like you do! Recommending the show to others helps make it possible for me to keep doing the show!IN THIS EPISODE: The English and Americans aren't the only ones with vampire problems – in China they have a nasty vampire that is also a master of disguise. (Jiangshi, The Vampire) *** Papua New Guinea had an avalanche of UFO sightings in the late 1950s – and one of the most infamous involved a priest and his parish. (Father William and the Flying Saucer) *** “It looked like a baby's body with long arms and legs. It had a big head about the same size as the body, it was sort of melon shaped.” That's how Bill Bartlet described the strange create he saw in 1977. (The Dover Demon Returns) *** Murdered in Montana in 1983, Marie Philbrick was killed in the days before DNA analysis. Bernard Pease Jr. was convicted of her murder, but was he really her killer? (The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick)SOURCES AND ESSENTIAL WEB LINKS…“Jiangshi, The Vampire” by A. Sutherland for Ancient Pages: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/2tvsk3n7 “Father William and the Flying Saucer” from Anomalien: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/2cycfdnp “The Murder Case of Marie Philbrick” from CrimeTraveller.org: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/aez456w “The Dover Demon Returns” by Mark Sullivan for Boston.com: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/tbuu3vcw and Strange New England: https://weirddarkness.tiny.us/jztfkrsn Weird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. Background music provided by Alibi Music, EpidemicSound and/or AudioBlocks with paid license. Music from Shadows Symphony (https://tinyurl.com/yyrv987t), Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ), Kevin MacLeod (https://tinyurl.com/y2v7fgbu), Tony Longworth (https://tinyurl.com/y2nhnbt7), and/or Nicolas Gasparini/Myuu (https://tinyurl.com/lnqpfs8) is used with permission. 

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =WANT TO ADVERTISE ON WEIRD DARKNESS?Weird Darkness has partnered with AdvertiseCast to handle our advertising/sponsorship requests. They're great to work with and will help you advertise on the show. Email sales@advertisecast.com or start the process now at https://weirddarkness.com/advertise = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46Find out how to escape eternal darkness at https://weirddarkness.com/eternaldarkness WeirdDarkness™ - is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright, 2021.= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =00:10:19.655, 00:22:47.655, 00:41:17.662,

The Purrington family seemed to have it all from the outside looking in. But, there were troubles lurking beneath the surface. In this episode the ONUC gals cover the Purrington family massacre. The gals also dive into NKOTB (Leah gets very riled up) and discuss the term 'money can't buy you happiness'. Trigger Warning Level: MediumDescription starts at 39:11 and ends at 43:35. Visit our website www.onenationundercrime.com for all of the ways to contact and follow us. We are on Twitter @onucpod, Instagram @onenationundercrime, and Facebook 'One Nation Under Crime'. Follow One Nation Under Crime on your favorite podcast platform and you will get the shows as soon as they come out! Remember, there isn't always liberty and justice for all. Sources: Touring Maine History, Southend Stories, Parkaman Magazine, Strange New England, and Murder She Told Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/onenationundercrime)

Happy Turkey Day everyone, I hope you are all safe and having a great time with your family. Tom D'Agostino is a longtime musician, author and has been conducting paranormal investigations for 38 years. He writes about true haunted tales as well as guides to haunted destinations all over New England. Tom is incredibly knowledgeable and well read on the topic of the supernatural and answered any and all of my questions. Look out for his 16th book “Strange New England'' coming soon. Also, check out books one through fifteen and his websites: http://www.tomdagostino.com and https://www.diningwiththedead1031.com. This was a lot of and if you took the time to listen to us today, I am incredibly thankful! Make sure you follow me on Twitter @thesimian_ and Instagram @abarbosa000. Follow us on whatever platform you listen to us on and give us feedback. Thank you!! I DO NOT OWN OR CLAIM TO OWN ANY OF THE MUSIC IN THIS PODCAST. 

Dark Windows Podcast ep. 117: This week we are sticking in New England and visiting some strange places in the region. We see things from the location of a possible alien abduction, strange graves the possible final resting place of a pirate captain and his treasure and many more! Thanks to our sponsor Sudio Headphones, go check them out here: https://www.sudio.com/us/ and put in DARKWINDOWS at checkout for a 15% off discount on your purchase! darkwindowspod.com your on stop shop for everything to do with the show! https://traffic.megaphone.fm/AOR7831108090.mp3 Go over to https://www.ageofradio.org/darkwindows/ and check out our shows and our cool sponsors! Find us at: https://www.instagram.com/darkwindowspod/ https://www.facebook.com/Dark-Windows-363596237442341/ https://www.instagram.com/speedie802/ https://www.instagram.com/kcarleton87/ Thank you to all our listeners! We literally couldn't and wouldn't do this show without all of you! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In Episode 4 of Campfireside Chats, Ray Auger speaks with researcher and blogger Michael Girard who runs the Web site Strange New England. Michael discuss his methodology along with some of his favorite New England legends and lore.

If you live in New England, sooner or later you'll have this experience: you'll find yourself driving down a road you've driven a hundred times before and you'll notice something is different. At first, you might shrug it off, but the idea will dog you until you realize something is wrong: something is there that wasn't there before, a small detail like a sign or a tree, or perhaps it's something bigger, like a house or perhaps a road that branches off the main drag which you can't believe you never noticed before. If you're curious or perhaps just plain foolish, you might just backtrack and turn down that road to see where it goes. What harm will it do, you ask? And where that road takes you might just be to a place from which you can never escape,not because you're lost and can't get back to your starting point, but because once you turn around and finally make your hurried way back home, you can never go back, because when you try to return down that road or to that house, you discover, much to your chagrin and mounting concern, that there is no house and no one you know, I mean no one, has ever seen that road that branched off into that place you went. You might try a hundred times to find that road again, but it just isn't there. Sound like something out of the Twilight Zone? I know. Is it possible that things like this do happen? As the writer of these stories here at Strange New England, I've done a fair amount of research about the inexplicable, but stories about disappearing places? Perhaps this it the ‘glitch in the matrix' kind of story that makes for good late night reading on Reddit.   Perhaps it's more of a time slip tale? It's as though once you've slipped out of one place and into another, you don't even want to think about it, or the implications that it brings. I mean, all you have to prove you were ever in such a place or on such a road is your own recollection, and that can easily be discounted to fatigue, a trick of the light, or even a creation of an overstimulated mind. Still, such a thing happened to my wife and I when we were first married over thirty years ago and to this day, we are both convinced that we were allowed a glimse of a place and perhaps a time, that does not exist, at least on any map we can find. And we wouldn't be the first who found themselves in such a predicament.  No matter where you are on Earth there are GPS coordinates that will tell you exactly where you are and they are as close as your smartphone. You can save your location like a bookmark and return to it at your leisure.  But there might just be places that don't show up on the maps, places the GPS satellites don't cover and these places, if they exist, perhaps only exist in the geography of imagination. What I'm about to tell you really happened. My wife, Victoria, and I, both experienced it and it continues to haunt us to this day. Perhaps the word ‘haunt' is incorrect. It doesn't frighten us when we recall what happened. When we remember it, we do so with longing and something else...I think I'll call it hope. We met in college in the early 1980s. I was living on campus in Orono and she was commuting from Dexter three or four times a week, still living with her parents. We had an immediate connection and within two years, we were married and living in a tiny apartment in Bangor, happy and looking forward to whatever came our way. We both worked during the week and though we had almost no money at all, we really were about as happy as either of us ever expected we ever would be. We had an old red Datsun pickup and on weekends, Vic armed with her State of Maine DeLorme Gazeteer, and I  would go exploring.  For you to understand the impact of this story, you must know that Vic has an excellent sense of direction. I can get lost driving home from work, but not Vic. She has a nearly infallible internal compass and can easily weave her way to a place using backroads and byways that appear as only dotted lines on the maps. Be it Boston or some small hidden Maine village whose name is tiny on the map, Vic is a keen pilot. It was on a late August afternoon that we found ourselves sitting under a tree having a picnic with our friends, Thane and her future husband, James, in Newburgh, Maine, about twenty minutes away from our Bangor apartment. Situated halfway between Hampden and Dixmont, Newburgh is rural with mostly small houses and farms surrounded by wooded, rolling hills and farmland. There are many sideroads leading off Kennebec Road.  As the day wore down to dinner time, we decided it was time to head back into Bangor. With little else to do, we took it upon ourselves to take the ride slowly just in case any new path came our way that we could explore. There were hours of daylight left and we had no particular place to go. We turned onto Kennebec Road and began driving back to Bangor with the lazy afternoon sun still high overhead. Vic and I both grew up in the country, she in Dexter and I in Caribou, and though we were now residents of Bangor, we were hopeful to someday find our own little place away from the hustle and flow of the city in which we now lived. We talked about it often, but only in a vague, in the distant future kind of way. We couldn't afford to buy a used car, let alone a plot of land in the country. To that end, we often turned down back roads, especially if they were narrow and tree-lined and unpaved, looking for some prime piece of real estate in which to plant a dream. You never know where you'll end up when you start down such a road. You might find a sheltered little village or at least an abandoned farm or two that you might be able to buy cheap and revamp into your own little paradise on earth, some place with only a foundation and perhaps an ancient orchard to tell us that people once lived there before the ravages of time caught up to them. We had little else back then except our dreams and each other, so it was a cheap adventure to go exploring. “Here,” Vic said as we approached a road just barely visible until you were right on it. “Turn here. Let's see where that goes.”  We were perhaps three miles from our friend's house in Newburgh. It was a narrow track with barely enough room for our truck, our tires vibrating to the dirt, sending a small cloud of dust behind us as we drove, erasing the world. The trees that lined the road were deciduous, not evergreen, with maples and birches predominating. There were no houses to be seen and telephone poles, either. In fact, there was little on either side of this road to indicate that anyone lived nearby. Such roads aren't that rare in this part of the state. They are the rule, rather than the exception.  As we continued on for perhaps a half mile, we noticed the road rising as we made our way up the slope of a hill. When we reached the top of that hill, what we saw was burned into each of our memories. Even today, thiry years later, we reminisce about it. Vic remembers the details better, with the eye of an artist, but without a doubt, we both remember the same place with the same details. There was a field on the right just before the old white farmhouse. Across the road from the farmhouse was a traditional red barn with perhaps a small outbuilding or two. Another field to the left of the barn rolled out down the hill into what appeared like a long private valley. We could see no other houses either nearby or in the distance. I stopped the car because it appeared to us from our vantage point that the road ended right there, in front of the little house. We sat transfixed, quietly taking it all in. Later we would each claim that this was our idea of a dream house, in a dream spot and that no other place we could ever imagine could be as perfect as this place. It was a small, two-story house with a white fence and flowers blooming next to the foundation, the kind of farmhouse you'd find in a hundred small Maine towns anywhere in the state. The medium sized-barn was well-kept and sturdy with one sliding board door, all closed. Whoever lived here took pride in appearances. It felt like home. As we looked out over the field in the distance, we saw a green valley and a wooded hill beyond, looking southward toward Dixmont. It was a secluded spot, away from the world and we felt that in a very real way. There were no cars or tractors, just the buildings and the road and the view that seemed to never end. As we sat there, a nagging feeling of having to leave entered our minds, but we lingered nonetheless. I remember putting the car in reverse to turn around when Vic stopped me and asked if we couldn't go closer to the house, to see what lay beyond. I said I didn't think so. Were we trespassing? Yes, probably, though there was no posted sign and we had turned down this path innocently enough. We contented ourselves by soaking in the view for a few more moments before I backed onto the field, turned the truck around and left, catching my final glimpse of the golden afternoon in the rearview mirror as we rose over the top of the hill and made our way back to the Kennebec Road. But for days we couldn't get the thought of that place out of our minds. How often did we talk about how perfect it seemed, how a place like that...no...how that place would make a perfect home, a hideaway with a few acres where we could settle down and build a life together.  We knew we couldn't afford a place like that, not yet, but we could dream, couldn't we? For a week, we spoke of little else. The next Saturday we loaded a picnic lunch into the old Datsun and drove back to that place, this time to knock on the door and meet the people who lived in our dream house. But we couldn't find the road. At first we both laughed it off, amused that we could have missed such an obvious thing, but as the afternoon wore on, it became clear to us that we were searching frantically for something which, to be quite honest, wasn't there anymore. But how could a road vanish? How could we be so wrong about its location when both of us distinctly could recall the entire series of events that led us to that place?  As the afternoon wore on and we had backtracked again and again to no avail, we shrugged our shoulders and found our way back home, completely stymied by the whole experience. We were sure we had seen it, certain that we weren't experiencing some shared hallucination, but at the end of the day one thing was clear: we couldn't find the road that led to the house that felt more like home than any place we had seen before. Time passed. Life kept us busy enough and like most people when faced with the unexplained, we shrugged it off as our own mistake. Somehow, we had simply missed the turn. We had obviously not paid attention to detail, lost in the perfect moment we spent looking out into the field beyond the house and into the isolated valley below.  It was a small thing, really, and we had a life to build, but in the back of our minds, we always wondered.  As the years passed, we kept looking. No one we knew had any idea what we were talking about, not that we told many about our visit to the lost valley.  We scoured the maps, tried every back road and dirt path we could find, but to no end. That house and barn, that long valley, those forested hills beyond were nowhere to be found. When Google Earth came online, we made a point to scrutinize the imagery as closely as we could, expanding our search to miles beyond anywhere we had been on that late summer Saturday so many years ago.  That road, that house and barn, simply aren't there. We strayed off the map. It happens from time to time. It might have happened to you and you weren't even aware of it.  How could you know, unless you were enchanted by something you saw and tried to find it again and found it gone, dissolved into the space between the atoms of the world, unavailable to you, ever again. What haunts my wife and I today, more than anything else, is the feeling that we were supposed to see that place, that it was no accident that we stumbled upon it. It felt like home to us, that much remains. Everything else is just a mystery. If you've ever found yourself off the map and dare to share your story, please contact us at strangenewenglander@gmail.com. We'd love to hear from you and if nothing else, assure you that in the strange world of people and doings, you are not alone.

Some might say that northwestern Rhode Island had been cursed by some dark force in the past. It has been the source of many foul tales of devilish specters and hideous brutes. Its forests appear darker and colder than others. On all sides are ancient trees with branches that writhe like tendrils over its roads. As a fog settles over the evening, you can’t escape the feeling that stygian beast skulks within it. Though you might expect these sensations are borne from the darkest corners of our imagination, there are five men who would strongly disagree. For one late night in Glocester, Rhode Island, they encountered a fiend like no other; the Glocester Ghoul. Albert Hicks, the last person to be executed for piracy in America, was born in Foster, Rhode Island in 1820. He had one ambition in life: to become rich by some bold stroke. He said that the only value his wealth would have was to gratify his passions with no restraint. His career as a pirate and criminal involved many monstrous deeds. In his confession, Hicks said, that the devil, whose work he was doing so industriously, seemed to protect him while he pursued a career of blood and crime with impunity.  “He has stood by me all my life, on ship and on shore; amid the howling storms of the ocean,” Hicks said, “where every moment the waves threatened to ingulf (sic) me, he has snatched me from their deadly embrace; on the battle-field, in Continue Reading → The post The Glocester Ghoul appeared first on Strange New England.

The Connecticut River is the largest river in New England. It meanders its way through the hills and forest of Northern New England between Vermont and New Hampshire and discharges itself in Long Island Sound. This leviathan consumes over 11,263 sq miles of the Northeast. Traced by many cities and small towns, it’s an icon of the New England lifestyle. Though seemingly beautiful and peaceful by day, its undulating coils hide many stories and secrets along its path to the Devil’s Belt. One is a mysterious glowing thing that lurks in its waters. In 1956, a portion of the Connecticut River was dammed up for the purpose of hydroelectric power production. Though formally named the Samuel Moore Reservoir, the residents of Littleton, New Hampshire refer to it as Moore Lake. It became a staple for summer fun for the people of Littleton, but on the evening of May 20th, 1968 a few would find something other than fun at Moore Lake. Around 3 am Monday morning, what had been a quiet evening for the night officer of the Littleton Police Department came to a sudden end when three seemingly terrified youths stormed into the station. They were so delirious officer Miller only heard, “red glow on the water,” and “thing”, in the anxious chatter. The one thing the officer Miller did understand was that whatever it was these three saw, it had terrorized them. Richard, his wife Cindy and Michael were now feeling safe in the company of the officer. Continue Reading → The post The Glowing Thing of Moore Lake appeared first on Strange New England.

Hidden within the undulating arm of the Connecticut River is a serpent that has frightened those who’ve lived on it banks since colonists first settled there. Often it has been described as an eel or snake-like serpent over one hundred feet long. Though over the past three hundred years it has been spotted by people across three states, it still appears to remain a mystery. In the early 1800s, spotting strange creatures off the coast of Connecticut was not uncommon. Sailors would return to port with tales of ghastly leviathans they encountered in their travels. The most peculiar of these stories frequently surfaced in the local publications. One that crossed the pages of the New York Times and Scientific American was not reported by sailors at sea, but by people deep in the heart of Connecticut. This beast appeared to make its home in the Connecticut River. The first sighting of this monster was in Middletown Connecticut, and recorded by the New York Times on Sept 8, 1886. According to the article, Colonel Stocking and Silas Sage witnessed the creature while in a little skiff off Cromwell, Connecticut. While crossing the river around 6 am, they were suddenly struck by something underwater and the skiff was tossed into the air. As they came crashing back onto the surface of the river, the two men were tossed out of their seats. Fortunately both landed on the floor of their tiny boat. As the two terrified men reluctantly peered over the side Continue Reading → The post The Connecticut River Serpent appeared first on Strange New England.

Strange History is the audio companion to the blog Strange New England where we investigate the forgotten, unusual, and simply strange folklore, history and destinations in New England. Growing up in the northeast we’ve always had an interest in tales of the ancient structures, monsters, mysterious locations, natural wonders and weird legends of New England. Over the past 15 years we’ve hunted down some of the most unique history and places in the northeast, and shared some of the highlights with you. We’ve spent many hours digging through archives, interviewing local people and traveling throughout the Northeast to visit forgotten sites. Our goal has always been to investigate and record the distinctive history and folklore that makes New England so unique. Recently, we had the opportunity to record some spots called CuRIous for the Rhode Island radio station WPRO. Due to the incredibly positive response to the spots, we decided it was time to finally make the step toward doing our own regularly scheduled PODcast. ~ Strange New England The post Strange New England Podcast appeared first on Strange New England.

Washington Irving wrote of the Headless Horseman, a tale of a Hessian of Sleepy Hollow who had lost his head in war. It’s a wonderful story that all enjoyed in their childhood. In RI though there is a more gruesome tale of a headless spirit in Swampton. This story may even predate Irving’s tale, and cause most to shudder in fear, when alone on Indian Corner Road. In the early 1800s a large portion of Swampton consisted of over grown forest and wetlands. Virtually all of the roads that traverse through the wilds of this portion of RI didn’t have names. Often the locals would apply names to them that best described their location. While some were adorned with pleasant names like Rathbun and Sunnyside others had much more gruesome rubrics. Dark Corners, Purgatory Rd, and Robbers Corner carried names that both identified them and warned the weary traveler. Though most names changed over time, there are those who’s now formal name still carries the spirit of its location.  Indian Corner is the most interesting and frightening of those lonely byways. Indian corner Rd. lays in Washington county Rhode Island and travels northeast toward Wickford. Over 200 years ago, Indian corner was marked by a large boulder for when the winter snow made it difficult to follow. Just as long as the rock stood watch over that lonely stretch of road, many travelers who brave it by night spoke of an encounter with a headless torso or its disembodied head. Continue Reading → The post The Headless Skeleton of Swampton appeared first on Strange New England.

It won't be long now. The night winds begin to gather the chill that will eventually drill into our bones once the damp, grey skies of November gather overhead, anchoring us to the sunset and the dark. Trees are explosions of color and then nothing but skeletons, their gnarled hands reaching for the sliver of moon left to us - the only light left in the dark. October is a country full of spirits and innuendos of the unknown and we are no strangers to its paths. Some of us even enjoy the quickening of the heart that comes with the unexplained shadows and sounds from the dark corner of unlit rooms.  As Halloween arrives, I thought Strange New England might serve as a place to recall some of the stranger aspects of living in New England and how this landscape of long shadows keeps us in our place and makes us whistle in the darkness. Though we report the stories, legends and tales that populate the pages of Strange New England, I can only claim to have experienced the edge of normal a few times in my life.  It takes more than a little courage to come out and share them, so I'll begin with a simple thing.. I would like to share my experience of the phenomenon known as Death Knocks. I was a senior in high school when my experience occurred and it haunts me to this day. The seemingly inexplicable events of that one stormy winter night has never been something I could explain to my own satisfaction. Perhaps my readers will think I'm stretching the truth, but I invite you also to help me determine what really transpired that cold December night in 1979 in the cold expanse of far northern Maine.. We lived on the Back Presque Isle Road, seven miles from Caribou and fourteen miles from Presque Isle. We had neighbors, but they were not exactly next door neighbors. I was a junior in High School and I was staying up late watching television on  Saturday night. I was used to staying up late and on the weekends, I had permission from my parents to set my own bedtime. Like most teenage boys, I got a thrill from staying up until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore and this was such a night. My parents were down the hall asleep and I was camped out on the couch watching Saturday Night Live. Outside, the snowstorm quickly developed into a blizzard, the wind whipping great gusts of snow against the windows and walls, trying to get in at every little crack.  At the end of the show, WAGM played its customary film of Old Glory fluttering in the breeze as it played the Star Spangled Banner and then everything turned to static. I had already fed the woodstove an extra helping of birch and was about to see if anything was on CHSJ, the Canadian channel from over the border when it happened. There was a pounding on our porch door. Three loud thuds resounded in the living room and brought my heart directly to full throttle as it tried to jump out of my chest. As I try to recall the events of that night, I remember that there was essentially a blizzard raging without, one of those that erased all of the hard edges of the world and covered the darkness with the fainted, palest white. I remember that I froze in place, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. It didn't make any sense. Our porch was fully enclosed and was a room in its own right. The only entrance to that porch was a sliding glass door that was locked firmly closed by a piece of maple cut to the exact length of the door and set carefully in place to block the door from sliding. There was no way anyone could have gained entrance to that door without breaking the glass or somehow lifting the piece of maple from the groves of the bottom of the casement. The question in my mind had no real answer: no one could be out there. No one. Three more knocks, this time even more pronounced, hammered against the door. This time, I sprang off the couch and ran down the hallway to awaken my father. Dad had been a deputy sheriff and had a small handgun he kept in a drawer next to his bed. When I recall, I find it odd that he didn't reach for it. He simply got out of bed and went to the living to room to hear for himself. Three more thuds. “Who's there?” my father said loudly. Two words - a simple question, really. But the answer was not forthcoming.  He stood next to the door and said, “I'll ask you one more time. You are you and what do you want?” Silence. “Go see if you can see onto the porch,” he told me. Our porch door had no peep hole and was solid. There was a window in the kitchen that looked out onto the porch, but there was nothing out there but darkness, but because of its placement, I couldn't see to the door itself. “I can't see anything,” I whispered to my dad. “Come back here,” he whispered back. A minute that seemed like a slice of eternity passed and then, a single thud, the loudest so far, resounded in the air and shook one of the pictures off the wall. “I'm doing to get my gun,” my father said firmly to the air. “When I come back, I won't hesitate to use it. Now, one last time, who the hell are you?” Silence. And that was that. No further sounds, no other knocks. Simply the long silence after the fact. We waited near the doorway for perhaps three or four minutes. Dad took the opportunity to put on his winter coat and boots, still not actually retrieving his weapon. Then, he turned on the outside light that lit the driveway and our front yard. Though the driving snow reduced our visibility, we could see that there were no footsteps onto our porch in the snow. The driveway and lawn were a pristine white blanket of snow, undisturbed by any mark of passage. We both went outside, but not before Dad got his pistol. As the snow and ice stung our faces, we took a flashlight and examined the sliding glass door to the porch from the outsider looking in. It was secure and tight, the measured piece of maple board still blocking the door from opening. The tight beam lit the interior of the porch - it was empty of anything that didn't belong there.  Whatever had caused the knocks was not currently on the porch or anywhere that we could see. Whatever had tried to gain entrance into our little home on the freezing cold night was nowhere to be seen. I wish I had something to tell you that would help to explain what happened. At the time, we had no idea what this strange occurrence meant or how it could have transpired in the first place. It has become of the strangest mysteries of my life. I learned later that in some cultures, such as my own Franco-American, but also the Scots-Irish tradition, there is such a thing as a death knock. They come in the night and are supposed to announce the oncoming death of someone in or connected to the household. The knocks usually come in sets of three and are supposed to signify that in three months, three weeks, or three days, someone will pass away. Death knocks, then, are a portent of doom. Strangely enough, no one in our house died in three months, three weeks or three days. But I have kept one of the most disturbing details for the end of my story, which is that even my father, the bravest man I have ever known, didn't dare to go out onto that porch until the next morning when the sun finally rose. We unlocked the door and slowly opened it. There, on the floor just in front of the door, no bigger than a saucer plate, was a small puddle of red, red blood. Happy Halloween!.  

A re-broadcast of our November 29th 2014 show. Strange New England with Lynne and Willy

This October, Strange New England will cover ghost stories in a special series of articles with a theme befitting Halloween (or The Day of the Dead, if you celebrate it). We will talk about those denizens of New England who never quite left after death, where they remain and their effects on the living. Just as New England's history began with the First Nations that greeted European settlers, so will we kick off a whole month of spooky stories with an obscure Abenaki ghost story that comes with a twist. There are not many versions of this story, but this one is inspired by the version retold by Tsonakwa and Yolai'kia in their book Seven Eyes, Seven Legs. To date, Tsonakwa and Yolai'kia have the most detailed retelling: Gluskabe and Pogunuk sat around their campfire late one very dark and very unusual night. Even in a time where there was no electricity, the darkness seemed to be thicker and blacker than normal. The sounds of wildlife were barely audible, if at all. Both the god giant and his blue and red fisher friend had to speak loudly to hear each other, but still struggled to be heard. They also threw a lot of wood onto their fire to bring more light and heat to their camp, yet it was still as cold and dark as ever. Both supernatural heroes knew that this was not an ordinary night at all. When the darkness and cold of the deep night was too thick to be penetrated by celestial and man-made light, supernatural mischief must be afoot. They turned out to be right. The chieftains of the ghostly tribes were due to meet together on this night for an important occasion. Ghosts, like living humans, have a similar social hierarchy and gather together when the need arose.  The ghostly leaders were to determine who among them was best suited to lead them all as the 'grand sachem' or grand chief of all of the ghosts. While traveling to the meeting place, they spotted their opportunity for the challenge they were seeking out. They all decided that whoever could scare these two larger-than-life heroes would be declared the grand chief of the ghosts. They knew Gluskabe and Pogunuk were great heroes who were not easily frightened, but if one of their number could scare these two heroes, he or she would be considered powerful enough and frightening enough to lead them all. First, the ghostly figure, Screech Owl Woman, uttered a spell to secure the heroes' backs to the large pine tree they were sitting against. Forced to sit up and watch, each ghost took a turn to scare the two larger than life heroes. They began with the least frightening ghost chiefs at first, to weed out those who were obviously unfit. They laughed at their non-spooky kinsmen as they each took their turn. Soon, their more frightening chiefs were taking turns. But much to every ghost's dismay, none of their own frightened him. In fact, Gluskabe laughed with delight at them and told them how entertaining he thought they were. Meanwhile, Pogunuk began to fall asleep.By the time each ghost chief had taken his turn trying to scare the god-giant and his friend, no one was laughing at each other's expense anymore. All of them were frustrated and annoyed that their efforts to be terrifying were resulting in the snoring and laughter of their intended victims. But one ghost still laughed. They all turned to hear the tiny laughter of a little ghost child. Tired and frustrated, one of the ghost chiefs then said to this ghost child "If you're so brave, let's see YOU scare the Great Gluskabe!" With little ceremony, the ghost child was forced to face the god-giant alone. His eyes grew wide and his little ethereal knees knocked together as he looked up at Gluskabe, who was so much larger than he was. Gluskabe began to feel pity for this little ghost child, who looked up at him with fear in his small, searching eyes. It is also possible that Gluskabe was also feeling very weary as well, since he was being deprived of sleep by this mass of ghosts. To end this tiresome contest once and for all, Gluskabe decided to pretend to be scared. He flailed his arms and legs all around and then proceeded to faint in an over-reaching display of mock fear. He even stuck his tongue out when he pretended to faint for added effect. Gluskabe's performance of being scared was so convincing, that it left all of the ghost chieftains astonished and humiliated. By the rules of their contest, the little ghost child that no one thought was frightening became the one who ruled them all. He became even bolder after this victory and stole Gluskabe's tobacco pipe, holding it aloft with pride while the other ghosts, chiefs and all, escorted him to their meeting wigwam. As the dawn rose, Gluskabe saw the ghosts grow invisible. It now looked like the pipe was floating in the air down the dirt road all by itself. As Pogunuk began to wake up, Gluskabe confided in his friend:"I should not have made such a big deal over such a small thing. Now, I've lost my smoking pipe." They also were left struggling to get up, because Screech Owl  Woman had not uttered a spell to get them unstuck from the pine tree. After much pulling and pushing, they finally managed to stand up and go after the stolen pipe with large pieces of pine bark still stuck to their backs. Bare patches were left on the pine tree as a result. According to Tsonakwa and Yolai'kia, the Abenaki tribes never feared ghosts, because they knew from this story that despite being terrifying in sound and appearance, they were all led by a small, overconfident child who was far less powerful and frightening than he thought he was. There is not much written about this story. However, it does contain a valuable moral: never make a big deal out of something small. Bibliography Seven Eyes, Seven Legs: Supernatural Stories of the Abenaki by Tsonakwa and Yolai'kia. Kuloscap is a great hero who owns a great pipe on frenys.com campfire-flickr.com, under Creative Commons License 4.0

This October, Strange New England will cover ghost stories in a special series of articles with a theme befitting Halloween (or The Day of the Dead, if you celebrate it).…

Tonight Willy and Lynne discuss some of those strange and unusual stories from around the New England area.