So, hey, guess what? The folks behind The Black Tapes Podcast and Tanis have a new podcast for us. Called Rabbits, it debuted today on Pacific Northwest Stories’ sister network, the Public Radio Alliance. It features a new voice, that of producer Carly Parker, whose bio tells us cut her teeth at PRA as an intern in college and who later worked for the network as an associate producer; we’ll also probably hear some other voices with which we’re already familiar, like Nic Silver’s.
Here’s the description from the Rabbits site:
Read more "The ‘Rabbits’ Podcast From The Creators Of ‘The Black Tapes’ & ‘Tanis’ Wants To Play A (Probably Dangerous) Game With You"
Previously: “The River Country Film.”
I struggled with what to call this one. It doesn’t really have an official name; it appears all over the internet under a variety of titles, from “The Scariest Picture on the Internet” to “Japanese Girl’s Suicide Drawing.” (For what it’s worth, I dislike this last one intensely; I think it’s enormously insensitive.) “The Girl in the Drawing” is what I came up with; it feels right to me in a way the others don’t — it’s a little more descriptive than just “The Scariest Picture on the Internet” (which, let’s face it, could refer to a lot of things), but evocative enough to make us want to know more.
Read more "Creepypasta of the Week: “The Girl In The Drawing”"
Type: Unclassifiable. MO and EV are the strongest possibilities, although in the absence of further information, a classification is not possible to be made at this time.
Period/location of origin: Conflicting. The photograph itself is believed to date back to 1959, possibly originating in Texas; however, the earliest appearance of Subject 1A (see below) may have occurred solely on the internet circa 2009. Additionally, an anecdote meant to explain Subject 1A may have also appeared solely on the internet, albeit several years later (circa 2012-2013). This anecdote is… questionable.
Appearance: Subject appears to be a black-and-white photograph of two small boys seated at a table in the laps of two women. The women are assumed to be relatives — judging by the apparent ages of each, possibly mother and grandmother. The table is set with a tablecloth, three lit candles, and what looks like a tea set. Above the candles appears to be a humanoid body (Subject 1A), either hanging upside down, or perhaps falling, as subject’s colloquial name suggests. The taker of the photograph is unknown.
Read more "Encyclopaedia of the Impossible: The Cooper Family Falling Body (And) Photograph"
Previously: The Sallie House.
It’s a fixture of the landscape: 45 feet high and 350 long, stark white against the surrounding brush of Mount Lee, yet harmonious with the blue of the sky above it. It imparts one message, but also many — so much conveyed in just one word: “Hollywood.”
Of course, the Hollywood sign wasn’t always the Hollywood sign; it’s fairly common knowledge by now that originally, it was the Hollywoodland sign. It also wasn’t necessarily meant to stand the time in quite the way it has: It was, after all, originally just an advertisement for a real estate development. But it has become iconic — if there’s one thing people think of when they think of L.A., it’s the Hollywood sign — and, as is often the case with iconic places and things, it’s also gotten a reputation for being haunted. Given Hollywood’s long, storied, and often seedy history, it’s not surprising that its most notable landmark might have this sort of reputation — but if you had to pinpoint where it all began, it always comes back to one person: Peg Entwistle.
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Previously: Japanese New Year Ritual.
Ritual pastas tend to fall into two camps: Games you read about because they’re good stories, and games you read about because it seems like you might actually be able to play them. 11 Miles is definitely the former.
There’s secondary set of categories, too, by which ritual pastas can be similarly divided: Games that are made-up internet shenanigans, and games that stem from history or folklore. Here, too, 11 Miles is definitely the former.
But although it might be clearly made up, 11 Miles also follows a longstanding tradition of journeys in folklore, legend, and mythology: Journeys to get your heart’s desire; journeys to return home; journeys to get your heart’s desire that result in returning home because you didn’t realize that returning home was what you wanted all along. I keep thinking back to The Odyssey — a much longer trip than 11 measly miles, for sure… although perhaps only in the literal sense.
Read more "The Most Dangerous Games: 11 Miles"