Haunted Cosmos - The Lost Colony, Part II

Episode Date: September 11, 2024

Please enjoy this seventh inter-season episode of our Patreon exclusive show, The Dusty Tome. In this episode, we continue the story of Roanoke!Love Haunted Cosmos? Get access to our exclusive show, The Dusty Tome, early ad-free access to main episodes, monthly AMA's, and livestreams with Ben and Brian by becoming a patron of the show: https://www.patreon.com/c/HauntedCosmosBuy the Haunted Cosmos book: https://www.newchristendompress.com/cosmos PS: It's also available as an audiobook!Want to keep nefarious fairy Bigfoots away and also avoid icky seed oils, preservatives, artificial colorants, and other nasties in your daily shower routine? Then check out the vast array of homemade soaps from our friends at Indigo Sundries Soap Co.! Go to indigosundriessoap.com to learn more—and as our gift to you, use code HAUNTEDCOSMOS for 10% off your whole order!This episode is sponsored by New Dominion Design Co. Visit their website here and learn more!This episode is sponsored by Zily Creative Works. Join the kickstarter here!This episode is sponsored by Backwards Planning Financial. Visit Joe's website here or give him a call (615-767-2555).This episode is sponsored by Squirrelly Joe's Coffee! Visit their website here to get your first bag free!  Share Coffee. Serve Humbly. Live faithfully.Finally, this episode is sponsored by Gray Toad Tallow. Visit their website here and use COSMOS15 at checkout for 15% off your order.Support the show

And welcome to this seventh of 10 interseason installments of the dusty tome here on Honod Cosmos. Hope that you guys have been enjoying these sneak peeks into our Patreon show. And if you like them, consider becoming a patron. You get access to over 75 of these episodes that have been backlogged. We try to provide as much value as we can to our patrons. And they seem to like it. There's a great community. It's thriving on Patreon.

We have a lot of fun. So if you're interested, consider checking it out. And if not, know that counting this episode, there's only four more weeks until the official beginning of season four. We're so excited to share these new main shows with you guys. So everyone gets stoked and you just have to stay a little bit more patient. Thanks for being excited. Thanks for supporting the show by listening.

We're incredibly grateful to you, of course, to our patrons, as I've said. And additionally, this episode is brought to you by Indigo Sundry Soap Company, Backwards Planning Financial, New Dundee. Dominion Design Company, Grey Toad Tallow, Zillie Creative Works LLC, and Squirley Joe's Coffee. Everyone sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. The aging man's calloused fingers brushed over the straight line letters carved into the tree trunk. The little splinters left by the knife digging and then scooping the wood felt surreal. And the atmosphere around white gave off the sensation of a dream, or some kind of half-drunken stupor that overcome someone and whispers gently that they must.

sober up. Yes, a peaceful surrealism painted his world now. All the stress was released and a single Claudian instant like dark orange watercolor falling down on a sea of cold ocean blue. This message was a good sign and white was relieved. Croaton, reinforced by the start of the word a second time on the first tree he saw, the one that said CRO, referred to an island 50 miles to the south, which housed the native tribe that had long been allied to the English settlers local to them. There was no cross, they were in no immediate danger, and they were all going to somewhere safe. White would get to see his precious granddaughter so soon, or so he thought.

His masterfully painted mental serenity started to fade as the rumbling thunder from the coast crashed into his ears. A summer storm hovered angrily over the Atlantic. It would have already been close to their ships. And being caught in such a storm with no supplies and unreliable shelter was not going to help anyone. The team agreed, White doing so with great reluctance, to return to the boats and formulate a new plan of action on how they might proceed.

Bear in mind, he was not the captain of these vessels. He was merely a passenger who had been promised nothing more than passage to this very spot. White could sense growing tension between he and the crew on the short hike back to the lifeboats and knew that one way or another, getting what he wanted, would be a great struggle. They arrived back at the moonlight and hope well in the nick of time. Waves battered the hole and salt spray teemed the deck. Counsel was held in the darkened rooms in the belly of the moonlight, and tensions came to a head.

While sympathetic to White's long-awaited return to the people he was governor over, the men who had ferried him halfway across the world also had their own business to attend to, and any further delay would cost them dearly. It was a cost they weren't willing to suffer, and it was a cost White was not able to pay the difference for. Even still, hope was not lost. It was agreed that the boats would wait until morning before making the short jaunt south the Croatohan.

They'd dump White with his few remaining people as quickly as they could on the unknown shores before finally completing their purposed journey to the Caribbean. This concession was hard fought and hard won for White, but the agreement had been reached and he knew these men, whatever else they may have been, were at least men of their word. The night passed in a pensive and nervous watch as the storm raged unceasingly. The most seasoned men grew ill in the sloshed about vessel. They felt like lesser men shoved back through a vortex to a time that required its people to be better, harder, tougher, and more apathetic about their own comfort.

In the dimly lit hours of the morning, before dawn with her rose-red fingers, crept above the edge of the sea. The levy of hope broke with the sound of a snapping line. One of the anchor ropes strained and jolted here and there for nearly 24 hours straight in the roughest seas it had ever seen, sheared completely, and sent the moonlight careening around in circles, barely holding on to its one remaining anchor. The ship almost beached itself to death on the nearby sandbar before the captain barely maneuvered it to deeper waters. The storm remained, and a decision had to be be made quickly. White, who was sitting below deck on the Hopewell, heard the call. Moonlight would have to sail back to England. And while at first glance, this may not sound like the worst case for White,

the loss of the partnering ship meant that Hopewell did not have the manpower or supplies to make any unnecessary stops before reaching the Caribbean. They'd already be low on rations by the time they got there, and so they had to get there fast. White pleaded his case to pitiful but understand understandably deaf ears and was told that after wintering in the warmer and calmer waters, he would be carried back near Virginia the following spring. He could almost see the island he needed to get to. It was just 50 miles due south from where he was, but it may as well have been on a different planet,

or in a different history long past and forgotten by the world. The relief, White felt, the tantalizing promise, the peace, all of it was so short-lived. He had come all this way, and his reward would be to wait yet longer to reach his goal, only he never actually did reach it. Hopewell attempted to surge south, but was pushed ruthlessly east breakneck on, slamming through walls of water, driven by some divine wind from the west that hated the dejected father and grandfather. Our modern Ulysses stood like a stone, unfeeling now on the ship's prow and felt his heart hardened with frost.

All wills wished for the southern route. But the ocean's mind won out and sent them flying far east, past the Azores, desperate now for new rations of food and water, until they finally haphazardly landed on the familiar shores of Plymouth in England. In 1590, John White found himself stuck back in England yet again. He was out of money and out of favors from those above him. The governor of Roanoke was stuck like a strained mule, pulling a heavy cart through Thickmire, whipped and pressed to his break. point, White gave up all efforts and hope of ever seeing his people again. This last promise is the only one he was able to keep. He never hugged his daughter again, never kissed the plump and rosy cheek of his blessed

granddaughter, though it was all he could ever wish for. So what about the colony? Do the people really go to the island of Croatohan some fifty miles south of Roanoke? Of course it seems the most logical answer that they did, but there are other things that have happened. things pertaining to that seemingly powerful word, which cast doubt on ever finding the true answer. Brian, I got bad news. The other day, I was using one of the big box soap products to wash myself,

and I got this weird urge to go buy a Stanley cup and fill it with iced coffee, and it started to feel a little cold in the house. I just wanted to wrap myself up in like a heavy wool blanket. And then also, I started Googling ticket prices to Taylor Swift concerts. Ben, what are you doing? Don't you know that these big box soap companies just jam all their soaps full of hormone-disrupting chemicals? They're probably turning you into a girl.

Well, I know that now, but what am I supposed to do about it? Ben, you ignorant normie. All you've needed to do is go to indigo sundry soap.com and support a great Christian family business that's making all sorts of soaps that are completely free of hormone disrupting chemicals and other nasties. Okay, I am literally going to indigosundrysoap.com right now. Tell me what to buy. Ben, what I would recommend doing is clicking on bundles and then selecting the best one for you.

You could get the men's six-pack. You could get my favorite, the clay bundle. Ooh, I like the pipe and jug bundle. That seems cool. Or a men-six-pack, because that'll make me feel like I have something that I actually don't. So true, King. And you know what else I heard? Because they're such good friends of the show,

Indigo Sundry's soap company is offering 10% off your order if you just use all caps, discount code, Haunted Cosmos, no spaces. Wait, Brian, you're going way too fast. I didn't get all that. Is that information in the show description? Ben, you ignorant normie. It's always in the show description. Okay, so I'm going to go to indigo sundry soap.com.

I'm going to pick the men's six-pack bundle, and I'm going to use code Haunted Cosmos at checkout, all caps, no spaces. And if I forgot all that, it's in the description of the show. Of course, Ben. And if you just do that, then you will stop wanting to do all of those girly things. And maybe you'll, I don't know, maybe want to buy a classic car to restore or something dignified. We are living in the beginning of a new reformation. Christian content is being produced at a rapid rate.

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but shaking with chills all over. Death is always ugly, unnatural and cold. But some deaths, look far worse than others, and this was one of those particularly grisly ones that sent a shriek down the spine. His lonely hospital bed had not yet had its skirts graced with the love of any visitors for days while the delirious man withered away. Earlier he had been found in a Baltimore tavern, seemingly intoxicated, acting crazy and saying the most curious of things. His mind was still right enough for him to have sought the help of a local acquaintance, and thus it was that he ended up in

the hospital bed, sterile and neat and unfamiliar to him. Of course, this semi-crazed state of lunacy was a chief contributor to his lack of any visitors. You see, the hospital thinking the odd man under the influence of especially strong alcohol or drugs, had confined him to a ward reserved for such degenerates and kept him there alone, devoid of most human contact until he sobered up. He never did. Whether it was the effects of cholera and hallucinations that finally got the better of him or whether it was somehow foul play nobody to this day really knows the death of this man so insignificant in his day and so larger than life now in ours remains one of the literary world's greatest enigmas the reasons for this mystery abound and fall outside of the scope

of this episode all except for one it is said by some including the attending physician that as Edgar Allan Poe took his final breaths. He let out a single word as if an objection to the providence that had brought him there. His chest heaved under labored breath that sounded like grinding gravel, tumbling over itself. Before with a quaking voice, the macab poet shouted, Croatowin. Oh yes, this word, this awe-inspiring word, seems to follow many mysteries down to its very death,

often in the pages of history. In late July of 1897, a girl named Amelia was born to the Earhart family of Atchison, Kansas. Today, people say that the house she grew up in is haunted, a little sister to the other famous layer of jackals in Atchison, the Sally house. At any rate, the young Earhart's life was marked from Jump Street by irregularity. She was the older sister to Grace Earhart, and the girl's mother, a strong-willed woman named Amy, was hardly interested in raising her children to be simple nice and ladylike girls. Instead, she often dressed her daughters in boyish clothes and encouraged them to always go outside, to always get dirty, to always get hurt, even in the journey of

some adventure. For years, Amelia and her little sister resisted these proddings from their mother. They were both insecure about the other girls of the neighborhood, who always wore dresses and who just seemed so different from them. Eventually, though, the adventurous bent, bit down hard, especially on Amelia's heart, and never let them go. She became passionately interested in aviation, probably because it was the new and cutting-edge thing that still seemed so frontier to the world's people. As early as her early 20s,

she started making headlines as the first female passenger in a plane that crossed the Atlantic. From there, her momentum only waxed and finally culminated in her being awarded the U.S. Distinguished Flying Cross upon her completion of the first female, non-stop and solo transatlantic flight. The fame was sweet to the young woman.

She made a good wage as a visiting lecturer at Purdue University and spoke frequently at political rallies supporting the early feminist movement. But it was always the prospect of adventure that really kept her waking up each day. Earhart was not content to be a one-hit wonder adventurer and soon began searching out the next big thing that she might set her mind to accomplishing,

and it didn't take long for her to find it. Since the passing of the shining newness of her transatlantic flight, a new and very natural feat had been accomplished by only a few people in the world. A full flying circumnavigation. Of course, to us, the idea of a circumnavigational flight that is not solo and that is also not non-stop does not appear all that impressive on the surface. After all, people do that all the time nowadays. But bear in mind, the sheer state of the affairs of aviation at the time that Amelia was hoping, to carry this out. Aircraft technology was still in its infancy compared to today. The infrastructure of air traffic control and runways and airports was hardly even in existence yet. And the art of

packing and supplying oneself for such a voyage was still a matter of trial and error. They would have to use the stars to navigate. And the purest sense of the phrase, this idea of circumnavigation by flight, even after it had already been done by a couple of men, was death-defying. It was a conundrum and a contradiction, a puzzling problem that lacked a solution. It was just the thing that attracted Amelia. Leveraging her good graces with Purdue University, she set up a fund for aeronautical research and proposed its first research endeavor to be the very flight around the globe that she wanted to undertake. All of this was accepted seamlessly, and a check for $50,000 was cut to purchase the cutting-edge craft she would need from Lockheed Martin.

This special edition, Twin Engine Electra, was fitted with extra fuel tanks and dozens of new sensors to help Amelia gather the data that would be necessary to justify calling this whole thing a research project. She excitedly sought out who would be the best navigator to assist her on the voyage. Remember, this wasn't supposed to be a solo trip, and landed on an old friend named Harry Manning. The two had known each other for years, and Earhart knew their chemistry would be crucial in the grueling endurance test. Unfortunately, though, during some test flights across the continental U.S. that Amelia and her husband, George Putnam, were using to gauge exactly how far Manning's navigational skills went, he was found a bit lacking. Bear in mind, he wasn't horrible. After all, he had been a successful

sea captain for decades. But the stretch over the Pacific Ocean was going to demand a crack celestial navigator, and Manning simply wasn't that. It was therefore decided that the initial stretch from Hawaii to the small Polynesian island of Howland would be navigated by an aviation superstar from the budding company of Pan Am named Fred Noonan. From Howland, Manning would navigate Earhart to Australia, where she would resupply and finish the remainder of the journey on her own over the more familiar air. With these details finalized, everything seemed to be in place and ready to begin at the drop of a hat. Airhart climbed into the cockpit months later. In the intervening time she had attempted the journey already and had failed before she had ever reached Hawaii.

The minor setback had been overcome only to be replaced by another. Global wind patterns and undergone a dramatic shift, and Earhart was left making a dramatic decision. While her route was not going to change, the order in which she did it would. Instead of flying east to west, she was going to go west to east. With this decided, and for reasons not entirely clear, Manning, one of the navigators and her only real radio operator had dropped out of the expedition, leaving just Fred Noonan left to accompany Earhart around the world. After a surprise flight across America from Oakland, California to Miami, Earhart had announced that she would be continuing on from there to finish her circumnavigation of the world with Fred. And so she climbed into the now-familiar

seat, Fred tucking into the seat behind her, and shook away lingering nerves as she fired up the engine. And so the intrepid team flew all over the world. They saw the contrast of the high deserts in South America set below her snow-capped Andes. They saw the Amazon Delta pouring into the cold and unforgiving Atlantic that Earhart knew so well and so fondly. They saw the forgotten coastlands of the dark continent that were bereft of much life and commerce, but were vibrant displays of pastel hues of orange and green and blue. They saw the raging Nile, that artery of light, to so much of the ancient world and the narrow cap of the Southern Red Sea. They crossed the badlands of Saudi Arabia and spotted the high gate of the east, the Great

Himalayas from the fertile Indus Valley. They looked down on the Garden of God, kept safe from the industrializing moderns in the Southern Orient, before finally touching base at the tip of Australia and moving on to New Guinea. From here they resupplied and ready themselves for the final leg of the journey. What's more, it would be the most difficult part of the journey. Passing through the international date line and over Point Nemo, the place in the world furthest away from any piece of land as they marched across the Pacific and back to the U.S. They would feel like the heroic Gilgamesh trekking across the fence line of the world, looking for the secret to life and immortality. If only they knew then that though they would immortalize

themselves, it would be for a most despairing reason. The plane was loaded down with tons of supplies when they took off from Ley Airfield. The small strip of sand marking the beginning and end of New Guinea passed beneath them without much notice until they were flying thousands of feet above, a universe of blue. This flight from Ley to Howland was set to be the linchpin of the voyage.

If they could crack this approximately 20-hour jaunt over the waves and wind dark sea, they'd be close enough to home to smell the hot dogs on the piers of California. The U.S. Coast Guard decided to lend a helping hand for this difficult navigational task. and sent one of her cutters, the Atoska, ahead of Earhart to serve as a point of contact for the flight and as a smoke signal on the horizon from her engines, leading them in the right direction.

Almost immediately clouds set in overhead, making visible contact with the smoked out fuel from the cutter impossible to see from the cockpit. Soon after that, it was discovered that Atoska's radio frequency would not allow them to verbally communicate with Earhart at all. She could talk to them, but they could only more. Morse in reply. This, everyone figured, would be enough. Not ideal, but enough. Due to the cloud cover, Erhard and Noon lowered their altitude considerably during the first half of the flight and buckled in for the long haul through the skies under the cover of night's darkness. At about

6 a.m. the following morning, the flight made contact with the Toska and reported that they were no more than 200 miles away from the landing strip. They asked for the ship to use its direction finder to provide Amelia with a bearing that she could follow to the island. Unfortunately, as stated just previously, they could not talk back to her, and the Morse code reply was too complicated to be of any use. Etoska was left with nothing to do except sit there and hope Earhart didn't run into any unexpected issues. Almost an hour later, Earhart radioed in again and asked once more for the bearing to be told her. She was not understanding that the Coast Guard couldn't reply in the way that she needed. She and Noonan, though they had expected surface support, were essentially totally alone.

Nonetheless, she was reporting that they were only 100 miles away at that point and should be landing soon. It was about 40 minutes after this that the Atoska calculated Earhart's Electra to contain no more than 30 minutes of fuel. The crew of seamen therefore tried to feed her a bearing using Morse code, but despite Earhart's acknowledgement that she received the data, it was all to no avail. She was unable to help herself. Eventually, the minutes rolled by, and Earhart's voice on the radio grew more scant and crackly,

interrupted by the noise that creeps in with greater and greater distance between the two speakers. She was moving further away from them. Soon, they couldn't hear her at all. In fact, nobody ever heard her voice again after that. Amelia Earhart was declared missing with Fred Noonan an hour later, and a search was launched right away. Now, mind you, the full story of Earhart's disappearance, much like... the full story of Edgar Allan Poe's death, and the search efforts for her are the stuff of great mystery and would be befitting of its own episode. But we'll have to pass over the bulk of

these strange happenings in order to focus on a single one. What is worth noting is that among the many PR strategies used to drum up excitement for this flight, one of the most successful included Earhart sending frequent journal entries via mail to connections in the U.S. These These journal entries were recorded in major newspapers throughout the country to give people a sense of connection to the pilot, as if they were right her with she and Fred on this monumental journey. In the days leading up to her disappearance, Earhart's journal entries were normal enough, with one notable exception.

Right before she took off from Lay, bound for Howland, that fateful flight, she scribbled a word into her journal that has puzzled all sleuths alike to this day. It was the word, Crowatoan. Are you a Christian struggling to find companies that align with your values and beliefs? Well, Squirrely Joe's has you covered for at least all of your coffee needs. All of their coffee is hand-selected and roasted fresh every day by a family of fellow believers. Try them out and you'll savor exceptional coffee while knowing that your investment supports a company committed to following God's teachings and upholding truth and righteousness, ensuring your hard-earned money contributes to the growth of God's kingdom.

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So head over to Squirleyjoos.com slash haunted cosmos. That's Squirleyjoos.com slash haunted cosmos to claim your free bag of coffee. Let's flip and go. Link in the description below. I'm a poet. Didn't even know it. Have you checked out Escape Master, the ultimate competitive family speed card game made by our friends Zach and Lily? Escape Master officially launches on Kickstarter September 18th.

So click the link in the description to Back Day 1 and unlock the fun of Escape Master from Zillie Creative Works. When Sir Walter Raleigh, the man at the helm of the Virginia colonies of the Genesis of the Elizabethan Age, heard about the migration of Roanoke from John White, He was immediately concerned. Now, mind you, his concern was not entirely fueled by a sincere concern for the lives of those settlers who were not accounted for. Instead, he was most troubled with keeping up the narrative that they were alive and well, so that he wouldn't be reprimanded for losing an entire group of 120 English peoples in the new world. This would almost certainly cost him his post, and he couldn't have that.

To prove this less than savory motivation behind the man's panic, he eventually admitted that his voyage to the colonies in 1595, a voyage undertaken with the spoken aim of finding the exact whereabouts of the Roanoke settlers, was actually just a trip he was using to try and find the legendary city of gold, El Dorado. Like I said, he wasn't too above reproach. But whether in pretense or in truth, Raleigh could soon no longer afford to ignore the glaringly empty space that now existed on Roanoke Island. He thus funded a mission on the outer banks of North Carolina that would he hoped finally determine the fate of Roanoke.

He hoped further that his assumptions of them being alive and well still would be proved completely right. He was wrong. After spending the bulk of their time harvesting easy to get sassafras far to the south of Croatohan Island, Raleigh and his team were forced to return to England without a single search of the island due to worsening weather with the change. changing seasons. Once back in England, Raleigh found himself caught up in a conspiracy against the magnanimous King James I. When this conspiracy failed, his name was tarnished beyond repair,

and his charter for the Virginia colonies was revoked in disgrace. Thus ended the selfish forays of Sir Walter Raleigh into the western reaches of the world in pseudo-search for his lost countrymen. It wasn't until four years later that any interest was taken in the case of the lost colony again. This time it was thanks to the person of heroism, John Smith. That interest was once more renewed in the case of the ghost town. As the Jamestown settlement steadily grew more and more settled in the little valley near the coastland of the Virginia colony, Smith started to get bolder in his explorative forays of the surrounding foothills. The dense woods and thick, humid air meant endless opportunities for newfound treasure and character building for an entire lifetime

and then some. In addition to this, the looming threat of some of the local tribes being hostile lent an air of excitement to all of these excursions. It was this threat of hostile natives that was the first weave on a thread that would eventually increase the mystery of Roanoke for all of us today. Hacking through the dense undergrowth on a sunny day, John Smith and his men, were suddenly ambushed by the Pauhattan tribal warriors. Unsure as to how these other-worldly men ought to be treated,

the captors lugged Smith back to their village and set him before the tribe's leader and his brother. Over the course of a colorful conversation that eventually turned far more amiable than either party could have predicted beforehand, Smith finally gained the social credit necessary to ask the leader if he had heard anything about a settlement of people that looked like him, going missing from Roanoke and ending up on the aisle of Proetoan. The chief described a strange place to Smith, a place that was called to them, Okana Honan, where he had once seen men who dressed in strange clothes that looked strikingly similar to Smith. In addition to this, a nearby village was filled with walled houses that were utterly out of character from the other surrounding Algonquin people's architecture.

All of it sounded promising to Smith, and so he had the tribesmen help him construct a map of these anomalous areas close by. At the bottom of this old, nearly ancient map, there is a small dot labeled Pachrachanik, with a note scribbled in the margin beside it which reads, quote, Here remaineth four men clothed that came from Roanokak to Okana Hohan, end quote. We'll end tonight with a selection from Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven. Join us next week for the conclusion of our study of the Lost Colony of Roanoke. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as if someone gently wrapping, wrapping at my chamber door. Tis some visitor, I muttered, tapping at my chamber door, only this and nothing more. Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow,

vainly I had sought to borrow, from my books, surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore, for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, nameless here forevermore. And the silk and sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before. So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, to some visitor-intreating entrance at my chamber door,

some late-visitor-in-treating entrance at my chamber door. This it is, nothing more. Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer. Sir, said I, or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore. But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, that I scarce was sure I heard you. Here I opened wide the door, darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming, dreaming, dreams. no mortal ever dared to dream before. But the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no

token. And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Lenore. This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Lenore. Merely this and nothing more. Want more haunted Cosmos? Then make your way over to Patreon, where you can get early access to our content as well as exclusive content in regular dusty tomes and monthly live streams with Brian and myself. So go to patreon.com slash haunted cosmos and sign up now.