Lore - Episode 193: Eye to Eye

Episode Date: February 28, 2022

The monsters from folklore that make the biggest impact on us are also the ones that are the most similar to us. It’s almost as if the most dangerous creatures of all are the ones that have a healthy dose of humanity in them.  ———————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com Access premium content!: https://www.lorepodcast.com/support To advertise on our podcast, please reach out to [e-mail], or visit our listing here.

It's safe to say that most of us have felt it before. It's that feeling of unease whenever we look at a robot or a doll, or even some halfway-decent CGI meant to look like a human being, but something doesn't sit right. Most today call it the Uncanny Valley, this emotional response we all have to things that are supposed to look human, but don't entirely sell the part. They fail, but just barely, and that leaves our brains trying to solve a very subtle puzzle. Thus, that feeling of unease. But it's also the tip of a larger iceberg.

We, as human beings, are very aware that we are unique on this planet. No other animal comes close to our intelligence, our use of language, or our adaptability. And nothing quite looks like us, either. And that uniqueness is reflected in our folklore. For as long as we've been telling stories, some of the most frightening tales have been those about creatures that look a bit too much like us. The global little people stories are just one clear example. In the search for someone else to blame for our own very human failings, cultures have

invented smaller humans to use as scapegoats. And it highlights a sort of invisible line, one drawn between the truly human and the almost, a line that separates our lived experiences from the unexplainable and provides believable excuses for events and evidence that our minds don't want to attribute to our friends and neighbors. And that line is where the most frightening stories can be found. The vampires, werewolves, and zombies of pop culture are terrifying because they straddle that line.

And so does one other creature, one that is both highly regional and historically common. The stories are fascinating, yes. But if even some of them are true, they're also absolutely terrifying. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. It began like a scene from a classic horror film. The moon was bright in the night sky, partially obscured by the fog rolling in off the swamp as the boat slipped through the dark water. The man standing in the boat was an alligator hunter, hired to take tourists out for a taste

of adventure. And as they moved along, someone spotted movement up ahead at the edge of the water. Everyone else glanced up, and sure enough, there was a darker shape among the shadows, and it was dragging a large object out of the water. As they approached, they could see a man-sized figure pulling what looked like the carcass of a deer up the steep bank and onto dry land. But as the tourist boat spotlight cut through the darkness and found its target, everyone gasped.

What they assumed was a man turned out to be something more. Something beastly. It's just one of countless stories told all throughout the Louisiana bayous that surround New Orleans, and the monster at the heart of them all is both familiar to locals and typically unheard of by visitors. The Rugeru. But its history and characteristics make it one of the richest creatures at the edge of our folklore.

Now before we dig deeper, let me set the stage by pushing away a misconception. A lot of people believe that the Rugeru is nothing more than a Cajun version of a werewolf, and while there are a lot of similarities, there are big differences as well. So as I tell you about the beast, I'll use werewolves as a comparison to draw distinct lines around this powerful regional creature. The name itself is said to have come from the French term, Lugeru, which roughly translates as Wolfman. In fact, the earliest pieces of the folklore about it come from France, where wolves were

a constant source of fear and danger for many centuries. But along the way, sometime in the 16th century, fear of wolves began to transform into something darker. Soon enough, the Wolfman was the go-to boogeyman excuse for all sorts of tragedy. Did your kid go missing? Lifestock get attacked? An outbreak of disease swept through your town? The culprit was most likely the Lugeru.

It even creeped into the local Catholic Church, where it was rumored that if anyone failed to observe Lent, they too would be hunted by the Lugeru. And when folklore embeds itself in not only the normal communal life of a country, but also its religion, it becomes really difficult to separate them. Which is why the Lugeru followed French settlers to the New World. Today, the two biggest hotspots for Lugeru folklore are Quebec in the north and Louisiana in the south. So how are Lugeru different from werewolves?

Well it comes down to a few key rules. First everyone is familiar with how werewolves of legend are supposed to transform, right? Only at night and only during a full moon. Which makes their appearance more predictable, but also less common. But the Lugeru can transform any night they want. And in most folklore about the werewolf, the human that transforms into the creature never remembers the deeds they've done when they wake up in the woods the next morning. Their transformation is complete, both physical and mental, which means their humanity disappears

for a while. Not so with the Lugeru. It's said that humans that transform into the Lugeru are fully aware of their humanity while they are out hunting and terrorizing. Which is torturous for them, but also good for the community. Why? Well it gives them hope that should they ever encounter a Lugeru themselves, the creature might have pity on them or even be talked out of murder.

Physically Lugeru and werewolves look similar, but the Lugeru is said to have bright red eyes and they can also take on other shapes as well. Animals like mountain lions, wild boars, and even bears. But the biggest difference between the two creatures might just be the most frightening. Because it highlights just how easy it is to fall victim to the most terrifying possibility of all, that you might also become one. We all know the story, the werewolf jumps out of the forest and bites you but leaves you on the edge of death's door.

And if you should be lucky enough to recover, you gain more than just your life back. You gain the curse. In a lot of ways, werewolves, like so many other creatures from folklore, behave like infectious disease. Which makes sense. For a very long time our ancestors had no idea how illness worked and just assumed that evil spirits were involved. And so maybe all evil spirits behave that way.

With the Lugeru though, it's not that simple. In fact, the folklore around it feels more like a curse than an infection. And maybe that's part of why it's more frightening. Basically put, the legend says that if you are bitten by a Lugeru, or if the Lugeru transforms before you and reveals their human identity, it's tag you're it. That's the start of a curse that's supposed to last 101 days. After that, you might be safe but there's always a catch. If during those 101 days you reveal the identity of the Lugeru who cursed you, your curse becomes

permanent. And it's easy to see how this feeds into the folklore. If no one is allowed to talk about where they got their curse, it makes it easier to avoid handing over definitive proof. But that hasn't stopped people from reporting Lugeru sightings over the years. Back in the early 1920s, for example, two boys claimed that they were chased through their dark neighborhood by a strange dog. After climbing a fence and hiding in some bushes, they watched as the dog jumped over

the fence and then transformed into a person before walking off in another direction. One man back in 1971 claimed to have hit a calf while driving one night. When he got out of his vehicle to inspect the damage, though, the animal got back up and transformed into a more human-like shape and walked away. The man got back into his car as fast as he could and sped away, and I probably would have done the same. And in the 1980s, a sheriff in another small bayou community was called about a mutilated cow.

When he arrived, though, the locals were quick to suggest the obvious. A Lugeru had done it, which sounds like superstition, I know, but it was reinforced by another sighting just the day before of an unusual wolf-like creature. The most common story told, though, might just be the tale of the white dog. There are a few versions of it, but it goes a little something like this. A teenager is walking home one evening after spending time with his friends. But as he's going along, he notices a strange dog following him at a distance. Soon though, the dog had moved closer, and that made the teen uncomfortable.

In most stories, they say he picks up some rocks and tries scaring the dog away by tossing them at it, but nothing worked. And not too long after, as he's walking more quickly down the street with a bit of panic in his chest, he feels the dog nip at his heels. Finally, out of desperation, the teen pulls his pocket knife out and flicks the blade open. As the dog approaches again, he turns around and swings the knife downward, catching the animal on the snout and drawing blood, and only then does it stop following.

But even stranger things are about to take place. The dog, they say, begins to make an unusual sound, something a real dog wouldn't be capable of. And as it does, its body twists and morphs until it takes on the growing shape of a human being, a man. And it's a man that the boy recognizes. Upon locking eyes with the teenager, one of the ways they say that the curse can be passed on to others, the man is said to have smiled and reminded him of how the curse works.

He might know the Rugeru's name, but if he tells anyone about it, the teen will be locked in his curse forever. And with that, and no further details about whether or not the boy avoids the curse, the story always ends. It's a fairly modern legend, although it hasn't stopped the story from being passed around as if it happened to a teenager right there in countless communities. It's part entertainment, part warning. Be careful what you do when you see strange creatures, because you might be getting more

than you bargained for. Some stories are older, so old in fact that we have to follow them back to France, and these more ancient tales do a couple of powerful things. They provide us with a unique view into the lives of people who lived long ago, and they give us a reason to be very afraid. Jean Plante and his brother Thomas lived in the French village of Argentiné back in the 1600s. I could set the stage for you, but honestly, if you just conjure up images of idyllic rural

life in the French countryside, you'll get pretty close. Yes, this was the world before electricity and the industrial revolution, but whatever it lacked in safety and comfort, it more than made up for it through sheer beauty. And that's right where the brothers operated a grain mill on the Armancon River. Locals said that Jean wasn't very superstitious, which made him unusual in the small community. They also said he drank a lot and had a temper, although those last two things might be closely related. And then there was the rumor that he slept in a bed with a big, vicious-looking scythe

hanging over it, an all-around nice guy for sure. Jean actually lived at the mill, although his brother lived elsewhere and just showed up each day for work. I don't know what that says about them, though. It could be that they never got along, or it might just mean that Jean owned the mill and simply employed his younger brother Thomas. Either way, they were together every day and apart each night. One day, though, Jean got drunk a little bit earlier than usual, which meant that Thomas

was there to see it happen. And while they were working, a knock sounded from the door of the mill. It was a stranger, a man who appeared to be a beggar, and Jean shouted across the room for him to go away. Thomas, though, actually approached the man and locked eyes with him. He repeated his brother's dismissal, although a bit more kindly, and the stranger walked off, disappearing into the nearby woods. It was a brief encounter and most likely quickly forgotten.

After all, life at the mill was a bit of a grind, but soon enough, stranger things began to happen. First the mill's water wheel stopped working. After checking the wheel and all the gears connected to it, Jean became convinced that the problem was a jam in the mill itself, believing that Thomas had failed to notice that there were stones mixed in with the grain. Thomas denied it, of course, and suggested another explanation. Perhaps the beggar had cursed them.

But Jean hated all things superstitious, and fueled by a bit too much alcohol in his veins, he attacked his brother and threw him to the floor. With clenched fists, Thomas almost returned the abuse, only to stop and walk away with a warning. When you see me again, was all Jean could hear. Jean got blindingly drunk that night, more than he usually would, they say, and in his drunkenness he passed out on the grass outside the mill. When he awoke in the middle of the night, though, he looked up at the window of his

bedchamber to see the candle lights moving. In fact, it seemed to leave the room and go elsewhere in the mill. The next night, he even heard footsteps in the mill, but couldn't find the source. And night after night, this went on, slowly driving him more and more to the edge. Until finally, one night, about a week later, he decided to get so drunk that he would pass out and not hear a thing. But in doing so, he slept long into the next day and missed a major feast day at his local church, All Saints' Day.

That night, a storm blew in. The darkness was deeper than usual and the wind kept pushing the door of the mill open. And as Jean sat there in his chair beside his bed, stressed beyond his limits by the week's events, he watched as a large dog walked inside and began to climb the stairs toward him. A dog, they say, with red glowing eyes. Just as the dog was nearing him, another gust of wind howled through the room and blew out the candle, leaving Jean in total darkness.

But he could feel the creature approaching, its hot breath on his skin, and the eyes were still there, still flickering like fire. Desperate he reached for the side above his bed and swung it at the creature, slicing off one of its ears. A heartbeat later, though, a flash of lightning lit up the room to reveal that the dog was gone and standing in its place was a familiar shape, the figure of his brother. Thomas asked his brother why he was so afraid and what he was doing sitting in the dark, but Jean could only stare because there was blood on the side of his brother's head,

right where his ear had once been. And then, with the trembling voice, Jean whispered his realization out loud. It was you. Some legends are more powerful than others. Sure, we have all sorts of wild and wacky monsters in our collective folklore. Frog people, giant birds, people with the snouts of pigs where their faces should be, things that might only be explained by pointing at an old newspaper article about a burned down military research facility, you know?

But the ones that catch on, the ones that seem to spread and develop a solid base of believers tend to have something in common, human-like characteristics. Vampires are frightening because you could be standing next to one and not know it. Werewolves look exactly like you or I until they transform, and the ruguru fit that mold as well. But it's not all chills and thrills in the world of the ruguru, thankfully. Sure, people still whisper scary stories about them, and they probably always will. But there's an entire subculture that sees them as fun, fascinating, and worth celebrating.

And probably the best example out there is something that happens every year in the Louisiana town of Aoma. They call it's ruguru fest, and it's everything you'd expect it to be. There's a cruguru parade filled with all sorts of monster-costumed mayhem, there's live music, a costume contest, they even crown a ruguru queen every year. It's proof positive that the people of Louisiana still adore the ruguru, and maybe even also fear it, if only just a little. It's a monster that's close enough to human beings to feel like an old friend or our worst

nightmare. I suppose it all just depends on the circumstances and whether or not one is looking you straight in the eye. And for the bravest of the brave, maybe swing by the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans. Because for the last 20 years or so, it's been home to a swamp monster exhibit. And the ruguru, or at least a life-size replica of one person's interpretation of it, is one of the most popular attractions there. But if you see one out in the wild, it might be better to run.

And whatever you do, don't make eye contact. The ruguru is a fantastic example of a regional variation on an older theme. A werewolf altered by time, culture, religion, and word of mouth, all working together to create something unique and special in the world of monsters. But there are other tales in the South that fall comfortably inside this shaggy corner of folklore. In fact, there's one more that I just had to set aside, because it is so incredibly creepy.

So stick around through this brief sponsor break, and I'll tell you all about it. Life was far from perfect for Emily, although it didn't start out that way. She grew up the daughter of one of Woodland George's most wealthy citizens, after all. In her early teens, though, her father passed away, leaving her mother Mildred to care for Emily and the others all by herself. It was a loss that had a silver lining, though. Emily's father had left his wife a nice, tiny sum of money. So rather than struggle through parenthood alone, or even hire someone to help around

the house, she used some of that money to send all of the kids off the boarding schools. Apparently an empty nest was exactly what Emily's mother was looking for. When Emily returned from a year in Europe, folks around her noticed that she was different than before. Of course, she'd just spent time in the old world, so maybe the different cultures there had made an impression. But it seems that there were more oddities than just a darkened personality. Her mother noticed that Emily was a bit more distant, more tired and depressed, and no

wonder too, Emily was clearly having trouble sleeping at night. But beyond that, there were some other unusual changes, such as darker, thicker hair on the girl's hands and feet. Oh, and her mother swore that Emily's teeth had gotten longer. Anyway, kids grow fast, so it was hard to figure out what was normal and what wasn't. And with all the other kids home for the summer as well, Mildred's hands were full. So as so often happens for parents, life's busyness swept all the little stuff away. It was honestly all she could do to keep up.

That summer, farmers in the area began to have trouble with wild animals. They would head out to their fields in the morning and find one or two of their cows on the ground, with vicious wounds in their sides and their throats torn out. And they did what they'd always done when they had trouble with wolves. They organized an overnight watch in hopes of catching the beasts in the act. But nothing worked. When they became desperate enough, they reached out to the last person they wanted to speak with.

He was a newcomer in town, maybe just a handful of years before, having traveled all the way from Eastern Europe to settle out on the edge of town in the woods. They assumed that he could help because the rumors all said that he had unusual skills. So a number of those farmers gathered together one day and headed out to see the old man. They told him about their problem and how their nightly hunts had failed to find anything. And then they asked him for a solution. The old man told them to go gather a good quantity of silver and then use it to make as many silver bullets as possible.

The farmers were skeptical, but also desperate, and desperation often has a way of helping people forget common sense. So they did as they were told. The old man's last piece of advice was to wait for a full moon, which was also odd. Perhaps they assumed the increase in light from the moon might better their chances of hitting their targets. So they went along with it, and when the moon was full, they gathered for one final hunt. That night, the farmers headed deep into the woods outside of town, near where all the

mutilated cows had been. An hour or so into their vigil, they came upon a clearing that was open to the night sky. And soon enough, they watched as a large shape approached from the opposite side. But it wasn't a wolf. No, this creature stood on two legs, not four. Yes, it was hairy, and yes, the shape of its face and ears looked a lot like a wolf, but there was also something distinctly human about it. And as it moved at the edge of the clearing, the farmers felt fear wash over them.

Finally, though, one of the men raised his rifle and took aim, and all of the others around him did the same. On command, they all pulled their triggers, and the silence was torn open by a thunderous volley of gunshots. They heard the beast howl in pain, but lost it in the smoke and darkness as it fled their weapons. And that rumble of gunfire did something else. It woke up Mildred.

When she sat up in bed, she wondered what the noise might have been, and if Emily, her teenage daughter with so many troubles, had fallen out of bed or needed her help. While Mildred pulled on her nightcoat and headed to Emily's room. But the girl wasn't there. Her bed was empty, but worse than that, the front door of the house was standing wide open. Had Emily wandered out into the night, was she sleepwalking alone in the woods? Mildred searched frantically for her daughter.

It was dark, but the moon above cast just enough light for her to find her way. She cried out for Emily, and as time went on she felt her heart beating harder and harder. But then, just as she was about to give up, she noticed a pale shape resting against the base of a tree. It was Emily, and she was bleeding. Mildred used some of the fabric of her coat to put pressure on her daughter's wound, and then ran for help. Soon she was back with a town doctor, and he helped bring Emily home and tend to her

injury. She couldn't be sure, he told Mildred. But it looked as if a bullet had grazed her side, leaving a vicious cut across her skin and muscle. Emily recovered in the coming days, but as she did, rumors also started to get stronger. The farmers all knew that they'd hit their target, whatever the animal had been. And they knew that Emily Burt had been in the woods and struck by a bullet. In their mind, the math was simple.

Emily was the beast. A werewolf. Mildred didn't address the rumors, but she did do something odd after that. She packed up Emily's things and shipped the girl back to Europe, out of reach of the gossip mill in town. But she also sent special instructions for Emily to see a particular doctor in Paris, one who had experienced treating a rare illness. Lycanthropy.

Emily wouldn't come home for many years after that. And she did, though, it seems that the darkness of her teenage years was gone. Perhaps she had grown out of it, or perhaps the doctor in Paris had cured her of something deeper. We'll never know, for sure. What we do know is that she followed in her father's footsteps after that, becoming a very successful businesswoman. But there would always be some who looked at her with a cautious eye.

Because it was hard to say what might happen. With the next Full Moon. This episode of Lore was written and produced by me, Aaron Mankey, with research by Michelle Mudo and music by Chad Lawson. Lore is much more than just a podcast. There's a book series available in bookstores and online, and two seasons of the television show on Amazon Prime Video. Check them both out if you want more lore in your life.

I also make and executive produce a whole bunch of other podcasts, all of which I think you'd enjoy. My production company, Grim and Mild, specializes in shows that sit at the intersection of the dark and the historical. You can learn more about all of those shows and everything else going on over in one central place, grimandmild.com. And you can also follow this show on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. Just search for Lore podcast, all one word, and then click that follow button.

And when you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening.