Lore - REMASTERED – Episode 14: The Others

Episode Date: November 1, 2021

The folklore surrounding small, human-like creatures from around the world is worth another visit. And this time, the journey has been remastered with new narration and music, modern production, and a brand new story at the end. Enjoy! ———————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com Access premium content! To advertise on our podcast, please reach out to [e-mail], or visit our listing here.

No one likes to be alone. Even introverts need to come up for error every now and then and experience human contact, being around others as a way of calming our souls and imparting a bit of safety, if only in theory. But sometimes even crowds of people and scores of friends can't fight the crippling feeling that we are in the end, isolated and alone. Humans have become very good at chasing away that feeling, though. When darkness threatened to cut us off from the world around us, we discovered fire and

then electrical lights. Today we use technology to help us stay connected to friends and relatives who live thousands of miles away, and yet the feeling of loneliness grows deeper every year. We've learned to harness tools to fight it, though. In ancient cultures, you know, the days before Facebook or even the printing press, if you can fathom that, society fought the feeling of being alone with story. Each culture developed a set of tales, a mythology and surrounding lore that filled in the cracks. These stories explained the unexplainable.

They filled the dark night with figures and shapes, and gave people, lonely or not, something else to talk about. Something other. Some tales were there to teach. Some preached morals through analogy. Others offered a word of warning or a lesson that would keep children safe. In the end, though, all of them did something that we couldn't do on our own. They put us in our place.

They offered perspective. It might seem like we're at the top of the food chain, but what if we're not? From the ancient hills of Iceland and Brazil to the blacktop streets of urban America, our fascination with the others has been a constant, unrelenting obsession. But while most stories only make us smile at the pure fantasy of it all, there are some that defy dismissal. They leave us with more questions than answer, and they force us to come to grips with a frightening truth.

If we're not alone in this world, then we're also not safe. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. In Greek mythology, we have stories of creatures that were called the pygmy. The pygmies were a tribe of diminutive humans, smaller than the Greeks who were often encountered in battle. And these stories have been around for thousands of years. We even have images of pygmy battles on pottery found in tombs dating back to the 5th century BC.

1st century Roman historian Pliny the Elder recorded that the pygmies were said to go on annual journeys from their homeland in the mountains. They would arm themselves for battle and climb onto their rams and goats and ride down to the sea where they would hunt the cranes that nested at the shore. In South America, there are tales of creatures called the Elush, a figure of Mayan mythology they were said to be between 1 and 2 meters tall, hairless and dressed in traditional Mayan clothing. Like the pygmies of Native American tribes, the Elush are said to be troublemakers, disrupting

crops and wreaking havoc. According to tradition, the Elush would move into the area every time a new farm is established. Mayan farmers were said to build small two-story houses in the middle of their cornfields where these creatures could live. For the first seven years, the Elush would help grow the corn and patrol the fields at night. Once those seven years were up, however, they turned on the farmers, who would put windows and doors on the little houses to trap the creatures inside.

The ancient picks of the Orkney Islands, off the northeastern tip of Scotland, spoke of a creature called the Trow, or sometimes the Drow. They were small, humanoid beings, described as being ugly and shy, who lived in the mounds and rock outcroppings in the surrounding woods. Like many of the other legends of small people around the world, the Trow were said to be mischievous. In particular, they were said to love music, so much in fact that it was thought that they kidnapped musicians and took them back to their homes so that they could enjoy the music

there. In addition, it was common for the people of Shetland to bless their children each yule day as a way to protect them from the Trow. Nearby in Ireland, there are tales of a similar creature, small and hairless, called the Puka. The Puka are said to stand roughly three feet tall, and like the Drow, they too live in large stone outcroppings. According to legend, they can cause chaos and trouble within a community, so much so that the local people have developed traditions meant to keep them happy.

In County Down, for instance, farmers still leave behind a Puka's share when they harvest their crops. It's an offering to the creatures to keep them happy and ward off their mischief. But the Puka isn't unique to Ireland. In Cornish mythology, there's a small human-like creature known as the Buka, a kind of hobgoblin. Wales is home to a similar creature, with a reputation as a trickster goblin. It was said to knock on doors and then disappear before people inside opened them. And in France, the common term for stone outcroppings and megalithic structures is pukli.

Oh, and if you're a fan of Shakespeare's play, A Midsummer's Night's Dream, you might remember the character Puk, the clever and mischievous elf. And yes, the name Puk, it turns out, is an Anglicization of the mythical Puka. I'll stop now, but you get the point. There doesn't seem to be a culture in the world that hasn't invented a story about smaller people, the others that live at the periphery of our world. It's not surprising, either. Many of these cultures have a deep history of invading nations, and that kind of past

can cause anyone to spend a lot of time looking over their shoulder. These stories are deep and often allegorical. They mean something, sure, but they aren't rooted in reality. No one has captured a puka or taken photographs of an alooche stepping out of its tiny stone building. But that doesn't mean there's no evidence. In fact, there are some legends that come a lot closer to the surface than you might have thought possible.

And that might not be a good thing. The Shoshone tribe of Native Americans that live in the Rocky Mountains have been there for thousands of years. Their lands spanned much of the countryside around the Rockies, but they also built seasonal homes high up in the mountains, sometimes 10,000 feet above sea level. One of the Shoshone legends is that of a tribe of tiny people known as the Nimmeriggur. One story tells of a man who rode up a small trail into the Wind River Mountains to check on his cattle.

While he was traveling the narrow path, one of these creatures stepped out and stopped him. This was his trail, the little man said, and the rancher couldn't use it anymore. The man ignored the tiny person and continued on toward his cattle, and this angered the Nimmeriggur. The tiny creature took aim with his bow and fired a poisonous arrow at the man's arm. From that day on, the story says, the rancher was never able to use his arm again. The Nimmeriggur are just a myth, or at least that's what most people believe.

But in 1932, that perception changed when two prospectors, Cecil Main and Frank Carr, found a mummy in a cave in the Pedro Mountains of Wyoming. They said it had been sitting upright on a ledge, as if it had been waiting for them. And this mummy was small. Literally, it was only about 6 inches tall, but it had all the proportions of an adult, most likely mummified by the dry Wyoming climate. After its discovery, the mummy changed hands a number of times. Photographs were taken as well as an x-ray, but by 1950, it had vanished, never to be

seen again. In 1994, after an episode of Unsolved Mysteries asked viewers to locate the missing mummy, a second mummy came to light. This one was a female with blonde hair, but it was roughly the same size and also came from a mountain cave. This time, medical experts were able to study it, and what they discovered was shocking. It wasn't an adult after all. It was an infant that had been born with a condition known as anencephaly, which explained

the adult-like proportions of the body and head. Like the first mummy, the second one disappeared shortly after the examination, and the family who owned it vanished with it. Halfway around the world in Indonesia, there are stories of a small human-like creature called the Ibugogo. Even though their name sounds a lot like a Belinda Carlisle cover band, these creatures were said to strike fear in the hearts of the neighboring tribes. According to the story, the Ibugogo had flat noses, wide mouths, and spoken short grunts

and squawks. They were known to steal food from the local villagers, and sometimes even children. And apparently, one incident in the 1800s led to an extermination. The Nage people of Flores, Indonesia, claim that generations ago the Ibugogo stole some of their food, and the Nage people chased them to a cave where they burned them all alive. All but one pair, male and female, that managed to escape into the woods. The stories are full of imagination and fantasy, but in the end they might hint at something real.

In 2003, archaeologists discovered human remains in a Flores cave. The remains, dubbed Homo Florensis, aren't ordinary though. They were small adults, very small actually, at just one meter tall. In fact, they were nicknamed hobbits if that helps you conjure up an image of them. Small people found in a cave near the Nage people of Flores. It seems like the stories were proving true. The trouble was the age of the remains. The oldest skeletons clocked in at around 38,000 years old, while the youngest at about

13,000. In other words, if the Nage had actually attacked the tribe of tiny people, it had happened a lot more than a handful of generations ago. Unless you believe them, that is, in that case the stories hint at something darker, that the Ibugogo are real, that they might still inhabit the forests of Flores, and that ultimately, the stories were telling the truth. Which sounds enticing. In fact, I think anyone would be fascinated by such a notion, unless that is, those stories

were about something in your own backyard. On the night of April 21st of 1977, a man named Billy Bartlett was driving through the town of Dover, Massachusetts with two of his friends. On farm streets, they began to drive past a low, rough stone wall that was well known to the locals. As they did, Billy noticed movement at the edge of his vision, and turned to see something unlike he had ever seen before. It was a creature with a body the size of a child's, long, thin limbs, elongated fingers,

and an oversized, melon-shaped head. Billy claimed it was hairless, and that the skin was textured. He even reported that it had large, orange-colored eyes. Billy later sketched a picture of the thing he had seen, and then added a note to the bottom of the page. I, Billy Bartlett, swear on a stack of Bibles that I saw this creature. A whole stack of Bibles, you say? Well, alright then.

Something like this probably happens every year somewhere in the world. Someone sees something weird, their mind twists their memories, and all of a sudden they think they encountered Abraham Lincoln in a hot tub. But Billy's story had some added credibility. You see, just two hours after he saw what it was that he saw, 15-year-old John Baxter was walking home from his girlfriend's house, about a mile from Farm Street. He claimed that he saw something walking down the street toward him. According to him, it was roughly the size and shape of a small child.

When the figure noticed him, though, it bolted for the woods. Now, John, being a highly intelligent teenager with powerful decision-making skills, decided that midnight was the perfect time to chase something strange into the woods, and so he followed after it. What happened next was a literal over-the-river-and-through-the-woods chase. When Baxter finally stopped to catch his breath, though, he looked up to see that the creature was standing beside a tree just a few yards away from him, watching him. That's the moment when common sense took over, and John ran for his life.

Later that night, he drew a sketch of what he saw. He also told the police about it. He described a creature that had the body of a child, a large oval-shaped head, thin arms and legs, and long fingers. Now on their own, each of these sightings could have easily been dismissed by the authorities, but together they presented a powerful case. Still any chance of their similarity being labeled a coincidence vanished less than 24 hours later.

15-year-old Abby Braben and 18-year-old Will Tainter were out for a drive on Springdale Avenue when they saw something at the side of the road near a bridge. It was on all fours, but both of them claimed that they got a very good look at it. Each of them described the creature as hairless and child-sized, with an overly large head and long, thin limbs. Three separate events spanning two nights, three unique sightings, yet one seemingly impossible description, each captured in eerily similar sketches. They were small discrepancies regarding the color of the creature's eyes, but outside

of that the consistency was astounding. Each of these eyewitnesses had seen something they couldn't explain, and each of them seemed to have observed the same thing. What I find most fascinating though is that nearly 30 years later, in 2006, the Boston Globe interviewed Billy Bartlett and he's never wavered from his story. He's experienced embarrassment and ill-treatment because of it over the years, of course, but though he's clearly transformed from the teenager who saw something into a responsible middle-aged adult, that maturity hasn't chased his testimony away, no matter how fantastical

it might sound. Ever since that week in 1977, they've called it the Dover Demon. Others have come forward with similar sightings as well. One local man, Mark Sennott, has said there had been a rumor in his high school in the early 70s of something odd living in the woods. Sennott even claimed that he and some friends observed something odd near Channing Pond in 1972 that fits the description from later reports. Channing Pond, mind you, is right beside Springdale Avenue, where Tainter and Brabham said they

saw their Dover Demon. Clearly, something was in those woods. Like most legends, this one will continue to cause debate and speculation. There have been no further sightings since 1977, but even still, the Dover Demon has left an indelible mark on the town and the surrounding area. We don't like to be alone, but I think in the process of creating the stories that have kept us company for centuries, humanity has also invented convenient excuses. All of these human-like creatures have acted as a sort of stand-in for human behavior and

accountability. In an effort to absolve ourselves from the horrible things we've done, we seem to instinctively invent other beings on which to set the blame. But what if the others really were there long before we wove them into our stories? What if they were less an invention and more a co-opting of something we didn't fully understand? Perhaps in our effort to shift the blame, we altered the source material a bit too much, and in doing so, we buried the truth under a mountain of myth.

There have been countless theories surrounding the 1977 sightings in Dover. Something it was a type of extraterrestrial known as a grey. Others have actually suggested that it was just a baby moose. I know that does seem like an odd way to explain it. Only two moose sightings were recorded in Massachusetts in 1977, and both of those were out in the western part of the state, far from Dover. Add in the fact that a yearling moose weighs more than 600 pounds, and I think it's clear that this theory just won't hold up.

But there is a different, more textured theory to consider. If you remember, Billy Bartlett saw the Dover demon sitting on an old stone wall on Farm Road. Well, just beyond that wall is a large stone outcropping that the locals have always called the Polka Stone. Some think that the stone's nickname is a mispronunciation of a different word, though. The original name, they say, was the Puka Stone. It could just be folklore, perhaps the tall tales of an early Irish settler told to a

group of children around the foot of an enormous stone. Unfortunately, we'll never know for sure. But if you really want to see for yourself, you're always welcome to head over to Dover and take a drive down Farm Street. The wall and the woods beyond them are still there, still dark, and still ominous. Just be careful if you travel there at night. You never know what you might see at the edge of your headlights. If the folklore surrounding small, trickster-like creatures has taught us anything, it's that

versions of their stories can be found in just about every corner of the world. But it's often difficult to beat a classic, and for that, we'll need to return to Ireland. Stick around through this brief sponsor break, and I'll tell you one more little story. Let's be honest for a moment and just admit something tricky. Folklore can be complex, it can be varied and prone to evolving over time. Stories are a lot like the people who tell them, after all, given enough time they adapt to whatever new environment they're in. So while, yes, I told you that the Irish stories of the Puca describe them as small, human-like

creatures that are roughly three feet tall, of course there are exceptions. In fact, there's a whole brand of the Puca mythology that breaks that mold. It's Puca, according to the legends, are also shapeshifters. And it makes sense if you think about it. In order to be a true trickster, you would need to be completely adaptable. So naturally, Puca are reported to be able to take the shape of all sorts of animals, from goats and cats to ravens and rabbits. In fact, the rabbit shape is so commonly understood that it's persisted right up to modern times.

Back in 1950, Jimmy Stewart starred in a film called Harvey, about a man with an invisible friend who happened to be a six-foot-tall rabbit. And how does Jimmy Stewart's character classify his invisible friend? Harvey is a Puca. But of all the shapes and forms a Puca can take, the most common and well-known is that of a horse. Specifically, a black horse with glowing eyes and a long mane. Now you might be thinking, hey, people tend to ride horses, so has anyone ever claimed

to ride a Puca in disguise? Well according to legend, only one man, the High King of Ireland at the beginning of the 11th century, Brian Baru. That's just a story though. Folklore, as I've already said, is a fluid thing. And clearly the mythology of the Puca is ancient, stretching back into the darkest corners of history. But just two centuries ago, something happened to call all of that into question.

And it all began with a hunt. In the north of Ireland, in County Kildare, there was a traditional fox hunt held every autumn known as the Kildare Hunt. It's pretty much exactly what you might imagine from that sort of hunt, a handful of men on horseback surrounded by their trusty pack of hunting dogs who chase after a fox typically with much drama and excitement. You get the idea. But in 1813, the Kildare Hunt didn't go as expected.

Granted it started off alright. The group rode out in search of their quarry and around the parish of Tipperkevin they spotted it, a lone fox, and it took off into the distance. It led them south toward the River Liffey, where it followed the water eastward over rocky terrain and tricky footing. The hunters mounted on their horses, struggled to keep up, as did their large pack of hunting dogs. But one rider, a man by the name of Grenin, managed to pull ahead and give the fox a chase.

By that moment though, another horse appeared. This one was riderless and black, and Grenin made sure to report later that he had no idea where it had come from. And there was the briefest of moments when he could have sworn there was something odd about the horse's eyes. It might have glowed. Suddenly the fox led them to the edge of a massive drop off, where the Liffey used to plummet down a series of three waterfalls to a pool 150 feet below.

Both the fox and the mysterious horse managed to cross at the top of the falls, using rocks to make it to the other side, and that tempted the hounds to follow. Grenin saw what was about to happen an instant too late. He called out, ordering the dogs to return to his side, but they were locked onto the fox and kept running. And that was when the fox tried to make a treacherous leap onto a narrow ledge. But according to Grenin, that mysterious horse turned and flashed its fiery eyes at the animal so that it missed and fell into the churning water headed toward the falls.

And the dogs followed it. All of them jumped headfirst into the water, swimming hard toward their targets, while at the same time all of them were being pulled by the powerful current toward the precipice. And a heartbeat later, all of them vanished into the mist. Grenin brought his mount to a stop at the top of the gorge and peered down, spotting shapes in the pool at the bottom of the falls. He claimed that he could see some of the hounds floating lifeless in the water, while others were struggling to swim to shore.

Now remember, these hounds were more than just hunting aids. They were his friends, raised from birth. He was intimately familiar with them, and the sight of their mangled bodies in the pool sent a wave of grief and sadness welling up inside him. And at that very moment, just when his sorrow was at its peak, a cry went up from across the river. It was the name of the mysterious horse, high and piercing, even over the sound of the waterfalls. To Grenin, though, it sounded more like the ominous laugh of a devil, taunting him and

his loss. Oh, and the pool at the bottom of the falls where all of this drama took place? It was called Pula Fuka, translation, the pool of the puka. This episode of Lore was researched, written, and produced by me, Aaron Mankey, with 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 our shows and everything else going on over in one central place, grimandmild.com. Then you can also follow this show on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

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