Lore - REMASTERED – Episode 19: Bite Marks

Episode Date: January 10, 2022

Encounters with angry spirits will forever be some of the most terrifying experiences on record. If that’s the thrill you’re looking for, revisiting this classic episode will hit the mark. And as part of our “Remastered” project, this version is re-worked from the ground up, with fresh narration and production, music by Chad Lawson, and a brand new story at the end. Enjoy! Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.com Access premium content!: https://www.lorepodcast.com/support See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Gifting the Glenlivet says, I know I wasn't always the easiest child. It says after everything you've done for me, you deserve better than novelty socks. It says, the best parent in Canada deserves the best single malt scotch in Canada. Parents give their best, why not return the favor and give the gift of the Glenlivet this Father's Day. Discover the single malt collection at theglendlivet.com. Please enjoy responsibly. Music In 1890, the tiny Greek village of Messaria on the island of Kithnos was plagued by something otherworldly.

Whatever it was, the villagers claimed that it would enter their homes, eat their food, break their dishes, and then move on to repeat itself elsewhere. They named this creature Andelavoris, and they claimed that it was of Rikulakis, a close cousin of the traditional European vampire. Andelavoris drank their wine and smashed their belongings, howling like a wolf and making a loud, terrible mess. But the most interesting feature of this story is that no one actually saw Andelavoris do these things. The villagers claimed to witness it all, of course, but they said he was invisible. He was, in essence, a noisy spirit, but the only cultural lens they were able to view him through was as a vampire.

And they weren't the first. Between 1591 and 1923, people across Europe told similar stories, an invisible monster that raided their homes and destroyed their belongings. Today we see events like these play out across the screens of our local movie theaters. Hollywood has been fascinated with invisible violent forces since the early 1980s when they brought us poltergeist. What once was looked on as overly spiritual and easily disproven is now attracting the attention of popular culture. But poltergeists have a history that runs far deeper than just the 1980s. From first century Roman accounts to modern newspapers,

the stories of humans interacting with angry ghosts have been told for a very, very long time. Some are clearly hoaxes. Some are misinterpretations of natural events. Oftentimes they are a grab for attention or a cry for help. But sometimes, on very rare occasions, a story comes along that is nothing short of haunting. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. Poltergeist The word poltergeist evokes a number of ideas for most people.

Most think of the movie. Some picture objects being thrown around a room by an invisible hand. They even might envision the sound of chains and doors creaking open in the night. And that wouldn't be too far from the truth. The word poltergeist is German, and it literally means noisy spirit. The idea is that while the typical ghost story only uses one of our five senses, our sight, stories of poltergeist can often sometimes tap all five. Most poltergeist accounts reference the same types of activity.

Objects that are mysteriously moved or broken, noises in and around the house, physical attacks such as biting, pinching, hitting, and even tripping. People even claim to have seen objects or other people levitated by an unseen force. And unlike some folklore, stories of noisy spirits are nearly universal. Similar manifestations have been reported by witnesses in dozens of cultures for centuries, from Japan and Brazil to Australia and the United States. For those who view widespread distribution as major sign of proof,

a poltergeist has become an indisputable fact. One of the earliest records of a poltergeist encounter actually comes from the first century Jewish historian Flavius Josephus. He recorded an exorcism in 94 AD that sounds eerily similar to those of us familiar with modern exorcism tales. In his report, he describes how, as the spirit was being driven from the person, a bowl of water all the way across the room was suddenly overturned by an invisible force. And Jacob Grimm, half of the famous Grimm brothers,

who recorded many of the stories we remember from our childhood, also wrote more scholarly books. In his book, Deutsche Mythologie, Grimm recorded a story from the German town of Bingen-Amrhein that took place in the 4th century. According to the story, people were pulled out of their beds by an unseen force. Loud noises could be heard, as if someone were knocking on the walls or floor. Stones were even thrown, but the person, or spirit, who did the throwing,

was never found. Gerald of Wales, the famous clergyman and chronicler, wrote in 1191 of a house in Pembrokeshire that was filled with poltergeist activity. Here, the unseen spirit was said to have thrown handfuls of dirt, as well as tearing clothing and breaking objects in the house. Most frightening to those who experienced it, though, was the fact that this spirit was also said to vocalize all of the secrets of the people in the room.

Similar stories have been recorded countless times in the century since Gerald's day. In one story from the early 1700s, one family encountered unusual activity in the church rectory of Epworth-Lincolnshire. Reverend Samuel Wesley and his wife, Susanna, had 10 children and had lived in the house since it had been built shortly after the previous rectory burned to the ground in 1709. During the winter of 1716 and 1717, the family began to experience regular noises.

They would hear knocking on the walls and doors or the sounds of people running up and down the stairs. The house was searched from top to bottom, hoping to find the person responsible, but no cause was found. They even named the noisy spirit Old Jeffrey, and it was said that the spirit made himself visible on Christmas Day that winter. Shortly after the noises stopped, never to happen again. In more modern times, one well-known story is that of the black monk of Pontifract.

There, in the growing community just outside the city of Wakefield in West Yorkshire, England, reports began to circulate about the most violent poltergeists in European history. Joe and Jean Prichard lived at number 30 East Drive in 1970, along with their son Philip and their daughter Diane. According to the report, they were plagued by problems in the house from the start. Objects were thrown, the temperature in rooms would suddenly drop, and they would even find puddles on the floor. They named their spirit Fred, and soon learned that Fred was not just mischievous,

but also violent. Not only did the spirit throw eggs and take bites out of their sandwiches, but it also dragged their 12-year-old daughter Diane up the stairs by her neck, leaving handprints on her skin. After Fred attempted to strangle Diane a second time, this time with an electrical cord, the family asked for help. The police were brought in, as were a number of psychics and paranormal researchers, even the mayor came by for a visit, but nothing seemed to help.

Eventually, the Prichards moved away, and the noises inside number 30 stopped. But according to the woman who lived next door in the house that's connected to number 30, Fred the ghost hasn't gone anywhere. He still makes frequent visits to her side of the wall, and although he's usually very quiet, she claims that he sometimes stands in the room and glares at her with menacing eyes. Under the scrutiny of historical research, though, most recorded poltergeist stories have been shown to be frauds.

Oftentimes, they were nothing more than pranks put on by the homeowner or the person who stood the most to gain from the attention. But every now and then, a story comes along that defies explanation. And when that story involves violent physical attacks and a serious threat to human lives, it becomes downright chilling. In 1999, a homeless man broke into a large tomb in a prominent cemetery known as Greyfriars in Edinburgh, Scotland. It was cold and rainy that night, and the man was looking for shelter.

I might have gone elsewhere to find a warm, dry place to sleep, but when you're down and out, anything will do, I suppose. This man wandered through the graveyard in the dark until he found a large mausoleum, something that looked large enough to allow him to get out of the elements and sleep in relative comfort. This one was known as the Black Mausoleum, and it was enormous. It resembles a large rotunda with the spaces between the pillars filled in with cut stone. When the man stumbled upon this tomb, it was exactly what he had been looking for.

It had plenty of room to stretch out and sleep in, and it was dry, so he did what anyone desperate for shelter would do. He broke in. Because it's rare to find a tomb with windows, the interior of the vault was completely black. Thankfully, the man had a lighter with him or some other form of illumination, and he used it to explore. In the center of the floor was a large iron grate, similar to what you might find over a sewer drain

or in the sidewalk over a subway tunnel in New York City. Beneath the grate, though, was a staircase that curved and twisted its way down to a lower level. I know this sounds like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, but it's real, and it gets worse. Because beneath the first level, at the bottom of the stairs, this man discovered four wooden coffins. They were, of course, very old,

and the man probably assumed that because of this, they would contain valuables that he might sell. I imagine he set down whatever it was he was using as a light on one of the nearby coffins, and then began to try and open another of them up. When it didn't open, he resorted to smashing the lid to break the lock, and that's when he took a step backward. The boards in the floor must have been very old. The man must have put his full weight in just the right spot, and all of those possibilities must have lined up perfectly in that moment.

A brief groan from the wooden floor was followed by a loud crash, and the man tumbled backward into a long, forgotten pit, some part of an even lower level that dated back centuries. The best guess that historians can make is that the pit had actually been used for the illegal dumping of bodies in the wake of the plague in 1645. What they do know, however, is that the pit was sealed very well. So sealed, in fact, that when this man landed on the pile of 350-year-old corpses, they were surprisingly well preserved.

They weren't skeletal and dry, like you might expect. No, these bodies were wet with something that resembled green slime. Their clothing was intact, albeit ragged and torn, and their hair was matted to their shriveled heads. And of course, there was an overwhelming stench in the air. The man bolted, and I don't think there's a single one of us who could blame him. Fearing for his life, the man climbed out of the pit, up the stone stairs and into the vault, and out the door.

He was in such a hurry that he even fell and cut his head on the doorway to the mausoleum. Outside, a security guard was patrolling the area with his canine partner when the man burst out of the tomb. Maybe it was the blood running down the man's face. Maybe it was the white dust that covered him from head to toe because of his adventures below the tomb. Or maybe it was the simple sight of a pale, shrieking figure charging out from the dark crypt.

Whatever it was, when the guard saw the man, he turned tail and ran just as fast as he could, away from the darkness of the cemetery and into the city beyond. Music As difficult as it is to imagine, the frightening events of that night in 1999 were just the beginning. Like a tiny spark igniting an entire barn, the break-in at the black mausoleum set in motion

something that no one has since been able to adequately explain. It turns out the mausoleum belonged to none other than Sir George McKenzie, a man who died in 1690. Along with being a lawyer and Lord Advocate to the Crown of Scotland, McKenzie had been instrumental in sending hundreds of Presbyterian covenanters to their deaths in the late 17th century. Today he is known as Bloody McKenzie, and according to the local reports,

this invasion of his resting place set off a series of events that can only be blamed on a very angry spirit, and it didn't wait very long. The day after the break-in, a woman was taking a walk through the cemetery. It's unclear whether she was a tourist interested in seeing the covenanters' prison area of the graveyard or a local just out for a walk, but when she drew near to the mausoleum, she decided to peer through one of the small grates in the tomb door.

As she stood there, a gust of cold wind rushed out of the tomb with such force that she claims it knocked her backward and off the stone steps, landing on her back. A few days later, another woman was found unconscious on the sidewalk outside the tomb, sprawled out on her back as if she had fallen. She claimed that invisible hands had grabbed her around the throat and attempted to strangle her, and when she pulled back the collar of her shirt,

her neck was ringed by a series of dark bruises. As if fingerprints had been driven into her skin. Soon after, another tourist, this time a young man, experienced something eerily similar. For others, though, the consequences of visiting the tomb were more physical and lasting. Some people have found scratches on their arms, neck or chest, while others have discovered burn marks.

Many of these injuries disappear almost as quickly and mysteriously as they had appeared. Some, though, claim to have been permanently scarred. All told, people have broken fingers, felt their hair pulled, been pushed or struck, and all by an unseen force. People have even felt nauseous or numb, or both, and not just one or two people, but hundreds. Sometimes these attacks happen near the tomb, and sometimes they happen later after visiting it.

One story in particular stands out. A former police officer reported participating in a tour of the cemetery a few years ago. After returning to his hotel room that night, he picked up the book he had been given on the tour that covered the details of the hauntings. As he did, he felt a sharp pain, as if someone were trying to burn him. When he ran to the mirror to check, he found five deep scratches on his neck, just beneath his chin.

The following morning, the officer visited his mother and told her what happened. He also gave her the book. According to him, he couldn't stand to have it around any longer, and so he left it at her house. When he called her later and asked about the book, he caught her in the bathroom. She was standing in front of a mirror, examining five long scratches on her throat.

All told, nearly 400 people have claimed to have been attacked by something otherworldly around the tomb. Almost 200 of those are people who have actually passed out during a ghost tour. Sometimes every person in the tour will feel the exact same thing. Oftentimes, complete strangers will independently report the same experience. But the odd experiences extend beyond the tours. An unusually high number of dead animals have been found in the area around Mackenzie's tomb. Unexplainable fires have broken out in nearby buildings.

People have reported cold spots, and the usual photographic and electronic malfunctions have occurred as well. Some have gone looking for an explanation for such a large number of unusual reports, but the theories are as varied as the types of attacks. One theory even tries to connect the unlikely dots between the nearby Edinburgh University's artificial intelligence units, which uses high-voltage machinery, and the sandstone deep underground beneath the ancient cemetery.

The porous stone, they say, absorbs the energy and releases it later, causing the odd experiences. But this is a difficult theory to swallow, especially for the people who have been physically assaulted by whatever it is that haunts the tomb. And the company that conducts the tours through the graveyard is just as interested in finding the cause. And that's why they've spent years collecting photographs of injuries, firsthand accounts, letters from witnesses, and other documentation. Unfortunately, most of those records were destroyed in 2003

when a fire swept through their office. Everything inside the tour company's space was incinerated, but nothing more. Every single building nearby remained untouched. The insurance company never found the cause. Outside of places with frequent earthquake activity, most people don't think it's normal for photographs to fall off their wall or for a chair to slide across the floor or to be knocked down by an unseen force. For some, those events are equal parts unusual and inconvenient.

For others, though, they are terrifying. It's difficult to say what's really going on in these stories. Some events can be chalked up to natural causes or the human tendency to misinterpret the things we see. We are very good at finding patterns, after all. It's called periodolia, the moment when we see a pattern where it really doesn't exist. We do this when we look up at clouds and see the shape of a turtle, but it also happens subconsciously.

Our minds are always searching for patterns. Or perhaps there's something more to the stories. What if there really are sinister, violent spirits that can attack us if provoked? In many stories, priests are brought in to bless the homes or perform exorcisms, a solution that certainly assumed there's a supernatural source. And sometimes, it's actually worked. In the years since the break-in at the Black Mausoleum, there have been two attempts at exorcism.

The second of those took place in the year 2000, just a year after the activity began. Colin Grant, minister of a spiritualist church and professional exorcist, was brought into Greyfriars Cemetery. While standing in front of the Black Mausoleum, he performed his ceremony. While doing so, he claimed to feel overwhelmed by the sensation of oppression that hundreds of tormented souls were swirling around him, trying to break through into our world. He said he had feared for his life and quickly left before he could finish. Just a few weeks later, Colin Grant was found dead.

Victim, they say, of a sudden heart attack. There seems to be no shortage of unusual stories rooted in the local graveyard. And if you stick around through this brief sponsor break, I'll share one more with you. That's guaranteed to give your spirit a lift. Old North Church in Boston has been there since 1723. In fact, for a very long while, it was the tallest building in the city, standing at nearly 200 feet. Sure, today it's little more than a small tree inside the modern urban forest of Boston's skyline,

but in its heyday, it was the pinnacle of Boston. Which explains why Paul Revere sent two men with lanterns into the steeple in April of 1775. They used the unmatched height of the church tower to look out for the approach of British forces and then alerted the rebels to the nature of that approach, one if by land, two if by sea. It's a quote almost every American knows by heart, and it started in the Old North Church. Another historic event took place there in 1757, though, 18 years before the redcoats were coming across the Charles. There's a plaque for it in the garden behind the church, but I'll be honest, it's a little hard to believe. So I'll just read it to you and let you decide for yourself.

Here on September 13, 1757, John Childs, who had given public notice of his intention to fly from the steeple of Dr. Cutler's church, performed it to the satisfaction of a great number of spectators. Mr. Childs came to Boston from London. He claimed to have flown many times there from a number of very tall buildings. Once he even flew off a 200 foot tall monument, not only could he fly, he was saying, but he was good at it. Now he was going to do it in Boston and what better place for his flight to take place than from the top of the Old North Church. To draw a crowd, he posted a notice in the Boston Gazette. He named the date of his flight, September 13 of 1757, and promised, and I quote,

full satisfaction. If I had to guess, the fact that the plaque is still on the building 250 years later is a powerful testament to just how satisfied everyone was. But before you go jumping to conclusions, no pun intended, I swear. Let me put a few doubts to rest. No, this wasn't a rumor that became a local legend. This was a real event that was documented by real people. And no, John Childs did not possess some sort of primitive glider or da Vinci style human wings made out of wood and sailcloth. However amazing that would have been.

In fact, there was nothing aeronautical about his flight at all. It turns out what John Childs did was import an urban pastime from London into America. The best way to see it would be to jump on Google and search for an engraving called Southwick Fair by William Hogarth. But let me see if I can paint you my own picture. Childs tied a rope to the top of Old North Church and then the other end to a building 700 feet away and farther below. He then took a board with a slot carved down the center, placed it on top of the rope and laid himself down upon it. Yes, Childs literally body surfed down a rope. His arms spread out like a bird until his descent was broken by a pile of feather beds at the bottom.

And that's it. There's nothing spooky about John Childs tale, I'm sad to say. No ghosts that fly over the church late at night or other worldly feathers that might be found on the ground by tourists. There are no screaming crowds that echo to this day through the narrow streets around the church. It would be a lot more poetic if there were, but this is all we get. A man on a board falling slowly into a pile of pillows. But here's what I want you to remember. It took the story of John Childs a little less than 170 years to make its way onto a memorial plaque in the church garden.

Less than two centuries is a blink of the eye when you take in the whole scope of written history. And yet over those 200 years, his story went from an acrobatic circus act to a legend about a flying man. History contains an untold number of legends, and many of them paint a picture for us that are impossible to ignore. But just because a story exists doesn't mean the details are entirely true. Sometimes you have to dig deep. Look elsewhere and pull the disparate pieces together. Otherwise you run the risk of going on a flight of your own. A flight. A fancy.

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 is 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.

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.