Lore - REMASTERED – Episode 7: In the Woods

Episode Date: June 28, 2021

Let’s all step back into the woods that started it all: the legendary—and frightening—Bridgewater Triangle. This classic script has been updated with fresh narration, production, and music. —���—————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com 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.

Music Nothing can be as isolating or confining as the woods. They seem to cut us off from the rest of the world, leaving us alone, balanced on the edge of being lost. Even in these thoroughly modern times, the woods seem to exist as a reminder that so much of the world is outside of our control. Sure, we could stay on the path, but those narrow routes between the trees only give us the illusion of control, like a trail of breadcrumbs. They're fragile and fleeting, and somewhere in the back of our minds we understand that if we were to leave the trail, we would be stepping into the unknown. The woods hide things from us. For centuries

criminals have used the dark cloak of the forest to conceal everything from bootlegging and poaching to drug use and murder. They hide wildlife from us, and instill just enough doubt and mystery that we end up believing that anything could be living out there. Anything. Some areas, though, are darker than others. In some places, the woods are more than just a gathering of trees and undergrowth. There are locations in our world that are consistently avoided, plagued by rumor and dense with fear. The step into one of those places is to abandon all safety, all reason, and all hope. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. Between the three Massachusetts towns of Abington, Rehoboth, and Freetown exist a

triangular slice of land that has become home to hundreds of reports of unexplainable phenomenon. It's known as the Bridgewater Triangle, though some call it the Black Triangle or the Devil's Triangle. It might not be swallowing up fighter jets and colonial-era ships like the Bermuda Triangle to the south, but its history is just as storied and mysterious. One of the areas within the Triangle is the Hawkamawk Swamp. It's a 17,000-acre wetland near Bridgewater, Massachusetts. In the 1600s, it was inhabited by the Wampanoag tribe of Native Americans, and the fort they built inside it became a strategic location for them during King Philip's War in 1674. One legend details how, during this time of upheaval and invasion

by the colonies, a powerful artifact was lost in the swamp. Now, I can't find anything beyond a small Wikipedia entry to confirm this, but the story tells of how an object known as the Wampum Belt was lost during the war, and as a result, the swamp became the home to restless spirits. Ever since, the swamp has been the source of a nearly endless supply of unexplainable sightings. One of the most dramatic and best-documented reports was made by a local police officer, Sergeant Thomas Downey. On a summer night in 1971, Downey was driving toward the town of Easton, near a place known as Bird Hill that sits at the edge of the swamp. As he approached the hill, he caught sight of an enormous winged creature. Downey claims that it was over six feet tall

and had a wingspan of almost 12 feet. After reporting the sighting to the Easton police, he quickly earned the nickname of The Birdman. I don't know about you, but it seems odd that a police officer would risk his reputation on such an unusual claim if it was just a joke. Officer Downey clearly saw something that night. Just what that thing was, of course, is open to debate. Decades earlier in 1939, the Civilian Conservation Corps were working on the edge of the swamp near King Philip Street. While there, workers claimed to have seen a huge snake, as large around and as black as a stovepipe. According to the report, the snake coiled for a moment, raised its head, and then vanished into the swamp. And what wooded area would be complete

without bigfoot sightings? Although a tall, hairy creature has been sighted dozens of times over the years in various parts of the Bridgewater Triangle, the most common appearances have been near the swamp. In 1983, John Baker, a local fur trapper, had a similar experience. He was on his canoe in the swamp when he heard a splash. He turned to see a hairy beast slog into the river and pass within a few yards of his boat. In 1978, local man Joe DeAndre was standing on the shore of a pond known as Clay Banks. He claims that he turned and saw what he described as, and I quote, a creature that was all brown and hairy, like an apish man thing. Oddly enough, I went to high school with a guy who fits that description. But there has been more than just

weird animal sightings in the swamp. As far back as the late 19th century, locals have reported seeing unusual lights. One report was made by two undertakers who were traveling past the swamp on Halloween night in 1908. They claimed to have seen a light that hovered in the sky for almost an hour. Whether the reports of creatures and lights are true or not, it might be worth mentioning that the word Huckamuck literally means the place where spirits dwell. Another hot spot in the southeastern corner of the triangle is the Freetown State Forest. If all the stories are to be believed, it's the quintessential haunted forest. Deep inside the park is a cliff known as the Asanet Ledge that overlooks an old quarry.

There have been reports of hauntings near the ledge, of visions and ghostly figures. Some stories tell of a woman in white who lingers near the precipice. Others claim to have heard voices while visiting there. The most common report, though, is of mysterious lights. Some researchers think they know exactly where those lights come from, too. They're the tools of a creature known as the Pakwaji. In ancient Wampanoag folklore, the Pakwaji is a small, forest-dwelling creature, something like a troll or a goblin, that lives in the wooded areas around the swamp. Aside from having one of the most entertaining names to say out loud, they are said to be small, hairy people, roughly three feet tall, who hide in the woods and cause trouble to

people who discover them there. What kind of trouble? Well, Wampanoag folklore tells of how the Pakwajis use lights to lure travelers into the woods, where they would then kill them. These lights, according to legend, are known as the Taipei Wonkas, a North American version of the English Willow the Wisp, sometimes referred to as ghost lights. The Pakwajis use the lights as bait, luring people to their death. Rather than attacking hikers outright, apparently these creatures prefer to let the land itself kill their victims. Coincidentally, one of the most common experiences reported by visitors to the ledge is an overwhelming urge to jump. Normal, healthy people have felt nearly suicidal standing atop the ledge. Many of them claim upon

approaching the edge of the cliff. They felt an almost uncontrollable desire to jump off into the dark, rocky water, over 100 feet below. One story in particular bears repeating. Bill Russo was a welder from Raina, Massachusetts. He worked long hours, and for the six years prior to his retirement, he worked a late shift from 3pm until midnight. By the time he got home from work each night, Bill's dog Samantha would be in desperate need of a walk. And so, before bed, Bill would take her out and let her get some exercise. They kept this habit up, each end every night, no matter the season or weather. On a night in 1995, Bill took Samantha out for their usual

midnight walk. Their typical route was to stay on the sidewalks and head toward the center of town. But on this night, they made a change. Bill decided on a whim to cut through his own back yard and head along a trail through the woods alongside the swamp. Not a choice I would have made, mind you, even with a German Shepherd and Rottweiler mix as my companion. About half a mile into their walk, at a place where the path was crossed by a road, Samantha began acting odd. She was tugging at the leash and trembling, and kept glancing back at Bill with worried eyes. Bill tugged at the leash to lead her home, but the dog wouldn't budge. She just whined and quivered where she stood. After a moment, Bill began to hear the sound

that had frightened his dog. It was a thin, high-pitched voice, faint at first but growing louder as it continued. And even though Bill couldn't understand what the voice was saying, it kept repeating the same sounds. It was midnight in the woods, so of course Bill couldn't see anything, but he tried. He scanned the trees and bushes for whatever could be making the sounds. There was even a streetlight nearby, casting a circle of pale light on the pavement, but he didn't see anything. And then, suddenly, something stepped into the light. According to Bill, it was perhaps four feet tall, covered in hair, walked on two legs

like a human, and looked to weigh no more than a hundred pounds. It was naked and potbellied, and looked nothing like anything Bill had ever seen before in the swamp. And as it stepped out of the trees and into the light, it continued to speak to him. Bill and Samantha stood frozen to the ground, paralyzed with fear. And as the dog continued to whine and shiver, the creature lifted its arms and beckoned them to follow. I wa chu, it said again, motioning to them. Here. Bill claims that he tried asking the creature a few questions, but it only replied with the same nonsense it had already said. Not knowing what else to do,

Bill managed to tug Samantha after him, and they both turned and headed home. They didn't look back. It's not the trees that make the woods a frightening place. It's what the trees conceal. There's no telling what creatures hide behind the green leaves and thick branches of the forest landscape. Cryptozoologists, ghost hunters, and believers in the supernatural are often seen as abnormal. They believe in things that can't possibly be real. But when we step into the woods, when we surround ourselves with the dark embrace of the unknown, somehow the impossible begins to seem more likely.

Maybe we want to believe. Maybe that feeling we get in the pit of our stomachs when we step into a strange, wooded area is a cry for answers. There has to be something more out there, right? Maybe that's all we want to know, but we're simply too afraid of the answers. Bill Russo experienced that same fear on that night in 1995. He and Samantha managed to find their way home safely, but he was beyond shaken up. Even though it was one in the morning, he went into the kitchen and brewed himself a large pot of coffee. There was no way he was going to let himself sleep that night. Cup after cup, hour after hour, Bill relived the experience over and over again, playing back everything he heard and saw. He experienced doubts and fear and regret.

He wondered if maybe he should have tried harder to speak with the creature. Perhaps he should have approached it if Samantha would have allowed him to, that is. But the question that plagued him the most that night was more difficult. What was the creature saying to him? Bill wrestled with his memory of those sounds all through the night. I wa chu, it had said. And then, here. Before sunrise, Bill was almost positive that he had his answer. It wasn't another language the creature was speaking after all. It had been trying its best to use English. And the words it kept repeating. We want you, it had been saying. Come here. Stories of tiny forest creatures that cause problems for their human neighbors are certainly

frightening and entertaining, but they are far from isolated to the Bridgewater Triangle. In fact, it doesn't take much to find echoes of those legends in countless other places. Creatures similar to the Pukwajee have been spotted over the centuries, and I've tracked down another example that's sure to give you some chills. Stick around through this brief sponsor break to hear all about it. If we take away its name and geographical home, the Pukwajee actually gets bigger. Not in size, but definitely in scope. Boiled down to the bare essence of the legend, it's a simple creature. Two to three feet tall, hairy with a potbelly and a finicky temperament

that tends to bounce wildly between fun-loving and downright terrifying. And if that's all you're looking for, you can cast a much wider net. No longer are we limited to looking through reports from the Bridgewater Triangle. All of a sudden, the entire world opens up. And while I could take you on a tour of European versions of that very same type of folklore, I'll save that for another time. Right now, we're headed to the Pacific Ocean. Long before Europeans stumbled upon the Hawaiian Islands in the late 1770s, the archipelago had been settled by Polynesians who moved there from other communities farther west. Scholars aren't exactly certain when that migration took place, but they guess sometime around 1000 AD. But when those settlers arrived,

they didn't discover a pristine wilderness. Instead, they found evidence of another civilization. There were shrines, man-made fishponds, and even large breakwaters along the coast. And all of it left them with a big question, who had been responsible for building such amazing things. Now, evidence suggests that an earlier wave of settlers arrived on the Hawaiian Islands around 300 AD, but not much is known about them. But when humans stepped ashore a thousand years ago, all they knew was that someone had been busy building things there. And like many early cultures, they told stories that explained the mystery away. They believed that the islands were inhabited by little human-like creatures that they called Manahuni. They were described as

two to three feet tall, hairy with potbellies and a finicky temperament. And over the centuries, they would record many encounters with them, blurring the lines between truth and fiction. Yes, the legend of the Manahuni were probably a way of remembering the existence of an earlier human community. But those legends also seem to hold something more. And if the stories are true, the supernatural explanation can't be so easily dismissed. In fact, in the late 18th century, King Kamua Li'i ordered a census of his kingdom. And among the people listed on the island of Kauai, there is an entry of 65 Manahuni. It's just one example from a long list that places a lot of the Manahuni folklore right there on Kauai. On the southwestern shore of the island is a

place called Waimea Bay. Close to the bay is an ancient stone aqueduct that predates the Polynesian settlers, a long stone channel that was constructed out of hand-carved blocks of basalt, and its name, the Manahuni Ditch. But it's another location nearby that's been a hot spot over the years for something more frightening, actual Manahuni sightings. A well-known example took place in the 1940s. It all began when the local school bell rang for recess, and about 45 children rushed outside to enjoy some fresh air and sunlight in the middle of the day. And when they did, many of them almost instantly clustered together to watch something across the street. It was a group of Manahuni, climbing and jumping down from some of the larger trees over and over again. Honestly,

it was almost like they too had come outside for some exercise and were having fun playing in the trees. But when the small human-like creatures spotted the children watching them, they dispersed and quickly vanished into the shadows. One last story. In 1929, students at that same school were outside playing in the sunlight. It was May 24th, and according to the principal from that time, a man named Dallas McLaren, there were at least 20 kids in the schoolyard, all of whom were in their teens. As McLaren watched, though, a few of the students began to run and shout. There he goes, one of them yelled, before a number of other students ran toward where he had pointed. For the next 10 minutes, students were running in packs, clearly chasing something,

but whatever it was, it was too small for McLaren to identify, and their chase eventually took them across the street to the home of the local minister, Reverend J. L. Martin. By the time McLaren arrived to see what they were up to, the students had surrounded the house. A few others had actually crawled beneath the house through a crawl space and were frantically trying to chase something down. Using his best principal voice, McLaren immediately ordered the students to stop what they were doing and explain themselves. We were trying to catch him, one of the students told him, and when he asked him who, the student replied with complete and utter seriousness, the menahoonie, before pointing to the dirt near the crawl space. McLaren couldn't believe his eyes.

Right there, as clear as day, was evidence he had no way of arguing with. The inexplainable footprint of a tiny miniature human. 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.