The United States is big. Very big. Stretched out through several time zones, encompassing various wonders of nature from the deserts to the ever-frozen grounds way up in the North, it has so much to offer that one road trip would not suffice to see all that you’d like to see. Even more intriguing than the sights of the beautiful landscapes are the country tales, the urban legends, and the creepy myths surrounding certain areas.
While some places look more mystical than others, these Tumblr users proved that America can be eerie and ghostly no matter which state you go to. From New Mexico to Maine, these people wrote about their states in a Gothic style, giving them all an eerie atmosphere. Gothic fiction refers to a style of writing that includes elements of gloom, fear and even horror, but it also has certain romantic qualities to it. If you were (or still are) a fan of such literature, popularized by such noted artists as Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe, then this thread is for you. It’s a lengthy read, so we recommend you make yourself a cup of your preferred beverage, sit back and immerse yourself in the Gothic land of America.
More info: Tumblr
What started off as a vague post on Tumblr turned into a Gothic fiction thread
Image credits: joeyz51
Image credits: Tumblr
People from different states were describing the places where they live in an eerie and mystical manner
Image credits: Tumblr
From New Mexico to Minnesota, people had a lot to tell about their states
Image credits: Tumblr
Image credits: Tumblr
The thread, naturally, quickly went viral
Image credits: Tumblr
Image credits: jeangui111
With over 140,000 people liking and sharing the thread
People wrote about the urban legends and myths in their states
Image credits: Tumblr
Image credits: Tumblr
Which turned into enticing tales
Tales about ghosts, monsters and mystic forests
Image credits: lucasartoni
Image credits: Tumblr
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Connecticut is evil. You think celebrities live here but come to hide and die. New York is two hours away. Boston is the same. Stephen King used to come to my town library and write. Even a small story of an underpass near my home. It's eerie with or without the story. Winter is barren. Roads suck cars in and break wheels off from pot holes. Fall. Leaf peeping. But only a minute. Then it's barren and haunting in small towns with ancient graveyards. Spring is weeding out the gardens and listening to winds whip off the water that is always black. Never ocean blue. Summer you die from heat and humidity or mosquitos give it to you via Lyme. Old bones rattle in nursing homes. And the state taxes take what's left.
Isn't it ticks that spread Lyme disease, instead of mosquitoes? I know I caught it from a tick, not a mosquito.
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As a kid from New Mexico, I can agree 100%. Roswell is a joke (as stated), Los Alamos is far scarier - the haunted remnants if the Manhattan Project, with is countless cordoned of areas you can only where with government clearance, areas the locals leave alone because of rumored radiation, random caverns in the canyons that no one talks about or goes near but everyone knows about...
That was so very sad. My husband and many of his friends, thru the company they worked for, delivered hundreds of emergency FEMA homes to Los Alamos . He was gone from home for more than 2 months before I saw him for a weekend. They were going as hard as they could physically go driving, and hooking the Semi Tractors together two by two to give them a little more sleep on the way back to get more homes. The government suspended all DOT movement laws for transport of the houses. They didn't have to stop in weigh stations, could travel after dark, and at regular highway speeds. Which are things oversized loads are not ever allowed to do, but in light of the situation, they make exceptions for FEMA house movements such as that. I'm sure it was a horrific time for everyone. Our 3 small children were just very happy when he finally made it home safe and sound. When they were much older I have worked with him and moved many FEMA homes with him myself. I would hope that the government would continue working to improve the living conditions in that area.
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I come from a land of still deserts and singing coyotes, where there Redtails cry and Ravens laugh. I left my beloved sage and decaying granite for a world of stillness and ancient trees. In the deep forests, even the sun knows it is unwelcome amidst the ferns and decaying logs. This is the land of Bigfoot, the Pine Martin, Salmon and the Black Bear, and the environment is one where food is scarce. For those who know, there are Fiddleheads, wood sorrel, the invasive three corner garlic, and the jewel of the forage: Morel mushrooms. Be wary of them; for there are false morels that bring agonizing death to the ignorant and complacent. The moss hangs heavy on the trees, and the metallic stench of water permeates the air from the rivers that drown those who are unfamiliar with their silent ways. Do not whistle in the cleared spaces among the trees and meadows; the Native tribes know it will call demons, and in the permanent twilight of the Old Growth eldritch things still writhe in slumber.
Anybody got scary stories about living in America? I could probably say a few about Ireland. I especially love these posts, since I went to visit my family in America a few years back and the plains and forests is so huge they stretch for hundreds of miles. I had never seen anything like that before. I loved these stories, they are so well written they give me chills!
I've lived in many of these places and been to all 50 states. These are all pretty accurate. One thing they don't mention is the cultural gulf that exists between the city- and country-dwellers. Both regard each other with suspicion and rarely do they have any meaningful interaction.
Appalachia, Maine to Georgia: You will find unexpected bogs. Rising swarms of mosquitos that seem to make a noise like a banshee scream. A wind on the mountaintops that suddenly blasts downslope to stagger you off the trail. Your brain knows it's not more than a few miles to pavement, that you *should* be able to just go downhill and find safety in so-called civilization, but somehow that's not how it works out, and down in the valley, it's a sauna, but you're so cold, and then the snake shows up in your sleeping bag.... Good times.
Upstate NY, not upstate like White Plains, or Terrytown, real Upstate. Where the winter lasts 9 months out of the year, and every single town is built on the rotted skeleton of an industry that we have outgrown. The residents on these towns recite the story through the generations, stories of salt mines, logging, shoe factories, river trade, and even the birth of computing and the golden age of photography. The money is long gone sadly, most people in these towns live at or below the poverty line, but we remember it all the same. Welcome to "town" the birth place of "blank", is written on tee shirts, coffee mugs, post cards, this is the story we tell. The one we dont tell is written with every new cancer diagnosis, every glass of tainted water, every inedible fish, every unswimable lake, every chain link fence guarding land too toxic to even walk upon. The fetid corpse of industry lay below our feet, slowly rotting, bleeding corruption into everything around it, into us.
How many people have been able to give more than one vote? I just gave two and have been able to several times. Those two upvotes were well deserved here.
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So many of these sound like they were written by HP Lovecraft. Stunning visuals.
Ikr? That is the exact type of feeling with this writing style! I knew before but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Load More Replies... There is a reason that southern gothic centers so heavily around South Carolina. The older cities are historic. Too historic. Nearly every house in downtown Charleston is rumored to be haunted. I’ve spoken to people who live there, and it may be more than rumors. Historic sites are full of unmarked graves of slaves. Are you walking on one? Do the spirits even care anymore? Moss, both Spanish and the green sphagnum, cover old brick buildings. The bricks erode, no longer actively damaged by the bricks but held together by their roots. Sometimes buildings crumble to dust and rubble. Sometimes there are people inside. We only sometimes know. Outside of the cities, people are know to disappear into the swamps. Alligators, we say, no one wanting to admit that we all suspect that there is something else out there. Bodies that fall into the black water if a swamp can be perfectly preserved for millennia. Bodies on land, like the old houses, succumb to moss and fungi and insects before
Crumbling to dust. The old oaks here are older than you. They’re older than America. Sometimes I wonder if they’re older than whatever god used to exist. He is gone now. Old folk deny this, returning to old brick churches to pray every Sunday. Their prayers are heard, but it is no god, no benevolent creator that hears them. The wise pray silently. It is safer that way. Everyone hunts. Beef is rare. It is always deer. Deer meat in every dish. Deer skulls hung over the fireplace. Deer antlers as decoration. But those are not deer dead in the road between the cornfield and the swamp. Everyone knows this, but we say nothing. We do not look at the roadkill. It is easier that way. In the suburbs, it’s easier to pretend everything is normal. The dead animals look closer to deer and coyotes. They aren’t, but it’s easier to pretend. The real bodies rot. Vultures swarm the real ones. These sit in the sun, unchanging, until they are simply gone. Did someone move it or did it get up and walk away?
Load More Replies...
I have SO many creepy stories about things I have experienced. Including a pair of toddler sized shoes, still with tiny feet inside them, washed up on the sand by a small lake next to a lonely, narrow trail...
For those of us who are old enough to have lived through it, every single plane you see flying over the New York City buildings brings back barely repressed feelings of terror.
Florida used to be a wild place, a couple decades ago. We used to wander for months in vast hallways under 300-year-old live oaks, never hearing a motor, living off of what we hunted, endless wild berries and fruits, and what we dug from the earth. But now it's a hell-hole packed with violent, spoiled brat spring break vacationers who decided to stay and breed, and expand a transient suburbia based in an abyss of debt and bankruptcy. It's like Sesame Street but for demons. I mean the capitol building is a fallus, for f***k's sake.
I wonder if this is the reason that the whole stereotype of Americans gearing up for foreign cities like they would a jungle came from?
Washington. Rain, a needle piercing the sky. Forest, so much forest, never ending. The summer is the only reprieve from the fog. Pot smokers on the corner hiding from who knows what. Frost, but never snow. Do you know where Mt. St. Helens is? Nobody knows who we are. The coast is covered in a mysterious mist. Where does it come from? Nobody knows. Nobody knows anything here. Well, so is life.
"It's mo-BEEL", the locals correct you. But it is also mobile -- hunting, lurking, waiting. Downtown is nice, if you can ignore the things that are MUCH older than your grandfather, even older than the Cains -- things that lurk in the back alleys and lonely sidestreets that you aren't quite sure were ever there. You try to ask a local about the street, but they just look at you with confusion, and fear. When the storms come, you'd best be in the house with enough food, water, and flashlights to last a few weeks. Don't get caught in the rain and don't ever, EVER try to look just a bit farther behind the curtain that the rain creates. There is a reason locals keep their heads down, even in just a mild shower. Not the drizzle you get out in Seattle, but the blinding, overwhelming, heaving downpour that happens when the temp shoots up and the humidity becomes unbearable. Dark, twisted things come out when the rain starts. No one is sure if the things in the rain and the things in the historic neighborhoods are one and the same, but it'd be for the best if you didn't try to find out. There are plots of land with trees so thick you cant see two feet into the trees. What are the trees and the rain hiding? It’d be best not to find out.
North Carolina- where bluegrass reigns and the sun doth shine.. That's true and all, but dark secrets hide behind those blue skies and Southern hospitality. Secrets like the origins of The Devil's Tramping Ground, and the light at Maco Station. No-one tells you about the time it rained blood in Chatham County, or the disappearance of Nell Cropsey. No-one knows what happened to the lost colony of Roanoke, or of the ghosts hiding at Biltmore. You'll never hear a word about the Beast of Bladenboro. North Carolina- It's gorgeous and all, but dark secrets abound. Dark things come out to play when night falls. Don't come here. We don't want you to know.
Just wondering, not accusing, but, could this be a cultural phenomenon? Do First Nation Americans also feel this estrangement from the land? Or is this a feeling that stems all the way back to the first immigrations? When europeans were strangers in the land? And often took the country by force? I live in Norway and it is an old country with very harsh nature and still feel very much at home and safe in the mountains and the woods.
I can't speak about now, but I know that just before the land was stolen from the native people many elders from many tribes made their feelings about the land and cultural traditions known through either letters or speeches and it was pretty clear that they felt a strong affection and connection to the lands. Nature was a source of comfort and they didn't seem to fear "the wild", and they felt deep ties to the earth and their ancestors so I don't think they feared too much. It does seem though that there was an awareness of a something else existing, and I feel like they regarded it with respect and understood how to coexist in harmony so that there weren't many problems. If you can just do a quick search for quotes or wisdom from native americans, you should find plenty of content
Load More Replies... Truly great stories to everyone. I'm not a great storyteller, especially as of late, since contracting Lyme and my short term memory has went to c**p. But being from Tennessee and growing up near the Sevier County, Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg areas, the place is riddled with some of the finest storytellers to have lived. They were often brought into the schools for special occasions and would regale us with every topic imaginable. Most everyone's favorites were, of course, something haunted, maligned, and Native American folklore, as we have the Cherokee Indian reservation in this area also. The stories are legend and can still be heard today, Dollywood employs storytellers and some are very good. Also the visitors center's rangers often know very storied areas and can share some great tales. Not realizing what a hardship our Native Americans went through, because we're taught lies in school, my favorite place was Cherokee to visit the Indians who were then dressed in full dress with the most elaborate headdresses. They sold all kinds of their wares, also posing for photos, and a area surrounded by the most elaborate teepees. I thought it was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen at the time. I thought seeing them in full headdresses etc was they were the most noble, magnificent, beautiful, magical people, I'd ever had the pleasure to meet. It was a place that I was taken to often as a youth and I always loved it. It began falling to disarray and in my late teens footfall there was very light. Several years down the road they turned it into a gambling and casino resort town. I know it brought in more income to the area, but sometimes there are groups of folks that don't benefit from things like that. I have often thought of the sad side of Cherokee when I was older and wiser, how heartbreaking places like this have been for the first Americans in this country and the glimpse into the area where they lived where I grew up, wonder about all the unheard, untold, stories. So much we don't know. So much we could learn.
These were phenomenal! I hope these writers expand on their gifts. New Jersey... while your entry made me laugh out loud (because it's true), I was hoping to read a longer entry about my beautiful, creepy state. (There's so much crazy stuff here that we actually have a magazine called "Weird New Jersey" to chronicle it.)
I read most of these in Cecil Palmer/Cecil Baldwin's voice. For those who wonder why, find a podcast called Welcome to Night Vale, you'll understand.
Maryland is darker than it seems. Leave the crabs be, no harm done. Leave them or you don't come back. Don't trust the Chesapeake. Beneath the calm waves, far down in the murky water, are things no one has lived to document. We all pretend it's fine, it's fine. The weather can feel so hot even when it's cloudy. Can feel so cold even when it's sunny. Can feel so wet even when it's dry. We all pretend it's fine, it's fine. We all know it's never fine.
In the mountains in California, there are people that know where the Sasquatch lives. Seeing them is as normal as seeing bears in the wild.
I live in PA just across the border from Maryland and I can confirm much of that. My wife will sometimes wake me up during the night to ask what that terrible noise is outside. It is just the cicadas. Also, the unexplained wood smoke. I doesn't seem to be coming from anywhere it just seems to be hanging in the air without explanation.
Connecticut is evil. You think celebrities live here but come to hide and die. New York is two hours away. Boston is the same. Stephen King used to come to my town library and write. Even a small story of an underpass near my home. It's eerie with or without the story. Winter is barren. Roads suck cars in and break wheels off from pot holes. Fall. Leaf peeping. But only a minute. Then it's barren and haunting in small towns with ancient graveyards. Spring is weeding out the gardens and listening to winds whip off the water that is always black. Never ocean blue. Summer you die from heat and humidity or mosquitos give it to you via Lyme. Old bones rattle in nursing homes. And the state taxes take what's left.
Isn't it ticks that spread Lyme disease, instead of mosquitoes? I know I caught it from a tick, not a mosquito.
Load More Replies... As a kid from New Mexico, I can agree 100%. Roswell is a joke (as stated), Los Alamos is far scarier - the haunted remnants if the Manhattan Project, with is countless cordoned of areas you can only where with government clearance, areas the locals leave alone because of rumored radiation, random caverns in the canyons that no one talks about or goes near but everyone knows about...
That was so very sad. My husband and many of his friends, thru the company they worked for, delivered hundreds of emergency FEMA homes to Los Alamos . He was gone from home for more than 2 months before I saw him for a weekend. They were going as hard as they could physically go driving, and hooking the Semi Tractors together two by two to give them a little more sleep on the way back to get more homes. The government suspended all DOT movement laws for transport of the houses. They didn't have to stop in weigh stations, could travel after dark, and at regular highway speeds. Which are things oversized loads are not ever allowed to do, but in light of the situation, they make exceptions for FEMA house movements such as that. I'm sure it was a horrific time for everyone. Our 3 small children were just very happy when he finally made it home safe and sound. When they were much older I have worked with him and moved many FEMA homes with him myself. I would hope that the government would continue working to improve the living conditions in that area.
Load More Replies... I come from a land of still deserts and singing coyotes, where there Redtails cry and Ravens laugh. I left my beloved sage and decaying granite for a world of stillness and ancient trees. In the deep forests, even the sun knows it is unwelcome amidst the ferns and decaying logs. This is the land of Bigfoot, the Pine Martin, Salmon and the Black Bear, and the environment is one where food is scarce. For those who know, there are Fiddleheads, wood sorrel, the invasive three corner garlic, and the jewel of the forage: Morel mushrooms. Be wary of them; for there are false morels that bring agonizing death to the ignorant and complacent. The moss hangs heavy on the trees, and the metallic stench of water permeates the air from the rivers that drown those who are unfamiliar with their silent ways. Do not whistle in the cleared spaces among the trees and meadows; the Native tribes know it will call demons, and in the permanent twilight of the Old Growth eldritch things still writhe in slumber.
Anybody got scary stories about living in America? I could probably say a few about Ireland. I especially love these posts, since I went to visit my family in America a few years back and the plains and forests is so huge they stretch for hundreds of miles. I had never seen anything like that before. I loved these stories, they are so well written they give me chills!
I've lived in many of these places and been to all 50 states. These are all pretty accurate. One thing they don't mention is the cultural gulf that exists between the city- and country-dwellers. Both regard each other with suspicion and rarely do they have any meaningful interaction.
Appalachia, Maine to Georgia: You will find unexpected bogs. Rising swarms of mosquitos that seem to make a noise like a banshee scream. A wind on the mountaintops that suddenly blasts downslope to stagger you off the trail. Your brain knows it's not more than a few miles to pavement, that you *should* be able to just go downhill and find safety in so-called civilization, but somehow that's not how it works out, and down in the valley, it's a sauna, but you're so cold, and then the snake shows up in your sleeping bag.... Good times.
Upstate NY, not upstate like White Plains, or Terrytown, real Upstate. Where the winter lasts 9 months out of the year, and every single town is built on the rotted skeleton of an industry that we have outgrown. The residents on these towns recite the story through the generations, stories of salt mines, logging, shoe factories, river trade, and even the birth of computing and the golden age of photography. The money is long gone sadly, most people in these towns live at or below the poverty line, but we remember it all the same. Welcome to "town" the birth place of "blank", is written on tee shirts, coffee mugs, post cards, this is the story we tell. The one we dont tell is written with every new cancer diagnosis, every glass of tainted water, every inedible fish, every unswimable lake, every chain link fence guarding land too toxic to even walk upon. The fetid corpse of industry lay below our feet, slowly rotting, bleeding corruption into everything around it, into us.
How many people have been able to give more than one vote? I just gave two and have been able to several times. Those two upvotes were well deserved here.
Load More Replies... So many of these sound like they were written by HP Lovecraft. Stunning visuals.
Ikr? That is the exact type of feeling with this writing style! I knew before but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Load More Replies... There is a reason that southern gothic centers so heavily around South Carolina. The older cities are historic. Too historic. Nearly every house in downtown Charleston is rumored to be haunted. I’ve spoken to people who live there, and it may be more than rumors. Historic sites are full of unmarked graves of slaves. Are you walking on one? Do the spirits even care anymore? Moss, both Spanish and the green sphagnum, cover old brick buildings. The bricks erode, no longer actively damaged by the bricks but held together by their roots. Sometimes buildings crumble to dust and rubble. Sometimes there are people inside. We only sometimes know. Outside of the cities, people are know to disappear into the swamps. Alligators, we say, no one wanting to admit that we all suspect that there is something else out there. Bodies that fall into the black water if a swamp can be perfectly preserved for millennia. Bodies on land, like the old houses, succumb to moss and fungi and insects before
Crumbling to dust. The old oaks here are older than you. They’re older than America. Sometimes I wonder if they’re older than whatever god used to exist. He is gone now. Old folk deny this, returning to old brick churches to pray every Sunday. Their prayers are heard, but it is no god, no benevolent creator that hears them. The wise pray silently. It is safer that way. Everyone hunts. Beef is rare. It is always deer. Deer meat in every dish. Deer skulls hung over the fireplace. Deer antlers as decoration. But those are not deer dead in the road between the cornfield and the swamp. Everyone knows this, but we say nothing. We do not look at the roadkill. It is easier that way. In the suburbs, it’s easier to pretend everything is normal. The dead animals look closer to deer and coyotes. They aren’t, but it’s easier to pretend. The real bodies rot. Vultures swarm the real ones. These sit in the sun, unchanging, until they are simply gone. Did someone move it or did it get up and walk away?
Load More Replies... I have SO many creepy stories about things I have experienced. Including a pair of toddler sized shoes, still with tiny feet inside them, washed up on the sand by a small lake next to a lonely, narrow trail...
For those of us who are old enough to have lived through it, every single plane you see flying over the New York City buildings brings back barely repressed feelings of terror.
Florida used to be a wild place, a couple decades ago. We used to wander for months in vast hallways under 300-year-old live oaks, never hearing a motor, living off of what we hunted, endless wild berries and fruits, and what we dug from the earth. But now it's a hell-hole packed with violent, spoiled brat spring break vacationers who decided to stay and breed, and expand a transient suburbia based in an abyss of debt and bankruptcy. It's like Sesame Street but for demons. I mean the capitol building is a fallus, for f***k's sake.
I wonder if this is the reason that the whole stereotype of Americans gearing up for foreign cities like they would a jungle came from?
Washington. Rain, a needle piercing the sky. Forest, so much forest, never ending. The summer is the only reprieve from the fog. Pot smokers on the corner hiding from who knows what. Frost, but never snow. Do you know where Mt. St. Helens is? Nobody knows who we are. The coast is covered in a mysterious mist. Where does it come from? Nobody knows. Nobody knows anything here. Well, so is life.
"It's mo-BEEL", the locals correct you. But it is also mobile -- hunting, lurking, waiting. Downtown is nice, if you can ignore the things that are MUCH older than your grandfather, even older than the Cains -- things that lurk in the back alleys and lonely sidestreets that you aren't quite sure were ever there. You try to ask a local about the street, but they just look at you with confusion, and fear. When the storms come, you'd best be in the house with enough food, water, and flashlights to last a few weeks. Don't get caught in the rain and don't ever, EVER try to look just a bit farther behind the curtain that the rain creates. There is a reason locals keep their heads down, even in just a mild shower. Not the drizzle you get out in Seattle, but the blinding, overwhelming, heaving downpour that happens when the temp shoots up and the humidity becomes unbearable. Dark, twisted things come out when the rain starts. No one is sure if the things in the rain and the things in the historic neighborhoods are one and the same, but it'd be for the best if you didn't try to find out. There are plots of land with trees so thick you cant see two feet into the trees. What are the trees and the rain hiding? It’d be best not to find out.
North Carolina- where bluegrass reigns and the sun doth shine.. That's true and all, but dark secrets hide behind those blue skies and Southern hospitality. Secrets like the origins of The Devil's Tramping Ground, and the light at Maco Station. No-one tells you about the time it rained blood in Chatham County, or the disappearance of Nell Cropsey. No-one knows what happened to the lost colony of Roanoke, or of the ghosts hiding at Biltmore. You'll never hear a word about the Beast of Bladenboro. North Carolina- It's gorgeous and all, but dark secrets abound. Dark things come out to play when night falls. Don't come here. We don't want you to know.
Just wondering, not accusing, but, could this be a cultural phenomenon? Do First Nation Americans also feel this estrangement from the land? Or is this a feeling that stems all the way back to the first immigrations? When europeans were strangers in the land? And often took the country by force? I live in Norway and it is an old country with very harsh nature and still feel very much at home and safe in the mountains and the woods.
I can't speak about now, but I know that just before the land was stolen from the native people many elders from many tribes made their feelings about the land and cultural traditions known through either letters or speeches and it was pretty clear that they felt a strong affection and connection to the lands. Nature was a source of comfort and they didn't seem to fear "the wild", and they felt deep ties to the earth and their ancestors so I don't think they feared too much. It does seem though that there was an awareness of a something else existing, and I feel like they regarded it with respect and understood how to coexist in harmony so that there weren't many problems. If you can just do a quick search for quotes or wisdom from native americans, you should find plenty of content
Load More Replies... Truly great stories to everyone. I'm not a great storyteller, especially as of late, since contracting Lyme and my short term memory has went to c**p. But being from Tennessee and growing up near the Sevier County, Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg areas, the place is riddled with some of the finest storytellers to have lived. They were often brought into the schools for special occasions and would regale us with every topic imaginable. Most everyone's favorites were, of course, something haunted, maligned, and Native American folklore, as we have the Cherokee Indian reservation in this area also. The stories are legend and can still be heard today, Dollywood employs storytellers and some are very good. Also the visitors center's rangers often know very storied areas and can share some great tales. Not realizing what a hardship our Native Americans went through, because we're taught lies in school, my favorite place was Cherokee to visit the Indians who were then dressed in full dress with the most elaborate headdresses. They sold all kinds of their wares, also posing for photos, and a area surrounded by the most elaborate teepees. I thought it was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen at the time. I thought seeing them in full headdresses etc was they were the most noble, magnificent, beautiful, magical people, I'd ever had the pleasure to meet. It was a place that I was taken to often as a youth and I always loved it. It began falling to disarray and in my late teens footfall there was very light. Several years down the road they turned it into a gambling and casino resort town. I know it brought in more income to the area, but sometimes there are groups of folks that don't benefit from things like that. I have often thought of the sad side of Cherokee when I was older and wiser, how heartbreaking places like this have been for the first Americans in this country and the glimpse into the area where they lived where I grew up, wonder about all the unheard, untold, stories. So much we don't know. So much we could learn.
These were phenomenal! I hope these writers expand on their gifts. New Jersey... while your entry made me laugh out loud (because it's true), I was hoping to read a longer entry about my beautiful, creepy state. (There's so much crazy stuff here that we actually have a magazine called "Weird New Jersey" to chronicle it.)
I read most of these in Cecil Palmer/Cecil Baldwin's voice. For those who wonder why, find a podcast called Welcome to Night Vale, you'll understand.
Maryland is darker than it seems. Leave the crabs be, no harm done. Leave them or you don't come back. Don't trust the Chesapeake. Beneath the calm waves, far down in the murky water, are things no one has lived to document. We all pretend it's fine, it's fine. The weather can feel so hot even when it's cloudy. Can feel so cold even when it's sunny. Can feel so wet even when it's dry. We all pretend it's fine, it's fine. We all know it's never fine.
In the mountains in California, there are people that know where the Sasquatch lives. Seeing them is as normal as seeing bears in the wild.
I live in PA just across the border from Maryland and I can confirm much of that. My wife will sometimes wake me up during the night to ask what that terrible noise is outside. It is just the cicadas. Also, the unexplained wood smoke. I doesn't seem to be coming from anywhere it just seems to be hanging in the air without explanation.
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