Devil’s Tramping Ground a wooded section of Chatham County, North Carolina. A forty foot in diameter circle can be found there. Any objects that appear in the circle will mysteriously disappear or get moved from within the circle. No wildlife, vegetation, or inanimate objects can be found in the circle known as the Devil’s Tramping Ground. This phenomenon was first discovered in the early 1800s and is believed that Satan paces around this circle and ponders about ways to undo mankind..
boy scout troups have tried camping on it, and woken up in their tents a few miles away. Some guys tried to stay up all night in a tent on the spot, and later reported that a soft, soothing melodic voice lulled them to sleep and they too woke up a few miles away
#why is that so cute tho#like most of the time u hear about this shit and its like ‘they got their eyes clawed out or disappeared or died’#but this is like#’casually picks up your stuff and moves it somewhere else or gently sings you to sleep’#like dang thats the most polite demonic circle ive ever heard of what a sweetheart
I just love the idea that Satan has a specific spot for pacing and pondering
that doesn’t sound demonic, that sounds fae. surprisingly nice seelie fae, considering they woke up the same age as when they went to sleep, and not even hallucinating or with their hair turned white or anything. i bet if you left a bowl of milk and some honeycomb there you’d have good luck all year.
Americans reach for the Devil as the catch-all explanation for supernatural shit just so readily when there are so many other candidates.
well, you gotta understand, ‘the devil’ in american folklore isn’t exactly satan. he’s more of a trickster figure, albeit a dark one. he can’t resist a gamble or a challenge, and it’s possible to beat him. meet him at the crossroads and he’ll tune your guitar for you, guaranteeing fame. shoe his horse while blindfolded and you’ll be rich, as long as you don’t peek.
the american folklore devil is basically the same trope as the european fae.
((Devil Went Down to Georgia plays in the distance))
Tag: fae
All the urban legends came true at once.
Of course, I was six pages deep in a tax audit at the time. Chewing a pen when a rash of mothers with broken backs were rushed to the hospital, courteousy of uncareful feet smashing on cracks. Doctors, unsure at the time, blamed osteoporosis.
It was watched pots that remained cool. Or salt thrown over a shoulder that – for a second – showed a devil’s eye. Or it was the alligators. Don’t get me started on the alligators.
But something was the first whisper of what we’d woken up. Nobody wanted to say it out loud, because it sounded so ridiculous. It was a secret that swelled in our cheeks. Phrases we had always said that went silent.
All the hauntings came true. We had photograpic evidence of spirits. That’s probably what started the mass hysteria.
Some things took longer. Rubbing a statue for luck or breaking a mirror. Delayed response. One bad day turns into a bad month. Then you’re at the local witch place begging for a respite – seven years of bad luck?! – and she’s shaking her head. Nothing to be done.
Oh, the witches. The funny thing is that when people have always called you a witch, they’re surprisingly needy when you turn out to be one. When the world shifted, little towns who avoided one woman for her witchiness were now flocking to her because their legend had made her become one.
Pens mightier than swords. Avoiding groups of certain numbers. When a knife drops, we all hold our breath for the fight. A fork means company will show up, confused how they arrived.
It got better for a moment, for a breath, while we figured out the rules of it. What was a legend and what was myth. What kind of faith was big enough and what was too big. Some legends only effected certain areas. Some only certain people. We sunk money into infrastructure for once to clear up cracks. Stepped over salt in every building. Sold amulets like trinkets. For a second, we almost got our feet under us.
And then it got worse. Sometimes the company you invited was strange, unhuman. You had to wear iron. We had loved our cryptids until they came down from the mountains, worse than we could have predicted. Bowls of milk were on every window sill but most of them rotted.
In the books, we had all read about the end of the old ones. The unspeakable ones, who went off into the hills one day. Who we cannot say the name of. Who did not exist in the land of buses or planes. Who can steal you if they know your name, who can never lie but do a good job of it anyway.
We were not ready. The Folk showed up through the thin veil, and they were already laughing.
And they were just the beginning.
i don’t think i ever posted this here, so here’s one of my monthly Patreon short story/illustration prompts suggested by Sabrina Gross. this one was for cicada fairies.
The Sappichirrpy Summer Men’s Choir
There are many small towns where strange things happen. Lights in the sky at night, too tall figures moving through corn fields, those sorts of things. Most places don’t talk about them because they are considered things not to be talked about. You don’t tempt fate. You don’t leave the window open. You certainly don’t walk through those corn fields if you can help it. And its easier than you would think for people to live with these things because humans can get used to anything given enough time. Of course, most of those old things have the decency to be quiet about their otherworldly existence. The ones that aren’t, well, people have to get creative to manage the upkeep of that tenuous neighborly bond that keeps goats alive and hard-headed teens with night vision cameras off missing posters.
The Sappichirrpy Entomology Society built a stage.
BettSplendens Tumblr Evac 