All this October, we've been examining urban legends and other shared tales that get passed around as if they're factual, generally to inspire dread and provide salacious entertainment. We hoping to learn more about how and why troubling, seemingly ludicrous stories like these proliferate, and why we can't get enough of them.
So we're diving into the ways that regional sensibilities morph collective nightmares and stoke conspiracy theories. We how childhood institutions like slumber parties help spread these disturbing tales. We'll look at how the internet became a bastion for myth-telling, whether it's a string-boarded fan theory with scant plausibility or a story about a time-traveling future-dweller who returned with a mission of posting his musings on early 2000s message boards. We'll also bust open some of our most societally entrenched legends and conspiracy theories -- and, yes, that includes the Illuminati.
One piece of advice? Do not, under any circumstance, let the Black-Eyed Children into your home.
Every locale spins its own tall tales, believable or not, that get passed down through generations. We hunted down the spookiest urban legend in every single state.
The internet keeps fueling an unsubstantiated rumor about a Disney theme park dedicated to its animated villains. This is how the concept gained momentum and why its unlikely future only ensures the chatter won't end.
Eating a pack of Pop Rocks and drinking a six-pack of Coca-Cola didn't kill John Gilchrist, even though everyone thinks it did. In fact, he's totally fine (and we talked to him). The only victim of the legend that wouldn't go away? Pop Rocks.
Folklorists have been tracking the spread of "The Licked Hand" and other spooky stories for as long as we've been telling them. Here's how these tales proliferate.
It all began so perfectly for the Jersey Devil: a terrifying beast haunting the Pine Barrens in the 18th century. Now he's a mascot pumping people up at hockey games. What happened?
He arrived from the year 2036 to post messages on Web 1.0 message boards circa 1998. His message: unclear. His legacy: untold, until now. This is the story of John Titor, internet time-traveler.
In this corner, the Satanic Temple. In another, the Church of Satan. And don't forget about athiests and imposters. For Satanists, it's hell out there.
Ouija boards, Led Zeppelin and Slender Man, oh my. Everything you ever wanted to know about your not-so-friendly virtual-neighborhood demon.
Everyone in western Pennsylvania has heard the stories. Many want to catch a glimpse of him. But he was just a man named Ray Robinson. This is his story.
Ever since opening in 1995, the Denver airport has been the subject of rumors linking it to government cover-ups and the world's elite. Also: a giant demon horse waiting to suck the souls from unworthy travelers.