Episode 200: Up Close

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and this animal

and this animal

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They all live on an organic valley farm.

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Today is our 200th episode, and honestly, I am really blown away by that.

Since launching this show in March of 2015, my world has been turned upside down.

I've gone from doing everything myself to having a wonderful team of talented people helping me out.

Lore has grown from nine downloads on its first day to over 350 million downloads to date.

And of course, there are other milestones.

Being one of the first podcasts to be adapted for television and the first to get multiple seasons is a pretty nice brag.

And seeing a lot of the early stories collected into a trilogy of hardcover books by one of the biggest publishers in the world, well, that's hard to beat as well.

Because of lore, I met Chad Lawson, who has since become one of my best and most trusted trusted friends.

Because of lore, I was able to become a full-time content creator.

Because of lore, I've been able to meet some of my heroes.

It's honestly been quite a ride.

But above all of that, the thing I'm most proud of is seeing the community of listeners grow up around the show.

You.

You are what I'm most proud of.

So for staying subscribed, For tapping the download icon or pressing play, I just want to make sure that you know that I love and appreciate you.

Today's episode might be the 200th I've written and recorded, but I couldn't have made it here without you.

And here's to many, many more.

And now,

on with the show.

It was the sort of history you could taste, and for me to unpack that statement, we're going to have to go on on quite a journey.

Museums around the world are filled with artifacts from another time.

Sometimes those objects are weapons, sometimes clothing.

Even human remains sometimes become exhibits for crowds to come see.

But there are also cooking implements.

And a few years ago, one man saw an opportunity in that category.

Seamus Blackley is a lot of things.

Most notably, he's the guy responsible for the original Xbox, but he's also an amateur Egyptologist and a a baker.

And in 2019, he set an unusual project in motion.

Working with some experts in the fields of microbiology and ancient brewing, he managed to get some dormant yeast samples extracted from some bread-making objects from the Old Kingdom.

That's over 4,500 years old, if you're keeping track.

And once the yeast had been pulled out, they woke it up.

Blackley nurtured that yeast sample all the way to a starter, using only ingredients that the ancient Egyptians would have had access to and then continued the process until he was ready to bake.

The result?

Bread that's as close as we could hope to what the Egyptians would have tasted all those millennia ago.

Sometimes for history to really come to life, it needs to become something we ourselves can experience.

Recreations, reenactments, and immersive museums are all proof of just how magical this process can be.

To see something with your own eyes is so much more powerful than reading about it in a book.

Sometimes, we need to get a little

personal.

I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore.

I might live in New England, but I'm a Midwest boy at heart.

More specifically, central Illinois.

And growing up amidst all those small towns laid out on a nice grid and separated by about 30 miles of cornfields in all directions, you learn to find things to explore in your own backyard.

One of my favorite haunts, no pun intended, was the nearby cemetery.

Now, I could tell you about my visits there, or what it felt like, or even why I was there in the first place.

But chances are good that most of you have done it too.

Cemeteries have an undefinable attraction, and we can see that in all sorts of cemetery-related folklore.

Of course, there's the general superstitions involving cemeteries, right?

How many of you grew up hearing that you're supposed to hold your breath whenever you drive past a graveyard, or else something bad might happen?

And how many of you still do it?

There's also the old folklore about burial order.

First burial in the new cemetery is sometimes considered unlucky, while the last burial is sometimes seen as the guardian over all that came before them.

And some people believe that weeds growing over a grave is a sign that the person buried there was evil.

But aside from the general folklore, there are specific stories.

Up north in Decatur, Illinois, there's Greenwood Cemetery.

Much of its reputation comes from its state of disrepair, which is a pretty common theme, actually.

Cemeteries sometimes shut down, whether the land runs out or business goes bust, and as they grow unkempt, they become home to legend.

A common tale told about about Greenwood is that of a young couple who planned to run away together because their families wouldn't agree to let them marry.

But the young man who worked for one of the local bootleggers made the mistake of telling his boss, who didn't want information about his business leaving town.

The young man's body was found later that week, floating in the nearby river, and then buried in Greenwood Cemetery.

After that, his heartbroken lover drowned herself in the same river, and it's now believed that she haunts the cemetery, slowly walking between the headstones in the wedding dress she never got to wear in life.

South of it, in Spring Valley, the massac mausoleum inside the Lithuanian Liberty Cemetery has its own chilling tale.

Local legend has it that a ghost known as the Hatchet Man guards the graveyard and possibly rests inside the mausoleum.

The proof?

Some say the door to the crypt is always warm.

That, and sometime in the 1960s, someone broke into it and stole a skull, which admittedly is a great way to tick off a ghost.

So many unusual reports have come from the cemetery over the years that police routinely patrol it now.

But the legend that's closest to my heart is actually the one that's closest to me.

You see, there is a plot of land just outside of the town of Streeter that was once the home to a settler named Jacob Moon.

It's said that he and his family arrived in the early 1800s, and as many settlers did, they eventually needed to start a family cemetery.

Over the years, more and more people were interred there, earning it the name Moon's Point Cemetery.

Although, growing up there myself, most people called it Moon Creek Cemetery, or the nearby creek of the same name.

Regardless of what you call it, though, this graveyard has a couple of thrilling legends to keep everyone on the edge of their seat.

First, there's the Hatchet Lady, no relation, I assume, to Spring Valley's Hatchet Man.

This spirit is said to be the ghost of a woman who guards the grave of her son, who died in the Civil War.

Over the years, many visitors to the cemetery have encountered strange lights and sounds, including the voice of a woman, whispering in a tone as cold as the winter wind, get out.

For the most historically minded, though, I need to point out that there's no record of a woman buried there with a Civil War son, but my hometown paper, The Times Press, does reveal a possible answer.

the 1886 grave of a man killed with an axe in an alcohol-fueled bar fight.

There's also the train to worry about.

You see, the only way to get to Moon Creek Cemetery is to drive down a long road that crosses an old train track.

That's not altogether unusual in Illinois, honestly.

There are rail lines crisscrossing the landscape all over the place.

But the legend about this one is slightly more restrictive.

Legend tells of a ghost train that passes by the cemetery each night.

And if you've been brave enough to drive out to visit the place after dark, but don't leave before the ghost train arrives, then you'll be trapped there forever.

Me, I know about the train tracks because I've been there many times, even at night.

Once I even had to wait for a train to pass by on the tracks before the road became passable again.

Clearly, though, I've lived to talk about it, which calls the truth of the legend into question.

And as far as I'm concerned, that's a good thing.

As I mentioned before, I'm from Illinois, and if you dig into popular folklore from that state, the one that shows up the most is one we've already covered on this show before, Resurrection Mary.

To quickly recap the legend, Resurrection Mary is said to be a ghostly young woman who has been picked up by drivers since the 1930s.

This woman always requests being dropped off at the Resurrection Cemetery, southwest of Chicago on Archer Avenue.

After getting out of the car, Mary always disappears.

But Resurrection Mary is just one example of many ghostly sightings in Illinois.

Some, just like hers, are even grounded in cemeteries, and a good example is White Cemetery in the town of Barrington.

Along with numerous reports of odd lights and glowing orbs inside the cemetery grounds, there are also stories of unusual sightings closer to the road.

It seems that people over the years have reported driving past the cemetery only to see a handful of shadowy figures standing by the front gate.

And on the rare occasion that someone has pulled over to investigate, those shadows have always vanished before their eyes.

Alton, Illinois is a town that few have heard of, probably thanks to its larger neighbor across the Mississippi, nearby St.

Louis.

But its cemetery is the final resting place of a man named Elijah Lovejoy, an outspoken abolitionist who ran a newspaper there in the 1830s.

Apparently, Lovejoy wouldn't stop printing materials that called for the end of slavery, so he was driven out of St.

Louis and over the river to Alton.

Once settled there, he started up again, which ticked off all those fanboys of human trafficking.

So they raided his warehouse in November of 1837, and Lovejoy died defending his printing press.

Worried about vandalism by the same people who killed him, the town had Lovejoy buried in an unmarked grave.

But six decades later, his remains were located and reburied in the Alton City Cemetery, along with a massive 100-foot-tall monument nearby to honor his sacrifice.

But that monument is also said to be the location of constant sightings by visitors of a ghostly figure, along with frequent reports of cold spots and unusual lights.

And I know it's easy to dismiss stories about foggy, wispy visions.

They often lack evidence and rely solely on belief to survive over the years.

But as I said before, the best way to understand history and folklore is to experience it for yourself.

And with that in mind, do I have a story for you?

In the summer of 1997, I was enjoying life as a newly graduated college-educated young man with few commitments, and that left me free to hang out with friends quite often.

Which is why, one night in July or August of that year, I headed out of Streeter to the nearby town of Pontiac to enjoy an evening around a fire pit in a friend's backyard.

After the fun was over, everyone climbed back into their cars and trucks and headed home.

For me, that meant heading north up Route 23, which would take me back to Streeter.

But it was a drive that often felt like traveling through a tunnel thanks to the tall stalks of corn on either side of the road.

It was late and very dark, but the sky was clear and the stars were bright.

I eventually passed by a familiar sign marking the turnoff for the tiny village of Longpoint and then kept driving north.

And it was sometime after that when I experienced something I have rarely talked about in the 25 years since.

From a distance, I could see something pale at the edge of the corn at the farthest reaches of my headlights, more than likely just a piece of plastic blown in from a nearby farm.

But as I sped closer, that pale object began to take on a more defined shape.

The shape of a woman.

Now, let me be clear.

I had not been drinking that night, and being a night owl at the time, I wasn't overly exhausted either.

But I could clearly see a pale, transparent, almost glowing woman stepping out of the corn beside the highway, her white dress waving slowly in the wind.

And then, As quickly as I came alongside her, I was past, and my brain immediately began to flood my thoughts with doubts.

Glancing up at my mirror, I quickly looked to see if it had all been in my imagination.

But she was still there, slowly stepping back into the corn.

A lot has happened in the 25 years since that night on a small Illinois highway.

I moved to New England.

I did a lot of writing in my spare time, and I eventually started this podcast.

And while I've been privileged to do a lot of cool things because of this show, one of the favorite things to do is to go on tour.

What does that look like?

Well, it's basically a long string of flights with my buddy Chad Lawson, whose music you hear playing right now in the background.

Together, we would visit city after city, check into the hotel, have lunch, and then head to the venue to prepare for that evening show.

The live lore experience is what you'd expect.

Chad playing a grand piano, and me reading stories just like I do into this microphone here at home.

Oh, and a thousand or so amazing people in the audience, too.

One leg of our last tour, back in 2019, took us to Texas and the beautiful city of Austin.

It was there on September 15th that we were set to do a show at the historic Paramount Theater, a place that you really must visit if you ever have the chance.

It was built back in 1915, and for over a century it's been a place where locals could go for all sorts of entertainment.

Way back in the day that meant vaudeville and performers like the legendary magician and escape artist Harry Houdini, the Marx brothers, and even Hollywood icon Catherine Hepburn.

But you don't find many century-old theaters without ghost stories, and the Paramount is no exception.

For example, there are tales of an old man who is frequently seen in one of the opera boxes, quietly smoking his cigar.

Those who have seen him all describe him the same way, but even when he can't be found with their eyes, visitors know he's there because of that smell.

Some of those ghostly sightings are actually blamed on a building that once stood next door, the home of the War Department for Texas.

And while it's no longer standing, it's easy to see how people over the years have connected the stress and pain that must have emanated from that place with the restless spirits who now wander the theater.

The tales are entertaining for sure, and when I show up at a theater to tell ghost stories, I consider those local legends to be helpful stage dressing.

It sets the mood, even if I've never experienced them myself.

But all of that changed at the Paramount.

That evening, Chad and I did what we always do before a performance.

I read through a portion of my script while the sound team does a mic check, walking around and making sure everything sounds right.

And Chad?

Well, he gets all of his gear set up, micing the piano and making sure that everything is in proper working order.

After that, I go backstage and pour a glass of scotch, something that I'll bring out with me for the show.

You know, as a prop.

Chad usually takes a bit longer though, but when he's done, he always stands up from his piano and takes a photo of the empty theater with his phone.

So that's what he did that night.

He raised his phone, aimed it at the seats, and then tapped the shutter button three times in quick succession.

And then he headed backstage.

It was only later that night, after all the excitement of the show was over and he was back at his hotel room, that Chad had a chance to look at those photos.

And that's when he noticed something unusual.

In one of the shots,

there was a woman.

Her figure was semi-transparent, but you can clearly see that she was wearing a white gown or dress.

In fact, if you do a quick search for them, you'll be able to see what I mean.

This This isn't one of those blurry blob photos that gets passed around that barely looks human at all.

No, this photo is clearly of a woman in white.

But the most chilling detail of all is that the woman is only in one shot.

The middle one, as if she wasn't there in the first, materialized for a split second, and then just as quickly faded away.

Our world is full of folklore.

I would hope that the last 200 episodes of this show has made that clear.

Humans are very good at filling their minds with belief or plugging holes with notions and ideas that grow and evolve over time, eventually taking on a life of their own.

And your local library is absolutely full of books about that sort of thing.

You could read scholarly volumes on various branches of folklore, or you could grab a classic novel like Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House or Stephen King's Pet Cemetery and discover new worlds inspired by old legends.

No matter how you get there, I know you'll enjoy the journey, but the best way to experience history, if you can manage it, is to experience it firsthand.

Of course, those personal encounters tend to be the least documented and the most subjective, but they're also the most thrilling.

I can't express just how big of a chill I got when Chad showed me those photos from the Paramount.

I've seen a lot of ghost photography in my day, and this one felt neither fake nor forced.

There she was, his woman in white, for all the world to see.

Of course, it all took on even more significance once he started to dig into the theater's past.

Because apparently it's played host to a whole assortment of ghostly characters.

The old man with the cigar is just one of many, almost like the cast in a production of some old Dickens tale.

And as Chad learned more about the reports over the years, well, it made the photo that much harder to dismiss.

The most common story in the theater is that of a woman named Emily.

She's been witnessed by countless staff and visitors over the years, and many assume that she is somehow connected to that old War Department building next door.

perhaps a former employee or the widow of a husband killed in action.

She, like the ghost in Chad's photo, is most frequently seen up above in the mezzanine area, and her description is bound to give chills to anyone who has had a chance to look at Chad's photo.

Emily is a woman dressed in white.

In the wide world of folklore, it's easy and enriching to explore distant lands and foreign cultures.

But every now and then, it's good to stop and take a look behind us.

Because sometimes the places we once called home contain their own collection of chilling tales.

Stick around through this brief sponsor break to hear all about one more creepy location from my home state.

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Growing up in central Illinois meant that I was always just a couple of hours from one of the greatest cities in the country, Chicago.

Whether it was high school field trips to the museum and financial district, or later adventures there with friends, the windy city has always held a special place in my heart.

But of course, Chicago has played host to a lot of darkness as well.

Infamous serial killer H.H.

Holmes preyed upon the crowds who arrived in the city for the 1893 Columbian exhibition, and notorious crime lord Al Capone ran much of his criminal empire from there.

But there's so much more beneath the surface.

Back in the 1830s, Chicago was a growing community, and like all places where people live, they needed a way to manage those who died.

In 1837, the state government offered the city a solution.

a tract of land just outside city limits and along the shore of Lake Michigan.

Now, I'm I'm not going to pretend that there was anything dramatic about the creation of the cemetery.

Honestly, it seems to have just sort of been a normal part of the city.

Yes, people were dying to get in, but that was par for the course when it came to graveyards, right?

But I do think that it's helpful to hear about one of the more prominent burials there.

Ira Couch was a businessman who started out as a tailor and habitasher.

Here in the US, that meant that he was a clothing retailer, probably selling neckties and suits and that sort of thing.

He also owned and operated the historic Tremont House Hotel, downtown in the theater district.

The Tremont opened up in 1933, burned down, reopened, burned down again, and finally seemed to find its footing in its third incarnation.

Heck, it was from the balcony of the hotel that Abraham Lincoln gave his famous House Divided speech in 1858.

A speech, by the way, that was at least partially inspired by Elijah Lovejoy's murder the year before at the hands of pro-slavery thugs.

Anyway, Couch was the guy who ran the place, and he seemed to have been well respected in the community, making his untimely death in 1857 a bit of a shock.

But Chicago would keep him close.

His stone, above-ground crypt was built in the city cemetery, complete with his surname carved into the stone in big letters.

And for decades, that's where his body lay.

By 1866, though, folks had stopped using the city cemetery.

There was a rumor going around that rotting corpses were falling into Lake Michigan, contaminating the water and spreading what they called miasma, basically bad smells and unhealthy vapors.

City officials started to plan what they might do about it, eventually settling on a massive effort to remove all 35,000 burials to a new location.

But they moved at a snail's pace, with some estimates claiming they only ever disinterred a few dozen.

What stopped them?

Well, a bit of fire, actually.

The Great Chicago Fire of 1871, to be exact.

That October, the now-infamous blaze changed everyone's priorities for a long time, and I think by the time the dust had settled, the old cemetery was honestly the last thing on their mind.

Which is why, in the years that followed, the land that once held the graveyard, as well as more than 50 acres of land stretching north, were all converted into a public park.

all without ever actually moving the 35,000 bodies to a new location.

Oh, and they named the park after the president who gave his house divided speech from the Tremont balcony as a candidate all those years before.

Lincoln Park.

Yep, that's right.

If you're ever standing somewhere in the southern part of Lincoln Park, there's a very good chance that you're standing on a grave.

In fact, the only sign that the land was ever a cemetery at all, at least above ground, is the still-standing stone crypt for our old pal, Ira Couch.

And that includes the Lincoln Park Zoo, where building projects over the years have uncovered all sorts sorts of human remains.

Actually, if the stories are true, all those burials underground have resulted in some exotic sites up above.

Along with all the beautiful animals that are on display there, many visitors and staff have reported doors that open and shut on their own, as well as odd sounds like footsteps and human voices in places where no one should be.

Chicago is a beautiful city.

There's no doubt about that.

But there's also a lot of nuance to its history.

From the gleaming white structures of the Colombian exhibition to the darkness of its criminal underbelly, the windy city holds a never-ending supply of frightening tales.

And it also illustrates an important lesson for anyone interested in folklore.

Sometimes the most chilling thing we can do is return to our roots.

This episode of lore, in true old-school fashion and in honor of the 200th episode, was researched, written, and produced all by me, Aaron Mankey, with music by Chad Lawson.

Lore is much more than just a podcast, though there's 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 an 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 those 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.