Spooky Season

Why Do Ghosts Wear Sheets?

Keller & Cash. “Daily Life Depicted in the Cantigas de Santa Maria.” Plate 57: Cantiga 72, panel 4.

Scott G. Bruce. “Hope in the Dark: History and Ghost Stories.” Perspectives on History.

“Visiting the Boo-tique: A History in Ghosts, Sheets, and Halloween.” Ball State University Digital Literature Review.

Susan Owens. “That’s the Spirit – How the Romans Imagined the Dead.” Apollo.

Have you ever wondered why the classic Halloween ghost always looks like this?

For most of human history, there was no consistent idea of what a ghost should look like. Some cultures imagined ghosts as ethereal spirits, fluttering and screeching like bats in the night sky, while others believed that ghosts were shadows of their earthly selves, nearly indistinguishable from the living. But across many different traditions, there was a common thread: the spirits of the dead were often described wearing whatever they were buried in - and that’s where we start to see our sheet-wearing ghosts. While covering the dead in a ceremonial cloth has been around for a long time in a variety of cultures, the practice of covering the dead in a simple burial shroud seems to have exploded in Medieval Europe. This is overly simplified, but basically there were a lot of people dying from the plague and a simple burial cloth is all most people could afford - so a lot of Europeans started connecting these burial practices to ghosts. We can see this in the art of the time, where even the knots from the shrouds were shown in medieval depictions of visiting spirits. But as Western society began to emphasize individuality, our concept of ghosts evolved too. By the 19th and 20th centuries, it became more common for people to report seeing ghosts in modern clothing. And just like the burial shroud, we’ve taken those ideas of ghostly appearances and frozen that style of dress in time as our idea of a ghost. That’s why, if you think of a ghost and it doesn’t look like this, it probably looks like this. Despite these changes, the idea of a ghost appearing as a spirit covered with a sheet remained popular, and it’s still an iconic and instantly recognizable Halloween costume to this very day.

The HEadless Horseman of the Riesengebirge

The following retelling is based on these English translations of Musäus's fifth legend of Rubezahl:

Johann Karl August Musäus. “Legenden von Rübezahl (V)" Volksmärchen der Deutschen, Vol. 2. (1783) Translated into English by Thomas Beddoes.

Samuel G. Simpkins. “The Annualette: a Christmas and New Year's Gift for Children.” (1840)

Johann Karl August Musäus. “Legends of Rubezahl and Other Tales.” Translated into English by Clara de Chatelain and William Hazlitt. (1845)

Many years ago, a wealthy countess was traveling with her two daughters to Karlsbad, a village known for its hot springs which would cure all ailments. The Countess was eager to get there quickly, as she hoped to cure her aching bones and restless mind. Her daughters, although healthy, were also excited – not for the springs, but for the feasts and parties with other members of the aristocracy. Perhaps they would even meet an eligible bachelor or two! So the Countess and her daughters traveled by coach, day and night, through the Giant Mountains on the way to Karlsbad.

However, John the coachman was very anxious about going through the mountain pass at night. He had grown up hearing the tales of Rübezahl, the shapeshifting mountain spirit who protected this range. Despite John’s fears, though, the skies were clear and the forest was quiet. In fact, between the full moon and the thousands of glowworms in the trees, the whole forest was glowing as if by magic. Still, John kept watch as they traveled through the night – and it was good that he did. As he squinted into the shadows, John saw a mysterious figure by the road. Suddenly, the shadow was gone - but a few moments later, he could’ve sworn he saw the man on the other side of the road, galloping just ahead on a horse as black as the night. And to John’s increasing alarm, it looked as if the rider had no head.

John yelled to warn the women in the carriage, but the long and rolling journey through the night had put them to sleep - so he yelled again, waking up the Countess and her daughters. “Rübezahl is coming for us!” John screamed.

“Rübezahl?” the Countess yawned. “You and your silly stories of spirits...”

But the countess trailed off as the cloaked horseman appeared again, right beside the carriage. John had been wrong. The rider wasn’t truly headless - he was just carrying his detached head under his arm. The Countess and her daughters screamed in terror as the horseman thundered, “Take this from Rübezahl, guardian of the mountains where you dare to trespass,” before throwing his head right at John and knocking him from the bench of the carriage.

The now fully headless attacker jumped from his horse and into John’s seat, then took off at a breakneck speed. But just as suddenly as the headless horseman had appeared, another rider, a bearded man dressed for the hunt and riding a white horse, emerged from the forest, keeping pace with the speeding carriage. “How do you know where you’re going without a head on your shoulders?” the hunter asked with a smile.

“I’m just following my nose,” said the headless horseman.

“Oh really?” Replied the hunter. “Let’s see where your nose truly is.”

The hunter flung himself from his horse and into the body of the headless man, dashing them both to the ground and dislodging the horseman’s costume. Underneath his cloak was a perfectly normal-looking man with a head exactly where it was supposed to be; a simple thief using the name of Rübezahl to scare travelers. The hunter tied up the imposter and went to check on the women in the carriage, but they had all fainted of fright. The hunter poured water on a cloth to refresh the women, and when they woke, he introduced himself. “I am Lord Giantdale, and this is my land. And this fellow,” he said, holding the imposter by the scruff of his neck,” is nothing but a thief with a costume.”

Lord Giantdale went on to apologize for their terrible experience and invited them to his castle, an invitation which the Countess and her daughters eagerly accepted. Even though the Countess thought she knew all of the nobles in the land, she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get in the good graces of a local lord - and the daughters loved a good party. Upon arriving at the castle, Lord Giantdale called his physician, who gave each woman a different concoction. As they drank their tinctures, the mother’s aches and pains seemed to melt away as her daughters finally overcame their fearful anxiety from that night’s attack.

After receiving their elixirs, the Countess and her daughters were invited to join the party. “But the sun has hardly risen,” exclaimed the Countess. 

Lord Giantdale responded, “Things can get rather boring this deep in the ancient forests, so we’re always burning the oil to have a good time.” 

And a good time it was. The women played games, danced, and met some of the most interesting people. A baron here, a duchess there - It seemed like that morning went on for weeks - and suddenly, they realized it was time to go. Although he was sad to see his guests leave, Lord Giantdale made sure to send them away with freshly washed clothes and some food for the road. “Stop by to rest on your way back,” waved Lord Giantdale.

As John, the lump on his head a rather embarrassing and painful reminder of the night before, drove the carriage away, he looked back at the castle - or where he thought the castle had been. They must be making excellent time to already be so far away, John thought. Later that day, the Countess and her daughters finally arrived at the hot springs of Karlsbad and saw the doctor from Lord Giantdale’s castle. “You didn’t tell us you were also the physician at the hot springs!” The Countess said excitedly.

But the doctor looked confused, replying, “My lady, I haven’t had the honor of meeting you until today.”

Embarrassed, the Countess moved on. “It must just be a strong resemblance,” she thought to herself.

But during their stay in Karlsbad, the women kept running into men and women from Lord Giantdale’s castle - only they never seemed to remember meeting the Countess or her daughters, and they had never heard of a ‘Lord Giantdale.’ Confused, the Countess convinced herself it was all just a strange coincidence - until they were on the way back home. As the women traveled through the forest - against John’s wishes - they simply couldn’t find Lord Giantdale’s castle. It was as if the castle and everyone in it had vanished to mist. And although she never admitted it, that’s when the Countess finally realized that there was no ‘Lord Giantdale.’ Rübezahl, the keeper of the mountains and “silly story” she had mocked, had been her hero.

What’s So Spooky About Black Cats?

Lori R. Kogan, et. al. “Cats in Animal Shelters: Exploring the Common Perception that Black Cats Take Longer to Adopt.” The Open Veterinary Science Journal.

Hans Peter Broedel. “The Malleus Maleficarum and the Construction of Witchcraft.”

Barber, Malcolm. “The Trial of the Templars. 2nd ed.. Cambridge University Press.

Engles, Donald. "Appendix III: Pope Gregory and the Vox in Rama". Classical Cats: The Rise and Fall of the Sacred Cat.

Gavin Ehringer. Leaving the Wild: The Unnatural History of Dogs, Cats, Cows, and Horses.

Why do we associate black cats with halloween?

In the early 13th century, Pope Gregory IX began an inquisition to uncover corruption and heresy in the Catholic Church. But as the Pope’s investigation continued, things took a bizarre turn. After some light torture, accused members of a Satanic cult began confessing to a series of *interesting* rituals, including one where they allegedly kissed a black cat "under the tail.” 

In response, the pope declared that black cats were embodiments of the devil himself. And while the pope didn’t technically ask for people to start killing them, when you tell people that black cats are secretly Satan, we’re probably about to see a lot less black cats. Superstition spread like the plague*, and it wasn't long before the cats were being tossed from bell towers and into roaring bonfires. 

Over the next few centuries, black cats became increasingly associated with demonic forces and dark magic - so by the time of the witch panics of the 1400s, people were primed to believe bad things about black cats. It didn’t help that many accused witches often had cats in their homes, and it just so happens that black is one of the most common colors for house cats. People started to believe that these cats were "familiars" - demonic creatures that helped witches with their dark magic. Some even claimed that witches would transform into cats to kill infants in their cradles. Even today, witches are often associated with feline companions, and with these connections, it's no surprise that black cats remain linked to the eerie and mysterious world of the supernatural. 

The Origins of Our Modern Halloween

Joukowsky Institute. “Origins in Samhain.” Brown University.

“Religions: Samhain.” British Broadcasting Corporation.

Cady Lang. “What Is Samhain? What to Know About the Ancient Pagan Festival That Came Before Halloween.” Time Magazine.

Before Christianization by invading Romans, the Celts of the British Isles celebrated the summer’s end with a festival called ”Samhain.” In addition to marking the yearly harvest, Samhain was a time for an intense focus on the supernatural. It was said that, as the days became shorter, the barrier between the physical and spiritual eroded and dark spirits would cross into our world. So to please the gods, keep away chaotic spirits, and invite good spirits into their community, the Celts would don costumes of antlers and fur as they gathered around a massive community fire which brought light in a season of darkness. This ceremony was so important that even after the colonization and Christianization of the British Isles, the practices of Samhain continued. However, Pope Gregory IV didn’t like this, so he went for a rebrand. In the place of Samhain, the Catholic church created “All Hallows Day,” a time to honor the spirits of Christian saints who had already passed on. To further eradicate non-Christian traditions, the Catholic Church also introduced “All Souls Day” for the veneration of all Christian souls. Despite these attempts to erase Samhain, some of the old Celtic traditions live on through our modern Halloween, like bonfires, costumes and masks, and the belief of something especially *spooky* happening this time of year.

The Curse of King Tut's Tomb

History Staff. “Is the Curse of King Tut Real?” History.com.

"Times Man Views Splendors of the Tomb of Tutankhamen." The New York Times. (1922)

David P. Silverman. “Ancient Egypt.” Oxford University Press.

M. Singer, et. al. “Historical and Regulatory Perspectives on the Treatment Effect of Antibacterial Drugs for Community-Acquired Pneumonia.” Clinical Infectious Diseases.

“Track of Man.” Henry Field.

Roger Luckhurst. “The Mummy's Curse: A Study In Rumour.” Critical Quarterly. 

In 1923, the Western world was enamored by tales of adventure and exploration, and King Tutankhamun's tomb, hidden for over 3,000 years, was about to be revealed to the modern world. Little did they know, the curse of the pharaohs was poised to strike back with a vengeance… or was it?

Westerners have long been fascinated by the tombs of the ancient pharaohs. Despite the curses in the tombs and warnings from local guides, visiting Europeans would explore the palaces of the kings and steal whatever could be sold off to museums and private collectors. But with the exploration of King Tut’s famous tomb, it seemed that the curse of the Pharaohs was truly coming after the foreigners who chose to ignore the warning above the tomb: "Death to those who enter…”

Lord Carnarvon, the businessman behind the expedition, was the first victim of the Pharaoh’s curse. At the very moment the seal of King Tut’s tomb was broken in Egypt, his dog dropped dead in England. Later that night, as the expedition crew ate in the home of their leader, Howard Carter, they looked up to see a king cobra, the sign of the pharaoh, killing Carter’s pet canary in its birdcage. Within a few months, Lord Carnarvon, like his dog and Carter’s canary, was dead. A few years later, Howard Carter also died, and one by one, many others who had entered the tomb also met untimely fates. It wasn’t just the men who had entered the tomb, though - even their families and coworkers seemed to fall victim to the curse - infected, assassinated, and driven insane. In one case, Carter’s secretary died. Only a few months later, her father, Lord Westbury, leapt to his death out of a high window. And on the way to the cemetery, the hearse carrying Lord Westbury struck and killed a young boy. Carter and his team had ignored the curse of King Tut, and they more than paid the price. Or at least, that’s how the story goes.

Although curses have long been associated with the tombs of Egyptian pharaohs, there is no record of any such curse in the tomb of King Tut. And those stories of dying pets sure did sell a lot of papers as Western media pushed the mystery of this 3,000-year-old tomb. Lord Carnarvon, the first man who died, had been in poor health for decades. Add to that a skin infection and pneumonia, and death’s just around the corner. And Howard Carter didn’t die “a few years later,” as the stories often say - it was another sixteen years! But when you mix together the rise of spiritualism and the perceived exoticism of Egyptian archeology in the Western imagination, people start to believe in curses. And because curses sell newspapers (and books), that’s the story that got pushed every time anyone remotely connected to King Tut’s tomb kicked the bucket over the next few decades. Or maybe it was just our collective conscience telling us that grave-robbing isn’t okay just because it's in another continent.

Where Did All the Mummies Go?

Maria Dolan. “The Gruesome History of Eating Corpses as Medicine.” Smithsonian Magazine. 

Mariel Carr. “Mummies and the Usefulness of Death.” Science History Institute.

Warren R. Dawson. “Mummy as a Drug.” Proceedings of the Royal Society of Medicine. 

Rosanna Gorini. “Mummies as Medicinal Tools.” Journal of Biological Research. 

From powdered skulls to fresh blood, the people of the past weren’t shy about using human bodies as medicine. But Western Europeans in the Middle Ages took medicinal cannibalism to a new level when they started to eat the corpses of ancient kings… or so they thought. 

From the 12th to 17th centuries, buying Egyptian mummies, grinding them up… and eating them for their supposed health benefits. Well, sometimes drinking them - but either way, they were happily ingesting human flesh as medicine. The earliest medicinal mummy, called “mummia,” that I saw referenced was a drink of crumbled mummy dissolved in another substance, such as milk or wine. This cannibalistic tincture was supposed to be a miracle cure, and they really must have believed it worked because the European practice of eating mummia continued for about 600 years. In fact, European demand for mummies was so high that, in the later years of the trend, the mummia being sold was just a collection of random corpses and bits of burnt camel jerky sold to unwitting apothecaries in the West. Perhaps the most ironic part of this story is that, especially in the 16th and 17th centuries, European nobles, priests, and scientists were practicing cannibalism while simultaneously demonizing Native Americans for allegedly doing the same. Just… peak hypocrisy. Although the practice began to decline after the 1600s, there are records of mummia being sold in a German medicinal catalog as recently as 1908. 

MUMMY BONUS FACT

“Mummy Brown.” Florida State University Department of Art History, 2019.

Mariel Carr. “Mummies and the Usefulness of Death.” Science History Institute.

Europeans didn’t just eat mummies - they painted with them too! “Mummy Brown,” a pigment made from pulverized mummies, became popular in Europe during the 1500s. The pigment was adored by artists for its ability to capture incredibly realistic shadows, and rather ironically, flesh tones. But despite the name “mummy brown,” many artists were unaware of the pigment’s origins. In fact, the paint became unpopular as more artists became aware that their prized pigment came from the deceased. Edward Burne-Jones, who allegedly used mummy brown in this painting, is said to have buried his supplies of Mummy Brown after he discovered how it was made. Production of Mummy Brown finally ended in the 1900s as supply, much like the mummies from which it was made, dried up. 

The Grave of the Griswold Vampire

Charla Marshall, et. al. “Identifying JB55, the 19th century Connecticut vampire: From Y-Str Typing

And Surname Prediction to Snp Profiling and Genetic Genealogy.” International Symposium On Human Identification.

Jean Marigny. “Vampires: Restless Creatures Of The Night.” 

Abigail Tucker. “The Great New England Vampire Panic.” Smithsonian Magazine.

Megan Bard. “In 1854, Vampire Panic Struck Connecticut Town.” The Day of New London.

Paul S. Sledzik and Nicholas Bellantoni. “Bioarcheological and Biocultural Evidence for the New England Vampire Folk Belief.”

The American Journal of Physical Anthropology.

Joe Clark. “Raymond Clark Holding a Human Skull,” Photograph. UNT Digital Library, UNT Libraries Special Collections.

Jennifer Daniels-Higginbotham et al. “DNA Testing Reveals the Putative Identity of JB55,

a 19th Century Vampire Buried in Griswold, Connecticut.” Multidisciplinary Digital Publishing Institute. 

In the fall of 1990, some young boys were playing in a gravel pit in Griswold, Connecticut. But as they slid down the embankments of the pit, they made a terrifying discovery: two human skulls. Investigators eventually found 29 bodies - but it wasn’t the work of a local serial killer as they had first suspected. It was a simple family burial plot… except for the grave with the red coffin. 

Legends of vampires have long been a part of human culture, from the Lilitu of Babylonian mythology to popular novels and films of the modern day. But we didn’t always see them as a myth. The threat of the dead returning to feast on the bodies of the living was perceived as a very real danger to our ancient and even modern ancestors. So when tuberculosis began to ravage New England in the late 18th century, local people relied on their folk beliefs to explain the disease that slowly consumed entire families. Throughout the region, there were multiple instances of families exhuming and burning the hearts or even whole bodies of their recently deceased (and suspected vampire) kin. But in Griswold, the people took it a step further with the body in the red coffin.

As archaeologists carefully excavated the dozens of graves at the Griswold gravel pit, they came across a unique coffin. It had been painted red, marked “JB 55” with tacks, and the top had been very purposely smashed in. JB 55 was likely the initials and age of the deceased, but the destruction didn’t make any sense until the archaeologists fully opened the 200-year-old coffin. The skeleton, which showed signs of tuberculosis infection, had been decapitated and its femurs placed on the ribs as if to form the symbol for coming death. Several ribs were broken, likely from locals cutting out JB’s heart to try and stop the consuming death that was plaguing their town. It remains the only case in the New England region where we have concrete archaeological evidence of vampire folklore through such an extreme burial. So why did the people of Griswold go further than simply removing and burning JB’s heart? We’ll likely never know. Perhaps their fear was so intense that they believed extra steps were necessary to protect their community.

But part of the mystery, however small, was finally solved in 2019: we now know the identity of JB 55. Through a combination of DNA analysis and historical research, we’ve concluded that JB 55 was a local man named John Barber, and just last year (2022), a team of scientists and a forensic artist used an analysis of John’s DNA to reconstruct his face. Perhaps future generations will discover even more about John, but until then, the full story of the Griswold vampire will remain a mystery.

Why Do We Carve Jack O' Lanterns?

“How Jack O’Lanterns Originated in Irish Myth.” History.com.

Blane Bachelor. “The Twisted Transatlantic Tale of American Jack-O’-Lanterns.” National Geographic.

Jessica Traynor. “The Story of Jack-o’-Lantern: ‘If You Knew the Sufferings of that Forsaken Craythur’.” The Irish Times. 

Although we’ve been carving faces into produce for thousands of years, we still don’t know exactly why people really started making Jack-O-Lanterns. But thanks to some 18th-century Irish storytellers, we do have a folk explanation from the myth of Stingy Jack. 

It was a cold autumn evening when Stingy Jack, a scheming drunk, met the Devil for a pint. Not wanting to pay for the drinks himself, Jack suggested the Devil pay by shape-shifting himself into a coin and changing back when the barkeep wasn’t looking. “I like the way you think,” grinned the Devil as he followed Jack’s instructions. But instead of using the Devil coin to pay for drinks, Jack snatched the coin and put it in his pocket - right beside a cross. With the cross so near, the Devil was powerless. After walking into a clearing, Jack made a proposition to the Devil in his pocket. “Listen, I know you want out, and I’ll be happy to release you, but I need you to swear that you won’t ever let me into hell.” If the Devil couldn’t let him into hell, Jack thought, he’d have to be allowed into heaven. It was an odd request, but the Devil, not really having a choice, agreed. So Jack took the coin out of his pocket and the Devil quickly shape-shifted back to his natural form before running away from the man who had tricked him. As the Devil ran, Jack yelled out, “remember your promise!” “Oh, I will,” muttered the Devil. 

When Jack finally died after decades of more trickery, he made his way to the Pearly Gates of heaven. St. Peter, the keeper of the gate, let out a chuckle when he saw the trickster. “You didn’t really think you’d be allowed in after all of your lying, cheating, and stealing, did you?” Embarrassed, Jack headed down to the lake of fire, but, honoring his promise, the Devil wouldn’t let Jack into hell either. “But I have nowhere to go!” cried Jack. “Am I cursed to wander the earth in darkness for the rest of time?” The Devil, taking pity on the trickster, plunged his arm into the lake of fire and plucked out an eternal coal. “This will be your light,” said the Devil, before placing the glowing coal in a hollowed-out turnip as a lantern. So Jack of the Lantern walks around to this very day, wandering between heaven and hell with an ever-burning coal to light the way. But his trickster days aren’t over. Jack continues to cause mayhem for the spirit and physical worlds alike. And that’s why we carve jack-o-lanterns to scare away evil and wandering spirits - because even they are too scared to go near the man who tricked the Devil.

Trick or Treat!

Olivia B. Waxman. “How Trick-or-Treating Became Part of Halloween Tradition.” Time Magazine. 

“How Trick-or-Treating Became a Halloween Tradition.” History.com.

Rose Eveleth. “The History of Trick-or-Treating Is Weirder Than You Thought.” Smithsonian Magazine.

“Souling.” Oxford Reference. 

Every year, children across North America dress up and go door to door begging for candy. But where did this tradition start? 

Hundreds of years ago in England, people would, like the children of today, go from house to house in a practice called “souling.” At the time, it was commonly believed that a higher number of prayers for the dead would help them escape purgatory and get into heaven, so the poor would pray for the recently departed family members of the wealthy in exchange for “soul cakes.” But after the Protestant Reformation (and King Henry VIII), the practice began to fade because Protestant Christians don’t generally believe in the Catholic idea of purgatory - that there is a place for souls between heaven and hell. 

But while souling was dying out in England, another tradition, called “guising,” became popular in Scotland and Ireland, mixing “souling” with Celtic traditions from Samhain, including dressing up in costume. Prayers from the poor turned to songs from costumed children. This new version of going house-to-house was more focused on children in costume performing songs or poems in exchange for treats, and that’s the tradition that was brought to the United States in the 1800s. Over time, the practice continued to change, sometimes with a little more mayhem than the public liked, into the trick-or-treating that we know today.