Paranormal Hunting and Observation Group (PHOG)

09/11/2026

As always you decide.🤔

09/10/2026

New issue now on sale – at last!

William and the Weird – Richmal Crompton’s spooks and Spiritualists

Coffin Dodgers – Uncanny experiences in funeral homes

Big Bigfoot Barney – The Sasquatch co**se DNA controversy

Green is the New Black Metal – Green Lung interviewed

“A blob of orange fire” – Memories of a 1970s UFO sighting

Shrouded in Mystery – New Turin Shroud research

Plus: Wheelie bin obsessions, heroic dogs, electric ears, Armenia’s giant-sized Jesus, Germany’s rogue pelican, Superman fridge death, heretics on parade, déjà vu strangeness, children of the Hum, accidental road trip, Azerbaijan’s anomalous sphere, World Cup conspiracies, bus-ride to Hel, Lady Campbell’s ghosts, messages in bottles, aliens in the Pentagon, football curse lifted and much more!

09/10/2026

Folk Magic & Mountain Omens

Binding the Mountain Bounds The Deep History of Tying the Devil’s Knot
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Deep in the isolated hollows of the Appalachian range, law and order were once written not in leather-bound courthouses, but in the soil, the trees, and the ancient practice of folk magic. Survival in these remote mountain passes depended on strict communal trust and a deep, abiding respect for property boundaries. When that trust was broken, when a trespasser crossed an established bound or a thief stole precious livestock, mountain folk turned to one of the most potent practices in Appalachian witchery.

Tying the Devil’s Knot.
​Rooted in a rich fusion of early Scots-Irish cunning craft, German Braucherei powwow traditions, and Indigenous plant knowledge, the Devil's Knot was a ritual of absolute binding. Practitioners would trek into the forest to locate a green cedar tree, a wood long revered across both European and Native traditions for its spiritual potency and ability to hold powerful energetic work.
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To execute the rite, the practitioner would take live, pliable cedar twigs still attached to the tree and slowly weave them into a tight, intricate knot while reciting specific incantations or verse. The intent was precise, the knot did not inflict physical harm, but rather bound a relentless, agonizing spiritual weight onto the offender. The thief or trespasser would be plagued by overwhelming restlessness, bad luck, and a suffocating sense of guilt that would not lift until full restitution was made to the victim.
Once the stolen goods were returned or the boundary dispute settled, the practitioner would return to the woods and carefully untie the cedar branch, releasing the curse.
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This practice reveals a profound aspect of deep Appalachian history. In an era when law enforcement was days away through impassable mountain trails, the land itself became the judge and jury. The Devil's Knot served as a formidable psychological and spiritual safeguard, a stark reminder that in the shadow of the ridges, every action carried a severe, unseen consequence.
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Today, tucked far off the beaten paths, you can still find ancient, gnarled cedar trees with strange, unnatural loops grown directly into their old branches, enduring monuments to a time when mountain justice was woven straight from the wilderness itself.
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09/10/2026

Every Mexican celebration eventually arrives at this moment — the main course finished, the plates cleared, the conversation still going, and the question appearing at the table with the specific inevitability of something that was always going to happen: what is coming for dessert. 🍮🎂 And in a Mexican household that takes its celebrations seriously, the answer is almost always one of two things. Sometimes both. But if only one is possible, the choice between flan and tres leches is the choice that reveals which family this is, which grandmother's dessert established the standard, and which version of sweetness your body has been trained since childhood to recognize as the correct conclusion to a meal that has been celebrated properly.
The flan devotee will tell you — correctly — that the specific combination of silky trembling custard and deep bitter-sweet caramel sauce produces a flavor contrast and a textural experience that no other dessert in the Mexican repertoire achieves with the same elegance. A properly made flan — eggs and sweetened condensed milk and whole milk, the caramel made precisely to the right color before it burns, the whole thing baked in a baño maría until it trembles with the specific barely-set quality that means it is done — is one of the most technically demanding simple desserts in existence, and the specific pleasure of unmolding a perfect flan and watching the caramel flow around it is its own small celebration within the celebration. 🌿💛 The tres leches advocate will counter — also correctly — that the specific abundant creaminess of a sponge cake completely saturated in sweetened condensed milk, evaporated milk, and heavy cream, then mounded with fresh whipped cream and finished with cherries and cinnamon, is a dessert experience so generous and so completely satisfying that the flan's elegance feels almost restrained by comparison. The tres leches does not ask you to appreciate its technique. It asks you to take a second slice. Most people do.
Both desserts are completely Mexican in their own specific way — the flan arriving through the Spanish colonial period and becoming so embedded in Mexican celebration culture that most people have forgotten it was not always here, the tres leches emerging in the mid-twentieth century as a uniquely Mexican and Central American creation that went on to conquer the entire Spanish-speaking world one condensed milk can at a time. Both are correct. Both are delicious. The choice between them is just a question of which kind of sweetness you want at the end of a celebration that has already given you everything else. 🌺 Flan or tres leches — and whose recipe made your side of this debate the only acceptable conclusion to a Mexican celebration?

09/10/2026

09/08/2026

Deep within the remote wilderness of Scotland, where dark forests meet rugged mountains and lonely paths stretch far from civilization, folklore speaks of a terrifying creature known as the Boes. Described as a massive beast that preys upon travelers and livestock, it has become a symbol of the dangers believed to lurk beyond the safety of settled lands.

According to legend, the Boes inhabits isolated forests, mountain trails, and remote countryside where few people venture. Its presence is often announced by unsettling signs: heavy footsteps echoing through the wilderness, strange animal cries, and sudden disturbances among the trees. For anyone traveling alone, these sounds are said to be a warning that something enormous may be nearby.

The creature is fiercely territorial and is believed to attack anything that crosses into its domain. Its enormous strength makes it a formidable predator, capable of overpowering both animals and people with little effort. Once disturbed, the Boes is said to pursue intruders through the wilderness until they escape its territory.

Descriptions portray the Boes as a gigantic, heavily built creature covered in coarse, dark hair. Its thick coat gives it a primitive and savage appearance while helping it disappear into the shadows of the Scottish landscape.

Its massive limbs end in powerful claws capable of gripping and tearing through its prey. A frightening animal-like face, combined with its immense body and intimidating presence, makes it appear unlike any ordinary creature.

Whether viewed as a warning about the dangers of remote wilderness or simply as an old monster tale, the legend of the Boes reflects the mystery surrounding Scotland's isolated landscapes. Its dark fur, enormous frame, powerful claws, and terrifying appearance have ensured its place among the unsettling creatures of Scottish folklore.

09/08/2026

In 1941, a family living in a remote part of British Columbia claimed something enormous and covered in hair approached their home.

The incident became known as the Ruby Creek encounter, one of the better-known early Sasquatch reports from Canada.

According to the story later documented by Sasquatch researcher John Green, the Chapman family were living near Ruby Creek when one of the children reportedly saw a large figure approaching the house. At first, it was apparently mistaken for a very large man.

Then it came closer.

The family described the figure as huge, human-like and covered in dark hair. Frightened, they reportedly fled the property and sought safety elsewhere.

When they returned, they claimed objects around the property had been disturbed and that large footprints were found nearby.

The account was recorded years after the alleged encounter, meaning many of its details depend upon later testimony rather than contemporary documentation.

But it remains an intriguing part of Sasquatch history.

What do you think the Chapman family encountered at Ruby Creek in 1941: a bear, a hoax, mistaken identity, or something genuinely unexplained?

09/07/2026

As always you decide 🤔