Zoanthropy is a psychiatric syndrome within which the patient has the delusional belief of turning into an animal.
A NEW YORK WEREWOLF. Strange Delusion of a Man Who Crawls on all Fours. NEW YORK, October . 21.-
James Rubinstein thinks he is a werewolf. He walks on all tours and howls like a wolf. A werewolf was in legendary lore it is supposed to be a human who, having given offense to some supernatural being, was metamorphosed by the latter into the shape of a wolf. The soul, however, retained all its human attributes, passions and desires. Rubinstein came to this country several years ago from Germany, A week ago he began showing signs of the approach of his mysterious sickness. His wife noticed that he would frequently drop on all fours and crawl around as if in search of something. Yesterday Rubinstein crawled up to his wife and barked fiercely. Then he snarled and snapped at her, and when she fled from the room he howled like a lost soul. The frightened woman sent for an ambulance and had her husband taken to the hospital.
Naugatuck Daily News, October 1897 And now In the present I stumbled on an article on how to be a werewolf. Make people believe you are…
Now switch to the present and you can find how to guides on being a werewolf, costumes and online groups to role play with you, almost normalizing the fascination.
The difference is he believed he was one, and the other just pretend to be one. But because of these cosplay groups, we may never know if someone actually does believe they are one…
Although I have a lovely picture above of theee two strong marvelous creatures fishing together, this encounter is not a friendly one…
HARRISON MILLS, Feb. 23 A terrific battle a fight for life of prodigious strength matched against savage ferocity between a hairy giant of the Sasquatch and a huge bear, which after ten minutes of wild struggle, fury and rage, ended in the strangling of bruin when the wild man of the Chehalis hinterlands crushed the life out of him. The story of this unusual drama of the wilderness was told by three Harrison River Indians who were spectators of the singular incident one evening last week as they were walking along the Chehalis river close to the canyon
. “It was a skookum (strong) fight, ugh’, ugh’,” said Jimmy Craneback, one of the. trio of spectators, “and as no one of our little party had ever seen a hairy giant of the Sasquatch in a fight before, I’m telling you we got the biggest kick of our life. It was a hair – raising fight between savage and brute.” Asked how they came to witness the unusual battle, Jimmy said, “We were on our way home after an all – day unsuccessful hunt in the Chehalis mountains. We had just crossed the government road at the Chehalis river a mile or so north of the Indian village, when all at once we heard a roar in the forest ahead of us that shook the firs and cedars around and startled the crows and bluejays from their roost. We stopped to listen. Down the old trail ahead of us we could hear groans, growls, thuds and the snap and crack of rotten branches as If old Nick himself had gone off his noodle and was running amuck through the dark forest,” The hunter said that they were not afraid for their own safety as each of them carried a rifle. “But we were worried,” went on Jimmy, “that some old woman of the Chehalis might be in the forest digging roots for baskets and was being mauled by a bear, for bear at this time of the year are lean, vicious and hungry. “In silence we loaded our rifles hurriedly. “Fifty yards or so down the wooded trail we came upon a sight that made our eyes pop. In awe we stopped dead in our tracks. In the fading twilight and shadowy forest we first thought we were looking on two bears fighting each other to the death.
As we stood beside a log twenty yards away we could see the great struggle of strength. There was a crunching of bones as the monsters in their rage came to grips with each other – and tumbled and tossed about in their fury on the forest floor within a few feet of the Chehalis. But there was something about one of the monsters that puzzled us.” The hunters were now so excited with this hitherto unwitnessed drama of the wilderness that they wished to see the victor of the contest before they raised their rifles. “We wouldn’t have raised our rifles when we did,” explained Jimmy, “but it looked as if they were about to roll over the bank into the river any moment and we didn’t want to lose such big game. But then we never shot, for as we raised our rifles we were startled by a yell it had in it something human and came from one of. the combatants, which to our astonished ears sounded like “poo – woo – uoo.’ ” ‘Good, gosh,’ said Ike Joe as we lowered our rifles, ‘boys its a Sasquatch and a bear we’ll take the side of the giant, its well to be on their side. He’s put up a great fight let’s step in and help him.’ ” The boys were In a sweat, but happy the Sasquatch gave a “pooh – woo,” which timely utterance had no doubt saved his life.
“Finally,” said Jimmy, “the giant got his powerful hairy arms around the bear’s neck. It must have been a hu’m – dinger of a hold for the bear began to gasp for breath, and gasping pawed the air as his tongue was hanging out. The wild man had won the fight. With a grunt he flung the carcass of the bear into the river.” Asked was the Sasquatch a big fellow, Jimmy looked surprised. “You should know,” he grinned, “that it takes more than an infant to choke the daylights out of a big bear.” It does.
an Indian, a chief’s grandson, who once came face to face with a hairy Sasquatch and barely escaped with his life, the witness is a highly respected resident of the Songhees Reserve, here is how he described the creature, “His eyes glowed like the noonday sun, and the hair on his body was like moss on the rocks. His voice sounded like the roar of a surf from a heavy sea.”
The old Indian related that in his youth he was searching for a young deer up a mountain slope. When he reached the summit there was no deer. He was about to retrace his steps when he heard a loud roar. “At first I was like a frozen man, even the rocks were trembling. I looked up and there, not far away from me was a hairy man maybe 18 feet tall. As tall as a mountain tree. He was holding the deer. I remember that my spirit animal guide was a wolf, that it made me fast, so I turned and ran like the wind, he was throwing trees at me. You can still see the trees up there on the mountain rotting.”
From the description of the mountain he gave, it is Mount Matheson, near Rocky Point. He said they have always lived on Vancouver Island, but now that it’s settled they have moved to the interior…
Excerpt from the Times Colonist, Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, 26 Apr 1957,
𝑾𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔… The idea of a being, half wolf, half man, and possessing also many demoniacal attributes, is a very curious piece of old-world superstition still to be found in very many European countries , and strengthened, no doubt, by the discovery, at times, of children who have been carried off and cared for by wolves who preferred the role of foster-mother to that of devourer —an occurrence of which there are frequent proofs on record. The wild and howling night winds, the Maruts that gave name to our too familiar nightmare, may have given the first notion of demon wolves to the trembling listener as they passed shrieking by his solitary tent or hut. As the transition of thought by which the spirit-wolf and the human form became amalgamated is easily imagined. There appears to be plenty of evidence that, at different times, a form of madness has broken out by which individuals have fancied themselves to be turned into wolves. Burton, in his ” Anatomy of Melancholy,” desoribes this disease, which he calls Lycanthropia, as ” when men run howling about graves and fields in the night, and will not be dissuaded ,that they are not wolves or some such beasts.” -Manchester Courier, October 20, 1883
I haven’t tortured you with a poem in awhile…happy Monster Monday!
“She rises from the deep Black of eyes, Hair of red Claiming bodies and souls As she rises from the dead
Spawning from deep on the ocean floor Where her body lays no more She comes up to feed, then goes back to the deep In her soul there is only darkness, Bitter from her drowning demise She comes for those who tell their lies
She was cold hearted before But now there is only evil that awaits on the ocean floor Only when she claims enough souls Can she stay on the surface Then her evil will lay before us She must be destroyed This evil can not walk the land There will only be blood upon the sand
She dreams of revenge For her untimely end Racking up the bodies Taking them where the water is murky Only one thing will stop her reign of terror Finding those that let her sink to the bottom forever….”
Fouke Monster Film Does Good BY DEBRA HALE Associated press Writer FOUKE, Ark (AP) —
He’s as tall as Wilt Chamberlain, almost as fast as a cheetah and as heavy as a gorilla. He has bushy hair, red eyes, a three-toed foot and a voice like a peacock’s. He is the legendary Fouke Monster, the main character in the movie “The Legend of Boggy Creek” starring Keith Crabree, Willie Smith and other residents of this southwest Arkansas community. Crabtree, who portrayed the monster, no longer lives in Fouke. Although the first recorded sight of the monster dates back to 1954, Smith, who plays himself in the movie and who provided the description of the monster, said his 75-year-old sister saw the creature when she was 10. it was not until last summer, though, that the Film Productions of Texarkana turned the legend into a moneymaking movie filmed in Fouke and nearby Texarkana. Producer-director Charles Pierce originally had planned to call the documentary film “Tracking the Fouke Monster.’’
The movie is called a documentary because, as its actual title suggests, the monster subject is treated as a legend. One year after the movie premiered residents of this small community, population .506. are beginning to realize that the movie could have bolstered the town’s economy if they only had acted sooner. “The people here in Fouke have missed the boat by not taking advantage of the publicity we have received and expanded on the monster theme.” said Mayor J.D. Larey of Fouke. “A novelty shop might have been the thing to bring in more money from tourists. But the people here just didn’t realize what they had when the iron was hot.”
Laney . a retired Air Force officer, noted, however, that such profits would not have had a lasting effect. One man who was involved in financial arrangements for the movie shared Larey’s opinion. “None of us dreamed that the darned thing would make the money that it did,” he said. “The man who made the movie had never made a movie in his life They guy who backed the movie had never backed a movie in his life. The people who acted in the movie had never acted before in their lives. I don’t think you could have foreseen anything like this. Laney said he receives several long-distance telephone calls and from three to 12 letters a day about the monster. Much of the mail is addressed directly to the mayor or to other city officials, but some of its is addressed to the Fouke Monster. Larey said the Post Office had decided to forward him all such mail. One such letter addressed to the “Boggy Creek Monster, Fouke. Ark.” was from a child saying she thought his movie was neat. One was to a City Official. And was from a member of the volunteer fire department in Martinsburg, W. Va The man inquired about the monster’s habitat, size and identity. The fireman said he also would “like to have some picutres of the monster. He promised to keep the information “confidential.”
Fouke residents say it is not unusual for a tourist to stop in their town to hunt for the creature in the swamp along Roggy Creek. One customer in the Boggy Creek Cafe, for example, recently said he had seen a man wandering through the swamps the previous day with a knife. The customer said the man told him he was hunting for the monster and that he had just spotted the creature’s claw print on the side of a tree trunk. “I just laughed at him.” the customer said as he drank a cup of coffee “He got mad.” Larey said, three Green Berets from Virginia recently telephoned him to ask if they could look for the monster during their leaves. Larey said he advised the men to wait until after deer hunting season. “I was afraid the game warden would pick them up.” he laughed.
The Miller County sheriff’s office does, in fact, forbid hunters to take guns into the woods to look for the monster except during deer season. They say this limits the possibility of a hunter’s shooting a human mistakenly thought to be the Fouke Monster. On Fouke’s main street, but still not far from Boggy Creek, is the Boggy Creek Cafe, owned and operated by Mr. and Mrs. Bill Williams. The cafe is one of two Businesses in Fouke that have capitalized on the monster. In addition to the regular menu items, a hungry customer can choose such items as the “Boggy Creek Breakfast,” a “Three-toed Sandwich” and a waffle and ice cream dessert called the “Boggy Creek Delight.” Money clips, cards, key chains, bumper stickers and ash trays with “Home of the Fouke Monster” written on them are sold behind the counter. The jukebox offers a Bobby Picket rendition of “Monster Mash.” The cafe also stock a reproduced souvenir print of what some persons say is the monster’s foot. The souvenir, autographed by Smith and Crabtree, is considerably smaller than the monster’s foot—which Smith said is 5 inches wide and 14 inches long. Mrs. Williams said 20 to 25 tourists stop by the small restaurant daily She said she never had seen the monster, but wanted to see it. “I believe there’s something out there. From the way the people I have talked to described it. Smith walked into the cafe. He saw a reporter, his eyes brightened and he started talking. Insisting that the monster was a vegetarian. Smith said he had seen it several times near his house along Boggy Creek. “First time I saw him was back in 1955. I though he was a man. I shot at him 15 times with an Army rifle, but missed him,” Smith said. “Next time he came up behind the house throwing rocks at my dog,” Smith added. “So. I shot through the brush and missed him again. ‘’The third time my wife and I were watching TV when I heard him. He slapped my dog across the porch into the screen door.” Again. Smith’s aim wasn’t too good; he said his shots missed the monster , which is said to run about 45 miles per hour . Smith said some other Fouke residents had heard the monster about two weeks ago, but that the creature didn’t sound like a peacock this time. “He was roaring and cutting up and sounded like a crazy man,”
Vernon, B. C, Oct. 24. With a human footprint nineteen inches long, the big toe alone measuring five inches, it is left to the imagination to fill in the superstructure of this huge monster that has frightened the inhabitants of this smiling valley. Men, women and children have turned out to look with awe and wonder at the mysterious and .enormous “hoof.” It is a naked human foot in all the essentials, and its partner is at the other side of a six-foot creek, giving some idea of the pre-historic stride of the creature.
A resident was calmly sawing timber when a gentleman of the neighborhood came up to him and sprung the yarn on him so suddenly that he thought he had somebody from the New Westminster institution to deal with. But the informant was perfectly sane, and produced a stick with the pedal particulars carefully marked. The footprint was down the hill there for anybody to see. No one certainly ever heard of the fertile Okanagan producing stray giants but an old Indian gives color to the theory by averring that forty years ago there were what he terms giants who stole children and things. Perhaps this may be the last of the Canadian mound dwellers.
The reservation folks have certainly had a genuine scare and have called up all the whites round about to help them out. Rifles are all loaded and lanterns lit about in the darkness, so that it is unsafe for a stranger to loom up into view to suddenly when the least crash in the bush is sufficient to excite their tense nervous system.
Some have gone on the trail on horseback with magazine guns, but a few men even with a Maxim under each arm might not stand the ordeal of confronting a hairy monster some thirteen feet high, judging by the feet. Besides, the possession of the creature alive would be as good a financial “spec” as a valuable quarter section of Okanagan land. As there are no people around here to hoax and the Indians are too grave and occupied to manufacture footprints for sport the story and the evidence are just as stated, the Indians themselves being the most concerned and serious over it.”
On the Prowl… Time to run I can feel the shift I had to chase him away Now I have to repair the rift I’m on the prowl for him now I’m going to howl for him to hear This wolf knows there is a mate near He can’t hide from me, He will be found I chased him away So he would never know That’s It’s not just me in here I share a soul I’m hunting now full moons were made for teeth and claws and sin Forget all you know and let me in You can howl with me too I promise I’ll take care of you Hold still and it will only sting Then you’ll shift and your new life will begin…