Cryptids — United States
Cryptids — United States. 17 places in the catalogue, each with coordinates, the story behind it and a danger level from white to black.
The Goatman of Maryland
A half-goat, half-man with an axe, told of in Prince George's County outside Washington. The legend took shape in 1971, when a local paper ran a piece about a missing dog and rumours of a creature near Fletchertown Road; the article was picked up, and within a couple of years the story had acquired an escaped experiment from the agricultural research centre next door. The centre is real and still operating, which has helped the legend considerably — it has a building you can point at.
The Melon Heads
Creatures with disproportionately large heads living in the woods — a legend told in three American states at once, Ohio, Michigan and Connecticut, each with its own backstory. The Ohio version is the most widespread: supposedly children from a closed institution for hydrocephalus patients who escaped after a fire. No such institution and no such fire appear in the records. What is interesting is the rest: three unconnected regions invented almost the same image, and in all three it explains the same thing — that there is someone in the woods who was once hidden there.
El Yunque
The only tropical rainforest in the United States national forest system, covering the mountains of eastern Puerto Rico. Local accounts have the chupacabra coming down from here to the farms, and place a secret laboratory somewhere in it from which the thing escaped. The forest needs no legend to impress: a hundred and twenty inches of rain a year, permanent cloud, and the sound of coquí frogs, heard everywhere and almost never seen.
Moca, Where the Chupacabra Began
In March 1995 farmers in this Puerto Rican town began finding sheep and goats dead, drained of blood, with two neat punctures in the neck. Within months the count ran into hundreds across the island. Witnesses described a creature the height of a man, moving in bounds, with spines along its back and huge black eyes. A Puerto Rican journalist coined the name — goat-sucker — and in thirty years the chupacabra has spread from Mexico to Chile.
Lake Iliamna and Its Monsters
Alaska's largest lake, where bush pilots have reported dark bodies over thirty feet long moving below the surface since the 1940s. The Dena'ina knew of them long before and warned against going onto the water alone. Unlike most lake monsters this one has a plausible explanation — belugas or giant sturgeon coming up from the sea — but no specimen has ever been landed.
Whitehall, the Official Home of Bigfoot
In August 1976 several teenagers and two police officers independently described a figure over seven feet tall near this town on the Vermont line: covered in hair, red-eyed, and making a cry one officer called "a woman screaming mixed with a pig". The town council later passed an ordinance forbidding harm to Bigfoot within the town limits — legally pointless, and a fair measure of how seriously it is taken here.
Louisiana, Missouri: the Summer of Momo
In the summer of 1972 this town on the Mississippi went through a genuine panic: children said they saw a black hairy figure over six feet tall at the edge of the woods holding a dead dog, and the stench was such that one of their mothers smelled it from indoors. Enough reports came in within a week that the sheriff organised search parties, and the papers named the thing Momo, for Missouri Monster.
Loveland and the Frogman
The city of Loveland in southwestern Ohio, USA, is a charming suburb of Cincinnati situated along the scenic Little Miami River. The town gained international cryptozoological fame as the home of the "Loveland Frogman"—a bizarre bipedal amphibian humanoid that became one of the most recognizable cryptids in modern American folklore.
Honey Island Swamp and Its Monster
A cypress swamp on the Pearl River in Louisiana, and the thing said to walk in it: over seven feet, grey matted hair, yellow eyes set too far apart, and a smell people compare to something dead. Its fame rests on one man — Harlan Ford, an air traffic controller who came out of the swamp in 1963 with a story and, later, with plaster casts of a four-toed print. The local explanation is more colourful than the creature: a circus train is supposed to have derailed by the river early in the century, and the chimpanzees that survived are supposed to have bred with alligators. They cannot. The two are different classes of animal and the sentence means nothing. What the swamp does have is water you could lose a wild boar in at two paces, and a smell of its own — enough to account for anybody else's.
Lake Worth and the Goatman
In the summer of 1969 several groups by the lake outside Fort Worth said, in one night, that a white hairy creature covered in scales jumped from a bluff onto their cars and threw a car tyre some fifty feet. The Fort Worth Star-Telegram put it on the front page and hundreds arrived at the lake with guns. Some of the reports were later traced to a student prank. Not all of them were.
Lake Champlain and Champ
The lake between Vermont, New York and Quebec, where a creature called Champ has appeared in accounts since the nineteenth century and, by tradition, since Iroquois times. The best-known evidence is Sandra Mansi's 1977 photograph — a dark curved neck above the water — which experts could neither confirm nor call a fake. Both states have formally forbidden harming Champ, a rare case of a cryptid making it into law.
The Pine Barrens and the Jersey Devil
A million and a half acres of pine on sand, where a three-hundred-year-old legend of Mother Leeds's thirteenth child persists. In 1735, the story goes, she said in temper that the child could be the devil — and the newborn turned into a winged thing with hooves and a horse's head, went up the chimney, and has been here since. In January 1909 it was reported across the state for a solid week; schools closed, and tracks were found in the snow on rooftops.
Bray Road and the Wisconsin Werewolf
Bray Road is a quiet rural country road near the town of Elkhorn in Walworth County, Wisconsin, USA. Flanked by cornfields, woodlots, and dairy farms, the road gained international notoriety as the hunting ground of the "Beast of Bray Road," or the Wisconsin Werewolf—a bipedal wolf-like cryptid.
Bluff Creek, Where the Patterson Film Was Shot
On 20 October 1967 Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin shot fifty-nine seconds of film here, showing a large hairy figure walking across a gravel bar and glancing back over its shoulder. That frame is the most recognised image of Bigfoot ever made, and the argument over it has not settled in half a century: some analyse the gait as impossible for a person, others look for the seams of a suit. The place itself is an ordinary creek in the remote forests of northern California, and people still come with cameras.
Fouke and the Boggy Creek Monster
A creek in the pine hills of south-western Arkansas, and the animal the town of Fouke has been talking about since the 1840s: seven feet or so, upright, covered in reddish-brown hair, and a smell witnesses reach for the word "animal" to describe. It is credited with killing chickens, dogs and livestock, and with never once harming a person. What carried it out of the county was 1971, when a family living outside town said a hairy arm came through a screen window at night. Two years later came a cheap film, The Legend of Boggy Creek, shot on location with local people in front of the camera, which took far more at the box office than it cost — and a local rumour became an industry. Fouke has lived on it since: the Monster Mart on the highway, signs through the town. The creek itself is marked by a small plaque on the bridge, easy to drive straight past.
Flatwoods and the Braxton County Monster
On 12 September 1952 three boys watched something bright come down on the hill behind the Fisher farm. Going up with one boy's mother and a few neighbours, the group made out a figure some ten feet tall in a torchbeam: a dark pleated body like a skirt, and a red face shaped like the ace of spades, lit from within. It smelled, they said, of metal and burning, and half the party was vomiting by morning. The Air Force put it down to a meteor and an owl. The locals never did.
Point Pleasant, Home of the Mothman
Between November 1966 and December 1967, people in this town at the confluence of the Ohio and Kanawha reported a winged figure some two metres tall with glowing red eyes — dozens of sightings. The first came from two couples driving past a disused explosives plant at night: the thing, they said, kept pace with their car at a hundred miles an hour. The reports stopped on 15 December 1967, when the Silver Bridge collapsed and forty-six people died — a coincidence that tied the Mothman to premonition for good. A steel statue of it stands downtown.