From the unexplained to the mundane, come join
us on a Journey to the Fringe. Hello and welcome
to Journey to the Fringe, where the Fringe festivities
come to bear fruit. We are your podcast hosts,
Taylor and Chelsea, and today I need to set a
scene for you. It's Christmas Eve, fireplaces
crackle, and somewhere in the distance you hear
it. That unmistakable sound. Bells. Maybe it's
Santa's sleigh gliding across the sky, or maybe
it's something older, stranger. Tonight, we're
following the sound of bells down a darker path,
because in the world of fringe folklore, bells
don't just signal joy. They warn, they lure,
they haunt. Oh boy. From the mournful toll of
the bell buzzard to the mimicry of swamp dwelling
bell bottoms, the ghostly chimes of phantom churches
and fairy crossings, these are - These are the
creatures that ring in the season with something
far more chilling than cheer. So pour yourself
some hot cocoa, hang your stockings with care,
and maybe keep one ear open because not every
bell you hear this Christmas is jingling for
joy. Oh man. We're starting our dark descent
not on a snowy roof but deep in the wetlands
because not all bells are carried on the wind.
Some ring from the water to draw you in. Our
first cryptid is a creature that thrives on deception,
a swamp dwellers whose chimes are the last sound
its victims ever hear. Let's wade into the mire
and talk about bell bottoms. grotesque semi -aquatic
cryptids believed to dwell in bogs, lake shallows,
and abandoned irrigation trenches. Their names
come from the distinctive bell -shaped bodies
which rise from the water like submerged traps.
According to Erbellum's cryptid compendium, they
are part predator, part decoy creature that mimic
the sounds of whimpering prey or emit bell -like
charms to lure the curious to the water's end.
These creatures are said to have faces that shift
or resemble the person's fear. or desires, making
them especially dangerous to the lonely or emotionally
vulnerable. Their presence is often marked by
muddy footprints, trembling dogs, or unexplained
laughter echoing from beneath the surface. They
are said to delight in secrets, especially those
spoken aloud near water. Some tales claim that
bell -bottoms can store voices and replay them
to confuse and lure victims. Weirdly enough,
there's not a lot of writing about bell -bottoms.
The Erbellum's cryptic convenium has pretty much
everything. And he goes into great detail about
the weaknesses and warts. So at least this one,
you can ward off. Okay, good. But it's a pretty
terrifying creature, I would say. I didn't even
think that I shouldn't be telling my secrets
near water. I hate to know how many secrets have
been told there. Where else seems safer than
near the water to tell your secrets. It's true.
It seemed like the safest place to meet, so...
That's where I was going. And I don't think there's
anything creepier than a creature that knows
and presents as all your worst fears. That's
probably why he's a water monster, because I
hate water. I mean, to you, yes. I guess that
makes sense. Yeah. But Chelsea, don't worry.
It seems fairly straightforward to ward off.
All you need is a couple things. One of them
can be dust of mustard. The primary weakness,
sprinkling mustard powder near the water's edge
is said to keep them at bay. What is that? Just
mustard powder. Oh, like the spice? Yeah. Okay,
I'm gonna go pack that up right after this episode.
If that doesn't work, apparently iron buckets,
the sound of iron clanging disrupts their mimicry.
Also, if you have nothing on you, direct eye
contact is said to make them recoil from being
seen clearly. Okay. And sunlight on reeds. Hopefully
there's some reeds around. They avoid areas where
sunlight reflects off water. What a random list
of things. Yeah. Like how it goes from like you're
not gonna have this around you to oh, yeah, just
look at Sometimes direct eye contact is the hardest
thing to do though, especially if they're like
weird looking. Yeah, but to be fair, they probably
think you're weird looking too. It's true. It
just seems to be like socially awkward. So maybe
they won't be able to look me in the eye. I don't
know. Yeah. It seems like the hardest one. And
it's funny because the details suggest a creature
that thrives on deception and darkness, but fears
clarity and confrontation. And that's, we're
going from the least information to the most
information in these stories. So that one, like
I said, there was like one story on it. The next
one too, we'll probably... do an episode on them
on their own at a later point, but I had to include
them just because bells are something that's
associated with them. We're moving on from the
Muddenmire from a bell that lures you into physical
danger to something far more enchanting yet equally
mysterious. In the British Isles, a bell can
signal a completely different kind of presence.
Instead of grotesque swamp dwellers, we're talking
about the delicate spectral chimes that signal
the passing of a fairy procession or the opening
of a door to the other world. Now we're stepping
from the swamp into the twilight and air to talk
about fairies. In folklore, across the British
Isles and beyond, the delicate chimes of bells
have long been entwined with the presence of
fairies. These spectral sounds, soft, melodic,
and often heard without a visible source, are
said to signal the passing of a fairy procession
or the opening of a portal to the Otherworld.
Known as fairy bells, these ethereal tones might
drift through the twilight air, luring wanderers
towards enchanted glades or fairy wreaths. In
some tales, the bells are instruments of enchantment.
drawn the curious into a trance or marking the
movements when time slips sideways. The bells
also serve as a paradox in fairy lore. While
they can't summon or signal the faith, they're
equally known as wards against them. In Celtic
and Scandinavian tradition, the ringing of church
bells were believed to drive away fairies, trolls,
and other spirits. their sacred resonance disrupting
the magic of the unseen. This duality, Bell's
as both invitation and banishment reflect the
complex, often contradictory nature of fairy
folklore. Even today, echoes of this belief persist
in modern pagan and druidic rites. Bells are
sometimes wrung during solstice ceremonies to
call fairies to the circles or to mark transitions
between worlds. In the natural world, Certain
woodland flowers, like the bell -shaped campanula
or dysporum, are known as fairy bells, believed
to be used by fairies as hats, cups, or musical
tools. Whether heard in the hush of a forest
or imagined in the shimmer of moonlight, the
sound of bells remains a potent symbol of the
liminal, the magical, and the unseen. So the
next time you hear a faint chime with no clear
source, ask yourself, is it the wind or is it
something older, stranger, and far more enchanting?
We move now from the delicate spectral triumphs
of the British Isles to a much heavier more grounded
kind of bell and across the ocean in the southern
United States where there's no enchantment or
otherworldly portal signaled by the sound. Here
the bell is a simple mournful toll and it is
an absolute undeniable harbinger of death. were
leaving the twilight era's fairy crossings and
stepping into the shadows of a truly unsettling
American legend, the belled buzzard. The belled
buzzard is one of the most haunting and peculiar
figures in American folklore, particularly rooted
in the southern United States during the 19th
and 20th century. Described as a turkey vulture
or buzzard with a bell inexplicably tied around
its neck, this creature was more than just a
curiosity, it was widely regarded as a harbinger
of doom. The eerie tolling of its bell, often
heard before the bird was even seen, was believed
to signal an impending disaster. Communities
across Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, and beyond
reported sightings of the Bell of Buzzards as
early as the 1850s, with the legend gaining traction
during times of crisis. One of the most chilling
associations came in 1878 when the bird was reportedly
seen at Brownsville, Tennessee during a devastating
yellow fever epidemic. By the 1880s and 90s,
the belled buzzard had become a media sensation.
Small town newspapers across the South and Appalachia
chronicled its appearances, often linking them
to local tragedies like floods, fires, or outbreaks
of disease. In 1885, a sighting in Wheeling,
West Virginia was followed by a deadly flood,
further cementing the bird's reputation as a
supernatural omen. Some articles speculated that
pranksters had tied bells to buzzards for sport.
But others treated the creature as a singular,
possibly immortal entity. The legend even reached
national audiences when Irvin S. Cobb published
the story of the belt buzzer in the Saturday
Evening Post in 1912. The 20th century brought
more sightings, including a 1930s report in the
Troy Messenger of Alabama, where a witness recounted,
quote, I had often heard of such things, but
this was the first time I had ever seen a belt
buzzer, end quote. In 1930, the Hagerstown Daily
Mail in Maryland claimed the, quote, original
belt buzzer. buzzer, end quote, have been captured
on a canal tilt path, and another sighting was
reported nearby Wood Point the following year.
These articles often featured vivid poetic language
with one describing the bird's return as, quote,
its mournful toll echoing across the valley,
end quote. And Chelsea, here's just a smattering
of articles from way back in the day about it.
In the 1800s, there were dozens of articles across
Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, Delaware,
Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina,
where there They're talking about the birds tolling
bell, said to precede fires, floods, or outbreaks.
In Wheeling, West Virginia in 1885, a local newspaper
described the buzzard flying overhead before
a deadly flood reinforcing its ominous reputation.
As I said earlier, the Troy messenger in Alabama
reported a belled buzzard flying low over farms
in 1913, with witnesses describing it as, quote,
a small cast bell tied to its neck, end quote.
Farmers wondered who had belled the buzzer when
and where. In Brownsville, Tennessee, in 1878,
during a yellow fever epidemic, newspapers connected
the belled buzzard to the calamities, cementing
its role as a harbinger of doom. Quote, the belled
buzzard has been seen again and death walks close
behind. End quote. This chilling line connected
the bird directly to devastating epidemics. From
the 1912 Irving S. Cobb story, he says, quote,
the belled buzzard is no myth. He's a feathered
fact and his tolling bell is the funeral knell
of the South. End quote. in Woodpoint, Maryland,
which I believe we mentioned earlier, quote,
the Bell Buzzard has returned its mournful toll,
echoing across the valley, end quote, and that's
in February of 1931. Now, sightings of the Bell
Buzzard faded dramatically after the early 20th
century, and by the 1940s, a legend had largely
disappeared from newspapers and public consciousness.
Several Factors contributed to this decline.
In the 19th century, small town newspapers often
blended fact and folklore, publishing sensational
stories to entertain an alarm. As journalism
professionalized in the 20th century, editors
became less likely to print cryptic sightings
without art evidence and the bell buzzered once
a media darling lost his platform. The buzzard
itself, a symbol of death and decay, lost its
folklore potency as newer cryptids and omens
emerged. Creatures like Mothman, Jersey Devil,
and Bigfoot captured public imagination with
more dramatic traits. That's true. The bell -buzzard,
quiet tolling bell, couldn't compete with the
glowing eyes and monstrous footprints. The bell
-buzzard was deeply tied to oral storytelling
in southern and Appalachian communities. As rural
populations shifted and oral traditions waned,
the legend faded. Without regular retelling,
it became a historical curiosity rather than
a living myth. Some sightings were debunked as
pranks, too, with farmers or boys tying bells
to buzzards for fun. And once this explanation
gained traction, the mystery really lost its
edge. of unknown, belt buzzards became less compelling
and died off. So there's not much talk about
it after the 1940s. That is a weird one. I don't
know what I think about that. It is. And though
sightings have ceased, the belt buzzard survives
in folklore archives, regional ghost story collections,
and occasional cryptid forums. It remains a fascinating
case study in how a simple anomaly, a bell on
a bird, can evolve into a widespread omen of
death. His story also offered insight into the
role of media in shaping his insane encrypted
legend. We move now from the unsettling grounded
toll of the belled buzzard, a bell that foreshadowed
death on land, to a sound that is both lamented
and a perpetual warning ringing from the depths.
We're leaving the dry folklore of the American
South for the coasts of Europe, where bells toll
not from a bird, but... from entire lost civilizations.
What? These are the sounds of divine judgment
and vanished kingdoms. What? Like what kingdoms?
Oh man, Chelsea, I had no idea that there are
so many lost cities off the northwest coast of
Europe. There is? See, I was thinking where you're
going with this was maybe like a ghost ship,
like with a foghorn or something. Oh, maybe.
But no, it's a lost civilization. Across Europe
and North America, legends about church bells.
that continue to ring from beneath the earth
or water. In France, the sunken city of Ys is
said to toll its bell from beneath the waves
during storms. In England and Wales, tales speak
of submerged villages as well, whose bells can
still be heard on quiet nights in May, a time
associated with thin rounderies between the world.
These bells are often tied to moral warnings,
towns that sank due to sin or pride, with the
bells serving as eternal reminders of divine
judgment. So Chelsea, I'm going to tell you now
about the lost city of Ys. So Ys, spelled Y -S,
of course, is said to have been a magnificent
city built below sea level on the coast of Brittany,
protected by a massive dike with gates that opened
at low tide to allow ships into bustling ports.
It was ruled by King Gradlin, a pious and noble
monarch, and his daughter Princess Dehut, whose
wild and hedonistic ways ultimately led to the
city's downfall. There are multiple versions
of the legend, but most agree on these core elements.
Dahut, often portrayed as a sorceress or seductress,
hosted lavish parties and took lovers nightly.
One night, she stole her father's key to the
dyke gates and either through drunken revelry
or deliberate sabotage, opened the gates during
high tide, allowing the Atlantic Ocean to flood
the city. As the waters rose, St. Winowola I
like all of those versions. I can't choose. Now,
one of the most haunting elements of the legend
is the claim that the bells of ease still toll
beneath the waves, especially during storms or
at twilight. Locals in the Bay de Dornanez or
Dornene, I don't know, it's French, where Ys
is said to lie have reported hearing phantom
chimes echoing from the depths. These spectral
sounds are interpreted as either a warning or
a lament, a reminder of the city's hubris and
loss. The city of Ys is widely regarded as a
mythical place and not a historical or archaeological
reality, and while it holds a powerful place
in Breton folklore, there is no concrete evidence
that Ys ever physically existed beneath the Bay
of Dornene or anywhere else along the coast of
Brittany. So just keep that in mind. The story
of Ys is rich in Christian symbolism and moral
themes, pride, sin, divine punishment, which
suggests it's functioned as a cautionary tale
rather than a historical account. And the character
of Princess Dahut, often blamed for the city's
destruction, embodies the archetype of the dangerous
Temptress, a common figure in medieval Christian
storytelling. Likely not a true story, but there's
still every now and then a rumor of bells ringing
off the coast of France for the lost city of...
Still creepy. And hey, the British Channel, or
what do you call that? Is it the French or the
British Channel between them? I don't know. The
channel between the UK and France. It's not the
only lost city in the channel between France
and the UK. There is also the city of Lyonais.
I believe it's said that way. It's L -Y -O -N
-E -S -S -E. So the lost city of Lyonais... was
believed to stretch from the lands ending Cornwall
to the Isle of Sili, occupying fertile plains
and coastal towns. According to legend, it boasted
over 140 churches, flourishing villages and orchards,
a towering cathedral, possibly built atop what
is now the Seven Stones Reef. This reef, located
about 18 miles west of Land's End, is still marked
on nautical charts and considered treacherous.
Some say it's the last remnants of the drowned
kingdom. Now, Leonas is most famously known as
the home of Sir Tristan, one of the Knights of
the Round Table, and central figures in the tragic
romance of Tristan and Izyold. I don't know how
to say that either, geez. I didn't think these
names would be so hard. In some of the versions
of the Thurian Cycle, Leones is portrayed as
a noble and powerful kingdom deeply tied to the
fate of Camelot. The legend says Leones was swallowed
by the sea in a single night with no survivors
except one man, Trevillion, who escaped on horseback
and gave rise to the Cornish Trevillion family.
The cause of the flood varies. Some say divine
punishment for sin or pride, a natural disaster
like a massive tidal wave, or a magical collapse
tied to the fall of Camelot. Local fishermen
have long claimed to hear phantom church bells
ringing beneath the waves during storms. Some
maps even mark reefs with names like city and
court, hinting at submerged structures. And the
third one are, of course, Pantergwyllodd. I can't
say it because this is a Welsh Atlantis. Cantergwelod
is a legendary sunken kingdom said to also lie
beneath this area in the Cardigan Bay off the
west coast of Wales. According to the myth, it
was once a fertile lowland protected by seawalls
and sluice gates. The kingdom's downfall came
when Sethanen, a drunken gatekeeper, failed in
his duty allowing the sea to flood the land and
drown the cities. One of the most enduring elements
of the legend is the haunting sound of bells.
Welsh folklore holds that on quiet nights or
during storms, the bells of Cantigwold churches
can still be heard ringing from beneath the waves.
These ghostly chimes are said to echo across
the bay, a mournful reminder of the kingdom's
tragic fate. There's even a traditional Welsh
poem that captures its haunting imagery. Beneath
the sea and its waves are many cities fair that
used to listen to bells ringing at coming night.
The bells of Cantigwald vanish beneath the water.
I find it really interesting how many sunken
cities with haunted bells are in this area, when
this is something I really never heard of before.
That's a fair point. And they all seem to be
like Atlantis -esque. Like they were pretty prominent
places and then just sunk. Well, it's funny that
they would place those kind of important cities
below sea level. Yeah, but they kept doing it.
Yep. But of course, undersea church bells aren't
the only type of phantom church bells. On a cold
October morning in the late 1800s, the quiet
streets of Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island,
were startled awake by the unexpected tolling
of the church bell at the Kirk of St. James,
a historic Presbyterian church built in 1878.
The bell rang out clearly and deliberately. Yet
when townspeople arrived to investigate, they
found the church locked and empty. No one had
been scheduled to ring the bell and no one was
inside. Witnesses claimed to have seen four ghostly
women in the bell tower, their forms faint and
shimmering. in the early morning light. The figures
were described as solemn, their presence eerie,
but not malevolent. The townspeople were shaken,
unsure what to make of the strange occurrence.
Later that same day, news arrived that a ship
had gone down in the Northumberland Strait between
Charlottetown and Pictou, Nova Scotia. Tragically,
four women perished in the wreck, the same number
as the spectral bell ringers seen that morning.
The coincidence was too eerie to ignore, and
the story quickly took root in local legend.
Over the years the tale of the phantom bell ringers
has been retold as a supernatural omen, a ghostly
warning of a pending tragedy. Some believe the
spirits were trying to alert the town to the
disaster at sea. Others interpret the event as
a moment where the veil between worlds thinned
allowing the dead to reach out in one final act
of communion. Yeah, I see that one. The Kirk
of St. James remains a function in church today
and while the bell no longer rings on its own,
the legend lives on. Visitors and locals alike
still speak of the fateful morning and some claim
that on quiet autumn days, if you listen closely,
you might still hear the fateful toll of the
bell and wonder who or what is ringing it. And
we move now from the spectral tolling of ancient
sunken kingdoms to a sound that is chillingly
modern, deeply personal, and terrifyingly real.
Sometimes the bell you hear isn't an echo of
a tragic past or a supernatural warning from
the elements. It's a deliberate sound made by
a figure lurking in the shadows. We aim the jury
with an account that came straight from the internet.
A true horror story that brings malevolent powers
of the bell from folklore right into the deep
dark woods of a young woman's summer. This is
a story from Reddit. It's from the subreddit
Let's Not Meet, which apparently is supposed
to be your true horror stories. So I can't confirm
this story for real. It was posted five years
ago. Ding! Wilhame Baudelaire, titled, Man in
Forest Kills Animals and Chases After Me While
Ringing Bells in the Dark. And this is not the
whole telling of the story. I did use an AI to
shorten it because it was incredibly long, but
we get the gist of it still. While home from
university for the summer, I returned to a secluded
forest trail I'd known since childhood. Dense
woods, winding streams, and a man -made lake
surrounded by silence. On my first solo walk,
I reached a stream and knelt to run my hands
through the water, when I heard it. A bell ringing
from somewhere to the north. It wasn't a light
jingle like a dog collar. It was heavy, deliberate,
and rang with a strange urgency. I listen curious.
Sorry, go ahead. No, I'm just trying to picture
the bell. I was picturing a gong at first. Yeah,
I feel like it's a town crier one. Yeah, I think
you're right. At first I was going with a gong,
but I don't think that's the right feel for the
story. I think it's a town crier bell. Yeah,
okay. I listened curious and began walking towards
the sound. It moved as I moved, always just out
of reach until it stopped abruptly after five
minutes. I tried to rationalize it, maybe a lost
hunting dog, maybe something caught in a tin,
but nothing made sense. Then I found the badger.
It was freshly dead, decapitated with precision,
the wound crawling with maggots, but not yet
fully decomposed. It had clearly been killed
with a knife. The bell had followed the stream
and so had I. The badger had been placed or killed
along the same path. I felt a chill but pushed
the thought aside and made my way home. A week
later I went back. It was raining heavily and
I left around 6pm, planning to return before
dark. I reached the river and then turned back
as the light began to fade. The forest was loud
with rain, and I was moving quickly, head down,
when I collided with something hanging from a
tree. It was the badger. But now its head had
been tied grotesquely to its front paws. The
whole thing strung up like a sick ornament. It
was dripping green fluid, and I was soaked in
it. I gay, confused by the mix of rain and rot.
And then it hit me. Someone had done this after
I passed by earlier. Someone had been watching
me. And then the bell rang again. This time it
was louder, more persistent, echoing through
the trees. I called my dad in a panic. told him
to meet me at the bend in the path, the closest
point to where I was. I started running, but
the bell kept ringing, on and off, surrounding
me. Every sound was muffled by the rain, and
I felt like I was moving through a dream. I couldn't
breathe properly. I couldn't think. I was crying,
stumbling, coughing, trying to stay upright as
I ran. My mom stayed on the phone, shouting that
they were close. I kept hearing things, branches
snapping, faint movements, but I couldn't tell
what was real. Then I heard it, clear footsteps
behind me and the bell louder than ever. I turned
and saw him, a tall figure at the edge of the
clearing, slowly creeping towards me, ringing
a bell in front of his chest. He was staring
straight at me. I ran harder than I ever have
in my life, screaming that I was on the phone
with the police and that my dad was nearby. I
didn't dare look back again. I was soaked, breathless
and terrified. My phone felt like my only lifeline.
I dropped my bag without realizing. The bell
kept ringing and I could feel it in my bones.
Then I heard my dad's voice. He was close, calling
my name. I ran towards him and practically collapsed
into his arms and he heard the bell too. My mom's
still on the phone. I heard it through the speaker.
We didn't wait around. We got in the car and
left. To this day, I do not know who that man
was, what he wanted, or if he's still out there
in these woods. But I know what I heard. The
bell wasn't just a sound. It was a warning, a
lure, a present. And I've never gone back. And
that's the end of that one. Interesting. Interesting
choice. At one point I was picturing that it
was just a bell that was killing like the badger.
Just turning it up. Oh, okay. Yeah. But then,
of course, it was a man just ringing a bell.
Holding it, of course. To be fair, they describe
the person as a bell, like a person holding a
bell, but we don't get a good description, so
it's hard to say whether or not it could have
been a shadow person. It could have been a shadow
person full of bells shaped in a person shape.
Yeah. Just saying. So this holiday season, as
sleigh bells jingle and carols echo through frosted
streets, remember not every bell is a symbol
of joy, some toll from beneath the sea, some
from sunken kingdoms like... Some ring from phantom
towers, warning a tragedy yet to come. Some chime
from the shadows of the forest, held by hands
that should not exist. Whether it's the bell
buzzers circling overhead, the swamp -born mimicry
of the bell bottoms, or a lone figure in the
woods ringing a bell just for you, these stories
remind us that sound can be more than festive,
it can be a lure, a warning, a presence. Thanks
for joining us in this winter's walk through
the uncanny, and if you hear a bell tonight,
maybe it's Santa, maybe it's something else entirely.
I have been Taylor, here with Chelsea. We are
Journey to the Fringe. Thank you all for listening.
We'll see you next week. And that's a good Christmas
lesson. Goodbye. Thank you for listening to Journey
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For now, I'll see you in the next episode.