Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

The Strange Company HQ staffers wish you pleasant reading!

A handy reminder that bees are weird.

A look at medieval executioners.

The world's oldest dated printed book.

A stupid theory about the Salem Witch Trials that refuses to die.

The 11th century abbot and the recycled sarcophagus.

The duel between W.B. Yeats and Aleister Crowley.

The man who made a living from being a conjoined twin.

The death of Pretty Boy Floyd.

Remembering the Cat Lady of Spitalfields.

A pattern has been found in cases of alleged reincarnation.

The legend of "Mountain Charley."

The only prison with its own zoo.

In search of the Woman in Black.

A meeting with Bigfoot.

The oldest known dwelling in the Western Hemisphere.

The mystery of the Dancing Plague.

Remembering the Aberfan disaster.

Not to worry, just empty space sending out mysterious signals.

The War of Jenkins' Ear.

The cat who missed out on being the hero of Rikers Island.

If a ghost wants his widow to get the funeral money, you should probably oblige.

A notorious 19th century swindler.

New York's "house of many mysteries."

The woman who could sew with her tongue.  And no improper jokes, please.  I know what the internet is like.

When the Royal Society went ghost-hunting.

The mystery of the "Tully monster."

Some very disturbing deaths.

George III visits Oxford.

A really bad 18th century job.

A murderous medical student.

The real-life inspiration for Sherlock Holmes.

A cave of dragon bones.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an unsolved Halloween murder.  In the meantime, here's something a bit different.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

I guess you could say that this is one of those UFO stories that has everything, including satanic fungus.  The “Jacksonville Journal,” January 28, 1974:

After sighting an Unidentified Flying Object and being felled by a ray apparently from an occupant of the craft, a strange "devil's head" was found growing in his yard, a Jacksonville man has reported to the UFO Research Institute.

Norman R. Chastain, 62, of 2507 Kershaw Drive W., said he delayed reporting the strange incident after it occurred for fear he would be ridiculed as "some kind of a nut."

Chastain's photograph with the "devil's head" appeared in the Journal nearly two years ago after he brought the plant to the newspaper and reported finding it in his yard.

At that time, however, he did not mention the earlier incident. He said he is telling the story now because of the investigation being made by the research institute.

Chastain is an electrician with the Seaboard Coast Line Railroad Co. He was out in the St. Johns River fishing late at night Jan. 26, 1972, near the eastern tip of Blount Island.  At 3 a.m., he was sitting at anchor in a slack tide about 50 feet from shore when he noticed "several orange and blue lights from over St. Johns Bluff Monument," he said.  At first he thought it was a mosquito control or police helicopter.

Chastain said his boat lights were on and a Coleman lantern was burning.  He said the object made no noise.

"After a few minutes, the lights came directly towards my boat and I could make out the outline of something like a half of a ball with lights flashing and changing colors about every minute," he said.

He said the object was about 150 feet in the air directly over his boat. He snapped off the lights on his boats and turned out the lantern and the object moved slowly back to the bluff.  His boat had run aground by this time and he went ashore, he said.

Chastain said he went looking for a lever to pry his boat free, found a piece of 2-by-6 wood and was carrying it back when he stopped to rest, 75 feet from his boat.

"I raised my spotlight to see if my boat was still in the muck and, in the edges of the bushes, I saw the darndest-looking human-like creature one could ever imagine," he said.

He said he dropped the timber and immediately was hit by a "brilliant white light." It made him dizzy and he lay down on the grass.

His arms and legs became numb and tingled, but he stayed on the ground, praying, until daybreak, he said.  He then crawled farther inland and stayed until about noon, when his strength returned.

He swam out to his boat, which had drifted about 50 feet from shore. He noticed an "overpowering stench" in his clothes and hair that was not present until he met the "devil-looking creature."  He said he washed and threw away his old clothes before going home. Still his wife commented that he didn't look right and asked if he were all right. Chastain said he told her he got seasick.

Three nights later, Chastain said, he found himself dreaming that he was on a strange planet. Suddenly, he was awakened by a clap of thunder and saw that it was raining outside.  He also noticed the same overpowering smell he experienced three days before, he said.  Chastain remained awake the rest of the night, holding a gun.  When morning came, he went outside.

"There in the grass directly behind my boat at the same distance the creature was positioned on Blount Island was a cluster of several flesh-colored heads looking at me and they looked so much like that devil looking creature I saw on the island that my first thought was the UFO was over my house that night looking for me."

He went to his neighbors' homes looking for witnesses but they were all away. He dug up the plants and brought one to the Journal, he said.

"Blood" was coming from the plant, he said. it also had teeth, big eyes, a wide mouth and pointed ears, Chastain said.

Chastain said each of the plants shriveled up into a ball about six hours after they came out. No morе have grown since then, he said.

 

Since the sighting, Chastain has been back to the same spot on Blount island several times, he said. In fact, he was fishing in the same spot recently and caught a 40-pound red bass, good enough for a third place in a fishing tournament.

He says the reaction from persons he tells his story to is "peculiar."  

"The educated person is very, very interested," he said. "Those who are uneducated--the reaction is nil."

"Railroad men are the hardest to convince," he said. That is the reason he took one of the plants to show his fellow workers, some of whom advised him to move out of the house, he said.

When the Journal contacted the University of Florida's botany department, a mycologist there appeared to recognize the plant immediately from a verbal description.

He said it is a stinkhorn, very common in Florida, especially during cold weather after a drizzly rain. It is not poisonous, but generally is not considered edible because of the smell, he said.  It is a form of mushroom.

It was not until he attended a lecture at Florida Junior College by Stanton Friedman, director of the UFO Research Institute, that Chastain decided to report the incident.  He had letters from the institute, which is located in California, indicating his report is being investigated.

Friedman told the Journal by telephone that he is a nuclear physicist who spends all of his spare time investigating UFOS.

Chastain said that he submitted his story to the Journal now "to let the public try and decide whether or not the saucers are from Planet Earth or some other planet."

The Bootleg Boyer Baby

If you are at all familiar with my blog, you know that I delight in sharing moral tales that provide both spiritual uplift and valuable practical advice at navigating this thing called Life.  For instance, if you are going to fake a pregnancy in order to gain a claim to your husband’s inheritance, make sure you have all your paperwork in order.  Acquiring bogus heirs is not a job for amateurs.

Read on.

In 1902, Joseph Boyer, the owner of a machine shop in St. Louis, Missouri, took over as company president of what became the Burroughs Adding Machine Company, which he subsequently relocated to Detroit.  The company soon became a huge global success, which, naturally, made Boyer an extremely wealthy man.

However, in 1913, dark clouds hovered over the horizon for Boyer and other rich Americans, in the form of the Revenue Act, which brought in a federal income tax.  The ominous prospect of turning a substantial amount of his income over to Uncle Sam--and, one would like to think, fatherly affection--inspired Boyer to prudently shelter most of his wealth in the form of lavish trust funds for his seven children.  One of these trust funds--the one in the name of Joseph’s son Myron--was to lead to some unexpected complications.

In 1921, Myron married one Laura Lucille Miller.  In one important sense, Laura was an unlikely choice for his bride.  The childless Myron was anxious to have an heir to his substantial fortune, but as Laura was forty years old at the time of their wedding, it seemed unlikely she would ever have children.

However miracles do happen.  Just as the Biblical Elizabeth became pregnant with John the Baptist at an advanced age, in mid-1923 Laura was able to announce the joyous news that she was pregnant.  One day in November, as her due date approached, Laura sent Myron off on some errand which kept him away from home for a few hours.  As at the time he left, his bride was showing no signs of imminent labor, one can understand Myron’s astonishment when he returned to find that in his absence, he had become the father of a fine baby boy.  They named the child “Joseph Andrew Boyer III.”

As far as we know, all went well for the little family until about a year later, when Myron, for reasons lost to history, began to doubt the baby’s paternity.  He quietly hired private investigators to see if his sudden doubts about Laura’s fidelity had any basis in fact.  He wound up getting much more than he bargained for.  The PIs soon informed Myron that sadly, yes, the baby was not his biological son.  And guess what?  Little Joseph was not Laura’s biological son, either.

When confronted with the investigator’s findings, Laura realized the game was up and she had no choice but to tell all.  She had paid a handsome sum to a Detroit doctor for him to find her a baby--any baby would do.  The doctor found a pregnant, unmarried 19-year-old in Windsor, Ontario, who was very anxious to find a home for her baby.  He arranged for Laura to adopt the child, who was then brought to Detroit.  And then Laura--after presumably divesting herself of a very large pillow--staged her little tableau of new motherhood.

Discovering that your wife had faked a pregnancy and brought in a ringer admittedly would be a hard thing for any husband to accept.  What made it still worse for Myron and the other Boyers was that this child stood to inherit a fortune that they felt he was completely unentitled to possess.  On March 1, 1928, Myron--who had separated from his wife--filed a suit to have the birth certificate of his erstwhile son deleted from official records.  He literally wanted the boy erased from Boyer family history, thus, he hoped, making little Joseph ineligible for any inheritance.  Laura outwardly accepted Myron’s actions, telling reporters that what mattered to her was that she still had her legally adopted son, whom she loved “more than anything else in the world.”

This brought up a new complication:  Was Joseph legally her son?  The necessarily secretive nature of her adoption put that question in doubt.  She had no paperwork proving her claim to the child, the doctor who had arranged the whole business was dead, and the courts had no record of any formal adoption.

But wait, there’s more!  Edith Howarth, the mother of the baby Laura had acquired, was convinced that she had given birth to a girl.  Although the records of the hospital where the birth took place stated that she had had a son, the birth certificate listed the baby as a girl.  In short, nobody could say who Joseph Andrew Boyer III really was at all.

If you’re starting to get a headache at this point in our story, my apologies.

Laura’s legal troubles were just beginning.  As little Joseph had (as far as anyone could tell) been born in Canada, it was highly possible that he was technically an illegal alien facing deportation.  She was summoned to appear before the Federal Immigration Commission in Detroit on March 5, 1928, in order to determine the boy’s legal status in the U.S.  As Laura was unable to find any record to show that she had formally adopted the boy, his fate was looking grim.  However, one of Laura’s attorneys was able to find a last-minute solution.  Edith Howarth signed the necessary papers relinquishing the child, and Laura, at long last, was able to legally establish herself as the boy’s mother.  When she adopted the child, she changed his name to “Dode Alfred Boyer.”  All of this satisfied the immigration officials, and Dode was safe from deportation.

"Bangor News," March 1, 1928, via Newspapers.com

Myron was making it clear that he couldn’t care less what Laura and Dode did, as long as they were unable to get their hands on the Boyer fortune.  Just to make sure, he filed a second lawsuit asking the court to legally bar the boy from any access to the trust fund.  In retaliation, Laura--who was still Myron’s legal wife--filed suit asking that his two lawsuits be dismissed.  Myron’s response was to file a third suit asking that the $800 a month payments the trust fund had been making to Joseph/Dode be cancelled.

The court’s decision on all this wrangling was made on November 22, 1928.  The judge ruled that Dode was not only disinherited from the Boyer estate, the payments from the trust fund were to be immediately stopped, and Dode’s initial birth records, now known to be fraudulent, were ordered to be erased from public records.  Both Laura and Myron told reporters that they were satisfied with the judge’s decision and were prepared to move on with their separate lives.

The end of the story?  Oh, surely you jest.

As Fate would have it, Myron did not enjoy his legal victory for long.  Just one month later, on December 29, he suddenly collapsed from a heart attack and died.  He had never thought to update his will, dated April 26, 1923, which left “all of my earthly possessions” to “my beloved wife, Laura Miller Boyer.”

This will wound up making a great deal of happy lawyers very wealthy.  Myron’s siblings wasted no time filing lawsuits addressing the question of what, exactly, Myron’s “earthly possessions” were.  The battle centered around his trust fund, which, by then, was a cool $2.5 million.  In brief, Laura’s lawyers said it had belonged to Myron, while Boyer attorneys asserted that after Myron died, the fund reverted to the estate of his father.

The argument dragged on for years, until on July 9, 1937, the court ruled that the Boyers were to give Laura $1.2 million.  This was appealed to the Michigan Supreme Court.  That body reversed the decision.  The United States Supreme Court denied Laura’s appeal, leaving her and Dode without a penny more of Boyer money.

Laura and her son disappeared from the newspaper headlines, leading anonymous, but, let us hope, not unhappy lives.  Laura found work as a saleslady until her death in 1940.  Dode died in Long Beach, California, in 1995.  When people would casually ask him about his family background, I wonder what he told them?

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump, where our host will be Little Tim!

Although I don't think he approves of us one bit.

Watch out for the Skunk River Monster!

The Los Angeles novelist who is forgotten at home, but loved in Italy.

From "miracle vine" to invasive species: yes, yet another instance of government and unexpected consequences.

A ramming disaster at sea.

Europe's "hunger stones."

Japan's Roswell.

How King John blew it.

The hidden history of paper.

A mother's death kicks off a weird saga.

The real Christopher Robin was no fan of Winnie-the-Pooh.

Grave stories from a grave digger.

That time when people wanted a silver-plated Grandma.

A reminder to please leave the Sun alone.

Life in the 1860s Royal Navy.

The oldest known spear attack.

Will o'the wisps and William Blake.

Authors are easy marks.

A case of mysterious stone throwing in India.

Beer comes to medieval England.

The days of werewolf trials.

Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone.

So, maybe some things on the bottom of the sea should be left there.

The disappearances of two sets of sisters.

A ghost visits a morgue.

A brief history of English vampires.

More evidence that we've been underestimating Neanderthals.

The bad, bad Bender family.

That time when the police recorded ghost activity.

Why ancient Romans drank gladiator blood.

The mystery of ancient mounds in Louisiana.

An 1875 balloon tragedy.

Peru's "Band of Holes."

The mystery of kissing.

In Elizabethan England, there was such a thing as bad publicity.

A love affair that ended with a bullet.

The many H.L. Menckens.

A very haunted school.

Some very haunted cemeteries.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a family gone very, very weird.  In the meantime, this seems appropriate for your Friday reading:

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Treasure hunting and ghosts seem to go together like peanut butter and jelly.  As an example, peruse this story from the “Bartlesville Examiner,” February 13, 1927:

OKMULGEE, Okla. - (AP) -Snake Creek, in Okmulgee county, still believes in her six lively ghosts and sets back to laugh at outsiders when they invade the playground of the spirits.  Investigation has failed to disprove fantastic stories of phantom hailstones, eerie lights and wailing cries about a wooded section where gold is supposed to be buried and guarded by the shades of five Indians and a white man.

No explanation was offered for the tales told by a number of reputable men of the community, in the northeast part of the county.  They, and a number of others, declare they have been terrified a number of times by the ghostly manifestations, while digging for the hidden treasure, located two and a quarter miles south of the county line and a mile and a half south of Snake Creek school on the farm of Arthur Straughan.  Parties from nearby cities have been organized to probe the mystery, but they too have been frightened away, Snake Creek residents say. Now that the story has leaked out, Snake Creek expects to have a lot of fun. Ghost hunters are planning to find out just what is going on.

The six spirits have been at work for several weeks chasing away invaders of their home.  There are six, a spiritualist declares, and they are sad, sad boys, wishing to be let alone and asking mortals to stay away. In defense of their home the Indian ghosts have offered their best in screaming war whoops, while their white comrade flits about the tree tops lighting dim ghost lights. When that fails to dislodge the visitors, the sextet resorts to a thundering storm of invisible hail, which can be felt but cannot be seen, according to the Snake Creek residents.  Several residents of the community, in the northeast corner of Okmulgee county, will testify to the existence of unseen things that utter blood-curdling howls, flash lights and throw hailstones.

One of the men is suffering from nervous prostration. His companions swear they never again will approach the haunted place where the spirits hold forth and defy men to molest them.  Four of the farmers of the Snake Creek district, who have made several trips to the place and claim to have heard and seen the weird signs, are Hayworth Baker, who located the place, James Lee, Bob Benson and Earl Douglas.

The haunted treasure is located two and a quarter miles south of the county line, and a mile and a half south of the Snake Creek school. It is on the farm of Arthur Straughan.  Some of Snake Creek is skeptical, but the majority is not. Those men are well known and the stories they tell hang together well.  The ghostly manifestations are supposed to have begun several weeks ago when the men decided to dig for buried treasure they had heard could be found in a wooded section north of Snake Creek school.

The party had dug a few feet when a frightful Indian war whoop brought them to attention.  It was not repeated, and they began again to dig. The screaming challenge was heard again, this time from several different directions. The men dropped their tools and fled in horror.

A few nights later, the same men regained courage and again started to hunt for the treasure. They just had touched their tools to the earth when the Indian yell was uttered in their very ears, from the tree-tops, from all sides, and some said from the hole where they were digging. They fled.

The original party decided to get in more direct communication with the spirits. They consulted a spiritualist. He told them that the bodies of five Indians and one white man had been buried near the place many years before, The ghosts rather liked the place and were hanging around. They did not wish to be disturbed and were using the only defense a poor ghost has to keep marauders away.

The treasure story was too much of a lure, however, and the men did not stay away long. This time the band of dead men went deeper into their bag of tricks and decided to show the boys just what a ghost really can do. The voices started the show, coming from every direction, above and below. Lights were seen hanging all about. The tree tops were alive with them. The woods looked like phosphorus in the moonlight. The weird lights shone on the ground, in the treasure hole and under the men's feet.

A strange noise began overhead, gathering force until it resembled a heavy thunderstorm.  Something rained down upon the men. The objects fell like hailstones, but when they were caught, the men opened their hands to find they held nothing. The invisible hail fell with more intensity. It was too much for the treasure hunters. They thought they heard ghostly laughter as they sped homeward. Ghost hunters are going to investigate again.

The stories told by the men are terrifying, but Snake Creek has her skeptical ones. They must be satisfied.

The treasure seekers, hunting for the gold that legend has placed there and which spiritual messages are said to have confirmed, have hunted only at night because they wished to hide any possible discoveries from other residents of the Snake Creek district. The search now is expected to be continued by daylight, due to the publicity given the treasure ghosts.

Unsurprisingly, there is no record of anyone finding the reputed gold.  The ghosts obviously did their work well.

The Undeciphered Death of Paul Rubin

The Rubin ciphertext

Eighteen-year-old Paul Emanuel Rubin was a sophomore at New York University, where he studied chemistry.  We have contradictory reports about his scholastic success:  His father Samuel said that Paul was an excellent student, while a police detective later told reporters that the teenager was doing so poorly at the University that he was in danger of flunking out.  (This is one of those cases that is full of contradictory details.)  

On the morning of Monday, January 19, 1953, Paul left his home in Brooklyn.  His mother Bessie assumed he was going off to his classes.  She claimed that he seemed in good spirits, showing absolutely no sign that things were about to become very, very weird.

Just before 10 am on the following morning, one Reverend Robert Anderson was walking through Philadelphia International Airport when his attention was arrested by a “wild-eyed” “stocky man” walking on the ramp between the terminal building and the air express office.  Anderson wished the stranger a “good morning.”  The man did not reply, but simply paced up and down.  He stared straight ahead, and appeared very nervous.

About twenty minutes later, U.S. Army Private Madrid King was walking to the airport, when he saw a man’s body at the bottom of a steep ditch.  (Note:  Some newspaper reports stated that the body was found by a taxi driver.)  This was the same man Rev. Anderson had seen pacing in the airport, but as the corpse had no identification on him, immediate identification was impossible.  However, the body was wearing a sports jacket with a label reading “Witte Brothers, 5th Avenue,” which made police suspect he was a New Yorker.

Police had more immediate success finding out how the man died.  According to the coroner, his body contained enough cyanide “to kill ten men.”  The coroner hesitated in calling the death a suicide.  To his mind, the body was so “immaculately arranged”--the dead man’s thick-lensed glasses had not even been dislodged--that it seemed possible that the corpse had been placed where it was found.

It was never determined how the cyanide had been administered.  It was not believed that the poison was taken in capsule form.  An empty test tube was found a few feet from the body, but no traces of cyanide were found in the tube.  

The strangest clue was a small piece of paper taped to the man’s abdomen.  It was a cipher message that, to date, has yet to be decoded, although over the years, many cryptologists have tried.  The man’s wallet contained nothing but a photo of an airplane with a Nazi swastika on its tail and a picture of Rodin’s sculpture “The Thinker.”  The other items the man had carried with him were equally bizarre: a plastic cylinder containing a signal fuse, the casing of a spent .38 caliber bullet, a “fountain pen gun,” (whatever that may have been,) forty-seven cents, four keys on a chain, and the February issue of “Galaxy Science Fiction.”

The body was finally identified when Bessie Rubin phoned the Philadelphia police.  She had read a newspaper report about the dead man found near the airport, and thought his description matched that of her son, who had not been heard from since the morning of the 19th.  Paul Rubin’s parents, as well as Bessie’s brother Max Gerstman, flew to Philadelphia, where Samuel was able to identify the mystery corpse as that of his son Paul.

Although the body now had a name, it failed to help solve how or why he had died.  Paul had the habit of sending coded messages to his friends, although no one who knew him could make any sense of the cipher found on his body.  As a chemistry student, Paul would have had access to cyanide, but he had no known reason to kill himself.  No one could explain what he was doing in Philadelphia, or how he got there.  According to Bessie Rubin, Paul had $15 on him when he last left home, but only 47 cents were left by the time of his death.  Where was the rest of the money spent?

Paul’s parents were at least able to explain some of the other unusual items found with him.  Paul was fond of doing magic tricks, and the cylinder with a fuse was probably used for one of them.  The four keys belonged to an old car the family had once owned.  The empty shell cartridge probably came from a friend who did target-shooting.  Paul may have planned to reload it with gunpowder he had created as part of his chemistry experiments.  Bessie added that her son “frequently brought home jars filled with strange liquids.”  She had no idea what they may have contained.

Detectives questioned Paul’s friends, relatives, and classmates, as well as NYU faculty members, but they were unable to find any solid leads pointing to either suicide or murder as the cause of the young man’s death.  An inquest was held on February 23, which produced the unsatisfactory verdict that Paul had died under “circumstances presently unknown.”  It remained a mystery how--or why--the dead youth had traveled to Philadelphia, or how he came to ingest cyanide.  And that, as far as law enforcement was concerned, seemed to be that.

There is one footnote to this extremely odd story:  While researching the Rubin case for his book, “Unsolved!: The History and Mystery of the World's Greatest Ciphers from Ancient Egypt to Online Secret Societies,” Craig P. Bauer obtained a copy of the FBI file on Paul’s death.  The file held no “smoking guns,” (other than the curious information that Paul had used the alias of “Galen Templar,”) but Bauer found it notable that the FBI had quietly devoted three months to investigating the teen’s death, suggesting that the Bureau felt this was more than a simple suicide.  Even more tantalizingly, the FBI had classified the Rubin case under “Espionage.”

Assuming the cipher found on Paul’s body is ever decoded, will it finally explain what led to his utterly inexplicable death?  Or will it be just another brick wall?

[Note: For what very little it’s worth, here is my take on this case:  The little we know about Paul gives the impression of a bright, eccentric youth who may well have been going through typical teenage angst--a sort of Brooklyn Holden Caulfield.  Paul was interested in spycraft, politics, and ciphers. My personal hunch--and that’s all it is, a hunch--is that he decided to commit suicide, but in a way that he could playact the role of an espionage agent, leaving a trail of baffling clues behind him.  I suspect that the reason no one has yet been able to decode the message found on his body is that it was no real cipher at all--just a stream of gibberish to add to his self-created mystery.

If I am right about this, Paul Rubin deserves a lot of credit.  If he wanted to leave this world confusing people, he did an excellent job of it.]

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

And you're just in time for afternoon tea!

A flying horse in Staffordshire.

A mysterious murder-suicide.

New York's war against banana peels.

The houseplant that can count.

Fun and games in medieval London.

Hitler's dress rehearsal for war.

A coded letter from Napoleon has finally been deciphered.

A woman is cleared of being a witch.  Three hundred years after she died.  All together now: BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.

So maybe we've been reading the Voynich Manuscript incorrectly.

Moths and butterflies as souls of the dead.

How to mail yourself a ghost.

An ancient mystery hidden in spear points.

Ghost stories from the mortuary.

Edward Despard:  Hero or traitor?

A very weird "cone hill" in the Amazon.

The mystery of the "Phoenix Lights."

Pancho Villa's well-traveled skull.

More rewriting of human history, fresh off the grill!

George III visits Oxford.

A brief history of spittoons.

The difference between ghosts and ghouls.

The cat who has taken over a train station.

If you want to drink a mix of battery acid and orange syrup, do I have the recipe site for you.

A cursed murderer.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a teenager's baffling death.  In the meantime, here's some Handel.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Bring on the Mystery Fires!  The (Napoleon, Ohio) “Democratic Northwest,” January 6, 1890:

In regard to the mysterious fires that have visited the home of W. F. Miller, and which have been noted in the Advertiser, a Bairdstown friend sends us the following, which we are sure our readers will peruse with interest:

The first of the series of unaccountable fires that have gradually destroyed the household effects of W. F. Miller and family occurred in August last, one and one-half miles south of McComb, in a large frame house on the Morgan Shaffer farm. In the morning before breakfast Mr. and Mrs. Miller were engaged in driving some stock into the barn-yard and when they entered the house they heard something fall up stairs and noticed a smoky odor in the air. Hastening up stairs Mr. Miller discovered a sack containing rags in flames on the floor, it having burned so as to fall from the hook on which it had been hanging against the wall. He succeeded in carrying it out of the house, wondering how it could become ignited when there had been no one near the spot. In the course of a couple of hours another fire broke out in the adjoining room up stairs, this time burning the paper covers from some stone jars containing lard, apple butter, etc. The heat was so intense that one or two of the jars cracked open and the lard ran over the floor but did not ignite. This fire was easily extinguished with water.

The family was more than ever puzzled to know how the fire originated.  The fact that the second fire started by burning the paper covers from the jars destroyed the theory that the first had originated from spontaneous combustion, and yet it was spontaneous, the flame following a puff of smoke as subsequent developments demonstrated.  In the afternoon the family were speculating as to the almost supernatural character of the fires when one member remarked, "I wonder what will be the next thing to burn." The words had scarcely been uttered when a puff of smoke and flame shot out from beneath the lid of a chest which was used to store clothing, etc. Water was quickly thrown upon the fire but it was not extinguished before the contents were materially damaged. The next day the clothing of a bed caught fire and was thrown out of the house and consumed. Within three days after the first fire, seven fires in all destroyed clothing, bedding, carpet, etc., but did not in the least damage the furniture or the building, except to smoke the walls and ceilings, besides the glass in the windows being mostly broken by the excessive heat. At the end of several days Mr. Miller concluded that he was fighting an unequal battle with the mysterious element, and after his insurance had been adjusted he vacated the premises, but not before thousands of curious visitors had thronged to the scene, attracted by the mystery with which the occurrence was surrounded.

Mr. Miller removed his remaining effects to the home of his father, Daniel Miller, who resides one mile southeast of Bairdstown, occupying a part of the paternal abode. In the meantime Mrs. Miller had washed and cleansed everything possible, and for several months everything passed off quietly, and in the ordinary routine of country life the matter of the fires was almost forgotten.

About five weeks ago, however, another fire originated in the same manner and in the same chest as at МсComb, in August. As before the fire was quickly quenched by the aid of water, but the clothing was considerably burned before it could be removed.  This ended the fires for the time being and in a week or two afterward the family removed again, this time into the Lenhart farm tenant house, two miles southeast of town, where about the first of December another fire started in the morning about 8 o'clock, in the clothing on a bed in which a little six year old son had been sleeping.  The bedding was carried out and allowed to burn. The carpet in the room was ripped loose, dragged out and the torch applied. By this time none of their old clothing remained except one suit for each member of the family and one extra dress belonging to Mrs. Miller and an overcoat to Mr. Miller.

On Friday, the dress and clothing of Mrs. Miller caught fire and was considerably burned before her husband, who was working near the house, could reach her. Her body and limbs were severely but not seriously burned. This was the first fire to occur in which any member of the family was injured. In the afternoon of the same day an overcoat hanging against the wall caught fire and was partially burned before it was discovered and the fire put out.

The family consists of Mr. and Mrs. Miller and two children, a boy, six years old and a babe, eight months old. By many who are unacquainted with the facts, the source of the fires is attributed to carelessness, but incorrectly, as the family use every precaution to prevent the loss of their property by the destructive element.

As yet no scientific investigation as to the cause of the fires has been made and from the simple and direct statements made by both Mr. and Mrs. Miller, it is impossible to state whether they are the result of the clothing being saturated with some chemical substance, or are occasioned by the antipathy of some restless hoodoo spirit.

Another incipient Miller family "hoodoo" fire was discovered early this morning, in time to prevent any damage. This time it occurred in a barrel of refuse in an out house into which Mrs. Miller had thrown a discarded apron. The calico or print cloth was completely saturated with moisture from the recent rains, as the barrel happened to be placed directly beneath a leak in the roof of the building.  Mr. Miller entered the building on an errand when he noticed smoke issuing from the barrel. An investigation disclosed the apron slowly burning, but not in a flame. This is the fourth visitation of the fire since the family returned to this section from the vicinity of MeComb. So far all the fires but one have consumed cloth or carpets. The one exception was some paper covers on some jars containing. provisions. The frequent appearance of the mysterious smoke and flame has made the presence of the fire an occurrence so common that the family has come to regard them as a necessary evil, but each succeeding report of a visit from the fire-fiend only intensifies the interest exhibited by a more than usual curious public. How much longer the family is to suffer from fire, time alone can tell.

I was unable to learn when the unusually persistent “visits from the fire-fiend” finally ended.

The Ceremony on Clonmillan Hill

Maximilian Pirner, "Funeral of a Fairy"

The following tale comes from Dermot MacManus’ 1973 book, “The Middle Kingdom: The Faerie World of Ireland.”  Whether the narrator encountered ghosts, fairies, or, well, something else, it is certainly one of the more unusual alleged encounters with supernatural beings.

The next account I have is of a very different kind of being. One might be tempted to classify it as a ghost rather than an elemental, but taking everything into consideration I feel that it never was a human being but is truly of the fairy world. My informant is Mr Gowran, who is today a prosperous owner of shops in Dublin, but who hails from Offaly. The incident happened in 1901 when he was a boy of ten.

Mr Gowran's family lived at that time in the small county town of Edenderry. One day in May, when the cowslips were out and everything was bright and cheerful with the promise of coming summer, he and a school friend, eight-year-old Jack Gooley, set off for a stroll about four in the afternoon. With two nine-year-old girls, Mary Gooley, Jack's elder sister, and her friend Maggie Grehan, they wandered along the road running north towards Mullingar. After going about a mile the girls, who were behind, turned to the right along a lane which led fairly steeply upwards to Clonmillan Hill. There was a farmhouse there, where they were certain of refreshment from an aunt and uncle of Mary's. They had been told to collect some buttermilk from them to take home for baking bread.

Clonmillan Hill has always had a reputation for being connected with the fairies, including the great Shee as well the lesser Shee-og. A number of years before, some man had ploughed up a small fairy ring or fort there, causing a good deal of discussion in the neighbourhood, most people deprecating the act as a trouble-making piece of vandalism. I have heard that he died unexpectedly a few years later. The farm lay halfway up the hill but to the far side of it, and the lane, after going straight for some distance, turned to the left so as to reach the house.

The two girls had not got halfway up when the boys, who had only gone on a short distance down the Mullingar road, heard them call out. When the lads looked back they saw that the girls had stopped and were looking earnestly into the field on their right. After a few moments, they saw the girls turn back and run down the lane on to the main road again. On reaching the road, the girls went over to a gate opposite the lane and stared into the field beyond it. Then they began urgently beckoning to the boys to join them there. The boys, who were thirty or forty yards away, ran up at once, little dreaming what an extraordinary thing they were about to see.

When they joined the girls at the gate and looked through it, to their utter astonishment they saw, some forty yards away, a group of dark figures of human size standing in a circle about ten yards in diameter. Black capes or shawls were draped over their heads and hung across their shoulders and from there dropped straight down to or into the ground, but with no crease or bend where they reached it. The figures stood so close together that their draperies touched from their shoulders down, making it impossible to see past them. They were quite motionless, even to the folds and pleats of their draperies, as if carved out of some black stone, and their heads were erect. Mr Gowran says emphatically that these black cloaks were not woollen but were made of some very fine cloth that was not shiny, and could not have been silken either.

Another remarkable feature was that the whole centre of the circle of figures appeared to be covered by a black cloth at the height of their shoulders. From it rose what seemed to be a chest--or, though the children did not think of it at the time, a coffin--and it, too, was covered by the same black material, which lay snugly on the chest and showed its shape clearly. The top of the chest was a foot or a little more above the heads of the surrounding figures. And on the top of this chest lay a set of old Irish bagpipes. Mr Gowran can still describe them in detail and can remember just how they lay. There were three drones, each about three feet long, one of which lay towards him and the other two away from him. The bag and the mouthpiece hung down over the side of the box. The drones were of unusual shape and were as thick as a big man's wrist.

The children had stood looking at this curious sight for a considerable time, probably two or three minutes, when they saw Dan Jackson, the owner of the field, and his eighteen-year-old son approaching from the field beyond it, which was divided from it by a small ditch. The two men took long steps across the ditch and strolled unconcernedly on. It seemed as if they were going to walk up to the figures, but it was soon clear that neither of them saw anything unusual, and after passing within six feet of the dark, silent figures, they approached the gate.

Afraid of being asked awkward questions, and being rather alarmed at what they saw, the four children ran off towards the town just before the two men reached the gate. But the two boys, being bolder than the girls, stopped after they had gone a short distance and peered through the hedge again. They were now alongside the next field and so had to look through the side hedge as well, but they found a gap and saw that the mysterious figures were still quietly standing, but the circle had moved some ten yards farther away and was now close to the ditch of the next field, covering the track along which the two men had just passed.

What were these eerie black figures that stood so still, and what was the meaning of the bagpipes lying upon the draped chest? The girls had first seen this silent group in the field halfway up the lane and had called out. They had then run back to the main road in fear, only to see exactly the same sight again, for there were apparently the same figures standing before them in this other field.

This sight has been seen by others round about, but only at rare intervals of years, and the story of it persists throughout the neighbourhood. However, it was not till a number of years later, when Mr Gowran was a young man, that his uncle told him that he also had seen the figures, a few years before the children had encountered them.

Locally, these apparitions are looked upon as fairies and not as ghosts, and rightly so, I think. It has been suggested that they were members of the fairy hosts, perhaps even the people of Bel, the great Celtic God who is honoured with fires on May Eve--Beltane, as it should be called--and that they lamented the passing of some special Celtic piper who had learned the fairy tunes to play to them. However that may be, I feel they fit in much more reasonably as fairy folk than as ghosts.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

However, I'm not sure I like what the Strange Company HQ staffers are planning for today's menu.

What the hell was the Dover Demon?

An archaeological mystery near Yellowstone.

A fatal obsession with an actress.

The "f word" goes a long way back.

In 1900, these were women's favorite weapons.

A look at the latest book about Poe.  It sounds a bit pretentious, but whatever.

How do we talk to aliens?  Assuming we want to.

Witchcraft has become a big business.

The "Black Bird" of Chernobyl.

Borley Rectory, our most controversial haunted house.

The Royal Navy versus pirates.

The man who went from reporting on Parliament to becoming an MP.

Pasteur and the "accidental vaccine."

Why some witches were hanged and some were burned.

Elephants are darn good doctors.

Octopuses are darn smart.  Probably good doctors, too, who knows?

Over 700 years ago, a man died from being hit by a car.  Well, all right, maybe it was a trebuchet.  

The end of the Bronze Age.

Plants are turning themselves into fairy circles.

An "ancient underwater city" and Noah's Ark.

The Normandy invasion and "Operation Sparrow."

The Black Death really didn't know when to leave.

Selling coffins isn't always fun and games.

Brahms and "Madame Composer."

Several young women who were abducted from their cars.

The secretaries who made Elizabeth I sound angrier.

The legends of a haunted Alaskan island.

More talking dogs than you can shake a stick at.

A brief history of London Freemasonry.

A brief history of bedpans.

The doors of Old London.

The burials at Gobekli Tepe.

An influential Admiral.

A small town with a lot of ghosts.

What disease did the Elephant Man have?  (Short scientific answer: "Dunno.")

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an encounter with...fairies? Ghosts? God knows what?  In the meantime, here's Handel.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Sit back and enjoy what is probably the weirdest "letter to the editor" in history.  “The Guardian,” November 30, 1976:

Recent reports of peculiar events have reminded me of a mysterious experience I had in East Anglia a few years ago. I was teaching in a small village school and the caretaker's husband declared that he had seen strange orange lights in the school field as he walked the dog home at about 10.30 pm. Cynics suggested that he had seen more light ale than anything else. I thought little of it. 

The next day a little lad brought me a small plastic toy pistol which he had found near the school.  I popped it into my drawer until such time as some-one claimed it. Near the end of the afternoon of hectic activities I felt that I could not tolerate the compulsive and ceaseless chatter of one Sandra and on an impulse pointed the pistol at her saying mentally, “Gottya!” 

To my astonishment she immediately vanished. The other children, conditioned to ignore her perpetual trivialities, didn't even notice. At the end of the session I dismissed the class and sat down in the ill-lit room to ponder over the unprecedented situation. I was suddenly aware of the figure of a man standing by me dressed in some kind of boiler-suit protective clothing.  I assumed he was a parent on the way home from work. He extended his hand, lying in the palm of which was another toy pistol. Wordlessly I passed the first one over to him. He examined it briefly, clicked a small ratchet at the side, pointed it toward a corner of the room and pulled the trigger. To my utter amazement Sandra reappeared immediately in full spate, breaking off only to observe that it was time to go home.  And as I sat there, Sandra and the stranger independently disappeared into the evening gloom. 

A Wiltshire Teacher.

The Invisible Intruders and the Strange Death of Sigrid Barginde

"The Olympian," July 27, 1981, via Newspapers.com

In the movie “Wait Until Dark,” Audrey Hepburn played a blind woman terrorized by sinister strangers searching her apartment.  The film showed that there is a unique psychological horror in knowing danger lurks around you, but you are unable to see it.  That same fear is central to the following crime case--only in this real-life story, justice, let alone any answers, never made an appearance in the last act.

Retired bookkeeper Sigrid Barginde was 87 years old, hard of hearing, and nearly blind, but she still managed to take care of herself in the small brick home on the South Side of Chicago, Illinois, where she lived alone.  As far as is known, her life was quiet and unremarkable until April 1981.  One night, she fell asleep on her living room couch while watching television.  She was suddenly awakened by noises in her room.  Through her thick glasses, she was able to make out three shadowy figures moving through the house towards her bedroom.  When she screamed, the intruders threw a sheet over her, struck her on the head, and shut her in a closet.

When Sigrid called police the next morning, the arriving officers, Bill Melmine and Larry Viles, had a hard time believing her story.  Despite her black eye and bloodied sheet, the men found it unlikely that three people would commit a seemingly senseless break-in against a woman who seemed to have little worth stealing--especially since nothing was taken from her home and there were no signs of forced entry.  When she expressed her fears that her house was bugged and the phone tapped, the policemen began muttering to themselves about fanciful, paranoid old ladies who had overly vivid nightmares.

Not long afterwards, Sigrid again went to the police.  She complained that she had to use a neighbor’s phone because her own wasn’t working.  When Melmine and Viles took her phone to a repair shop, they were told that pieces of the receiver had been torn out.

It was then that the officers began to think that perhaps Miss Barginde wasn’t so paranoid, after all.  They got her a new phone, with the receiver screwed on very tightly.  A week later, Sigrid called the police from her neighbor’s house.  The receiver had been vandalized again.  The officers then stuck the receiver cover back on with super glue.  After that, someone pulled the receiver and the cord out of the phone.  Later, a construction horse was found under the only window in Sigrid’s house that could not be locked.  The police removed the horse, but it was soon replaced by a garbage can placed under that same window.  

A locksmith changed her locks for a nominal fee.  Neighbors removed weeds that obscured her house from the street.  And everyone waited for the phantom attacker’s next move.

On June 18, Sigrid was mugged while walking home from the bank.  She held on to her purse and screamed until her attacker ran off.  The perpetrator was never caught.

Melmine and Viles were still not sure just what was going on, but they realized that this poor woman was genuinely going through hell.  The officers began visiting her several times a week, and would often cruise past her address, shining the rays from a spotlight across the house.  “It started to get to her,” Viles later recalled.  “She would be sitting there talking and happy, and then she would sit down and cry.  She was just scared to death.  She was living in terror all the time.  But she wouldn’t move.”  Melmine added darkly, “We told her, ‘If you don’t get out of here, you’re going to die here.’”  (Such an obvious solution was, unfortunately, easier said than done.  Sigrid pointed out that if she put the house up for sale, she would be obligated to warn potential buyers that she was leaving because of repeated burglaries.)

Tragically, Melmine was a prophet.  The day of the mugging proved to be the next-to-last act in our tragedy. After several days of no one being able to get into contact with Sigrid, the police were called in on June 26.  When they entered her home, her body was found face-down on her bed, hands tied behind her back with a scarf.  Her telephone’s cord and receiver were--for the final time--ripped out.  The Cook County medical examiner determined that Sigrid had died of a heart attack.  He stated that it was unknown what brought it on. "It's possible that it came as a result of a shock, but there is no way to verify it one way or another."

This conclusion hardly seems definitive, but it was good enough for Police Commander Milton Deas, who announced that the medical examiner’s decision “closes the case unless something else pops up.”

This was apparently law enforcement’s final word on the matter.  In September 1981, Sigrid’s sister, Ingvelde Barginde Evans, who lived in Colorado, sent a letter to the Chicago Police Department demanding that they reopen the investigation into Sigrid’s death.  The dead woman’s family felt that the Chicago PD had not exactly covered themselves with glory.  Startlingly, Ingvelde wrote that when her daughter, the administrator of Sigrid’s estate, was finally allowed into Sigrid’s house on August 30, she "found and photographed my sister's bloodstained bed, a small pillow at the lower end of the bed, soaked through with blood, and a great blood stain at the head of the bed…”

After the police repeatedly refused to turn over their investigative reports regarding Sigrid’s death, Ingevelde and her relatives obtained a judge’s order demanding that they do so.  Unfortunately, the newspapers carried no further information regarding the case.

From what we know, there are two possible solutions to this remarkably disturbing mystery:  

1. Some monsters, for no clear reason other than sheer sadism, decided to literally torment a helpless old woman to death.  And they got away with it.

2. Sigrid began falling prey to dementia, and her elusive home invaders were nothing but a figment of her imagination.  This theory works to some extent--it may be that in April, she merely dreamed the three shadowy figures in her home, and her black eye was the result of a fall.  Perhaps the June “mugging” was another delusion.  It is also conceivable that she herself took her phone apart searching for planted listening devices.  However, even if her mind was going, it is hard to picture why Sigrid would rip her phone out of the wall, then lie down on her bed and somehow manage to tie her own hands behind her back.  And what to make of Ingevelde Evans’ claims that her sister’s bed was left covered in blood?

Whatever the truth may have been, all one can say for sure is that poor Sigrid Barginde certainly suffered a terrible fate.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!  There are no strangers here; only cat friends you haven't met yet.

Feeling melancholy?  Try ostrich liver!

In 2024, something left a very weird crater on the Moon.

More deadly amusement parks.

A very unsuccessful hermit.

A new cat species has been discovered.  A darn cute one, too.

Europe's first treatise on cheese.

A sorcerer's magical diary.

Why some funerals were not rushed.

The latest in the search for Noah's Ark.

The folklore of Harvest Moons.

An aristocratic philosopher.  And warmonger.

The city that spent one day as America's capital.

The possibility of hidden chambers in King Tut's tomb.

A social worker turned mass kidnapper.

The Witch of York.

A bunch of disappearing priests.

The ultimate "I'm not saying it's aliens, but..." theory.  (Follow-up question: "OK, so who created the aliens, smartypants?")

Did Vikings really burn funeral boats?  Well...maybe.

Crime and punishment in 1787 England.

Benedict Arnold is spending eternity in a kindergarten classroom, which is as good a definition of "Hell on Earth" as any.

The General known as the "Black Devil."

When London lived in fear of being garrotted.

The art of Regency letter writing.

The birth of "Johnny Appleseed."

A ballad about a classic murder mystery.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at the very creepy last weeks of an elderly woman.  In the meantime, here's Tom Petty.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This account of your basic friendly neighborhood monster appeared in the “Mexico Weekly Ledger,” December 13, 1883:

MEXICO, Mo., December 8.--The neighborhood of Hopewell Church, near this city, is much excited over the appearance in the locality of a strange creature, which is thought by the credulous to be a ghost, and which is a puzzle at least to the most skeptical. The apparition is simply that of a lean monster man, between eight and ten feet in height, wearing a long cloak, and going about with head bowed in an abstracted way, but occasionally glaring at those it meets with small ,glittering eyes, said to resemble those of a cat or some wild beast. The negroes believe the apparition to be ghost, the white people do not know what to say.

There appears little doubt, whatever the creature may be, that it has actually been seen a number of times. The school at Hopewell Church is about abandoned because of fear of the monster, and even sturdy farmers go about armed, in apprehension of it. John Creasy, a well-known old resident, declares that yesterday afternoon as he was returning from Mexico to his home he had a good view of the queer being, who was about fifty yards ahead of him, walking in a leisurely way along the middle of the big road, in mud almost knee-deep, his head still lowered and his long black cloak flowing in the breeze, All at once, and in the twinkling of an eye, he disappeared in the thick woods as mysteriously as he came upon the scene. Mr. Creasy says for the first time in his life, although a soldier under Gen. Grant, he was really frightened, and it was all he could do to control the horse he was riding, so great seemed its fear of the object. Mr. Cyrus Haggert and wife, who were returning from church thanksgiving eve, were surprised by the monster's peering with its cat-like eyes into their buggy and leaning against it, almost crushing the vehicle. The lady has not yet, it is said, recovered from the shock. Mr. and Mrs. H. both claim on this occasion a white cloak was worn. A large number of others have seen the strange creature, and to-night a large party is scouring the neighborhood of Hopewell Church, hoping to capture it. The newspapers of the city are represented in the searching party, which includes one or two St. Lousians, and a report from the expedition is awaited with much interest. The creature is thought to be located in the hills in the rear of one Philip Brown's residence. The Mexico party is under the leadership of Bob White and Jake. Merkell. No services will be held in the Hopewell Church tomorrow.

Special Dispatch to the Globe-Democrat 

MEXICO, MISSOURI, December 9.--The party who went out to the neighborhood of Hopewell Church last night to look for the mysterious creature which has created so much excitement in the vicinity, returned to the city this morning, tired and mystified. It was supposed that the habitation of the monster was pretty definitely known, and little doubt existed that the wild man, or whatever the thing may be, had a home in a cave in the hills but recently discovered, but this proved a mistake. The cave was searched thoroughly, but no evidence found that it had been made a home by anything save the wild animals, which are plentiful in the woods of the region. The searching party passed the night in the woods, and around the fires built new stories were told of the peculiarities of the apparition.

All agree that it is a man between 8 and 10 feet in height, but some of those who have seen the thing, the colored people especially, declare it to be headless, and assert that it wears a white instead of a black cloak. Of course these are the more superstitious, and those who, unconsciously, perhaps, exaggerate what they have seen. Farmers of known veracity who have seen the strange object are numerous. Anton Bradshaw, as he was returning from town late, saw it sitting bolt upright on the fence in front of the church, with its head bowed, apparently meditating, in the same manner as heretofore described.

Thinking discretion the better part of valor in this particular case, he turned his horse's head quickly, and repaired to a neighbor's friendly shelter, where he staid until the next morning. All these and many similar stories were last night told of the queer antics indulged by the mysterious monster. The search will be continued and, until the mystery is entirely cleared up, will be unceasing, day and night, and not even a living "varmint" in that vicinity will be given a minute's rest. That there is really something which alarms the neighborhood is assured. The above is no joke.

How much truth there is in it, we don't know. Of course the matter is greatly exaggerated, but we have interviewed several prominent men and find that much of the reported matter is true. We also learn that a couple of insane persons have escaped from the Fulton asylum. These unfortunates may be roaming around in the woods near Mexico, and be the cause of this excitement. The following persons have seen the Hopewell church spectre: Cyrus Haggert and lady, Jay Bennett, Burney Hooton, John Creasy, Cyrus, Harding and Ellis Scott, Phillip Brown, Willis Terrell, Captain Clem, and others.

Some pronounce it to be from eight to sixteen feet high, dressed in black, without any head, while others say it is about the size of Tom Thumb, has feet like a camel, three heads and is dressed in white. We breathlessly await further developments.

As far as I can tell, no “further developments” ever appeared in print.