#fortean

But let's take it one step at a time…

MOTHMAN EROTICA!

Ever decide a wolf is really a werewolf-reincarnation of a dead town official so you kill it and then hang it on a gibbet but dress it like a man first, including a wig and little pants? No? Huh, interesting.

It's a large order, but I'm sure it can be reached!

The International Cryptozoology Museum is looking to restore and inhabit this historical building located in Bangor, Maine! The museum's current locations are small and make the collection they hold seem crowded. It deserves a larger space to thrive in. It was built in 1945 and served as a garage and car dealership. But it was also eventually used as a laundromat, a taxi depot and a recycling center.

A number of things need to be done to this building to make it safe and modern. The money raised will go toward things like replacing windows and pipes. The International Cryptozoology Museum is a non-profit and relies on donations to survive.

Please consider donating and if you can't donate, sharing is so helpful!

Lifelike shapes rose on mauve tails

Light and freightless as a barren babyless

Or a carriage to which Dick Turpin offered bag emptying terms

Smooth surfaces, no nails

Without rivet, marks of making, maker’s marks

These arks, with ne’ry a buffering moment

Start out across promiscuous stars

Through mysterious bores open like a starving’s mouth

Food-promised starlings set out.

In hopes of carving out new straits, new ways

To traverse a soundless maze some ancient race

Or their wiser maker, hath made

Stars that are eggs

Some wire-pregnant soarer laid.

Like nodes lanterning their own arrival

I waited a while and watched them glide guileful

As they eighted upon my rite-baited nightsky 

Pale stones skimmed masterly most across sable oceans

Some stars barded in bard-heart flame

Others pale and artful like fate-making bone

Puzzling glyphs they left which in order to read a lift was needed.

Weak as a reed, weak

The Omsk Barn Entity: A 1927 Mystery Without a Trace

The 1927 Omsk creature account stands out as one of the most atmospheric and unsettling stories in early twentieth‑century anomalous lore, yet it remains suspended without any verifiable foundation. The narrative, preserved only through Peter Kolosimo’s Sombras en las Estrellas (1966), describes a rural worker awakened by chaos in his barn, a roof seemingly pierced from above, and the interior draped in thin, silver filaments that resisted cutting. What follows is a confrontation with a living organism so strange that it reads like a collision of folklore, pulp fiction, and biological nightmare. Despite its vividness, the story has no traceable origin in Russian archives, newspapers, or local memory, leaving it as an evocative fragment rather than a documented event.

The creature itself is described as a rounded, pulsating mass roughly the size of a white pumpkin. Its surface was smooth yet irregular, with shallow reliefs that suggested distorted human facial features—an impressionistic hint of eyes, a ridge like a nose, or the faint swell of a mouth. Witnesses reportedly saw the mass expand and contract rhythmically, as if breathing or maintaining internal pressure. When disturbed, it rolled across the barn floor with surprising coordination, and from its upper surface extended several flexible, tentacle‑like protrusions. These appendages were not described as limbs in the traditional sense but as transient extrusions of the same gelatinous material, forming and retracting as the organism moved. When struck, the creature did not bleed in any familiar way; instead, it broke apart into a bluish, viscous substance reminiscent of octopus tissue but lacking any recognizable anatomy.

The absence of primary sources is the defining feature of this case. No Russian‑language newspaper from 1927 mentions a barn intrusion or a mysterious organism. No agricultural or police reports from the Omsk region document an incident involving damaged livestock structures or unusual biological material. Soviet rural administration was thorough, especially regarding livestock and property disturbances, yet nothing aligns with the narrative. Every modern retelling ultimately loops back to Kolosimo, who provides no citation, witness names, or reference to a specific publication. Without corroboration, the story cannot be placed within the historical record of Siberian anomalies.

The creature’s characteristics echo several narrative traditions. Slavic folklore includes amorphous barn spirits and “living lumps” that shift shape or mimic human features. Early twentieth‑century pulp magazines frequently imagined protoplasmic beings, gelatinous intruders, and tentacled masses. The silver filaments coating the barn evoke both spider‑silk imagery and the “angel hair” motif that would later appear in UFO lore. These parallels do not prove fabrication, but they show how easily such a story could emerge from the cultural atmosphere of the time. Without a documented source, it is impossible to determine whether the Omsk account reflects a local folktale, a misinterpreted anecdote, or a literary embellishment.

Kolosimo’s broader work complicates the matter further. He often blended rumor, folklore, and speculative interpretation into narratives presented as mysterious but not rigorously sourced. Many of his stories follow a similar pattern: a remote setting, a dramatic encounter, a strange biological anomaly, and no verifiable documentation. The Omsk case fits this pattern so closely that it is difficult to treat it as an isolated historical report. Instead, it appears as part of a mid‑century tradition of “mysteries of the world” literature, where atmospheric storytelling often outweighed factual grounding.