A monster that licks Popes? It's astounding that you have 475 pages of data on something with such awfully specific criteria!
BUCKLE UP, DUSTY,
THINGS ARE GONNA GET POPE LICKY.
FIRST THING the Pope
Lick Monster is actually named after POPE LICK CREEK in
Metro Louisville, Kentucky, and the POPE LICK TRESTLE, the 90ft tall
railroad bridge the creature is purported to live under. This is the
bridge!! First is 1904, second is TODAY (well, okay, 2011.)
The Pope family were
REALLY BIG in 19th century Kentucky, and the best info we have
suggests that the creek was named after JOHN POPE, the third
territorial governor of Arkansas! He had one arm and three wives (not
at the same time.) But this ISN’T ABOUT HIM. Also the trestle
passes over a little river, or ‘lick,’ so that’s the best lead
we have on the origins of the name!
People say the Pope
Lick Monster has the upper body of a REALLY PALE guy with wide-set
eyes and goat horns, and the legs of a goat. Or a sheep! They say
it’s an escaped circus freak or a farmer who sacrificed his goats
to SATAN, or maybe a human-goat hybrid (which is biologically
impossible for a whole bunch of reasons including the fact that
humans have 46 chromosomes and goats have 60 but okay.) It’s
supposed to lure people out onto the trestle and then force them to
leap to their deaths, or drop right off the bridge and land on cars
passing underneath on Pope Lick Road. Other versions claim it has a
giant rusty axe, or that it holds people down on the traintracks
until they get run over! They say it can imitate a train whistle, it
wails and screams, and it might have HYPNOTIC POWERS.
THIS IS NOT A REAL PHOTOGRAPH. WE DON’T HAVE ANY OF THOSE YET.
This is where things
get kinda frustrating because it’s an urban legend so there’s a
whole lot of ‘People say…’ and ‘It is said that…’ and I’m
like, WHO SAID THAT. WHEN. WHAT’S THEIR EMAIL BC I HAVE QUESTIONS.
Um, okay, what we do
know. We have a lot of anecdotal evidence dating back to the 1940s
about the Pope Lick Goatman or Monster or Sheepman. Several sources
say an entire Boy Scout troupe in the 50s/60s camped out near the
trestle and were attacked in the middle of the night by a hairy creature that shrieked and threw rocks at them and may or may not have just been a really antisocial naked hobo guy, but I can’t find
any information other than a bunch of people saying it happened, so,
again, legend. We have claims of cattle mutilations and sightings of
the monster leaping across the road in front of cars, and Weird
Kentucky cites a guy called Doug Oller who says his grandfather saw a
‘screaming devil jumping a fence, grabbing two full-grown pigs and
jumping off with them.’
of the 17 Doug or Douglas Ollers in the Metro-Louiseville phonebooks
are taking my calls anymore, so I can’t substantiate that claim
things get SERIOUS. The trestle is 772ft long, and at least 4 people
have died trying to cross it. In 1987 Jack Bahm, 17, and David
Bryant, 19, tried to cross the bridge. Bahm was killed on impact with
the train and Bryant jumped, dying later of his injuries. In 2000
Nicholas Jewell, 19, died in a fall from the trestle trying to avoid
the train. In 2016 Roquel Bain, 26, climbed out onto the bridge
specifically LOOKING for the Pope Lick monster and got hit by the
train AND fell off the bridge. People say the monster lures monster
hunters and thrill-seeking teenagers out onto the bridge with its
TELEPATHIC powers, but it seems like most of the time the only thing
that tempts people into climbing onto the bridge is the LEGEND
ITSELF. Kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy, I guess. The fact
is, Pope Lick Monster or no Pope Lick Monster, the trestle is too
long to escape if you’re surprised by a train.
So… YEAH. Actual
demon haunting backwoods Kentucky? Scary hobo guy throwing rocks at
Boy Scouts? Lethal yet non-paranormal psychological trap?? IMPROBABLY
GROSS GENETIC MUTATION? We JUST DON’T KNOW. Since the 1980s the
base of the trestle is protected by an 8-foot fence and a ton of
‘DANGER’ and ‘KEEP OUT’ signs but, come on, when has that
ever stopped dedicated monster hunters? Or teenagers. The answer is
NEVER, I should know because I’M BOTH.
If you want the full 190
minute video presentation with slides that I originally made for my
Youtube channel, PM me. I just need to make sure you’re not going
to share it with anyone who’s going to speed up my voice so I sound
like a crazy chipmunk and put stupid circus music over it, because that’s
a precaution I need to take, apparently.
They have at least 50 people out shooting people / assaulting right now, people with masks and paint on their face..
^^^^^ this is in relation to the purge in louisville, kentucky. this is not a joke, this is not a hoax, this is happening right now. this info is coming directly from the louisville police station radio and if you want to listen to it heres a link. please stay safe if you are in the area!!
Summary: He’s the guy who asks if he can join you and you’re the girl with a flowery backpack who doesn’t belong in a place like this.
Or, the one where two very different people have two things in common: their end destination and the secrets they keep.
Written for @torn-and-frayed‘s Songs of Season 2 Challenge for the song Hellhound on my Trail by Robert Johnson. The next part will be up this weekend, hopefully.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester
Word count: 2,600ish
Warnings/tropes: Un-betaed, aesthetic fic, road tripping, hitchhiking, semi AU but still in the Supernatural world [smut in next part]
A/N: Yet another one of my aesthetic fics, the first one of which was Organically Grown, a Sam x Reader fic. This one’s a little different (and maybe even more experimental) and I’ve split it into three parts because otherwise this would’ve gone over the word limit, lol. I still gotta finish Part 2 because I re-wrote this whole thing a bajillion freaking times, but in true Nebula fashion, Part 3 is done, wtf. Hope y'all enjoy! :) I’d love to read your comments/critiques and please do point out any mistakes I may have missed. ^^
Warm leather and the tang of silver bullets; skin kissed by the summer and a sandy scattering of freckles; sharp green eyes with even sharper focus. Then he grins and it’s like the goddamn sun.
Dean stares because you’re out of place; you’re awkward angles and long knitted sweaters with roses, left unbuttoned and flowing behind you like a cape in the midst of tank tops and tight ripped jeans and hair flowing easier than the beer is.
Dean stares because you’re alone with a flowery backpack stuffed with clothes, you’re heavy boots over black tights and you look too young - too naive - to be in a place like this. But there’s a bus station half a mile down and people fall asleep in corners with hats over their eyes as they wait seven, eight hours for the next bus.
You’re not a runaway. You’re a purse hanging around your neck like some Victorian lady and vague concern through the corner of your eye.
People stare. You don’t pretend not to notice.
You’re a laptop and a frayed paperback. You’re legs crossed up on the seat and a hopeless, helpless smile when a gruff guy in a white apron puts a sandwich in front of you. He doesn’t notice and Dean wonders whether that upsets you.
A taste of fondness first comes as a tickle in his chest when you’re all shifty eyes before you lift the sandwich up to your mouth and take a bite bigger than your mouth can open. You’re big, puffed up cheeks and fingers gripping bread as if someone might take it away. But you’re also long sips from the straw and almost audible sighs that he can hear all the way from where he’s sitting as the cold fizz of Coke hits your tongue.
Dean is a flirty grin and an arched brow when a waitress saunters up to him and offers more beer, and Sam is knowing eyes over the rim of his brown bottle.