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August 28, 2025Roosevelt Island’s Smallpox Hospital- A Bleak Reminder of a World Epidemic.Roosevelt Island's Smallpox Hospital—a crumbling Gothic fortress where the screams of the dying once echoed through quarantine wards, now stands as … August 17, 2025The Dark Legend of Bloody Mary UnveiledFrom Princess of Wales to disowned by the crown twice, to the first true Queen of England- the life of Queen … August 12, 2025The Dancing Plague of Medieval Europe. Did people really dance themselves to death?Plagues have always gripped humanity with an eerie fascination. But have you ever heard of the Dancing Plague that affected hundreds … July 3, 2025Dark Stories of the Paris CatacombsFrom human wax candles to murder- the Paris Catacombs hide the darker side of humanity.June 21, 2025The Secrets of Paris’ Underground: Catacombs ExplainedThe Paris Catacombs house over six million souls, reflecting burial practices born from overcrowding and infrastructure issues. But how did they …

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Published on September 07, 2025 18:05

August 28, 2025

Roosevelt Island’s Smallpox Hospital- A Bleak Reminder of a World Epidemic.

Friends,

Before the rash appears, people with smallpox experience a fever that causes them to burn from the inside out, soaking their bed sheets and leaving them gasping for water. Their muscles ache as if beaten with clubs, and headaches pound like hammers against the backs of their eyes. Then comes the rash—smallpox’s cruel signature—erupting first as tiny crimson pinpricks that swell into angry, pearl-sized bumps.

These fill with yellowish-white pus that gleams beneath taut, translucent skin. The pustules feel like marbles embedded deep in the flesh, each one throbbing with its own heartbeat of pain. When they multiply and merge, forming continents of agony across the sufferer’s body.

Inside the mouth, the pustules transform into ragged ulcers that make every swallow taste of blood and rot. Eventually, the pustules blacken and harden into scabs that fall away, leaving behind cratered landscapes of skin—a permanent reminder of your ordeal.

If you lived.

The Beginning

Traces of smallpox pustules were found on the head of the 3,000-year-old mummy of Pharaoh Ramses V.

Ancient Egypt: Archaeologists discovered telltale pockmarked scars etched into the preserved skin of royal mummies, their once-regal faces forever marred by the devastating disease that ravaged the Nile Valley as early as 1500 BCE.

India and China: Yellowed Sanskrit scrolls and delicate bamboo manuscripts from the ancient East describe a “red plague” that left survivors disfigured with crater-like scars, their detailed accounts matching the horrific progression of smallpox with chilling accuracy.

Europe: The disease crept westward like a silent predator, finally sinking its claws into European populations during the 6th century CE, where it would later decimate entire villages, leaving behind graveyards filled with the unmarked tombs of its countless victims.

Scientists believe this microscopic killer first evolved to prey on human hosts between 3,000 and 4,000 years ago, making it one of humanity’s oldest and most persistent enemies.

Edward Jenner- A Name We Should All Know.

In 1796, English physician Edward Jenner observed a curious phenomenon: milkmaids who contracted cowpox appeared to be immune to the deadly smallpox virus. Already familiar with variolation—the practice of exposing patients to lesser material to prevent severe disease—Jenner hypothesized that the milder cowpox infection might confer protection against its more dangerous relative.

Photograph by Allan Warner of two boys who came in contact with smallpox, 1901. The one on the right was vaccinated in infancy; the other was not vaccinated.

Eager to validate his hypothesis, Dr. Jenner extracted pus from a cowpox lesion on the hand of Sarah Nelmes, a local milkmaid, and introduced it beneath the skin of James Phipps, his gardener’s eight-year-old child. Following this procedure, Jenner deliberately exposed the boy to the smallpox virus multiple times over the subsequent months. Remarkably, young Phipps remained immune to the disease.

Jenner continued his research and, by 1801, had compiled sufficient evidence to publish his groundbreaking treatise, On the Origin of the Vaccine Inoculation. Within its pages, he documented his findings and boldly predicted that his technique would lead to “the annihilation of the smallpox, the most dreadful scourge of the human species.”

The Royal Society rejected Jenner’s manuscript despite his membership, deeming his revolutionary findings insufficiently supported by evidence. Undeterred, Jenner journeyed to London, where Sampson Low’s publishing house released his work, An Inquiry into the Causes and Effects of the Variolæ Vaccinæ, in June 1798. The volume quickly captured the imagination of London’s intellectual circles, finding eager physicians and educated aristocrats of the Enlightenment era.

New York’s Smallpox Hospital

Construction crews broke ground on April 1, 1854, at Blackwell Island’s southern tip (now Roosevelt Island), beginning work on what would become America’s first dedicated smallpox treatment facility. James Renwick, Jr.—the architectural mind behind both St. Patrick’s Cathedral and the Smithsonian Institution—designed the building in Gothic Revival style, its imposing silhouette rising against the East River over the next two years.

Courtesy New York City Municipal Archives

According to Untapped New York, “It was built using labor from the nearby lunatic asylum.” History of Health in New York said: “Although hard to imagine, that grim visual isn’t too far off from reality. According to Stephen Martin, member of the ‘Friends of the Ruin’, the smallpox hospital was built using ‘chain gang’ prison labor.”

The imposing three-story structure housed up to 100 indigent patients at any given time. Those without means found themselves confined to the ground floor’s crowded wards, while those with financial resources secured private chambers in the upper reaches of the building. Whispers from the era suggest that a patient’s purse often determined their prospects for recovery more reliably than their actual condition.

The hospital received its first patients in 1856. “During the hospital’s 19-year run, it treated about 7,000 patients a year, with about 450 patients dying there annually,” reported Culture Trip. The History of Health in New York documents how coffins would be stacked visibly on the grounds, while attendants routinely dumped cremated remains directly into the flowing waters nearby.

Courtesy of Touhey Photography, metouhey.com

By 1875, the Sisters of Charity from St. Vincent’s had assumed control of the facility at the request of New York City officials. No longer solely dedicated to smallpox cases, the institution was rechristened Riverside Hospital—a name that acknowledged both its panoramic views of the East River and its expanded mission to treat a broader spectrum of ailments.

Once a successful vaccine was implemented in the late 1800’s, the hospital was closed and fell into disrepair.

Smallpox Today

Three hundred million people died from smallpox in the twentieth century alone. According to the CDC, although it was declared eradicated in 1980, “Smallpox research in the United States continues and focuses on the development of vaccines, drugs, and diagnostic tests to protect people against smallpox in the event that it is used as an agent of bioterrorism.”

Only one other facility beyond the American laboratory is confirmed to harbor living smallpox: a Russian lab where, in September 2019, an explosion shook the building. Officials insisted the viral specimens remained secure. Despite the WHO’s advocacy for destroying these last remaining samples, international agreement on a timeline remains elusive.

Final Thoughts

In the 1900’s, Smallpox ravaged humanity, devouring over 300 million souls—fathers torn from children, mothers from infants, entire villages erased. Consider this: when the century dawned, only 1.6 billion people inhabited our planet. By 1979, we numbered 4.4 billion, having somehow multiplied despite this monstrous culling, this invisible enemy that left countless faces forever scarred and bodies piled in mass graves across continents.

Those are haunting numbers.

The Smallpox hospital in New York stands like a rotting sentinel, its crumbling walls whispering a blood-chilling warning: our declaration of victory was premature, and the monster we thought vanquished merely sleeps, waiting to rise again from the shadows of our complacency if we don’t do everything possible to destroy the remaining vitals.

The power remains in the hands of our leaders. Do we trust them to do the right thing?

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

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Published on August 28, 2025 11:52

August 17, 2025

The Dark Legend of Bloody Mary Unveiled

Friends,

You stand in a pitch-black room, the mirror a void before you. A lone candle gutters between your white-knuckled fingers, casting your face in shadows. Your voice scrapes out: “Bloody Mary.” Your heart hammers. “Bloody Mary.” Sweat beads on your upper lip. “Bloody Mary.” The final syllable hangs in the suffocating silence. You freeze, lungs burning, eyes wide, certain that something in the darkness has just shifted.

Has Bloody Mary come?

The many faces of a queen

Queen Mary I presents a complex persona. On one side of the triangle, she is the unfortunate daughter of Henry VIII, exiled from the royal court and unable to be at her cherished mother, Queen Catherine’s, side during her final moments. Stripped of her place in the line of succession and her title as Princess of Wales, she was compelled to serve her younger sister, Princess Elizabeth, who was declared to be the future monarch of England.

The birth of Edward—King Henry VIII’s only son with his third wife, Jane Seymour—briefly restored Mary to royal favor. Second in line to the throne, she dared hope for reconciliation with her father’s house. But when young King Edward, on his deathbed, bypassed her claim and declared Lady Jane Grey his successor, Mary’s tenuous connection to the crown seemed irreparably severed. The tapestry of royal succession, which had so often unraveled and rewoven throughout her life, appeared to have cut her thread entirely.

‘Entry of Queen Mary I with Princess Elizabeth into London in 1553 by John Byam Liston Shaw

Or will she?

We then encounter the determined and strategic future queen as she leads her nation against the sitting monarch, Queen Jane. She rides into London, greeted by the cheers of her fellow countrymen and women, who have eagerly awaited justice for the rightful Princess of England. She vows to become the ‘Mother of England,’ a role the people yearned for following the tumultuous reign of King Henry VIII, the unexpected death of King Edward, and Queen Jane’s brief 9-day rule that nearly sparked a civil war.

Then she transforms once more, becoming the figure we now call Bloody Mary. This was the queen who, in her brief five-year rule from 1553 to 1558, ordered the execution of nearly 300 individuals. Their offenses? Committing heresy and refusing to convert or support her efforts to return England to Catholicism.

Five years and a hundred lifetimes

Unfortunately, Queen Mary I’s reign was relatively short, and therefore, only the most gruesome and sensational aspects are remembered. However, we would be remiss if we didn’t highlight the positives of her rule.

While records will leave us to believe otherwise, Queen Mary I was popular. Thousands of people had supported her as the daughter of King Henry VIII and did view her as the rightful Queen of England. A role that had never been acknowledged in England prior.

However, that is where her rule as a ‘Beloved Mother’ ends and her reign of terror starts.

What goes up must come down

In 1554, Queen Mary I married Philip II of Spain to bolster England’s alliance with Spain and ensure a Catholic successor. Nonetheless, this union was met with disapproval by a large portion of the English populace and failed to accomplish its political objectives.

Economic turmoil shadowed Mary’s time on the throne, as rising prices and faltering commerce left her administration grappling with financial chaos. Despite efforts to stabilize markets and extend aid to the destitute, her policies proved inadequate against the tide of hardship sweeping through the realm.

King Philip II of Spain and Mary I of England – the pair married in 1554.

Mary’s marriage to Philip entangled England in his Spanish conflicts, dragging her nation into war with France. Mary and her council were also worried that helping the Spanish might lead to England being denied grain and wool from France. The harvests in 1555 and 1556 were especially poor, causing food shortages and price increases due to scarcity. Therefore, it was essential to continue trading with France to ensure England’s food supply.

Additionally, Mary’s actions created a rift with Pope Paul IV, undermining the delicate bond she had painstakingly rebuilt between England and the Catholic Church.

Queen Mary I ultimately sided with her husband’s political desires and declared war on France. The consequences of this conflict would cast a long shadow over her legacy.

Bloody Mary

From 1555 to 1558, she ordered the execution of more than 280 individuals who opposed her religious views by burning them at the stake. Among the most notable of these executions were those of Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, Bishop Hugh Latimer, and Bishop Nicholas Ridley.

What is important to note here is that while executions were common during this time, even considered to be a family affair, these were not normal executions. They were burning.

Being burned alive is probably one of the most horrific ways to go. The fire quickly consumes and damages both the epidermis and the layer beneath it. This immediate burning results in intense pain as the nerve endings in the skin are harmed.

As a burn advances, the heat causes the soft tissues to contract, leading to the shrinking of muscles and fat, which may result in tearing and the typical “pugilistic stance” or boxer’s posture due to muscle contraction. The intense heat also impacts internal organs, causing them to shrink and eventually malfunction due to thermal damage and fluid loss.

Inhaling hot gases and smoke can harm the respiratory tract, resulting in swelling or bleeding in the mucous membranes, which can cause respiratory failure and suffocation. Severe burns trigger an inflammatory response that makes capillaries leak, causing substantial fluid loss and potentially reducing blood volume.

Pregnancy claims

Portrait of Mary I of England by Hans Eworth, 1555-1558

Shortly after getting married, the thirty-seven-year-old queen announced she was pregnant. As her due date neared, Mary secluded herself in her chambers at Hampton Court to prepare for the birth. On April 30, 1555, news spread that the queen had given birth, leading to jubilant celebrations in the streets. However, it soon became apparent that this was incorrect. The doctors claimed there had been an error in calculating the date, and her attendants continued to maintain the facade.

Mary clung to the belief of her pregnancy even as she retreated from court life. Ladies-in-waiting found her curled on floor cushions for hours, knees tucked beneath her chin—a posture that contradicted her supposed condition. Her skin took on a waxy pallor; her eyes grew distant with unspoken fears. Only by late May did she surrender to the truth when her swollen abdomen finally receded.

Though her physical health returned, the charade continued until July, when she ordered the court’s relocation to Oatlands, ostensibly to cleanse Hampton Court—but truly to wash away all evidence of what physicians would later recognize as pseudocyesis: a body manifesting the deepest wishes of a desperate mind.

Death of a Queen

Tomb of Elizabeth I and Mary I in Westminster Abbey

During the spring and summer of 1558, Mary suffered from melancholia and insomnia. By August, she developed a mild fever and dropsy, prompting her relocation from Hampton Court to St. James Palace due to her serious condition. In September, Mary’s health deteriorated further with a high fever, headaches, and bouts of confusion, coupled with nearly total vision loss. Her illness followed a pattern of falling into a fever for several days, then temporarily recovering. Her depression intensified, exacerbating her overall condition.

In early November, her condition showed some improvement. On the 8th, she consented to appoint Elizabeth as her successor and then faced death with bouts of convulsions and extended spells of unconsciousness. As her strength dwindled further, nobles, officials, and household officers started abandoning St. James for Hatfield, where Elizabeth was residing. She had become essentially blind and was unable to read anymore.

In the predawn darkness of November 17, Mary received the sacrament of mass. As the clock crept toward five, her breathing slowed and then ceased altogether, her face so serene in repose that the household staff believed her condition had improved. Only the physician, noting the stillness beneath his fingertips as he sought her pulse, understood she had slipped beyond their reach.

The reign of Bloody Mary had finally come to an end.

Final Thoughts

Say “Queen Mary I” at a dinner party and watch the momentary confusion flicker across faces. Say “Bloody Mary” instead and recognition dawns immediately, though what’s remembered is only the shadow she cast, not the woman herself. Behind that grim nickname stood a queen whose childhood traumas and adult disappointments had carved away at her capacity to govern with the steadiness England required.

Arms of Mary I, impaled with those of her husband, Philip II of Spain

As this historian sees it, Queen Mary’s notorious bloodshed stemmed from deep wounds: her mother Catherine’s humiliation, her disinheritance despite being Henry VIII’s firstborn, and the steep climb she faced as England’s first sovereign queen in a realm where crowns belonged to men.

I cannot overlook the bloodshed Queen Mary I brought upon England, yet I find myself pitying the abandoned child beneath the crown. How cruel that young Mary was raised to believe in her divine right to rule, only to watch that birthright become merely another chess piece in the great game of succession. Even her final victory proved hollow; her husband, Philip, wielded her like a sword for Spain’s interests, then left her to face death’s cold embrace without having tasted the warmth of genuine affection.

However you decide to view Queen Mary I’s life, do so with a full understanding of what led her to become known as Bloody Mary.

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

For a more in-depth look at the people who were executed, click here.

For more information on her life and death, click here.

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Published on August 17, 2025 09:13

August 12, 2025

The Dancing Plague of Medieval Europe. Did people really dance themselves to death?

Friends,

Plagues have always gripped humanity with an eerie fascination. From which dark corners did they emerge? By what insidious means did they spread their deadly reach? How many lives were snuffed out in their relentless path? In what horrific ways did these victims meet their end? And how were their bodies laid to rest in the wake of such devastation? Plagues lay bare the raw fabric of society, exposing the depths of social norms, religious rituals, medical breakthroughs, and the very essence of human connections.

But there is one plague that intrigues me more than any other—a plague that is rarely talked about or even taken seriously. A plague, I believe, that highlights the interpersonal relationships and people’s desire to escape reality.

The Dancing Plague.

A Dancing Plague?

We’re journeying back to the year 1374. In numerous towns along the Rhine River valley, hundreds of individuals were overtaken by an inexplicable compulsion to dance. They danced for hours or even days, barely stopping to rest or eat. Within weeks, this frenzy had spread across vast regions of France and the Netherlands, and it was only after several months that the epidemic abruptly ended as quickly as it started.

Dance of Death, Leaf from the Nuremberg Chronicle, by Michael Wolgemut, 1493. Source: The MET Museum

Then it reappeared, explosively, in the city of Strasbourg in 1518. Records indicate that it then affected over 400 men, women, and children, causing dozens of deaths.

One account was written by the medieval physician Paracelsus, who visited Strasbourg eight years after the plague struck and chronicled it in his Opus Paramirum.

“In their madness people kept up their dancing until they fell unconscious and many died.” -Chronicle of the dancing plague in the Strasbourg archives

What caused the Dancing plague?

I believe that to truly understand the Dancing Plague, you have to follow the bread crumbs of history.

Overlay a map of the Dancing Plague’s reach with the catastrophic Rhine floods of 1374, and you’ll find a perfect, damning match. The river didn’t merely rise—it exploded 34 feet upward in a biblical surge, devouring city walls that had stood for centuries. Water crashed through homes, transforming marketplaces into lakes of sewage and debris. Bloated corpses—human and animal alike—bobbed obscenely through church doorways and banquet halls, their putrid stench hanging in the air for weeks. The raging waters tore through the landscape with such violence that the lower Rhine—a waterway that had defined civilization for a millennium—was permanently wrenched into an entirely new course.

A preserved skull of a woman who had been suffering from syphilis, who died in 1796—line engraving. –Wellcome Library, London.

The Rhine River—Europe’s busiest waterway and commercial lifeline—became a channel of ruin when it overflowed. Its waters carried away not just homes and livelihoods, but the very infrastructure of medieval commerce. Survivors who waded through the receding floodwaters found themselves already walking in the shadow of another catastrophe: the Black Plague had ended its deadly march across the continent twenty years earlier.

Before the Dancing Plague of 1518, famine gnawed through the countryside while the miniature ice age strangled crops in killing frost. In Strasbourg—a desperate city clinging to the Rhine’s edge—mothers watched their children’s bellies swell with hunger as bread prices soared beyond reach. Farmlands became graveyards of dead soil. Skeletal families staggered into cities, hollow-eyed and ravenous, only to find themselves face-to-face with a new horror—syphilis—that rotted flesh from bone and drove victims to madness.

Who started dancing first?

It’s the middle of July, and under the blazing summer sun, a woman named Frau Troffea walks into the streets and starts dancing. There is no music, yet she continues to dance, both day and night. Soon, another resident of Strasbourg joins her. Then another follows. Gradually, the number of dancers increases.

City officials are gripped with alarm. Why are residents, both young and old, frantically dancing in the streets? This isn’t a joyous celebration; their expressions are twisted with distress. They move like puppets under an unseen force, eyes vacant, oblivious to their actions. Some dance with a relentless, feverish energy until their bodies give out, collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

“A terrible disease spread,” city clerk Sébastian Brant writes, “so that around 50 people danced day and night, which was painful to see.”

City officials consult with local doctors, who conclude that the condition is a fever likely caused by overheated blood affecting the brain. According to them, the most effective way to reduce a fever is by sweating it out. So, they bring the sick individuals to a common location: the horse market, where a wooden platform has been constructed. They enlist musicians, including drummers and fife players, to play music and dancers to perform alongside the ailing.

Wikimedia Commons

Loved ones gather at the edges of the dancing crowd, clutching bowls of broth and bread, desperately trying to press sustenance into the mouths of dancers who refuse to pause even as their lips crack from thirst. For the abandoned—those without family to tend them—the city council employs caretakers who shield the afflicted from jeering onlookers while attempting to guide their puppet-like movements away from walls and wells.

Some dance until their feet are torn raw, the skin shredded away, exposing bone and sinew beneath. They collapse, bodies ravaged by exhaustion, barely held together as they’re caught mid-fall, weak and utterly spent.

It is spiraling out of control. The pounding music, the surging crowd, and the wild antics only seem to draw in even more dancers, swelling their ranks to a throng of possibly 400. In a desperate move, the city clamps down in August, banning dancing in the streets and silencing the music in a bid to restore order.

Priests get involved

The city, not knowing what else to do, sends the remaining dancers on a pilgrimage.

Saint Vitus, from the Nuremberg Chronicle , 1493

They stagger into the cave-shrine of Saint Vitus, carved deep in the Vosges mountains near Saverne, their bodies still twitching with involuntary movement. Blood seeps through their bandages as crimson shoes are forced onto their mangled feet. Writhing in agony, they are dragged in circles around a wooden figurine whose hollow eyes seem to follow their torment. The priest’s voice booms against stone walls, his fingers pressing crosses into their flesh with oil. Holy water hits their faces, each droplet hissing the name of Saint Vitus as the dancers convulse and weep, begging for release.

Eventually, their symptoms subside.

The dancers’ bodies grow still—whether through Saint Vitus’s intervention or merely because isolation has starved the contagion of new dancers, no one can say. The dancing plague releases its grip on Strasbourg like a fever breaking, and officials declare an end to its season of madness.

final Thoughts

The Dancing Plague erupts across Europe not once, but repeatedly throughout history. Its recurrence, rather than its singularity, captivates my attention. Within these outbreaks lies a window into collective psychological collapse—the human mind’s response when communities endure prolonged environmental hardship and physical suffering beyond what they can bear.

During an era lacking weather warning systems, global medical networks, social services, or instant news reporting, people’s imaginations were left to run wild with the unknown. The Dancing Plague might be interpreted as either an escape from reality or a self-inflicted retribution for what was perceived as divine displeasure with humanity.

In my opinion, to gain a comprehensive understanding of the historical development and influence of mass hysteria, the Dancing Plague should be studied further to examine its recorded impacts on communities. Of course, this is just my personal viewpoint. Perhaps it’s merely a fascinating tale.

What do you think?

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

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Published on August 12, 2025 10:01

August 5, 2025

The Haunting of Myrtles Plantation

Friends,

Today, we head deep into the American South, home of boiled peanuts, muggy summers, mild winters, fried chicken, and, of course, haunted houses.

The Myrtles Plantation, established in 1796, stands in St. Francisville, Louisiana. It features a wrap-around veranda, ancient oak trees draped in moss. It exudes an atmosphere that makes you feel as if entering the front door will whisk you back to an era of garden parties, lavish four-course meals, voluminous dresses that barely fit through doorways, and refreshing glasses of sweet tea.

But that’s not why we are heading to the Myrtles Plantation. We’re traveling to the heart of the deep south to uncover the truth behind the events that earned it the reputation of being one of the most haunted houses in America.

WHat happened?

Let’s begin with the tale of the Green Turban ghost, perhaps the plantation’s most infamous legend. According to local lore, during Judge Woodruff’s ownership of the estate, enslaved people toiled in the cotton and indigo fields under brutal conditions. Whispers among those forced to work the plantation painted Woodruff as a man whose rage could ignite without warning, his punishments leaving scars both visible and hidden.

Chloe, a house slave with a penchant for eavesdropping on ‘family business,’ found herself in a perilous situation when her curiosity led her to listen in on a conversation through the keyhole, but her clandestine activity was abruptly halted. Someone from the family, perhaps Judge or Mrs. Woodruff, caught her red-handed. The consequence was merciless and brutal, a punishment delivered with swift, unforgiving severity.

Chloe was held down as her ears were cut off and sent to work in the fields.

The Woodruff family wasn’t entirely heartless. They found Chloe’s disfigurement so disturbing that they permitted her to cover it with a green turban. Essentially, while Chloe would be left to endure the agony and memories of her punishment, the family could conveniently ignore their own cruelty.

Needless to say, Chloe planned her revenge.

Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn

Reports indicate that it was during Woodruff’s daughter’s 9th birthday that Chloe made her move. She cleverly slipped oleander leaves into the birthday cake with the intention of poisoning Mrs. Woodruff and her children. Some accounts suggest that Chloe didn’t actually intend to harm anyone seriously; rather, her goal was to make the children ill enough so that she would be asked back into the home to help nurse them back to health.

Unfortunately, Chloe was heavy-handed with the poisonous leaves, and Mrs. Woodruff and her children ended up dying.

Consumed by rage and desperation, Judge Woodruff’s mind spiraled into a frenzy, unable to unravel the mystery behind his wife and children’s tragic deaths. His suspicion turned into fury as he cast blame upon every slave in his household. Driven by sheer terror and the instinct to survive, the slaves seized control of their destinies, enacting a brutal, desperate justice of their own. They mercilessly hanged Chloe and cast her lifeless body into the cold, unforgiving waters of a nearby river, the current swallowing her as if erasing her existence.

Was that the real story?

Here’s where the mist of myth blurs the edges of historical record. My investigation into the Cursed Mirror of Myrtle Plantation hit a crossroads of contradictions: the tale of Chloe and the Woodruff family splinters into multiple versions, each one claiming to be the truth.

Another story claims that Chloe was forced into Judge Woodruff’s bed, her body becoming yet another possession he claimed ownership of in the dead of night. When a younger woman caught his eye, he cast Chloe aside like garbage, condemning her to backbreaking labor under the merciless Louisiana sun. Desperate and humiliated, Chloe’s mind fractured. She crushed oleander leaves into a birthday cake, convinced that nursing them through their sickness would return her to the relative safety of the house—away from the whips, away from the fields that were slowly killing her.

Once again, the grim outcome unfolds. And once again, the tale circulates that Chloe met her end at the hands of her fellow slaves, her lifeless body cast aside like a forgotten relic.

A third, even darker tale exists—this one spelling her name Cloe—where Judge Woodruff’s beloved daughter Kate writhed in agony as yellow fever ravaged her small body in 1861. Desperate and watching his child burn with fever, Woodruff summoned Cloe, who was known to practice voodoo. For days, Cloe worked tirelessly, her hands stained with crushed herbs and sacrificial blood, the air thick with smoke from forbidden candles. When Kate’s final breath rattled from her lips despite these forbidden arts, Woodruff’s grief transformed into murderous rage.

At dawn, Cloe’s body swung from an oak branch, her neck broken.

There has to be a ghost…

Interestingly, I could not find a lot of information about Chloe on the The Myrtles homepage. It is now an upscale hotel that serves oysters, Lobster Crawfish Bucatini, and Truffle Mac & Cheese. It is apparently well known for its desserts, soft pillows, and the St. Francisville Food & Wine Festival—nothing on their website honoring the dead who brings over 60,000 people to their front door each year.

But I did stumble across a brief explanation for Myrtle Plantation’s reputation as America’s most haunted location. Back in 1992, an insurance agent photographing the property captured something unexpected: a turbaned woman strolling across the grounds.

Here’s the chilling part… the agent was alone that day. No visitors, no staff. Nobody. The spectral figure only revealed herself later, when the film returned from processing—a surprise guest who’d never been there at all.

And then there’s the mirror—that ornate, gilded monstrosity dominating the foyer wall. Visitors report spectral handprints materializing from within—marks that resist all attempts at cleaning. When the glass was replaced entirely, the phantom impressions returned within days. Could these be the playful traces of ghostly children? Local lore suggests Sarah Woodruff and her young ones press their palms against some otherworldly barrier, though no one can claim certainty.

Final Thoughts

Do I believe the stories of Chloe? I really can’t say I do. Firstly, and mostly, because there is no record of a slave owned by the Woodruff family by the name of Chloe or Cloe. Secondly, it has been proven that Sarah and her children didn’t die by poison.

So why do the stories remain tied to the home?

The supposedly haunted mirror inside the Myrtles Plantation house.

Maybe it is haunted. Maybe there was a woman who met her death while serving on the plantation and refused to leave. Perhaps the story has been told so many times that the Myrtle Plantation couldn’t survive without the paranormal activity of those who have passed on.

Regardless, too many people have reported experiencing something otherworldly for me to be dismissive.

Besides, ghosts rarely tell us their side of the story, and I hate to be the one who closed the door on their chance.

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

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Published on August 05, 2025 06:16

July 4, 2025

4th of July: From Patriotism to Commercialism

Friends,

Summer is here. I can’t drive more than a mile without seeing a fireworks stand advertising ‘buy-one-get-one-free’ or 70% off one item if you spend over $250.00. Now, this is not to say I won’t stop. Of course I will. Most stands are run by local non-profits who spend the whole week raising money for a worthwhile cause.

If you walk into Walmart, the aisles are filled with red, white, and blue paper plates, t-shirts that say ‘American Made,’ and a thousand other little things that tempt you into buying $400.00 worth of non-essentials so that you can prove you are ‘patriotic.’

Don’t forget the three weeks’ worth of hot dogs and hamburgers. No party is complete unless we have a competition to see who can fly the frozen meat patty the farthest. And when the hell did hot dogs become a staple of this holiday? Who was the first person who said, ‘you know what screams independence? Mechanically separated poultry sprinkled with salt, garlic, paprika, and sodium nitrite.’

Has it always been about money?

Now let’s get into the holiday where we celebrate our independence from a rich and powerful country that wanted to take our money for their own profit by giving our little bit of disposable cash to rich and powerful companies that want to take our money for their own profit.

Totally makes sense how that worked out.

But the question remains, did we separate from the ‘mother country’ just because of money? Yeah, we did. After 176 years of British rule, the colonists decided to fight back against the English parliament, which was treating the hard-working men and women of the colonies like they were the owners of a used car dealership. Parliament sold us the dream of driving a Porsche, but after we signed the papers, they gave us a broken-down Toyota Corolla.

Myths surrounding the 4th of July.

One of the questions I like to ask during drinking games is, ‘When did this country become officially recognized as the ‘United States of America?’

Go on. I’ll wait. And no using Google. I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t the 4th of July.

Give up? Don’t worry- I did, too, the first time I was asked that question. It wasn’t until September 9th, 1776.

Hell, the Declaration of Independence wasn’t even signed on July 4th. John Hancock’s signature didn’t make the headlines until August, and even then, it took until November before everyone signed their lives away on a hope and a prayer.

I am sorry to tell you that the Liberty Bell didn’t crack on July 4th either. Now, while the famous ‘Independence’ party did happen, the bell was already broken. It had actually been cracked since its arrival in 1752, and no matter how many times they tried to fix it, the quick fixes never held.

What was the real cost of freedom?

While we may think of the 4th of July as a break from English rule and the establishment of a new government governed ‘By the people for the people,’ I would argue that at its beginning, it wasn’t just a celebration.

It was a reminder.

Salem, New York Revolutionary War Cemetery

In 1776, the colonies had only 2.5 million people living within our borders. Out of those 2.5 million, a little over 25,000 died. Now that might not seem like a lot, but that was a reduction of about 1% of the able-bodied men and women supporting their families.

Here’s where the statistics get even worse. Out of those 25,000 souls, only about 6,800 died in combat- the rest died from disease or while on British prison ships and camps. Not everyone died. As we have learned over and over again, death numbers are not the only cost of war. It is estimated that 25,000 Patriots made it home seriously wounded or disabled. And at a time when we didn’t understand the mental trauma of war, I am pretty sure those numbers would go up if we had tracked PTSD cases.

Pockets were hit hard, too.

At a time when we, as a country, were coming down from the high of winning a war against a powerful Navy and a well-trained Army, we quickly realized that rebuilding and establishing a new government wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows.

The Revolutionary War cost the United States approximately $400 million. To put that in perspective- $1.00 in 1776 equals about $36.95 today according to the CPI Inflation Calculator.

Final Thoughts.

I promise I didn’t write this blog to bring down the party. I actually thought long and hard about how I would present my thoughts on the 4th of July. What it boils down to for me is that holidays have gotten commercial. We have become a nation that puts more thought into themed parties and expensive firework displays rather than on the reason why we celebrate.

It’s the same for all holidays. This one just hits a little harder for me because we are celebrating the outcome of a war. A war that tore this country in half and left countless families on the brink of financial ruin. A war that every city has at least one gravestone to memorialize a family member who never came home.

Tomb of the Unknown Revolutionary War Soldier in Philadelphia

That was the true cost of this holiday.

As you light that first firework, could you do me a favor? Perhaps take a moment of silence to remember those who gave their lives, so we can celebrate the fact that we live in a country where we have the freedom to be the best version of ourselves.

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

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Published on July 04, 2025 07:15

July 3, 2025

Dark Stories of the Paris Catacombs

Catacombes de Paris (Public Domain)

Friends,

For $33.00, you too can visit the Paris Catacombs. Or for only $129.00, you can take a guided tour and find yourself standing in some of the restricted areas.

But beware… You aren’t the only adventurer traversing the tunnels.

Arrête! C’est ici l’empire de la Mort

“Stop! The empire of Death lies here.”

As you walk the underground tunnels, the silence of being surrounded by six million people will haunt you. No cell phone service. No busy sidewalks. No social media. Just you and the skeletal remains of those who lived through some of the darkest moments in history.

Who might you meet? Maybe one of the over 1,300 individuals who found themselves at the wrong end of a guillotine during the Reign of Terror. Perhaps one of the poor families who didn’t survive the plagues of the 14th century. Or a young man who died during the Hundred-Year War in the 15th century.

Maybe, if he is lucky, you will be able to give directions to Philibert Aspairt, a doorman who found himself taking a wrong turn during the French Revolution and tragically died only a few feet away from an exit.

Whatever you do, don’t stay past midnight. It is said that’s when the walls come alive and the souls of the nameless attempt to draw you deeper and deeper into the catacombs until you, yourself, become forever entombed.

Not all is peaceful

One might think that the catacombs would be a peaceful and safe place for the dead to reside. Tourists are known to leave their two-hour tours feeling inspired, reflective, and humbled by the artistic and professional manner in which six million souls have been preserved.

Unfortunately, that hasn’t always been the case. Throughout history, some individuals have utilized the catacombs as a haven for their more nefarious activities.

Murder in the Dark.

Be careful who you fall in love with, especially if they are comfortable spending their waking hours with the dead. In 1845, Paris Investigators discovered the body of a woman and her three-year-old daughter. Cause of death? Murder.

“Both were cruelly murdered in an obscure nook … The woman’s skull was fractured at the back part and the child’s brains were literally dashed out … A heavy piece of wood covered with blood, was found near the spot; and with that weapon the unfortunate female had evidently been murdered. Horrible to relate, there was proof that the monster must have taken the innocent child by the feet, and dashed its head against the stone pillar.” – Tipperary Vindicator, “The Catacombs of Paris,” July 5, 1845, p. 4.

Alexandre Francornard, a handsome man whom the poor widow had become smitten with during her two-year mourning period, was the prime suspect. How do we know? Because Eugenie Marsac was seen visiting the catacombs the night her freedom was granted. She never emerged, and Alexandre was seen fleeing Paris for the village La Recousse, where he was found in a pub dressed as a common laborer.

“[At the time Marsac was] bedecked … in the most valuable and attractive articles of jewellery she possessed. Alexandre proposed to show her the catacombs, which she had never yet visited. Madame Marsac assented; and Alexandre, taking a torch in his hand conducted her and the child down the stairs into the catacombs. In an hour he returned … alone; but as the keeper had been relieved in the meantime by one of his subordinates, there was no one to notice … that Alexandre was unaccompanied by any one.”- Tipperary Vindicator, “The Catacombs of Paris,” July 5, 1845, p. 4.

How did law enforcement pinpoint him as the main suspect? Easy. He kept a trophy. In his pocket was a letter written by the young widow declaring her love. Alexandre was escorted back to Paris, where he was beheaded on March 7, 1825.

Be wary of the gift shop.

Corpse wax candles. Ever heard of them? Most people haven’t. It’s not something that is advertised freely at the local grocery store or on Amazon. The official name is Adipocere, and was first described by Sir Thomas Browne in Hydriotaphia, Urn Burial (1658).

In a Hydropicall body ten years buried in a Church-yard, we met with a fat concretion, where the nitre of the Earth, and the salt and lixivious liquor of the body, had coagulated large lumps of fat, into the consistence of the hardest castile-soap: wherof part remaineth with us.

Corpse wax occurs best in environments that have high levels of moisture and lack of oxygen… such as in an underground catacomb filled with six million bodies.

But don’t worry… no humans were harmed in the making of the candles. After extensive research, I am willing to put money on the fact that this never happened. While some countries may have ‘advertised’ the strange and unethical procedure, it was just the historical equivalent to click bait.

FInal Thoughts

There were plenty more stories that I could have delved into, from mushroom farms and the great theft of over 250,000 pounds of wine to brave souls who ‘surf’ the deeper waters in search of unexplored caverns. But for now, we will stop here. Why? Let me tell you.

I spent almost a week just looking for the above news article. And after conducting extensive research, I concluded that only the ‘clickbait’ aspects of the Paris Catacombs are mentioned: the dark, the dangerous, the murderous, and the famous.

Not the people who are buried there. Well, unless you were famous, then you get a whole exhibit. Everyone else? Not so much. There are almost six million souls buried in the catacombs, forever delegated to a tourist attraction, a simple spectacle to add to a vacation plan. A place for a ‘selfie’ to prove to social media that you are a ‘world traveler.’

For some reason, this really bothered me. To the point I no longer wanted to research the tomb. I struggled to finish this blog, attempting every morning for a week to think of how to word what I wanted to say. To make the catacombs a highlight of someone’s research or reading.

Instead, I would look at the pictures of stacked skulls and bones and wonder, ‘Who is it that I am looking at?’ Were they happy? Did they like being buried there? Would they have chosen this for themselves? I’m not saying not to go to the Paris Catacombs. I want you too.

Let the sensational stories lure you in, but stay for the souls who will spend eternity begging for someone to remember they did exist.

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

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Published on July 03, 2025 06:00

June 21, 2025

The Secrets of Paris’ Underground: Catacombs Explained

Site History | Catacombes de Paris (Public Domain)

Friends,

Death is inevitable—a certainty which no one has ever been able to escape. It finds the rich, the poor, the powerful, and the weak. However you may view the afterlife, whether as the next great adventure or a permanent escape, death is the one thing you can count on.

You will meet at some point.

Throughout history, cultures, religions, tribes, and individuals have all attempted to explain the great unknown. From rituals to bibles, from songs to speeches, from graveside burials to hanging coffins, burials and the names etched in stone have helped the living to process the idea of loss.

Burials are a complex idea, squishy in their defining attributes. What is accepted as normal in one culture is frowned upon in another. And yet there are burial practices that have become a defining link between the person, their culture, and tourism.

For example, the Paris Catacombs.

We have all seen the pictures. Miles of underground tunnels filled with skulls and bones of the deceased put together in a bleak artistic celebration of death. The remains are carefully placed in a systematic and almost pleasing manner, seemingly holding up the streets of Paris and providing a tidy profit for the local museum.

Talk about carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

But where did all the bones come from, and why did they end up at 1 Av. du Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy? For that answer, we have to go back in time. Fifty-three million years ago, to be exact.

Brief History

Fifty-three million years ago, Paris and the surrounding areas were nothing but a swampy plain until about 47 million years ago when the sea decided to overtake the north of France that had been flattened by erosion. It was then that the formation of the Lutetian banks started.

In the first century A.D., the first open-pit quarries were established, and by the fourteenth century, the professionals realized that they needed to go underground to find the ‘good stuff.’ In other words, Parisians were using the underground limestone to build their city.

This was all fine and dandy until 1774, when the weight of the city became too great and the Rue Denfert-Rochereau collapsed, engulfing almost 300 meters of the town. Roads, buildings, houses, horses, and people all fell into the massive sinkhole, many of whom never emerged alive.

Interesting side note, the original name of the street was Rue d’Enfer, which meant ‘Hell Street.’

“Paris (had) begun to devour its own foundations – sand for glass and smelting, gypsum for plaster, limestone for walls, green clay for bricks and tiles.”
Graham Robb’s “Parisians: An Adventure History of Paris”An interesting idea

King Louis XVI called for a commission to investigate his Parisian underground on April 4, 177. Charles-Axel Guillaumot was appointed General Inspector of Quarries, a position he held until his death in 1807. He was the one to come up with the brilliant plan to ‘mirror’ the city above the tunnels. He pillars from the quarry floors to the ceilings, literally upholding the city above and creating a city beneath a city.

But what to do with all that open space?

Sinkholes weren’t the only problem.

Paris was dealing with overcrowding. Which meant their cemeteries were becoming overcrowded. Over ten centuries, bodies from famine, wars, the plague, and natural causes began to pile up. Literally. The burial grounds of Saints-Innocents were two and a half meters high.

It has become so bad that Parisians were forced to create mass graves. Once one mass grave was filled, another was created in its place.

“The stench of cadavers could be smelt in almost all churches; …the reek of putrefaction continued to poison the faithful. Rats live among the human bones, disturbing and lifting them, seeming to animate the dead as they indicate to the present generation they among which they will soon stand… They (the bones) will soon all turn to chalky earth.” – Louis-Sebastien Mercier.

Neighbors to the Saints-Innocent cemetery complained that milk would sour in hours, tapestries were discoloring, wine was turning to vinegar, and the walls of their homes and businesses were growing with mold.

Something needed to be done. And quickly.

The Church wasn’t happy.

Ironically, it was the church that put up the biggest ‘sink’ to move the bodies to a new location. And it wasn’t because they didn’t want to disturb the dead. It was because burial fees were a significant source of income. Their solution? Raise the prices for burials so that only the wealthy could afford a final resting place.

In other words, only the rich were considered worthy enough to be guaranteed a spot in the blessed grounds.

You might be asking what happened to the bodies that couldn’t afford the burial fees. Well, many of them ended up in the charnel house, their skulls stacked in the upper tiers while the bodies were left to rot on the burying grounds.

Hôtel-Dieu has all it takes to be pestilential (contagious), because of its damp and unventilated atmosphere; wounds turn gangrenous more easily, and both scurvy and scabies wreak havoc when patients sojourn there. What in theory are the most innocuous diseases rapidly acquire serious complications by way of the contaminated air; for that precise reason, simple head and leg wounds become lethal in that hospital. Nothing proves my point so well as the tally of patients who perish miserably each year in the Paris Hôtel-Dieu…a fifth of the patients succumb; a frightful tally treated only with the greatest indifference. – Louis-Sebastien Mercier.

In 1780, another disaster hit. A mass grave of over 2,000 partially decomposed bodies collapsed and spilled into an adjacent basement on Rue de la Lingerie.

Enough was Enough

On November 16, 1786, Monsigneur Leclerc de Juigne, the Archbishop of Paris, ordered the demolition and evacuation of the Saint-Innocents Cemetery and any remaining corpses and bones to be transported and buried in the new underground cemetery of the Montrouge Plain.

The funeral procession would occur at night. Torchbearers were followed by priests and funerary carts draped in black sheets, making their next journey to their final resting place while the Mass of the Dead was being chanted. Ironically, these bodies were given a funeral procession that their families couldn’t initially afford. Almost like the church was apologizing for the abuse their loved ones received.

La Visite aux Catacombes, Aquarelle, 1804-1814, Musee Carnavalet

Despite the nightly ritual, most Parisians remained unaware of what was happening until 1810. That was when the second General Quarry Inspector, Louis-Étienne François Héricart-Ferrand created a brochure advertising the new burial grounds. Obviously, this sparked the curiosity of many people, and it led to what is now one of the largest tourist attractions in Paris.

Spanning seventy-four years, over six million Parisians were relocated to their new homes beneath the Plains of Montrouge. Unfortunately, the exact number can not be confirmed. It is a rough estimate based on the year 860 when the last graves were transferred to the ossuary.

Final thoughts.

With every action comes a reaction. Nothing can be truer than with the Paris Catacombs. Starting millions of years ago, Paris was not designed to contain the number of living and dead who flocked to its city streets. A decision had to be made on what to do with their loved ones. Regardless of whether you agree or disagree, at the time, it was the only option.

There is so much more to talk about when it comes to the enteral resting place of over six million souls, but we will have to save that discussion for another time. For right now, before we dive into the grim stories of lost tourists, candles made of human fat, and body snatchers, we should take a moment of silence for those who have passed.

Their names may not be remembered, but their story lives on.

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

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Published on June 21, 2025 07:29

June 13, 2025

The Journey of Flóki: Myths, Birds, and Viking Exploration

Tapestry embroidery featuring Viking Floki Vilgerdarsson and crew. ( Public Domain )

Friends,

My husband and I love watching the series Vikings on Netflix. We have a habit of starting a series and pausing halfway through because something else has caught our eye. Still, we keep coming back to the story of Ragnar Lothbrok, Lagertha, Bjorn, Rollo, and devilish Englishmen and Frenchmen who are really challenging the theory of Christian charity. Between the fighting, backstabbing, manipulation, and family intrigue, it is a story that captivates viewers, making them want to know more about the people described as ‘Vikings.’

Now I will admit, the show’s creator, Michael Hirst, used some creative liberties when building the storyline, and there are some points where the timeline is not timelineing- but overall it is a great introduction to the sagas of Norse heroes and a different view point of Anglo-Saxon England and its quest for a unified country.

10th-century Eyrarland Statue of Thor, found in Iceland.

It is important to note that most of the ‘historical data’ that we have on Norsemen of early medieval Scandinavia comes from oral tradition, written down years after the events occurred. Still, it is generally accepted that the Viking Age was from 800 to 1050 CE, or what we commonly refer to as the Middle Ages.

One of the key players in Vikings has caught the eye of the viewers, and his character has sparked an international interest in Paganism, Asatroism, Heathenism, and even Wicca- Flóki Vilgerðarson.

Flóki- the Viking version of Jack Sparrow with smudged eyeliner, a tendency to speak in riddles, and the uncanny ability to move his body like he is drifting on a breeze has quickly become one of the favorite characters of the series. I am impressed with his loyalty to the Gods, his eccentric and innovative mind that designs a fleet of sea-worthy boats, and his dedication to his… well, to himself.

But was Flóki a real person, or was he a creative side-story to the saga of Ragnar Lothbrok?

Well, hold on to your iced coffee, because I’m about to tell you a story that you might have heard before.

He was Real

According to Landnámabók (The Book of Settlement), Flóki Vilgerðarson, or better known as Hrafna-Flóki (Ravens-Floki), was the second Norwegian Viking to arrive in Iceland. According to the medieval Icelandic written work, Flóki heard about the dangerous and captivating land from a Swedish Viking, Garðar Svavarsson.

Further research into the history and genealogy of Iceland’s beginnings reveals that Flóki is credited with giving the country its name. According to legend, he climbed one of the mountains in Vatnsfjörður and peered north into the abyss of snow and a vast fjord filled with ice.

But how did Flóki get there? By boat, of course, and that’s where the story gets interesting. On his initial trip to Iceland with his family, Flóki took three ravens with him to release, serving as a sort of old-school GPS system. One raven flew to the Faroe Islands, one flew up into the sky and immediately returned to the safety of the boat, but the third one… that one flew off into the sunset.

Which meant there was land somewhere up ahead.

The family ended up spending two winters in Iceland at Vatnsfjörður fjord in the Westfjords. As you can imagine, winters in Iceland are harsh, and the family ultimately lost their livestock during the first winter. However, they persisted and stayed another year in Borgarfjörður fjord in West Iceland before heading home to Norway.

Years later, Flóki returned to Iceland and settled in Skagafjörður, a fjord in Northern Iceland, where he remained until his death. His land was called Mór in Flókadal, which was later divided into Ysta-Mó, Mið-Mó, and Syðsta-Mó. Today, a memorial to Floki is located near Ysta-Mó in Skagafjörður Fjord, in North Iceland.

Who’s telling the truth?

As you can imagine, I was interested in reading the story about Flóki’s travels to Iceland, but I couldn’t help but compare it to the biblical story of Noah and the Great Flood. Was it just a coincidence that there are two stories so similar, or had one borrowed from the other?

It is important to note that the earliest preserved version of Landnámabók was written after the arrival of Christianity in Iceland. There are a few historians who believe that some of the earlier history of Iceland may have been written in a way to tie Iceland to biblical lore. However, as I quickly mentioned before, the use of birds to help ‘find’ land was a traditional method for our seafaring explorers.

In front of Víkingheimar museum is a statue of the settler Hrafna-Flóki made by Mark J. Ebbert.

It is possible that Noah and Flóki employed the same methods at different times. It does lead to credibility for both stories, and in my humble opinion, neither culture ‘stole’ it from the other. It’s just an interesting coincidence.

That’s not the end of the story….

As with all things history, this was just a flea bite on the arm of the life of the Vikings. So many side stories need to be explained to understand better why the hell anyone would get into a long boat, sail into the middle of the ocean, and hope to find land at some point. All without coffee, I might add. However, that will be a story for another day.

Flóki and his family were explorers, willing to risk everything for a life they wanted to live. It’s a testimony to the Viking spirit and their love of death-defying adventure. And while the Netflix series might have portrayed his life a little differently than reality, it is important to remember that Flóki Vilgerðarson was a real person who had a profound impact on history.

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

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Published on June 13, 2025 06:33

May 25, 2025

From Myth to Reality: Shield Maidens Explored

Hervor dying after the Battle of the Goths and Huns, by Peter Nicolai Arbo.

Friends,

Shield Maidens.

A popular term that has reemerged due to hit Netflix shows such as Vikings and Game of Thrones—women warriors who exceed expectations with their beauty, cunning, and fighting ability. I won’t lie- watching these women in action makes me want to learn how to wield a sword and battle axe.

But did Shield Maidens ever exist? We know that they are mentioned in myths and legends. We have names such as Lagertha, the first wife of Ragnar Lothbrok, who was immortalized by Saxo Grammaticus, a 12th-century historian, in a book about Danish history. Or Gurdrid Thorbjarnardóttir (b. c. 970/980 CE), one of North America’s earliest explorers, according to The Saga of the Greenlanders and Erik the Red’s Saga.

I was happily researching the extraordinary lives of these women, noting their various accomplishments and deeds, when I ran across an article by Judith Jesch, a professor of the Viking Age at the University of Nottingham, and my heart was broken. She stated in an article, “I have always thought (and to some extent still do) that the fascination with women warriors, both in popular culture and in academic discourse, is heavily, probably too heavily, influenced by 20th-and 21st 21st-century desires.”

And lo and behold, Jesch is not alone in this thought process. Many other historians and archaeologists believe women were not accepted as Warriors in the Viking age. Suppose, by some miraculous miracle, a grave is found of a woman buried in a traditional warrior manner, meaning with swords, horses, and other items typically reserved for military leaders. In that case, that doesn’t mean they were warriors—it means they were most likely buried with their husbands’ items.

Sad really.

But it got me thinking—did women warriors exist? Or were tales of great feats of bravery and cunning only created in overactive imaginations?

Here’s where I humbly disagree with professionals whose academic accomplishments far outweigh my own. Let me explain why. I, too, believe that the hype over women warriors during the Viking era has been popularized by modern pop culture. The need for women to have a place in this world, one that expands past the commonly believed portrayal of maid, mother, and wife, has been overwhelming. The idea that any woman can fight in a day-long battle and still walk away with their hair perfectly braided and not looking a mess is laughable.

But that is not to say that shield maidens didn’t exist. They did.

And let me prove to you how I know this to be a fact, regardless of what ‘myth’ was written, or what artifacts were buried with women.

Milunka Savić was a Serbian heroine who fought in the Balkan Wars and World War I and is considered the most decorated female warrior in the history of warfare. She is not buried with a sword.

Tomoe Gozen- a legendary Japanese samurai warrior who fought heroically during the Gempei War (1180-1185). No one knows where she was buried, but it is thought she went into hiding, became a nun, and died at the age of 90. I am pretty sure she wasn’t buried with horses and a sword, but she was the first woman featured on a bank note in Japan.

Boudicca- Queen of Britain. In 60-61 CE she led the Iceni and other people in a revolt against Roman rule. Unfortunately, no one knows where she was buried- but there are theories she was buried under King’s Cross Station in London or Stonehenge. However, no one knows for sure.

Artemisia I of Caria- Queen and naval commander who played a critical role in the Greco-Persian Wars. She is buried at the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus (modern-day Turkey) in a grand tomb she built for her husband after his death. The Mausoleum is considered one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. She may have been buried with a sword….

Night Witches- WWII, Night Witches was the German nickname of the all-female military aviators of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment of the Soviet Air Force. Their remains are buried in various places, but I am willing to bet they weren’t buried with their planes or the bombs they were so good at dropping on enemy forces.

I could go on and on highlighting the remarkable achievements of women on the battlefield—some of which I saw myself on the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan. And yet, these women were not buried with swords, horses, and battle axes. They are buried under white crosses that only mention their name, rank, and highest military award.

Does that diminish their achievements? Does that mean they were not shield maidens? Women who were willing to cross the line on the battlefield to face their enemy?

No—it just means they were buried as they lived, humbly and without the need for fanfare to prove their worth.

What about the women who stayed behind and held the fort while their husbands were in battle? The women who had to protect their homes and families while the men were away… were they not shield maidens? What about women who hunted for food and came face to face with dangerous animals to provide for their village? Were they not shield maidens?

Shield Maidens are not reserved for just the Viking period. Shield Maidens are all women worldwide who were faced with extraordinary odds and laughed in the face of the fates. They don’t need gold and silver, swords, or battle axes to be buried with them to prove they were worthy of the title warrior. They were who they were, and for that, they deserve the title.

In a world of princesses, be a shield maiden!

Until next time, Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

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