This seemingly African statue of a man garbed in what may be armor (of leather?) carrying a club with white symbols on his face carved from ebony was donated to the WeirdHQ traveling museum (home to many "cursed" and "haunted" objects), and was reportedly discovered in a man's attic inside of a burlap sack and upon being uncovered afflicted the family with nightmares and has done so to people that touch it. People have dreams about the statue, the figure in the statue, killing their families, and more.
What I'm wondering is if any art historians could identify what people, or culture created it, if it belongs to any specifically names style, or if it represents a deity or mythological figure. I emailed the metropolitan museum of art on the matter, I don't know if they will reply.
Now....my mother has collected African Statues and masks from festivals for many, many years, and our living room and my parents bedroom are decorated with all of this stuff. In my living room, there is 1 mask with a near identical symbol arranged in a different manner.
In the statue, there is a solid white triangle pointing upward + a white triangle made of 4 dots pointed DOWNWARD beneath that.
On my mask there is a solid white triangle pointing upward + a white triangle of 4 dots pointed UPWARD which surrounds the solid white triangle (with 1 dot at each corner, and 1 at the base).
The motifs in that sense are similar, but I cant say what they are supposed to represent. But it looks as if someone took the "double upward" symbol, and simply flipped the dot-triangle downward.
I don't have any info on it, but that is a very unique and interesting statue. In most cases, anything that points downward means association with negative. I am not sure if this is the case here, but with the reported activity surrounding it, I would think it might likely be the case.
The current owners of this were on Coast for a bit the night before last talking about it. Yes, I am an insider. Now an outsider for sharing that tidbit
I don't have any info on it, but that is a very unique and interesting statue. In most cases, anything that points downward means association with negative. I am not sure if this is the case here, but with the reported activity surrounding it, I would think it might likely be the case.
Many times, as a statue or icon is created, energy is sent into the making of it. I wonder if the intention, spell, whatever, in the statue itself was negative during the making of the haunted one.
On September 13, 2015, my adventuring partner (and wife) Dana and I were guests on Coast to Coast AM. We were booked to share our weird travel expertise, sending curious road warriors off to the scariest places they didn’t know they could actually visit, but it wasn’t long before the interview turned to our destination-hopping side-project, the Traveling Museum of the Paranormal and the Occult. We talked about our experiments with the Dark Mirror, how we ended up with a haunted painting that flings itself from walls, and even the strange anomalies that surround our very own chunk of the actual Amityville Horror house. For most listeners, it was the first they’d heard of our paranormal museum, and it made for a fun show that earned us a few gigs at upcoming conventions. It also earned us some nightmare fuel.
Two days after our C2C show, I find an email in my inbox:
Greg and Dana,
Caught your Coast to Coast show on Sunday and heard you talking about the museum of the paranormal. I have a statue that I think you would be interesting in. I was going to send it to you but when I saw how local you were I hoped you might meet me half way instead. It would save me shipping on a heavy item.
I found the statue in the crawl space of our home several months ago and my family and I have reason to believe its is haunted. I’m ready to put it in the trash but would rather give it to someone who will keep others from using it.
If you would like to know more please email me.
Tim
In the history of good ideas, meeting someone who heard you on late-night conspiracy talk radio isn’t usually one of them, but in the interest of adventure and my own curiosity, I made plans to meet Tim in a Wal-Mart parking lot halfway between Cincinnati and Dayton, Ohio.
When I met Tim, he didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would collect haunted items. He looked like the picture perfect portrait of an all-american dad, decked out in Khaki shorts and a tshirt with a vaguely automative theme. He was tall, and looked a lot like Ted Danson. The only thing that made him stand out in a suburban Wal-Mart parking lot was the blue baseball-cap pulled tightly down over his eyes. It was the kind of flimsy disguise worn by dudes who use the back doors of massage parlors.
As he made a beeline for our terribly inconspicuous vehicle, his arms cradled a large burlap sack the way someone who hates kids might hold a baby – carefully, but with a kind of distain. As I introduced myself, he heaved the heavy bag into my chest, sighed loudly, and proclaimed, “well, Greg, he’s your problem now.”
When I asked him what I was getting myself into, Tim took a deep breath and began to recount his brief history with the object.
A BURLAP SACK HIDDEN IN THE CRAWLSPACE
Six months prior to our meeting, Tim had purchased a house on the outskirts of Dayton, Ohio, moving himself, his wife, and his young son into the home. One day while running new cable through the basement of the house, Tim shimmied his way into a crawlspace and discovered a burlap sack bound tightly with bailing twine. It was caked in cobwebs, and appeared that it had been undisturbed for some time. Curious, Tim dragged the heavy bag out with him, dusted it off, and carried it upstairs to his office.
As his family watched, he cut the twine and unwrapped the object to reveal a two-foot statue of a man with long features, jet-black aside from ivory eyes and a strange triangular symbol on its forehead. The idol looked vaguely African in origin, but a thorough investigation of the object revealed no clues to its history or identity. “I don’t like it,” was the terse response from Tim’s wife. “No wonder it was hidden in the basement.” Tim shrugged, placed it on the corner of his desk, and went back to wiring his new home.
That night, Tim and his wife awoke to the cries of their son, who rushed into their room screaming about the “little man”. According to the boy, the “little man” from the statue came into his bedroom, and as he watched in horror, the creature slowly tugged the covers off of his body from the far end of his bed.
Despite the fact that the same event was repeated for the better part of a week, the couple chalked it up to a kid’s imagination getting the best of him. Until it happened to them.
Several days after Tim discovered the idol and his son was plagued by nightmares of the “little man”, he and his wife began to experience terrible dreams themselves. So terrible, that Tim refused to expound upon them.
“All I’ll say is that they were the most vivid, detailed, and horrible dreams the two of us have ever had,” he told me before quickly moving the story along.
The nightmares were enough to convince Tim that the statue was placed in his crawlspace for a reason, and he quickly rewrapped the idol in its burlap bag, tied a big knot in the twine, and stuffed it back in his basement. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be enough to appease the disturbed object.
“All hell broke loose,” Tim tim said, shaking his head.
In the weeks that followed, the family’s nightmares gradually subsided, but strange activity began to ramp up in their home. Electronics and lights would flicker on and off, strange shadows would dart through the living room, and more than once, the family would return from work to find their faucets running full blast. The final straw, Tim said, were the nights when he and his wife would hear what sounded like a group of people rummaging through their kitchen, slamming doors and throwing silverware on the counters, only to find an empty room in disarray when investigated.
“I was getting ready toss the statue in the trash, but I was always too worried about someone else finding it, so when I heard you say you collected haunted things on Coast to Coast the other night, I knew you were supposed to have it,” Tim said. “I don’t care what you do with it – put it in your museum, burn it, whatever. He’s your problem now.”
The story was sufficiently bizarre, and much of what Tim experienced seemed in line with other reports surrounding haunted items, but one thing was bothering me. I knew what his son was dreaming about, but Tim had refused to give me any details about his or his wife’s nightmares. As he was preparing to leave, I made a last ditch effort to get him to reveal the visions that convinced him something wasn’t right with the idol.
“Tim, if I’m going to research this thing, especially if it’s going to live with me me, it would really help to know what you and your wife dreamed about.”
Tim breathed deeply and adjusted his baseball cap before leaning in close.
“Okay. I’m not going to tell you about my wife’s nightmares, but I’ll tell you this much: I had a dream that I held her down, put a sharp rock to her chest, and cut her open. I heard her ribs crack, felt the warmth of her blood.. I can remember the way she screamed.. everything, it was all so vivid. Then I dug out her heart with my bare hands and ate it. It wasn’t a regular dream. It was terrible..”
As his voice trailed off, I could see that Tim was visibly upset. He was shaking, and as he began to inch backwards, he looked at the burlap heap in my arms for the first time during our whole meeting.
“He’s your problem now.”
When I climbed back into the Adventuremobile, Dana was still clutching her phone, ready to dial 911 in the event that the man who heard us on the radio ended up being a homicidal maniac. Fortunately for us, I relayed, he was just a Midwestern dad who inherited a very creepy item that was now, as he continued to remind me, “our problem.”
“Either that, or he’s full of shit,” Dana scoffed.
She was absolutely right. I unwrapped the the idol from its bag to take a peek at it for myself, not realizing that it wouldn’t be very long before we both took Tim’s story very seriously.
On September 13, 2015, my adventuring partner (and wife) Dana and I were guests on Coast to Coast AM. We were booked to share our weird travel expertise, sending curious road warriors off to the scariest places they didn’t know they could actually visit, but it wasn’t long before the interview turned to our destination-hopping side-project, the Traveling Museum of the Paranormal and the Occult. We talked about our experiments with the Dark Mirror, how we ended up with a haunted painting that flings itself from walls, and even the strange anomalies that surround our very own chunk of the actual Amityville Horror house. For most listeners, it was the first they’d heard of our paranormal museum, and it made for a fun show that earned us a few gigs at upcoming conventions. It also earned us some nightmare fuel.
Two days after our C2C show, I find an email in my inbox:
Greg and Dana,
Caught your Coast to Coast show on Sunday and heard you talking about the museum of the paranormal. I have a statue that I think you would be interesting in. I was going to send it to you but when I saw how local you were I hoped you might meet me half way instead. It would save me shipping on a heavy item.
I found the statue in the crawl space of our home several months ago and my family and I have reason to believe its is haunted. I’m ready to put it in the trash but would rather give it to someone who will keep others from using it.
If you would like to know more please email me.
Tim
In the history of good ideas, meeting someone who heard you on late-night conspiracy talk radio isn’t usually one of them, but in the interest of adventure and my own curiosity, I made plans to meet Tim in a Wal-Mart parking lot halfway between Cincinnati and Dayton, Ohio.
When I met Tim, he didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would collect haunted items. He looked like the picture perfect portrait of an all-american dad, decked out in Khaki shorts and a tshirt with a vaguely automative theme. He was tall, and looked a lot like Ted Danson. The only thing that made him stand out in a suburban Wal-Mart parking lot was the blue baseball-cap pulled tightly down over his eyes. It was the kind of flimsy disguise worn by dudes who use the back doors of massage parlors.
As he made a beeline for our terribly inconspicuous vehicle, his arms cradled a large burlap sack the way someone who hates kids might hold a baby – carefully, but with a kind of distain. As I introduced myself, he heaved the heavy bag into my chest, sighed loudly, and proclaimed, “well, Greg, he’s your problem now.”
When I asked him what I was getting myself into, Tim took a deep breath and began to recount his brief history with the object.
A BURLAP SACK HIDDEN IN THE CRAWLSPACE
Six months prior to our meeting, Tim had purchased a house on the outskirts of Dayton, Ohio, moving himself, his wife, and his young son into the home. One day while running new cable through the basement of the house, Tim shimmied his way into a crawlspace and discovered a burlap sack bound tightly with bailing twine. It was caked in cobwebs, and appeared that it had been undisturbed for some time. Curious, Tim dragged the heavy bag out with him, dusted it off, and carried it upstairs to his office.
As his family watched, he cut the twine and unwrapped the object to reveal a two-foot statue of a man with long features, jet-black aside from ivory eyes and a strange triangular symbol on its forehead. The idol looked vaguely African in origin, but a thorough investigation of the object revealed no clues to its history or identity. “I don’t like it,” was the terse response from Tim’s wife. “No wonder it was hidden in the basement.” Tim shrugged, placed it on the corner of his desk, and went back to wiring his new home.
That night, Tim and his wife awoke to the cries of their son, who rushed into their room screaming about the “little man”. According to the boy, the “little man” from the statue came into his bedroom, and as he watched in horror, the creature slowly tugged the covers off of his body from the far end of his bed.
Despite the fact that the same event was repeated for the better part of a week, the couple chalked it up to a kid’s imagination getting the best of him. Until it happened to them.
Several days after Tim discovered the idol and his son was plagued by nightmares of the “little man”, he and his wife began to experience terrible dreams themselves. So terrible, that Tim refused to expound upon them.
“All I’ll say is that they were the most vivid, detailed, and horrible dreams the two of us have ever had,” he told me before quickly moving the story along.
The nightmares were enough to convince Tim that the statue was placed in his crawlspace for a reason, and he quickly rewrapped the idol in its burlap bag, tied a big knot in the twine, and stuffed it back in his basement. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be enough to appease the disturbed object.
“All hell broke loose,” Tim tim said, shaking his head.
In the weeks that followed, the family’s nightmares gradually subsided, but strange activity began to ramp up in their home. Electronics and lights would flicker on and off, strange shadows would dart through the living room, and more than once, the family would return from work to find their faucets running full blast. The final straw, Tim said, were the nights when he and his wife would hear what sounded like a group of people rummaging through their kitchen, slamming doors and throwing silverware on the counters, only to find an empty room in disarray when investigated.
“I was getting ready toss the statue in the trash, but I was always too worried about someone else finding it, so when I heard you say you collected haunted things on Coast to Coast the other night, I knew you were supposed to have it,” Tim said. “I don’t care what you do with it – put it in your museum, burn it, whatever. He’s your problem now.”
The story was sufficiently bizarre, and much of what Tim experienced seemed in line with other reports surrounding haunted items, but one thing was bothering me. I knew what his son was dreaming about, but Tim had refused to give me any details about his or his wife’s nightmares. As he was preparing to leave, I made a last ditch effort to get him to reveal the visions that convinced him something wasn’t right with the idol.
“Tim, if I’m going to research this thing, especially if it’s going to live with me me, it would really help to know what you and your wife dreamed about.”
Tim breathed deeply and adjusted his baseball cap before leaning in close.
“Okay. I’m not going to tell you about my wife’s nightmares, but I’ll tell you this much: I had a dream that I held her down, put a sharp rock to her chest, and cut her open. I heard her ribs crack, felt the warmth of her blood.. I can remember the way she screamed.. everything, it was all so vivid. Then I dug out her heart with my bare hands and ate it. It wasn’t a regular dream. It was terrible..”
As his voice trailed off, I could see that Tim was visibly upset. He was shaking, and as he began to inch backwards, he looked at the burlap heap in my arms for the first time during our whole meeting.
“He’s your problem now.”
When I climbed back into the Adventuremobile, Dana was still clutching her phone, ready to dial 911 in the event that the man who heard us on the radio ended up being a homicidal maniac. Fortunately for us, I relayed, he was just a Midwestern dad who inherited a very creepy item that was now, as he continued to remind me, “our problem.”
“Either that, or he’s full of shit,” Dana scoffed.
She was absolutely right. I unwrapped the the idol from its bag to take a peek at it for myself, not realizing that it wouldn’t be very long before we both took Tim’s story very seriously.
