Category Archives: Folk Beliefs

Family Death and Paranormal Activity

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Text: Interviewer – “What kind of ghost stories have heard of or experienced? Anything relating to your family?”

JL – “Woo boy, I could write a book! I’ve always believed in the supernatural. I have a lot in mind, but one sticks out the most. That brings me to when my mom died, on October 13, 2012. My mom and I were always close. My kids were very close to her as she was the only grandparent they had a relationship with, and she absolutely ADORED them (she loved them to pieces!, as she would say). She’d visit us half a dozen times a year, we spent summers at her house, she’d join us on vacations. We were CLOSE. My kids were young when she passed, in third and fifth grades. One morning shortly after she died I was getting the kids ready for school. They were sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast, I was at our kitchen island making lunches. We have a light fixture above the table with 5 bulbs in it. One of them had been burned out for months and I just hadn’t gotten around to changing it. Anyway, one of us mentioned that we were feeling sad that day because we missed Granny, and the burned out light bulb switched ON. The three of us looked at each other and thought, “Huh, that’s odd.” I said, “Mom, if that’s you, turn that light back off.” And the light went off. None of us were scared, we all thought it was kindof… cool? Comforting? We spent the next 20 minutes asking questions, and that light bulb kept responding. I finally said, “Mom, thanks for visiting and letting us know you’re ok, but I have to get the kids to school.” And the light bulb never responded again. But Mom hasn’t completely gone. We have a door that leads from our garage into our house that has a deadbolt lock on it. There are times when I will open the door from the house, walk through the doorway, immediately go to shut the door behind me only to have it bounce on the doorjamb because the deadbolt has been fully extended. We’ve tried shaking the door, jiggling it to see if we could replicate it, and nope, no movement from the deadbolt. There have been times when I’ll be carrying groceries in from the car, keeping that door to the house open for several trips, and then when I finally go to close it, the deadbolt is extended. And it’s not just a little bit sticking out, it is fully extended. Every single person in my family has had this same experience. There are two things that I love about this: 1 – Mom still comes around to say hi, and 2 – my family’s reaction isn’t fright, it’s a casual, “Hi Granny, thanks for visiting.” This has been occurring for 14 years. With my daughter’s graduation approaching, I’m sure I’ll see a lot of activity with the deadbolt!”

Interviewer – “Have these paranormal activities diminished in frequency or stayed the same?”

JL – “They’ve diminished in frequency. Mom still comes around and plays with the lock on the door, but now it seems to coincide with times of extreme emotion – when we’re celebrating something like a birthday or a big event with the kids, when I’ve been exceptionally worried or stressed.”

Context: This long story came up as I was asking JL about some of the paranormal experiences they’ve had or if they believed in ghosts in the first place as I have my fair share of history with the supernatural and ghost encounters myself. This specific story has been shared throughout the past many, many years, for as long as since it happened, and is not exclusive to the family, though it is a piece of lore special to the family due to the circumstances of the events.

Analysis: This account is in it of itself a familial piece of lore. Whether it’s a tale to some or simply something that happened, the story of it all has continued to thrive as have the perpetual encounters. Due to the nature of the story and how it doesn’t necessarily have an end, whether someone who experiences it first hand believes in ghosts or not, the event of the deadbolt on a door elongating can be either calming, reassuring, or frightening based on who you are. All individuals who listen or experience this tale are bearers of it, and since the events have continued to repeat, the amount of first-hand sources simply grows as time passes. The ghost story evolves constantly, and the lore that the JL and their family once just held for themselves has continued to be shared to their friends and community.

Black Cat Bad Luck

Age: 51

Text:

Informant: “If a black cat crosses your path, that means like bad luck.”

Interviewer: Okay. Is there anything you can do to, like, undo it?

Informant: No. That’s bad luck. So I gotta, yeah, I don’t know. I gotta watch out for things. Yeah. Gotta be more careful. Maybe not. I don’t know. bungee jumping.

Interviewer: So there’s not like, something to like make the luck like fine.

Informant: No, we don’t, we don’t really have that at all. Like that you could do something about it.

Analysis:

This example of superstition, a belief-based form of folklore. It is widely known that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck, even when people don’t fully commit to believing it. Many superstitions come with a clear way to reverse the bad luck, taking it into your own hands and making it good. However, the informants cultural perspective believes that bad luck is not something than can be reversed or controlled. Instead, it is accepted as something that simple “is,” reflecting a more fatalist approach to superstition.

This belief emphasizes acceptance over intervention, with the informant even mentioning to watch your actions after and be more careful. This response to be more cautious shows how similar superstitions can functions differently across cultures even when the core belief is shared.

This example connects to the broader idea that folklore operates within a shared cultural logic and helps people connect to a folk group and other values. The superstition does not require proof or an explanation. Its truth comes from being widely accepted and in this case, the absence of a “fix” becomes part of the tradition itself. This reinforces a worldview in which certain outcomes are unavoidable.

This example demonstrates how across cultures and spaces stories and beliefs can adapt and change. Folklore is not just about the content but the belief and importantly the response. Different cultures respond to uncertainty and misfortune differently, shaping behavior through shared assumptions about luck and control over the events in life.

The Girl with the Red Thread

Age: 18

Context:

One evening, while walking on campus with my friend, we began sharing spooky stories. She suddenly recalled something that had haunted her for years — a strange experience she had as a child, which had blurred the lines between dream, memory, and legend. This is the story she told me.

The Story:

When she was around 7 or 8 years old, she lived in a home with a study room that had a bed but was rarely used. One night, after waking from a nightmare, she found herself in that very study — a place she never usually slept in. She remembered lying beside her mom, both of them facing the wall, and gently shaking her awake out of fear.

She asked her mom to tell her a story because she couldn’t sleep. Strangely, her mom — who was known to strictly avoid ghost stories or anything scary — agreed. What happened next would stay with her for life.

Still facing the wall, her mom began to tell a ghost story. In the story, a nurse was working the night shift at a hospital. One evening, while heading out from the first floor, she took the elevator — but somehow, the elevator inexplicably descended to the 4th basement level instead, a floor used as a morgue.

This floor had no button, no lights, and no one should have been able to access it. But the elevator stopped there, the doors opened, and the nurse saw a little girl standing silently in the dark. The girl got into the elevator with her.

As the nurse glanced over, she noticed a red thread tied around the girl’s wrist. In Chinese superstition, red thread on the wrist is sometimes associated with the dead. The nurse was so frightened she reportedly died on the spot.

What terrified my friend wasn’t just the story itself — it was the realization much later in life that this was a widely circulated urban legend. Many people she later met had heard it before. And yet, she had never heard it before that night, and neither had her mother — who later insisted, repeatedly and sincerely, that she had no memory of telling the story, or even of waking up that night.

My friend later searched the story online and found that it had indeed been turned into a movie, or at least referenced in popular media. This deepened the mystery: how could a widely known ghost story have been told to her by someone who had never heard it — someone who vehemently denied ever telling it?

To this day, my friend remains disturbed by this experience. She remembers it vividly. Her mother, however, insists it never happened.

The Informant’s Thoughts:

She finds this story creepy, not because of the ghost itself, but because of the contradiction between her clear memory and her mother’s absolute denial. She believes the most chilling part of the experience isn’t the plot, but the uncertainty of how she ever came to hear it.

Years later, when telling others the story of the girl with the red thread, people would say, “Oh, I’ve heard that one!” But she hadn’t. Not before that night. Not ever.

My Thoughts:

What makes this story so compelling is not just the content of the ghost story, but how it plays with memory, belief, and reality. The idea that a story could be “implanted” through a moment that no one else remembers adds an eerie, almost psychological horror element to the tale.

It made me question how many of our memories are truly our own — and how stories that seem personal might actually belong to something much larger, floating around in the cultural subconscious, waiting to find a host.

The repetition — her telling the story to others, retelling it to her mother, and hearing denials each time — builds a quiet but powerful kind of fear. Over time, the story’s scariness comes not from the ghost, but from the accumulated sense of being haunted by a memory no one else shares.

As a piece of folklore, it’s fascinating because it shows how legends can find their way into our lives, not just through media or hearsay, but through deeply personal and unexplainable experiences.

The Shadow Behind the Curtain

Age: 18

Context:

This story was told to me by a Chinese international student at USC, whom I’ll refer to as SG. We were sitting together in one of the quiet study lounges at Parkside after midnight, discussing the kinds of ghost stories we’d heard growing up in China. That’s when she told me something she had never written down or shared publicly—something that happened to her in her childhood that she still remembers with frightening clarity.

The Story:

When SG was 10 years old, she lived with her grandparents in Harbin, a city known for its long, dark winters. Her grandfather had a habit of rising very early, often before sunrise, to boil water and do light chores. Their apartment had large, thick curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room.

One early winter morning, just before 6 a.m., SG woke up suddenly. She had heard soft footsteps and assumed her grandfather was up again. Curious and still sleepy, she wandered out to the living room—only to find it completely dark, with no lights on. She paused at the doorway.

That’s when she saw it: a silhouette of a person standing perfectly still behind the curtain, as if staring out the window. The form was unmistakably human—tall, slightly hunched, and entirely motionless.

Thinking it was her grandfather, she called out to him.

No answer.

She approached slowly, heart pounding. The air felt wrong—too still, too cold, as if the temperature had dropped. When she finally touched the curtain and pulled it aside—

There was no one there.

No one in the room. No sound of footsteps. No open windows. Just the snow falling silently outside.

Terrified, she ran back to her room and hid under her blanket. She didn’t tell anyone for weeks.

Informant’s Thoughts (SG):

SG says what disturbed her most wasn’t the sight of the shadow, but the fact that she saw it so clearly, and yet her grandfather had still been asleep in his room the whole time. Years later, she still isn’t sure if it was a dream, a hallucination, or something else.

What unsettles her most is that she continues to experience the exact same dream every few years: waking up in a different place, walking into a dark living room, and seeing a shadow behind a curtain.

Each time, she says, she wakes up before pulling the curtain open.

My Thoughts:

To me, what makes SG’s story haunting isn’t just the visual horror of the silhouette—it’s the way it has embedded itself into her memory and dreams, repeating like a ritual.

I’m struck by how familiar this setting feels: cold northern apartment, heavy winter curtains, the eeriness of early morning silence. Even though nothing explicitly supernatural happens, the ambiguity makes it even scarier.

It also makes me think about how many ghost stories we hear as children in China are tied to domestic spaces—kitchens, hallways, staircases—not abandoned mansions or graveyards. They are ordinary spaces made terrifying by something just a little out of place.

This story lingered with me long after she told it—not because of a ghost, but because of the uncertainty that still follows her.

The Sage of Room 108

Age: 50

Text (The Story): TT (my mother) told me a story from her college days in India about a particular dorm room, Room 108, which students treated almost like a sacred site.

Years before she arrived on campus, an older student, known simply as “the Sage of 108”, had lived in that very room. No​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌ one was able to recall his original name. It was said that he was a very quiet, withdrawn, and even reclusive a philosophy scholar, who was so much absorbed in his meditation that he almost never spoke, hardly ate, and didn’t seem very attracted to the usual college life.

According to one version of the myth, he arrived at jivanmukti which is the freedom of the spirit during life. Another one suggested that he was able to foresee things way before time: a professor’s sudden resignation, a student’s family emergency, or even an exam question weeks before it was written. 

It was whispered that he could be none other than the very Dattatreya, the Hindu god who is the wandering teacher. Dattatreya is a character who is said to go about the world very quietly, and be there when you least expect it, in different guises, to help people. Stories on the campus, however, say that the person living in Room 108 and carrying the same vibe as Dattatreya. He was detached, loving, and very much aware without being told. 

During the last days of his final year, the Sage just went off the campus without informing anyone of his intention. He left hauling with him a single cloth sack one morning and walked out through the college gate. When someone came to his room a few hours later, they found it empty with the exception of a piece of cloth neatly folded on the ​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌desk.

After that, strange things were reported. Students claimed the room smelled faintly of incense even when no one entered. One girl told TT that she stepped inside room 108 and felt a pressure, a kind of overwhelming stillness that made her leave immediately.

The administration eventually sealed Room 108. They gave practical explanations such as “structural damage” and “student safety”, but none of the students believed that. Everyone knew the real reason: the room was too spiritually charged. Too many people reported intense emotions inside it. Too many believed the Sage had left something behind.

When TT attended college, students had already begun a tradition:

Before any major exam, they would slip into the hallway, fold their hands, and offer a quick prayer outside the locked door of Room 108.

Some just tapped the door frame.

Some left flowers or pens on the ground.

Some whispered the Sage’s name, though no one could agree on what it was.

TT herself admitted that before her final board exams, she walked there with a group of friends in the early morning. They didn’t really know what they were praying for, whether it was luck, calmness, clarity, or perhaps the presence of someone who achieved spiritual awakening.

She​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌ mentioned that the corridor outside 108 had this weirdly quiet vibe all the time, like the sounds were muffled. When she and her schoolmates meet for reunions, there is always a person who talks about “the Sage of 108,” and all the others acknowledge it by a nod as if it were a shared ​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌secret.

Context: TT told me this story while reminiscing about her college years in India. This memorate is typically shared among alumni, usually during nostalgic conversations about exams, early adulthood, or campus myths.

The setting, an Indian university, makes belief in holy men, gurus, reincarnation, and spiritual presence feel normal rather than supernatural. Indian campuses often blend secular life with sacred spaces, and Room 108 became one such hybrid: part dorm room, part shrine, part student ritual.

This story also fits a larger South Asian cultural context where certain numbers (such as 108, a sacred number in Hinduism and Buddhism) carry deep spiritual significance.

The Teller’s Thoughts: TT treats the story with a mix of nostalgia and respect. She doesn’t necessarily claim the Sage was literally an incarnation of Dattatreya, but she believes he had a spiritual depth that left an imprint on the campus. She describes Room 108 as a place students approached with sincerity, not fear and something in between superstition and faith.

She said, “We all felt calmer after praying there. Maybe that’s all that mattered.”

My Thoughts (Analysis): This memorate blends campus legend, reincarnation belief, and folk religion into a single story.

This story functions as a sacred space on a secular campus, a rite of passage before exams, and a blending of Hindu spiritual motifs with student life. The association with Dattatreya deepens the story’s symbolic power. Dattatreya is the wandering divine teacher who appears in humble forms, and the idea that a spiritually advanced figure might quietly live in a college dorm room fits this motif perfectly.

The closure of Room 108, the lingering incense scent, and the informal prayer ritual all add to the all add to the mysterious atmosphere that made Room 108 feel like more than just a dorm room.. The story also shows how students use legend to navigate stress and this transforms anxiety about exams into a communal ritual that is rooted in cultural spirituality.

Personally, I think the story beautifully captures how folklore forms in modern environments. A single individual, remembered only in fragments, becomes a symbol of calm, wisdom, and hope for generations of students who never met him.