The Fiji Mermaid

In 1842, Dr. J. Griffin arrived in New York City from London and promptly checked into his hotel.  Soon after, he was being swarmed by reporters who were tipped off to his strange cargo by foreign correspondents.  It seemed that Dr. Griffin has in his possession the remains of a mermaid that he had acquired while exploring the Fiji islands.  Dr. Griffin begrudgingly showed the reporters his "mermaid," and the news spread like wildfire.

P.T. Barnum, the venerated American showman, visited the offices of all the major newspapers in the city, telling anybody who he would listen that he tried to get Griffin to display the mermaid at Barnum's American Museum, but Griffin had refused.  Barnum then offered the newspapers the use of a woodcut drawing of a beautiful mermaid he had planned to use in the advertisements of the attraction that wasn't to be.  With each paper thinking they had scooped a story, they all printed Barnum's woodcut mermaid.  Around the city, Barnum also distributed thousands of pamphlets he had made depicting the sensual mermaid.  Soon the entire city was talking about the mythical creature.

Griffin, realizing the potential of his prized object, decided to display it for one week at a concert hall on Broadway.  Griffin himself gave lectures to the fascinated crowds, explaining how everything on land had an equivalent in the sea.  There were sea-horses and sea-lions, so no doubt there had to be sea-humans.  When the week was over, Griffin allowed Barnum to display what was now being called the Feejee Mermaid at Barnum's American Museum.  Barnum displayed it for a month, without charging anything extra on top of the normal admission cost.  Attendance tripled.

Unknown to the public, Dr. J. Griffin was a fraud.  In fact, his real name was Levi Lyman and he was Barnum's accomplice in the hoax.  Barnum wrote letters to the papers, tipping them off to "Dr. Griffin" and his unique find as a way to build up hype for the attraction.  

The Fiji Mermaid was nothing more than an immature monkey's head & torso sewn onto the lower half of a fish and covered in papier-mâché to give it a mummified look. Barnum did not create the mermaid but rather leased it from Moses Kimball, a collector of curiosities from Boston.  Kimball had purchased it from the son of a sailor.  The sailor had purchased it in 1822 from Dutch merchants who had acquired it somewhere in Japan.  The sailor paid $6,000 for the mermaid, which was a huge sum of money back in those days.  Believing he could make more money off exhibiting the mermaid in London, the sailor sold his ship in order to pay for the mermaid.  Unfortunately, he was only co-owner of the ship.  When he arrived in London, he let British naturalists inspect his acquisition.  They thoroughly debunked its authenticity and word got out to the press that it was a fake, diminishing public interest in it.  The sailor was sued by the other boat owners and he was forced to work for them without pay until his debt was paid.  He died long before that could happen and his son sold the mermaid to Kimball for a fraction of what his father paid.

For a much more detailed (and better written) history of the Feejee Mermaid, including the fate of this historic piece, check out The Museum of Hoaxes website.

And for detailed instructions on how to make your own fiji mermaid, check out this blog.

R.I.P. Richard Matheson

Legendary horror/sci-fi writer Richard Matheson has died at age 87.

Probably best known for his novel I Am Legend, Matheson also wrote 16 episodes of the original Twilight Zone series including the classics "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet," "The Invaders," "Nick of Time," and  "Third From the Sun." His short story "Duel" was adapted into a movie  by a young Steven Spielberg.  He wrote the teleplay for the made-for-TV movie The Night Stalker, which led to the series Kolchak: The Night Stalker.  He wrote episodes of Star Trek, The Outer Limits, Amazing Stories and Night Gallery to name only a few.  His works have been referenced or parodied on The Simpsons, Family Guy, 3rd Rock from the Sun, MST3K, and countless others.

Segment from Treehouse of Horror VIII: "The Homega Man"

Needless to say, Matheson was one of the most influential writers of the 20th century and had his hand in shaping not only the horror and sci-fi landscapes but just about every aspect of popular culture.  You could say that the man was legend.

Crunchgate

It turns out that beloved cereal mascot, Cap'n Crunch, isn't actually a captain!  A keen-eyed food blogger noted the three stripes on the "Cap'n's" uniform indicate that he's a commander, the rank below captain.

The Cap'n is in full-on crisis mode, trying to save what's left of his image.

Somebody get that man away from a keyboard! He's only making it worse.

Has he always been a commander, or was he demoted after the "Oops, All Berries" debacle of 1997?

He should have worn the box around his neck like an albatross.

After a few minutes of research, I discovered the awful truth.  At no point since appearing since 1963 has Horatio Magellan Crunch been a captain!  

Exhibit A

As you can see, the one stripe on his uniform in this early incarnation indicates that he's the oldest ensign in naval history.  

Peanut Butter Crunch, which was first released in 1969, shows that the man we called Cap'n has moved up a rank to Lieutenant.  

Exhibit B

And finally, in this newer box of Cap'n Crunch, he appears as a commander.

Exhibit C

From the few minutes of (admittedly shoddy) research I did,  I've discovered that the only way he can still legitimately call himself captain is if his vessel isn't a military one.  And I guess the ship is the SS Guppy (rather than the USS Guppy), thus indicating that it's a civilian ship.  But that's almost more disturbing.  Is Cap'n Crunch merely an eccentric old man who just wanted to spend his golden years fighting the soggies with his loyal crew?  Why is he wearing an 18th century military uniform?  Even with all the evidence stacked against him, I choose to believe the Cap'n.  After all, for the past 50 years he's been saying that his cereal stays crunchy in milk.  And that's no lie.

The Story of Tantalus

In Greek mythology, Tantalus was one of the many sons of Zeus.  Generally well-liked by the gods, Tantalus was often invited to dine with them.  At one of the Mount Olympus pot-lucks, Tantalus brought a stew made of his own son, Pelops*. The gods figured out what they were being served and nobody ate any, except for Demeter.  Distracted while thinking about her daughter (who had been kidnapped by Hades), she ate a chunk of shoulder.

Anyway, the gods restored Pelops to life, although he was missing part of his shoulder.  The missing shoulder was replaced with ivory, which isn't such a bad deal considering he was stew a couple of hours earlier.

As punishment for ruining dinner, Tantalus was sent to Tartarus, which is the part of the underworld where the gods sent people that really pissed them off.  Tantalus was bound and immersed in water up to his neck, below the overhanging branches of some low-hanging fruit.  Every time he'd bend down to drink, the water would recede before he could reach it.  And anytime he'd try to snag a piece of fruit with his teeth, the winds would blow the branches just beyond his reach.

From Tantalus we get the word 'tantalize,' temptation without satisfaction.

*In some versions, Tantalus stole ambrosia and the secrets of the gods and shared them with humans, but I'm always going to go with whatever version is the most ghoulish.

The Green Ribbon

This is it, folks.  This is the story from In A Dark Dark Room that screwed me up.  It isn't about ghosts or monsters but it's scary and weird.

I love the colors, too.  Jenny and Alfred are this sickly pale color throughout their lives and everything has this subdued funeral home color scheme to it.  And the cat, who appears in every story in the book, is at its curious best here in the final panel.

I didn't know there was an audio book of In A Dark Dark Room until I found this video on YouTube. Hopefully I can track it down sometime.

Welcome to In A Dark Dark Room, a blog dedicated to my lifelong fascination with monsters, ghosts and the strange.

The title of the blog is an homage to the book by Alvin Schwartz and illustrated by Dirk Zimmer.  This book single-handedly changed my life when my parents bought it for me when I was 5.  Since that point on, I've been obsessed with the macabre.

About Me:

30-something year old slacker type who is still obsessed with the paranormal.  Although I don't believe in the supernatural, I still find it interesting.

About the Blog:

Do I expect anyone to read it?  Nope.  Will I update it regularly?  Almost certainly not.  Will I abandon it after a few months when I realize that I didn't have that much to say in the first place?  All signs point to yes.

In the meantime, look for posts about awesome monster & ghost books, maybe some movie reviews, cryptozoology news, interesting tidbits of folklore & mythology and anything else I feel like shoehorning into this blog.