COUNCIL BLOG: BETH LAWSON & RACHEL DEMICCO

A deep chill crawled up my spine, and I instinctively took a step back. But the room felt charged, as if the air itself was holding its breath. I wasn’t alone. I couldn’t see anyone else, but I felt watched—intently. A soft, almost inaudible whisper brushed past my ear, though no one was nearby. It wasn’t just the doll. Something else lingered there.

COUNCIL BLOG - RACHEL DEMICCO

In today’s day and age, we mourn the dead very differently, but the Victorian era’s expressive and intimate rituals remind us of a time when grief was worn on the sleeve and sometimes woven into a ring.

COUNCIL BLOG - ANDRONIKE JAMES

"Death comes in threes." "An owl's hoot at twilight spells doom." "A cow's mournful moo after dark? Someone's about to cross over."  Ever felt a chill run down your spine hearing these old sayings? You've just brushed against the edge of Appalachian folklore, a world where the veil between the natural and supernatural is thin, and the past whispers from every shadowed hollow.