Cryptids: animals or other beings whose existence is disputed or unsubstantiated by science.
You can barely cross a valley in West Virginia without running into the folklore of a rumored monster, alien, or other mythical beast — think, The Flatwoods Monster, The Mothman, or The Grafton Monster. Honestly, it’s pretty brilliant marketing. Cryptid Mountain Mini Golf in Morgantown even collects them all in one fantastic place.
Pittsburgh should do this! The upside is having a creature that you can use in branding your neighborhood forever. The downside is that people will blame the creature for all kinds of low-key trouble that’s probably just attributable to bored teenagers. Here are a few ideas:
- The Mt. Oliver Hollerer: Late at night, on a full moon in football season, you can hear his ghostly wail across the hills: “Establish the run!” “Draft Dan Marino; he went to Central Catholic!” and “Faaaahr Tomlin!” and other out-of-date, useless sports advice.
- The Greenfield Gremlin: A spectral, translucent-green Little League coach who sits on the end of the bench at Magee Field, smoking (without a visible cigarette). The regulars know he’s harmless, but it sure sounds like he wants to fight an actual child. Did he just threaten to punch Timmy in the face for losing a pop-up in the lights?
- The Swiss Hole Hellhole: In Schweizer Loch, a barely inhabited North Side remnant that once welcomed Swiss immigrants a century ago — now featuring a scrapyard and nothing — there’s an open hellmouth that’s basically a Parkway South directly to the domain of Ol’ Scratch. But it gets so little traffic that both Hell and Pittsburgh forgot about it.
- The Duck Hollow Fishman: A shirtless guy with wild, unkempt gray hair and glowing blue eyes, who just wants to fish in peace. And a place to dump trash. This may seem like a contradiction, but never get drawn into an argument with him. To extricate yourself, you must summon two Shenderoviches (not one).
- The Dormont Dormonster: Some say it’s a werewolf, but others say it’s a sandwich. Kind of unclear, actually.
- The Ingomar Inhabitor: A free-floating presence that reps Pittsburgh loudly into the night, but actually inhabits some nondescript far-flung suburb.
- The Lawrenceville Rat King: Pretty obviously a transparent attempt to bring down rents to less painful levels. Do you really want to take the chance of moving in next to The Lawrenceville Rat King? I didn’t think so.
- The Tunnel Monster: No matter how much you slow down in front of the Squirrel Hill Tunnel, he will find you and eat you. Might as well maintain speed.
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