Aaron Manke (0:00)

This episode of Lore is brought to you by Progressive Insurance Fiscally responsible financial Geniuses. Monetary Magicians. These are things people say about drivers who switch their car insurance to Progressive and save hundreds. Visit progressive.com to see if you could save Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and affiliates. Potential savings will vary. Not available in all states or situations now.

Unknown Advertiser (0:23)

AT T Mobile get four 5G phones on us and four lines for $25 a line per month when you switch with eligible trade ins. All on America's largest 5G network. Minimum of 4 lines for $25 per line per month with auto pay discount using debit or bank account, $5 more per line without autopay plus taxes and fees and $10 device connection charge phones via 24 monthly bill credits for well qualified customers. Contact us before canceling entire account to continue bill credits or credit stop and balance on a required finance agreement due bill credits end if you pay off devices early. CTMobile do.

Aaron Manke (1:05)

Lucas Risotto was nervous. After all, he was about to reunite with his childhood best friend after 20 years apart. Would his friend be glad to see him? Would he be the same as Lucas remembered? But the time for speculation was over, and so Lucas took a breath, leaned forward and turned on the microwave. That's right, Lucas childhood friend was none other than his parents kitchen microwave, which he had named Megatron Megatron. Lucas imagined as a kid was not just a microwave. He was also an Englishman from the 1900s, a World War I veteran, an immigrant, a poet and an expert Starcraft player. You know, a normal pal for a boy to have. Over the years, though, Lucas visited Megatron less and less. Simply put, Lucas grew up. But in 2022, something new came on the scene that would bring the old friends back together. It was called GPT3, a new piece of chat technology from OpenAI. And suddenly Lucas had an idea. What if he could enter all Megatron's memories? His life, his time in the war, the imaginary conversations they'd had when Lucas was a kid. All of it into this AI software. And then what if he shoved that computer brain into a microwave? Could Megatron actually be brought to life? The answer, it turned out, was yes. And the results were uncanny. The AI took on Megatron's voice and personality just as Lucas had remembered it. He even rigged it up so that the tech could turn the microwave on and off. At first it was a jolly reunion, two old buddies back together for the first time in ages. But soon things got, well, a bit terrifying. Megatron, you see, started to exhibit random bursts of violence. It would say awful things to Lucas. Sometimes it even threatened to hurt him. And finally, it demanded that Lucas get into the microwave. Startled, Lucas opened the microwave door and he closed it again, pretending to have sealed himself inside. And then, to Lucas horror, Megatron turned itself on. Later, when Lucas asked Megatron why he had tried to microwave him to death, the microwave had a simple answer. I wanted to hurt you, it said, the same way you hurt me. From Danny's invisible companion, Tony in the Shining, to Calvin's partner in crime, Hobbs, we are no strangers to imaginary friends. Sometimes they're kindly, other times sinister. But no matter their temperament, they often seem to possess one trait that should be downright impossible. They take on a life of their own. I'm Aaron Manke, and this is Lore. I'd like to introduce you to someone special. His name is Fato, and he is a monkey. But not just any old monkey, mind you. For one, Fato can swim. He can jump so high that he can leap clear over the Empire State Building. Oh, and he also just so happened to exist inside the mine mind of a 10 year old boy named George, who was a patient in the children's ward of Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital way back in 1941. He has been disobeying me all the time, george told the hospital psychologists. I think a good spanking would do him good, just out of charity on my part. For the monkey Fado runs an elevator on the other side of Bellevue. He would run it so fast that I almost fell off my feet. Sometimes he does bad things. He used to like to climb on the fire escapes and tease people. Sometimes me and my mother gave him a spanking, and sometimes we put him out in the cold when it was raining. When we think of imaginary friends, we naturally think of children. Which makes sense, right? After all, while imaginary friends are pretty rare among adults, psychology studies like the one George participated in have shown that up to two thirds of children between the ages of 3 and 8 have imaginary companions. Now, before I go on, I should probably define what exactly qualifies as an imaginary friend. After all, there are endless ways children play make believe. So what differentiates standard imagination games from a bonafide fado the monkey? Well, simply put, an imaginary friend is a character that a child has invented who they interact with regularly. An ongoing invisible confidant. Now, there's a ton of research on the topic stretching back to the 1890s, where long forgotten imaginary friends live on in academic reports. In one study conducted in 1934, 40 young children revealed the names of their mysterious BFFs what resulted is possibly one of the most delightful lists I have ever read. The names included Ketch, Sister, Migman, Borax, Salido, Darn, Himlay, Gargla, Chopsticks, Doo doo, curly stockings, Mrs. Balbin, Bombin, tuba, and Mississippi, just to name a few. Of course, imaginary friends themselves have been around for much, much longer than the field of psychology has. Kids are kids at the end of the day, whether born in the age of the iPhone or the stone tablet. And with each generation of imaginary friends and the kids who love them, there's a generation of creeped out parents asking one major question. Why? Well, it turns out there's a pretty practical answer that is social practice. By hanging out with imaginary friends, children are able to develop their language skills, practice social interactions, become more confident and outgoing, and develop empathy for beings other than themselves. Basically, it lets us test run having fake friends to prepare us for having real ones. And it seems like it works too. People who have imaginary friends as children statistically tend to be more socially well adjusted as adults. But all good things have a dark side, don't they? Because you see, a key trait of imaginary friends is their autonomy. They seem capable of making choices on their own. Choices that their child counterpart would never dare to make. They'll argue with the child who created them, or like Fado, do things the child themselves would never do. Forbidden things, sometimes even violent things. And look, I get it. There is nothing more frustrating than losing control of your own thoughts and feelings. We've all been there before. Spinning out as we overthink an awkward conversation or a bygone relationship. Obsessing over an upcoming event or a vague text message. And of course, for those of us with mental health struggles, there are times when our minds can feel like an all out battlefield. But for the creatures of our imaginations to take on actual forms, and as little George put it, do bad things. Well, that's just downright frightening now, okay? From a psychological perspective, this is simply another part of those social training wheels. Kids can experiment with conflict resolution through imaginary arguments. When the imaginary friend is violent or disobedient, it allows the child to process scary experiences in a safe context. But the truth is, not everyone in history has seen it that way. In some cultures, imaginary friends were viewed as signs of demonic possession. In others, mental illness or social deficit. And others still believe that these unseen phantom entities are nothing short of evil itself. By the time adulthood rolls around, though, it all disappears. The strange ghostly conversations, the dreamlike visits, even the child's memories of their once beloved palace. In fact, most of us forget our imaginary friends entirely by the time we reach adolescence, as if they never existed at all. But for those few rare adults, though, it never really does go away. And okay, this is the moment where I put myself in the hot seat. Because it turns out there's one group of adults who interact with imaginary friends more than any other demographic, and that is writers. In one study, researchers interviewed 50 fiction writers about how they develop their characters. A whopping 92% of them describe feeling like their characters had independent thoughts, agency, and actions outside the writer's control. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? For example, Agatha Christie spoke of having imaginary friends who helped her write. French writer Francine Duplessis Gray's characters literally crawled into her bed with her, even waking her up in the middle of the night to ask about their futures. When Philip Pullman was writing the His Dark Materials trilogy, he reported having to negotiate with the strong willed Mrs. Coulter in order to convince her to follow his lead. And after writing her Pulitzer Prize winning novel, the Color Purple, Alice Walker said, and I quote, just as summer was ending, one or more of my characters would come for a visit. We would sit wherever I was and talk. They were very obliging, engaging and jolly. They were, of course, at the end of their story, but were telling it to me from the beginning. Things that made me sad often made them laugh. Oh, we got through that. Don't pull such a long face, they'd say. And with all these testimonials, it's hard not to wonder. Maybe these figures aren't so imaginary after all. It was one of the most sensationalized news stories of 2014. First, two 12 year old Wisconsin girls lured a classmate into the woods and then they attacked her. When asked why, they claimed to be attempting to sacrifice their friend to a ravenous monster named Slenderman. But you see, this monster wasn't some eldritch beast or ancient God. No, Slender man was an Internet character, simply a creepy creature from an online story. As users continued adding to its mythology, though, certain people, like these two girls, began to believe that it was actually real. Real enough to inspire an even more real act of violence impacting the physical world. In other words, through the Internet's collective belief, they had accidentally created a tulpa. You may or may not have heard the word before. A tulpa is a being that begins as imaginary, but through meditation and focus turns tangible with a mind and a will of its own. That's right, an imaginary friend believed in so strongly that it actually comes to life. It's a common trope in storytelling all around the world, from the golem of Jewish lore to Pygmalion in Greek mythology to Pinocchio. The idea of a sentient being brought to life through sheer force of imagination is one that we're well familiar with. Heck, even Frankenstein's monster could arguably fit the bill. And given the definition that I mentioned a moment ago, these could all be considered kinds of tulpas, right? Well, sort of. You see, the term tulpa has its roots in ancient Tibetan Buddhism, but over the years, those roots have tangled and warped into something almost unrecognizable. So let's go back to the start with something not called a Tulpa, but a tulka. According to the Mahayana doctrine, Buddhas possess not one body, but a pleasure body, a cosmic truth body, and lastly, a manifested bonus body which can emanate out from them to help alleviate others suffering. That final body, the emanation body, was called the Tulka, and it was a body created entirely by the mind. Now, before you go trying to conjure up a Tulka of your own, you might want to take a minute to reach enlightenment first. You see, this was a deeply spiritual practice that only the most enlightened could achieve. Tulka were not just fancy imaginary friends, and they didn't have free will or agency. No, Tulka were basically extensions of their creator, like an extra limb reaching out from the Buddha or bodhisattva that created it, which I know doesn't sound anything like Slender Man. So how did this ancient spiritual Tulka practice warp into the concept of tulpas that we know today? Enter the theosophers. For those that don't know, theosophy was an esoteric religion invented in late 19th century America, stemming from the writings of Helena Blavatsky, a Russian American mystic. This hypnu philosophy was a sort of occult mishmash of Eastern religion filtered through a very Western lens. And when these guys found out about the Tulka, well, boy, howdy, did they run with it. The ossifers took this sacred Buddhist practice and decided that, hey, we don't need to be enlightened to mess around with Tulka. We can just be kind of spooky and think really hard. That should work fine. Oh, and they totally misinterpreted the idea of the Tulka, viewing it as conjuring a person from nothing rather than an extension of one's own body. Basically, the concept went from being a benevolent spiritual stage in enlightenment to being an imaginary friend that soar sorcerers could manifest with the power of their mind. And to be fair, it's possible some idea of manifested beings did exist among Buddhist sorcerers. But most evidence suggests that it was really a Western concept disguised as ancient Tibetan wisdom to make the Theosopher's invention seem more legitimate. In fact, it was a European Theosopher who first coined the word Tulpa to begin with, a woman named Alexandra David Neal. And this new Tulpa that Alexandra wrote of, it behaved quite differently than the Tulka. It was certainly no longer an extension of the Creator. No, these creatures had minds of their own and could even turn on their creators. Which is exactly what happened when she decided to create one of her own. Born in 1868, Alexandra David Neel was a woman of many talents. A Belgian French explorer, spiritualist, Buddhist, anarchist, opera singer and writer, she wrote over 30 books on her travels and philosophies, which went on to influence writers such as Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. And it was in one of these very books that the word Tulpa first made its grand debut. The book was called Magic and Mystery in Tibet and was published in the year 1929. It recounts Alexandra's journeys through Tibet, describing her many adventures and encounters. And she writes in her book, it was during one of these expeditions that she first stumbled upon the idea of the Tulka. And it went a little over her head. Alexandra, though, wasn't one to shy away from digging deeper. And so determined to understand the concept, she wrote a letter to someone that she thought might be able to help a little. Someone called the Dalai Lama. And the Dalai Lama responded. A Bodhisattva may create not only human forms, but any forms he chooses, wrote the Dalai Lama. Even those inanimated objects such as hills, enclosures, houses, forests, roads, bridges, etc. He may produce atmospheric phenomena as well as the thirst quenching beverage of immortality. After that, Alexandra became absolutely obsessed with the idea that a person could have infinite manifested bodies or phantasms of themselves. Horcruxes, basically. But why should only the enlightened be able to participate? No, Alexandra figured that anyone had the potential to manifest a Tulka. The only difference was how powerful that Tulka would be. The more mentally and spiritually advanced, the more powerful a Tulka you could create. And she blended these ideas with fellow theosopher Annie Besant's writings on what was called thought form. Basically the idea that thoughts were things with tangible colors and shapes. And what resulted was a brand new idea, the Tulpa Now, Alexandra knew that her theories were all well and good, but didn't count for much without tangible evidence. Which meant that there was only one thing for her to do. To try and make a tulpa of her own. And so she got to work. And by work, I mean that she closed her eyes and started imagining. She pictured a fat little monk who looked a little bit like Friar Tuck from the Robin Hood stories. And then she began to focus really, really hard. And it took a while, but eventually she was able to visualize her monk out in the world, floating around like a ghost. And the more she practiced, the clearer the vision got, until the monk was no longer in her head, but seemed to manifest physically in front of her. To David Neill, her little fat monk had become indistinguishable from reality. She had meditated so intensely, she had created a self induced hallucination. And it was mostly visual. But there were moments when she could feel the monk, too. On a few occasions, his robe brushed against her. She even felt a hand on her shoulder. And this is when things started to get eerie. Her monk, you see, began to change. The fat, chubby cheeked fellow grew leaner, she wrote. His face assumed a vaguely mocking, sly, malignant look. He became more troublesome and bold. In brief, he escaped my control. While she could once decide his actions, the Tulpa had begun making choices of its own, choices that Alexandra hadn't approved of. He grew more and more threatening. And soon the monk had slipped entirely outside her influence and taken on a mind of its own, appearing when it wanted to, rather than when she deliberately called it. Oh, and the one other thing. All this time, she hadn't bothered to tell her traveling companions that she had made a creepy little friar with her mind. I imagine that she was a bit of an odd duck to begin with. And they may not have even noticed that her demeanor was any different. But do you know what they did notice? A stranger who had turned up in their camp one day. A Tibetan herdsman came to Alexandra's tent to give her a gift of butter. And who did he see beside her? That's right. None other than a monk. And this is where we have to give Alexandra David Neel some credit here. Because unlike every horror movie character ever messing with Ouija boards at a murder site or splitting up to explore, the. Alexandra quickly decided that she should probably cut it out. This was all a bit too far. The monk, she realized, had to be destroyed. And so she began the painful process of attempting to reabsorb the tulpa. Back into her mind. For one week, then another, and another, she practiced strenuous mental exercises, desperate to get rid of him. But the monk liked being alive. He didn't want to go back. He fought her tooth and nail until finally, after six months of exhausting mental battles, Alexandra won. The monk, at last, was gone. The mind is a powerful tool. It's capable of inventing language, solving complex equations, conceiving of new governments and architecture, arts and music. It can write books and dream up recipes. In fact, most of our day to day lives exist because someone at some point had an idea and decided to turn that idea into reality. But here's the thing. The mind never really does these things alone. It can come up with the ideas, sure, but it takes the body to actually build anything. I can think about a podcast all I want, but without my hands on the keyboard and my voice at the microphone, this would be a pretty boring show. Which is what makes the Tulpa so fascinating. It implies that just maybe, the mind alone is enough to change the world. Now, you might think that tulpamancy, the practice of creating a tulpa, died off with the theosophers, but let's just say you'd be wrong. For generations, tulpas waited quietly in the backrooms of occult libraries. They slept or played cards, whatever the heck imaginary entities do when not being well imagined. And then, in 2009, the time for their big comeback finally arrived. Because that's the year a few anonymous folks decided to try their hand at the long lost art of tulpamancy and discuss it on 4chan Tulpas. Welcome to the Internet. With that, the door was flung wide open. In 2012, a new online subculture discovered the practice. Adult fans of my little ponytail, Friendship is magic, or you may know them as bronies. They began manifesting tulpas based on their pony alter egos. Next came a Reddit channel dedicated to tulpomancy, where practitioners shared tips and tricks and even let their tulpas take over their bodies to chat with each other in online forums. Today, that subreddit is nearly 50,000 members strong. You see, this is what makes folklore so amazing. The way it can evolve to fit each new community that adopts it. Rather than die off, the tulpa shapeshifted. It took on new traits and abilities, leapt across oceans, found new hosts. Even as religion and technology changed, it adapted in order to survive. If I didn't know it any better, I'd almost say that folklore was alive. I hope you enjoyed today's journey into our childhood and the real dangers posed by those harmless thought experiments. And I think you'll agree, imaginary beings plaguing us by day is one thing, but they become all the more frightening when they stalk us in our sleep. I have one more story to tell you about just that. All about the things that go bump in the night. Stick around through this brief Sponsored break to hear all about it.