The Devil’s Dirty Dozen

tldr; Superstitions aren’t just spooky little habits — they’re survival stories in disguise.
We talk salt tossin’, mirror breakin’, number fearin’, and why your grandma told you don’t whistle at night.
From haunted mirrors to Hoodoo mojo bags, this episode explores the rituals we still cling to when life feels unhinged.
Are they silly? Sacred? Both?

✨ It’s giving: folklore, grief, ancestral protection, and lowkey shadow work.

You may not believe in superstitions —
but you still knock on wood, don’t you?

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️

Quick heads-up — this episode includes mentions of grief, death rituals, and spiritual practices like Hoodoo and mirror magic. If that’s too much right now? That’s totally okay. Come back when you’re ready, or skip it entirely. Your peace comes first.

Hey history lovers, seekers of the strange, and fellow black cat believers — welcome back to Bygone Echoes, a history podcast for the haunted, the curious, and the culturally nosy. I’m your host, Courtney.

And today? We’ve made it to Episode 13.

So like, naturally, we had to go all the way there.

We’re talking superstitions — the kind you whisper, wear, or wave off… until something weird happens and suddenly you’re knocking on wood like it’s a sacred duty.

There’s also black cats, haunted mirrors, cursed numbers — and yeah, salt tossed over your shoulder with your whole chest, because why even risk it?

And its wild, like even though we live in a world of Wi-Fi, Google, and AI some of us still won’t open umbrellas indoors.

So what makes a belief a superstition?

Usually, it’s a ritual — something small, repeated, and deeply felt.

Something that links what we do… to what we fear.

Even if there’s no scientific proof.

Even if we laugh while doing it.

Even if we secretly believe it matters.

And depending on who’s practicing it — and who’s watching — it either gets called charming, or dangerous.

This episode isn’t about proving what’s real or not. You believe whatever you want to believe.

Because these little rituals? They’re more than folklore.

They’re survival stories.

Whispers of grief, resistance, love, and power — carried through time.

Since we have hit episode 13, we’re remixing our episode format!

Instead of one long narrative, we’re moving through three connected themes:

First: the fear we carry.

Then: the rituals we hold onto.

And finally: why we still believe.

So whether you’re here for the folklore, the vibes, or the hidden history — get cozy.

Because we’re about to explore thirteen infamous beliefs — the Devil’s Dirty Dozen, if you will.

And it will be weird. Real. And beautifully human.

We will begin where many superstition begins: With fear.

The Fear We Carry

We’ve all heard the warnings: don’t sit 13 at a table, don’t stay on the 13th floor of a hotel, and absolutely don’t plan anything major on Friday the 13th — especially if there’s a full moon and Mercury’s in retrograde. Just stay home, doom scroll, and pray for the best.

Fun Fact: Friday the 13th is basically an unofficial holiday to me.

Not because I’m out here casting spells or lighting ritual candles — I just love observing how people react.

We don’t always get a Friday the 13th. It’s like a happy little treat — a cosmic glitch in the calendar that sets off something deep in people’s brains.

And the energy? It’s electric. Contagious, even!

People get weird about it or low-key anxious. I’ve seen folks canceling plans. Triple-checking their horoscope.

Avoiding elevators, flights, phone calls — like the number 13 is about to square up with them in a Walgreens parking lot.

And I’m just over here vibin’.

I am not judging, but I am fascinated by how belief still moves through us, even if we swear we don’t believe in anything or “that kind of stuff”.

Like… it’s just a number.

It’s just a day.

But suddenly, people are moving differently. Talking differently. Blaming things on the date.

And I’m just over here low-key celebrating and curious going, “Tell me more.”

Because that’s the part that grabs me — how fear, culture, and tradition sneak in when we’re not even looking.

And Friday the 13th? That’s when it all bubbles to the surface.

So, where does that fear of 13 come from? And why does it still rattle us?

Let’s talk triskaidekaphobia — the fear of the number 13.

This isn’t just some modern quirk. It has deep, weird roots — tangled in religion, myth, and the human need to make sense of chaos.

One of the most common explanations for why 13 gets the side-eye?

Christianity. Of course. The story goes:

It is The Last Supper, or that one time Jesus sat down with his twelve disciples — aka his twelve favorite people, depending on which gospel you ask —and they had what would become the most overanalyzed dinner in history.

It was the night before Jesus’ crucifixion. Twelve people sit at the table. And the 13th to arrive — or the one considered just spiritually off — was Judas. That same guy who betrayed Jesus and kickstarted two thousand years of theological drama.

So over time, that number — 13 — got tied to betrayal, misfortune, and death. I heard this one a lot growing up. Never mind the be kind to your neighbors and love all — the real lesson was apparently:

“Don’t let 13 people sit at your dinner table or someone’s going to die.”

But even if you didn’t grow up with that story, the myth still crept into everything — especially in the West.

European etiquette manuals warned against seating 13 at the table, and because Europe held the mic for a long time? That superstition echoed out — into the cultures they colonized, influenced, or deemed “proper.”

So hosts started breaking up dinner parties, adding last-minute guests, even bringing in stand-ins — all to avoid the cursed count.

Even hotels and high-rises today? Most deleted the 13th floor entirely, like the number itself was a liability.

Because once fear gets cultural?

It sticks.

But that idea — the 13th guest bringing doom?

It didn’t start or end with Christianity.

Long before Jesus was even a concept, the Norse gods were already knee-deep in that exact flavor of chaos.

Because let’s be real: the gods have never been known for emotional regulation.

So picture this:

A divine dinner party in Valhalla. The gods are glowing, everything’s calm. They’re sipping whatever passes for ambrosia in Asgard, and probably judging mortals like it’s their favorite sport.

Then in kicks Loki —

Uninvited.

Unbothered.

Unhinged.

No RSVP. No gift for the host. Just chaos in eyeliner.

You ever seen a family function go from zero to toxic because that cousin or that auntie walked in? Yeah. That.

Loki rolls in as the 13th guest, and immediately the mood goes sideways.

And who catches the celestial hands?

Baldur — god of light, joy, and big golden retriever energy.

He was mommy Frigg’s favorite, and she wasn’t playing about it.

She made everything — stones, fire, diseases, weapons — swear not to harm her precious baby boy.

Baldur was basically invincible.

So naturally, the other gods did what bored, messy immortals do:

They threw stuff at him for fun because my guy was the Asgardian equivalent of bubble wrap — indestructible and endlessly entertaining.

So naturally, during the party, Loki get’s him killed.

How? Loki had him shot with mistletoe — which, for the record, becomes a murder weapon when your mom forgets to ask that one specific plant to chill.

Loki knew the vulnerability. He knew mistletoe was the one thing that could hurt Baldur. So boom. Dead.

And do you want to know why Loki did it?

Because he felt like it.

And honestly?

I’d expect nothing less of Loki.

So yeah — two wildly different stories.

Two cursed dinner parties.

One unlucky number.

Coincidence? Maybe.

But then even our calendar throws shade at 13. We get 12 months, 12 zodiac signs, 12 hours on a clock face…

Unless you’re on the 24-hour clock — which I respectfully do not understand. I get the concept, but how do y’all just casually know what 18:47 is? I’m still over here counting on my fingers and whispering, “12… 13… 14…” like it’s a spell.

Anyway.

The fear of 13 isn’t just symbolic. It’s baked into buildings.

As mentioned, some hotels, hospitals, and even office towers skip the 13th floor altogether — straight from 12 to 14 like we won’t notice. Airlines often skip row 13. Some people refuse to get married or travel on the 13th of the month — especially if it’s a Friday.

We’ve spent centuries letting a number gaslight us out of entire floors, rows, and wedding dates. And honestly? That’s kind of iconic.

But here’s the twist: not every culture sees 13 as unlucky.

In places like Italy and Greece, 13 is considered lucky — a number of prosperity. It’s 17 that gets the side-eye.

In East Asian countries like Japan and China, 4 is avoided because it sounds like “death.”

In Western culture, thirteen isn’t just a number we fear — it’s one that’s been claimed. Reclaimed, even, when you consider witchcraft.

Are witches superstitious?

Nah — they just read the moon, tracked the cycles, honored the blood, and claimed the number the world tried to curse.

That’s not superstition. That’s strategy.

While Western superstition paints 13 as cursed, in witchcraft and spiritual traditions around the world, 13 is sacred.

A coven traditionally holds 13 members — not randomly, but symbolically.

It mirrors balance and completion: 12 practitioners plus the high priestess or central figure. Like a lunar constellation made of women and wisdom.

There are also 13 lunar cycles in a year — thirteen full moons that mark time by energy, emotion, and change. The moon doesn’t move like the sun — it shifts, it cycles, it pulls. And witches have always understood that power isn’t linear. It loops. It flows.

In divine feminine traditions, 13 is often linked to fertility, intuition, and the sacred rhythms of the body. Menstrual cycles sync with the moon — roughly 13 per year — so yeah, there’s blood magic in this number, too.

So where  institutions saw chaos, witches saw alignment.

Where institutions saw something unruly and dangerous… spiritual practitioners saw something whole.

Thirteen didn’t mean doom. It meant transformation.

Endings, yes — but also rebirth. Not bad luck. Just big energy.

So when we say 13 is unlucky? Maybe it depends on who’s counting — and what they’re afraid of.

Because many times, this fear? It’s cultural. Contextual. A learned pattern — not universal truth.

What about some of the other common rituals and superstitions?

Let’s break a few of them down real quick — because the lore behind them is fantastic.

Tossing Salt Over the Left Shoulder

This one comes from medieval Europe — especially Christian tradition, where the left side was considered the devil’s domain.

I always wondered why, in old cartoons, the little devil would pop up on the left side whenever a character had to make a bad decision.

Turns out, it wasn’t random.

Literal bad side energy.

And salt?

In medieval Europe, it wasn’t just seasoning — it was sacred. Valuable. Symbolic.

So if you spilled it? That wasn’t just clumsy. It was seen as an omen.

To undo the bad luck, you’d toss a pinch over your left shoulder — the devil’s side —z to blind him before he could whisper anything shady in your ear.

It’s giving: “Not today, Satan.”

Although honestly?

If I had to observe this superstition, I’d struggle — I’m one of those adults who still hesitates figuring out my left from my right.

I’d probably end up throwing salt right in the angel’s face instead. Sorry, friend.

Opening an Umbrella Indoors

This one really took off in Victorian England, but it’s got layers — like a spiritual onion.

First, the practical bit: Victorian umbrellas were huge, with metal spokes that could actually injure someone or knock over furniture if you popped one open indoors.

So yeah, part of it was just… don’t be chaotic in tight spaces.

But spiritually?

The umbrella is a tool of protection — something meant to shield you from forces outside. So opening one indoors — where the spirits of the house are already doing their job — is not ok. Spiritually? It’s a flex that reads like disrespect.

The house already has protection. So if you show up with backup like the house spirits aren’t doing their job?

You’re looking for trouble.

Lucky Rabbit’s Foot

This one has deep roots in African American Hoodoo — but it actually goes back even earlier, to African spiritual traditions.

Rabbits have long been seen as clever, magical creatures — quick on their feet, hard to catch, always watching.

But the magic isn’t in just any rabbit.

It’s specific.

In Hoodoo, it’s the left hind foot, taken under certain conditions — often at a crossroads — that becomes a powerful charm.

And crossroads?

They’re not just intersections on a map.

In African and African American spiritual traditions, the crossroads is a threshold — a place between worlds.

A place where spirits listen, and intentions stick.

A lucky rabbit’s foot isn’t a random trinket.

It’s survival magic.

A quiet form of spiritual defense, carried in a world that was never designed to keep you safe.

Of course, like so many things born from Black resistance and ancestral knowledge, it eventually got commercialized.

Watered down.

Sold as cheap plastic keychains at gas stations.

But don’t get it twisted —

Just because they turned it into a gimmick doesn’t mean it ever stopped being sacred.

Knocking on Wood

This one comes from old European pagan traditions — Celtic, Germanic, pre-Christian folk beliefs. Back then, trees weren’t just trees.

They were homes.

To gods, spirits, ancestors, fae… something.

So when you knocked on wood? You weren’t just being superstitious.

You were either calling for backup…or making sure the spirits didn’t hear you bragging and decide to humble you real quick.

Because fate?

Fate hears everything.

She’s petty. She’s powerful.

And if you cross her?

She’s quick to remind you:

“You picked the right moment… but the wrong guy.”

Black Cats

As you probably guessed, I love black cats. Shout out to Sailor Moon!

But they really got done dirty by European folklore.

In the Middle Ages, black cats got tied to witches, bad omens, and — of course — the devil himself.

Because if something was mysterious and moved in silence? It had to be evil, obviously.

So if one crossed your path? That meant misfortune was coming — or at the very least, a vibe shift you weren’t ready for.

But here’s the thing: in other cultures? Black cats are good luck.

In Scotland and parts of Japan, a black cat showing up means prosperity is on the way.

So yeah — your luck depends on your geography.

And the cat?

She’s just minding her business either way.

We might laugh at these little rituals now, but they’re echoes — protection disguised as politeness.

Survival stories turned into habits.

And when you really look at them, you realize:

Folks weren’t scared of bad luck — they just knew better than to test it.

Cursed, Claimed, and Carried

We’ve talked about the fear we carry — the way superstition slips into our habits and hides in our history.

But fear doesn’t always stay fear.

Sometimes, it grows roots.

It becomes ritual.

It becomes the quiet, stubborn things we hold onto — not because they make sense, but because they make us feel safe.

Little acts of belief we reach for when something feels off.

And sometimes — when the unthinkable happens — when grief shows up at the door —

Those rituals become something even deeper.

Memory.

Coping.

Love, disguised as superstition.

We’re talking haunted reflections, soul windows, and the fragile ways we try to hold the sacred — even when the world feels broken.

Haunted Reflections

Let’s start with mirrors.

Because listen — mirrors have always been doing too much.

They’re not just for checking your eyeliner or trying out a new look.

In folklore? Mirrors are portals. Gateways.

Tools for seeing beyond the veil.

The belief that mirrors could reveal hidden truths or connect you to the spirit world shows up everywhere.

In ancient Greece, people practiced catoptromancy — divination by mirror.

You’d fill a bowl with water, place a mirror inside, and stare into the reflection to catch omens, glimpses of the future, or whispers from the divine.

Think 5th century BCE… and full slumber party vibes.

In Mesoamerican cultures, especially among the Aztecs, obsidian mirrors weren’t just tools — they were sacred portals.

Shamans used them to contact gods, ancestors, and spirits.

Even the god Tezcatlipoca — whose name literally means “Smoking Mirror” — carried a black mirror as his symbol.

To the Aztecs, a mirror wasn’t a reflection.

It was a way to cross worlds.

In ancient Egypt, mirrors were linked to the sun god Ra and the goddess Hathor.

They were seen as tools for beauty, truth, and glimpsing the afterlife.

Reflective surfaces weren’t vanity items — they were spiritual instruments.

In ancient China, mirrors were powerful protectors.

Hung facing windows and doors, they bounced bad spirits away — a tradition that still echoes in Feng Shui today.

Mirrors brought balance, safety, and spiritual clarity into the home.

In Japan, mirrors are so sacred they’re part of the Imperial Regalia.

The Yata no Kagami, or Mirror of Wisdom, is one of the country’s three most holy artifacts.

Mirrors in Shinto belief reveal purity and truth — they’re vessels for the divine.

In early Islamic mysticism, mirrors symbolized inner reflection.

In Sufism, polishing the soul was compared to polishing a mirror — a way of clearing away earthly distractions to better reflect divine light.

Even medieval Europe had its mirror lore:

Mirrors were believed to reveal demons, ghosts, or even your future spouse — especially around Samhain, the ancient root of Halloween.

Witches used mirrors for scrying, and death rituals often involved covering them to protect living souls from spiritual entanglement.

And in African spiritual traditions, reflective surfaces were used for ancestor veneration and spirit communication.

The mirror wasn’t just an object — it was an invitation. A bridge.

And even now, you still see the ghost of that belief in modern urban legends — like Bloody Mary.

It seems like a slumber party dare, right?

But really, it’s a watered-down version of folk magic.

A mirror ritual.

A summoning spell disguised as a game.

The spell is, you say her name three times in the dark and wait for something to appear.

Spoiler alert: it rarely does.

Personally? I was so disappointed in middle school when I tried it and nothing happened. I was ready — terrified, candle lit, bathroom door closed, whisper on point.

And she ghosted me.

Literally.

Imagine being disappointed that your summoning ritual — that you knew was pretend — didn’t work.

But I guess that’s how deep the need for magic runs sometimes.

And then there’s this:

Breaking a mirror is supposed to bring seven years of bad luck.

That one likely comes from the Romans, who believed mirrors didn’t just reflect your face — they reflected your soul.

And they also believed that life renewed itself every seven years — like your body, your soul, your whole fate went through a full reset.

So if you broke a mirror?

You weren’t just breaking glass.

You were damaging your reflection — your spiritual self.

And it would take a whole seven-year cycle to heal.

So breaking a mirror wasn’t clumsy.

It was cosmic.

It meant you’d fractured you.

But why are mirrors so powerful to humans specifically?

Because on an evolutionary level, mirrors hit something deep inside us.

Scientists call it self-recognition — the ability to see yourself as an individual, separate from the world around you.

And humans?

We’re one of the only species on earth that can actually do it.

It’s a huge psychological leap.

To look into a mirror and realize, “That’s me. I exist. I am aware.”

It’s tied to higher thinking, consciousness, even the formation of memory and identity.

So when ancient people stared into water, polished stone, or early mirrors — they weren’t just seeing their reflection.

They were glimpsing the soul.

They were seeing themselves as something more.

And that feeling — that strange, sacred, almost haunting recognition — it never really left us.

Across oceans and centuries, mirrors didn’t just reflect faces.

They reflected fears.

Hopes.

Souls.

Three reasons mirrors always carried spiritual weight include (1) Symbolic Power: They reflect light and soul — seen as portals, traps, or invitations. (2) Rarity: Ancient mirrors were expensive, sacred objects — not casual Walmart finds. (3) Identity: Seeing yourself? Knowing you exist? That’s existential magic all on its own.

Even now, in a world of ring lights and selfie cameras, a dark room and a mirror can still feel… heavy.

Different.

Electric.

Because mirrors were never just glass.

They were — and still are — a little bit magic.

Death Rituals

Mirrors don’t just reflect — they trap.

That’s why, in a lot of traditions, when someone dies, you cover the mirrors in the house.

In many Jewish communities, it’s customary during Shiva — the seven-day mourning period after a death — to cover the mirrors.

It’s partly about humility, a way to turn focus inward during grief.

But there’s also an older belief: that mirrors could distract the soul… or worse, trap it while it lingered near the living.

In Victorian England, the idea took on a ghostly tone.

People covered mirrors to avoid seeing the deceased’s spirit — or accidentally catching a glimpse of something not meant for the living.

A distorted image. A final warning. A shadow that didn’t belong.

The goal was simple: keep the soul from getting stuck… and spare the living from seeing something they could never unsee.

And sometimes?

You open a window.

That practice appears in many cultures, including: Irish, Scottish, Danish, Scandinavian and African diasporic traditions —where air and movement are spiritually significant.

You open the window to let the soul pass — to give it an exit, a path, a choice.

I remember doing this when my mom passed unexpectedly a few years ago. Something inside me said:

“Open a window… or else her soul can’t get out.”

I don’t know where I got that from — maybe a book or a TV show, or maybe it was my ancestors whispering — because I did it. I needed to do it.

Because some part of me believed it mattered.

It wasn’t logic.

It was ritual.

It was grief with instructions — and in that moment?

That was exactly what I needed.

And that’s the thing about superstition — sometimes it’s not fear.

It’s love.

Trying to make room for the sacred in the middle of heartbreak.

Hoodoo: Ritual, Protection, and Resistance

Now let’s talk about Hoodoo — the African American spiritual tradition born from survival, pain, and fierce protection.

First, let’s clear the air: Hoodoo is not Voodoo.

And second, it’s not a superstition — though it’s often dismissed as one.

That label got slapped on it by people who didn’t understand it — or worse, feared how powerful it was outside their control.

So yes — this is a superstition episode.

But Hoodoo isn’t here because it is superstition.

It’s here because it was treated like one.

Because calling it “superstition” was easier than admitting it was sacred. Easier than admitting it worked. That it threatened the order of things.

And honestly? That’s not just Hoodoo.

Remember, we talked about witches earlier, how the number 13 wasn’t cursed, it was claimed.

Same thing here.

These aren’t superstitions.

They’re spiritual systems — labeled dangerous not because they were silly, but because they were powerful.

Because they gave people connection, healing, and protection without needing permission from whoever was in charge.

And also?

It’s here because I want to talk about it.

Because too often, Hoodoo is misunderstood, mocked, or erased — and I want this podcast to be a space that gets it right. Or atleast tries to.

This tradition deserves more than curiosity or caricature.

It deserves to be remembered, respected, and seen for what it is: A powerful part of Black spiritual history.

And honestly? This is part of the history I think we all could understand a little better.

So, again. Hoodoo isn’t superstition.

It’s survival magic. It’s ancestral intelligence. It’s sacred. It’s not a religion — it’s a folk practice. That means it’s not centered on worship, but on practice: ritual, remedies, protection, power.

It’s a blend of West African spirituality, Indigenous American knowledge, and Christian elements, forged in the crucible of slavery.

It was passed down in whispers, in kitchens, in fields, in hush tones and coded phrases — because being seen doing it could get you punished. Or killed.

But people turned to it because they had to.

When they couldn’t go to doctors, they turned to the earth — to roots, herbs, and recipes passed from generation to generation.

When the courts failed them, they conjured justice with roots, prayers, and spells stitched from survival.

When the Christian church rejected them, they remixed the Bible — and turned Psalms into spells.

It’s scripture and rootwork.

Psalms and powders.

It’s power and prayer folded into dirt, ash, honey, and string.

It’s a spiritual system that white America called “evil” — not because it was dangerous, but because it worked.

In Hoodoo, objects aren’t cursed — they’re claimed.

That’s important. These aren’t haunted dolls or spooky trinkets.

They’re charged — with memory. With intention. With survival. With love.

They’re ways to hold power in a world that tries to strip every ounce of it away.

And one of the most iconic tools? The mojo bag.

A small cloth pouch, often red flannel, filled with whatever’s spiritually needed — herbs, charms, prayers, oils, coins, dirt from a grave, pages from a Bible — you name it.

It could be for love. For winning a court case. For protection. For health. For hexes, when needed.

But it’s not just a bag.

It’s a portable altar. A quiet rebellion. A spiritual safety net stitched with intention and history.

And that’s the thing.

When we talk about superstition — we’re not just talking about silly rituals or spooky vibes.

We’re talking about survival systems.

Power of Superstitions

It’s easy to laugh at tossing salt or knocking on wood.

But when people couldn’t speak openly — they spoke through symbols.

Through rituals.

Through doing what needed to be done — quietly. Powerfully.

These weren’t just superstitions.

They weren’t curses.

They were claims.

Rituals carried in pockets and passed through generations.

Proof that fear isn’t the only thing we inherit — so is resilience.

So if superstition helps us make meaning in crisis…how does it show up now?

In a world of hashtags, crystals, and manifesting energy on your FYP —

are we really less superstitious?

Or are we just calling it something new?

Why We Believe

People in the past believed these things because they thought they were real.

Or maybe they didn’t know any better.

That’s what we like to tell ourselves, right?

Because today we’ve got science. Google. TED Talks. AI literally in our pockets.

We’re smarter, better, faster, stronger. Allegedly.

It took every bit of my self-control not to start singing Daft Punk to ya’ll, You’re welcome.

Anyway.

At the end of the day….we’re still human.

We are pattern-seeking creatures — it’s not just a brain thing, it’s a survival thing.

It’s baked into our neurological wiring, sure — but also into our evolution.

From the moment early humans started walking upright and side-eyeing shadows in the tall grass, our brains were scanning for patterns:

Which berries made you sick? Which sky meant a storm? Which footsteps meant run?

We didn’t always have verbal language — but we had patterns.

And recognizing them meant staying alive. So yeah, our brains got real good at connecting dots. Even if the dots weren’t real.

There’s this fun little brain quirk called apophenia — the tendency to see patterns in random stuff.

Like: you break a mirror, and later that day everything goes sideways.

Suddenly you’re like,

“Welp. Guess the curse is kicking in.”

Even if it’s just coincidence, your brain’s convinced, and they love a spooky story arc.

That phenomenon ties into something called illusory correlation — when we assume one thing caused another, even if they’re not even close to related.

You spill salt, get bad news, and your brain goes, “See? Should’ve tossed it over my shoulder.”

No hard evidence. Just feels.

Just some very confident pattern-making.

Because we crave cause and effect.

“This happened because I did that.”

Even if that was opening an umbrella indoors…or skipping past a black cat like he wasn’t just out here minding his business.

Enter cognitive bias — the mental shortcuts our brains use to speed things up. One of the loudest is confirmation bias.

That’s when we remember the hits and forget the misses.

So if you knock on wood and that thing you didn’t want to happen, doesn’t happen?

You’re like, “See? Protection spell activated.”

The 137 other days you knocked and chaos still won out? Your brain edits those out like bloopers.

Or when you carry a rabbit’s foot or a mojo bag and things go your way?

That’s a core memory now. That’s proof the charm works.

Your brain is building its own little belief system — and it’s deeply personal.

Because when the world feels too big, too chaotic, too much to manage — we reach for something small that makes us feel like we can manage it.

That’s what superstition is.

It’s how we take something overwhelming —

grief, danger, injustice, the unknown —

and shrink it down into something we can hold.

A gesture.

A whisper.

A ritual.

Not because it’s logical.

But because it’s soothing.

It’s not about science.

It’s about agency.

Perceived control — the idea that what you do might actually matter. Even just a little.

And the wildest part?

Even when it’s not technically “true,” that belief can still help us.

It calms the nervous system. Lowers anxiety.

Gives the chaos a container. Gives us a sense of choice.

So no — it’s not silly.

It’s survival.

Wrapped in ritual.

Worn like armor.

Don’t Whistle At Night

This one shows up in so many cultures — from Korea to Turkey to Cambodia to parts of the American South.

“Don’t whistle at night — it’ll attract spirits.”

Or demons. Or death. Or just plain bad luck.

Depends on who you ask, but the warning’s always the same: keep quiet after dark.

In Korean folklore, whistling after sunset is said to invite ghosts — or snakes.

In Turkish tradition, it might summon the devil himself.

And in the Black South — that’s the Southern U.S., where Black culture, memory, and spiritual tradition run deep — it’s more of a chill than a rule.

Someone whistles at night?

The room pauses.

There’s a look. A hush.

A quiet “we don’t do that here.”

Why?

Because sound carries.

And night? Night is when the veil thins —

when even skeptics feel something shift.

But here’s the other thing….

Like seriously, Logically? That makes perfect sense.

Whistling in the dark can draw real danger — People you don’t want attention from.

Animals you shouldn’t attract.

Energy you didn’t mean to stir.

So yeah — the warning sounds supernatural.

But underneath?

It’s protection.

It’s precaution.

It’s wisdom, wrapped in a whisper.

We want rituals.

We want safety.

We want something to hold onto in the dark.

And sometimes?

Superstition is just survival that aged well.

Superstition vs. Sacred Practice

Sometimes I wonder:

Who gets to decide what’s superstition… and what’s faith?

Because let’s be real — Hoodoo, curanderismo, folk Catholicism, Appalachian conjure, ancestral offerings —

they weren’t dismissed because they were silly.

They were labeled dangerous because they were powerful.

Because they gave people power outside the Church — or whatever dominant institution held the mic.

Outside the structures that decided what counted as holy, and who was allowed to speak to the divine.

They offered spiritual authority that didn’t require permission.

No priest. No pulpit. No gatekeepers.

No man to bless what was already sacred.

And that made them dangerous.

Dangerous to power.

Dangerous to control.

These practices were special. They kept people spiritually alive when everything else was trying to erase them.

They created connection. Comfort. Control — without needing approval from anyone in charge.

It’s not that one belief is more legitimate than another.

It’s that some got written in Bibles… and others had to be whispered across generations.

In kitchens. In basements. At gravesides.

But they survived.

And we survived.

We’re Still Doing It

And the wildest part?

We’re still doing it.

We just gave it new names.

Now it’s called manifestation.

Now it’s “vibes” and “cleansing energy.”

It’s protective crystals, numerology, TikTok rituals that say:

“Claim this energy by commenting a lit candle emoji.”

We’re not less superstitious.

We’re not more rational.

We’re just better at branding.

Repackaged. Reframed. Rebranded.

Per usual.

But it’s the same soul underneath.

Because somewhere between science and magic are the stories we humans tell ourselves —

to survive.

To cope.

To wish.

To want better.

To hope.

And I’m not here to tell you what’s real and what’s not.

I’m not your guru. I’m not your skeptic.

I’m just someone who knows what it’s like to need meaning when the world won’t give you any.

So you do you. Believe what you need to believe.

Because trust and believe if no one else gets it, I do.

Sometimes belief is the only thing that keeps us going.

It’s the anchor when everything else feels like it’s drifting.

The rhythm in the chaos.

The little whisper that says, “You’re gonna be okay.”

It doesn’t have to be rational to be meaningful.

It doesn’t have to be proven to be powerful.

And really?

If it helps you feel safer, softer, seen?

What’s the harm in knocking on wood?

So there it is, friends!

Black cats, broken mirrors, haunted reflections, and the fear of a number…

They’re not just folklore.

They’re not just superstition.

They’re echoes.

Echoes of our grief. Our magic. Our need to believe that something is out there —

watching,

warning,

whispering.

Sometimes we call it luck.

Sometimes we call it evil.

Sometimes it’s just survival.

But really?

It’s just the story we tell ourselves to make sense of a world we can’t always explain.

A way to hold the unholdable.

To say, “I’m scared,” without having to say it out loud.

To feel like we’ve got a little protection, even if it’s just a rabbits foot or a pouch in our pocket.

And if you were keeping count —

we touched twelve superstition categories in this episode.

So what’s the 13th?

Maybe it’s not a thing at all.

Or…

Maybe it’s you. Carrying these stories forward. Keeping the ritual alive.

And whether you believe in all of it, none of it, or just love the vibe —

I’m glad you chose to be here.

Because weird history is real history.

And the things we carry, fear, and whisper about?

They matter.

As always folks, don’t forget to like, follow, and share the show — we would love to have your support!

Next time, we’re stepping into a chilling series of unsolved murders.

At the turn of the century, deep in the heart of the American South, someone — or something — hunted women in the night.

The press whispered of a Ripper.

The city turned a blind eye.

And the bodies kept coming.

Join us for Shadows of Jim Crow: Atlanta’s Ripper Murders.

Until next time, my friends, be kind, be curious, and be ready to make history.

Interested in learning more? We recommend:

• “The Book of Superstitions” by Shelly Rabinovitch.
• “Mojo Workin’: The Old African American Hoodoo System” by Katrina Hazzard-Donald
• “Folk Witchcraft” by Roger J. Horne

And visit our website at www.bygoneechoes.website