It was enough to spook police officers who visited the home, and more than enough to earn the family international media coverage. But social workers and other professionals who took custody of the children in the aftermath offered a different, much sadder explanation. Ammons' own doctor chalked up her reports to "delusions" and "hallucinations," and the children seemed to be playing along to placate her.

A team of psychologists noted that the children tended to display "demonic behavior" only when they were asked questions they didn't want to answer, or if things weren't going their way. In other words, they were tantrums, not possessions. This also provided the family with a convenient excuse for their landlord when they fell behind on rent, and the children's school when they failed to show up.

After the family moved out and the next tenant experienced no spiritual weirdness, Ghost Adventures host Zak Bagans bought the house to make a very spooky-looking documentary. Immediately after filming wrapped, he had the house demolished so it couldn't torment anyone else, and definitely not to thwart any naysayers trying to debunk the tale. Meanwhile, Latoya Ammons and the priest who attempted to exorcise the spirits both signed movie deals with Evergreen Media Holdings. Thank you, Satan.

Normally when people make such claims, we just try not to make eye contact with them on the bus. But for some reason, the media leapt on Teague's story. Outlets like The Independent, The Washington Post, and People followed Teague's love story, from their meet cute during a meditation session through her discovery of his true identity: the pirate who inspired Captain Jack Sparrow. (A claim which The Independent reported with a comically straight face that "experts have challenged.") The media was with them all the way up to their fairy tale wedding.

Sadly, it wasn't meant to be. After writing a novel about their love story and enduring a ghost pregnancy scare, Mrs. Teague discovered that her ghost husband shared more than a passing resemblance with Johnny Depp when he got ghost-violent with her. She soon announced to the world that their marriage was over.

Interestingly, their relationship first began to deteriorate when she put a halt to sexual activity, believing that she was suffering from health problems caused by ghostly marital relations. She didn't say exactly what she believed the cause was, so we're gonna go ahead and assume ghost-herpes.

We'd point out it's a bit sunny for most vampires, but that might be extending more thought than this deserves.

At this point, most people would wish Ashantison a good day and go about their business, but reporters insisted on asking him a bunch of questions, the answers to which have made nobody happier. How does he drink blood? Usually in a glass, sometimes via X-Acto knife. What does he do for a living? He's a "spiritual consultant" at a voodoo shop, because the undead have pretty limited career options. What does he call non-vampires? "Mundanes." (Ugh.) Vice even sat down with him for a meal of (pig) blood sausage, apparently just because they could (which is basically their motto at this point).

In 2011, Foerster -- a self-proclaimed expert in ancient elongated skulls and us-proclaimed expert in strange vowel placements -- took DNA samples from the remains to be analyzed by a geneticist, who reported that the samples were definitely otherworldly. It so happens that this geneticist also believed she was in possession of Bigfoot DNA, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't trust her findings. Wait, no, that's exactly what that means.

Still, it was enough for Foerster to kick-start a lucrative career writing weird books, giving expensive tours, and appearing on TV shows like Ancient Aliens. (You know, the one with the guy with the hair.) In 2017, right as he'd milked those skulls for all they were worth, he miraculously discovered what he claimed was a mummified alien hand, also in Peru.

Brien FoersterMan, they get all the aliens.

His reputation among the military surplus crowd has been kept afloat by two FBI raids on his house. After all, why would they bother unless he was on to something, right? But it turned out the first raid concerned Lazar's business, United Nuclear Scientific Equipment and Supplies, through which he sold chemicals that could be used to make illegal fireworks. It's a pretty safe bet that the more recent one in 2018 was also, uh, "terrestrial" in nature.

Lazar has faded into obscurity , but public interest in his story has been revived a bit by a 2018 Netflix documentary. Just keep in mind it was made by a guy whose credits include Nano Man: Utility Fog and Hunt For The Skinwalker. So, you know, maybe take it with a Big Gulp of salt.

"Crazy guy is crazy on Facebook" isn't usually a scoop that reporters fight over, but for some reason, Edmonds' story made him a darling of the paranormal community. Investigators who visited his ranch claim to have found "irrefutable" evidence of alien contact, like this weirdly carved stone that they saw an alien drop ... right after they'd set down their camera, darn the luck! However, the biggest push came from the Travel Channel, which sent Zak Bagans to the ranch to film an episode of Ghost Adventures.

It's not clear why Edmonds would fabricate such a story. He and his wife have no apparent history of conning people. In fact, they run a horse rescue center, and the only reason they're moving is to start another horse rescue property. Someone should probably look into where all that blood came from, though.

For more, check out the 6 Most Eerily Convincing Ghost Videos On YouTube - The Spit Take:

Also, we'd love to know more about you and your interesting lives, dear readers. If you spend your days doing cool stuff, drop us a line at iDoCoolStuff at Cracked dot com, and maybe we can share your story with the entire internet.

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