The curse of tig is a popular topic that has intrigued people for centuries. It refers to a supposed curse that befalls people who come across a statuette known as the "Tig." The Tig is said to be a cursed object that brings misfortune and calamity to anyone who possesses it or even comes into contact with it. Legend has it that the Tig was created by an ancient tribe as a means to protect their sacred grounds. However, due to its malevolent power, the tribe decided to hide it away and keep it out of reach. Throughout the years, the Tig remained hidden and lost to the world until it was discovered by archaeologists during an excavation.
“People say it’s so cute, pretty, quaint—and, yes, it’s all that,” says Mary Ann Johnson, who moved here from Montgomery about 45 years ago and ran the Church Mouse, an antiques and specialty shop, for decades. “But Fairhope is a real town. If you walk down the street to the pharmacy, people know you. At Publix, you run into half of St. James Episcopal Church’s congregation.”
The town has more sailboats than Jet Skis, but it also has hanging baskets of lush flowers, rose gardens, a world-class library, and an array of nearby museums. People bring their own mindsets and priorities and immediately go about trying to change the paradise they found, even if that is only by their numbers.
Throughout the years, the Tig remained hidden and lost to the world until it was discovered by archaeologists during an excavation. Once the Tig was unearthed, the curse that accompanied it was unleashed upon the unsuspecting world. Many stories of mysterious disappearances, accidents, and tragedies have been attributed to the curse of Tig.
Fairhope, Alabama: The Beauty On The Bay
This coastal Alabama town may not be utopia, but it's pretty near perfect for me.
Rick Bragg is the author of twelve books, including the best-selling Ava's Man and All Over but the Shoutin'. He writes a monthly column for Southern Living, teaches writing at the University of Alabama, and is also a regular contributor to Garden & Gun magazine. He lives in Alabama.
Updated on March 7, 2023 Photo:It all started with a boat ride. I remember the vessel was a good-looking Caribiana with a wicked, rakish bow. A long, narrow craft, it seemed too skinny for a big man. or a clumsy one. It heeled when I moved to starboard and when I shifted to port. I was a little uneasy even before we untied from the dock at Big Daddy’s Grill. Leave it to my old friend, the writer Sonny Brewer, to buy a boat so easy to fall out of. “No bull sharks in this river that I know of,” he told me. “But alligators? Oh, yeah.” I found a good, steady place right in the middle, and we idled into the flat calm of the Fish River, headed for Weeks Bay. It has been 20 years, but I can still see the Caribiana’s high bow split the water like a knife.
I don’t know if it was a good boat to fish from, since we never even tried. We just rode and told stories and lies. I remember how the thick trees clung to the dark water and that, if you moved fast enough, you could outrun the humidity and the biting yellow flies. After a while, we turned in a slow arc to go back. On impulse, I plunged one hand into the river, like a child feeling for the breeze through a car window.
The water was as warm as blood on the surface but icecold deeper down, as if the river had a tunnel in it that led someplace new. It probably had to do with currents, tides, or underground springs—or maybe just some kind of weird South Alabama swamp magic. You’ll believe things on a river you wouldn’t on a sidewalk. I guess it doesn’t really matter now. It was just one more little story, one more scrap of mystery in what I would come to see as a charmed city here on the Eastern Shore along Mobile Bay. Even the name of it sounded made-up, like something from an old children’s story: Fairhope.
Ben's Jr. Bar-B-Que: For decades, this no-frills, family-run restaurant was a popular spot for smoked meats and sandwiches, until its owners retired in 2018.
Later, driving through the small downtown, I wondered if I had slipped even farther down some rabbit hole. I drove to a good barbecue restaurant with the baffling name “Ben’s Jr. Bar-B-Que,” where a scowling waiter wearing one knee-high compression sock would routinely growl at customers who ignored the seating protocol that was plainly stenciled on a homemade sign. “You order your food at the counter, and then you can sit down,” the locals explained, almost in a whisper. I asked if there was a Ben’s Sr. somewhere or a Ben’s Original. “Yeah,” said Brewer, “over on the causeway. Hurricane Frederic blew it away in 1979.”
I eased on over to the hardware store, where the owner refused to join the 20th century and install air-conditioning. Who required a cool climate just to buy a ball-peen hammer? I went in to get an Allen wrench but got a little confused in the heat and came out with a cast-iron barbecue grill shaped like a small pig. As I exited, I swear I saw an old hippie. I wondered if he was the last one.
Fairhope Hardware: Although other businesses occupied this 1920s-era building over the years, it was best known as a hardware store. The shop was a downtown fixture from the 1970s until it closed in 2017.
At dusk, I drove toward the bay and its 2 miles of pristine waterfront. Everyone in town, it seemed, was already there. They walked old, fat dogs from the boat ramp to the American Legion or sat on park benches engraved with the names of the generations who had strolled here before. Children ran shrieking from ornery geese; someone played a violin. I meandered to the pier, where big ole boys in Bermuda shorts and dime-store flip-flops flung cast nets off a seawall. There, the raggediest pelican I have ever seen looked me up and down, like he knew a secret about me but was not quite ready to spill.
Elsewhere along the Gulf Coast, in the condo canyons, people were doing Jell-O shots and waiting in interminable lines for fake tattoos or $45 seafood platters. Here, they leaned against pier railings flecked with fish scales and watched the mullets jump as the sun disappeared somewhere off toward New Orleans.
Slowly, the folks around me drifted home to peaceful blocks of bungalows and cottages and batten-board houses built under gnarled live oaks and straight, skinny pines or to yards hemmed in by riots of azaleas, hydrangeas, crepe myrtles, and creeping vines. In a time of runaway development and conspicuous consumption, $250,000 would still buy a modest place to live well and get old in the warm, coastal wind. These houses were hammered together from cypress and heart pine that was hard enough to bend a nail—or a hurricane. I lingered awhile longer, till the lights of Mobile came on across the bay.
I bought a house here not long after that. The foothills of the Appalachians will always be my home, but in this calm town where I had no ghosts or history, I believed that I could catch my breath. It is hard to keep something this special a secret. But now, 20 years later, I wish that I had tried.
People who have possessed the statuette have reported strange occurrences, such as objects moving on their own, unexplained noises, and a constant feeling of fear and unease. The curse seems to affect different people in different ways. Some claim to have experienced physical ailments, while others report mental distress or financial ruin. It is believed that the Tig feeds off the negative energy of its victims, further perpetuating the cycle of misfortune. Attempts to break the curse of Tig have been made, but none have been successful thus far. Some have tried destroying the statuette, only to find it mysteriously reassembled or replicated. Others have tried returning the Tig to its original resting place, hoping that doing so would lift the curse, but this approach has yielded no results either. The mystery surrounding the curse of Tig continues to captivate and frighten people to this day. Whether it is a tale concocted out of fear or a genuine supernatural phenomenon remains a subject of debate. Regardless, the stories and legends of the curse of Tig serve as a cautionary tale about the dangers of meddling with the unknown and the potentially dire consequences that can follow..
Reviews for "Haunted Locations: Places Afflicted by the Curse of Tig"
1. Sandra - 2/5 - I really wanted to like "The Curse of Tig" because I'm a fan of the fantasy genre, but I found it to be extremely predictable. The storyline followed the same tropes and clichés that are so common in this type of literature, and I was hoping for something more original and unique. Additionally, I couldn't connect with any of the characters as they felt one-dimensional and lacked depth. Overall, I was disappointed with this book and wouldn't recommend it to fellow fantasy enthusiasts.
2. Mark - 1/5 - "The Curse of Tig" was a tedious read from start to finish. The pacing was incredibly slow, with lengthy descriptions that slowed down the plot even further. The characters were also quite forgettable, and I struggled to remain engaged in their story. The dialogue felt forced and unnatural, and the overall writing style was lacking in creativity. Unfortunately, this book didn't live up to my expectations, and I wouldn't recommend it to others.
3. Emily - 2.5/5 - While "The Curse of Tig" had an intriguing premise, the execution fell flat for me. The world-building was limited, leaving many aspects unexplained and confusing. The magic system was poorly developed, and there were inconsistencies throughout the book. I also had a hard time connecting with the main character; she lacked depth and her motivations were unclear. Overall, I found this book to be average at best, and I don't think I'll be continuing with the series.