In 1997, a man calling himself Mel Waters phoned into Coast to Coast AM and calmly explained that he had a bottomless pit on his property in rural Washington. He said he'd lowered fishing line 80,000 feet and never hit bottom. Neighbours used it as a landfill. He claimed a dead dog thrown in came back alive. Then the government seized the land, and Mel vanished. No one matching his name has ever been found in the area.

NOAA has been recording the ocean since 1991. In that time, its deep-sea hydrophones have picked up sounds that nobody can fully explain. The Bloop — so loud it was detected 5,000km away, several times louder than a blue whale. The Upsweep — a rhythmic rising tone that's been playing on loop for over 30 years, peaking every spring and autumn. Julia — a 15-second wail that crossed the entire Pacific. The Hum — a low droning noise heard worldwide that only some people can detect, and no equipment can reliably record. Most have since been chalked up to icebergs. Some haven't. The full list is a rabbit hole.

In 1984, archaeologists dug up a carved limestone slab in the Netherlands and spent 40 years arguing over what it was. Too small for a building. Wrong shape for a road. Then someone suggested it was a board game — but it didn't match any known Roman game. So researchers fed 100 ancient game rule sets into an AI, let it play itself millions of times, and cross-referenced the results with microscopic wear patterns on the stone. They reconstructed the rules, named it Ludus Coriovalli, and you can play it online right now!

📍 Comet 67P, The Universe.
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