Episode 72G – Dead by Dawn – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 72G Show Notes

Source: Greek Mythology

This week on MYTH, Odysseus is going to meet a lot of people who are mostly dead. You’ll see that the reception line in hell takes forever, that even dead mothers are good at guilting their children, and that swords work great on ghosts. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll learn how to get whatever you want with one simple trick. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 72G, “Dead by Dawn”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
When we left the story last time, we’d picked up just after the end of the Trojan War. . Things had gone bad almost immediately, and wise Odysseus had led his men into disaster after disaster: getting bloodied after raiding a random city for shits and giggles, getting his men stoned on premium lotus, getting men killed in the home of Polyphemus the Cyclops and then getting cursed by said Cyclops because Odysseus was too prideful not to reveal his real name, and almost getting home after some help from the King of the Winds only to get blown off course again because his men can’t stop being greedy while Odysseus naps. They’d stopped at another island to get their bearing and Odysseus had again run into deadly trouble, getting most of his men eaten by cannibal giants known as the Laestrygonians, leaving only the men on his lone ship alive to journey on. They’d reached what seemed like another deserted island, only to encounter the demigoddess witch Circe, who turned half of the Ithacans into pigs. Odysseus defeated her magic with the help of his magical penis and the god Hermes, earning her help. Odysseus then spent a year having a wild, drunken fling with Circe while his men partied as hard as they fucking could. When Odysseus is reminded that he has, you know, a wife, Circe helpfully lets him know his next steps (which involve a trip into the Underworld).
Odysseus and his men were weeping freely at the thought of the incredibly dangerous journey they were about to undertake, but being soldiers to the core, they set sail anyway. On the plus side, Circe had provided the black ship with the ram and the ewe that would be the blood sacrifice to open the gate as well as a magical wind to guide them to the unseen entrance to the Underworld in the mortal realm. The majority of the soldiers were able to sit back and relax as the fresh breeze carried them safely on their way. For a full day and on into the night, the wind drove the ship out to the outer limits of the Oceanus River, where the Cimmerians live in eternal twilight (the mythical origin of Robert Howard’s famous Conan the Barbarian). Their homeland is said to be eternally shrouded in mist and cloud so dense that the eye of the sun cannot pierce it. Ever. Here, on the ebon shores of Cimmeria, the last black ship from Troy landed.
They followed Circe’s direction until they came to the spot she had indicated as the gate into death. Two of his lieutenants, Perimedes and Eurylochus (who had recovered his nerve after a year of safety and feasting) herded the two sheep down onto the beach and held them fast. Odysseus drew his sword and dug a trench the length and depth of his own forearm (why he needed his sword for this, I don’t know). Into the trench, he poured out offerings to the dead: first milk with honey, then mellow wine, and then clean water last of all. He sprinkled barley over all of it, then stood. With a loud voice, he vowed to all of the dead, to the wandering shades, to the listless spirits, that he would slaughter the best heifer in his flock as soon as he returned home to Ithaca again. They built a small pyre and loaded it up with treasure, then promised the dead seer Tyresias that, as a special personalized offer, Odysseus would also sacrifice the best black ram he had on Ithaca, just for Tyresias.
Prayers made and offerings ready, Odysseus took his sharp blade and ran it swiftly across the throats of the ram and the ewe, pouring out their hot lifeblood into the trench with the other offerings. The dark blood flowed in, and the dead came out. From the depths of Erebus (the dark empty place between Hades proper and the world of the living) poured countless shades and spirits, moaning and lurching in answer to the powerful call of blood.
Onward towards the living they came: spectral brides and black-eyed youths and screeching old men rose in answer to the call; young girls with tender hearts that had been scarred deeply by sorrow and brooding soldiers, their bodies ripped and mangled by swords and spears and arrows that still jutted from their corpses. Thousands upon thousands of the restless dead spewed forth in a terrible tide, swarming around the small knot of living men and screaming in the voice of the damned. Brave soldiers the Ithacans might be, but they knew a foe that their strong sword arms were powerless against when they saw one. This army of the dead terrified them, and Odysseus ordered them to complete the next step.
The two sheep were flayed and burned with prayers to the gods, especially dark Hades and dread Persephone. Odysseus meanwhile placed himself on guard, naked blade in hand, and kept the hungry ghosts at bay. It’s not entirely clear why ghosts should fear a purely mortal blade, but I presume it has something to do with this being a liminal space between life and death, bridged by Circe’s knowledge of the deep magics. Only when he had spoken to Tiresias would they be allowed to quench their unearthly hunger on the fresh blood that was already cooling and clotting in the raw earth.
That wasn’t who approached Odysseus, though he knew well the face of the spirit that shambled towards him. No, the wretched shade who stalked towards the living man was none other than Elpenor (who you might remember from last Odyssey episode as the young man who had fallen and broken his neck while trying to answer the call to sail out once more). In their haste to set out on their perilous journey to the Underworld, they had left the young man’s body at Circe’s house, unburied, unhonored, and unwept. Pity and shame gripped Odysseus’ heart at the sight of his dead companion, the latest of the men he had tried and failed to see safely home. Odysseus called out to his man “Elpenor, how did you travel down to the world of darkness? You beat us here – your spectral feet are faster than our ship.”
The shade of their dead comrade in arms moaned spectrally in answer. “Odysseus: royal son of Laertes, you old campaigner and so recently my captain, the doom of an angry god and far too much wine were my destruction. Drunk as a skunk, I completely failed to notice that I’d passed out on the roof until I landed headfirst on the stony earth and my soul flew down to dusky Death. By my good service and by those you left behind – your wife, your father, and your son Telemachus, I ask you, I beg you not to forget me. I know that, when you leave this benighted isle, you and your ship will return to Circe on the island of Aeaea. Don’t abandon my body there, unwept, unburied, and unremembered, or I swear by my own death that my curse will find you, but dress me in my armor and burn my body; then, bury my ashes by the restless churning of the waves on the beach with my oar as a marker so that in the years to come, men might learn from my bad luck.” Odysseus swore to do this for his lost friend without lowering his sword from where it hung over the fresh blood, keeping the hungry dead from it.
From behind Elpenor came Odysseus’ mother Anticleia, which was something of a shock for the man as she had been alive when he had set out for Troy, though that had been a decade and more past. He began to weep openly at the sight of her shade, knowing that she must have passed away in his long absence. Even in his grief however, Odysseus did not let her ghost get to the congealing blood either. None would be allowed to touch that ghoulish feast until he had spoken to Tiresias. Odysseus hadn’t expected to be tested quite this harshly, but he was determined to do what must be done nonetheless.
At last, from the back of the ghostly horde came the shade of the famous Thebian prophet, bearing a golden scepter even now. “Odysseus, son of Laertes, cunning schemer and man of pain, what brings you here to this sunless shore? Why do you forsake the light of day for thus joyless kingdom of the dead? Stand back from the trench and sheathe your sword that I might quench my endless thirst on this freshly spilled blood, and I will tell you the truth that you seek.”
Odysseus obliged, putting away his silver-chased sword and waiting for the apparition to lap hungrily at the pooled blood and sacrificial offerings. Once he had slaked his thirst, Tiresias stood tall and spoke, his voice ringing with the awful power of true prophecy. “I see what you seek, wise Odysseus – a smooth, sweet journey home for you and yours; alas, it is not to be. A god strives against you and raises obstacles in your path. You will not escape the lord of the quaking earth and the master of the roiling sea, whose stormy anger you have stoked by blinding his son the Cyclops, but you and your crew may still reach home safely. The way will not be easy, and you will suffer along every step of that path, but it can be done. If, that is, you have the power to curb their wild desires and base impulses and, more importantly, to reign in your own when you enter the cruel blue seas around Thrinacia Island.
“There, on that beautiful but deadly island, you will find your doom – the cattle of Lord Helios, fat and lazy and roaming free. Leave them all free and unharmed and you may all yet see home once more, difficult though your path will be. Injure even one of those sacred animals, and doom stalks your shadows. I can see it, dark and dreadful and terrible – your ship shattered, your men mangled, and your own soul tormented and wrecked. Beyond that, my vision grows hazy. With strength and cunning Odysseus, you alone might escape the slaughter, but even if you escape (and that’s a big if), you will come home late, broken and alone on a stranger’s ship. You will find no solace in your homecoming, as your place will have been usurped by cruel, arrogant men who covet your home and your wife, and who devour and demolish your wealth. They will court your wife, and it will cost blood to oppose them.
“If you survive this last hardship Odysseus, then here is my advice to you: take your oar and place it on your shoulder. Stand with your back to the sea and walk inland. Travel until your back aches and you come to a people who have never seen the sea, whose food has never been seasoned with salt spray, whose dreams are not haunted by towering ships with crimson prows flying across the inconstant waters. This will be your sign, clear and unmistakable, that you have reached the place: when another traveler walks along with you and asks what that wooden weight across your shoulders is, if it’s some kind of new fan to winnow grain, then plant the blade of your oar in the earth and sacrifice three fine beasts to Lord Poseidon: a ram, a bull, and a wild boar. Then journey home and make noble offerings to Zeus, lord of the skies, and to all of the deathless gods. If you do, your death will be gentle, painless, and far from the sea when it finally finds you in your ripe old age.”
Tiresias slumped a little as he finished, tired by the powerful pronouncement he had just delivered. Odysseus was already turning over everything the old prophet had told him in his mind, filing it away. “Oh Tiresias, the gods have spun out a strange and terrible fate, and I thank you for making my path a little clearer. One more thing I would ask of you: I see the ghost of my mother, left behind when I sailed to war. Dead now, her shade crouches near the blood in silence, unable to meet my eyes or speak a single word to me, her only son! How, great prophet, how can I make her know me for who I am?” Tiresias smiled. “A simple thing, Odysseus, and a single rule. Any one of the ghosts you allow to approach and drink from the blood will speak the truth to you, whole, and bare, and brutal. Anyone you refuse will turn and fade back into dusky death once more.”
His task complete and his thirst sated, Tiresias turned and strode proudly back into the House of Death, leaving Odysseus to ponder his fate. For his part, Odysseus waited until his mother’s ghost approached the blood, then allowed her to drink of its clotted ecstasy. As the rich crimson stained her lips, Anticleia’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. “My son! How are you here? I can still see the glow of life around you, so what brings you down to the sunless land of the dead? It is nearly impossible for the living to find their way here. Great and terrible rivers flow between the mortal world and this one, with waters that seethe and boil, deadly dangerous to try and cross. Have you come here from Troy with your men? Why have you not gone home to Ithaca? Why have you not returned to Penelope?”
This rebuke, mild though it was, cut Odysseus to the quick. “Mother, I had to make the perilous journey into this twilight world to seek council from Tiresias, seer of Thebes, on how to get home. I have only once come close to my homeland in Achaea, but I have not been able to set a single foot on my native soil, cursed to wander from hardship to hardship from the day I first set sail with Agamemnon bound for Troy. But enough of my trials, mother, what about you? How did death find you? Did some slow illness lay you low, or did Artemis bring you down with one painless shaft from her bow? What of my father, and what of the son I left behind? Is he still safe? Am I still king in Ithaca, with Telemachus my heir? Or has some stranger dragged a young boy from the throne and usurped my place, assured that I will never again return home to challenge him? And my wife…tell me of Penelope. Does she still wait for me? Does she stand beside my son, guarding the estates to be his when he is old enough? Or has she forgotten me and wed some other handsome prince and brought him into the bed we once shared?”
Odysseus seems awfully concerned about whether his wife got some strange dick for a man who just spent a year dallying with a demigoddess, but that does seem totally in keeping with everything we’ve seen of his character so far. Anticlea hastened to assure her son that Penelope waited for him still. “The poor woman suffers in your absence, uncertain if you yet live; she wastes away her days and weeps away her nights, hoping against hope for your return. Telemachus maintains the estate in your stead, attending the public banquets and maintaining the peace. Your father has become a recluse, staying all alone on his farm and refusing to go into town. By winter, he lives in the lodge with the servants, sleeping on the floor in a bed of rags. By summer, he sleeps out in the fields in a bed of earth and leaves. Old age is hard on him, and made harder by your long absence and uncertain fate. I know, because I died with that same uncertainty and fear and grief, my son. I was not stuck down in merciful quickness by the sharp-eyed huntress, nor did I waste away with some illness that wracks the body and slowly drains all vitality out of the limbs. No, I died of heartbreak for you Odysseus, and it was my fear for your safety that tore my life away from me.” Talk about mom guilt, and from beyond the grave even. Sheesh.
Odysseus was incredibly vulnerable to this sort of emotional hurt, and he longed desperately to hug his mother one last time, dead though she might be. Three times, he tried to do so, but she was but a shade and she passed through his hands each time, flitting away from him like a flickering shadow, and each time, the ache in his heart grew fiercer and more unbearable. “Why do you flee from me, mother? Why not stay put so that, even here on the threshold of the halls of the dead, we can take some bitter comfort in shared tears? Or are you a trick perhaps, a wraith sent by dread Persephone to stoke the bitter ache in my heart?”
Anticlea shook her head ruefully. “My son, you are the unluckiest man alive. I’m no trick, no deception of Queen Persephone; this is just the way of death for mortals. Sinews no longer bind my flesh and bones together. Life’s furious fire burns the body to ashes until finally the soul flees from the pale bones and flitters away into oblivion like a dream. Your is still the land of daylight, my son. Go quickly and return to it. Remember these things that you might tell your wife when you finally get home again.”
As Odysseus and his mother finished trading sorrows, a great array of powerful women appeared from the dusty halls of Hades, sent by Persephone. Each was the wife or daughter of powerful princes, and they swarmed around the dark, steaming pool of blood hungry for its heady life. Odysseus remembered Tyresias’ words and decided to question them, but they were all obsessed with their struggle to reach the blood, so he once more drew his sharp sword and blocked their access. Dismayed, they approached one at a time and spoke with Odysseus in exchange for fresh blood. What follows is a series of short summaries of some very cool stories and mythological figures.
First up was Tyro, daughter of kings who had married a son of Aeolus. She tells Odysseus of the time she fell in love with the river god Enipeus. She longed to catch his attention, and so she spent her days lounging along the banks of his stream until he finally took corporeal form and made sweet, wet river sex with her on the bank (and the story is very clear that she was a virgin until she hopped on that divine D, so this must be before she wed). Once they were done (or he was, at least), he promised her that she would give birth within the year (because god sex always leads to pregnancy). He also told her that, although she couldn’t tell anyone else about it, he wanted her to know that he was, in fact Poseidon, lord of earthquakes, and not Enipeus at all, which makes this creepy and rapey. From their union came twins Pelias and Neleus, famous mythological figures. Neleus will show up in the story of Heracles/Hercules and was the father of Nestor, who you might remember from Troy. Pelias earned Hera’s wrath for killing his stepgrandmother in her temple, which will be important when he sends Jason on the quest for the golden fleece.
After Tyro, Asopus’ daughter Antiope appeared. She told Odysseus proudly of the time she lay with Zeus himself and gave birth to twin sons Amphion and Zethus, who built the fabled walls around the city of Thebes. After her came Alcmena, wife of Amphitryon, who also fucked around and found out with Zeus, giving birth to the legendary Heracles/Hercules. Beside her, Odysseus could see Megara, wife of Heracles (and love interest of the Disney version).
Next in this parade of mythical women came Epicaste, mother of Oedipus (yes, that Oedipus), who unknowingly married her son after he killed his father, her first husband and then hanged herself in anguish when she learned the awful truth. Then came Chloris, wife of Neleus (who we just mentioned) who gave birth to sons (including Nestor) and a daughter named Pero, whose story we’ll get into in Gods and Monsters.
Next came Leda, Tyndraeus’ wife, famous for being raped by Zeus in the form of a swan (which we talked about in depth in Episode 26B). Next came Iphimedeia, Aloeus’ wife (who we discussed in Episode 26F). After her came Phaedra and Procris and Araidne, daughter of King Minos (who we’ll get into when we talk about Theseus and the Minotaur).
Next in the seemingly endless list came Clymene, Maera, and Eriphyle who famously encouraged her husband Amphiaraus to take part in the Seven Against Thebes expedition and was later killed by her son, setting off a whole curse thing that we’ll get into when we dive into the Seven Against Thebes story. After this seemingly exhaustive litany, Odysseus then sees another endless line of women that the story thankfully says were too many to tally or name. Unfortunately, that just means that it’s time for Odysseus to meet the shades of a number of Greek heroes, including more than a few names we’ve heard before, but we’re going to have to wait until next time to meet them because it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s hero is Melampus.
The story of Melampus is only alluded to by Homer, who assumed that his audience knew the story already. Thankfully for us later assholes, Herodotus and others wrote down a more thorough version of the tale. Melampus was a renowned seer, and there were several stories explaining his gifts. The version from Herodotus has the more mundane version of him traveling to Egypt to learn divination from their ancient (even by ancient Greek standards) secrets. Two other versions, similar in theme to each other, also exist and are a lot more esoteric and fascinating.
In one, Melampus was out on his father’s estate as a young boy when two of the servants discovered a pair of snakes hiding in the tall grass near the home. The servants shrugged and grabbed a tool to kill them, just to be safe, but the young Melampus begged them to spare the snakes and, being insistent as only a privileged child can be, he convinced the servants to live and let live (or at least to wait until Melampus had moved on to something else before circling back and finishing the job). In gratitude, the two serpents taught the young boy the language of the animals, allowing him to speak with all living beings (which implies that A, all animals speak the same universal language and B, that any of them could teach us if they felt like it, but humans are a bunch of dicks, so they mostly don’t bother).
In the alternate version, a young Melampus discovers a mother snake crushed under the wheel of a cart one day. Nearby, he finds two baby snakes who are now orphans (which isn’t at all how snake biology usually works, but it’s a sweet story so screw science). He takes the two baby snakes and raises them himself until they were full-grown and capable of setting out into the world on their own. Before heading out to seek their fortunes, the two snakes snuck into Melampus’ room while he was asleep and licked the insides of his ears clean (of what isn’t made clear exactly). When he awoke the next morning, he found that he understood the conversation of the birds flying overhead, and soon realized that he could in fact understand all animals and prophesize to boot.
Years passed, and Melampus grew into a young man, along with his brother Bias. It came to pass that Bias developed a serious crush on Pero, daughter of Neleus, King of Pylos (who’s shade appeared to Odysseus in the main story). He was not alone in this: Pero was said to be exceedingly beautiful, and she was courted by a seemingly endless stream of suitors. With an abundance of choices, Neleus decided to get creative (the way they only ever do in myths). He decreed that his daughter’s hand would go to the man who could bring him the cattle of Phylacus, king of nearby Thessaly.
Melampus was a compassionate man and after listening to his brother sigh about this mystery princess for a little while, he agreed to go and fetch the cattle. He pretended it would be super easy, but in his heart of hearts, he feared that there would be serious hardships awaiting for him as a cattle rustler. You would think that being able to talk to the cows would make stealing them easier, but either they were extra ornery or Melampus was just overwhelmed with trying to herd that many talking cows with absolutely no experience. Whichever it was, Melampus was caught in the act and thrown in prison.
There’s another version of this next bit that involves him being kidnapped completely independent of any romantic subplot, but since Pero was our lead-in here, I’ll stick with that version. While sitting in his jail cell, with no hope of release what with being caught absolutely commiting the crime he was accused of, Melampus overheard two critters (alternately worms or termites) speaking overhead. They were chatting with each other in what I imagine as refined, over the top British accents. “Wot wot old fellow, what a marvelous repast we’ve just had.” “Quite so, old chap. That wooden beam was quite delicious. There’s almost nothing left of it, sad to say. Pip pip, off to find another feast, wot!” Melampus could hear the tiny voices coming from the main support beams for his cell roof and began to immediately demand, loudly and insistently, that he be moved to another cell right the fuck now.
His jailers finally got sick of listening to him bitch and moan, and so they moved him to the next cell, which quickly proved to have been a good thing. Not long after, the insect-eaten beam broke, collapsing the roof of the cell. When the jailers saw the devastation that would have killed their prisoner if he hadn’t made such a fuss, they decided that they must have a powerful seer on their hands. News quickly reached the king, who ordered Melampus’ release. Hey, no one wants an angry magic man on their hands and besides, maybe the seer had some mystic reason for trying to steal them that had saved the kingdom. More likely, Phylacus just realized that a seer was just what he needed to solve a problem of his own, and setting the man free was the best way to get what he wanted.
You see, Phylacus had an adult son named Iphiclus who hadn’t yet produced an heir of his own. He feared that his son was shooting blanks, which was very bad for a royal line. A different version of the story has Iphiclus instead being not yet fully grown and suffering from a strange malady that no doctor could touch. Personally, I think this second version makes more sense. Phylacus promised to give Melampus the cows he’d been trying to steal if he healed his son’s balls so he could give him grandbabies.
Melampus agreed to these terms and went out to offer a sacrificial bull to Zeus, then offered the parts that weren’t burned to the local vultures. They chatted with Melampus as they ate, telling him that they hadn’t feasted like this since the last time the king had sacrificed a bull. That time, the prince had been frightened by the sight of the huge, bloody knife the king had used to butcher the animal and so the king had immediately tossed it aside so as to not terrify his son any further. Pretty understanding of him, honestly, but unfortunately, he hadn’t paid attention to where he threw it. The careless blade had embedded itself in a tree that happened to be home to a hamadryad (a nature spirit that was tied to the trees it lived in), injuring the dryad in the process. In retribution, the dryad had cursed the prince, but she agreed to lift it if the knife were pulled out of her tree. Melampus would then need to boil the rusty knife and give the prince the water used.
Melampus followed these directions, and Iphiclus was thus healed (though versions of the story say that Melampus instead healed the son of King Proteus or King Anaxagoras). The king happily provided the requested cattle, allowing his brother to win the hand of the fair Pero.
In a different story, or sometimes a different version of the same story, Melampus came to Argos, ruled by King Proteus, whose daughters were being driven mad by Hera in vengeance for insulting her. He had gained something of a reputation by now, and so he was brought to the king, who wanted to ask for the seer’s help in healing his kingdom. Melampus, who had realized by now that he could use his power to actually make his life super comfortable, demanded a third of the kingdom as payment. The king understandably told him to go fuck himself. He then sought out other people to try and heal them, but none were successful and their madness continued to deepen. Worse, the madness was now beginning to spread to more of the women of Argos, threatening to topple his entire kingdom into turmoil.
Desperate now, Proteus summoned Melampus again and agreed to pay his price. “Glad to hear you’re finally seeing reason, O king, but as more people are now affected, my prices have gone up. Supply and demand you know. Now, I require a third of your kingdom for myself and a third for my brother Bias.” Knowing that his balls were in a vise, King Proteus agreed. Melampus then drove the madwomen to a temple dedicated to some goddess (often Artemis, though different sources name different deities), though one of the daughters by the name of Iphinoe died along the way. The rest found solace inside the sanctuary, giving Melampus time to concoct a drug to cure their madness and free their minds.
Many of the figures in these stories exist in the historical records, though there are plenty of contradictions. For instance, Proteus ruled Turyns; it was his brother Acrisus who ruled Argos. His son Megapanthes did end up ruling Argos however, and it’s likely that the division of the kingdom occurred during the reign of his grandson Anaxagoras. The version of the story that accompanies Anaxagoras says that the women of Argos were all being driven mad by Dionysus as a result of a curse (maybe just for funsies, what with Dionysus being the crazy god of madness and all that). The rest of the tale goes more or less the same way as before. The descendants of Melampus (who had married Iphianira, one of the Proetides he had cured) ruled over a section of Argos until the Trojan War, when the fractured kingdom was reunited under the descendants of Anaxagoras.
Melampus also appears in the tale of King Midas from Episode 72C. Remember the barber who whispered the secret about King Midas having ass’ ears into the dirt, which grew into a reed? Well, the reeds whispered the secret to the birds, and it was Melampus who heard them talking about it. Melampus thought this was fucking hilarious, and immediately told everyone what he had learned. Fortunately, since he was a renowned seer and knower of unknowable things, the barber wasn’t put to death for spilling the secret as Midas had threatened.
So the next time you’re wondering just what your pet wants from you, consider letting baby snakes lick your ears clean. I mean, it can’t hurt, right? Unless they bite you, are venomous, and you die I guess, but nothing ventured nothing gained.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff, whom you can find on fiverr.com.
Next time, we’ll once more follow Odysseus down into the depth of Hades and hope that he can find his way back out again. You’ll see that even ghosts like compliments, that some lessons are only learned after death, and that hunters gonna hunt. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll see that sometimes Zeus gets lazy with his eternal tortures. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.