Swamp Gossip Unit 6B: Baba Yaga, HOA Terror: Issue April #001
Swamp Gossip, Volume 1
Swamp Gossip – Issue #001
Compiled by Miss Bogbean, Editor-in-Unreliable-Residence, Unit 6A
Welcome, darling. You made it.
Through the teaser posts, through the rituals, through the haunted inbox settings—you’ve arrived at the first official issue of Swamp Gossip.
The porch has teeth.
The HOA is on fire (metaphorically. For now).
And Baba Yaga has done it again.
What Is Swamp Gossip?
If you’re new here (or mildly disoriented), Swamp Gossip is a monthly magical newsletter from deep inside the chicken-legged suburbs of Forest Glen Condominiums.
Each issue contains:
A short story starring mythical neighbors and mildly illegal enchantments
A local gossip column straight from the cursed streets
Cryptid classifieds (because yes, ghosts need roommates too)
Miss Bogbean’s personal notes, warnings, and occasional spells
You’re reading Issue #001, and we’re starting with the tale of what happens when a certain legendary witch moves into Unit 6B…
For Paid Subscribers
If you’re a member of the inner circle—first of all, bless your bog-wandering heart. Paid subscribers get access to:
-The full monthly newsletter
-Bonus mini-posts and deep-lore extras
-Monthly Creature Feature
-A printable Spell of the Month for daily enchantment
-A customizable Honorary Resident Certificate (because you do live here spiritually)
-Occasional downloadable curiosities like hex labels, prophecy cards, and “Cursed But Trying” merit badges
-Sneak peeks at storylines, behind-the-scenes chaos, and other goodies too weird for the general public
Thank you for helping this haunted little neighborhood grow weirder and witchier with every moon.
Swamp Gossip Unit 6B: Baba Yaga, HOA Terror: Issue April #001
On the edge of suburbia, right where the neatly trimmed lawns start to give way to a suspicious patch of swampy wetlands the city keeps “meaning to rezone,” there stands the Forest Glen Condominiums. It’s a development of beige stucco boxes stacked like soggy graham crackers, each one indistinguishable from the next—except for Unit 6B.
Unit 6B has legs.
Not metaphorical legs. Actual, gnarled, vaguely chicken-like legs. They sprouted one foggy Tuesday after a particularly heated HOA meeting about mailbox uniformity. The HOA president, Linda from Unit 3A, filed so many complaints. None were answered.
Inside 6B lives Baba Yaga. Yes, that Baba Yaga. The one from the Slavic fairy tales, all bone needles and cryptic rhymes, who used to eat children and now eats paleo. She wears velvet house robes and fuzzy socks with little skulls on them. Her fridge is stocked with kombucha and pickled things no one else can pronounce.
She runs a surprisingly lucrative Etsy shop called Hex & Flex, where she sells:
ethically sourced bone charms
shadow work journals made from reclaimed birch bark
and artisanal ointments that smell faintly of cedar, regret, and vengeance.
Her reviews are glowing. Mostly.
⭐⭐⭐⭐☆
“The jar screamed when I opened it, but my eczema is gone???”
— ravencrone69
The neighbors don’t know what to do with her. She replaced her balcony with a raven perch. The landscaping company refuses to touch her “yard” (read: enchanted mushroom glade). And last Halloween, she handed out homemade licorice laced with truth-telling herbs and told three middle schoolers they would all break up before prom.
All of them did.
But the real drama started when Linda decided to confront her.
At 3:33 p.m. on a sunny Thursday, clipboard in hand and wearing her most intimidating Ann Taylor blazer, Linda marched up the uneven stone path—recently reconfigured by the hut itself—and rang the doorbell.
A faint cackle echoed before the door opened itself. Baba Yaga stood there, backlit by the flickering light of a thousand candles and at least one floating skull.
“Yes?” she asked, sipping tea from a mug that read World’s Okayest Witch.
Linda cleared her throat. “This is a family community, and frankly, your...your property violates several codes. Your porch grows teeth. Your wind chimes moan. Last week, the lawn hissed at my poodle.”
Baba Yaga smiled.
“That was not the lawn.”
There was a long pause. Somewhere behind Baba Yaga, a kettle screamed. Not in a boiling way. In a Banshee-having-a-bad-hair-day kind of way.
The old witch stepped out onto the porch, which gently lowered itself to meet the walkway with a creaking sigh.
“Let me show you something,” Baba Yaga said. She reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out a scroll. Not a metaphorical scroll. A real one. Parchment. Seals. Something that smelled faintly of myrrh and unresolved grudges.
Linda’s face twitched.
“This,” Baba Yaga declared, unfurling the scroll with a dramatic flourish, “is the Ancient Covenantal Agreement of Territorial Residency and Magical Boundaries, signed in blood, moonlight, and suspiciously red ink. It predates your HOA by...oh, about eight hundred years.”
Linda stared at the elegant script. “This isn’t notarized.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Baba Yaga purred. “It was notarized by a crone named Mavka who lives in a mirror and eats notaries for breakfast.”
Behind them, the house gave a groaning snrk of approval and settled lower into its haunches, feathers puffing up like a particularly smug rooster.
Linda took a step back. “Look. Can we just...compromise?”
Baba Yaga tilted her head.
“I can offer you three things,” she said thoughtfully. “One: I’ll keep the porch teeth filed. Two: I’ll replace the bone wind chimes with ethically-sourced sea glass. And three—” She leaned in, smile sharp as winter. “I will hex you only mildly next full moon.”
Linda gulped.
“Deal.”
From that day forward, the HOA learned to tolerate the chicken-legged anomaly at Unit 6B. They gave up on mailbox conformity and politely ignored the ravens that whispered stock tips from her gutters. Children dared each other to knock on her door, but never twice. And once a week, a mysterious package labeled “Bone Broth & Vibes” appeared on the doorstep of Linda’s unit—always warm, always steaming, always unasked for.
Linda never complained again.
Not because she liked it.
But because her poodle started speaking Latin backwards in its sleep
HOA Shenanigans:
Linda has not been seen since the tea incident. Her poodle, Morgoth, now leads a book club for familiars.
Baba Yaga’s porch teeth are reportedly “stable but hungry.” Maintenance recommends keeping distance and raw meat offerings.
The fey from 1C have installed a time loop around their rose bush. Four residents are still stuck in yesterday.
Magical Malfunctions:
Unit 5B’s Sporella has achieved full basement sentience. Fungus therapy available Thursdays.
The communal compost bin tried to file for independence.
Cryptid Classifieds:
Need to disappear for tax reasons?
Try Mist & Misfortune: Glamours That Work™. Now 30% off if you mention this newsletter.FOR SALE: One (1) slightly haunted toaster.
Makes great bagels, sometimes whispers your ex’s secrets. $13 OBO.
Contact: Carl (Laundry Room Ghost)LOST: Time.
Last seen near the Fey Couple’s rose bush, around yesterday.
If found, please return before Monday. I have a dentist appointment.JOB POSTING:
Seeking brave soul to deliver bone broth to Unit 3A without making eye contact.
Must run fast. No dental benefits.
Pay: 3 acorns and a minor blessing.PERSONALS:
“Single kraken seeks emotionally available lake witch for deep conversation and recreational flooding.”
Box 444 – leave message in a conch shell.Thank you for reading Swamp Gossip. If you laughed, tell a friend.
If you got cursed, blame Linda.— Miss Bogbean
Swamp Gossip: Members-Only Muck
Welcome to the swamp’s inner circle, darling. If you’re reading this, you’ve officially stepped behind the curtain, under the moss, and into the whispering roots of Forest Glen.
This is where the real weird begins.
Mythological Creature Feature: The Nuckelavee
Origin: Orcadian mythology (Scotland)
Vibe: Nightmare fuel with a side of plague
Current Status: Suspected to be haunting the retention pond near Unit 9F
The Nuckelavee is a skinless, horse-like demon with a humanoid torso fused to its back like the worst piggyback ride in existence. It reeks of rot and saltwater, and wherever it walks, crops wither, livestock perish, and the HOA collectively develops a rash.
In traditional Orkney folklore, it’s held responsible for disease and drought, and could only be repelled by fresh water—which, unfortunately, Forest Glen has in suspiciously short supply due to “budget reallocations” and the enchanted pool leak.
Recent Sightings:
Mrs. Temblor in 8C claims she saw something “horse-adjacent” emerge from the drainage canal during her sunrise tai chi.
The maintenance crew refused to comment, but one was heard softly weeping into a Gatorade bottle.
Bogbean’s Advisory:
If you hear heavy hooves outside your window followed by the scent of brine and despair, stay indoors. And maybe sprinkle a little fresh tap water near your welcome mat—just to be safe.
Citation:
Black, Ronald. The Gaelic Otherworld: Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. Birlinn Ltd., 2008.
(Also referenced in: Briggs, Katharine. An Encyclopedia of Fairies. Pantheon Books, 1976.)
Upcoming Rituals & Warnings:
The upcoming full moon has “chaotic enchantment energy.” Prepare accordingly: gather three crumpled receipts, a pinch of rosemary, and mutter something vaguely threatening—but with kindness.
If your porch starts speaking in riddles, do not answer. It wants something. It’s better if we don’t know what.
Coming Soon – Exclusive Perks:
Honorary Resident Certificate
A printable keepsake welcoming you to Forest Glen. Includes your own fictional unit number and a space to draw your cryptid neighbor.Bonus Mini Posts + Bog Bits Archive
Access to all past and future swamp updates, classified ads, secret memos, and mushroom-related warnings.Collectible Weirdness
Occasional downloadable curiosities: prophecy cards, hex labels, moon coupon zines, or “Cursed But Trying” merit badges.Early Looks & Hidden Lore
Sneak peeks at upcoming storylines, lore deep-dives, and neighborhood secrets not yet released to the public.
Miss Bogbean’s Note to Subscribers:
Thank you for offering your coin, your curiosity, and your trust. May your milk not sour, your porch not speak Latin, and your casserole always come out slightly enchanted.
Printable Spell:
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I like to meet Morgoth, I have a feeling we're gonna be best mates 🐺
So good!! I felt like I was there with Linda at the door and wishing I could step inside 6B