Aaron Mahnke

But it was too late.

The panic had fully set in, and no amount of reasoning would dissuade the true believers.

The company was forced to change their logo in the 1990s, and thankfully that seemed to do the trick.

The rumors died down, and today Procter & Gamble is known less for their potential ties to the powers of hell and more for their monopoly over consumer goods.

The lesson, though, is clear.

It doesn't take much for a rumor to spiral out of control.

A sneaking suspicion, a scary story, even a little joke, all of them can be sucked into the cultural zeitgeist faster than you can say Mark of the Beast.

So be careful what you believe, because you never know when a bit of fantasy could actually become an urban legend.

Sailors, of course, have ghost ships.

Road trippers have phantom semi-trucks charging at traffic before vanishing into thin air.

There are even legends of spectral airplanes hovering out of time.

And in 1934, London, England had the number seven bus.

According to the popular story, it all started one dark night in June.

A young man was driving through Ladbroke Grove in the area of North Kensington.

Perhaps he was coming home from a long day at work.

I imagine he was tired and looking forward to getting back to rest his feet.

It was late, and the roads were empty.

But as he turned onto a dim intersection, the man's heart leapt into his throat.

There, out of nowhere, appeared a bus.

Now, if you're imagining one of those classic red double-decker London buses, you would be right on the mark.