King Philip's Cave sign in Norton on Tuesday, Oct. 20, 2020.

Picture this: It’s just after midnight and you’re driving alone on Route 44 in Rehoboth.

Suddenly, a man with red hair and a red flannel shirt leaps in front of your car. You slam on the brakes and brace for a crash, but a crash never happens. You get out of the car and look at the road behind you, but there’s nobody there.

How strange, you think to yourself. Or maybe it’s not.

After all, you’re in the belly of the Bridgewater Triangle.

A roughly 200-square-mile region bound loosely by Abington, Freetown and Rehoboth at its points, the Triangle is said to house a who’s who of paranormal beings that, like the “redheaded hitchhiker,” have produced enough tales of spine-tingling encounters to fill a small library.

It’s a place, locals and longtime visitors will tell you, where the weird is what’s normal, where the repulsive is the allure and where the unexplainable is almost always part of the explanation.

“The land has something to it that’s just spoiled, that’s just not right,” said Christopher Balzano, a folklorist who has written multiple books about the Triangle. “It’s not just the trees, it’s not just the grass and it’s not just the creatures that live there. The land seems to be alive.”

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The Triangle was drawn up in the 1970s by cryptozoologist Loren Coleman, who Balzano said was investigating “cases of high weirdness” in and around the Hockomock Swamp. The name is a play on the Bermuda Triangle, Balzano said, and after Coleman published his findings the Massachusetts region’s popularity “took off” among thrill-seekers and investigators.