One of my Aunt Ruby's friends had the most terrible thing happen to her. Her fingers turned black and fell off, and nobody knew why until her doctor asked if she had cable Internet access at home. It turns out that cable access emits deadly spiral waves that will turn your fingers gangrenous if you stay online long enough.

According to an article a friend read in a magazine, the same thing has happened to at least three dozen other Internet users around the world, including two cats in Kalamazoo that sat on the computer monitor for warmth.

The magazine further reported that scientists at England's Brushworth-By-Sands College warned people in 1982 that it would happen. But dirty politicians let the technology through so they'd have the money to get reelected. Ever since, there's been a massive cover-up involving at least 27 members of Congress. You say you heard something similar? Then it must be true.

Only it's not. I made that whole story up. It's lies, all lies! I don't even have an Aunt Ruby, nor is there a Brushworth-By-Sands College. What I'm doing here is creating an urban legend--the kind of story that sounds as though it could have happened, seems real because it happened to someone I know, and has extra credibility because you're seeing it in print.

My tale fits the profile of an urban legend as urban legend expert Jan Harold Brunvand defines it: "a story in a contemporary setting (not necessarily a big city), reported as a true individual experience, with traditional variants that indicate its legendary character."

Often, these stories are things that happened to a friend of a friend--so common that it is known as a FOAF by people who study urban legends. Although they're not necessarily fabrications, most of the juiciest urban legends--like the one about the babysitter who cooked the baby instead of a turkey--have never been proven.

You've most likely received at least one urban legend in your e-mail inbox. I know I've received a fake Neiman Marcus cookie recipe at least five times. I might have believed it, too, if I hadn't also gotten a photocopy of a fake Mrs. Fields cookie recipe in the early 1980s. I believed that one was real, until I baked the cookies--they weren't even close to the real Mrs. Fields's. Still, that wasn't my first urban legend. The first one I heard was a Halloween warning that people were giving out LSD-laced Mickey Mouse tattoos instead of candy. Every kid I knew was freaked out about getting one, and it was all for nothing. The story just wasn't true.

It sure seemed like it could be, though, and this is one of the reasons people believe urban legends. According to Brunvand and others, we're eager to believe these stories because:

• They seem like they might be true. Either someone we trust is telling it, or it happened to a FOAF.
• They're good stories--scary or memorable or funny.
• They carry a message, one that confirms a world-view, such as that Neiman Marcus is greedy or that parents are bad for leaving their kids with babysitters.

These are some of the same reasons we tell urban legends, too--with an addition of the "just-in-case" clause. Just in case it's true, I'll be doing a service if I pass the word along, right?

Many of these same forces help keep old wives' tales alive, too. Although old wives' tales don't usually contain a FOAF (and instead dispense nuggets of motherly wisdom and rules), we often believe them just the same. This is because it might somehow really be bad for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. Or, swallowed gum really might remain in your stomach forever. (Neither is true; and although gum can't be digested, it does pass through your system.)