As I walked the streets of Chicago during the recent "Snowpocalype" blizzard I encountered a most unsettling occurrence. Now, I am not one to avoid the more dangerous or strange elements of life. Certainly, I have a regard for my own well being and attempt not to place myself in intentional risk, but I am also possessed of a wild spirit that seeks adventure and exploration. That said, I often find myself in the weird circumstance that accompanies dark woods at night, lonely abandoned structures, and the stony embrace of the underworld. I do not cringe from shadows.
Such being the case, against my expectant wife's protests, I set forth into the great Chicago Blizzard of 2011. The date should have been warning enough for me! Alas, I was caught up in the bluster and forgot my numerology. Regardless, what is done, is done, and I am here to tell of it. The greater part of my walk was uneventful, if you consider scouring winds and dervish snow to be of little import. I found it quite exhilarating, at first. But then I became aware of the noise.
It was a strange buzzing, like a swarm of bees. At first, I thought it was electrical. It sounded very much like a strained transformer. But I quickly discarded the idea. The storm had knocked out the power. The whole section of city I had wandered into was swathed in darkness. The noise seemed to be coming from an alley. I deduced that it must be the wind passing over some arrangement of materials such to create the sound; an accidental instrument. If only that had been true.
I never did see them, only the body they left. It was like watching a snowdrift melt in accelerated film to reveal a pile of tiny bones. Now, I was not so unwise as to inspect them in detail, but I am fairly certain (from personal past experience) that they were the remains of rats. Upon viewing this windswept visage a spark of memory lit within my head. I quickly returned home and for the remainder of the evening.
What had been brought to memory was a passage I'd once read about an American missionary in the fifties named Carl Mosender. Mr.Mosender was in the Costa Rican jungle working with an international team when he was bitten by a venomous spider. It was not fatal, but left him feverish. During his recovery one of the other volunteers, a man from Greenland, watched over him. Mosender recounts how the man told him he should be thankful. That the insects of the tropics, even with their deadly poisons, are far less dangerous than the Vinterbugs of his native land. It was this that stuck in my head. So I did a little digging and I can hardly recount the things I found.
The number to times that skeletal remains are discovered following heavy snowfalls is startlingly high. Even more so the number of skeletons found in the spring, and not all of them animal. Most evidence of flesh eating Vinterbugs (an idea I would have found impossible myself) is circumstantial, with few notable exceptions. One of the most relevant I will briefly describe for you.
In 1987 Jonathan Sendilig was involved in a cross country dog sled race across Alaska. There was a snowstorm and he never arrived at his destination. Rescue teams were sent out and discovered the sled, rigging, and skeletons of Mr.Sendilig and all of his dogs. Mr.Sendilig was still dressed fully in his winter gear. Clenched between the teeth of his skull, stuck to his molars, were the insect remains of what appeared to be albino cockroaches, the South American winged variety.
Do I put much credence to this type of story? Perhaps, if I had not seen the snow scurry off the bones of those rats with such purpose, such direction, I would not. But I have, and such personal knowledge binds me to, in the name of caution, warn you. Take care in the snow friends! If you hear icy wings, the cold buzz of the swarm, do not discount these noises you hear as natural, lest it be your bones they find in the snow!
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