This little sucker lives in freshwater streams like the Amazon River in South America. The vandellia fish is so teeny—2.5 centimeters long by 3.5 centimeters wide—it’s practically invisible. Yet it is one of the most feared fish in the world. Why? It is attracted to urine. Unlucky people who happen to pee in the Amazon River discover (the hard way) that this tiny fish can follow the stream of urine back into their body. What’s even worse, once the vandellia fish gets inside its victim, it extends the short sharp spines that cover its gills and locks itself in place. Then it hungrily sucks the person’s blood and gnaws holes in its victim’s blood vessels. If not removed (by surgery), this spiny bloodsucker can cause shock and death. (Note to self: Never pee in the Amazon River!)
•••
“For millions of years, mankind lived just like the animals. Then something happened which unleashed the power of our imagination. We learned to talk and we learned to listen.”—Stephen Hawking, cosmologist
WE ALL FALL DOWN
Introducing: The gory beginnings of favorite kids’ games.
RING AROUND THE ROSIE
In the 1300s, a disease called the bubonic plague killed nearly a third of the population of Europe—around 25 million people. Also known as the black death, the plague was spread by fleas, rats, and sneezing people. It was almost always fatal. You may not realize it, but you’ve probably been singing about the plague since kindergarten. The fateful words?
Ring around the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes, ashes,
We all fall down.
“Ring around the rosie” was a reference to the red rash that was the first symptom of the plague. The round red “buboes” were inflamed glands that were filled with infectious fluid.
“Posies” are flowers. In the Middle Ages, many people thought pleasant smells could fight off disease. So they carried flowers, which also might have masked the smell of dead bodies. Other versions of the song refer to “pots full” of posies, or even “bottles full.”
“Ashes” probably was the sound for a sneeze, like the ah-choo we say today. (Some versions even say ah-choo instead.) Chills, fever, and upset stomachs were other signs of the plague.
“We all fall down”? Well, that was a nod to the many people who were dying. Gruesome, but clever, no?
LONDON BRIDGE
In “London Bridge,” the falling down refers to the collapse of a bridge. In 1014, London Bridge was the city’s only bridge over the River Thames. King Olaf of Norway—an ally of the English King—used his longships to pull down the bridge and send an invading Danish army into the river. Other bridges over the river have burned down or collapsed since then, and the song might be based on one of those. There are more than 20 verses of the song, and several versions of the game that goes with it. The first verse goes like this:
London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down.
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair lady.
No one is sure who the “fair lady” is, but one rumor is that a woman was once buried alive in the bridge.
•••
FEAR FACTOR: In 2010, there were 15 U.S. citizens killed in terrorist attacks. Killed by falling televisions that same year: 16.
STINKPOT
An Uncle John’s Eerily Twisted Tale!
OLD MRS. RATWICH loved her kitty, Stinkpot. She was the only person in the world who did. Stinkpot had mangy patchy hair. His whiskers were crooked, his ears torn, and he had lost an eye to a fight with a raccoon. But for an elderly lady living on Social Security checks, Stinkpot was the perfect pet. Why? Because he wasn’t a finicky eater like most cats. No. Stinkpot gobbled up anything she put on his china dish: slugs, mouse carcasses, rotten tomatoes, milk so sour it was thick and yellow. He gobbled up decaying halibut heads she found in the fish market dumpster and whiffy chicken wings she found in the trash behind the local bar.
“Nothing’s too good for my kitty,” Mrs. Ratwich would always say as she gave Stinkpot a pat. Her reward? A rumbling purr that reeked of all the horrible things Stinkpot had gobbled up.
One day—we’re sorry to say—Stinkpot choked to death on a chicken bone. “Poor kitty,” murmured Mrs. Ratwich as she carried his body down to the dirt-floored cellar and buried him. Then she went back upstairs to her lonely house.
Early the next morning—“Meowr!”
Mrs. Ratwich sat straight up in bed. “Stinkpot?” she called. “Is that you?”
“Meeowrrr!” The second call was louder—more insistent. Mrs. Ratwich threw on her robe and hurried to the cellar door. She opened it a crack, flipped up the light switch, and peered down the steps. The cellar was cold and dark and quiet. “I must be imagining things,” Mrs. Ratwich told herself. “But I’ll set out a little dish of food. Just in case.” She searched the kitchen trash and found a blackened banana that she placed on a china saucer. “Here, kitty!” Mrs. Ratwich called. Then she set the saucer on the top step and closed the cellar door.
The next morning, she heard it again: “Meeeowrrr!” When Mrs. Ratwich opened the cellar door, she saw the banana was gone. She ventured down the stairs to check—had Stinkpot been buried alive and dug himself out? No. Stinkpot’s grave was just as she’d left it. “I may just be a silly old lady,” she muttered as she set a loaf of mildewed bread on the china dish, “but he sounds so hungry.”
Every morning, Mrs. Ratwich would hear louder and louder cries from the cellar, and she would set out larger and larger treats on the step. She set out mushy apples, slimy chicken bones, and cheese gone green with mold. She set out old salami, putrid pastrami, and a squirrel squashed flat by a bus. But no matter how much “food” she put on the top step, the next morning it would be gone and the next day’s “Meowrrr!” would be louder and sound hungrier.
Mrs. Ratwich did not know what to do, so she decided to make herself a cup of tea. Tea always helped her think. As she ran the water to fill the kettle, she noticed that the drain was clogged up. “I guess I’ll have to call a plumber.”
The plumber showed up in stained overalls and picked at his teeth with dirty fingernails. He eyed Mrs. Ratwich’s kitchen sink. “This is going to be expensive.”
“But it’s just a clog,” Mrs. Ratwich said. “How expensive can it be?”
“Five hundred bucks,” said the plumber.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Mrs. Ratwich.
“Look, you old bag of bones, clogs like this cause problems you don’t even want to think about. This ain’t no time to be cheap.”
Mrs. Ratwich was about to tell the obnoxious plumber to get out of her kitchen when she heard a familiar “Meowrrr” coming from the cellar. She put on her best grandmotherly smile. “You’re the expert.”
The plumber had the sink unclogged in three minutes flat. “Where’s my money?” he demanded.
“It’s downstairs—buried the cellar,” said Mrs. Ratwich. “I don’t believe in banks. But you’ll have to dig it up yourself. This old bag of bones is too worn out.”
The plumber sneered. “I’ll get it.”
“I’m sure you will,” said Mrs. Ratwich, closing the cellar door quickly after him.
Mrs. Ratwich made her tea. As she took her first sip, she heard an enormous happy purr rumble from the cellar. “You’re welcome, Stinkpot,” she said.
THE END
TAKE A BITE OUT OF TRANSYLVANIA
“Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things.” —from Bram Stoker’s classic vampire tale, Dracula
FANGS FOR THE HOSPITALITY
When the fictional Count Dracula welcomed Jonathan Harker to his Transylvania castle, the young lawyer from London thought he was there to settle a property deal. Sure, he wondered why that woman at the Golden Krone Hotel had begged him not to travel on the eve of St. George’s Day and had made him take along a crucifix and cloves of garlic. Of course he found it odd that his host with the pointy
teeth never shared a meal with him and was never around during the day—who wouldn’t? But he had no idea what horrors lay in store for him.
GRUESOME TWOSOME
Was Dracula for real or did Bram Stoker make him up? The author based his character on a real Romanian prince named Vlad Dracula (1431–1476). Vlad was the warlord of the Romanian province of Wallachia. His dad, Vlad Basareb, adopted the name, “Dracul,” when he was inducted into the Order of the Dracul, or “Dragon.” So young Vlad went by the name “Dracula”—which means “son of Dracul.”
Unlike the fictional Dracula, Vlad Dracula didn’t go around the country sucking people’s blood. However, he had an equally chilling way to frighten away enemies—he impaled them on stakes. In 1462, one Turkish sultan ordered his soldiers to retreat after they stumbled upon a “forest” of impaled bodies outside the gates of Wallachia’s capital.
Vlad’s method of torture and slow death earned him the name, “Vlad Tepes,” or “Vlad the Impaler.” Romanians consider him a national hero, because he defended Wallachia—a Romanian province—against the Ottoman Empire. Which Dracula was creepier, the vampire or the impaler? Time for some on-site research.
STAKING OUT DRACULA
After visiting all the Count Dracula sites in England, travel writer Steven P. Unger headed to Transylvania, the historical region in the central part of Romania, to continue his “obsession” with all things Dracula. His goal: visit every site related to the fictional Count Dracula or his historical counterpart, Vlad Tepes. Like the fictional Jonathan Harker, Unger kept a travel journal that ended up in a book. Unlike Harker, Unger didn’t have to travel alone. The Romanian Tourist Board encourages Dracula fans to visit both the fictional settings of the novel and the real sites made famous by the Impaler. Since the 1980s, visitors can even sign up for Dracula-themed tours. So Unger had plenty of company as he visited these sites:
•Bistrita (or Bistritz) This town at the foot of the Borgo Pass in northern Romania was the fictional Jonathan Harker’s last stop before he took his fateful journey to meet the count. On May 3, Harker spent the night at the Hotel Golden Krone (compliments of his yet-unseen host). No such hotel existed in Bram Stoker’s day. But, in the 1980s, the town built one. To duplicate Harker’s evening meal, the hotel restaurant serves something called a “robber steak.”
•Borgo Pass (or Tihuta Pass) To reach the count’s castle, Harker took a horse-drawn passenger coach to the top of the Borgo Pass. “As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behind us,” he recalled, “the shadows of the evening began to creep round us.” After the coach reached the crest, another coach driven by a man with “bright eyes” conveyed Harper to his destination.
•Hotel Castel Dracula Built in the 1980s, this vampire-themed hotel stands at the setting of the fictional Count Dracula’s castle. Some visitors find the blood-red carpets, stuffed wolves in the lobby, and fake crypt with a coffin kind of tacky. But it has great views of the Carpathian mountains.
•Vlad Dracul’s House (Casa Dracula), Sighisoara In 1431, Prince Vlad was born in this house at Strada Cositorarilor Number 5. He lived here until he was four. A wrought-iron dragon hangs at the entrance. A medieval weapons museum fills most of the first floor.
•Targoviste When Vlad’s dad became ruler of Wallachia, Vlad’s family moved to this provincial capital. Following in his father’s footsteps, young Vlad returned there as warlord from 1456 to 1462.
•Poienari (the “real” Castle of Dracula) Scholars believe that Bram Stoker used Poienari—Prince Vlad’s fortress overlooking Targoviste—as his model for Count Dracula’s castle. The climb to the top of the ruins is a long one: 1462 steps. From his perch there, Vlad once watched the mass impaling of 20,000 Turkish prisoners.
DRACULA HUNTER’S LANGUAGE LESSON
Before you start chasing the Count, arm yourself with a few words and phrases you can count on.
English
Romanian
Do you speak English?
Vorbesti engleza?
Do you have the time?
Aveti timp?
I’m lost!
M’am ratacit!
No
Nu
Blood transfusion
Transfuzie de sange
Neck
Gat
Teeth
Dinti
And the most important word…
Help!
Ajutor!
TICK-TOCK, MUMMY’S IN THE CLOCK
On page 213 we told you how freaked out Victorians were about being buried alive. This lady had no intention of waking up in some nasty crypt or coffin.
UPON HER DEATH in 1758, a wealthy spinster named Hannah Beswick left 20,000 guineas to her doctor (about 10 million dollars today). There was one condition: she must never be buried. Dr. Charles White did his best. He embalmed his deceased patient and kept her body amongst his anatomical specimens. Every day for several years, he checked Miss Beswick for signs of life, as detailed in her will. Later, he placed her mummified remains in a grandfather clock, opening it once a year to check on his oldest patient—until he himself passed away.
When Dr. White died, Miss Beswick’s mummy was moved to the Manchester Natural History Museum, where it was placed on public display until 1867. At that time, Hannah Beswick was declared “irrevocably and unmistakably dead,” and her body was laid to rest.
Beswick’s wasn’t the only death-insuring request:
•British rare book dealer Francis Douce left 200 guineas to a surgeon to remove his heart upon his death.
•Author Harriet Martineau left her personal physician 10 pounds to cut off her head.
THE BOUNCING EYEBALL
One day in his mad-science lab, Dr. Johnenstein dropped his lunch (a hard-boiled egg) into a beaker filled with vinegar and forgot all about it. Here’s how to replicate his results.
WHAT YOU NEED:
•Hard-boiled egg (in shell)
•White vinegar
•Clear jar or glass
•Waterproof black marker
WHAT TO DO:
1.Place a hard-boiled egg into the jar or glass. Pour enough white vinegar into the container to cover the egg completely. Let the covered egg sit for two full days in a dark place where it won’t be disturbed.
2.Remove the egg from the container. Rinse it gently under cold running water until it’s clean. Carefully pat it dry and draw a pupil and iris on it with the black waterproof marker. Let the eyeball sit at room temperature for a few hours until it’s completely dry.
3.Now comes the fun part. Hold the eyeball about a foot above the top of a table or counter, then drop it. Play around with dropping the eyeball from different heights to find out how to get the best bounce.
DR. JOHNENSTEIN SAYS: When you immerse an egg in vinegar, the acid in the vinegar reacts with the calcium in the egg’s shell and begins to eat it away. After a few days, the reaction is complete, and the egg is left with a waxy membrane and no shell. Boing!
•••
A HAUNTED OUTHOUSE
And now, the outhouse story you’ve all been waiting for!
WE SEARCHED FAR AND WIDE for an eyewitness account of a haunted outhouse. (If you know about one, send us your story!) We did find this: A legend about Oakey Streak Methodist Episcopal Church in Red Level, Alabama. The church has been abandoned for many years. Many locals say the grounds are haunted—including the raggedy outhouse out back. If you go inside, the ghost locks you in from the outside. You can yell, scream, and bang on the door, but it won’t let you out. The only way to escape is for a living person to open the door from the outside. So if you want to investigate the old outhouse at the abandoned church, don’t go alone!
For more tales of ghosts in our favorite room, see page 47.
DEATH-DEFYING DAREDEVIL
Is this guy mind-blowingly brave or just nuts?
SPEED DEMONS
In 1947, Air Force pilot Charles “Chuck” Yeager shook the world when he broke
the sound barrier in his rocket-powered airplane. Yeager bulleted across the Mojave Desert at 807 miles per hour. On October 14, 2012, Austrian daredevil Felix Baumgartner trumped Yeager big time—65 years to the day—by hurling himself through the sound barrier from a spot 24 miles above planet Earth. He plummeted Earthward at supersonic speeds of up to 833 mph, with nothing but a 100-pound pressurized spacesuit to protect him. (Nuts, right?)
Like Yeager’s flight, Baumgartner’s jump happened above the desert. The spot? Roswell, New Mexico, made famous by U.F.O. sightings in 1947. Baumgartner was strapped inside a closet-sized space capsule and lifted by an enormous helium balloon toward the jump point. The capsule climbed for two hours. And then Felix opened the capsule’s steel door. Breathing heavily, he eyed the speckled ball of Earth where 8 million people sat watching the jump live on YouTube. In a staticky voice, Baumgartner said, “I wish the whole world could see what I see.”
CALL ME BOND
Most of us would never consider jumping from a capsule even one mile above Earth, much less 24 miles. But for Felix Baumgartner death-defying leaps are the norm. He started dreaming of sky-diving when he was little, and made his first jump at age 16. Before that helium balloon pulled him into near-Earth orbit, he’d already landed more than 2,500 ridiculously high leaps from statues, bridges, and the world’s tallest skyscrapers.
In 1999, Baumgartner wanted to set a record by leaping off what was then the world’s tallest building—the Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur. Here’s the catch: It’s not legal to hurl yourself from buildings. So Baumgartner pulled a few James Bond-type moves: He carried a fake I.D. and a briefcase to disguise himself as a businessman. Then he walked right past the tower’s security guards, rode the elevator to the 88th floor, took his parachute and camcorder from the briefcase, climbed to the end of a window-washing crane, and jumped. The nearly 1,500-foot leap set a world record for highest building jump. And Baumgartner captured the whole thing on video on his way down.
Uncle John's the Haunted Outhouse Bathroom Reader for Kids Only! Page 15