The Mongolian death worm
- shocking and spraying! (Philippa Foster)
It's not every day – or every expedition – that begins with a request from a country's head of government formally requesting that a specimen be captured of a creature so elusive, and deadly, that western science does not even recognise its existence. Nevertheless, that is precisely what happened in 1922 when eminent American palaeontologist Prof. Roy Chapman Andrews met the Mongolian premier in order to obtain the necessary permits for the American Museum of Natural History's Central Asiatic Expedition to search for dinosaur fossils in the Gobi Desert. And the creature that the Mongolian premier instructed him to procure? None other than the lethal allghoi khorkhoi – or, as it is nowadays commonly referred to throughout the world, the Mongolian death worm.
It's not every day – or every expedition – that begins with a request from a country's head of government formally requesting that a specimen be captured of a creature so elusive, and deadly, that western science does not even recognise its existence. Nevertheless, that is precisely what happened in 1922 when eminent American palaeontologist Prof. Roy Chapman Andrews met the Mongolian premier in order to obtain the necessary permits for the American Museum of Natural History's Central Asiatic Expedition to search for dinosaur fossils in the Gobi Desert. And the creature that the Mongolian premier instructed him to procure? None other than the lethal allghoi khorkhoi – or, as it is nowadays commonly referred to throughout the world, the Mongolian death worm.

Although in the 1920s, this extraordinary mystery beast was totally unheard of outside Mongolia, today it is one of the most (in)famous of all cryptozoological creatures – thanks to the series of pioneering expeditions to its southern Gobi homeland launched by Czech explorer Ivan Mackerle, the first of which took place during June and July 1990, and which subsequently attracted considerable interest internationally. During his searches, Ivan collected a very impressive dossier of information concerning the death worm, based upon eyewitness reports and other anecdotal evidence, which he subsequently made freely available to me to use as I wished in my own writings, and which can be summarised as follows.
Its local names – allghoi khorkhoi and allergorhai horhai – translate as 'intestine worm', because according to eyewitness testimony, this mysterious sausage-shaped creature resembles a living intestine. Red in colour with darker blotches, it measures 1-1.6 m long and is as thick as a man's arm, but has no discernable scales, mouth, nor even any eyes or other recognisable sensory organs. It is said to be truncated at both ends, but according to some accounts at least one end also bears a series of long pointed structures at its tip.

For much of the year, the death worm remains concealed beneath the Gobi's sands, but during the two hottest months – June and July – it can sometimes be encountered lying on the surface, particularly after a downpour of rain.

Locals claim that it can also be found in association with the black saxaul Haloxylon ammodendron, a yellow-flowered desert shrub, whose roots are parasitized by the goyo Cynomorium songaricum – a strange, cigar-shaped plant of uncertain taxonomic affinities.

According once again to local lore, the death worm is deadly for two very different reasons. If approached too closely, it is said to raise one end of its body upwards (as portrayed on the front cover of my book The Beasts That Hide From Man, 2003), and then squirt with unerring accuracy at its victim a stream of extremely poisonous, acidic fluid that burns the victim's flesh, turning it yellow, before rapidly inducing death. It is claimed that the death worm derives this highly toxic substance externally - either from the saxaul's roots or from the goyo attached to them (and thereby reminiscent of how South America's deadly arrow-poison frogs derive their skin toxins from certain small arthropods that they devour). During my own researches, however, I have uncovered no evidence to suggest that the saxaul's roots are poisonous, and I have revealed that the goyo is definitely not poisonous (it is eaten as famine food, and used widely in Chinese herbalism). So if the death worm truly emits a venomous fluid, it presumably manufactures it internally, rather than deriving it externally.

The camels presumably died from coming into direct physical contact with the death worm hidden beneath their feet, but the geologist only touched it indirectly, via the metal rod. Consequently, the only conceivable way that this action could have caused his death is by electrocution – which would obviously explain the camels' instant deaths too. Although there are several different taxonomic groups of fish containing species that can generate electricity – including the famous electric eel and gymnotids, as well as the electric catfish, electric rays, mormyrids, rajid skates, and electric stargazers – no known species of terrestrial creature possesses this ability. So if the native claims concerning the camels and the geologist are correct, and always assuming of course that it really does exist, the death worm must be a very special animal indeed. But what precisely could it be?

Caecilians constitute a taxonomic order of limbless amphibians that are deceptively worm-like in appearance and predominantly subterranean in lifestyle. Certain species can also attain a total length matching the dimensions reported for the death worm. As with true worms, however, caecilians' skin is water-permeable, so once again even a giant caecilian would soon dry out in the arid Gobi, unless, uniquely among these particular amphibians, it had evolved a water-retentive skin.



Much of what has been proposed for and against an amphisbaenian identity for the Mongolian death worm applies equally to the possibility of its being an unknown species of very large legless true lizard - akin perhaps to the familiar slow worm and glass snake, or even to the skinks, some species of which are limbless. However, these lizards are much less worm-like and subterranean than amphisbaenians, so overall the latter provide a more satisfactory match with the death worm.

Last, but by no means least, is the thought-provoking prospect that the death worm may be a highly specialised species of snake. Not only do most of the above-noted physical and behavioural similarities between the death worm and the amphisbaenians and legless lizards apply here too, but spitting cobras also offer a famous precedent for an elongate creature that can eject a stream of corrosive venom with deadly accuracy at a potential aggressor. Moreover, the spine-bearing tip described for the death worm recalls a genus of cobra-related species known as death adders Acanthophis spp., which possess a spiny worm-like projection at the tip of their tail that acts as a lure for potential prey.

Their name recognises the fact that although, like cobras, they are elapids, the death adders have evolved to occupy the ecological role filled elsewhere by true vipers. Could there be a specialised, unknown species of death adder that has evolved the venom-spitting ability of its spitting cobra relatives? If so, this would vindicate the locals' testimony concerning the death worm's emissions. But what about its alleged powers of electrocution?
Remarkably, this too may be more than just a myth. For if the death worm were indeed a snake and perhaps sported such smooth, fine, tiny scales that they were not readily discernable, when it was crawling through sand these scales may be able to generate a weak electrical current via friction – a process known as triboelectricity, which has already been documented from certain sand-dwelling snake species. If this in turn gave rise to exaggerated descriptions of its potency, it is easy to see how, over the course of several generations of ever more fanciful retellings, the entirely false belief in a creature that kills by electrocution could ultimately arise.

So could it be that in spite of the death worm's initially unlikely form and behavioural proclivities, there actually could be a real, scientifically-undescribed species at the heart of this longstanding mystery, albeit one far less flamboyant and formidable than the version described in local testimony? Or is the entire death worm scenario nothing more than native folklore?
Science-fiction devotees reading about the Mongolian death worm will undoubtedly recall Frank Herbert’s celebrated series of 'Dune' novels. These were set on a desert planet called Arrakis – home to an enormous species of vibration-sensitive sand worm called the shai-hulud, which could be ‘called’ to the surface when the planet’s human inhabitants used a vibration-engendering device known as a thumper.


These include an expedition led by English cryptozoological field researcher Adam Davies in 2003, a team sent out by the Centre for Fortean Zoology in 2005, and more recently a two-man expedition led by New Zealand journalist David Farrier in August 2009. Unfortunately, none succeeded even in seeing, let alone capturing, a death worm (a local man informed the CFZ team that on one occasion a killed specimen had been taken away by Russian zoologists, but he did not provide any names or details that could be pursued). Nevertheless, some informative anecdotal evidence has been gathered, and both the Adam Davies-led team and the CFZ team observed and photographed a carving of a supposed death worm (although it sported eyes) on exhibition at the remote Gobi Museum.

Most telling of all, however, as some of these later expeditions were startled to discover, the newest generation of Gobi nomads are as likely to be riding desert motorbikes as camels, and some even carry mobile phones inside the folds of their traditional desert robes. So perhaps they are also heeding less and less the traditional stories and beliefs of their elders.

Having said that, there may be another, very different reason why these expeditions have returned empty-handed. Some locals claim that death worms have been seen far less frequently in recent years than in the past. Who knows - perhaps, just as the rest of the world has finally started to learn about and become interested in it, the Mongolian death worm has begun slipping inexorably into extinction.

How ironic that would be – almost as ironic, in fact, as Prof. Roy Chapman Andrews's straight-faced promise to the Mongolian premier back in 1922 that if his expedition did indeed encounter a death worm during their search for dinosaur fossils in the Gobi, they would do their best to secure its capture using a pair of long steel collecting forceps. In view of what reputedly happened to the hapless geologist who poked one of these fearful creatures with a metal rod, it's probably just as well that Prof. Andrews and his team never did find any!
For the most detailed, comprehensive coverage of the Mongolian death worm ever published, see my book The Beasts That Hide From Man (Paraview: New York, 2003).

Comments
I would like to take this opportunity to thank my good friend and world-famous cryptozoologist, Dr. Karl P.N. Shuker, for allowing me to repost his groundbreaking work on the notorious Mongolian Death Worm on my blog. Karl, I owe you one.
Karl's personal blog may be found here at ShukerNature.