The Monster of the Beach: A Giant Squid in Snohomish
A spectacular display of a thirty-three-foot giant squid in Snohomish invites locals to gawk at the creature Victor Hugo once called a 'sea vampire.'
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
Residents of Snohomish have been granted a rare spectacle: the exhibition of a massive 'devil-fish'—the common name for the deep-sea squid. Driven ashore during a gale on the northern coast of Trinity Bay, Newfoundland, the creature was still alive when found, but left high and dry by the tide. While fishermen once used such creatures for manure or dog food, a savvy speculator has brought it to Snohomish to satisfy public curiosity. The creature spans more than thirty-three feet in total length, with tentacles stretching over twenty-four feet. Its body, though now bleached to a dirty white by brine, still retains the parrot-like beak and snail-like tongue that make it a marvel of the deep. Proprietors of the exhibit intend to replace its crushed, gelatinous eyes with eight-inch glass orbs to better resemble its living state. While local audiences may have formed their fears of the beast based on the sensational descriptions in Victor Hugo’s novels, the reality—though less mobile than a 'sea vampire'—is no less appalling to behold.
“The prey of the devil-fish is drawn under water by the resistless suction of its wiry tentacles, and the arms are wound closer and closer about the helpless body, pressing it tightly to its own gelatinous mass.”
In the 1870s, curiosity-seekers in Washington often relied on traveling freak shows to glimpse the 'exotic' world. Today, Snohomish remains a community that treasures its unique heritage, though we now trade in historical preservation rather than the display of dead deep-sea cephalopods.
From readers
No comments yet. If you know something about this story — a correction, a family memory, a source — it belongs here.