Field Agent Lenin Roman illustrated this image of the Sightless Swamp Vulture.

The Sightless Swamp Bird was first documented by 18th-century European explorers in the Cranberry Glades of Pocahontas, West Virginia. These explorers were both fascinated and repelled by the bird's unusual appearance and strong, unpleasant odor. Initially believed to be valuable for their easily obtainable meat, feathers, and skin, these birds were captured, handled, and studied en masse. However, the human interaction had devastating effects on their population, as it disrupted their scent-based social structures.

Today, the Proboscis Bird is a rare and seldom-seen species, largely known only to cryptozoologists and bird enthusiasts. Nearly extinct in the wild, they are conservation dependent.

They Came at Night

Loud, heavy boots trekked down the mountainside, the ground cragged and gritty with sandstone. Gear clanged and rang, bouncing down into the valley. Deer and rabbits fled while squirrels and birds watched from their lofty perches. A turkey vulture followed above.

Crossing over this chain was no easy feat; here, the Allegheny Mountains peak at 3,400 feet, gradually sloping into a valley. A refreshing breeze occasionally whipped up towards them, pulling, calling them down further and further, deep into the lowland. But what waited below? They and everyone else they knew had no earthly idea. Would it lead to the sea? Over more mountains? A large lake like those further north? Unmapped and foreign to the English, they could only joke and guess that it was like the other side of the mountain. But, the chance that it wasn't, that it hid unexpected dangers, or perhaps treasures, made the decline both exciting and nerve-wracking.

The lower and lower they walked, the cooler and wetter the air; the explorers shivered as their sweat cooled them far too quickly. Sore from their hike, the chill, sloshing mud was soothing at first. Their surroundings morphed from a dense forest to a muddy one; a stream cut through, then another. The ground became slicker and tacky, the mud gripping and pulling boots right off the foot. The water pooled around their ankles, then calves, saturating their clothing to an uncomfortable degree, especially as the temperature in the valley had dropped so much. Finding better footholds, the Earth was just as soaked as they were, squishing and squeaking with each step, fizzling with water like a wrung sponge. The mosses built tall knolls that were easily tripped over, reaching 3 feet high in obscured spots; they were tied in place and smothered by various berry vines and bushes. Before them, in the distance and under the setting sun, was a beautiful sea of gently swaying wildflowers, herbs, and grasses of yellows, oranges, and greens speckled by bright whites and reds.

The sight stopped them in their tracks. It made the trip worth it.

Seeking a place to camp, they settled on a small, somewhat dry hill under a sprawling swamp maple; littered with clusters of broken sticks, little bones, and long-lost feathers, the explorers were on edge. Something had been here and attacked; while it was likely long ago, the possibility that it could still be somewhere, hidden in the vast bog, was not a pleasant consideration. There was also a smell; the valley, though lovely to look at, emitted a foul aroma, like putrid vegetables and fish. The hill somehow smelled even worse than the disturbances released from each muddy stomp. Everyone agreed it was the stagnant water, the festering mud around their base. As they sat silently, eyes scanning and alert, their imaginations ran wild; each had a different, horrific vision of what the strong stink could alternatively be - corpses crawling on the scummy floor, waiting to rise from the water once they laid down; a giant serpent in the tree, posed to strike with its mouth spread wide and breathing heavily; a slinking, evil, diseased panther circling the mound, plotting how to take them down one-by-one.

The team built a small fire, cooked leftover game, and argued over watch; no one felt much like sleeping, even though their weary bodies demanded it. The roar of insects was an eerie combination of new sounds and a few familiar ones. The sway and windy jerk of grass and leaves teased invisible creatures, concealed movements. The firelight played tricks on the eyes with glints of eyeballs and shadowy figures. And the smell—it never let one feel at ease, always returning with a new, acidic, deathly edge.

Wakened for third shift, the explorer sat on the edge of camp, by the tree; not, however, too far from the fire's light. A breeze cut through the bog in a curving line, smacking the camp; the scent it carried was beyond foul. Sickened, he fell on all fours; senses overwhelmed, head spinning, mouth-watering, he tried to hold his nose and keep his meager dinner inside. Pallid, his eyes rose slowly, leveling with the field's pointed, woozying top. The air was still, now, but in the distance, just out of the firelight's reach, the bog was rustling. Not the way the wind would rustle it but the way something walking through it would. Frightened into a stillness, he held his breath once more, fingers quivering, legs tight springs. A musket sat a few feet away. There was nowhere to run in the darkness.

More shaking appeared in the grasses, and the general stench of the air intensified. Splashing, squelching, wet sounds encircled the hill, as did a muted fluttering. He should have woken the others, grabbed the gun, and done something. Instead, the explorer stayed on hand and knee, frozen and wide-eyed.

A clawed foot reached from the field. It hung above the moss, slowly splaying out and down, squishing into the green. Another claw breached, attached to a long, stick-like arm. A round body bobbed up and down in a rhythm of three quick movements. The creature's head was tucked into itself; feeling the air upon it, it stretched, exposing a wrinkled, thick, C-shaped gullet with tufts of hair scattered over it like a nearly bald head. A long line of fur was upon its back, standing on end and pointing out in two directions like a bat's wings frozen mid-flap. It stared up at the explorer, sending a shiver down his back; it had no eyes, only a long rectangular head of melty, rumpled skin. The flesh on the tip of its face inflated into a ball, hissing and deflating in a puff of air. The bird-like animal shined in the firelight; a brown ooze dripped from its body, trailed down its legs, and stuck to its environment, gathering bits and pieces of what it traveled through.

Undoubtedly, this creature was the source of the hill's bad smell. It walked forward with the same hesitant movements, its head twitching up and down, its bulbous nose inflating, deflating. Its face tilted upward, it gave a deep sniff and flapped two heavy wings before rushing forward and into the explorer's arm. Scared, he scuttled backward chaotically, hitting his back against the tree. The bird had fallen, as well, landing awkwardly on its back; it rolled around, righting itself after a slight struggle. It shook, puffing its feathers out, then continued forward, unbothered. The explorer was hit with the realization that the animal was attracted to the smoke, not him. Looking around frantically, feeling his fear diminish slightly, he realized a whole flock was being drawn to them.

All around the camp, the strange birds stepped onto the hill, walking towards the fire, smelling the smoke. Thirty birds and counting. One broke from the shrinking circle, a beeline into the pit. As the flames hit, it honked, thrashing wildly, flapping, kicking, and snorting. Another ran, and another, and another. They clinked against the cookpot, the fifth attack sending it rolling downhill. The birds sizzled and smoked and fluttered around; their honking stirred the other explorers from their shallow slumber in the shared tent.

The sniffling restarted, a loud, audible wave; the birds changed course, some running for the tumbling pot. Crouching over the charred body of the first bird, the explorer knew this discovery would be memorable.